#With him chewing it off after leaving with Sunlit
Note
i'm ngl depicting thunder's prosthetic as a burden is pretty uncomfortable even if it is something some amputees experience because like. there's a huge stigma around prosthetics already you know? it's like having a parent forcibly strap a child into a wheelchair when they don't need it and having a horrible experience with it and that being your only character in a wheelchair. some full-time wheelchair users do resent their wheelchairs but when that's the only time you're bringing it up at all it feels like you're playing into our society's perception of wheelchairs and mobility aids in general as useless and best and divine punishment at worst. idk do let me know if i'm wording this wrong because i really do love better bones! it's just that this detail is... strange.
I mean, I'm open to feedback if that's not something I should do-- but I do actually have other characters in prosthetics and mobility aids! A lot of them! Thunderstar's actually the only one who ends up rejecting his own, because I also wanted to depict that it's bad to force a device onto someone who does not want one.
Especially in circumstances like Thunder Storm's, where that sort of device would be actively unhelpful for his lifestyle. It might help in open field environments like moorland, but then I got more feedback and realized that it would just make a lot of unwanted noise in a forest (since cats have carpal whiskers to help them figure out where to place their paws). Then I figured it was a good way to show how BB!Clear Sky doesn't actually listen to his son's needs and acts differently when he's not "grateful" enough for his gift.
But he's far and away from the only one with a mobility aid or prosthetic!
I haven't figured out Frog entirely yet, but he's going to be the first cat with a "wheelchair" type device, to set up a long line of cats through the generations improving on it
(Probably not much more than a reinforced canvas or durable leather, as this was the age of very early flax processing)
Wildfur's the next in the big advancements, even making the Great Journey in his own and getting a side story based around Littlecloud and Cinderpelt collaborating over this
The device is then improved upon by Jessy for Briarlight, giving her a level of independence and confidence that she needs to finally cut her mom out until she learns how to behave
Deadfoot has a brace for his front paw because the joint is loose (it was based on a friend's carpel tunnel bracelet) which is affectionately referred to as The Bonker; his name is also now an Honor Title (Old name: Hoprunner) for inventing a battle move by distracting with his good paw, and then SLAMMING his other limb down hard on his opponent. It's called "deadfooting."
I think mobility devices are super important, usually massively improve quality of life, and I just enjoy designing them, so the choice to portray Thunder Storm's as negative was a very deliberate one that I did in response to what I thought was a desire in representation. Even the fact it's a hind-leg prosthetic was thought out, since those have a much higher satisfaction rate in humans than hand prosthetics, but in a cat would probably be the opposite.
Still, I'm not missing a limb, so now with all of that context presented, do you still think the same thing? Should I just add even more limb prosthetics to make the ratio of satisfied prosthetic users vs Thunder Storm even steeper?
Sunlit Frost is actually going to have a bite on his good paw go septic (the other side has permanent damage from the fire). I could have that paw get amputated and have Thunderstar "return the favor" for how Sunlit Frost created the prosthetic he rejected by helping him build his own. A pawsthetic, if you will
OR would it be better to just remove the subplot of Thunder Storm grappling with/rejecting a prosthetic that is unfitting for him entirely, and have all prosthetics be 100% treated as positive in the narrative?
#I especially want to hear from anyone who happens to be missing limbs or uses some sort of mobility or accessibility device#Ultimately I consider myself a pretty confident and well-read person but I'm just a single guy!#So I'm open to changing stuff if it's not accomplishing what I wanted it to#I'm not perfect and don't know everything. So I try to listen.#Though I will admit that I am a little emotionally attached to Thunder rejecting the leg prosthetic#I WILL drop it and back off if it is unpopular#but in addition to just liking there being an example of a time where one is unwanted and being able to explore *why*#(with a very important and powerful POV character mind you)#I do like the symbolism of it#With him chewing it off after leaving with Sunlit#Like he's literally leaving the expectations of his father behind#And Sunlit complaining about good leather and hard work lmao#BUT that said. It wouldn't be worth it if I was doing something very insensitive SO lmk.#bone babble#disability#prosthetics
80 notes
·
View notes
Text
roses and dahlias | choi seungcheol
summary | [requested by: @lifeisnotajuunice] the reader being a florist and friends with dk, so one day he brings the whole team to meet reader at their shop and scoups is instantly drawn in by them
genre | fluff
pairing | idol!seungcheol x florist!reader
word count | 2.2k
author's note | while writing this i've realized how little i know about flowers (i literally have no idea how half of these flowers are called in my native language)
Taking a last look at the bouquet you were holding, you hummed in approval, weaving in some final pieces of baby breath to add a soft touch that would stand out in comparison to the crimson red roses and gerbera daisies. “Whoever this bouquet is meant for must be a very lucky person,” you thought, gently putting the flowers in a vase and placing it next to the eight others that were supposed to be picked up in the afternoon.
“They are for your friend, right?” Nodding at your colleague, you wiped your hands on the apron you got from said friend, looking one last time at the bouquet, which now looked even prettier as it stood on the sunlit windowsill. “They are having some sort of party for the whole team, and they ordered nine compositions for the staff,” you explained, looking over at your co-worker.
“They look great, I’m sure they’ll love it.”
“To be honest, I don’t think they know much about flowers, so anything will be good for them,” you laughed, remembering how Seokmin gave you peonies thinking they were roses. You spent the next ten minutes explaining the differences between those two, surely boring your best friend to death.
In his defence, they are kind of similar.
“Will he pick up all of this by himself?”
“Oh, no, he and some of his bandmates are coming later in the afternoon,” you said, nervously chewing on your bottom lip. The fact that most of them would be coming over in a couple of hours, made you feel a lot more anxious than it should.
You and Seokmin have known each other for so many years now, yet you’ve never met all of his friends properly. But there was one specific person that you were the most nervous to meet.
Choi Seungcheol.
You always brushed it off as a silly little crush on a guy you’ve never even met, because no matter how delusional his fancams made you, that was the reality. The biggest interaction you’ve had was liking his Instagram photo, which you immediately regretted, and it’s not like he would pay much attention to you anyways. Still, you could feel your chest tighten at the thought of him actually meeting him.
The rest of the day was busy as always. You helped the customers with picking flowers, making sure to put your heart into every bouquet you made. You’ve always wondered what history would each of these bouquets hold after leaving your shop - because to you, it was merely a job to put together a beautiful piece, but for the receiving person, the flowers meant so much more than that.
Soon, the sun was setting, and people were rushing home to their loved ones, streets busy and loud. You proudly looked at the final order you put together, rolling your shoulders, hoping it would release some tension that accumulated throughout the day.
“We’re here,” suddenly a loud voice pulled you out of your thoughts, startling you a bit in the process. You quickly put away all of the sharp tools that could harm you by accident. “And who would that be?” you joked, not bothered to check who's just entered.
Two strong arms wrapped around your shoulders, and your back met a familiar chest.
“You weren’t at the concert last week,” Seokmin pouted, when you turned around to face him. “Well, I have my responsibilities you know,” you laughed at his disappointed expression. “Besides, I wasn’t able to buy the tickets.”
“You know you could’ve just called me,” he said, realising you from the hug, “I know, I know.”
That’s when you noticed a group of other people watching you. And not just any people.
“Right, I don’t think you’ve properly met before,” Seokmin said, putting an arm around your shoulder. “These are the only ones that bothered to help me, so they’re the best,” he said proudly, looking at his friends.
“Don’t let Soonyoung hear this, or he’ll get mad,” said Seungkwan, you believed. You also recognised the tallest, and the one with glasses next to him - Mingyu and Wonwoo. “And that’s Joshua, Chan and Seungcheol,” your friend pointed at the blond man standing furthest away from you.
You waved your hand at them awkwardly, clutching the cloth you were cleaning with tightly in your hand. They all seemed extremely nice, nothing but smiles on their faces, yet it was quite underwhelming meeting them all at once.
And it wasn’t even the whole band.
As your gaze drifted back to Seungcheol, the realisation that he was actually real hit you slowly, like - he really was standing right in front of you. And he was as perfect as a person could be.
“Don’t worry, we’ll just grab the flowers and leave,” he said, nodding in the direction of the bouquets. “Oh,” you managed to get out, trying not to sound disappointed, because of course, why would they stay any longer than needed. They were here only for the flowers.
You pointed at the windowsill where all of the vases were.
“You did them all by yourself?” Mingyu asked, his eyes wide with interest. “Yes, it’s all me,” you smiled at his fascinated gaze. It always made you feel so appreciated whenever people reacted that way at your work. It only assured you that you were great at what you were doing.
“Can I take a picture of them?” you nodded, giggling at how excited he seemed. “We’ll be here forever if he starts taking photos,” Wonwoo sighed, sliding his glasses further up his nose.
“But it really is a nice place,” Joshua said, patting Wonwoo on the shoulder. “Do you mind if we take some pictures?” he asked. Honestly speaking, even if you wanted to say “no”, you wouldn’t be able to. He looked so genuinely polite and nice.
You went back behind the counter to give the boys some freedom, yet your gaze couldn’t help but wonder toward Seungcheol. He was posing in front of a bunch of tulips and orchids, his blond hair standing out amongst the violet and burgundy flowers, making him look almost ethereal, as the setting sun was illuminating his face.
Seriously, you had to stop ogling him, even though you were sure he’d already noticed how you were staring at him. You caught him looking at you a couple of times in the span of the last ten minutes, but that couldn’t be true, it was silly for you to even think so.
The boys, on the other hand, looked like they had genuinely a lot of fun, trying to guess the different flowers’ names, and doing the silliest poses in front of the camera.
Busying yourself with cleaning, you searched around for the little stool you always used to reach the higher shelves, but it was nowhere to be seen. It’s almost like it magically disappeared when you needed it the most.
Giving up, you sighed, and got up on your tippy toes to put back all of the equipment. What you didn’t quite think about was the fact that the floral branch cutter was a lot heavier than you expected. You yelped in surprise when it suddenly started slipping out of your hands.
Right as you closed your eyes and prepared yourself to get your foot smashed by it, you felt a warm hand on your lower back, and another one holding the cutter, grabbing your own hand in the process. You slowly opened your eyes, just to be met with Seungcheol’s face.
“Are you okay?” He sounded worried, concern written all over his face. “Yes, I’m okay,” you said, although you were sure it came out more like a whisper. “It was too heavy, and it kind of slipped out.”
God, did you really have to embarrass yourself like that now?
“Are you sure everything is alright?” He asked again, as if he didn’t believe your words. You nodded, letting go of the cutter, as he reached for the shelf with ease. “Let me help you with the rest,” he said, looking at the rest of your stuff that was laying on the countertop.
“Why didn’t you ask for help, you could’ve gotten hurt,” he scolded you, his eyes looking straight into yours.
You didn’t know what to say. Why was he being so protective of you?
“Shut it, he’s just being nice,” you thought, brushing off the warm feeling settling in your stomach.
“I didn’t mean to sound rude before,” he suddenly said, fidgeting with his fingers. “I just didn’t want you to feel uncomfortable because of us. We’re kind of a lot,” he laughed, running a hand through his gorgeous hair.
His eyes had a certain softness to them, looking at you like you were something precious to him. But he looked at his members the same way, so it surely didn’t mean anything.
“It’s okay,” you managed to hold your voice steady. “I’m happy you got to take some photos. It looks like you’re having fun,” you smiled at him, trying to memorise every detail of his face before he’d be gone - his golden brown eyes, the way his long black eyelashes would flutter, and his smile, that made your knees weak.
“We do. It’s nice to do something like this after work,” he said, placing the last cutter on the shelf. “Is there anything else I could help you with?”
You looked around the shop. “No, I think that was it.”
“Okay,” it didn’t go unnoticed by you how he sounded almost upset. “I guess I’ll get back to the boys.”
It was impossible for you to know that Seungcheol was freaking out about this even more than you were.
He has seen you a couple of times before, when you were visiting Seokmin in the practice room, or at the backstage after a concert, yet he has never gotten a proper chance to talk to you, and introduce himself.
And Seungcheol was dying to do so.
He didn’t know when this crush started, probably around the time he noticed how his heart would beat a bit faster whenever he’d hear you laugh.
“I just wanted to say that all of the bouquets are amazing,” he said, the moment you came to terms with the fact that this was the end of your conversation. “They’re really beautiful.”
“Oh, thank you. I hope your staff members will love them as well.”
“I’m sure they will,” Seungcheol said. “Who’s this one for?” he asked, pointing at the garden roses and dahlias. “It’s for a wedding.”
“It’s roses and?” “Dahlias. My favourite,” you said, staring at the flowers.
“Coups, could you come here for a second?” All of a sudden, Joshua’s voice echoed through the shop, making you eternally cry, because you knew that if Seunghceol would leave now, you’d never get to talk again.
“Um, I guess I’ll see what he wants,” and with that Seungcheol walked away, leaving you disappointed and frustrated.
“Someone here has got a little crush,” Mingyu approached you right after Seungcheol left, with a smirk on his face and a weirdly suspicious expression. “What do you mean? We were just talking,” you tried to sound as nonchalant as you could, because there is no way he could know about your crush.
“I have never seen him so smiley and giggly with anyone he has just met before. His eyes are basically heart shaped when he looks at you,” he said, leaning on the counter next to you, his smirk only widening. “Besides, he kept looking in your direction all the time.”
A “what?” slipped past your mouth, making Mingyu laugh. “Well, it looks like he’s not the only one who’s a bit in love,” you smacked him on his shoulder. “I’m not in love, and neither is he.”
“Sure. Let’s get back to that when you’re at HYBE visiting your boyfriend,” he winked and walked away, leaving you stunned and speechless.
“Okay guys, let’s wrap this up and get the bouquets which we really came here for,” said Seokmin, grabbing the first vase.
“Remember to keep the tulips in full sun and to put the magnolias in water first thing when you get home,” you said, carefully helping them with each bouquet. “Seokmin, don’t hold them so tightly, you’ll break them,” you scolded your friend.
“How come all of the gym rats came to help with something as delicate as flowers,” Seokmin wondered, shifting his grip on the flowers. “I’m not a gym rat,” Joshua said, earning a swat on the shoulder from Seungcheol.
Saying your final goodbyes, each of the boys left with a bouquet, chatting and evidently more happy than you were. You tried to find Seungcheol amongst them, to take one last look, but he was nowhere to be seen.
You hugged Seokmin as he was the last to leave. “Our leader must really like you,” he whispered to you quickly, running away with a laugh before you could reply.
Closing the shop after them, you returned to the counter only to be met with a single dahlia laying there with a piece of paper next to it.
“The flowers are really pretty, but I think you’re the prettiest.”
taglist (if you want to be added, check my masterlist): @weird-bookworm @sea-moon-star @hanniehaee @wonwooz1 @byprettymar @edgaralienpoe @staranghae @eightlightstar @itza-meee @immabecreepin @hyneyedfiz @honestlydopetree @dkswife
#seventeen x you#svt reactions#seventeen#seventeen imagines#seventeen reactions#seventeen x reader#seventeen fluff#seventeen carat#seventeen kpop#svt fluff#svt smut#scoups#seventeen seungcheol#choi seungcheol#seungcheol x reader#seungcheol x you#seungcheol x y/n#seungcheol fluff#seungcheol fanfic#svt#cheol#seventeen scenarios#seventeen reaction#scoups fluff#seungcheol imagines
726 notes
·
View notes
Text
Accenting the Fae
~1.6k words
A zero context thing I wrote for a Fairy!Eddie Au I came up with,,, yesterday? Recently. Enjoy! Or don't!
🍃🌼🌷🌻🪻🌺🍃🌼🌷🌻🪻🌺🍃🌼🌷🌻🪻🌺🍃
White Pines towered overhead, shading the ground cover beneath. The overgrown vines and leaves made traversal difficult for Grace. Luckily what she was looking for would be on the ground, so keeping her head low had some benefits at least.
Although, thinking about it now, Grace doubted it would be covered up by all these vines. Weren't they usually out in the open? Like in a-
A clearing. Like the one right in front her. The brush ended suddenly and Grace looked up to see a wide, sunlit patch surrounded by trees and thicket. It was radiant, the open sky above shone onto bright grass and wildflowers reflecting the light from the morning dew. In the center of it all there was a circle of red and purple mushrooms. It was gorgeous, but it's fantastical beauty put Grace on edge. She had found it.
Grace hesitated. Could this really work? Was coming out here a mistake? What if she messed up and bit off more than she could chew? What if nothing happened at all and she skipped school for nothing? It was too late now, Grace reasoned to herself, she'd been walking for hours to find this. It had to work. She walked into the clearing, standing under the sun.
With one more deep breath, Grace stepped into the circle. The ground under her boots felt the same as the ground outside the ring, soft and unassuming. After a moment of nothing she turned and nearly stepped out but as soon as she lifted her foot she felt a tug.
The breeze picked up, Grace watched the blades of grass sway and leaves swirl around the clearing. Then all at once, it stopped. She felt a presence behind her, one that left a tingling sensation in her mind. She didn't move, unsure if she should dare to do so.
"Hello?" A gentle, deep voice rang behind the teenage girl, "I can't talk to you when your back is turned." The presence laughed gently, airily without a care.
Grace turned around. Be respectful, be polite, use those Southern manners.
"Sorry, The wind distracted me," It wasn't a lie, she was temporarily mesmerized by the display.
Now that Grace was facing the source of the voice she could get a good look at him. The Faerie standing with her had curly red hair that looked cloud soft. Orange felt with a yellow triangular nose surrounded by light freckles. His bright violet eyes were lidded in a gentle, calming demeanor, his eyelids themselves were only a few shades lighter. Full, long lashes completed the beautiful draw to his eyes. But Grace knew not to stare.
He tilted his head and smiled almost sheepishly, "Oh that's alright. I can get distracted by little things too."
Grace nodded, unsure of what to say. Or where to begin. Luckily, the Fae seemed to understand that struggle as well.
"May I help you?" He continued, "You seem to want something, am I correct?"
"You may help me," Grace chose her words carefully, "I don't need somethin’ from ya, I actually would like ya to take somethin’ specific." Here it comes. Mentally, she crossed her fingers.
"Is that so? What would you like me to take, sweetheart?" The endearment dripped with a saccharine sweetness, it was impossible to tell if it's artificial or not.
"I would like for you, Fae, to take my accent," Grace's voice quivered as she finally made her request. She begs to whatever may be above that he responds well.
The Fae looked confused and stayed quiet. Seeming to think it over.
As Grace waited in nauseating anticipation, she couldn’t help but think back to why she was doing this. Life was fine back in Texas. She had friends, close family, and everyone talked the same talk. But since her parents dragged her upstate, she's been miserable. The mockery, insults, and bullying was too much to bare. And it wall all over her voice, her accent, and where she came from. Her parents did nothing, the teachers did nothing. Hell, her English teacher was constantly correcting her pronunciation every other word. She hated it. She hated her heavy accent and the trouble that came with it.
"Why should I take your accent? What can I do with it?" The Fae broke the quiet, startling the other in the circle. His soft cadence never changed, but a lilt of confusion was clear.
Grace thought for a moment, she didn't quite think of that. She had assumed it would be like giving him her name or voice. He would just take it to have it.
"Well, ya could use it yourself, if ya like. Or maybe give it to someone else?" That made sense, at least to Grace, but she couldn't be too confident.
"I suppose you're right, child," The Fae hummed, "I do like the sound of your accent, and I may use it. But tell me, why do you want to part with it?"
"I want to give ya my accent because I don't like it. I am thankful you do, it’s all the more reason to give it away." Even if she thought it was, Grace tried not to make her accent seem worthless.
The Fae thought over the girl's answer, a sad look crossing his face.
"You poor thing," The Faerie sighed, "I will take your accent but I would like to give you something in return. Is there anything you want?"
"Thank you. And Yes, I would like to leave the forest safely, please, so I can get home." Grace didn't want anything, honestly, but knew it was best to take the trade. He was kind enough to offer and it would be rude to refuse. Also, she really didn’t want to go through all those roots and vines again.
The Fae nodded, curls bouncing gently with the motion, "Of course. You will return home safely, and in return I get your accent."
There was a tightness in Grace's throat that left her unable to speak. The Fae in front her motioned her closer, cupping her face once in reach. He studied her, turning her chin up as though to get a good look of her neck. Another bounce of red curls told Grace he nodded again, for what reason, she had no clue. The constriction in her throat was uncomfortable yet she was somehow able to breathe just fine. He titled her head back down and patted her cheeks. After doing so the feeling vanished and she swallowed.
"How's that?" The Fae asked, with a new rich tone accompanying that of a typical Texan accent. He did it.
Grace could only stare upon hearing his voice. Quickly, when his brows furrowed, she remembered to speak.
"It's," Grace paused stunned once more hearing herself, "Different. Thank you." Her shoulders dropped in relief, she can't believe it worked.
"You're welcome," The Faerie smiled, "Now get yourself home, darlin'. You're supposed to be in school."
"Yes, of course. Goodbye," Grace ended the interaction, ready to leave the nerve wracking moment behind.
She took one step backwards, but was stopped by his voice.
"Darn it, I almost forgot somethin'." The Fae pointed at her, like a scolding parent, "You, missy, should never do this again."
"Wha-"
"No," He interrupted, "What you did was reckless, had any other Folk shown up you'd be left with nothin' but that pretty head of hair. You're lucky I ain't so particular 'bout these sorts of things."
The Fae sighed, his expression returning to that sad look from earlier. "I'll give ya some credit, ya did some things right, but it wasn't perfect. And that imperfection is what gets ya into trouble."
Grace nodded, it was all she do. She was more or less fully shell shocked by now. This Fae, of all creatures, was scolding her behavior just like her mother would.
The Faerie nodded in return, taking a step back himself. The wind picked up once more, slower this time.
His eyes grew dark, "Don't. Do it again." The Fae waved her off with a stern, but polite, goodbye, shooing her outside the circle.
Grace stumbled backwards out, the wind kicked into gear the second her foot landed. She closed her eyes as her hair blew in her face, the wind was much stronger outside the ring than she thought.
Then it stopped. Grace's hair fell in her face, now a complete mess. She opened her eyes to... nothing. The fairy ring was gone, with no evidence of it ever having been there at all. The whole thing felt surreal. Had it even happened? Grace spoke the question aloud to find her answer.
A perfect, upstate accent fell from Grace's lips. It only just occurred to her she never said what accent she wanted instead. She could've gotten something worse, but she guessed it had been the doing of the Fae that was kind enough to give her this one.
Grace took one last look towards the sky, it was clearer than it had been before. Not a cloud in sight. She breathed a deep sigh of relief, glad for it to all be over.
Turning around, Grace started her venture home. Along the way she found a trail that led her safely out to the edge of the forest where she had entered. A trail that definitely hadn’t been there before. Mentally, she thanked the kind Fae one more time.
Grace really didn't like that expression he made before leaving. She didn't know him, but that serious, almost threatening demeanor didn't suit his eyes. She didn't want to know what would happen if she went against the Fae’s wishes, and she didn't want to find out either.
She's never going near a Fairy Ring again, that was for sure.
#whats this? me writing at 1am?#This whole thing is my way of explaining why eddie has his accent in this au btw#bc to me just. a fae that sounds like he's from texas for no reason is weird lol#PLEASE ignore any mistake typos etc#i should not be awake rn <3#but i was having fun sigh#dizzcanwrite#welcome home#eddie dear#welcome home au#fairy eddie au#the. the longer i look at this the more i hate it#burn it burn it#Im going to sleep <3#... ya know what im queuing this#dizzying queue
5 notes
·
View notes
Text
Cottagecore MC x The Undateables (Pt. II)
The demon brothers weren’t the only people who had become attached to you during your stay in the Devildom.
The first person besides the brothers who had taken a liking to you was none other than Lord Diavolo himself. Upon seeing you in all of your timid and soft glory, with the scent of light perfume and tea leaves trailing after you and the illusion of roses blooming under your skin from how pink your cute cheeks were, he’d immediately decided that he liked you, chuckling and commenting on how there couldn’t possibly a human cuter than you upon your arrival to the Devildom. You had flushed at this, ducking your head down, doll lashes obscuring your sweet eyes, panicked and flustered and unsure how to respond.
However, after your initial awkwardness around Diavolo, you realized that he was absolutely marvelous as a companion and a friend.
Diavolo was a kindred spirit to you, in a sense — the woodland animals (if you could call them that) of the Devildom seemed to flock to him like he was a cartoon princess, and he was as sweet, gentle, and caring as an angel would be. However, you had noticed that he wasn’t very in touch with nature; seldom did he ever go outside for any reason other than getting from place to place, and the only person besides you who ventured into the castle gardens was Barbatos, the stoic butler. He had felt no need to explore nature, and that did confuse you a bit and make it harder for you to communicate with him, but you dismissed it, as you did with everyone who didn’t really like to be in touch with nature as much as you did.
But one day, when you were spending time lounging in the gardens with a good book and a warm cup of lavender tea, you were pleasantly surprised to see him walk through the ornate door. He’d walked over to you, his nervous demeanor and fidgety fingers an accursed opposition to his status as the future ruler of the Devildom. However, you had sat up, dusted the crumbs of your strawberry thumbprint cookies off of your flowy skirt, and invited him to sit with you, your gentle and sweet smile an invitation that he simply couldn’t refuse. When you had asked him why he was in the gardens, he confessed with an air of nervousness that he’d been looking for you, simply because your demeanor and your aura was one that he felt immense comfort and relaxation in. You had felt flattered at this, of course, but you laughed lightly at his wording. You explained to him that the soothing feeling he had around you was one that came when one was especially connected to nature. Nature was something that served as a bridge between man and the world, and your extraordinary connection to it had enchanted your energies and made you somewhat of a docile force of nature. In order to feel this more often, even when you weren’t around, you explained calmly as you offered him a few of your cookies, he should form a deeper connection with nature.
You had taken his hand in your smaller one to take him up to your cottage in the human world, the calluses on his hands reminding you of the sun baked river pebbles you had collected and stored in a mason jar on your shelf, and he’d been glancing around like an excited puppy upon your arrival into the forest, pointing out the moss climbing up the tall trunks of your friends, the trees, and the vibrant color of your sisters, the wildflowers. He’d been generous in talking about how beautiful your brothers and sisters, the mushrooms and the flowers, were, and you could feel them all blushing under his immense praise. You yourself couldn’t stop your smile as you took him to your cottage. After spending some time in the sunlit kitchen, you baking while he talked about how lovely the forest was, you two left the cottage and made your way down a winding cobblestone path that you seemed to know like the back of your hand, making way to a stretching meadow covered in wildflowers and lush grass. Trees arched overhead, filtering a crystal blue sky. You two chewed on the huge warm croissants you’d made not five minutes ago, hands intertwined as you strolled through the meadow. The bumblebees and ladybugs seemed to notice your presence and buzzed over to you, and he had let out a small exclamation of delight when one landed on your nose briefly, as if giving you a small kiss. He’d leaned over and given you a kiss where the ladybug had landed, right on the tip of your nose, and said that he’d read that ladybugs granted good luck, so maybe he could enhance that. You had flushed a pale pink and laughed lightly, amused. You two had strolled together for a while, basking in each other’s presence and just being in the moment, before he was summoned back for an urgent last minute student council meeting. He, albeit reluctantly, had finished the last of his croissant and beckoned you to follow him into the portal that Barbatos had summoned, promising to do this again with you sometime. You, with your saccharine smile and understanding eyes, had nodded and told him that you would hold him to it. Nowadays, you would leave a few croissants at his doorstep in a hand woven wicker basket with a purple ribbon on the handle, a letter attached to the basket with a thin string, and he would always write you a thank you letter, accompanied by a gift that he saw you eyeing in the store windows at the human world market that you frequented. He remembered that you much preferred letters to texting, much to your silent but sweet delight, and he was more than willing to write to you whenever the mood struck.
Barbatos had found himself rather amused at your delicate presence, your enchanting yet gentle aura reminding him of a fragile fairy flitting about, sleeping among the grasses and lounging in seashells, combing your hair. However, one day, you had managed to startle him slightly when you asked him if he wanted to accompany you to the human world. You explained that before you had been sent down to the Devildom, there was a tea garden that you would visit often, hidden away from most and becoming a haven for any traveler lucky enough to stumble upon it. Sometimes, the nymphs hailing from the twisting stream a few strides away from your cottage would walk in, all giggles and breezy laughs as they snacked on biscuits and rosepetal honey, their silky gowns dripping water across the floor. Other days, you would walk in to find the ram-horned general that guarded the fairy queen’s throne chewing on cute heart shaped jam cookies, dressed in his full suit of armor, or the white hare with five leverets around her, always dressed in a lacy blouse and two blue bows, chewing on her macarons with a wistful grace as she spoke gently about her children. Sometimes, you would start a conversation with the stern old man with skin like the bark of a tree who ordered a glass of wine and lemon bars every time, or the butterfly winged flower dwellers would pull you over to share gossip. You enjoyed the company you found there, and you wanted to share the joy and domesticity you felt with Barbatos, who seemed too cold and pent up to truly feel known, seen, loved. So when you walked with him through the portal and down the silver path only revealed under the luminous moonlight, you found your fingers intertwining with his as you walked, talking idly about your experience in the Devildom. He didn’t react much to the small action, but the white cat with piercing blue eyes who you fed a handful of blueberries one time whispers to you from a tree branch above, saying that Barbatos is enjoying himself. You smile at the feline’s words and squeeze Barbatos’ hand as you make your way into the tea garden. You take a seat by the window, pulling out his seat for him as you smile softly. The owner, a witch with feathers in her hair and a strange likeness to the portrait of a grand dame from the 1700s that nobody really questions and a necklace that dangles with a family jewel that she doesn’t speak of, approaches your table with her kind smile and her wooden tray already holding your usual order; a slice of strawberry rose cake enchanted with the sweet sugary dust that the pixies left behind as their wings shedded, and a glass of a light sparkling drink that shimmered a faint purple and tasted like springtime. One look at Barbatos, and she seemed to know exactly what he wanted. She soon arrived back to your table with a matcha latte in a dark cyan mug with a pawprint pattern and a slice of her signature cinnamon pie. He had thanked her politely, and she had huffed and told him to relax a bit more with a motherly smile before turning to serve others, long black robes floating off the ground slightly as she walked. After you two had finished your food and left, he admitted that he’d enjoyed spending time with you, and that he’d take you here again soon, if only to both see your gentle smile and to honor the promise he’d made to the small frog that held a tiny guitar and sat on the windowsill who he’d become acquainted with.
Spending time with those living in Purgatory Hall turned out to be quite an experience. They had naturally been drawn in by your gentle angel-like appearance, but when they found out you had a sweet personality and a shimmering smile to match, they were quick to show you welcome and adoration.
Solomon was fond of you, mostly because of the magic you harbored within you. You were a mysterious entity, a being whose magical abilities seemed far too powerful for someone as docile and innocent as you, but his little theory was quickly disproven once he voiced it to you and you spoke angrily to him about how you were not some tame little porcelain doll before you dumped your basket of baguettes on his head out of anger and stomped away with a huff, fingers holding up the flowy skirts of your favorite sundress with a vice grip. You later apologized for your actions, and he dismissed it with an air of nonchalance, although the crumbs in his hair and the wrinkles on your skirt were proof that he shouldn’t call you innocent or docile, even if he still harbored those thoughts somewhere in his head. After the incident, you two had proven to be rather good friends, showing off magic to each other during free periods. He would show you runes and spells that he could perform, and you would watch in awe as he covered a room in sparkling lights or turned someone’s figure into a marigold orange or a baby pink. You seemed to like the sparkly and showy spells more, but anytime he performed his spells outdoors, you would let out a yelp and quickly check on the plants and soil nearby to see if they were harmed by the magical properties of his spells. He would always assure you that no, his spells couldn’t harm the nature of any of the three realms unless he willed it to, but you were still anxious about it, always fretting over the fallen leaves and the grassy fields that he demonstrated on. In return, you showed him how to enchant your baked goods and items that you collected. You had been given a jar of honey and a porcelain teacup as an inheritance from the last fairy queen, who tragically passed on “under strange circumstances”, and a lone wizard no older than you who had drank by himself in the corner during the wake of the fairy queen’s funeral showed you how to enchant it, as well as a few other spells. When you had asked him why, he said that he was going to pass soon of an unknown heretic condition, and that he might as well give up his knowledge to another person who seemed so gentle and beautiful. After speaking with him some more, you had made yourself tea after the funeral and added the rich wildflower-infused honey to it, and when you had drank from the gold-rimmed teacup decorated with birds and blossoms, your singing had become sweet and enchanting, able to cause beasts to fall into deep slumbers and flowers to bloom all around you, the tides rising and falling at your command. When you had sang for him one time, it was in the forest while you two were looking for herbs with magical properties — he was looking for the bark of a blackthorn tree and shining willow for a potion he hadn’t tried yet while you searched for juniper berries and ginseng roots to enchant your pastries. He was enamored with your voice, and although the magical properties that had graced your chords had no effect on him, he was still charmed by your song and softly asked for an encore, which you did with flushed cheeks. All in all, you were lovely company to him, and he liked being around you, if only to hear your gentle voice again.
Simeon enjoyed the moments he got to spend with you. Like you, he was more in touch with nature than technology, but you often found yourself showing him how to fix the simpler functions on his D.D.D, such as the caps lock or the brightness or the volume. You two would often travel to the human world to frolic in the golden fields near your cottage, or you would spend time on the roof of said cottage with him, writing flowery poetry to read to the moon from the cottage window. You both were good at writing, but you could hone in on the littlest details about a person or a setting, while he tended to focus more on prose and plot. Solomon had joked that you and him should write a book together someday and that it would sell for eons across the three realms, unaware of the fact that you two absolutely loved writing together under the speckling moonlight. While he could whisper his words to his delicate gold-trim paper and charm it to write whatever he said in fine print, you preferred writing on your worn parchment with a fluffy white quill pen. He would take the opportunity of his free hands to place one atop your hand that wasn’t writing, and you would halt your writing briefly before continuing with flushed cheeks that were clear as day under the moon’s sweet smile. He would always chuckle at you before turning his face back to admiring the radiant celestial being in the sky, but whenever you paused to glance up at him, enthralled by his otherworldly beauty, he would turn back to you as if he could see you without looking at you, and he would give you a little wink. Often, the night would end in you two quietly reading to each other and the moon, voices soft and gentle as you curled up in his arms, skin brushing against each other every now and then, causing a slight shiver to run up your spine and arms, to which he would chuckle lightly. Sometimes, if you two arrived early, you would spend the time picking berries and fruits with him in the forest, and you would snack on them while you wrote. The juices of the sweet foods would stain the parchment most of the time, and they would imprint a sweet scent into the papers. Other times, if you were lucky enough to get to the human realm even earlier, you would take the berries and fruits that had been collected, and you would bake biscuits and tarts with him, sharing them with him and having him feed pieces of them to you on the cozy porch of your cottage while you wrote. Your voice was a heavenly idyllic thing that he treasured, wanted to pluck a piece of and keep in a little glass box, just to have a small piece of you wherever he went. You were someone he adored dearly, and he wanted to be the cause of that innocuous twinkle in your eye, wanted to be the catalyst of that gentle smile you wore like a second skin, always brightening the world around you, natural and beautiful and serene as could be. Or perhaps you wore it as a cloak, a mask to conceal your inner turmoils and sufferings, your deepest pains and fears. Oh, how it pained him to see your broken expression when people mercilessly killed off acres and acres of the forests for their own selfish gain, or when someone pushed you away in disgust and told you that you were nothing more than a horrid blot on the imperfect world. You looked so broken when you cried, and it was a heart wrenching sight that only fueled his want, his desperate need to take your cherubic cheeks in his slender hands, to kiss your eyelids and the crown of your head and hold you gently, sweetly to his chest, to whisper soft reassurances to you and be your pillar of support. No amount of eloquently woven words could express how much you meant to him, and he was willing to wipe away all of your tears and kiss your eyelids and the crown of your head until his lips went numb if it meant that he saw that broken expression one moment less.
Luke absolutely adored you. You were so cute and sweet, and you smelled like sunshine and flowers, and not only did you never call him ‘Fido’ or ‘chihuahua’, but you actually stood up to the brothers and told them (albeit rather gently) to stop when they compared him to a dog or they barked at him in that stupid condescending tone! He was one hundred percent certain that you were an angel of some sort, and he would do anything to keep your sweet and pure presence around him. He would latch onto your side possessively when you two walked together between classes, holding your index and middle finger with his hand while he sent out the most intimidating glare he could muster to any demon who dared to so much as look at you funny, as opposed to the sweet smile you would offer to anyone who locked eyes with you for more than a second. You supposed that, given his appearance, his “most intimidating glare” wasn’t very intimidating — the demons he narrowed his eyes at probably saw his glare and his refusal to leave your side as him hiding behind you, glancing and staring warily at the demons in fear. You were too nice and sweet to be hanging around “those scummy, horrifying, lowest of the low demons”, according to him, and he was dead set on keeping you from being “corrupted and brought down to be tormented more by those selfish creatures”. You would simply laugh your kind and airy laugh before squeezing his hand gently as best you could and reassuring him that you could protect yourself, but you would always fall back on a powerful angel like Luke, to which he preened at the praise and declared that he would always protect you. He was always in awe of you, from your ethereal deity-like appearance of gentle smiles and long flowy dresses and the scent of honey and perfection, to your connection to nature and the way the rocks and the spindly trees seemed to be your brothers, the moon your mother and the wildflowers and rushing stream your sisters, no matter the realm. You were like an otherworldly spirit of the woods, and your grandiose stories and elegant tales of the fairy queen with huge pearlescent wings and her beautiful kingdom always made him visualize you as the sweet and loving fairy queen. One thing he would always put away time for was baking with you. Once he learned that you could bake since you were a child, he was quick to drag you to Purgatory Hall, pulling you into the kitchen and begging you to bake something with him. You had laughed, light and breezy, and calmed him down with a few reassuring head pats before looking through the kitchen cabinets to see if you could find any ingredients that you were familiar with. You found the necessities after a while and nodded for him to join you, his arms full of Celestial Realm ingredients that Simeon had brought down for him. You two baked together, chattering amongst yourselves animatedly as you filled the kitchen with a sweet scent that you’d never smelled before. You were more than happy to talk to him about anything his little heart desired to ramble on about, from his duties as an angel to his favorite treats to bake. You had ended up making your famous ‘night sky’ blueberry and lemon pie that animals from all over the forest would flock to your cottage to have a piece of, as well as glazed lavender honey cookies, complete with a small mason jar of your favorite jam when you were a child, the strawberry and lemon ‘Aphrodite’s Love Jam’. He, in turn, had made what was called Moon Rabbit Cookies in the Celestial Realm, which were dolloped with a shimmery cream and dusted with a pearlescent sugar-like substance that seemed to glow under the lighting of the kitchen lamps, along with the Selcouth Cakes that he’d perfected only recently. They seemed to shift from peachy orange to baby pink to a myriad of other colors, and he explained that the flavors were unknown and depended solely on the consumer’s energies and ethereal aura. When you had tried the small mug-sized cakes, the taste of mint and steeped mountain snow had cooled your tongue and relieved you of the drops
of perspiration that had formed on your forehead during the baking session. Another bite had the taste of strawberries and brown buttercream melting in your mouth and causing you to let out a soft him of nostalgia. He’d tried your cookies with a small spoon of jam and had exclaimed in delight, mouth still full, and immediately swallowed his bite and yelled for Simeon and Solomon to get into the kitchen and try your baking. They’d all joined you, and you all had had fun spending time together and snacking on baked goods, but only you caught the small beaming smile that Luke shot you, and only he saw the sweet and gentle smile that you had returned it with, the faintest trace of pomegranate juice on the corner of his mouth. That moment was when he’d sworn to be your one and only Guardian Angel, here and thus.
You had somehow managed to worm your way into the hearts of not only seven of some of the most powerful demons in the Devildom, but you had also managed to befriend the future ruler of hell, his butler, two angels, and an all powerful sorcerer king with over seventy two demons at his beck and call. You enjoyed their company, naive and sweet and oblivious to the way they would glare harshly at anybody who looked at you wrong or tried to touch you in any way that seemed unfriendly. No, you would go on about your day with a sweet idyllic smile, unaware of the trails of blood your protectors left behind you.
It was almost ironic — the most destructive catalyst in the Devildom wore a long flowy summerdress and a kind smile wherever they went.
You truly were something else.
#obey me#swd#obey me swd#shall we date#obey me shall we date#obey me mc#mc#obey me simeon#simeon#obey me luke#luke#obey me solomon#solomon#obey me diavolo#obey me dia#diavolo#dia#obey me barbatos#barbatos#fanfiction#cottagecore#hc#headcanon#obey me fanfic#obey me fanfiction#obey me hc#obey me headcanons#obey me headcanon#obey me hcs#obey me fanfics
94 notes
·
View notes
Text
Fairy Prince
Pairing: Bakugo Katsuki x fem!reader
Genre: fluff
Authors note: It was a fun idea I had. I think Bakugo would make the cutest fairy prince. Pertaining to the more mischievous fairy trope.
Among the brambles and leaves... between the veils of two worlds... there was a kingdom.
Y/n was familiar with this kingdom, their people equipped with fluttering wings that were unfamiliar to her.
She found him one day, that rough and tumble boy. His wings were in disarray. The thin material, almost clear, was torn.
“A fairy...?” She had murmured to him after she freed him of the thorned trap set by a hunter.
“What’s it to ya?” He glared at her.
“Oh nothing, I’m just... surprised...” she whispered. He was much bigger than any fairy she had been told about as a child. He stood at about the same height the average teenage boy would.
“Are you a prince?” She wondered with awe as she noticed the spiked crown that sat upon his head, the spear-like tips peeking out of his wild blonde hair.
The boy had answered her question with a grumble and a nod and after y/n had finished patching him up, they made a deal.
You see, he was in her debt now. She’d saved him and his wings.
But all y/n asked for in return was time.
“Time?” The blonde raised an eyebrow.
“Time... Time with you.” Y/n nodded.
“With me? Why?” He squinted at her.
“I want to learn things...” She muttered. It wasn’t often a human got a peek at the hidden kingdom. Almost everyone knew about it but no one had found where it was.
“And... you’re... kinda cute.” She mumbled. He’d scoffed at her strange suggestion.
“Fine. My kingdom has to stay or secret though, or else.” He threatened through clenched teeth.
“Understood.” Y/n nodded with a smile.
•
•
•
•
After many, many months spent visiting each other, y/n had gotten accustomed to the tricky ways of Bakugo Katsuki. Though he was a prince, he didn’t act in the princely way she was accustomed to.
But maybe she liked him better that way.
And there she stood, soaking wet in the doorway of her house with a cackling Katsuki on the floor.
“How many times are you going to pull that trick?” Y/n asked as she stomped over to grab a towel, nudging the now-empty bucket that had been sitting on the doorframe.
“How many times are you gonna fall for it?!” Katsuki shouted, his nose scrunching as he let out another bellowing laugh.
“Whatever...” y/n muttered.
“I'm surprised you came today... not bored of me yet?” She asked, drying her hair with the towel.
“I’m... just upholding my part of the deal.” He grumbled, crossing his arms.
“Uhuh.” Y/n rolled her eyes with a smile.
“I’m going to head back outside to dry in the sun. You can join me if you want.” She said, opening the front door again. The prince followed after her, his wings fluttering as he stepped down onto the grass outside her home.
“This is a nice spot, hm?” Y/n giggled, laying down in the seemingly endless fields that surrounded her home. She heard the shuffle of Katsuki’s feet as he moved to lay beside her on his stomach as not to damage his wings.
The warm sun beamed down upon them as a cool breeze blew. Y/n let out a sigh, turning to look at Katsuki. Her eyes met his sunlit ruby ones. She inhaled softly, slightly surprised that he had already been gazing at her.
She reached out to brush away the wildflowers that were caressing his cheek in the wind. His eyes followed her movements until she pulled her hand back.
Y/n smiled at the sleepy look he was giving her. His wings lifted from his back, moving like a butterfly’s would after leaving its cocoon. She turned her attention towards them, watching the sun glitter through his iridescent wings.
Y/n moved to lay on her side. Facing Katsuki now, she reached out to brush some of his hair out of his eyes. In return, Katsuki’s eyes fluttered closed.
”You’re being awfully calm today...” y/n whispered, her fingers lingering on his cheek for a moment.
”What’s that supposed to mean?” Katsuki muttered, his eyes remaining closed.
”I mean, you’re not shouting at me.” y/n laughed softly.
”I don't shout at you.” Katsuki scoffed.
”Yes you do!” y/n laughed, nudging his arm playfully.
”Only when you’re being an idiot, which is all the time.” Katsuki’s lips turned up into a cheeky smile.
”Oh ha, ha very funny.” y/n chuckled, rolling her eyes. Katsuki shuffled to lay on his side, facing her. His wings splayed out behind him lazily.
Y/n admired his features. His slightly parted lips, the occasional spot on his sunkissed skin, the few blonde eyelashes he had.
”You’re very pretty, Katsuki.” y/n whispered. His eyes opened, focusing on hers.
”Hah?” he quirked an eyebrow.
”Pretty, you're very pretty.” y/n whispered again. A light blush dusted his cheeks. He blinked quickly before looking away.
”Thank... Thank you.” He muttered quietly, so quiet y/n barely heard.
”Hey...” y/n’s eyebrows furrowed as she turned to look at the sky.
”Hm.” Katsuki let out a soft noise, letting her know he was interested in whatever she had to say.
”What are we..?” y/n pressed her lips together with nervousness. She’d been pondering this question for a while. She couldn't shake the feeling that there was something between them.
Katsuki was silent, his eyebrows furrowing as he thought about her question.
”What kinda question is that?” he muttered.
”Do you like me?” y/n asked, her gaze returning to his as she scooted closer to him. Katsuki went red, an emotion that looked to be a mix of flustered and frustrated was on his face.
”I... Guess I don't mind you.” he grumbled, wings fluttering behind him. Y/n chewed her bottom lip. She closed her eyes and sighed before opening her mouth to speak again.
”Do you have feelings for me?” She tried again. Katsuki’s eyes returned to hers. He pursed his lips, his heart catching in his throat as he struggled for an answer.
Did he like her?
Stupid question. Of course, he did. She was fun to hang out with. She put up with his stupid tricks, had a great sense of humor. She was smart, she was witty.
And god was she cute.
All her little habits. That little smile that would build on her lips before she laughed.
He was hooked on that smile.
”I need an answer Katsuki. Sometime today, dude.” y/n blinked.
”Shut up!” He had been torn from his little daydream. Y/n brought a hand up to her face.
”That's not an answer.” She groaned.
”Yes.” He muttered.
”What?” Y/n squinted at him, now confused.
”Yes!” He glared at her.
” I don't underst-”
”YES! I HAVE FEELINGS FOR YOU!” he shouted, rising to sit on his knees, his crown tumbling off in the process. Y/n rose to her knees as well, pushing herself off the grass with her elbows. Her heart was beating a mile a minute as she grabbed his crown and placed it back on his head shakily.
“Y-you do, huh?” She asked, cheeks red.
“Yeah.” He glared back, face as red as hers.
“I-it makes sense... we’ve kissed... what, twice?” Y/n muttered.
“You’re bringing that up now?” Bakugo grumbled.
“Remember? That time in the silo and then the other time back at your room in the palace...?”
“YA DON’T NEED TO REMIND ME!“
“And then that time you confessed to me in the field in front of my house,” Y/n said in a serious tone, holding back a smile.
“Wh- huh?! You’re not making any damn sen-“
Y/n leaned forward, capturing Katsuki’s lips. His eyes widened, blushing to his ears as his wings fluttered. Y/n smiled against his lips. They were softer than she’d imagined. She pulled away slowly, looking up into his eyes as they opened slowly.
“How was that?” She whispered with a smile.
“F-fine.” He muttered back.
“Just “fine”?” Y/n tilted her head.
“I guess... I wouldn’t mind if you did it again...” His rough voice dipped down into the closest thing to a whisper it could.
Katsuki’s crown tilted to rest at a crooked angle as the two of them leaned together once more.
Y/n sighed against his lips, her hands finding his own, fingers intertwining.
He was always warm.
There wasn’t a word to describe what it was like to be with him.
His presence was recognizable, that familiar warmth.
That familiar scent.
Golden hair shimmering in the sun.
Strong hands holding hers.
Oh, he was lovely.
#bnha fanfiction#mha fanfiction#x reader#bnha#fanfic#bakugou katsuki#bakugou imagine#katsuki bakugo imagine#katsuki bakugo x reader#mha katsuki#katsukibakugou
47 notes
·
View notes
Photo
Be Gentle
An Ikevamp Leonardo story, featuring mostly le Comte and Sebas! Approx. 1000 words of FLUFF!
This scene would occur between Ch. 11 and 12, because I can’t believe le Comte would sit back and let things happen without a little shove here and there.
First: That First Night
Previous: For the Best
Comte intended to set aside a few hours each day to spend with his little beauty. After all, if Leonardo did not want her, someone ought to relieve her loneliness and boredom. But his experiments and research got in the way of his best intentions. The Great Work. Alchemy and esoterica - the study of the forces that moved the world. Of course, he could always solicit her assistance but he didn’t think she would handle such a transition of duties well.
Her shock at time travel, the existence of vampires, her raw fear . . . le Comte knew he was being a little unfair, but it was impossible to view the events from her position. He had never been anyone’s prey, and spent most of his life knowing more than any of his peers. Comte could only imagine her fear at learning her small, fragile existence was even less in her control than she thought.
Still, their last outing was three days past and he worried she might be lonely. If he could not involve her in his pursuits, then he ought to bring some entertainment to her. He recalled the way she smiled, the happy sound of her eating pain à la duchesse, her big eyes looking at all the shops . . . “Ah, ma cherie.”
Comte set down his alembic and turned off the flames and capped the philters and vials. The secrets of the universe could wait while he took the little beauty for another outing.
He followed the sound of her voice to the kitchen, where she sat across from Sebastian. They were polishing the silver. Sebas did it once a week for the full set, and each day for the dishes used. Such a dutiful butler - quite the surprise find, though Akihiko did not yet know the full reasons he was chosen for this position. One day, perhaps.
Normally, Comte frowned on eavesdropping but he couldn’t help himself wondering what the two mortals talked about when they were alone.
“I was just wondering if you had any more notes on Leonardo. That can’t be everything!”
Sebas took a long breath before replying. “No. It’s not everything. It’s everything in my notebooks. If you want more, I can point you to some excellent historical-”
The girl shook her head vehemently. “I don’t want to know what some stuffy history professor thinks about his accomplishments or travels or - or whatever! I want to know what HE thinks and wants and . . . what he likes.”
Comte nearly stepped in then. The heartbreak in her voice, the desperation, was impossible to ignore. He’d thought her infatuation was mild, merely the result of a young girl swept off her feet by an attractive, learned, older gentleman. Clearly it was much deeper than he suspected. She sounded like a woman in love.
“Ah Leo,” he whispered. “You are such a fool.”
In the kitchen, the conversation continued. “I’ve told you everything I know! He likes whiskey and cigarillos. Books. Apples.” Sebastian sounded exasperated.
“So I should what, bring him a tray of alcohol and cigarettes?” The girl’s tart voice was sharp now.
“Maybe?” Sebas laughed. “You could take him a snack? He hasn’t been to a meal in the dining room in days.”
“Not since the library,” the girl muttered.
“The library?” Comte mouthed, curious what may have happened between the two. Leo had been close-mouthed and a gentleman didn’t pry into a lady’s affairs.
He coughed and bumped his foot against the door to the kitchen to announce his presence before walking in.
“Ma cherie,” le Comte gave her a little bow and nodded to Sebas. “May I have a moment?”
“I need to deliver Mozart’s coffee,” Sebastian offered, though there was no hot coffee prepared.
The girl stood, straightening her skirt nervously. Even after their outing she held a certain fear of the vampire, though he doubted even she could say why. Perhaps simply the instinct of the lamb when the wolf is about.
“That will be quite alright, Sebas. No need to rush out. I wanted to ask ma cherie out for a short walk.” Comte smiled and offered her his arm. She took it, offering him a slight upturn of her lips.
Neither of them said anything as he guided her out past the gardens and the stable. Beyond lay the forest, kept in trust again farmers and builders that would shatter the serenity of an ancient wood.
When they were quite away from the house and the sounds of people, le Comte glanced down at the girl to see how she was. Her expressive features always gave her emotions away. In this moment, he could tell she was pensive, thoughtful, and still a bit anxious. Her wide eyes took in the thick tree trunks and mossy stones, the rare sun peering through the overhead boughs.
“I wanted to show you my forest, ma cherie. It is why I chose to build my mansion here when I decided to live in France.”
“This? It is beautiful but why? Is it special to you?”
Her direct questions were so refreshing. Comte nodded. “It is. There are few forests left like this.” He inhaled the sweet aroma of rotting leaves and the delicate floral scent of the girl’s skin. Though he had no intention of biting her - Leonardo would never forgive it - he could not help but wonder what she tasted like.
“You’re looking at me strangely.”
“My apologies, ma cherie. I was thinking.”
She gestured to one of the old grandfather oaks. “About this place?”
“About you. You’ve grown quite close to some of my dear friends.”
“You mean Leonardo.”
Comte nodded. “I do. What is it, if I may ask, that you want from him?”
She chewed at her lip in thought, her hands fiddling with the fabric of her dress. When she finally answered, her voice was quiet, but determined. “I want to know him better. I want to know all about him. I want to see him and tou-to spend time with him.”
The vampire did not miss the stumble in her words, certain she had been about to say touch.
Comte turned them around and headed back in the direction of the garden. It was unfortunate she was already so attached. When they reached the edge of the sunlit meadow where his tended land began, he took her by the shoulders and turned the girl to face him. “Be gentle with Leonardo, ma cherie. And patient.”
“I will be.”
Comte pressed a chaste kiss to her forehead and let her go.
Next: Kitty Promises
#ikemen vampire#ikevamp leonardo#ikemen leonardo#ikevamp leo#otome#otome guys#fanfic#fanfiction#fluff
46 notes
·
View notes
Text
𝒮𝓉𝑒𝓅 𝒷𝓎 𝒮𝓉𝑒𝓅 𝒯𝒽𝓇𝑜𝓊𝑔𝒽 𝐹𝑒𝒶𝓇
part one of an obi wan kenobi x senator!reader trilogy
summary: You save Obi Wan using the force, both of you are shook. You then strike a deal.
a/n: Surprise bitches it’s two days early!! This was based on this ask from a long-ass time ago and was reeeeally fun to write. There were a a lot of different routes I could’ve taken with the story, but I’m happy with where it went. Hope you guys are, too.
wordcount: 2071 (WHEW)
warnings: mild violence, semblance of a panic attack
taglist: @karasong @kaminobiwan @snips-n-skyguy0501 @captain-skytrash(let me know if you’d like to be tagged in this work, future Obi Wan works, or overall!)
The moment was brief, and yet it changed everything.
Your eyes had begun to burn from staring at the quivering blaster shot. The only sound was the deep reverberations of the force and your heavy, shaking breath. The man whom you’d risked your life for scrambled up, taking out the figure behind the gun before carefully stepping over to you.
He held up his hands in the cautious way one does when approaching a frightened animal. “Senator, you can let go,” he whispered, and it was as if those were the only words holding you together.
Your exhale came out as more of a sob. The blaster shot resumed its path, leaving a scorch mark in the Coruscanti marble floor of your quarters. The only thing keeping you from crumbling into panic was Obi Wan’s hands gripping your upper arms. You thought you felt him soothingly tracing small circles into your shoulder and you shook your head slightly to better focus on the situation at hand.
“Where did they come from, t-the assassin?” you spluttered as Obi Wan approached the body. He knelt by the body and glanced at the window, a look of suspicion painted on his face.
“I don’t recognize him. Must be working on his own, but we can’t be sure. I’ll meet with the council.” he said. A lump was forming in your throat as you chewed your lip, unable to tear your eyes away from the new lifeless decoration on the ground. Footsteps tapped across the marble closer to you. Obi Wan appeared in your tear-blurred vision, brows knit in concern. You had trouble meeting his eyes. You felt ashamed for showing weakness and fear of death in front of such a practiced and skilled warrior. Not only that, but a handsome warrior you’d grown fond of over the past months you’d been on Coruscant.
“Senator?” The world snapped back into your brain. After taking a deep breath into your aching lungs, you met his gaze. “The council will make sure that you’re safe. I will make sure that you’re safe,” he half-whispered. You nodded, staying silent out of the fear that your voice might crack and then the lid would be lifted off your terror.
You didn’t want someone so strong to see you so pathetically weak.
Obi Wan straightened as a few clones entered. “Increase security measures around her room. Don’t miss a corner, window, or ,” he ordered. As the clones exited, Obi Wan trailed behind, but not before sparing you one last reassuring look. A smile managed its way onto your face and you jutted your chin out to show an illusion of bravery. Although, as soon as the pair of doors closed, your knees buckled and you hit the floor harshly.
This was never part of your plan. You’d come from a struggling planet, Nuca, in hopes of providing resources and protection for your people, who had been struggling with invasive Seperatist forces for many moons. It had taken a year for you to gain any kind of respect from many fellow senators simply because you came from a world that wasn’t nearly as gaudy as the rest of them. Homesickness had simmered in you during the first month. Coruscant bore no semblance to Nuca’s tropical forests and low-lying volcanoes dusted with brilliant wildflowers. Instead, you were cornered by far too many shades of beige. You’d tried to grow a few of Nuca’s native plants in your quarters, but the change of climate caused them to wilt and crumble.
You hoped it wasn’t an omen.
Now your world had been thrown off-kilter. The Force was never something you’d concerned yourself with. You’d always believed it was meant for the Jedi and the Sith, a weapon wielded only by a chosen group. Senatorial duties had taken up so much of your day-to-day life that the Force and its influence almost never reached you. The only thing that exposed you to the mysteries of the Force was the Jedi Order. You’d become interested in one of their members recently. More specifically, it was the one that had touched your shoulder and looked at you with borderline-ardent affection just moments earlier.
Obi Wan had strolled onto your path just a few months ago. You’d been on more diplomatic off-world missions recently, which meant you were often flanked by a Jedi, but you definitely weren’t bothered. You weren’t bothered when you were accompanied by Obi Wan, at least. Missions and high-stress visits became less stressful in his presence. His clever humor and sarcasm almost caused a break in your composure numerous times, but you weren’t angry. Upon arriving, you’d usually be nervous, but his calm demeanor helped you take a deep breath and negotiate. His presence helped you find your footing.
Sometimes he would come dangerously close to catching you staring at him. Whether it was talking to a member of the council or standing in a LAAT/i, you couldn’t help but focus on him in all his mystery. He was commanding yet gentle, always making sure that you were comfortable although letting you handle tense conversations. Perhaps that’s what drew you to him: his trust in your abilities to negotiate. It was high, silent praise coming from ‘The Negotiator.’
Your head fell back as you stared wordlessly at the ceiling. There wasn’t time to reminisce, to hide away from your discovery. For now, it would have to be set aside. You had a meeting to get to. Even if an entire squadron of clones had to drag you out for your own safety, you had to at least show up. It was common courtesy.
After a year as a senator in the Galactic Republic, you’d learned to keep your chin up in the winding hallways of the senate building. Despite the blood pounding in your head and the sweat on your palms, the mask of determination on your face remained intact.
Once you entered the sunlit meeting room, the chatter of the other senators fell quiet. You set your jaw and locked eyes with a fellow senator, one whom you held a tremendous amount of respect for: Padmé Amidala.
“Senators, good afternoon. It seems the party has already begun without me. Please, continue,” you said, attempting to ease the tension. You really just wanted to move on from the earlier incident. It seemed that your colleagues didn’t share your eagerness, however.
Padmé uttered your name softly before she stood, giving you a pitying look. “Take the rest of the day. After the attempt on your life, you’re not in the mindset to focus on diplomacy.” She looked around at her fellow senators. “No one would.”
Her resolve nearly angered you. She was one of the strongest people you’d ever met, and somehow it still shocked you when she would stand her ground. “Senator Amidala, I’m perfectly alright. I am uninjured and ready to resume my duties,” you declared, breaking her gaze and sitting in your chair. You made sure to keep your back straight. Any sign of weakness after an assassination attempt would mean an immediate exile to your quarters, likely for the rest of the week.
Luckily, she backed off, lowering into her seat and squaring her shoulders. The room’s tension sank back into nothingness and you exhaled quietly.
As the meeting inched along past the two hour mark, you became lost in your own thoughts. Thoughts of your home ricocheted in your mind until suddenly, the sound of breaking glass lurched you back into the room. Every pair of eyes in the room locked on you as you felt your heart struggling to slip past your ribs. Then you noticed that you were no longer sitting, your hands in fists on the tabletop. You hesitated, though, when you glimpsed confusion in the gazes of your colleagues.
On the far end of the table, one of the newer senators had dropped whatever cocktail glass they were sipping from. You furiously blinked away incoming tears, shaking your head.
It sounded exactly like the window just a few hours ago. You could’ve sworn…
“Excuse me for a moment,” you mumbled, nearly knocking your chair to the floor as you stumbled out of the room. Your ears rang as the hallway blurred in front of your eyes. Someone could help, you knew that. All you needed to do was find that person. That task was becoming more difficult by the second, especially because you had no idea where the person or their quarters were located.
With no clue what your body was reacting to, you swallowed and straightened to the best of your ability. Salvation finally offered you a merciful hand when you turned the corner.
Your favorite Jedi was a ways in front of you, practically gliding down the hallway, and beamed upon spotting you. His pace quickened, however, when his eyes flit over your exhausted frame. At last, it felt like the world gave you permission to let go. You slumped against the wall, deflated.
Obi Wan’s hands on your arms were enough to coax your gaze to his concerned expression. The sound of your name falling from his lips felt like it was worlds away. Something wet on your cheek pulled you partially out of your daze. You were crying. The tear vanished soon after its presence was known, a calloused thumb brushing it away.
Before you knew it, he was leading you through the hallways, a hand on the small of your back. Other figures strolling through the halls stared at the Jedi half-carrying a senator. Once you arrived at your quarters, he helped you sit on a simple chair by your desk with a surprising amount of gentleness. The wood was rough under your fists while he sat beside you.
“You’re safe, no one is going to hurt you here,” Obi Wan whispered. You managed to nod and take another deep breath.
“Someone broke a glass and I thought...it sounded just like-” you babbled. Obi Wan nodded, having put the pieces together. “I hate this,” you mumbled. “I don’t want to feel so weak. It feels like I’m not in control, that my life isn’t in my own hands. And now I find out that I can use the Force. Maker, it has been a long day.” The hand you were dragging down your face was plucked away and grasped by Obi Wan. A blush crept over your cheeks as you peered over at him. He avoided your eyes, focused instead on his hand encasing yours.
“The universe is never going to be safe for people like you,” he said. When you raised a brow and waited for him to elaborate, he sighed and finally locked eyes with you. “You’re trying to make things better for your people. There are always going to be people who want to snuff out the light you’ve brought here, to the Republic.” His soft smile lit what felt like a million candles in your chest.
“I represent Nuca in everything I do, in everything that the public and my colleagues see. I’ve been here for a blink of an eye compared to other senators. If I slip up even once, it could spell disaster. I can’t afford to be seen as a coward, even if I am.” More tears were forming in your eyes. Everything that you’ve worked for was crumbling around you. You could feel your heart start to pound again.
“I don’t see a coward. You’re struggling, yes, but being frightened does not make you a coward,” Obi Wan firmly declared. You smiled at him. It wasn’t faked this time, you truly valued his opinion. He took a shaky breath. “If I taught you how to use the Force...would you think more highly of yourself?”
You blinked. He wanted to teach you? “General Kenobi, I doubt you have time to-”
“Midnight tonight in the training arena at the temple,” he blurted, a grin quickly forming on his bearded face. You couldn’t help but smile at his eagerness. Perhaps he was right. Additionally, you’d get to spend some time with him. You’d come to realize that he was quite easy on the eyes, to say the least.
“Alright,” you agreed. His boots softly tapped on the marble floor as he traipsed to the exit. He gave you the same smile as he did the last time he left, and slipped out.
#Obi Wan Kenobi x reader#Star Wars x reader#star wars#obi wan#Obi Wan kenobi#fanfiction#Star Wars fanfiction#the clone wars#tcw fanfiction#tcw fanfic#Obi Wan Kenobi fanfiction
56 notes
·
View notes
Text
Can you get it inside your head I’m tired of dancing?
post 8.07 pre 8.08] crack/angst past turned unrequited deancas, implied deanbenny 2,4k [x]
The sun, also currently known as bitch, has got some serious nerve to sit where it always does, not upside down and nine miles to the left as it frankly should on this memorable fuckhat day. Where is the End of Days when it's really called for? When it should be really nigh?
Dean flips the front mirror panel down not to have to deal with at least that one disappointment. He can still see Cas's half-constipated, half-abandoned and kicked in its fluffy ass puppy face in the mercilessly annoying reflection. The obvious choice would be to not grace it with anything right now, but A – he's the one driving so his eyes can't wander off pretty far, especially in the barely sunlit grayness – and B – on his left, Sam is currently roleplaying a twelve year old girl that has her big emotional introspection accompanied by listening to Sarah McLahlan because her mean parents wouldn't let her buy ebola from the internet. Or something.
Point is, he's three hours into ostentatiously moping, trying to quietly terrorize Dean into making peace with Cas on the fly so it won't be awkward and problematique for him anymore. To Sam, Dean is just too inconvenient anytime he's inconvenient. And that, by order of nature herself, demands immediate and final stopping and ballot recounting also.
And Dean's point is, that it's not gonna happen anytime soon.
And Cas's point – assuming he’s still remotely capable of making those – seems to be dead-set on that 50:50 face thing. And Dean regrets briefly glancing; with more or less the same intensity he regrets his whole life on the crap weather days his bones hurt harder than it should be legal.
Sam, in his hemhorroidal disturbance, reaches out to the tape deck and attempts to put anything on, but Dean feels like exactly zero of his tapes right now, so he swats Sam's hand off with a loud smack. Judging from the faces he gets for that, it's gotta be resonating in their heads a lot.
It's gonna be a long ride to Lousiana, way longer and more exhausting than the freshly puked from Purgatory one. In fact, the closer they get to Lafayette, the more tired he is and they won't start working the vetalas case until tomorrow night because apparently hanging around clubs on fridays is the new hanging downside of trees or whatever cool thing it was vetalas were doing before the rise of the all you can eat buffet of horny dicks certain they're gonna get reverse cowgirls for a two dollar drink. Or reverse cowboys. Fucking cheapskates. Some of them do have it coming. But in severe STDs, not in this.
In itself, waiting for the actual hunt really doesn't need to be a problem. It's just that Sam and Cas are fucked-bent on having it be one because—
“I said I'm going to stay with you and join you on hunts,” Cas finally snaps. „There's no need for this 'backup' as you call it, Dean.”
—Because that.
“Don't air quote it, man,” Dean mutters wearily, because of course Cas air quoted it.
“And there is absolutely no need for you to sleep in a vampire's camping truck when we have plenty of motels to pick from,” Cas rants on, zero deterred and plus ten determined, clearly not tuning into Dean's I don't wanna discuss that vibe.
Annnd because that too, yeah.
“Well I donno, I sure didn't want us to look like some sort of a hookup site for salvation army fashionistas threesome. You'll thank me later. Or you can do it now and shut up when you're done, how's that.”
“A vampire,” Sam interrupts his polished bitchface just to whine it out, which has to be peak brotherly care by his modern standards.
“You two asshats had no problem leaving me in vamp-vegas for a goddamn year,” Dean growls. “I am an adult adult and I need some me-time that isn't you time. And I'm gonna have awesome time while I'm at it. Sue me if that's a crime. Bother my lawyer.”
“You don’t have a lawyer”, says Sam.
“Aren’t you kind of a lawyer?” Dean remembers suddenly. “Or at least close enough for you two to bother each other and not me?”
“No, didn’t get to get there yet, thanks to you,” Sam mutters, also suddenly remembering the past life of his that was never meant to be.
“Oh, I’m sorry”, Dean whines. “Did I set your girlfriend on fire?”
“Fuck off.”
“I thought you missed me,” as if triggered by the word fuck, Cas drops the bomb with an evenness in his voice which hints at many things but Dean's brain is too stop-record screech to dissect them right now.
“What?” he blurts out, confused and affronted both.
“I thought you missed me,” Cas repeats, lower and harder like Dean's a stupid cat that won't spit out what it's chewing.
“Cas, I really don't wanna do this.”
“You kept praying to me to come back, Dean. After you were out of Purgatory. I heard you. Those were quite some prayers. Now you're putting yourself in real danger just to stay away from me. I don’t understand.”
Sam just stares at Dean, the always most helpful thing on the planet that he is. Thanks, Sam. Dean stares at the road. Cas stares daggers through the back of Dean's head. Poor Baby can't just leave this situation so she just keeps on rollin’. Nobody wins that day.
“That was before you told me you were lying your ass off just to kick me out last minute. Your subscription for my prayers and personal Jesus license have now expired, by the way. Like, the fuck does talking to you even do?”
“Fine!” Castiel snaps, so close to throwing his hands in the air for a grand effect but luckily thinking better of it since he's in a car that has a roof among other things. “I understand that you're angry—” he tries to start over, calmer, after a self-collecting breath.
“No, you don't,” Dean mutters.
“But you can't risk your life in the stupidest available way just to get back at me, Dean. Not after everything I've done to make sure you come back safe.”
Well at least he didn't include Sam in that „saving” part.
“You were there, man. You know Benny never double crossed me or you. What the exact fuck is your problem with him?”
A very angry squint-frown precedes the actual answer.
“You were his ticket to Earth. Now your life doesn't hold the same value.”
“Thanks, Cas. That's really swee—”
“You know that's not what I meant, Dean,” Cas growls in a tone that's clearly a final warning.
So final even Sam and his high horse must have heard since he steps in to defuse Cas.
“Cas, I'm not a fan of saying it, but Benny isn't a threat to Dean. I think the guy is kinda trying to settle,” he offers.
Dean smiles a little bit.
“See, Cas?”
“But I'm worried he might have more vamps trying to take him down because he pissed off every fang that ever knew him and then some. This is actual danger, Dean.”
“What?!” Castiel explodes in unbridled rage.
“Sam, have you ever wondered where do snitches go after they die?”
“Dean, you know I'm serious.”
“Ditches,” Dean concludes.
“When exactly were you going to tell me this?” Castiel asks coldly. “After you get killed by vampire avengers?”
“They're all taken care of, Cas. No mean jokes this time. Relax.”
“With your Winchester luck? I doubt it.”
“Oh, come on. It's not like you wouldn't bring me back even if something did happen.”
“Yes, even twice because first I would have personally destroyed you for being so reckless.”
“I know you would.”
“Guys,” Sam tries to placate, “we should all calm down and rethink how to handle it safely. It's not a good time for some jilted lovers tiff”, he begs.
Dean frowns then makes mocking faces at him to communicate that he's being a fucking douche.
“You're a fucking jilted lovers tiff,” he decides.
“We had sex, Dean,” Castiel states accusatorily.
Little does he know, he just broke Sam beyond repair. Now that the cat is out of the bag, the only thing Dean can do is to straighten some things out.
“Once,” he says, raising a finger to accentuate his point. “Cas was sure we were gonna die in the morning. We didn't, but there never was a follow up on that, so,” Dean shrugs.
“You weren't interested.”
“Says you,” Dean huffs. “I’m sorry, do you know me? Being interested in sex is in my top five pasttimes. You behaved like a brick on the other hand and I don’t know how to read concrete.”
“I don’t want to be here, good fucking God,” Sam finally yelps after a successful reboot of his brain.
Dean’s pretty sure nobody wants to be in this car right now and the only goddamn thing that could potentially make him ‘special’ right now is the fact currently Sam’s probably the only person in the Impala who has not lain his mouth on Cas’s dick. Hopefully.
Funnily enough, Cas could easily poof out without lethal injuries, but he’s dead set on staying, judging from the frown on his face that looks like a stock market crash diagram.
“I didn’t exactly see you giving me any signs.”
And set on having this conversation.
“I’m not a cat, I don’t go into heats, Cas. Can we talk about it somewhere more private? Later? Cuz everybody here wants to fucking die right now.”
“Private?” Cas asks. “If you want privacy to talk then why do you refuse to book a room with me?”
“We don’t need to share a room to have a conversation. Unless what you want it to end with is getting back on track with that last night on Earth thing we had that one time.”
“Jesus Christ,” Sam cries.
“Grow up and stow your crap, Sam,” Cas says unexpectedly before Dean could even bother to serve anything in a similar note.
Dean is so thrown off his equilibrium by that he puts the car to an abrupt halt. Only because he’s too deeply wired to not crash the Impala into the first available so he won’t accidentally kill Sam.
That is, if Cas’s words haven’t obliterated him already. He glances at him, just in case. Speechless as holily commanded by the celestial – potentially horny – wrath from the back seat, but at least he’s still breathing.
“Um,” he says, because someone’s gotta, because he’s still the big brother in this demented equation. “Cas, what the fuck was that?”
“Should you, of all people, really need me to be this blunt – now that the worst affairs have been settled, we could pick up where we left off, and hopefully reach a mutual understanding regarding the nature of our relationship so that doubt no longer hinders you. If it’s still something that interests you, of course. Would that be clear and direct enough, Dean?”
Well, that was… long? Long enough citations are probably needed, but, uh, yeah. S’ gotta be addressed immediately or else.
“Cas, that was 2010 and we have 2012 now.”
“It was 2012 when you prayed to me in Purgatory and it was 2012 four days ago. Granted, your feelings towards me might be very complicated, but I still can sense and read your longing,” Cas says with a weary sigh.
“Stop smelling my longing,” Dean responds with a wearier one. “And I don’t have to explain myself to you.”
“But I should explain myself to you.”
“I’m real fed up with your explanations, you know that? And we don’t got time for that, either. We need to get to Lafayette because we got a case waiting to get solved.”
“It’s because he’s waiting there for you, isn’t it,” Cas says sadly; not a question. A statement.
Dean doesn’t need to respond. Doesn’t feel like it, too.
Yeah. It’s good to actually have someone waiting for you; someone there.
Maybe it’s not that complicated, after all. Maybe it doesn’t have to be.
Dean starts the car. He’s got a place to go to.
The sound apparently wakes Sam from his stupor. His bright idea of the day, he turns the radio on before the awkward silence can make the universe inside of the Impala collapse on itself and on all three of them. Too late for Dean to react now; might as well get a load of the weather report.
In the back seat, Cas flicks his wrist subtly and the monotone voice sharply cuts off into static for a moment and the frequency bar moves elsewhere on its’ – or rather, Cas’s – own. Some solitary synthesiser-made sounds drop one after another like tiny steps and Dean realizes he definitely has heard this song before at some point in his life as eighties one hit wonders ain’t no strangers to him. Oh well. Might as well not get any of the wea—
Looking from a window above, it’s like a story of love… Can you hear me?
Is he fucking kidding?!
Came back only yesterday, I’m moving farther away.... Want you near me…
“Are you fucking kidding?” Dean cries out, incredulous.
Tries to turn the radio off but it just won’t die.
All I needed was the love you gave— “You want melodramatic? I’ll give you melodramatic.” —All I needed for another day — Dean reaches out for his phone and starts typing angrily — and all I ever knew, only you.
He puts on good ol’ Fish and hopes it’s gonna be louder than Cas’s synth-pop loving. And starts driving towards where he wants to be cause he’s tired of dancing.
#dean winchester#dean deserves better#destielfanfictionnetwork#destiel#deancas#destiel fanfic#unrequited destiel#one sided deancas#castiel#supernatural#crack fic#crack angst#8.07#a little slice of kevin#morillon#yazoo#songfic#deanbenny#deanny#benny lafitte#i have briefly respawned after two years#to punch deancas in the tit#this fic is entirely written for#deansrightfulangerissue
21 notes
·
View notes
Text
the tiger shark and the sun
New chapter posted for my Star Wars/Avatar the Last Airbender RebelCaptain fusion AU! We’re reaching the climax of ESB!
Read on AO3 | Read from the start
Pairings: Jyn/Cassian, minor Han/Leia and Baze/Chirrut, random minor background pairings
Rating: T
Summary: Star Wars/Avatar the Last Airbender fusion AU. When exiled firebender Jyn Erso lands on his doorstep the day Cassian, last southern waterbender, meets the Avatar, she seems just another obstacle in ending the War against the Fire Nation. An obstacle he would willingly remove. But as their paths keep crossing, and the twins discover that destiny and balance are more than they expect, Jyn and Cassian find that they are more alike than they ever thought possible.
Snippet under the cut!
She is standing in the green field of Lah’mu. She can smell the grass, the salt of the sea and volcanic soil. A long black robe covers her, trailing as her bare feet leave imprints in the dirt. There is something wrong about her face. It feels soft, loose, the skin dripping off. In the sunlit field, Cassian is gathering the harvest.
A white snake slithers across the soil. Its sinuous body spirals over her body towards her face. It speaks with Krennic’s voice. “They say that belonging is the essence of humanity. Are you tired, yet?”
“I’m not tired.”
The snake’s face pauses inches from hers. “Just relax. Give into it. Shut your eyes for a while.”
Her eyelids feel heavy. What a tempting, reasonable offer.
“No, Jyn!” A black feathered serpent curls towards her, speaking with Bodhi’s voice. “Don’t listen!”
Cassian seizes her hands. “The stars are fire,” he tells her.
“What does that mean?”
“The stars are fire,” he repeats. She looks up. A red star bleeds across the sky and the field burns. It is her. The flames spread out from beneath her feet, and Cassian and the black dragon with Bodhi’s voice draw away. She sees the others in the field, watches as they ignite. Luke and Leia blow like ash in the wind. “Did you think we would appreciate this?”
In the white snake’s eyes, she sees her own are yellow. “Sleep… like Lyra.”
Jyn extends her hand. The white snake sinks its teeth into her scarred skin.
Jyn awoke, gasping. Her body was sticky with sweat. The other women slept on. For a moment, she lay and stared at the ceiling. Lyra had spoken often on the nature of dreams, of the ways in which the Spirits could touch you, or you to touch their world, if your mind was open enough. Jyn was more concerned about her brain falling out of her head by being that open. Wiping her body down, she watched Leia and Enfys twitch in their sleep. They had let her sleep beside them for so many weeks now. Her fingertips traced her face. Her temples were pounding. She felt feverish. Yellow eyes…
She stood in front of the mirror for a long time.
When she stepped into the kitchen, Cassian was there, as always. “I want to go to a temple,” she said abruptly, “Can you…”
Only tilting his head at her rudeness, he got to his feet, pocketing a few oranges. Together they started out on the already bustling streets. There were many roadside shrines, as there were in the Fire Nation and across the Earth Kingdom. Jyn was looking for something larger. Cassian peeled an orange, handing her a slice. “It’s been a long time since I’ve been to a temple,” he said, as she chewed, “We just have a communal shrine in the South Pole.”
Jyn nodded. “Bodhi told me once, because we were always on the water, that a temple is just a sacred place. It's just about how you look at it. I guess he missed Jedha, a lot, then.”
In answer, he handed her another orange slice. His fingers were sticky with juice. This too, is sacred, breakable. “What temple are you looking for? There are temples and shrines in Mon Cala for all Four Nations. Though the Fire Nation ones are probably in disrepair.”
“Coruscant, too.” Jyn frowned. “I remember there was an abandoned Water Tribe shrine, near the harbour. My mother took me there once, when I was very young. She was really interested in other cultures. We didn’t ask permission, I mean, there weren't any attendants anyways,” she added hurriedly, “But we didn't touch anything or pray to the Spirits. Anyways, no Fire Nation Shrines. That would...be dangerous.”
Cassian began to lead them onto another path. “I wouldn't have been upset if you had prayed to the Water Tribe Spirits.”
“They're your Spirits, Cassian, they aren't for my people.”
“Spirits aren't for anyone, they belong to themselves and nature. We just chose them.”
“Well, I don't think they believe in me.”
“Not even after the North Pole?”
Jyn made a face. Perhaps, in Cassian’s eyes, the rampage of the Ocean Spirit was some kind of blessing upon his sister tribe. Trust the Spirits. The Ocean Spirit had spared her and Bodhi. The world isn't done with you yet, they seemed to say. Cassian gave her a nudge. They had arrived at an Earth Kingdom temple. She looked up at him and smiled. A middle ground.
Even if XoXaan had tried to eat her.
Continue reading on AO3
#star wars#rogue one#rebelcaptain#dailyrebelcaptain#jyn x cassian#jyn erso#cassian andor#my fic#writing#au: atla
5 notes
·
View notes
Text
Make the World Go Round/ Body Positive Queen Headcanons
Prompt: Could I request Queen headcanons on how they react to the reader being insecure about their body or having stretch marks ❤️
Thank you my beautiful anon, this is really important! <3
Brian May
It was a sultry day in mid-August, and the pool was as flat and as shimmering as any mirror, lying on the edge of the house without a ripple in the silver-blue water as if time itself had been frozen.
From the tall pines around the edge came not a sound, no movement of branches, no birds calling, it was only you and Brian alone in this perfect bubble. In the turquoise watery mirror was only the constellations, starlight so old and young, and a few littered rocks surrounding the edge as if you had both reached the edge of a mountain trail, the cool breeze welcoming as Brian’s arm burns where it lays comfortably against your hip.
‘Brian, I don’t know, the others will be here soon.’
Without a warning, Brian makes you yelp in surprise as he pulls you tighter against his chest, his other arm landing against the small of your back. His fingers splaying firmly against your skin makes your breath hitch in your throat, and distracts you from the giant leap forward Brian takes until the giant splash sprinkles like dew drops onto the sandy shore and you emerge from the bright blue depths.
You sigh lightly as you try to stay upright, two heavy arms coming to wrap themselves like a vice around the top of your back, his head nestling down lightly to hit against the top of your chest, thin humming streams escaping happily from his lips as your fingers lay splayed against his hips as they bump into yours, his baggy navy shorts floating and entangling coolly against your fingertips
‘Why would it matter if the others are coming over, love?’
His eyes wander up to yours, their look distant as if lost in a daydream as he smiles tenderly at you, before he winks and jumps suddenly up like a superhero through the water to wrap your legs around his waist. Panicking slightly as his chest bumps hard against yours, his hands reach down to tug your thighs further against his abdomen, making sure you stays afloat, your fingers coming to rest familiarly against his skin as you swallow thickly.
‘Because I’m only in a swimsuit, Bri. I don’t want anyone else to see me like this.’
‘Like what? Beautiful? Ethereal? The most stunning person in this entire galaxy?’
As you look into his eyes, bright and beautiful in contrast with the darkness behind him, properly looking and understanding the unspoken love that pours out with his gaze, he smiles at you.
‘You are incredible, and stunning and perfect just the way you are, y/n, so please, never think about yourself like that again, because I surely don’t.’
Roger Taylor
Gazing up serenely towards the scorching heat of the sun, letting its rays fall down upon the blazing blush covering the warm roundness of your cheeks, you sigh contently as you see the emerald green and white striped kite Roger’s guiding fly over your field of vision, dancing high and restlessly in the wind in sunlit silence, which you break as you start laughing at Roger being pulled through the tufts of grass by the strong breeze, his short wheat coloured hair madly blending in with the bushes of the meadow, blowing his locks up in spikes in every direction, his shouts of glee mixing with the wisps of the wind as the kite spiralled was exactly what you wanted to hear after a long week at work.
Turning towards your laugh with a wide grin spreading across his face, knowing his eyes are bright with laughter even through his dim sunglasses, he winds in the reel of the kite, walking over to the plaid blanket you’re lying upon whilst you stay there, appreciating the way his light white half-unbuttoned shirt ripples with each step, allowing you full view of the slightly tanned skin of his chest.
As his footsteps draw nearer, crunching the thin summer blades of grass and daisies with each step, he slowly flops down beside you, pulling himself up onto one elbow in order to appreciate the way the flowing dress you were wearing hugged your skin perfectly. His hand crawls over your waist slowly, teasing you, each inch of skin tingling with goosebumps as his fingers gently twirl across until he finally wraps his arm around you, snuggling his head into the curve or your neck.
He snuggles up against you, rolling you both over so he can run his hand up and down the plushness of your side, pushing the ticklish fabric of your dress up with his fingertips so he can place his palm against your thighs, loving the way your skin flushes in reaction to his meaningful touches, before tickling further up towards your stomach.
‘Wait, Rog, stop, you know how uncomfortable I am with you feeling my stretch marks.’
He stops for a second, a frown covering his face as he gazes at you with such compassionate devotion before the crinkles at the side of his eyes rise once more and he pulls you tightly against him, placing a soft kiss against the tip of your nose, before tracing a path to the side of your mouth.
He pauses for a moment, and you see the rays fall down upon the slightly dazed, far away look in his crystal blue eyes, intense with understanding and desire, before he murmurs against your plump lips, ‘you’re so incredibly beautiful, you know that love? So incredibly smart, and independent, and warm and loving and it honestly aches in my heart sometimes how an angel like you could fall for a man like me. So please, never worry about your stretch marks, because they just make you the ethereal being you are, and I love every single one of them.’
Freddie Mercury
Turning fearful suddenly, Freddie’s face turns into a quick and anxious frown. ‘Y/n, please tell me what’s wrong, what has you so upset my love’. Stumbling over his words in a panic, his hands grasp at your face delicately, trying to wipe away as many unwanted tears as he can reach with his thumbs before settling for grasping your hands tightly, littering each knuckle with soft peppering kisses and pulling you tight against his chest, ignoring the soapy bath water that splashed against the floor as the two of you moved.
‘Freddie, how can you love me? How can you bear to see this?’
Staying silent for a moment, one thick finger running slightly over the curve of his chin as he gazed out the windows, pondering, a steady look of determination on his face.
‘Y/n, you are the most divine, lush creature I’ve ever seen, and I must have turned into a real rotter of a boyfriend if I don’t remind you of that everyday, because I love you with every fibre of my being’.
Distracting you, Freddie ripples a wave of soapy water your way, hitting your chin with a loud thud. The mock face of fear as you slowly turn to face him sets you both off in another wave of sobbing giggles, the light laughs music to his ears.
Your hands reach up to gently entangle in his short, soft brown hair, enjoying the feeling of running your fingertips through his locks as he closes his eyes in bliss, before tracing your finger down the edges of his face towards his protruding chin and placing one wet and dripping palm against the edge of his jaw.
He leans in, placing his forehead delicately against your own, and you can feel the twinge of heat radiating from the slight blush on his face as you squeeze your eyes closed, running your finger down his jawline towards his mouth. Placing his rounded swollen lips against your own slowly, as if afraid to break the magic, his moustache gently tickles your upper brow as you passionately embrace his touch.
‘You are so so beautiful, and you’ll have to remind me to let you know every single day, because you’re stuck with silly old me now, y/n.’
John Deacon
‘Sweetheart, are you in here?’
John knocks lightly on the cream door, three little raps as light as feathers before pressing his ear against the door, his breath shallow and quick as his eyebrows furrow, trying to hear any sound from you.
‘If it makes you feel any better, Roger managed to slip over in the pub today and knocked Brian down with him on his bottom. He tried to blame Freddie for it, but he’d tripped over his own tie he had thrown down onto the floor when he had tried to take his shirt off a few seconds before’.
Hearing nothing but silence, he bites his tongue, chewing the inside of his cheek as he reaches for the auburn handle. However, he stalls listening to your sniffles as you lie on top of the duvet, rubbing the goosebumps that litter your arms like painful pricks, trying to hold the tears that threatened to leave your swirling, distant eyes.
One small crystal bead escapes from their cloud behind your eye and its warmth slides down your cheek and rolls off your chin. Then another. And another, cascading like a waterfall. Sniffing every ten seconds, they fall, and fall, and you let them, scared and feeling terribly vulnerable and alone in that enclosing room.
Entering the room, he freezes for a moment, his eyes drooping in unbearable sadness as he sees you lying there, your back facing him and your shoulders heaving. His legs take two massive strides over to fall onto your legs, his thin fingers dancing their way up your hips and over the curves of your side to reach your shoulders, pulling you up against his beating chest. As his hand rises up to fall into your hair, his tired fingertips curling into you and letting your warmth flow through the gaps, his left hand swirls nonsense but tender patterns against your back before coming to tighten against your muscles.
He tries to blink away the tears that sting against his eyes, his lips quivering to see you so distraught, and to have no idea how to help you, his angel. He held you in silence, rocking you slowly as your tears stained his clothes.
Finally he lifts a hand to gently cup your cheek, pressing a warm kiss against the tip of your flushed nose before whispering ‘what’s wrong, my darling?’
‘J-John’, you manage to snuffle out, reaching up to rub your eye with your fist. ‘Why are you with me? Why do you care about someone like me, someone who looks like this?’
John sits there, his mouth hanging unhinged at shock to realise the reason you had been so distant had been because of this, and he had been so stupid and selfish to not have realised before now, to not have showered you with the love and devotion you deserved every day. Cold shivers of shame flicked up from the pit of his stomach and burnt up inside his throat before shivering down his arms and deep into his heart.
‘Y/n… why didn’t you tell me about this? You are ethereal, y/n, you are the most gorgeous, beautiful being that could ever exist in this universe, my own personal angel. Stop doubting yourself, because in my eyes, you are beyond perfect, and why do you think I wrote You’re My Best Friend for you?’
He leans down to kiss you, and the world and all its troubles fall away. It was slow and soft, comforting in ways that words would never be. His hand rested below your ear, his thumb caressing your cheek as your breaths mingled, pulling you closer until there was no space left between the two of you, and never would be again.
#queen#queen band#queen imagine#queen fluff#brian may#roger taylor#john deacon#freddie mercury#brian may imagine#roger taylor imagine#john deacon imagine#freddie mercury imagine#brian may fluff#brian may x reader#roger taylor fluff#roger taylor x reader#john deacon fluff#john deacon x reader#freddie mercury fluff#freddie mercury x reader#borhap#borhap fanfic#bohrap#bohrap fanfic
281 notes
·
View notes
Text
Two Sides of the Same Street / Chapter Five
Chapter One, Chapter Two, Chapter Three, Chapter Four
Pairing: Clementine x Louis
Word Count: 4223
Summary: Upon returning Clementine to her house, Louis gets the chance to meet her family.
A/N: I really have no excuse. I cannot thank you enough for the patience, I really can't say why this chapter took so long. I just fell out of my groove, lost a lot of inspiration for a while. This will be the last chapter in this series. I only ever intended for it to be short-lived and I feel like this is a nice place to finish. Hopefully, this ending will please you. Enjoy :)
-♥-
There was just darkness. Simple and suffocating darkness all around her. Clementine stretched out her hand, losing them to the dark. There was nothing, yet somehow everything felt..wrong. Oh so wrong.
"Stop it you're fine." She mumbled, her voice buzzing in the air above her. A slight breeze washed over her foot, causing Clementine to jump high into the air. Hidden amongst the darkness an empty row of bloodied nails began to surround her, creeping in from every direction. Clementine fell to her knees, desperate to sink into the floor and hide.
Her words couldn't break the silence. "Leave me alone." She gave a final cry before her vision went blurry, her lungs exploding in her chest.
The world around her fell together like puzzle pieces. Clementine immediately sat up, clutching the bed sheet that her legs were tangled in. Sweat collected beneath her knees, sending chills up along her thighs. A warm hand broke through her icy layer.
"Clem,"
Her head followed the hand on her shoulder to the body it belonged to, finding Louis kneeling beside her, his brows furrowed deeply. "What's going on? You were shouting in your sleep," He brushed some damp curls from her face, his heart sinking at the tears welled up in her eyes.
Clementine brought her knees up to her chest, holding herself tightly. "Yeah uh..it's fine.." She closed her eyes and took one long breath after another, thinking of the treehouse she had as a child. Lee told her to think of a peaceful place, a place where good memories hide.
"You wanna talk about it?" Louis whispered. He pulled the small lamp on the corner table closer to her, pushing away the darkness that always threatened her. "Sounded pretty serious." His pulse was running like a train in the night. Her screaming bloody murder had him thinking there was an intruder in the apartment, a physical threat would have been easier to deal with than an emotional manifestation that only she could see, that only she understood.
Nevertheless, his grandmother taught him never to leave someone crying alone.
"I have bad dreams from time to time, it's nothing new." Clem kept her eyes focused on the soft light beside her. If she even dared look at Louis she would reveal anything and everything about her, why her dreams are there and why they'll never go away.
Louis' eyes darted back and forth between her and the skinny hallway behind him. "Do you, uh...wanna stay in my bed? Just so you feel better!" He immediately adds to dial down her wide eyes. "You don't have to-"
"Okay," Part of her agrees just so she won't have to remain alone for the rest of the long night, the louder part of her brain agrees just so she can be closer to him. "I...don't really want to be alone." She voices the quiet side of her brain.
Louis wiped both his palms against his pants, unsure of where to tread now. "Well, let's go then." This situation wasn't included in the etiquette lessons his mother taught him as a young boy. Was there a protocol? Maybe offer her a glass of water? Tequila??
He would have grabbed her hand had his own not been sweating like crazy. They padded towards his room, both desperate to not wake Marlon. Somehow he remained asleep through the commotion.
When in his room, Clementine immediately gestured to the piano in the corner of his room, it took up the majority of his living space, standing as his prized possession. "Hey, it's Perry." The piano gleamed beneath the pieces of moonlight that found their way in through the crack in his curtain.
It was the first time Louis had noticed just how much space it soaked up in his room. It was also the first time both of them had felt a connection to an inanimate object. "I can't believe I said that to you in our first conversation." Who would have thought they would be where they are now when their first encounter was merely business?
"It wasn't as dorky as you thought it was," Her voice was hushed, dim like the streetlamp outside. "I haven't given my guitar a name yet." With a slow movement, she presses her index finger against the A key, bouncing away at the surprising loud noise.
"There's a rule in this place, no music at night," Louis lowered his head, implying that this was a rule he was prone to disobeying. "So..."
"So..."
Louis fumbled with the loose band of his flannel pants, trying to remember the French alphabet, the words to 'La Vie En Rose', how much money he had hiding away in his piggy bank. Anything to take his mind off the fact that a girl was in his room. His. Bedroom. This wasn't just any girl too, this was a girl he had a crush on. A girl who actively liked him back! "I'll...see you in the morning," It would have taken him an easy three strides to get out of his stuffy bedroom, but a small hand latched onto his arm halfway through his second step.
"You're going?" She didn't mean to sound so meek, desperate even. His exposed skin burned her fingertips in the best way possible, a feeling she wanted to remember.
He almost looked like a puppy being given an unfamiliar order; head lunged to the side, big inquisitive eyes. "I don't wanna impose-"
"It's your room, Louis. You're not imposing." She gently tugged on his arm, bringing the two closer to his double bed shoved against the far corner by the window. Clementine slid her legs in one by one, immediately finding comfort in the cotton-polyester.
Louis moved slower than her, making sure she had taken up her desired space before closing the blanket around them. "Goodnight, Clemster."
"Night Lou. Thank you." Her slurred voice almost had him melting. It was odd to see this relaxed side of her and not the stoic face she puts on every day. The last thing he saw before drifting away again was the ghost of a smile on her face, blessing him with simple yet sweet dreams, just like her.
-♥-
Was there a better feeling than waking up to no alarm?
Louis shifted amongst his blanket, blinking rapidly against the flakes of sunlight that greeted him through the curtain. His free arm stroked the other side of the bed, slowly caressing the empty space beside him. It was still slightly warm from her presence...her...her? Louis gripped the bedsheets with new-found adrenaline, his body sliding upright immediately.
"Clementine?" He called out. How did she slip away so quietly? Louis threw the sheets off his body, immediately freezing to the cold air hanging around. He reached for his dinosaur slippers, sliding them on one by one. His ears perked up when he heard giggles coming from the room next to his; the kitchen.
"Alright Lou, it's a brand new day." His voice was situated at its usual morning croak. A swift cup of tea with a spoonful of honey would fix that. He trudged into the bright kitchen where stains adorned every counter. A small breeze flew in through the open window and it carried itself along with the laughter of Clementine.
Marlon noticed Louis' presence first, then again Clem had her eyes shut tightly to repress her tears. "Morning dude, I was just telling Clem here how you lost that tooth."
His shoulders fell at having such an embarrassing secret revealed. "I was nine, cut me a little slack," Louis ignited the stovetop, choosing to focus on which flavour of tea to have. Peppermint or Apple Cinnamon? "Did he also tell you that it was his idea to climb that ridiculously tall tree in the first place?"
"No way," Marlon chewed up the rest of his toast before wiping the crumbs on his raggedy jeans. "You'll have to fight me another time cause I'm off to see Brody, my headache has gone so I can at least think properly."
Louis chucked two teaspoons of sugar into his yellow mug. "You sure you're feeling better?"
Marlon raised his hands in defence. "I'm fine." He tossed his winter coat over his should, beaming a smile full of pride. The power of a hot shower and NyQuil was stronger than he thought.
"Ah, no D at the end of fine this time. Carry on good sir." He waved his first mate out the door, nearly forgetting about the other presence lingering behind him. She made herself known by peeking over his shoulder, staring directly at the steaming kettle.
"I'm more of a coffee person myself."
Louis turned around in one fluid motion, if he was an ultimate chef, he would totally whip out some expensive cutlery and hors d'oeuvres (who needs breakfast foods). "May I interest you in some mediocre Peppermint tea instead?"
Clementine's smile somehow made the already sunlit room brighter. But soft what light through yonder window breaks... "No thanks."
"Damn, I would have given it to you on the house," He quickly turned off the cooktop just as the kettle began to screech. The hot water was quickly thrown into a very scratched travel mug as Louis mixed the little bag of leaves around. "Y'know, 'cause you're cute."
"I don't think that's how the exchange of goods and services works-"
"-Does now." Louis chucked the little spoon into the sink, the fresh smell of peppermint filled the small kitchen, even Clem had to admit it was appealing. They stood in silence as Louis sipped at his drink, playing off just how hot it really was.
Clementine peaked a glance at her watch, a gift from Lee for her sixteenth birthday. "I should be heading home, don't want AJ to worry."
"Your dad wouldn't be worried?"
"He hasn't called me yet, so I take that as a good sign. AJ always tries to protect me." Whenever Clem would awake from a nightmare AJ would be there at the ready, flashlight in hand to take down the monsters that threatened her.
"Let me walk you, it'll give me an excuse to get in my daily cardio," More like monthly cardio, but she doesn't need to know that. "I just gotta change my shoes, and pants, maybe my shirt too...gimme a minute to change my whole outfit." Louis bounded back to his room, eager to continue this already perfect morning.
Within minutes, Louis was bounding out of his room in an entirely different getup; grey hoodie, his favourite black jeans (his only black jeans really) and a navy blue beanie. Or as Marlon would have called it 'fucking hipster getup'. "Hippity hoppity let's get back to your property."
"Really? Hippity hoppity?"
"Let's just roll with it for now."
Clem wrapped her jacket around her shoulders before heading out into the new day. A very cold day already, already feeling the need to shove her hands into her pockets.
"Getting cold already?" Louis teased, despite also shoving his hands into his large pockets. What is it with men's clothing having bigger pockets? "That's just Jack Frost nipping at your nose."
"Jack Frost?"
"Y'know, like the fable? My brother loved those fairy tails and I loved reading them to him. There was Jack Frost, Snow White, Red Riding Hood and my personal favourite, The Little Mermaid."
"I always liked Aladdin," As the snowflakes fluttered onto her feet, Clem wondered about this small town she now called home. It was all a fresh start, to put all that happened in Savannah behind her. Never in her wildest dreams had she expected to find someone as charming, funny and kind as the boy whistling beside her. "What are you whistling?"
"Just a small tune I've been working on."
"Oh yeah? You write music?"
Louis shrugged, brushing off the fact that he had a whole box of unwritten music hidden beneath his bed. "Occasionally, I reckon this is gonna be my greatest piece yet."
"Really? What's it called?"
"I'm not sure yet. Maybe 'Clementine'. Y'know cause I like fruit...and I like you even more." He gently bumped her shoulder, his eyes locked onto his feet. Louis was a smart man and he knew that if he took one look into Clem's wide brown eyes he would melt quicker than the snow beneath his shoes.
Soon enough her house came into sight, seeing Lee’s snow-covered car in the driveway took a weight Clem hadn’t realised was on her shoulders. “Nice to know he made it back safe.” She skipped up the front steps and knocked with a little too much force.
It didn’t take long at all for the door to get pulled open rapidly. "Clem!" A small boy charged right at Clementine, bear tackling her leg. "You're back!"
She pushed him off her leg and kneeled down to his height, pulling him into a proper hug. "Hey AJ, were you okay last night?"
Louis' brain began to tick over. 'AJ...oh shit the little brother.'
AJ squeezed the life out of his big sister. "I did what you said, kept the lights on and didn't open the doors for anyone."
"Not even me," Lee hovered in the doorway to the kitchen, a dish towel flung over his shoulder. "Had to convince him that I was indeed the man I claimed to be."
Clementine giggled, letting AJ run back to his colouring book. "Sounds rough," She fully embraced the tall man before her, letting any loose thoughts about her nightmare wash away. "Hey, Lee."
"Hey there Sweetpea, you doing good?" His voice was soft, nothing compared to the booming roar that Louis' father used to speak with.
"I am," Her eyes glanced between Lee and Louis, wondering which of the two was more curious to know the other. "Lee, this is Louis. He works at the music shop across the street."
"So you're the one who keeps her out longer than her scheduled lunch break?"
Louis jolted out of his fake confidence. He hadn't been keeping her time that much...had he? "Uhh-sorry about that. She makes for good company."
Lee clasped Louis' shoulder. "You and I can agree on that. Name's Lee, nice to meet you, Louis."
“It’s nice to meet you too, sir.” He had never met a potential girlfriends parent before, you actually need to have a girlfriend for that. It was more nerve-wracking than performing on stage.
“C’mon Lou, I wanna show you something,” Clem helped to subside the panic clearly growing on the poor boys face. Was this all too much for him? Meeting her family? “You don’t have to stay, really. If you got places to go-”
“No, no it’s fine! They seem real nice.” Louis couldn’t pinpoint the last time he was in a loving home; he was simply raised in a house, devoid of the attributes that strengthen a home and a family.
Clem didn’t dare to poke around in his private thoughts this time, if he wanted to talk about it more he would, instead she lead him up the stairs to the last door down the hall. A couple of stickers were peeling off from around the door handle. “AJ stuck those on when he was four, didn’t have the heart to remove them.”
There were no visible stickers inside the room, but instead an absolute explosion of Clementine’s personality. Purple walls with a wide array of photos, old and new, friends and family. Even some messy drawings, clearly done by AJ.
“I didn’t bring you here to show you the photos,” Her comment broke Louis out of his deep curiosity and instead got him looking at the corner by the window, where Clem was leaning against, a cedar guitar at her feet.
"Hey! It's the guitar I sold you!" Louis frantically pointed at the familiar guitar resting beside her bed, shining beneath the fresh sun.
Clem always smiled at the memory, albeit an awkward first introduction. "I haven't given it a name yet, what would you suggest?"
Louis hummed it over, his fingers stroking an invisible beard. "I reckon we shall name her...Ginny! Ginny the guitar!"
Clementine stroked the neck of the guitar. "I like it. Ginny and Perry will have to get together sometime for a mashup."
"Ohmigosh can I name their band?" Louis clapped his hands together as so many silly names flew through his head. "They're gonna take on the world!"
"Okay calm down cowboy, one step at a time." Just as Clem flopped down onto her bed, soft yellow bedsheets welcoming her home. AJ zoomed into the room, jumping on the pillow beside her head.
"Lee says we can finish putting up the decorations for the tree!"
So much for hanging out with Louis. Repressing a sigh, she flung herself back to her feet. "Alrighty kiddo. Louis, you're strong, could you help Lee carry out the last couple boxes from the garage?" If she was going down, she was gonna take the last man standing with her.
"You're roping me into this? Luckily I'm very skilled in the art of decorating." He stood proudly, flexing whatever muscle he had on his arms, despite not having put up a single Christmas decoration in his own apartment yet.
AJ left the room somehow quicker than he had entered, calling out for Lee to "get the boxes!"
Clem slowly stretched out her back, her rough night of sleeping beginning to catch up on her. "Sorry about that, I know you probably didn't come over with this in mind."
Louis waved his hand at her, brushing off the comment. "Don't worry about it, it could be nice to decorate. My family wasn't super big on it, a couple of odd decor items here and there. Could be fun to go all out." Putting up the tinsel was his favourite part, only because it was his brothers' favourite decor item.
"C'mon slowpokes, these decorations don't put themselves up!" This time it was Lee calling them from downstairs.
"We better go or we won't hear the end of it," The duo bounced down the stairs, both having to repress a laugh at AJ, who had already gotten himself tangled in a long rope of red tinsel. "Slow down kiddo, before you break something." Clem began to seek out the source of the knot, whereas Louis headed to the garage.
Be cool dude, don't say dumb shit that could get you thrown out.
The garage was a crypt of boxes, filled to the brim with furniture that hadn't been given a place yet. ‘KITCHEN’, ‘FRAGILE’, ‘MORE KITCHEN’.
Louis pushed past some of the boxes, finding where the Christmas ones were hiding. "Where did you move from again?" If he was good at anything, it was talking.
Lee had already begun to lift one small box onto his shoulder. "Savannah. I was originally a Macon boy myself. After my marriage fell apart, I thought a change was what I needed."
Louis pulled apart a box labelled ‘TINSEL’. "You were married?"
"Yup, right as I got my teaching degree. I wanted a family, she wanted to travel. I guess she was right, I don’t use my degree anymore. What about you Louis? You got family?"
Louis tried to think of an answer that wouldn’t sound so completely disheartening. "I do, we’re not as close as what you, Clem and AJ are though."
"Oh?"
"I kinda got kicked out,"
"Oh."
Great. Him and his big mouth. "It wasn't anything bad! There was just a...disagreement that my father couldn't move on from. I have a little brother too, he's a couple years older than AJ." The only positive of his family life.
"How's he doing?"
His brief silence gave Lee an unsettling answer. "I, uh...I haven't seen him for a while. Not since I left home."
"I'm sorry, that would be difficult." Just like Clem, Lee didn’t sound patronizing. Some only saw Louis as a broken man, rejected by his family. As much as it pained Louis to wonder, it seemed as if Lee knew exactly what that feeling was.
"I mean, it's not like I haven't tried. Things with my parents aren't that smooth." That was putting it mildly. His father threw some choice words when Louis took that final step out of his house. He didn't even look back.
Lee shifted the box on his shoulder, gaining a smoother grip on the cardboard and his very own thoughts. "Lemme tell you a story. After I got divorced, my parents and I had a falling out. My wife was...cheating on me and I didn't take it very well. I left before I could do anything crazy. I kept in touch with my brother for a while but then he..." Lee shook the words from his head. "People say we don't get to pick our family, but that's bullshit. I picked Clem, all those years ago I got her. Then AJ, although I wish he didn't have to lose his parents."
"Clem mentioned it the other night."
"As much as I miss my parents, I would do it all again for those two. You got a family out there Louis, sometimes it just takes a while for us to find it."
The silence wasn’t awkward, for both men connected on a personal level. Lee had lived that life, Louis was just getting over it. No new words were needed. They knew.
"C'mon guys, AJ wants to decorate the tree!" Clem called from the living room, breaking the peace. A smaller voice echoed her words, further pushing the two men to work faster.
Lee gently rolled his eyes at their eagerness. “Could you grab that box of tinsel over there? That should be the last of it,” Lee nodded to a dusty box furthest away from the other decor items before heading back into the living room.
Louis grunted a little beneath the weight of the boxes. “Probably should have gone to the gym with Mitch.” He somehow got the boxes back inside, trying to not seem as breathless as he was.
Lee was the first to open a box, pulling out a small reindeer ornament. "So Louis, Clem mentioned to me that you work in the music store across the street. You play anything?"
Louis feigned the best heart eyes he could. "My pride and glory is my fifteen thousand dollar Perzina piano. Takes up the majority of space in my room but worth it."
Clementine almost let the delicate bauble in her hands slip to the ground. "Did you just say...fifteen...thousand dollars? How...how did you get that?"
Louis began unpacking the box with AJ, finding some golden lights inside. "My parents got it for me when I was a kid, they wanted me to learn only on the best." He was unbothered by Clem's garbled gasps. A connoisseur of fine music himself, he was unphased with the number he just said.
Clementine was desperately trying to coax more information out of him. "Why did you take it with you? How would you even get it out of your house? That thing is huge!"
"It's one-hundred per cent German hand-made! I wasn't about to leave that at my parents' house!"
"I can't believe you gave me crap for the six-hundred dollar spoons! You could buy two sets of those spoons and still have some cash leftover." Clementine stood with her hands on her hips, the task of decorating now long gone from her mind.
Louis rolled his eyes so far back they started to hurt a little. "My piano has a floating soundboard, a reverse-crown soundboard and a super-stretched bass bridge. All your spoons have is a ringing noise. Oh and the fact that they don't tarnish. Whoopee."
"I don't see your piano being held in the National Museum of American History."
It had somehow become a battle of wits, to see who could know the most about their respected work trade. AJ paid them no mind, a spoon is a spoon who cares? Whereas Lee hid his smile, trying to not burst out laughing at how ridiculous the two sounded. Yet it was clear, they held a close passion for their work.
He tried oh so hard not to laugh, but a small croaked chuckle burst from Lee, gaining the attention of the two bickering adults. “Sorry, you both just seem to know so much about your work...maybe you two can open your own store someday," Lee slyly left the room, leaving Clementine and Louis to linger on that thought.
Louis chucked on the last of the tinsel, thinking of a small corner store where he and Clem could sell all their hearts desired. A historian and a musician. "You know what, I'd like that very much."
#twdg#the walking dead game#twdg s4#twdg clementine#twdg louis#the walking dead game season four#twdg lee#twdg aj#twdg fanfiction#clouis#louisentine#clem x louis#fanfiction#xscullyx
28 notes
·
View notes
Text
The Sugar Mentality
Summary: Virgil doesn’t like sweets. Patton will simply not stand for it. Shenanigans ensue as Roman and Logan make bedroom eyes at each other in the background.
Wordcount: 3.5k
Pairings: Moxiety, background Logince
Warnings: A light make out at the end (but don’t take my word for what ‘light’ means) and cavity inducing fluff.
Read on ao3
-----------------
Mm. Bliss.
Laying on the sun-warmed couch feeling all dreamy and smiley and happy, Patton settled fully beside his very own personal cuddle partner. Except Virgil was much more than that; Virgil was his boyfriend. Through relentless waves of emotions, countless brief glances and a thousand smiles exchanged across the rooms, it was finally true.
Patton marveled at the word ‘boyfriend’, letting it roll pleasantly around in his head. He was enjoying a cup of hot chocolate laden with marshmallows, reveling in Virgil’s warmth, taking in the fruity shampoo he used to wake himself up in the mornings, and another smoky smell Patton couldn’t quite place. He took a sip of his drink as Virgil went on with a ramble about My Chemical Romance’s music that Patton had long since lost track of, absorbed by Virgil’s eyes, his bangs, his fingers, his everything. Just, him, in all his glory.
Virgil, without missing a bit, twirled an imaginary mustache and Patton licked the cream away from his own upper lip.
To mask that he hadn’t been paying undivided attention to his shadowy but angelic songbird, Patton pressed the rim of his mug to Virgil’s mouth, offering him some of the chocolatey goodness.
“No thanks,” Virgil’s nose scrunched up—more often than not an adorable expression that Patton held as dear as any of Virgil’s faces. But this time he leaned his head back slightly too. “I don’t like marshmallows.”
A blanket of silence draped across them as Patton’s heart sank to his stomach in shock.
Virgil, ever fine-tuned to the signs of distress, asked, “Pat? Are you—?”
“But, but how can you not like marshmallows?”
Patton gave his boyfriend a doe-eyed, incredulous stare as he propped himself up on his elbows, practically sprawled across the anxious side’s lank form. They were flush from chest to knee.
Virgil’s face relaxed into a fond smile, moving the hair out of Patton’s face with just three of his fingers, feather light as he brushed the stray strands back from the slope of Patton’s freckled forehead. Tentative, despite the fact they’d just been cuddling on the couch with cat videos on Virgil’s phone. Patton wondered how Virgil could be so open, full of affection, and adoration in certain situations, yet so hesitant and closed off in others.
A clear example of the anxious side’s shyness presented itself in the way Virgil barely let himself touch Patton’s skin as he spoke, “I don’t know, Pat, I just never found them particularly tasty.” His eyes averted away as he fiddled with his fingers. Patton took his hand and gently traced his fingertips along Virgil’s knuckles, urging him to breathe out the tension. “They’re too sweet, sugary enough to turn bitter. And their texture’s kinda all wrong.”
“Does that mean you’ve never tried them?”
“No, I have!” Virgil chuckled. “I just wasn’t keen.”
“Wh-What about other sweets?” Patton tried desperately, grabbing Virgil’s hand with a pleading look. “Chocolate! Cotton candy! Cookies!”
“I’m sorry, babe.” He didn’t sound very sorry, and the glint in his eyes as he pressed their foreheads together would not distract Patton from his question. “I can only handle so much sugar in my life with you here. You’re an overwhelming sweetness I’m far more willing to bear though.”
The little sparks fizzling in Patton’s stomach as Virgil leaned in for a kiss certainly distracted him. Their noses brushed first and then Virgil’s teasing smile dropped. He let out a short breath that warmed Patton from his lips to his shoulders and spread down his back in twinkling tingles. The contact was slow and sweet, Virgil’s lips like melted chocolate sliding against Patton’s mouth.
Virgil shifted slightly, lacing his fingers with Patton’s and bringing his other hand to cup the side of his face. A slab of vanilla sunlight shined across Patton’s eyes and he opened them through a haze of delight to meet the warm caramel brown of Virgil’s. Then and there, he decided Virgil would grow to like sweets at any cost. Patton would make cakes and cookies and doughnuts and bring out all of his best cookbooks. Immediately.
Virgil let out a deep throaty noise, not unlike a purr, followed by a low whine as Patton drew back.
After he found a way off this couch then. Out of Virgil’s arms, out of his mind that screamed it didn’t want to have to move its body, out of this gumdrop sweet adoration.
Giving tender touches to show all his clumsy words couldn’t do justice, Patton completely fell into strong, grounded eyes and Virgil’s kisses and Virgil’s voice and Virgil, Virgil, Virgil.
A few hours later, once Virgil had had his fill of snuggles (for the time being), found Patton in the sunlit kitchen wearing his favorite polka patterned apron. His eyes roved over the counter with an indecisive frown. The flour, eggs, butter and sugar rudely neglected to transform into delicious cookies that would fill the mindscape with a warm aroma sure to lure Virgil out of his room. Patton forgave them, shifting his gaze to his cookbook and skimming the words.
“Patton,” Logan’s voice jolted the moral side awake, hands safely clasped around the heavy book to keep it from falling. “Would you be so kind as to remind me why Roman and I are here?”
What he meant to say was, Patton belatedly realized: My room’s door was locked and we were making out, how dare you interrupt us for such silly displays!
“To help me bake these cookies, of course!” Patton explained as he took the book from Logan. The moral side’s arms stooped under the weight, wiggling like overcooked noodles as he hefted it onto the counter with a puff of flour. “Hey, Lo, do you think milk chocolate would be better for this recipe?”
“You’ve never asked before, Padre,” said a still flushed Roman. His mouth had a ‘just punched’ look like he’d unevenly smeared lipstick across his face and since Roman’s make up applying skills were top notch, Patton couldn’t help but be a teeny tiny bit embarrassed as their gazes met. “What gives?”
“These have to be perfect,” Patton explained, hot to the tips of his ears. “They’re for Virgil!”
Roman’s tune changed into a passionate flurry immediately, his eyes lighting up. “Ah, I see, an endeavor of the heart!”
“I thought,” Logan interrupted, tone reserved. God, he could be scary sometimes, “you said on May 24th, seven weeks, four hours and thirty two minutes ago that any food will automatically be good if done with love and care.” There was an expectant pause. “And a dash of sugar,” Logan relented.
Patton turned to Roman for assistance, who’s lidded eyes took a moment before opening long enough to scold Logan instead of continuing to admire the logical side. “My love! These aren’t just any old cookies! Our Padre has asked for assistance in his quest to woo Surly Temple! We must deliver!”
“Well, if there’s anything I’m good at, it’s assistance,” said Logan.
“A little vague, my dearest nerd.”
“Feel free to take the words out of my mouth and twist them on your tongue any time, my halfwit.”
Patton cleared his throat. Logan staggered back as gracefully as one could, having unknowingly taken a few steps towards Roman. He blushed as he adjusted his neck tie.
Roman grinned proudly before sashaying towards Patton, hands eagerly clasping together. “Let the baking commence!”
A disaster, Logan called it; a marvelous attempt at baking done in the fashion only a true prince could achieve, Roman retorted. However much Patton wanted to encourage Roman though, the first batch of cookies came out lumps of coal that Roman slathered with icing and cream to mask the...overwhelmingly wonderful taste.
“Perhaps it was a bad idea letting Roman be in charge of taking the tray out.”
Patton went about doing chores and Logan needed to answer Thomas’ call. Who else could Patton have asked?
Fixing his gaze on Roman, Logan continued, “Especially since he doesn’t have much finesse when handling heat.”
Patton couldn’t help but notice the hint at an inside joke even as Logan’s wryness only invited a ghost of a smile to his features.
“I do, thank you very much!” Roman managed to say through his offended princey noises. Which were louder than usual…for some reason? “I only burned them because I’m hot as heck.”
Logan shook his head. Patton’s next words withered on his lips as Virgil came rushing down the stairs. “Guys! I smelled smoke! What’s happening?”
Catching sight of the tray, he stopped short and stared. His shoulders dropped from their tense line, fists eased open as his face became lax, then confused.
No, Logan had been right. It was a very bad idea leaving it up to Roman.
“Finding Emo! Huzzah!” Roman said. Why did he look so happy? “These fiends have put down my stupendous work. Would you mind taking a bite and disproving their drivel?”
Virgil gave Roman an unimpressed look. Thank goodness.
“Sure, whatever.”
Wait, what was that? Why was Virgil reaching for the white-painted black bricks?
Patton tried to say something as Virgil popped a ‘cookie’ into his mouth but found he couldn’t. He waited for Virgil to spit it out, to grimace, to scrunch his nose up, or to do anything. Instead, Virgil inhaled sharply, swallowing.
His eyes didn’t waver as he brushed off crumbs from his lips.
“Mm,” Virgil hummed. “These are actually really good, Princey. You makin’ more?”
For a moment, they all thought his usual sarcasm took over in such crucially called-for situations, but then he reached for another one and they all looked on in horror. Even Roman.
Virgil’s chewing sent a crunch-crunch like gravel rumbling through the kitchen. His eyes slid between their faces as he swallowed. “What?”
Instead of luring Virgil out with the aroma of cookies as planned, Patton had to go get the anxious side and resist the invitation for cuddles Virgil made. Red faced and mildly tired from kneading the dough, he longed for the embrace more than ever, but as his situation deemed it necessary, he ushered Virgil down the stairs, placing him in front of the dining table. A fresh batch full of chocolate chips with golden honey glaze waited for him.
“Oh,” Virgil breathed, eyeing the tray uncertainly. “These look really nice. Just kinda...too sugary?”
Roman snorted, reaching for one after the long wait where Patton had to repeatedly swat his hands away from the raw dough. “Just try it, Gerard Gay.”
Under their expectant gazes, Virgil ambled towards the sweets, almost sheepish as he took a bite. He winced, though it was evident he’d tried not to.
“These are…lovely, Pat,” Virgil said, smiling a smile absent from his eyes. “But I think the chocolate is a bit much so I’ll pass, thanks.”
Patton slumped, a tiny niggle of disappointment zinging through him. He quickly shoved it down. He wouldn’t give up. He hadn’t even started yet. No tree falls from the first blow, after all. Even if Morality didn’t favour cutting down trees in the first place.
Logan looked up from his book, wide-eyed as Roman spluttered, “But, how can you not like chocolate?”
From then on it was a series of trials and errors, ending mostly in the same way the first event had.
The following endeavour was Project Cotton Candy. Patton wanted to give Virgil the full carnival experience complete with the delicate spun sugar melting on your tongue as soon as it entered your mouth. He had Roman arrange a date in the mindscape in exchange for two coconut cream pies.
And by the sweet pasta, he’d delivered.
The creative side perfected the weather into a cloudy, airy atmosphere that sent a soft breeze into Virgil’s hair. As Patton took him from one ride to another, the Ferris wheel lights reflected rainbows in Virgil’s eyes and Patton found neither of them could stop smiling. Until.
“Pat, this date to the mind carnival is amazing, really,” Virgil said, squeezing Patton’s unoccupied hand. “I couldn’t be having more fun.” He glanced down at the cone of cotton candy in Patton’s other hand. “But, I don’t want the cotton candy. Can we go on the dark train again?”
The next morning, Patton managed to rouse himself out of bed and be rid of yesterday’s roller coaster nausea before Virgil could wake up. A cake with chocolate icing, blueberries and all sorts of decorations stood proudly in the kitchen not two hours later with Roman’s swirly ‘Happy Birthday, Virgil!’ written in icing on the top. In stunning script, Roman repeatedly pointed out.
“Pat, my birthday’s in December.”
That was right. Just a tiny oversight on the creative and moral sides’ parts.
But at least Virgil took a slice and didn’t grimace like a lemon had been shoved down his throat.
“Pat, I’m sorry,” Virgil said to the weekend’s macaroons, eyes on them instead of Patton’s sugar-dusted face. “I’m allergic to coconuts.”
“Pat!” Virgil said on one morning’s breakfast table. “I don’t want the waffles, honestly!” He dumped his round, perfectly golden circles onto Roman’s plate. “Let Roman have them.”
For the most part, Patton didn’t mind. The food, never wasted, was happily gobbled up by anyone close enough. Patton loved making the sweets anyway but the question of how Virgil could stand for this sort of happiness to be left unshared still baffled him.
Patton sank into the couch, tummy hurting from all the waffles he’d eaten to compensate for the stupidly hollow feeling in his stomach. The toasted, buttery circles didn’t taste like they usually did, as if a plate of water had been dumped over the top and dried by the time Patton took a bite.
After a while, Virgil had caught on to his game. Patton had seen suspicions dance in that pretty head of his but only smiled over his food all the while. Patton was no quitter after all. He would keep persevering like Roman on his quests, like Logan nearing his deadlines, like someone trying to make his boyfriend happier.
Virgil wandered into the living room as if breaching past unregulated territory, voice scratchy and barely audible. “Pat? Are you mad at me?”
“No, of course not, kiddo!” It was, even in Patton’s opinion, unseemly that he called Virgil ‘kiddo’ when they’d made out for a lengthy period of time not a day before and he shook his head, going on, “I just thought—”
“Oh, thank Brendon Urie!” Virgil cut him off with a relieved sigh. “Every time you came up with another one I thought you were gonna give up on me altogether.”
“What?” Patton propped himself up, the words flicking him on the raw. “Virgil, sweetheart, of course not. I love you.”
“I know. I love you too.” A subtle difference in the lilt of Virgil’s voice, even as he lowered it on those magical three words, told Patton he meant it that way. His tone shifted into one of worry immediately after, fingers knotting with reckless abandon. “But you’ve been working so hard on ‘em I felt kinda a lot bad.”
“It’s nothing a few cuddles can’t fix,” Patton soothed, patting the space next to him on the couch.
“Look at you, so cute…” Virgil muttered, almost absently. “Now how can I say no to this?”
“I DON’T KNOW HOW TO SAY NO TO THIS!” Roman trilled across the living room, bustling overhead and riffing like a stupidly talented moron. “OH MY GOD HE LOOKS SO HELPLESS, AND HIS BODY’S SAYING HELL YES!”
“Shut up, Princey!” Virgil growled, staring daggers from where he stood.
Roman’s voice continued in the same tone he’d sang Hamilton in, fading slightly as he made his way to Logan’s room. “To not like sweets! Virgil, you must have forgotten the Earth’s oldest language! The one of skin on skin and wind in trees! Oh, how my heart mourns for your self-inflicted misery!”
Virgil’s jaw clenched and his brows bumped but the scowl softened. Or was that just Patton, unable to see Virgil for anything other than the one he loved and treasured, never feared?
“Shut up or I’m coming over there and pounding you into the ground!”
Roman cooed back, voice distant, “I appreciate the offer but I have a boyfriend.”
A decisive click as Logan’s door room opened and shut guided Virgil down onto the couch’s pillows with a grunt. His face was blushed a deep red, nose flaring slightly from that little argument, lips parted as his breaths came in a hitched in-out in-out.
“I’ll be right back,” Patton whispered as he pressed a quick kiss to Virgil’s forehead, finding something in Virgil’s high cheekbones and his violet-veiled eyes.
What Roman had said about skin was only vaguely related to the cogs working in Patton’s head, but he was pretty sure this was a brilliant idea. A very non-Patton idea, too. It led him to his stash of spare marshmallows and what remained of the Nutella jar in the pantry. With such ingredients in the mix, this could only be described as sweet.
After lightly garnishing a few marshmallows with some chocolate, Patton appeared in front of Virgil. “Close your eyes!”
Patton’s urgency forced Virgil into a sitting position, weary eyes wandering until they settled on his boyfriend’s hidden hands. “What do you have behind your back?”
“Viiirrge!” Patton whined, not giving himself a chance to start feeling ridiculous. “Close! Your! Eyes!”
Virgil huffed out a confused laugh, but obliged. “Fine, fine.”
“No peeking!” Patton sat back down on the couch. He had no idea what he was doing. “Open your mouth for me.” He draped a thigh across Virgil’s lap in a too casual to be natural move.
“Babe, is there a point to this or…?”
Patton’s face heated up even more, Logan would say he’d caught glandular fever. His voice broke with rising desperation. “Just do it, please!”
Patton set the chocolate covered marshmallow into his mouth and bent, closed his eyes, breathed in, breathed out and ignored his heart trying to break through his ribcage.
Virgil’s voice came out garbled, “P-Patton, what’re—!”
Too shakily to be gentle, Patton reeled forward, colliding with Virgil in a messy, wet meshing of lips. His rapid breathing steadied as Virgil’s hands found their way to his hips and gripped there. Virgil tensed for the first few moments, bony shoulder digging into Patton’s but he didn’t lean back and sure enough, relaxed, his heart a steady thump-thump reverberating in Patton’s chest.
Patton’s every cell scorched as he pushed his tongue into Virgil’s mouth, the taste of his mint toothpaste and the chocolate and marshmallow overwhelming. This wasn’t quite what he pictured and most of their previous kisses, as they’d decided to take things slow, were soft, hesitant. But this was different. Patton’s body had been locked in a trance ever since the idea lodged itself into his cobbled brain. Even after, the only anchors stopping him from floating in mid-air were Virgil’s lips, Virgil’s hands gliding across his back, Virgil’s hair in his hands like mounds of silk and shuddering breaths and half-giggles, half a delicious sound an entirely different sweetness from the one melting on both their tongues.
Patton didn’t know the days that had passed or the soreness in hours spent preparing sweets. He didn’t know the birds were twittering outside or that the microwave was beeping far off. He only knew the taste of caramel, milky white where the tips of his fingers roamed. He only knew the cold burn of mint in his lungs and faint traces of chocolate and marshmallow. There was only this, only his body being coaxed onto Virgil’s lap, only the back of his head supported by Virgil’s fingers. Their eyes opened slowly, lips unwilling to part as quivering smiles met in the internim. The two sides stared for a moment, caramel brown into blueberry blue, caught. Patton looked away first, hiding his face in the crook of Virgil’s neck and at long last tasting its curve like his own personal lollipop.
Virgil’s hand slipped under Patton’s shirt to his lower back, the touch itself feather light, the press of it heated, eager. “Maybe marshmallows aren’t so bad after all,” Virgil rasped, raising Patton’s face to his level. Patton grinned at him, all smiley and dreamy and happy again, drawing ever so slightly closer. “Can you—?”
Patton didn’t wait long enough to let the anxious side finish his sentence but when he grabbed another marshmallow off the plate Virgil didn’t hesitate to meet him.
“Yes,” Virgil’s lips said against him. “Yes, yes, yes…” Again and again, turning from a whisper to a rasp to something less a word then just one syllable holding for a second and then fading into the air.
Patton smiled, melting into a relaxed puddle of giggling joy. He’d gotten his wish. It was giddy, the thought. He couldn’t tell how long it had taken in this addled state of mind but as he leaned in again, it was all he could think of.
The kisses that followed attempted at a proper lock but, interrupted by gentle smiles and bubbling laughter from both sides, only ended in the occasional peck. Patton, through a thudding heart and shaking fingers, couldn’t remember ever being happier.
Victory is sweet.
-----------------
A/N: Huge thank you to @ace-corvid for beta reading this, they're a life saver and their edits were very very much appreciated! Also thank you to my qpp and treasure @drown-in-lava-choke-on-rubies for her continued support. Love ya, my Ruby!
I hope the words are treating you all well. Stay safe! <3
Tag list (ask to be added/removed): @drown-in-lava-choke-on-rubies @ace-corvid @ymmm-someone @seouqi @shitpost-sides @theraymondgem
#sanders sides#roman sanders#virgil sanders#logan sanders#patton sanders#my writing#og post#moxiety#logince#moxiety fic#fluff#moxiety fluff#dried ink#long post
7 notes
·
View notes
Note
i'd kill for bill holding holden, whether it's while they're at home or out on a case. maybe it's the first time holden is so overwhelmed that he actually asks for bill's reassurance?
hurt/comfort my absolute jam ✌😭 For some reason when I started thinking about this prompt, the song summer girl by Haim came to mind. Obviously, it’s female gendered so it doesn’t 100% fit, but I like this verse especially:
Peer around the corner at you / From over my shoulder, I need you
I need you to understand / These are the earthquake drills that we ran
Under the freeway overpasses / The tears behind your dark sunglasses
The fears inside your heart as deep as gashes / Walk beside me, not behind me
Feel my unconditional love
Thanks for the prompt 💕 here you go:
The hum of tires over endless asphalt drones into the stifled silence. Not even the radio is playing. Outside the window, miles of idyllic, verdant farmland melds into Amish country, dappling the sunlit countryside with simple, two-story houses, silos, and never ending fence lines. Bill might have appreciated the long, afternoon drive except that they’re trekking back over the county line to the local precinct in Millersburg, Ohio where the case originated. The killer had struck just beyond the jurisdictional line, creating a disorganized mess of too many detectives, police chiefs, sheriffs, and mayors fighting over the particulars of the boy’s body found in the river.
Bill casts a surreptitious glance across the car at Holden who has been utterly silent since they left the crime scene. The hostile nature of the police on the scene - frustrated with the FBI suddenly traipsing into their jurisdiction - had triggered some kind of mental lapse, at least that’s the way Bill is profiling his partner. Sometimes he gets overwhelmed.
He’d called the dead boy “Lubie” when the victim’s name was Larry. Lubie, as in Lubie Geter, as in Atlanta, as in a case that’s been closed for well over six months. Clearly, the rigors of their time in Georgia have not vacated his mind.
The detective on the scene barked that the kid’s name was Larry, and asked if they even knew what they were doing on the scene, if they had showed up at the right place. Holden pulled himself together long enough to get through the details of the scene, but had walked away abruptly the moment they had what they needed. Twenty minutes into their trip back to the precinct in Millersburg, he still hasn’t said a word.
You just got overwhelmed. This whole case has been nothing but mass confusion. Bill weighs the reassurance in his mind, but decides it sounds far too condescending.
Fuck that guy. He’s a prick. Too aggressive.
Do you want to talk about what just happened? Prying.
Bill reaches into his pocket, and extracts a cigarette. He rolls down the window while he smokes. As the scent of nicotine fills the air, Holden shifts against his seat, drawing in a shuddering breath. He leans forward, bracing his elbows against his knees and clasping his hands over his face.
“Are you okay?” Bill asks, the question leaping from his chest without forethought.
Holden breathes heavily, his fingers curling anxiously through his hair. He shakes his head, but the only response is a wheezing sound that verges on panic.
“Holden?”
Holden’s head pops up, and his face is drained of color and misty with perspiration.
“Pull over.” He rasps. “Right now.”
Bill puts on the breaks, bringing them to a quick halt just underneath an overpass. Holden rips off his seatbelt, and stumbles out of the car. Bill watches him stagger into the gravel just beyond the shoulder of the road, and lean over to grasp his knees.
Muttering a curse, Bill climbs out of the car, and circles the hood to approach him. A summer breeze sifts across the long shadow of the underpass, cooling the anxious sweat beginning to gather under Bill’s collar. Holden’s panicked breathing is drowned out by the roar of the cars driving by overhead, but the shudder of his hand is obvious as he reaches into his pocket for the prescription bottle.
Bill glances away, squinting at the distant shimmer of a mirage floating above the asphalt several yards in the distance. Until now, he’d thought the best strategy was to let Holden deal with the panic attacks in private dignity. He’s never actually witnessed one, let alone seen Holden desperately chew down the pills like he is right now, as if they’re his last lifeline, as if he’ll suffocate without them. At this moment, he’s beginning to wonder if he had been right, or if he’d simply been shielding himself from taking on that burden alongside his own.
Bill leans against the side of the car while Holden paces back and forth in the gravel, his eyes shut as his breathing steadies. He focuses on his shoes while he smokes the last of his cigarette. After ten minutes, he clears his throat.
“You good?”
Holden’s pacing comes to a halt. He opens his eyes to meet Bill’s gaze, and they’re sharpened blue from the sting of tears, matching the indifferent, cloudless skies above. He swallows hard, the corners of his eyes glistening.
Bill pushes away from the car, and shuffles closer.
“You heard what I said.” Holden whispers.
“Yeah. It was a mistake, a slip of the tongue.” Bill says, angling for a reassuring tone of voice.
“That guy looked at me like I was an idiot.”
“That guy was a prick. He was just pissed the FBI was barging into his crime scene.”
Holden shakes his head, his brow creasing with a frown. “Yeah, and I’m representing the FBI. I can’t even get the victim’s name right. I mean …”
He trails off, his chin dropping towards his chest. He draws in a deep breath, an attempt to shove down the tremor of fragile emotion, but when he exhales, a soft whimper slips free.
Bill stands perfectly still as Holden begins to crumble. He’s not sure what to do, or say. Nothing he could say right now could convince Holden that what happened is nothing to worry about and that he should just forget about it. It is something to worry about because Holden is still hung up on a case that ended months ago.
Finally, he puts a hand on Holden’s elbow, convinced that if he doesn’t offer some kind of support, Holden is simply going to drop to the ground.
Holden presses a hand over his eyes, masking the tears squeezing free against his eyelashes.
“It’s okay.” Bill says, shifting closer. “I know this case feels like a mess right now, but we’ll get it sorted.”
Holden sniffles, the sudden torrent of emotion unquelled by Bill’s assurances.
“Holden.” He says, giving Holden’s elbow a squeeze. “Hear me?”
Holden leans in slowly, almost as if he’s falling into Bill. Instinctively, Bill catches him with an arm around his waist, but Holden’s feet are steady beneath him; in fact, he steps purposefully closer, tucking himself against Bill’s chest. Tilting his head down, he buries his face in the front of Bill’s jacket where the layers of fabric muffle his sniveling.
Too shocked to react in any other way, Bill wraps his arms tighter around Holden’s shivering shoulders.
“Sometimes …” Holden’s voice wobbles hoarsely from this throat. He sucks in a hitched breath and tries again, “Sometimes, I feel like I’m losing my mind.”
Bill slides a hand up to cradle Holden’s nape, suddenly desperate to ease his fears. He clutches Holden’s cheek to his chest, and lowers his mouth closer to Holden’s ear.
“You’re not.” He says, “Trust me, you’re not. You’re just tired and stressed. This case is stretching us both way too thin.”
Holden sniffs. His fingers clutch tighter around Bill’s jacket, keeping his body pressed tightly to Bill’s.
“Tell me again.” He whispers, his voice nearly drowned out by the rush of cars on the overpass above. “Th-that it’s going to be okay.”
Closing his eyes, Bill rubs Holden’s back to reinforce the thought.
“It’s going to be okay.” He says.
They stand still for a long moment with Holden wrapped up in Bill’s arms, clinging on as if for his life. The wind around them smells like summer while the sun begins to sink towards the horizon. A few cars fly past them on the interstate, but Bill can hardly bring himself to care that the random drivers might see two men embracing on the side of the road.
Out here, there’s nothing for miles except for farms and a few scattered signs on the side of the road proclaiming: HELL IS REAL. It sure is. Bill thinks. He’s seen it, and so has Holden. They’ve been there together, but Bill refuses to leave Holden behind in the fire. He’d been wrong to be so cold and unaffectionate when Holden was looking for someone to simply tell him the world won’t stop turning because of one case, or in this moment, one slip of the tongue.
After several minutes, Holden extracts himself from Bill’s arms. He wipes his face with his sleeve.
“Sorry about that.”
“Don’t apologize.” Bill says, “I should have told you awhile ago, but I’m not just your partner. You can talk to me.”
Holden nods, a faint smile tugging at his mouth. “Thanks, Bill.”
“Come on, let’s get back.”
They climb back into their abandoned car, and Bill pulls back onto the road. Holden turns on the radio, and rolls down the window to allow in the fresh breeze. There’s no one else for miles, and the sunset seems to last forever, it’s pink and purple hues swallowing up the lonely overpass and the last of Holden’s tears.
12 notes
·
View notes
Text
Not now, but soon. Chapter 2
Read on AO3 - or read below.
Enjoy :)
The common room was, to his great relief, completely deserted and entirely unchanged in the time he had been gone. Gryffindor tower still stood in all of its red and gold glory, cosy and inviting with its familiar soft armchairs, thick throws and mahogany wood furnishings; a magnificent room once associated with inexplicable comfort and warmth and sunlit days in which Harry had never felt less at home.
Despite his solitude, he still took every measure to remain unseen. Draped in the invisibility cloak and curled up in the most secluded arm chair, Harry sat quietly bouncing his leg, illuminated only by the dying embers of last night’s fire.
He’d been right, Kreacher was more than willing to go and fetch his master food and had even sunk to his knees in uncharacteristic gratification of “the sacrifices and bravery Master Harry had shown.” This did nothing but make Harry ragingly uncomfortable and prompted several minutes of dread fuelled panic to plague his head. There would be more of this, more hand shaking, more shoulder slapping, and more declarations of appreciation that he absolutely did not deserve. Because this was his fault. All his fault.
Thankfully, the elf was extremely quick in procuring the meal, if not slightly overzealous with the selection he offered, and so Harry wasn’t left alone with his ruminations for too long. The tiny elf apperated back into the common room with no less than seven trays of breakfast foods circling him, looking incredibly pleased with himself as they magically settled on the coffee table.
“Kreacher did not know what Master Harry would want and so he has brought some of everything,” the elf explained unnecessarily. He wasn’t exaggerating, every breakfast food Harry could think of was right there in front of him, heaped high in true Hogwarts fashion. There were sausages, bacon, toast, black pudding, hash browns and eggs cooked every way imaginable; the sight alone made Harry’s stomach rumble in anticipation. “Kreacher did think of treacle for his master, but Master Harry must not have such things for breakfast.”
“Thank you Kreacher,” Harry said, a twinge of bemusement tugging at his lips.
“Does Master Harry need anything else from Kreacher?”
Harry, already with a mouth full of eggs and toast, was unable to speak, but hummed in appreciation and shook his head.
“Well then Kreacher thinks he will go back to the kitchens and help the other house elves. Master knows where Kreacher is if he need him,” and with a bow and crack he was gone.
It was still odd to hear Kreacher speak like this, with genuine politeness as opposed to distain and Harry almost thought of Sirius and what he would have thought of the drastic change in character. Almost. He instead managed to catch himself just in time, shake his head and focus his attention on nothing except the spread in front of him and the dull agony around his ribs.
The pain in his chest peaked with every movement as even raising a fork to his mouth caused him to flinch and groan audibly. Despite the common room remaining empty and the fact it only enhanced the pain further, Harry remained tightly wrapped in the cloak, taking comfort in the familiarity of the material and the safety of being invisible. It was a slight challenge to eat like this and occasionally a disembodied hand or two would slip out, lifting sausages or bacon into an unseen mouth.
Unfortunately, eating hadn’t made him feel better at all. The energy it took to lift his arm up and down seemed disproportionate to the task and he wasn’t sure he could actually taste any of it anyway, he was just mechanically lifting his fork from the plate to his mouth, chewing loudly, swallowing and repeating with whatever was nearest to him. He felt nauseous but he didn’t want to stop. The absence of Kreacher or throbbing in his torso to distract him would mean Harry would alone with this thoughts again and it was already taking all of his effort to just concentrate on the food on his plate and not on the storm raging in his head.
Ultimately, he was glad for the distraction when he noticed the rumble of footsteps above signalling bodies descending the stairs and heard rather than saw that it was Ron and Hermione, their frantic voices yelling his name down the spiral staircase.
“Yeah?” Harry shouted back, still with a mouthful of food, reluctantly revealing himself to the world again.
“What do you think you’re doing?” Ron demanded, stumbling down the last step in haste to reach the common room. He was breathless and clearly distressed as his eyes sought out Harry, who was still half wrapped in the invisibility cloak, an odd image of floating limbs.
“Eating.” He replied obviously, gesturing to the small feast still in front of him.
“You prat,” Ron grumbled, though visibly relieved as he and Hermione collapsed into the sofa opposite Harry. “Stop running off on your own all the time! We woke up and we didn’t know where you were.”
“Sorry,” he said genuinely bewildered. “I just didn’t think you’d appreciate Kreacher waking you up.”
He hadn’t even considered that Ron and Hermione would worry about him but now his brain was filled with images of an empty bed and panicked friends and he instantly felt like a dick for not considering it sooner. Of course they were worried, the last time he had wandered off on his own he’d done so with every intention to die.
Suddenly all he could think about were the flashes of the forest, of his mum and dad, Remus and Sirius, a conversation with Dumbledore and the cries of those who had already lost so much, forced to watch a lifeless Harry be presented like a trophy in Hagrid’s arms. The images came without permission and once again he was watching the vivid eruption of green light on red hair and almost holding hands and the ghost of a laugh to rush his vision as if he were watching them happen, again and again and again, right where he sat. His chest had constricted, he felt like he couldn’t breathe. It was no good trying to banish the names of the dead from his mind this time. If anything, they seemed to grow louder with every attempt to silence them.
Remus. Tonks. Fred. Dead because of you. Remus. Tonks. Fred. All dead, all you. Your fault. This is all your fault. You asked them to fight for you and they died. How many more have to die for the boy who lived. This is all your fault. This is all your fault. Your fault. Your fault. Your fault. Your fault.
“Harry?”
The voice seemed to pull him back to his senses. Hermione was studying him with that irritating look of concern she had, eyeing his shaking hands knowingly. “Are you okay, Harry?”
He glared at her. “Yeah, fine. What were you saying Ron?”
“Just reckon we should go find the others soon.” Ron mumbled, shoving a piece of toast into his mouth without fully finishing his sentence.
Harry reached into the pocket of his robes and threw the marauders map to Ron, who opened it and scanned over the pages between mouthfuls of food. Hermione still looked like she was going to press on and Harry had the abrupt urge to get up and leave. He didn’t want to talk about it. He wasn’t going to talk about it. She opened her mouth at the same time as Ron, and any further questions died in her throat as he announced “Hospital Wing” and sprayed the table with crumbs.
It was Mr Weasley who greeted them ten minutes later, after Ron had finished eating and the trio wandered down to the familiar Infirmary.
The walk down had taken longer than usual, owing to the amount of wreckage that had yet to be cleared, constantly blocking their path and preventing them from going on, ultimately forcing them to turn back. It was miraculous really that, despite everything around him bearing damage, the foundations were intact at all.
Once again, Harry had insisted on keeping the cloak on, though it really wasn’t necessary. The castle was utterly still but his mind hadn’t been. Every step he had taken was permeated with names and faces, a mantra to the sound of his footsteps.
Remus. Tonks. Fred. Colin. All dead, all you. Your fault. Your fault. Remus. Tonks. Fred. Colin. Your fault. Your fault. Your fault.
“Did you all manage to sleep?” Mr Weasley asked, leading them through the doors.
“A bit.” Ron replied, looking around the surprisingly empty room. “Where’s Mum?”
“She took George and Ginny home a few hours ago.” The father replied, clapping a hand on his son’s shoulder.
“And the others?”
Mr Weasley smiled softly and simply squeezed his hand tighter. “Don’t worry, they’re all fine. Charlie is just getting the once over, Percy nipped back to his flat to get some clothes and Bill and Fleur have just left, they were helping me speak to McGonagall about the, er… arrangements.”
A heavy silence filled the air. Of course there would be funerals, loads of them, how selfish of him to not think of this sooner. Harry wondered if they would be like Dumbledore’s and where everyone would be buried. There had been so many bodies in the great hall last night, would he have to go to the funerals of all of them? He didn’t want to. He wasn’t going to. He couldn’t show up knowing they’d died for him. That this was all his fault.
Your fault, your fault. Dead because of you. Remus. Tonks. Fred. Colin. All the rest. All dead, all you. Your fault. This is all your fault. You asked them to fight for you and they died. They are dead because of you. This is all your fault. This is all your fault. Your fault. Your fault. Your fault. Your fault.
Hermione was watching him again, so intensely that he found it hard to look at her. He tried to smile but it came as more of a grimace. Thankfully he was spared any more of her concern as Ron gestured for the pair to follow him and his father to a makeshift waiting area and it wasn’t long until Charlie had joined the group, taking up the seat on his father’s other side and welcoming a sideways hug.
“Ah” Madame Pomfrey sighed, “last but not least. Go on, pick a bed”
Harry tried to protest, say that he was fine and didn’t need looking over, but it was futile; he had unwittingly winced as he stood, betrayed by his own pain. Ron and Hermione led the way to the three nearest beds while Harry tried to swallow down the bile that had risen in his throat. She was going to see it, the scar on his chest. She couldn’t, he wouldn’t let her. Yes, he needed his rib fixing, he was in agony, but he really didn’t want anyone seeing his chest like this. No one could know.
He tried to think of a way out of it. He hoped he could get away with telling her he was fine, but no such luck, Madame Pomfrey was already conjuring hospital robes and telling them to change.
“Honestly Ronald, am I really going to let you watch me get undressed?” Hermione tutted, waving her wand to shut the curtains around her.
“Yeah, n-no, course not. Sorry!”
Ron was seen first, then Hermione, each of them hissing and groaning loudly as their wounds were healed. It only took a few minutes each, but the anticipation had Harry’s legs bouncing and hands twisting.
He couldn’t think of any way he could convince Madam Pomfrey to not look at it, and just when he was thinking he could just out right refuse to let her when she entered, and his resolve vanished.
“Come on Potter, you should know the drill by now. Kit off.” She’d said the same thing to Ron, Harry had heard him jokingly reply. When Harry didn’t move, she continued. “I’ve seen it all before Potter.”
He did know the drill and with a heavy sigh and heavy arms, Harry did as he was told. Kicking up a fuss would only alert the others anyway.
Lying back on the bed and closing his eyes tightly, Harry tried to stop his hands shaking as the matron waved her wand over him and promptly began healing the remaining burns and minor cuts over his arms and legs. She’d poured dittany into gash on his leg, almost making him scream in pain. Some of it hurt badly, some of it didn’t.
She then moved her focus to his chest, still black, still scarred and gave a soft sigh. “That’s some serious spell damage you have there, Potter” Madame Pomfrey said quietly. “I really think you should get checked out at St Mungo’s by the specialist te-“
“No.” Harry had said firmly, far more viciously than he had intended. “I’m fine” he lied, “honestly. They’ll be busy enough as it is. I’m sure it’ll be fine in a few days.”
The matron looked at him with the same pitying concern that Hermione had had earlier, but didn’t press, instead she nodded and continued working.
His ribs were mended the next second, he was unsurprised to find it still hurt to breathe.
“I really should insist that you go to St Mungo’s.”
“I don’t want anyone else to know about it. You can’t tell anyone.” Harry implored, his voice low and quiet.
“I won’t” Madam Pomfrey promised and took a step away from the bed. “You’re all done.”
Harry nodded and reached for his clothes, not waiting for her to leave before throwing his shirt back on. He was jumping off the bed and halfway into his jeans when he heard it, a faint “thank you” added in a sincere whisper.
He wished she hadn’t. He didn’t want thanks, why could no one understand this was all his fault?
Your fault. Your fault. Your fault.
Harry followed shortly after, fully dressed and somewhat mended.
Your fault. Your fault. Your fault.
“Right, home now I think.” Mr Weasley said, placing his hand on Charlie and Ron’s shoulders.
“Alright?” Ron asked, turning his head but not moving away from his father.
Your fault. Your fault. Your fault. Your fault. Your fault. Your fault. Your fault. Your fault. Your fault.
“Yeah,” Harry lied again, because he was, or he would be. “All fine.”
#hinny fanfic#Hinny#Or it will be#Harry Potter#harry potter fic#nnbs#HP Fanfic#Harry Potter fanfic#post-war hinny#Post war harry#angst#RIGHT THIS BOY HAS GONE THROUGH A LOT#HES NOT HAVING FUN#OOPS#SOZ
13 notes
·
View notes
Text
Verglas
Shallow mood-snippets on that damsel-rescue trope, post-Endgame AU with Tony alive. Life after adopting a tortured Loki.
mildly Frostiron fluff ~ T+ ~ 2,700 words ~ incomplete
-
Even after playing paper football with a blue alien cyborg, 3D chess with a genocidal god was not among his long term plans. Then again, he was kind of renowned for his spur-of-the-moment plotting, so the Universe didn’t manage to catch him off guard with it. Not even when he lost every single game. He kept a good face for it. He took away from it what he delved in for anyway: data.
FRIDAY was present in this safehouse as well, monitoring the brain activity, amongst all, of the sorcerer. Or ex-sorcerer, possibly sorcerer-on-a-break-from-magic, given that he was unable or unwilling to produce a spark of the impressive unexplainable shit he showed off with back in 2012. Tony was in the middle of a lengthy project: exploring the change (damage, to be crudely exact) these New Asgardians had done to their local devil.
He had detected the trickster during one of his virtual trips among SHIELD’s ultra-private guardian satellites that were overlooking that particular snippet of land Thor’s people were huddled upon; and the nosy twat he was, he soon learned about the inhuman circumstances of the prisoner’s keeping. That was a suicidal move, since he’d have suffocated if he had stayed put from then on. He infiltrated the still developing land without much hassle and rescued the sinner from his well earned penitence, not to distort justice but to stop a living being from such abasement. Then he sent an obscure goodbye to his wife and baby daughter, and he hid away with the shell of Loki for an unspecified length of time, until he evaluated his freshly made decisions and got over what an idiot he was.
As observed through the satellite records and the signs personally noted, Loki had appeared in New Asgard two years after Thor had left Earth with his new pals, the A-holes of the Galaxy. Little did he know, apparently, that his good old people were waiting specifically for said target to show himself. It took no longer than half a day for them to lure the distrusting god into their trap, which, Tony derived, must have been the filthiest one ever set around here. Some friendly meekness flashed, telltale signs of an amateur organisation scattered, they had the sorcerer practically walk into their arms trusting his so-called silver tongue or his ambitions or whatever.
(SHIELD had been watching. Did they let it happen for diplomatic reasons? Did they deem it satisfactory punishment in their place? Did they command the homeless god-wannabes to destroy their own kin? Was it blackmailing or bribing?) (Questions in brackets: things Tony did not acknowledge and delve into, unless he wanted to destroy himself along with his loved ones, or simply go mad. Brackets were strategic avoidance, a fence with crimson self reminders yelling keep out, moron.)
Since the formerly imprisoned god’s arrival, they had managed to seal that silver tongue entirely back into Loki’s mind. They were highly efficient at presenting him to the greatest fears and weaknesses fished out from his nightmares with some shamanistic ballyhoo.
Tony found the hidden chambers in an underground dungeon carved out by the relentless hands of these newcomers, lit by crystalline torches whose light only Tony could see because Loki was blindfolded. His ears plugged. Body bare and freshly scarred, hair trimmed to curled stubble. His swollen limbs floating mid-air, captive to cruel bondages, genitals and anus capped, plugged with tubes leading into the ceiling. His mouth gagged by another one. A strap holding two small disks on each side of the Adam’s apple. Tony had felt his heart and stomach crowd up in his throat at the sight and craved to turn away, to lessen the indignity; but he needed to take in every detail to be able to free the (mass of flesh) without further harm. He’d brought along no allies with himself, as usual.
The silence, the slackness of the body should have alerted him already while he, in the Ironsuit, lifted it off the distasteful hooks that held it up for the public’s service (see the cushioned seats and ornamented tables around); but he settled with relishing the even, listless trembling of the muscles and the arrhythmical, hoarse breathing of the scarred throat as signs of life. He didn’t have much time before he‘d be discovered and overpowered, he had to leave with his loot immediately.
The records dated back to half a decade ago, and Tony wished now that he had been less on his good behaviour and found out earlier. He had no idea why he felt guilty, really. Not even Friday could answer him this.
As mentioned, he couldn’t have breathed without doing what he felt right against the less attended shadowy bits of the Universe, and during the first period of this elopement, he was actually suffocating, despising each atom of stupid inside himself. He was tending to a body with a snippet of life awkwardly trapped in, muscles ceaselessly tugged at by some neural stress he and Friday couldn’t find the base of; none of Earth’s virtual libraries had answers, not even on the esoteric bullshit-shelves. It resembled the fine tremor of fear, but it didn’t show on the languid facial expression and it would never stop. It made spoon feeding difficult, and sleep impossible. The trickster broke Tony’s record awake time at the first run.
Loki healed rapidly from the scars, and he perceived his surroundings, but he was cocooned in a thick wall of disinterest. And Tony was choking in place of the human race, and went on in the single-storey, two-bedroom wooden cottage in the middle of a bird-ridden forest, his dark eyes lit with a peculiar light in (exhaustion) his passion for outplaying magic. If any.
He never found out before the problem solved itself – either the supposed spell wore off, or the god caught up with the events, possibly his mood changed. Tony was habitually sharing his wit about the silly T-shirt he laid by the bed for Loki’s later use. His startled jump was a moment late compared to the trickster’s, who suddenly shuddered and attempted to back up into the wall on his elbows, a groan or a moan stuck deep in his throat.
“Whoa, that’s some entry,” formed the billionaire’s exhale, which probably went unheard: the teal eyes (glowing faintly in the shutter-dimmed room like the sunlit ocean) were fixed on the Ironsuit cosily sitting in the opposite corner’s armchair.
Loki rose cautiously like the slightest breeze could have woken the beast. Or triggered a defensive mechanism, to stay on a realistic ground.
“He’s okay,” Tony informed him from the side. “He’s friendly now. I’m here. That guy is sleeping, see?” He waved with an arm to catch the scattering attention and only spoke again when Loki proceeded to take him in from head to toe. “I’m here to help you. Remember me?”
The trembling ceased gradually from then on, it faded out of the god’s posture. He remained inside his head for most of the time, however, looking at the billionaire distantly like he was made of glass.
Tony suspected and soon experienced that it helped if he had a routine – if they had a routine. It made Loki responsive, if only as much as Dum-E, bless his resting soul, minus the mistakes. He comprehended rules of games, for example, and though those brain graphs didn’t detect enjoyment in them, the thought processes were there: he understood speech, he remembered, he obeyed suggestions; at least on the outside.
-
His inability to fall asleep remained, for example, even though he did such biddings of Tony without a counterargument, like his lagging presence in the world didn’t leave him any other choices. Each time he was advised to try taking a nap, regardless of the time of the day, he spent several hours lying on the bed or couch appointed for him, breathing in heightened alertness, his body motionless but mind wakeful, revealed by the brain functions recorded without his knowledge. Well, at least he tried.
If he did fall into some exhausted coma, the buzzing of a fly could stir him up in the roughest manner. He was clearly a species that needed sleep, though, Tony could recognise dark circles of insomnia well enough. He had yet to tackle that problem for the sorcerer-on-a-break.
Whatever these god guys were doing with their hocus pocus to punish him or better him or gain his knowledge, they had pretty vile means at it. And the earthen authorities had deemed it acceptable to let these creatures live among humans. Fully aware of what they were capable of doing, and simply trusting some superstitious belief that they wouldn’t.
The thought made the hairs stand up on Tony’s back.
-
Loki was terrified of bodies of water, anything larger than a measuring cup. So a bath to cool or comfort him in the mid-summer heat was out of question. Even when the shower got a little clogged and the ankle-high basin started filling up, he was instantly out of the bathroom straining to wind the hand-towel around his waist area on his way to his room, probably the only one he could reach in his hurry. Leaving a trail of puddles behind, mightily ignoring Tony’s inquiry from the kitchen. In the two minutes the billionaire detected the running water in the bathroom and cleaned up the floor, Loki snuck into Tony’s bedroom and stole some fresh clothes instead of the ones he had left in the dangerous area. Tony found him back in his own territory by the time he went to check on him, sitting in the armchair, chewing his nail ragged, glaring out the window, holding onto the notion with claws and teeth that this was the most natural thing in the world. Tony’s Black Sabbath shirt had soaked through around the chest area and the shoulders, the dark cotton pants stuck to the pulled-up shins, the bare toes were clawing at the cushioned seat in tension.
-
He abhorred from the basement where the tinkering chambers and the gym were, or the entrance leading down there. Figures.
He started speaking shortly after he let himself be convinced to do activities for and with Tony. Some exercise started it all, the billionaire wanted to try measuring his protégé’s physical abilities – try, mind you. He didn’t really expect Loki to comply exactly as he wanted. The mental pushback, the fear was only present in the first few minutes in his brain, and it ceased as Tony stopped his reassuring comments that nothing vile was going to happen and the process became natural. Loki did the required push-ups or sit-ups alongside Tony in the grass before the house without complaint; they jogged together on the forest path around the residence, although only the billionaire panted heavily at the end of each round. On the third day, Loki left him behind and waited for him idling under the pear tree near the entrance, perhaps he didn’t even cheat it off.
Elated, Tony initiated exercise that required more creativity, like boxing and wrestling, but Loki pulled out of those regardless of whether he was asked to do it alone or invited for a duel.
“Please, no,” were his first words answering the billionaire’s insistence then, before he went back into the house. Tony decided not to make a big deal out of it; he invited him for a game of chess instead; as it occurred, very wisely.
-
The God of Fears smelt and avoided hot cooking oil from the next room. Before Tony discovered the trait and started with food preparation in the American kitchen whenever it felt fit, the sorcerer tended to leave the bathroom through the window, enter his quarters through the closed terrace door (ruining the lock and making an innocent face afterwards each time) while oil sizzled in the pan for lunch or dinner. The kitchen was a mine field of triggers in itself, it occurred.
He reeled back out of the kitchen-lounge like a virgin in a brothel once as he caught Tony making dumplings.
“What are you doing?” came the muffled question from the other side of the wall; his second sentence uttered aloud.
“Food,” Tony answered while squeezing small pieces of the paste through a gap between his thumb and index finger. “Not poison.”
It took about half a minute to guess the subject of the god’s abhorrence. This meaty, sticky-slippery mess did remind of guts, if you thought hard enough. If you had a well conditioned imagination.
There went Tony’s plan to eat something natural once in a lifetime; to eat at all that evening, in fact. Pepper might have been able to make the dumplings irresistible even for a traumatised god, they were her speciality. Tony missed them.
-
“Loki,” he leaned forwards in the chair on an idle afternoon, while they were sitting out on the shaded porch like two cowboys in jogging pants. He looked deep into the teal eyes to have their attention while sharing the important truth. “In case you’re wondering why I’m so keen on fathering you, it’s not to be pushy or demand anything in return. You don’t owe me anything. It’s a favour to an old friend, okay? Your brother has asked me to look after you in case of your return.”
Well, it was almost entirely the truth, Thor did scatter shyly grumbled notes in defence of his brother when it came up among the remaining Avengers. And the feeling might have been mutual because the trickster perked up subtly at the mention of the thunder god, his head still bent down but his eyes watching intently for the continuation.
“Sorry, pal, I can’t tell you where he went,” Tony threw up an arm apologetically. “I only know he left for Space with a bunch of whackos. A raccoon, a tree, some demigod, a moth girl… and a few more chaps. In an orange spaceship, if that helps; I don’t know how many orange ships fly around out there. Is it a popular colour in the Galaxy-?”
He found himself blinking a few times because the sight was unbelievable: Loki was smiling. Leering. Laughing maybe; though he made no sound, his shoulders were shaking while his palm slid over his lips, then his eyes, head bent down amongst a curtain of hair.
“Pretty expectable, huh?” the billionaire agreed. “Oh. You haven’t seen him in the past decade, have you? Boy, are you in for a treat.”
He stood up during the latter note and stepped into the house, to find the suitable device for displaying his digital photo albums.
-
He had Friday order McDonald’s to the end of the forest path for safety reasons, then took a cap and sunglasses to head out.
“I need to accept delivery out there,” he told the god lounging in an armchair. “A fifteen-minute walk with birds and bees. Wanna come?”
He put on his shoes while waiting for the never-coming answer. He caught sight of the trickster lingering in the doorway afterwards.
“We can go by car if you prefer,” he noted. “I just thought to get some air, to satisfy my wife’s voice in my head. But the car is fine. We can pull down the windows, that should suffice for her.”
Loki shook his head and then added verbal confirmation.
“No. Thank you.”
The latter was soft and sounded intensely desperate to Tony’s ears, but he wasn’t the one to tell. He might have been projecting his own nervousness from leaving the god here alone for the first time.
“I’ll be back in thirty,” he reassured himself and maybe Loki, and he descended the steps of the porch. He decided to take the car, after all.
He jogged from the car to the house with the bags in his arms, seeing no reason to be careful with the lidded cups and all anyway.
“Schmo’s back,” he announced from the entrance. It sounded a tad more commanding than he intended, but at least his stomach’s uneasiness was out of it.
Loki only spoke up when the billionaire stepped into the lounge with the rustling bags.
“So slow,” he muttered, occupied with the mixing of cold water and instant tea at the kitchen counter.
“Missed me?”
Tony tried not to judge on his own, but he strongly felt like the following silence was rather sassy than nonchalant.
-
TBC never
3 notes
·
View notes
Text
❧ Green with Envy ☙
Newt Scamander x fem!reader
Prompt: No matter what you do Newt just won’t notice you, so it’s time to resort to desperate measures...
Warning: swearing,angst, & eventual intense & unprotected sex
WC: 4,109
Reader’s POV
You looked around the dinner table dejectedly, watching as your not so secret crush laughed and chatted with the lovely Tina Goldstein. Oh how cruel the world was you thought watching as Newt struggled to look anywhere but your intense gaze, his cheeks becoming red & his attention to Tina’s lovely story slipping away. You knew he held some affection for you, Queenie had said as much over a bottle of fire whisky not too long ago. And yet you couldn’t seem to catch his eye, besides mumbling and blushing he would just stand there awkwardly whenever you attempted any sort of flirtation. Huffing and turning your gaze elsewhere your thoughts took a dark turn, it was like he was physically unable to make the first move and it was driving you insane. Maybe he just needed a little push you thought deviously twirling your H/C locks round your fingers tightly, the beginning of a plan forming in your head. Queenie, catching wind of your mischievous thoughts raised a strawberry blonde eyebrow at your sudden smirk from across the table. You met her gaze head on and directed your thoughts to her,
‘I’m going to need your help Queen.’
She couldn’t help but smile at your affectionate nickname and laughing she subtly nodded in your direction.
~*~
Everything was ready and in place except you, panicked you had showered too late and your dress was wrinkled, not to mention your smokey eye looked more like a black eye, and you looked like you were taking the walk of shame to another level. Queenie rushed in five minutes before everyone had to leave to get to the bar... but as soon as she walked in she both saw and heard your dilemma. Closing the door firmly and walking towards you she raised her wand determinedly and you watched in awe as everything righted itself. Your tight green dress sparkled and ironed itself out into a gorgeous thigh length mini dress with a plunging neckline, your smokey eye was transformed, now alluring and mysterious with a subtle nude lip to compliment it. What she did to your hair you could only guess but it fell past your shoulder blades in long loose H/C waves. You let out an audible gasp as you stared at the almost finished product and looking to Queenie in glee you gave her an enthusiastic hug. Pulling away from you and holding her wand in the air she blew a piece of strawberry blonde hair from her face and held up a pair of emerald green stilettos to match and in that moment you swear you could’ve kissed her. As you admired yourself in the silver full length mirror by your bed Queenie wrapped her arms around your neck from behind adding a simple silver necklace and dangling earrings. Beaming she whispered, hands on your shoulders,
“Go get him Y/N”
~*~
Just then there was impatient knocking at the door followed by a just as impatient voice,
“Y/N, Queenie, you guys done in there?!”
“Just coming Teenie!”
Queenie yelled back as you nervously chewed on your lip forgetting the nude lipstick,
“Y/N honey come on what ya doing, it’ll be fine, you're unstoppable tonight!”
Nodding and reapplying your lipstick the both of you walked hand in hand to the door. Queenie smiled sneakily just as you twisted the door knob,
“Flipping Fwoopers I forgot my purse!”
And as the door swung open you laughed hard.
~*~
Newt’s POV
Newt stood uncomfortably in the hallway outside your room with a dapper looking Jacob and an extremely impatient Tina. Fiddling with his bow tie nervously he tried not to think about tonight and how nervous he was… because you would be there.. and you always made him nervous… and what if you didn't like him and and oh god he was thinking about tonight. He just didn’t understand, shoving his hands in the pockets of his grey slacks he attempted to look casual and relaxed as he heard the door knob to your room twist. Surely he wouldn’t have to talk to you tonight maybe you couldn’t tell that he had a slight affection for you… but then the door opened and Newt’s jaw hit the floor. You were gorgeous, laughing and smiling at something Queenie had said, exuding the most attractive confidence he’d ever seen in you and tossing back your lovely head of hair. Not to mention your dress, which clung to your gorgeous form tightly. Speaking of that dress … Merlin’s beard Newt practically drooled as his dark eyes slid down your body, trying to memorize the way the sheer emerald fabric hugged your chest, his eyes wandering lower and lower until, your lovely visage turned to meet his. Framed by H/C locks you gazed at him flushing instantly but for once Newt met your glowing E/C eyes and reddened cheeks boldly, his pants growing tighter as he fell in love on the spot.
~*~
Reader’s POV
You tried to take deep calming breaths before you went into the hall were everyone was waiting, hell where Newt was waiting! Your anxiety was about to consume you when you heard Queenie gasp a saying that she knew made you laugh raucously,
“Flipping Fwoopers I forgot my purse!”
Blinking, your hand already on the door knob you snorted and burst out laughing. Queenie had a small knowing smile on her lips as she pushed the door open for you. Still laughing you tossed back your perfectly done hair and realized too late the hallway was dead quiet except for your outrageously loud laugh. Looking to Queenie for help she saw she was smiling wildly and had a far off look that confirmed your suspicions, she was reading someone’s mind… whose thoughts were making Queenie so happy? You searched for Jacob but he was nibbling on a pastry innocently… no… Queenie was looking at someone behind you. Turning, the world seemed to slow down around you, a familiar freckled face was wearing a not so familiar expression. Newts seafoam green eyes were darker, so dark you could drown in that green ocean, but those eyes weren’t looking at you they were undressing you. A sharp tingling flew down your spine and pooled in between your legs as the tall man raked his eyes over your form, shivering and pressing your legs together desperately you met his heated gaze. There was a storm in those gorgeous eyes you thought you knew well, he met your gaze boldly, no blushing or mumbling this time. There was something darker something that almost made you whimper out loud at the thought of this man kissing you, touching you, finally blushing you were the first to look away. Knowing if you looked even a second longer you may never look away.
“Let’s go people the clubs always packed by 10:00.”
Tina’s brisk voice brought you spinning back to reality and gripping your clutch purse in hopes of calming your tingling body and your heaving breaths. You glanced at Newt fervently but the passion filled man you had just met was gone and you're adorable animal loving friend was back, shuffling obediently up to Tina and running a hand through his curly cinnamon hair. Your mind still reeling you linked arms with Tina and Queenie and braced yourself.
~*~
The smell of cigars and the sound of drunken laughter hit the five of you like a wall as you walked into The Blind Pig. Merlin’s beard you needed a drink, heading straight for the bar you ordered four shots of giggle water and glanced around the bar looking for a particular curly ginger head. Spotting Newt cozied up in a booth next to Tina with Jacob and Queenie you scowled and reached for your first shot, this was impossible. What was the point of investing all your affections in one man if he showed zero interest in you, with each shot the memory of the passionate man in the hallway and Queenies wide smile became a distant reality. Soon you had a dazed smile on your face and a flutter in your stomach, trying to remember why you had been staring at a spot above newts shoulder for the last five minutes you called the bartender over. However before you could order another round of giggle water a husky voice beat you to it,
“A round of shots for me and the tall drink of water if ya please.”
Smiling suggestively at you the tall dark stranger leaned against the polished bar waiting for your reply. A painful memory of a sunlit, freckled, and smiling face flashed in your minds eye, the first time Newt had showed you the bowtruckle tree in his case, you winced at the memory, it was the first time you had admitted to yourself that you loved him. But that freckled smiling face was currently having an amazing time with Tina, you realized sourly, so resolutely you turned to the well dressed man, your expression impressively seductive.
“What’s a good looking guy like you doing in a dive like this?”
~*~
Newt’s POV
Newt squinted, attempting to make out your shimmering form through the hazy smoke and dim yellow lighting of the jazz club. It was a difficult task but as he craned his neck and attempted to get up from the booth a pair of small firm hands pulled him down.
“Let her be Newt your always chasing after Y/N, you never stay and talk with me, she’s a grown woman you know she can take care of herself!”
Newt furrowed his brow and looked at Tina with distaste it was unlike her to be so jealous, he scowled but said gently,
“So are you Tina.”
She looked up at him taken aback and affronted as he turned away heading towards the bar. Newt stood straightening out his collar and smoothing his slacks, he felt like no matter what he wore he was disparagingly drab next to your beauty. Feeling his confidence rise, Newt thought he might even buy you a drink, he would try hard not to get red and flustered and he’d be the perfect gentleman he decided happily. As soon as he saw your shining H/C tresses his happiness peaked only to come crashing down around him when he saw who was next to you. A tall handsome man that exuded confidence stood much too close to you and attempted to snake an arm around your waist, eyes drifting down to your low cut neckline. Newt watched it all in slow motion; the drunken giggle escaping your pouty lips and the mans lingering gaze on your body as he leaned in close to you, so close Newt saw your eyes crinkle and your mouth turning into a disapproving frown. That was all it took for his already thin patience to snap.
~*~
Reader’s POV
You had gotten through three more shots and the world seemed to be slightly fuzzy at the edges like everything happening was apart of a dizzy dream, as of right now you decided that it was a nightmare. The giggle water had gone straight to your head but currently you were getting less drunk and more annoyed at the man you had been chatting up, or ‘Josh’ as he had said not even asking for your name first. Josh was getting too close to your hips for your liking and you were in no mood for a one night stand, just when you were ready to excuse yourself for ‘some air’ you caught the smell of freshly churned soil and cinnamon. “Leave her alone.”
Your eyebrows shot skyward and you turned around, but the person you associated with that smell was nowhere to be found, instead the man from the hallway was back. The tall magizoologist was dangerously quite and his eyes were that dark ocean of green once more. You shivered and backed away, unintentionally into the arms of the one Newt was trying to protect you from. Josh smirked and you whipped around standing apart from them both quickly.
“She’s with me,”
Newt said with a confidence unlike any you’d ever heard from him. Josh laughed,
“She doesn’t look like she’s with you and if she’s fair game then I’d like to go back to my place now.”
He wiggled his eyebrows at you suggestively, you opened your mouth to put him in his place but Newt beat you to it.
“No I don’t think so.”
Josh took a swig from his whiskey glass and whipped out his wand staggering towards Newt with a deranged glint in his eye. You panicked,
“This has gone far enough!”
You pulled your wand from your clutch and grabbed Newt apparating on the spot to the first place you could think of, your apartment. You turned, furious at Newt but not meeting his gaze you placed your clutch on the table and slipped off your heels,
“What were you thinking?! Your not my big brother I’m a grown woman, I can take care of myself!”
You took a breath to continue your admonishing and spun towards the door to lock it. You nearly ran into a toned chest. Stopping short and swallowing your lecture you looked up hesitantly not knowing which Newt would meet your eyes. A vast sea of dark blue-green met your glittering E/C eyes, the man from the hallway and the bar looked down at you. Blushing you stuttered,
“Listen, I.. you shouldn’t ..you can’t just...”
Exasperated, you tried desperately to form a sentence but then you stopped trying, because Newt placed his hand on your cheek. You stared into the raging typhoon that was his eyes and swallowed a whimper, Merlin’s Beard this man.
“Y/N you don’t understand what… you couldn’t possibly… it’s not..”
He paused frustrated as you had been and said with an air of finality,
“You’ll always be the only one for me.”
Your hand came up to your mouth, the looks, the touches, the laughs all of it was real… and he was real.
“Your my everything.”
You breathed it softly, this admission of your passion and your breath hitched as you watched what you said take effect. It started in his eyes, now you understood what the darkness in them was… pressing your legs together you realized it was lust. Newt looked as if he had been waiting for your permission and he looked to be in physical pain, restraining every muscle in his body from ravishing you. Knowing he needed an extra push you put both hands on his shoulders and nuzzled your face in his neck,
“Show me I’m the only one.”
And with your hot breath tickling his neck and your soft hands at his shoulders, Newt snapped.
~*~
Newt’s POV
Merlin’s beard you were fantastic, Newt had grabbed you by the waist and shoved you into the nearest wall, and as he latched onto your neck you moaned his name. It was the hottest thing Newton Scamander had ever fucking heard. His knee was in between your legs now and you were kissing him like there was no tomorrow. He could feel the heat radiating from your core, and you were driving him wild, his senses overloaded by everything that was so perfectly you. Your perfume, your shampoo, it all combined to make a scent that was so alluring Newt thought he would drown in it and die a happy man. But as your hands drifted to his belt memories of the man at the bar arose and he growled at the thought of that stranger here with you instead of him. Newts eyes blazed with a glittering passion and pressing a possessive kiss to the dip of your low neckline he ripped your dress down the middle. You gasped as the cold air hit your exposed nipples and put a hand on Newts chest to push him back,
“Newt Scamander that was my favorite dress!”
But Newt was hiding behind his hair again and all he could do was drink in your nearly naked figure,
“You look fucking delicious Y/N.”
The anger on your face turned to arousal quickly, Newt did not swear often and he smirked as he saw how much it turned you on. There you stood one hand on his chest and one clutching at the wall you were up against, the emerald remains of your dress lay torn at your feet and all that was between your legs was a scrap of lacy black fabric that couldn’t possibly qualify as underwear. Licking his lips and pushing your hand away lazily Newt directed his full attention to the lovely round breasts in front of him,
“No bra Y/N why, you must have been the biggest slut in the bar today…”
Newts voice was low and gravelly and he smirked when he heard your mewl of delight at his words.
“Newt..”
~*~
Reader’s POV
You were squirming against the wall with your eyes screwed shut, when you peeked he was still standing there just staring at all of you with those lusty eyes, whimpering you felt the heat pool between your legs more and more but he just stood there looking ridiculously gorgeous!
“ah..Newt..please..”
He rolled up his sleeves and you nearly moaned out loud, his freckled forearms were tan and scarred and god you so desperately wanted them on you. He stared at you intently licking his lips again god damn him and said in a voice that sent your body into overdrive,
“Tell me what you want Y/N.”
Shuddering you looked up at him with hooded eyes and whispered,
“Want.. you, touch me Newt… oh gods touch me!”
That was all you had to do it turns out, he rushed to you and gathered you in his arms carrying you into a familiar room, your bedroom you realized. He laid you gently on the bed below him but turned you over before you could get comfortable. You heard a clink of metal and frowned,
“Newt? What’s going on?”
Silence... then a sharp ‘thwap’ as leather hit your bare ass, it stung but the vibration through your panties had you mewling.
“You need to be punished Y/N, you said and did some things that hurt me today,”
‘thwap’ you moaned out loud,
“I’d like an apology.”
‘thwap’
“Merlin! I’m sorry!”
‘thwap’ you screamed,
“I’m sorry!”
The belt stopped and you felt soft warm lips in its place kissing the red marks lovingly. You twisted, turning onto your back and scowling,
“You are very overdressed Mr. Scamander.”
Smirking you watched Newt shudder at the title while you noticed the sizeable tent in his pants eagerly.
As soon as he pulled his dress shirt off however you could not contain yourself, your hands ran down his scarred chest eagerly. Newt however looked at you nervously from behind his hair,
“I know.. t-t-there not the nicest things to look at…”
You kissed each silver scar passionately and paused to look up at him,
“I think their beautiful.”
He smiled regaining his confidence and gently pushing you back down but you noticed while you had been distracted, the handsome redhead had undressed and was left in navy blue boxers that you were tempted to rip off. But before you could do so a warm and wet sensation started trailing up your thigh.
“oh...my..Newt what are you doING!”
The wizards mouth was on your core and he had shoved your parties to the side sliding his tongue inside you eagerly lapping at your juices while you writhed and moaned one hand anchoring you in the sheets and the other tugging at the head of cinnamon hair between your legs. Suddenly without warning newt replaced his tongue with two fingers, plunging them deep into your core. You were chanting his name like a prayer now as his mouth latched onto one of your bouncing nipples, increasing your pleasure tenfold.
“Newt...I-I-I’m so… Aghh!”
He had added a third, vigorously sliding the slick digits in and out of your cunt, his long fingers were pushing you over the edge.
“I-I-I’m I’m gonna..”
He stopped, the idiot stopped! You looked down at him betrayed but he just smiled that annoying melt your heart smile and said albeit darkly,
“Save it dear, we still haven’t reached the main event..”
His face was inches from yours now and boy were you a mess of denied pleasure and intense arousal. He leaned forward and kissed you passionately and you moaned into the kiss eagerly tasting yourself, your hands wrapping around his neck. His hands were busy sliding down his boxers and your panties however and once they did you gasped into his mouth, pulling away you muttered fervently into his ear,
“Wow who knew you were packing Scamander?”
And by that you meant packing, he was huge, his length slapping against his stomach eagerly. Newt, for all his confidence tonight was frozen above you blushing but you smiled reassuringly and said gently,
“Go ahead sweetheart I’ve wanted this for a long time.”
Nodding Newt, in contrast to his earlier movements slid slowly into you, while you moaned all the while. His cock stretched and filled you like nothing you had ever experienced, and as you stared at the concentrated freckly face above you, you whispered as seductively as you dared,
“Don’t hold back Mr. Scamander…”
You grunted, surprised as his cock moved within you, moaning lewdly as it pulled back out and Newt snapped his hips. You groaned digging your nails into his back, earning a growl from the almost primal man above you as he sped up his thrusts. With an arm on either side of your head Newt found a new angle and dynamite sticks of pleasure were exploding in your core so you let him know,
“Oh..yes.. Merlin...Newt right THERE!”
He was drilling you into the mattress now sucking and biting at your chest aggressively as you held on for dear life. You were close and he knew it, angling his thick cock even deeper inside of you as you screamed his name wildly. His mouth leaving your now abused breasts, he brought a hand to your clit and started rubbing,
“You think anyone in that bar could’ve made you feel this good? Huh Y/N?”
You bit your lip and shut your eyes shaking your head no,
“What was that darling?”
“N-n-n-no!”
You got out, voice faltering every time he thrust into your heat. His ocean eyes were a glittering green storm above you now as you writhed and screamed yourself hoarse. He was getting close too and you could feel his cock twitching inside of you, “Who do you belong to Y/N?”
You barely processed his words your mind a mess of pleasure,“Y-y-y-you…”
“What was that love?”
You were both so close, hot bodies grabbing at one another desperately,
“You I belong to you Newt!”
Newt groaned at the sound of his name on your lips and thrust into you hard one last time spilling his seed deep within you. His hot seed within you was enough to trigger your release and as your pussy convulsed around him white fireworks exploded in front of your eyes, you heard someone screaming in pleasure and realized it was you. Your eyes were locked onto Newts the hold time and he held you tightly as your orgasm washed over you. Finally as your head began to clear and you came down from your dizzying high, you gazed at the man holding you. He was flushed from your recent lovemaking and his curls more tousled then usual, you were star struck, his eyes were there normal lovely shade of green-blue and you nearly fainted when you realized he was already staring at you the same way. Merlin’s Beard you were both so in love.
“Y/N?”
“Yes dear?”
“I’m sorry if I hurt you I pride myself on my control but when I’m around you I just...I can’t… i-i-it’s hard to explain..”
He looked up at you through the mass of messy ginger curls almost apologetically, but you giggled.
“Newt if my sore throat is any indication I’m pretty sure I fucking loved it.”
He smiled and soft Newt, your creature loving best friend was back, and as much fun as envious Newt was, you decided as you felt two freckled arms wrap around your waist and warm breath nuzzle into your neck, that you liked this Newt better.
*****************************************************************************************************
AWWWWWWWWW we love a fluffy ending...I’m lowkey really proud of this it took me a week to write! Please reblog if you enjoyed!
Message to join the Tag List!
@tehgvicious @carryoncaptainrogers @veganfangirl5
#newt scamander#newt fic#original writing#newt scamander is a cinnamon roll#eddie redmayne#fantastic beasts and where to find them#fantastic beasts the crimes of grindelwald#newt imagine#newt fanfiction#newt scamander smut#newt x reader fic#newt x reader smut#newt x you#newt x reader#newtina#jacob x queenie#newt x tina#newt x y/n
818 notes
·
View notes
Last Seen Blogs
unknowntemtacion
Xxxtentacion Fan Page
kdrama413
kdrama413
fallowsong1
🔥🐱🔥
peterparker366-blog
Untitled
voodon-t
Nothing worth knowing can be taught