#*me staring darkly at the tiny mistakes* | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

that-green-haired-swordsman · 2 years ago

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I really don’t know why I had this specific headcanon. Maybe bc I was rereading the relationship between Sanji and his family. Plus on reddit I’ve seen an old post with someone saying „Apparently Oda said that if Sanji should die, Zoro would pick up his smoking habit to remember him“, dunno if this is true but now I’m imagining Zoro and Sanji sharing a cigarette. This story is canon-divergent and it’s also been quite some time since I read the WCI arc and my memory is shit, so bear with me. Also Zoro and Sanji are most likely slightly ooc lol. Anyway, this happened in my brain...

Sanji knows it was a bad idea to go after his so-called family on his own, but he’d rather die while trying to stop them than seeing his friends get in danger. He can’t stand the presence of the man who fathered him, his stench makes him sick to his stomach. Judge has told him all kinds of fairytales about his future power and influence in the world, once Sanji got married to that daughter of Big Mom, and Sanji wishes he could settle things with his family once and for all, but he knows the time isn’t the best, so all he can do for now is listen to his father’s ridiculous fantasies and hope that his friends would be alright.

Of course, Judge tried to ask Sanji about his connection to the Strawhat pirates, which Sanji tried to dodge and give the least possible information about, stating he was only the ship’s chef and nothing else, and his father eyed him suspiciously. „We’ll see about that“, he said and left it at that for the moment, but not without gifting his son with an icy smile that let chills run down over Sanji’s spine.

The door to the throne room opens and Sanji watches his older brothers Ichiji and Niji drag a figure along with them.

„Look at the rat we’ve got here“, Ichiji announces proudly, throwing the man on the floor like a shopping bag. Sanji gulps. Those clothes, short green hair, arms tied behind his back. Goddammit, how could that happen?

„He fell off a tiny ship or whatever that was when we attacked it. These idiots were dumb enough to think they could cross our territorial waters without our permission. Thought he’d look familiar.“

„Does he?“ Judge asks, and Niji grabs the man by the scalp and lifts his head up. A soft sound, metal jingling against metal, from his left ear that was covered in blood, so was his temple, and of course – Sanji already knew who he was when the men entered the room. A figure impossible to mistake for someone else, once you met him, eyeing his opponents with a dark glare like an angered tiger in a cage.

Niji approaches Sanji and Judge with a stack of papers in his hand, briefly says „this one“ and hands the paper on top to his dad. Sanji stares in disbelief at the face that stares at his father’s, full of hatred.

„Ah, Roronoa Zoro“, Judge loudly announces. „The Pirate Hunter. Quite a bounty. I guess you know this guy?“ Judge nugdes Sanji with a grin, but the only response he gets is a frown that’s reserved for Zoro. How could you let yourself get captured?

„What are you doing here?“ Sanji asks his comrade without any emotions in his voice, although there are many of them he feels. The timing of this couldn’t be any worse, Sanji thinks darkly. Shitty marimo is gonna ruin everything. An eerie thought crawls into Sanji’s mind, but he manages to pause it for the moment.

„Guess I could ask you the same thing“, Zoro gives back, husky voice, almost growling, with a suggestive undertone Sanji doesn’t like at all. Zoro is mad. But not solemnly at the Vinsmoke family - first and foremost at Sanji. „Quite a mess you put me in, you dumb cook.“

Sanji bites back the remark that lingers on his tongue, while Judge openly laughs.

„Seems like you boys have something to discuss. I’m afraid there won’t be time for that. But I have quite a few things to talk about with you.“ Judge slowly walks towards Zoro who’s still forced to kneel on the ground.

„Do you?“, Zoro replies, sly grin on his face. „Why would I waste my time talking to a bastard like you?“

„Guess we have to introduce ourselves, father“, Ichiji says, and swings his leg to kick Zoro in the face and the swordsman‘s head jerks to the side and he roars in pain. Sanji flinches and is about to lunge forward to attack Ichiji, but Niji holds him firmly in place. Zoro grunts, blood runs from his nose, and he stares at Ichiji, his brows sunken dangerously low.

„You’re gonna pay for this“, Zoro growls with a deep voice, „for that hit and also for taking away my swords earlier. You don’t seem to know who’s in front of you either….!“

Ichiji grins disdainfully. „You are scum. You’re not worth the ground I’m walking on. You made the mistake of challenging the Vinsmoke family. You might have earned yourself a reputation, but it’s not even close to ours. And you will learn about our power.“

Zoro scans Ichiji’s face, then knits his brows, then looks over to Judge and lastly to Sanji. He grins. And then, he laughs.

„You’re the stupidest looking idiots I’ve ever come across, I don’t know how to take you seriously“, Zoro chuckles, and Sanji shakes his head, both as to acknowledge Zoro’s idiocy and as a warning sign he hopes Zoro sees, in order to tell him to keep his damn big mouth shut.

„You’re not afraid of anything, aren’t you?“, Judge asks Zoro quietly as he crouches down in front of him, and Zoro recovers from his laughing fit and looks directly into Judge’s eyes.

„No.“

„That’s your first mistake“, Judge says, „but based on my work experience I can tell that the inability to detect danger usually is one result of a general lack of intelligence, and you really don’t appear to be smart. Just loud and boisterous.“ Judge watches Zoro from the corner of his eyes, and it’s a bait Zoro all too easily swallows.

„Oh yeah? You guys really think you’re a match for me? And you claim to be the smart one between the two of us.“ Zoro ends with another arrogant, lopsided grin, one of his many trademarks, and Sanji exhales audibly, shaking his head because he damn well knows where this is gonna lead to. He knows that crazy bastard in front of his father inside and out, but the same applies to his father, and he witnesses two men who won’t back down and bow down to anyone standing face-to-face, and that strange feeling he can’t quite grasp crawls back into his head, and Sanji feels the hair on the back of his neck stand up. He’s gonna ruin everything.

Judge eyes him with a cold stare. „You’re gonna tell me everything I want to know about your crew. Where they are, why you are here, everything.“

„What if I don’t?“

Judge looks into Zoro’s face for a moment longer before he stands up again, and he doesn’t move a single muscle in his face as he kicks Zoro in the stomach, enhancing the boot of his raid suit with electricity, and Zoro screams, and Sanji forces himself to watch his comrade go through the agony his own father put him in. Zoro doubles over, groans repeatedly, and Sanji’s whole body shakes and trembles. Niji eyes him suspiciously, and Sanji reminds himself that he has to keep his composure - he told Judge that he doesn’t care about the Straw Hats, none of them.

Zoro coughs as Judge watches him, addressing him one last time with a cold, vicious voice that freezes the blood in Sanji’s veins.

„I’ll put you through hell.“

Zoro remains silent for once, but his dark, if not murderous expression tells Sanji what’s on the swordman’s mind.

Judge crosses his arms behind his back. „Your decision. You can be a traitor and live, or you can be a moron and die.“ He turns around now and locks eyes with Sanji as he walks back to him and Niji. Sanji returns his gaze, and he doesn’t hide the hatred and abhorrence in his eyes.

Just as Zoro inhales and opens his mouth for a retort, Sanji beats him to it. „You’re right, father“, he says loudly, and Judge comes to a halt right in front of him. „He is a stupid idiot. He’s proven to be an idiot time and time again. Never uses his brain, always excited to get in a fight. The only things he cares about are his swords and booze. You can’t expect much from a guy like that.“ Judge eyes Sanji closely, but Sanji holds his gaze. „He’s as illiterate and crude as you expect him to be. We never got along with each other from the day we’ve met. And I don’t intend to change that. He’s the dumb musclehead he looks like. He doesn’t know jack shit. So whatever it is you expect him to know, you can be sure he doesn’t have a clue about it. He’s useless.“

Sanji’s putting much at stake, he knows it. But he’s not gonna let Zoro grant preference to destroy his father, if the odds turned out to be in Zoro’s favor, absolutely fucking not… however, and Sanji’s sure of it, Zoro would be no match to Judge. Not only because Zoro lacks some vital information about the Vinsmokes in general, but also…

The blonde cook feels his heart beating in his chest, and he hopes he actually didn’t manoeuvre himself into a corner like he suspects he did.

If Vinsmoke Judge wasn’t such a large and impressive figure, Sanji would have been able to see Zoro steaming now, but Judge blocks his view on the swordsman. But he can very well hear Zoro yell „You son of a bitch!“, for which he earns a punch from Ichiji. Sanji tries to be calm and collected, and to emphasise his demeanor, he pulls out a cigarette and his lighter and starts to smoke. Niji lets go off him, and Sanji tries to calm down his shaking hands.

„Well, that brings me in some kind of inconvenience“, Judge muses. „I was hoping that my sons would bring me some big enough fish who could enlighten me, but you say otherwise. I guess I have to change my plans then.“ Judge turns around again, and Sanji exhales the breath he’s been holding.

His father walks over to Zoro again.

Fear. That’s what it is. Not uneasiness, not insecurity, not that anxious feeling you experience when you know something bad is likely going to happen. It’s fear. It’s a primal instinct, and Sanji grew to learn it, grew up with living with it, a long time ago.

Judge suddenly speaks up, and he startles Sanji.

„Pardon me, son, but I’m right to assume that, if you despise this man as much as you claim to, you don’t mind if we‘re going to torture him a little bit – just for the hell of it?“ Judge flashes Sanji a vicious grin, one of those that causes the chef’s blood to boil in his veins. „And it’s your decision if you tell me what I want to know instead, and then we’ll stop, or you just leave this roach to his demise and join us, we’re going to destroy the Strawhat pirates anyway. But be informed that, should you comply and sing, in order to stop the torturing, I’ll just count this as another sign of your weakness, as another proof that you’re a failure and an miserable excuse of a man. Because a real man doesn’t care about those who stand in his way, and a real man doesn’t back down. In some way-„ Judge grabs Zoro’s head now and forces him to look into the tyrants‘ face „-it’s a shame that we’re going to kill you piece by piece. A fierce brute like you would’ve fit in my army just fine. But, like I said, you’re not nearly smart enough for that.“

„You’re gonna regret the day we’ve met“, Zoro growls, before Judge gives him a hard push that shoves Zoro over the floor and Sanji watches Ichji and Niji taking a hold of Zoro again, dragging him out of the room while his crewmate throws insult after insult at them.

Sanji feels nauseous. Everything would have been under control, if Zoro wouldn’t have lost against his brothers. A knot forms in his stomach as he thinks about the rest of the crew, the ones who were travelling with Zoro and whose fate he doesn’t know about, as well as the others who stayed on Tottoland Island with Luffy. Sanji damn well knows how much his older brothers love to torture people who they think little of, and parts of his own childhood force their way back into his mind, and he smokes his cigarette quicker. His father’s laughter echoes in his head, a sound he hasn’t heard in such a long time, but which still feels horribly familiar.

Zoro‘s going to tell him a thing or two, once they’ve been able to escape the place, that’s for sure. Sanji feels that crippling fear again, that imminent sense of danger, as he thinks about the swordsman, the image of him after they’ve met Bartholomew Kuma on the Thriller Bark creeps back into his mind, how Zoro was standing there in his own blood only being alive by sheer willpower. Sanji wondered how Zoro was even standing on his own feet, and he wondered what it would take for him to collapse. He survived shit he should have died on for so many times. He is throws himself into life-threatening, suicidal situations without so much as batting an eye, reckless, careless, senseless, batshit crazy. The cook wipes a strand of his blonde hair out of his face, wondering if he’s gonna be present on the day when Zoro will finally meet his maker. But today’s not the day, and the place is not the place, and Vinsmoke Judge won’t be the last man in whose face Zoro would look and smile before he goes down.

„This is a waste of time“, Sanji murmurs, taking another drag from his cigarette. „I can’t believe y’all are dumb enough to fall for that moron‘s mockery. Guess you’re even dumber than him.“ Judge turns around to look at him. „It’s true“, Sanji shrugs. „That dumbass always wants to get in a fight. Whatever he gains from it, I don’t even wanna know. Shit probably turns him on or something.“ Judge chuckles while Sanji puts out the cigarette he’s been smoking down to its butt.

„You’re too soft“, Judge remarks with a voice that reminds Sanji of a meat grinder. „You don’t stand behind what you’re saying. You’re weak and pathetic and you obviously think I’m dumb. You didn’t really think I’d let go of that jerk because of your little act, did you?“ Judge bends down to get closer to his son’s face, and the latter presses his lips together in anger. „I know he won’t say anything“, Judge continues. „And you know that I just love to see him suffer. I want to see if you suffer then as well. Let’s say, seven days.“

„What?“

„Seven days. I’ll keep him tied up and torture him for seven days without food and water. If he survives and you don’t do anything to free him and really remain unimpressed by his treatment, I shall set him free. Not you, of course. You will have to stay here and marry Charlotte Pudding.“ Judge cups his hands behind his back and saunters in a circle around Sanji. „You get to see him once a day. And you will tell him to sing. You will tell him that if he gives us information, his suffering will end. If he refuses, he’ll have to wait until those seven days are over to be executed. Not that he’s going to make it that far.“

„But you said that you want me to-„

„Boy, boy, boy.“ Judge shakes his head slowly. „I can torture this guy all day long if I want. But you? You have to stay all pretty of course for the wedding! I’m curious, I have to say, what he thinks of you. He’s going to think you’re a traitor, and that you will talk, right? If he doesn’t think you’re rat already, for crawling back to your father on your knees.“

Sanji’s body shakes on its own account again, he’s fueled with rage. He wishes he could end his father’s life right here and now, and he seriously contemplates doing it. If that shitty marimo wouldn’t be held captive in the catacombs, he wouldn’t hesitate. But as things are now, it’s too risky. He needs more time. He needs a plan. As if he already hadn’t enough shit on his hands.

„I don’t think it’ll work, but I try“, Sanji says then. „But do I have your word that you’ll set him free when he talks?“

„Of course“, Judge grins, and he doesn’t even try to hide that he’s lying.

~~~

Sanji waits until Ichiji and Niji return from the catacombs. He grinds his teeth upon seeing their gloves and boots bloodied, upon them laughing and shouting, bragging about what they did.

„Did he say anything?“ Judge wants to know.

„Nah“, Niji replies. „Aside from a few insults and threats here and there. Took my right hook like a champ, though.“ He laughs. Sanji wants to rip his stupid laugh right off his fucking face.

„Give us two more days, three at most. He’ll beg uns on his knees to spare his life. If he’ll have remaining knee caps to kneel down on then, that is.“ Sanji hears the men roar with laughter, and he grinds his teeth harder to remind himself to stay in place, play along, and not to run downstairs immediately. He knows he’s still alive, and they want to have something to do for the remaining days. However, it gets harder to ignore the growing knot in his stomach and the dryness in his throat and the boiling blood in his veins. He waits for the brothers to calm down and find something else they can keep themselves occupied with, and then, with a growing sense of dread, he descends the stairs.

~~~

The hallway is dark and cold and humid. A few torches here and there prevent Sanji from wandering around in complete darkness. He walks until he sees a silhouette in one of the cells, sitting at the bars.

„Mosshead“, he greets the figure. „How stupid of you to let yourself get captured.“

Sanji sits down at the bars as well.

„You traveled into that bastard's territory alone and you have the audacity to call me stupid?“, the silhouette rasps, followed by a wheezy, weak laugh.

Sanji exhales. He’s not able to see Zoro properly due to how dark it is. „They roughed you up quite a bit, haven‘t they?“, he asks the swordsman.

A bit of silence, then: „Shut up. It’s nothing.“

Sanji reaches into the pocket of his vest to get his cigarettes. He uses the lighter and in the glim of light, he sees Zoro’s face: the swelling above his remaining eye, the bruises, the dried blood under his nose, how he sits there cross-legged in front of him, arms on his knees, back hunched. Sanji knows he’s worse than he claims to be. Yet, he says nothing, swallows the sudden feeling of anger, closes his eyes and lights the cigarette. When he closes the lid of his lighter, Zoro disappears into the shadows again.

Sanji takes a drag and inhales deeply. He needs a clear mind, for the both of them.

„Care to share with me?“

Zoro’s question startles Sanji a bit. He opens his eyes and tries to perceive Zoro’s face. After his eyesight adjusts to the darkness, he recognises Zoro staring at him.

„You mean… this?“ Sanji holds the cigarette higher and when he doesn’t get an answer, hesitatingly brings his hand closer to Zoro between two of the prison cell bars. He feels Zoro’s fingertips brush against his own as the sturdily built man takes the cigarette from Sanji’s lean fingers. Sanji watches in curiosity how Zoro brings the butt of the cigarette to his lips and takes a drag, and he fails to suppress the cough that fights its way up his throat. Sanji snickers.

„Damn it. That was embarrassing. I’m not used to this anymore“, Zoro croaks, his deep voice sounding even more husky than usual.

„You used to smoke?“ Sanji asks incredulously.

„Back then when I was growing up. Thought I’d be cool, but I actually hated it.“

Sanji was surprised to hear himself laughing softly with a hint of affection. Zoro hands the cigarette back to him.

„Turns out my old sensei hated it too, when he caught us one day.“

„Bushido is all about discipline, isn’t it? Did he kick you out?“

„Me? Nah.“

Sanji takes another drag and shakes his head slightly at how offended Zoro just sounded. That arrogant sack of shit. There’s no chance he’ll ever meet a man more full of himself than Roronoa Zoro, he thought.

„Typical Scorpio right there, aren’t we?“ Sanji mumbles.

„You believe in that bullshit?“

„So far much of it has proven to be true.“

Zoro snorts. „Whatever, curly brows.“

Sanji fumbles with the cigarette a bit before he reaches it back to Zoro. „Quite a welcome my family provided to you“, Sanji says while doing so. „They’re pretty shitty hosts. They should’ve lived on the Baratie. Zeff would’ve taught them some manners.“

Sanji looks down on the floor, ashamed, angry. He sees the cigarette glimmer from the corner of his eyes and hears Zoro exhale a moment later, a wave of smoke washing over his face.

„So what’s your plan, cook? You’re gonna let me rot here and marry your dumb little princess?“, Zoro asks with a crooked grin.

Sanji puffs. „Oh no no, that shit’s not working on me. You can stop being a provocative asshole. I’m gonna tell you everything you want to know.“

„I don’t give two shits about your family or that girl“, Zoro rumbles. „If you think you can earn my sympathy with a sob story of your upbringing, you should know me better.“

„I don’t want your sympathy“, Sanji snarls. „I just want this to be over with and help you escape, if not for you, then for the sake of the others.“

„And what is it you‘re going to do? With them?“

„They laid hands on one of my nakama, they gonna pay for this.“

Zoro sneers. „We’ll see about that. I don’t think you’d stand a chance. Those armours they wear seem to give them great power. They were holding back.“ Zoro takes another drag and Sanji tries to scan Zoro’s body for any more damage.

„What did they do to you?“ he asks then as he fails to see anything.

„Doesn’t matter“, Zoro simply replies as he gives back the cigarette.

„To me, it does. These absolute shitheads are my brothers. They‘ll reap what they sowed.“

„Revenge is a fool’s game“, Zoro calmly states. „If you get invested in revenge, you’re gonna lose your focus.“

„Yeah, I’m sorry I’m not a cold, unemotional bastard like you.“

Zoro watches Sanji taking another drag, but remains silent, and his blank expression makes Sanji indescribably angry.

„What the hell is going on with you?!“, he shouts. „You just sit there and don’t talk back to me. You just sit there and practically wait for them to come back and beat the living shit outta you! How‘s that supposed to help anyone?! You wanna die a hero? Go ahead then, just do it! I don’t even give a fuck! I can just go back upstairs then and tell them to rip you apart, if that’s what you want! You’re begging for it! I came here to see if you’re alright and to make plans how to get you outta here, but if that’s not what you’re interested in, I might as well not give a fuck about you then either!“ Sanji angrily takes another drag and waits impatiently until the nicotine kicks in.

„You’re so fucking stupid“, Zoro blares, and Sanji feels the sudden urge to punch him and under other circumstances, he would. With his fist, and that means something.

„I don’t think so“, Sanji growls through gritted teeth.

„You are. And also, you talk too much.“ Zoro reaches through the bars to snatch the cigarette from Sanji’s fingers. Sanji lets him do it, Zoro looks away and Sanji feels another emotion washing over him suddenly. He gulps, feeling the after-effects of what he just yelled into Zoro’s face, and maybe for the first time ever, asks himself if they still have to be this way, after every thing. He realises that Ichiji, Niji and Yonji aren’t the ones he should call his brothers.

Maybe, one day….

Sanji fumbles with the buttons of his sleeves. He needs to stop that spiral of violence before it’s too late, no matter for whom.

„I’m going to beg him to stop. I can’t just sit here and watch you getting hurt“, Sanji then says. „I’ll tell him what he wants to know.“

Zoro’s head snaps around to look at Sanji. „If you’re gonna do that, I’ll kick your ass the minute i get the chance to do it. You won’t say a single thing. We’re not going to put the others in danger.“

„They’re going to seriously hurt you. You don’t know my bro… these guys.“

Zoro doesn‘t miss the pained expression that slips through Sanji’s masquerade for a short moment.

He shrugs. „I don’t care. I can take it.“ He ponders for a moment to tell Sanji about what happened at Thriller Bark, but decides against it. „The longer I’m here, the longer I’ll drag the attention off the others who are still on the boat. These idiots won’t go after them as long as they got me to play with. If it helps to grant them enough time to reach Wano - fine by me. You worry about your own business. I can take care of myself just fine.“

Zoro takes a long pull before he returns the cigarette that’s almost finished. „Here. You can have the rest.“

Sanji shakes his head, thinking about Zoro willingly act as a distraction. „That’s the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard.“, he then says, accepting the cigarette. He watches it, rather than looking at his nakama, who always had a unique way of showing that he cares.

And so, Zoro smiles, almost genuinely this time. „Hey, if the both of us would be going to beat their asses, that would be unfair.“

That took Sanji by surprise, but he recovers quickly and agrees. „We’d stomp them into the ground, big time“, he laughs, until he notices that he let his guard down and he stares at Zoro to check if he noticed as well. Sanji can’t tell. He’s caught off guard by the intense gaze of his crewmate that comes along with a mismatching neutral expression which most likely actually carries more emotions than Zoro lets on. It’s his gaze, the way he looks at Sanji, for a moment. They usually don’t get the time to talk to each other like that, and if they do, they rather spend it on physical fights, bickering and hurling insults at each other. But there it is again, that inner voice inside of Sanji telling him that maybe it’s time to move on from their immature act. Maybe not ultimately, but on occasion. At this moment, he doesn’t feel like bickering. He feels the need to avenge his comrade, not because he was hurt, he apparently doesn’t even care – but because his so-called brothers and father laid their hands on him. Sanji suppresses the range of emotions, the absurd moments of his past, the multiple flashbacks that threaten their way back into his mind, memories he thought he’d forgotten about years ago, but he knows he’s been lying to himself all the time. There is no way he could ever forget what they have done to him, he can only continue to live in the best way possible. Their abusive behaviour damaged him permanently and he thought he knew how to avoid the triggers. Then, he watches Zoro, the prime example of an alpha male, and he wonders.

„You know, I really hated you, when he first met. And for quite a while after that“, Sanji confesses. „And now, I finally know why. Thing is, some people change and some don’t.“

„I have absolutely no idea what the fuck you’re talking about“, a confused Zoro gives back.

Sanji smiles to himself, kills the cigarette and stands up, wiping the dust off his pants.

„Do me a favor and refrain from dying, I can imagine they’d force me to clean up the mess and I really don’t wanna get rid of your stinking corpse.“ Sanji shoves his hands into his pockets, turns around and starts leaving.

„Oi, cook.“

Sanji stops, but doesn’t turn around.

„These guys. They hurt you back then, didn’t they.“

A ruthless, cold bastard, but not as cold and unemotional as he told him he was.

And the only thing Zoro hears from Sanji is the sound of his shoes on the ground, getting quieter with each step, and the swordsman lays down, with his hands behind his head, wondering if he could take the time for a little bit of revenge after all.

#Repost bc this bitch just won't appear in the tags #roronoa zoro #vinsmoke sanji #One piece #Not ZoSan sorry #But as close as they could get #I love their dynamic so much

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auroragehenna · 1 year ago

Text

AI-less Whumptober

Day 3 Blackmail (alternate)

TW/CW: Creepy/intimate Whumper, blackmail (duh), threats towards loved ones, knife, start of torture (fading into black), paranoia Words: 771

Maybe it had been a mistake to get take away today of all times. One of her favourites. Before she could even sit down the loud electronical ding-dong of the doorbell over tuned the series she was watching. What was going on? Did her mother come back early from her trip anyway? Wouldn’t make sense, she said she’d stay with her friend for the night. And her brother was in ‘Graubünden’. The hairs on her whole body stood up but she walked in the dark room towards the door. There she carefully peaked through the windows in the door and saw Adam. She gulped and as much as it terrified her to do so she unlocked and opened the door. “What are you doing here?”

Adam took a step towards her, now nearly standing on the edge of the door. Just felt like popping in, I hope I didn’t annoy anybody?”, he inquired innocently, even though he of course already knew the answer.

“Only me, the other’s aren’t here right now.”

“I see…” Adam’s grin grew predatory “So? How are Sam and Dean doing?”

Lyra froze. How did he know that?! The thought that he really could read her mind flashed in her brain but she tried to ignore it. With a, as she hoped, secure grin she replied: “They’re not living ‘la vida-loca’ right now.”

“To be honest are they ever?”

“Eeeeeeh, no, not really.”

Adam smirked and took another step, now he was in the house. “You should close the door, who knows who could come in in the middle of the night.”

“Like you, for example.”, Lyra whispered under her breath. She stared at him for a moment more, then closed the door behind him, drenching them both in darkness again. Turning on her heels she walked back to the dinner table and sat down. Doing her best to ignore him.

Adam followed her casually and watched as she turned off her headphones and ranked the volume on her laptop up. Now he could hear Sam talk to Ruby and Dean about Lilith. But his focus was set on Lyra who now uncovered a plastic package with sushi rolls from a cardboard bag. He caught up to her and stood behind her chair, waiting. After a few moments Lyra sighed and paused her series.

“You have something to say?”, she asked.

“Oh no, no, I wouldn’t want to disturb your meal. It’s good that you’re eating. Even if it’s not much.”

“Huh. Alright. Well sushi is actually quite filling.”, she threw in and then took the chopsticks into her right hand and started eating.

Adam reached over her shoulder, relishing in the tiny flinch that caused and pressed the space bar on Lyra’s laptop. Continuing the play of the series. As she was about halfway through her sushi Adam began to speak again: “So, how’s your mental health been recently?”

Lyra froze at the question; rainbow roll halfway to her mouth. “It’s been normal, I guess.”

“I see, I see. Talk to anybody nice recently?”

Her breath stopped. He couldn’t possibly know that she wanted to talk to best friend about it. Right?! She tried to force the shaking out of her voice as she answered: “I mean, some teachers, classmates, a friend.”

“Would be a shame if they got to hear more than what’s healthy for them, right?”, Adam put a hand on Lyra’s shoulder.

“And what exactly would too much be, hm? The fact that you torture me?”

“Just know, they are very easy to take out. And for the torture part, well the way I know her she wouldn’t last long, don’t you agree? Oh but I’m sure she would break beautifully.”

“You’re bluffing.”

“Am I? I swung by her house earlier, dropped something off. Maybe you should check in with her in a few days.”

Lyra paled. “You-you can’t be serious. You wouldn’t do that.”

Adam chuckled darkly: “And why is that hm? I have no trouble keeping you quiet. Just keep in mind what I told you and nobody has to suffer.”

“Nobody but me.”

“See it that way”-Adam pulled out a knife and rested the blade against Lyra’s throat-“If you do it somebody else won’t have to. Now how about we get up and upstairs, wouldn’t want the neighbours to see what’s next, right?”

Lyra was too stunned to resist so she just stood up and let Adam guide her, still with his blade against her windpipe.

On the table the credits of the episode ran out and the last two sushi rolls stayed abandoned on the plate. Nobody would finish them tonight.

Taglist: @yourlocalgaefae33, @princessofhe11, @greatkittencloud

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ollieblogs-stuff · 5 months ago

Text

C'est la vie

“And if they can’t deal with that, then they can just c'est la vie,” Alanys drawled with far too much confidence.

“That’s not...You’re definitely not using that right,” noted Klelia.

The brunette huffed. “Life is too short to worry about silly things like semantics, Klelia. We must live in the moment! We must do as the French say, and c’est la vie!”

“I - Oh whatever,” groaned Klelia. She turned her attention to her iced coffee, using the straw to stir the remainder of the caramel into the mix. Alanys took a sip of her own beverage - a hazelnut latte with an alarming amount of sugar. Klelia noticed her friend’s hesitant, interested glances towards her person and rolled her eyes. She’d been friends with Alanys for long enough to know that she couldn’t hold in whatever she was going to say for much longer.

“You look... different. Hair cut?" Alanys asked cautiously. Her small legs swung above the floor. Such was the sacrifice she made whenever dining out in public with Klelia - a half-Goliath.

"I lost an arm,” Klelia replied bluntly.

Her friend released a sigh of relief, "I know. The hair cut thing was a farce. I just didn't want to be rude…” Her eyes met Klelia again, curiosity officially piqued,”But since you brought it up, what the hell happened to you?"

Klelia took a long sip from her straw. She could be direct with Alanys. After swallowing her sip of coffee, she opened her mouth and muttered, “Gelatinous cube.”

Alanys’ responding shriek pulled the attention of every patron in the small cafe. Klelia felt her neck and face flush as she waved off their concerned glances with a grimace.

“A GELATINOUS CUBE? YOU LOST YOUR ARM TO A GELATINOUS CUBE?” was Alanys’ completely unnecessary bellow. Klelia slid down into her seat to avoid the new stares. As much as she loved her best friend, her public theatrics regularly made her want to stab herself in the eye. She’d told Alanys this, once, and the other girl had the nerve to call Klelia a drama queen! Pot, kettle!

“If you’re done announcing my most recent trauma to everyone in the city…” muttered Klelia darkly, just loud enough for Alanys to hear her.

The brunette simply waved her hand in Klelia’s direction. A rudimentary gesture indicating Alanys’ belief that Klelia needed to ‘shush’ and ‘get over herself.’

Again: pot, kettle.

“You’ve been super casual about it until our conversation. It’s very obvious that you lost your arm, Klel, so your casual manner tells me it’s becoming less of a recent prevalent trauma,” Alanys commented, blessedly quiet this time.

Before Klelia could grudgingly agree with her boisterous friend’s astute observation, her voice rose again,

“Besides, if anyone has a problem with it, I’ll fight them. I’ll stab them right in the kneecaps, and then the heart. I’ll watch them bleed out with a wide smile on my face.”

Alanys had always been gifted with the way in which she could threaten incredibly violent things with a smile on her face. Only people who made the mistake of daring to cross the vicious halfling found out just how true those threats were, beyond the cheery tone.

When Alanys finally cracked it - and that was a ‘when’, not an ‘if’ - she would murder some deserving cretin and smear their blood all over their living room walls while singing along loudly to the Top 20 pop hits. Klelia had always respected that about Alanys.

Deciding now was a moment that didn’t need a verbal response, Klelia merely smiled at her halfling friend. Her smile held all her appreciation and love. Alanys smiled back; a peaceful expression that gave no hint towards the gruesome threat uttered moments ago.

“So… this happened during your last campaign?” Alanys queried. Klelia could tell her friend was restraining from unleashing a verbal onslaught of questions.

“Yes,” she confirmed. “It was our final quest. It was just a simple dungeon, really. Compared to the other quests we’d completed, this was nothing. Our sorcerer, though, he’s a tiny, young thing. He got himself in the way of the cube while trying to defend our druid. I had to push him out of the way, and my arm got stuck in the cube instead… I managed to prevent the cube from absorbing any more of me, but it consumed all of the living flesh on my right arm, so… I mean, I wasn’t going to walk around with a useless skeletal right arm. When the quest and campaign ended, I booked myself into a rehabilitation program with some healers and, yeah. Goodbye right arm.”

Klelia gestured to her missing limb with her left arm. Alanys looked at the space where the arm should have been for a few frozen moments.

When she finally spoke, her words were unexpected, “Thank fuck you’re a leftie.”

The statement, and the serious tone in which it was delivered, procured a surprised laugh from Klelia. “Uh, yeah I guess you’re right. Thank fuck I’m a leftie,” she laughed.

Alanys twisted in her seat like she was trying to view the empty space from various angles. Klelia waited patiently for the question on the tip of her friend’s tongue burst free.

“Can I see it?” the halfling asked.

That… was a question Klelia hadn’t predicted. Trust Alanys to keep her on her toes.

“The… the arm, or the wound?” she questioned carefully.

“Either. Both. I just - I need to see!” Alanys replied.

Laughing gently at her friend’s eagerness, Klelia leaned in.

“Well, I don’t exactly carry my dead arm around with me, but it is preserved in a case at my place.”

Holding back a smile at her friend’s disappointed pout, Klelia continued, “As for the wound… you’re lucky I’m wearing a vest today under my cloak.”

Klelia unclipped the fastener for her cloak from around her neck. Alanys rubbed her hands together with glee. Weirdo. As Klelia carefully folded her cloak and laid it over the worn rucksack at her feet, Alanys moved closer.

The halfling jumped down from the chair, pulled over a nearby stool, and clambered up the towering legs with the grace of an acrobat. Alanys pulled her legs onto the seat of the chair, so she could kneel towards Klelia’s right shoulder. Her small, eager hands reached out slowly, and her face monitored Klelia for signs of discomfort. She froze her reach upon noticing the half-Goliath’s shoulders tense.

“Just - I trust you, of course I do, Alanys. I just - I don’t like the actual wound being touched. It’s all healed and healthy and everything, but I can’t feel the actual wound. And that freaks me out. Not only am I missing a fucking limb, but I can’t even feel the place it left from,” came Klelia’s grunted explanation.

Alanys retracted her hands. “I don’t have to do this,” she offered gently.

Klelia shook her head, “No, it’s fine, really. I think friendly touch will help normalise this, anyway. I’m just setting my boundaries.”

Alanys nodded silently. She cocked her head and stared at the shoulder inquisitively.

“Can you feel anywhere around the wound?”

The half-Goliath paused. Could she? Curiously, she used her left hand to feel around her shoulder. Finally, she responded, “My trapezius. I have sensation in my trapezius muscle. That’s the closest.”

Alanys nodded. “Do I have your permission to rest my hands on your trapezius muscles while I look, and use it to turn your torso slightly if I need to adjust the angle?”

After a moment of thought, Klelia nodded. “That’s fine.”

“Okay,” whispered Alanys. “If you want me to stop at any point, you tell me, okay? I’m privileged that you’ve allowed me this opportunity, and you have every right to ask me to stop if you’re uncomfortable.”

Klelia rolled her eyes, “Yeah, okay Mum.”

Instead of a light-hearted response back, Klelia was shocked when Alanys took her face between her hands and peered her serious irises into her own.

“I’m serious, Klelia. I love you. You’re my oldest friend and confidante. You know how absolutely insane I am, and yet you stay. You’ve got my back. And I’ve got yours.” The halfling gestured to her friend’s missing limb, “This is such a big event in your life. I’m so sorry it happened. And I know my words don’t undo anything, but I need you to know that I still love you, and you still have all of my respect,” Alanys maintained her gaze.

Goddamn halfling poetry. Klelia winced as a lone tear dared to make its dangerous trek down her cheek.

“Part of that respect is respecting your boundaries. Losing a limb is a big fucking deal, Klel, and you are so so tough to have healed and rehabilitated on your own. With this change comes other changes. Like you said, you find it uncomfortable that you can’t feel a part of your body. I want to respect that.”

Klelia had not planned on blubbering like a baby when she’d walked into this cafe. “I’m sorry, I -” she started.

Alanys shushed her. “Do not apologise. You’ve got nothing to apologise for.” Then, having decided the time for deep feelings had passed, the halfling’s demeanour perked up considerably.

“Now,” she announced, “dry your eyes, you beautiful beast! ‘Tis no time for tears! I get to inspect me a kickass warrior wound!” Alanys reached her hands forward, their slowed pace the only indicator that she hadn’t forgotten the conversation from moments before. She glanced towards Klelia, who gave her a small nod.

Klelia watched her friend fondly. When her sinuses had finally cleared, she teased,

“I didn’t know you were such a wordsmith, ‘Lanys.”

Alanys waved her off distractedly. “Oh, you know what they say about halflings - c’est la vie.”

~ O.M.A

"You look... different. Hair cut?"

"I lost an arm."

"I know. The hair cut thing was a farce. I just didn't want to be rude. But since you brought it up, what the hell happened to you?"

#olliewrites #short story #writing #writeblr #writers on tumblr #creative writing #fantasy #fiction #writing prompt

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i-did-not-mean-to · 2 years ago

Text

Smoke and mirrors

@lathalea @fizzyxcustard

So...here's my contribution to your amazing event...

Words: 1.2 k

Warnings: NSFW, unprotected intercourse, Mature, blood

Character : Francis x OC

Trope: Enemies to lovers

Quote: Did we make a mistake?

“Are you sure you can pull it off?” Her boss stared her down mercilessly, but she – a woman with many names and just as many faces – met his gaze unflinchingly while his secretary stood motionless like a stone golem in the corner, just watching her get dressed.

“He is a murderer,” he warned her as if she was not very much aware of it, “and Lecter did a trick on him.”

Shrugging lazily as she smoothed down the silly little sundress, she held his intense stare a little longer just to prove that she was not afraid.

“You want him for your collection, don’t you?” The purr was low and sensual, vibrating in her fragile white throat around which a butterfly necklace – containing a hidden microphone –was clasped.

“I do,” he admitted darkly, rubbing his sweaty palms nervously, “and I’ll pay a good price for him.”

“Give me 24 hours,” she chuckled, gave the necklace a playful tap, and left in a cloud of sweet perfume.

Dolarhyde, she thought as she parked the sleek, black car behind some bushes, child’s play.

Traumatised child who hadn’t been loved well enough, insecure adult who was pathologically jealous of those who were…she would have him eating out of her hand in no time.

When – after generously smearing mud and blood across her dress – she let her fist fall weakly against the rotten wood of the door leading into a tiny cabin, she schooled her face into an expression of distraught panic and distress.

It took some time for the man – taller than expected and marred by angry, red scars – to peep out of the barely opened door.

“Sir,” she whimpered, “I was attacked, please help me, please!”

As expected, the pitch and volume of her voice – he certainly wouldn’t want to attract any attention to his being here – made him throw open the door further and drag her inside; she knew – having studied his file extensively – that he would not react favourably to a femme fatale which was why she had chosen the ‘frightened little girl’ for this mission and it seemed to work.

“Who are you?”

“My name is Anne,” she whispered; her name was nowhere near Anne, but for tonight, she would be just that: Anne, the orphan, who had gotten on the wrong bus and who had – conveniently – been robbed of all identifying documents in the process.

He averted his gaze, eager to withdraw from the weak light of the streetlamps filtering through the dirty windows.

“Can I just rest here for a moment?” she asked sweetly.

“No, I don’t want you here!”

Evidently every single person in the world was an enemy to him; she could agree on that part, but – unlike him – she had chosen the world to be her enemy. She was young, she was beautiful, and she was ruthless; the world – rotten as it was – lay at her feet, men stumbled over themselves to hang on her lips, and she savoured every second of it.

Life had dealt her a more than favourable deal and yet, more was never enough and hence, everyone she met was either a potential victim or a future enemy; she was curious to find out into which category the big brute staring at her with a mix of apprehension and concupiscence would fall.

“Oh please,” she begged, turning her huge, wet, pleading eyes on him; if she had been less of a professional, she might have licked her lips at the sight of so much twitching vulnerability swaddled in firm albeit bruised flesh.

His face was still screaming his discomfort and rejection, so she decided to up the ante, taking a few tottering steps towards him and throwing her arms like silken ropes around his neck.

He stiffened.

“Please,” she repeated, inwardly grinning when his eyes wandered to her mouth – her lips invitingly parted – and then snapped back to her innocent eyes, “just for a bit?”

Here it comes, she thought only moments before his lips bore down on her clumsily, his own hands tightening into fists at he back of her dress until she could feel it rip at the seams.

Far from being ugly despite the birth defect, Francis was almost a welcome change in her routine of questionable moral decisions and so – on a whim – she truly pondered if she should go through with it; sex was like outright murder to her, best avoided because of the consequences but – there was no way around it – the easiest way of getting good results fast.

Her shocked gasp didn’t sound quite as genuine as she would have liked it to be, but he was beyond caring now, tearing her dress apart and running his palms feverishly over the nubile flesh thus exposed.

“Mister,” she groaned – delighted with the small hitch that made her voice skip – but didn’t try to extricate herself; Francis loved being in control and the fact that she fit perfectly in his toned arms was not lost on either one of them.

When he lifted her up and put her on the empty kitchen table almost tenderly, she decided that she was curious about him in a way she had not been interested in anyone for a long time.

“Do you still want to stay?” he asked, his voice gravelly and tight.

“Yes,” she whispered and let her legs fall open; he didn’t need any further invitation than that so, with a shivering sigh, he dove down on her, spreading hot, messy kisses along her throat while his fingers dug painfully into the skin of her thighs.

“I…I…” he stuttered, anger – fierce, dark, and potentially lethal – rising like a blood moon in his eyes, “I don’t want to hurt you.”

“Do!” she whispered softly, and a genuine moan of pleasure slipped past her lips when his teeth dug deep into her shoulder at the same time as his fingers breached her most intimate parts.

Despite his evident lack of experience, he was dexterous and the impressive bulge in his dark jeans that her questing fingers explored awkwardly promised her that she’d not be too disappointed at the end of the night.

“Can…I?” he asked as if there was any variation of this scenario where – having tasted her blood – he would not try to possess what nobody ever really owned.

“Do,” she repeated, sinking down on the table, and grabbing the edges for support as he started pounding into her.

“I can’t believe she would go to those lengths,” the secretary whispered as he – face flushed with embarrassment and second-hand arousal – heard the rasping panting and the inarticulate moans that dripped like honey from the speakers.

“I’ll have to pay her extra for that,” his boss – a rich man with a strange fascination for owning and torturing people who were officially already dead – sighed as if it was a trifle akin to having forgotten the sales tax.

“She has no scruples,” the younger man interjected, and a shadow of doubt crept upon his pale countenance, “Did we make a mistake?”

“She’s the best there is,” the other replied calmly, “and – if she brings that big beast to heel – she can ask whatever it is she wants from me.”

So, I hope this was surprising and enjoyable!

I love you very much <3

#armitage summer splash #francis dolarhyde #francis x oc #bamboozle #something else for once

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alpacaparkaseok · 4 years ago

Text

Make a Move

➣ Pairing/genre: roommate!Hobi x reader

➣ Premise: You thought ‘Hope’ was a girl, but looking at the hot dude currently claiming to be your roommate, you might be wrong.

➣ warnings/tags: pure fluff, reader gets a lil sick for a minute

➣ word count: 4.6k

➣ a/n: this was a commission by @hobi-gif for Army for AAPI! Thank you so much for commissioning this, I hope you enjoy it! You guys, check out ways to get involved in this awesome cause by clicking the link!

You look down at the application, and back up at the person standing in front of you. Down, then up.

Twice more, just to wrap your mind around the dumbest mistake you’ve ever made.

“Umm…Hope?”

The man fidgeting nervously before you manages a bright smile. “Yep. That’s me!”

Again, you stare down at the application. “I…you’re the one moving in?”

Hoisting the heavy-looking box higher in his arms, the man – Hope if he’s to be believed, offers a strained nod. “Yeah, it’s sort of a nickname…Hoseok. I’m Hoseok.” He looks around, poking his head through the doorway to your small apartment. “Mind if I set this down? It’s kinda heavy…”

You step aside in a daze, watching as Hoseok sweeps inside and sets the box down with a thud on the counter. A moment later another head is peeking inside before carrying in another box.

“Hey, I’m assuming you’re one of the roommates?” The newcomer asks, sweeping some of his ashen-blond hair off his forehead and extending a hand out to you. You take it with some trepidation.

“I am. And you’re Hoseok’s friend?”

“Namjoon. Just stopping in with a few of his things. Oh,” Namjoon waits until Hoseok walks back outside before continuing, speaking to you in a hushed tone. “I just wanted to say thank you. You know, for letting him move in. Ever since our landlord found out we had seven people instead of six, it’s been hard trying to find a place but Hoseok was adamant he be the one to move out. Did want to separate the others-”

“Wait, woah,” you hold up a hand, effectively cutting him off. “Seven? Seven people living in one tiny apartment?”

Namjoon tilts his head to one side, brows furrowed. “He didn’t tell you? That’s why he moved out; someone had to. Our apartment has a six person limit, so once our landlord found out Hoseok volunteered to be the one to move out.”

It appears that Hoseok hasn’t told you a lot of things.

“I…no, he didn’t mention that.”

Namjoon moves on, unphased. “Anyway, I just wanted to say thank you for taking him on. It’s nearly impossible to find a place this time of year, and we weren’t sure if you would be chill with having a male roommate, but it really means the world. This way he can stay close to us-”

“Close?”

“Yeah, we live just a few blocks away. He didn’t say that?”

At that moment Hoseok walks through the door, still wearing that sheepish smile that he directs at you.

“No. He must have forgotten to mention that, too.”

Once Namjoon has left and Hoseok gets into organizing all of his things, you set up camp on the couch. Book in hand, you can’t help but assess your new roommate.

A part of you wants to get rid of him, but another part of you is interested to see what might unfold from this strange situation. You’ve never had a male roommate before, and if Namjoon is any representative for what this man’s friends look like…

You suppose it’s not too much of a pain to allow Jung Hoseok to stick around for a little while.

Hoseok hums to himself, occasionally making little sound effects as he puts a bowl away or opens a cupboard. Every once in a while he’ll ask you a question, like, “Is this spot free to use?” or “Are you allergic to anything?”

You’re nearly heading to bed when Hoseok knocks softly on your door. Your rooms are on opposite ends of the apartment, something you find yourself being extremely grateful for tonight. The knowledge that a stranger is chilling in your apartment is enough to have you feeling a little worried.

It’s simple. Sure, Hoseok seems nice enough. Friendly even. But he’s too attractive to be normal.

“What’s up?” You ask, opening your bedroom door to see Hoseok with his arms full of shampoo and other shower items.

Despite the large bottle of Pantene blocking his chest, it’s easy to tell that he doesn’t have a shirt on beneath his robe.

Indeed, the sight before you is enough to have you clutching the doorframe until your knuckles are white in an effort to not gape.

Wearing nothing but basketball shorts and fluffy white robe, Hoseok shuffles from one foot to the other. “Oh, I was just wondering if you had any preference about where I put my things in the bathroom. You know, if the left side is specifically yours or something like that.”

“Huh?” You shake your head, forcing yourself to only look at his eyes. That turns out to be even worse, in some weird twisted way. “Oh, yeah. Well, I tend to put most of my stuff on the left side of the vanity. But you can put your stuff wherever. I’m not worried about that.”

Hoseok nods, taking a step back. He bids you a quiet goodnight before retreating back down the hallway.

A few seconds pass as you remain in your doorway, thinking hard.

No, you’re not worried about sharing a drawer in the bathroom or putting the A/C on a lower setting, as he asked you about earlier.

You’re just worried about the fact that you’ve never found a pair of basketball shorts more attractive than just now.

Basketball shorts paired with nothing but a robe?

“This is gonna be great,” you mumble to yourself, closing your door and leaning against it. Only when you hear the sound of the shower going do you allow yourself to relax. “I’m gonna die.”

2 weeks in

“I’m headed to the store, you need anything?”

You pause, assessing the contents of the fridge. “Um…eggs?”

It’s not very often the two of you are in the apartment at the same time, your schedule being polar opposites. However, it’s always relatively friendly. Still a little awkward, but always cordial.

Hoseok – or Hobi, as he’s repeatedly invited you to call him – scans his little list. “Already on the list. Anything else?”

“You already put eggs on the list? Like, for me?” The two of you by no means share groceries.

Hobi shrugs. “Yeah. I figured you were nearly out since you eat them like every morning.”

“Hey, not every morning-”

“Every weekday morning.” He wiggles his eyebrows at you. “Tell me I’m wrong. I’ll wait.”

You groan. “Yah, just go. I’ll text you if I need anything.” Turning back to the fridge, you utter out, “Annoying little-”

“What was that?”

“Nothing!”

You wait until you hear the door close to let out a sigh. “Huh.” You didn’t even realize that he would notice those kinds of things. It’s a strange feeling, having someone notice even the most mundane parts of your routine.

You…like it?

Opening up a few of the cupboards, you realize that you’re nearly out of bread. You grab your phone, pulling up Hobi’s contact and calling him. He picks up after a couple of rings.

“Hey, did you remember something else?”

“Yeah, would you mind picking up some bread, too?”

“Oh, good one. Um…” you can hear him moving around, and you swear you hear the click of a pen before he speaks up again. “Wheat, right?”

Again, that strange feeling stirs in your chest. “Right.”

2 months in

“I’ve never met anyone as obsessed with skincare as you.”

Hobi chuckles darkly, beginning to apply his night mask to the other side of his face. “I doubt you’ve ever met anyone with such oily skin before, either.”

You lean up against the doorframe, resting your head against the side of the door. Hobi continues applying the crème, looking utterly focused on the task. His forehead scrunches up in little lines as he looks up, rubbing underneath his eyes.

If you’re being completely honest, it’s adorable.

To put the icing on the cake, he begins humming to himself and leaning in closer to the mirror, making you chew on the inside of your cheek. It’s horrible enough that he has to be wildly endearing, but does he really have to be so cute?

It’s exhausting.

“It smells good,” you sigh out, eyes drifting shut. Hobi’s good looks isn’t the only thing that’s been exhausting to you lately. School is trying its best to wreck you and you hate to admit that it’s doing a great job of it.

“You want some?”

Eyes fluttering open at his question, you furrow your brows. Hobi is looking at you in the mirror, chewing on the inside of his cheek. He squeezes out a bit of the night mask onto his finger, turning to you.

“You already washed your face, right?”

“Mm.”

“Good,” he nods more to himself than to you. “Close your eyes.”

Giving him a distrustful look, you realize that you’re too tired to bother bickering with him at the moment. Instead, you close your eyes and hold your breath.

A moment later the cool feeling of Hobi’s fingers dabbing the cream on the tip of your nose. He repeats the action all over your face, his other hand coming to cup your chin as his thumb absentmindedly traces your jaw.

You suddenly feel extremely off balance, swaying on your feet. Hands shooting out to steady yourself, you instinctively cling to the front of Hobi’s sweatshirt. He chuckles lowly, making you tighten your grip.

“Don’t fall over,” he mumbles, beginning to rub the night mask into your skin.

You don’t say anything, settling for an annoyed huff. After a moment, Hobi takes up humming the same tune he was before. The two of you settle into a comfortable daze, your shoulders relaxing as the seconds tick by.

“You know,” Hobi muses as he switches to your right cheek. “We’re pretty good roommates. Don’t you think?”

“Mm. I’m still angry you put ‘Hope’ on your application, though. That was a dirty move.”

Hobi’s laughter has you opening your eyes just to catch the expression of happiness he’s sure to be wearing. Sure enough, his head is thrown back and his heart-shaped smile in on display, the sight tugging at the corners of your lips.

Catching your eye, Hobi smirks. “How can I ever make it up to you?”

You purse your lips, melting a little at the concentrated pout that forms as Hobi resumes applying the night mask. He’s moved up to your forehead now, making your eyes drift shut again.

“I vote you make me French Toast one of these weekends.”

“Oh, and that’ll solve it?”

“No, but it’s a start.”

He chuckles quietly, pausing and then tapping lightly against your cheek. “All done.”

Opening your eyes, you see the slightly confused look in Hobi’s eyes as he squints down at you. “What?”

He blinks. “What?”

You nod at him, “You look confused or something.”

“Oh.”

When he doesn’t answer after a long moment, you step back into the hallway. “Alright…I’m heading to bed. Thanks, Hobi.”

His brows are furrowed as he turns back to the mirror, the confusion only growing. “Night.”

3 months in

You’ve quickly come to learn that there are pros and cons to having Hoseok as your roommate.

One very strong pro is the fact that he’s a clean freak. You swear you haven’t had to worry about vacuuming for the past three months, he always beats you to it.

“What are you doing?”

He pauses mid-fold, eyes wide as he looks up at you. “…folding.”

“My laundry?”

He glances down at the shirt in his hands as though just realizing that these are your clothes. “I…yeah. Yeah, I am. It’s just, you left your basket out here by the couch so I figured I might as well fold it and put it away if you’re gonna leave it out here.”

The passive aggressive tone in his voice rolls off your shoulders, knowing that he didn’t intend it that way. It’s obvious to tell that something is on his mind as he continues to you’re your shirt and place it atop a neat pile beside him.

You find yourself sitting cross-legged across from him and silently joining in on the impromptu folding party. Once you finish, Hobi clears his throat and avoids eye contact with you.

Perhaps it has to do with the fact that he accidentally grabbed the same pair of lacy black underwear at the same time as you, which ensued in an awkward match of tug-of-war that you quickly won once he realized what he was holding.

“So, the guys are doing a thing tonight.”

You blink, pulling the folded laundry toward you and getting up. “…ok.”

Hobi’s face lights up in a grin, and he jumps to his feet. “Really? You’ll come?”

Perhaps it’s the utter joy you see in his eyes or the way he’s currently shaking your shoulders and causing the socks on the top of your pile to tumble to the ground, but you burst out laughing.

“Hoseok!” You shout through your laughter. “You didn’t even invite me!”

He immediately stops shaking you after that, scrambling for some form of a response. Swiping one of the pairs of socks that slipped to the ground, he kneels down on one knee and looks up at you with a giddy grin.

“Would you do me the honor of accompanying me to visit my friends tonight?” With no shortage of sound effects, he offers up the socks as though proposing to you with a priceless diamond ring.

“You’re an idiot.”

Hoseok’s smile only grows. “I’ll take that as a yes.”

Hobi’s light knock on your door goes unnoticed as you slumber on, completely dead to the world. After you had put your laundry away, you felt a wave of exhaustion overtake you.

He knocks again, and this time you rouse just enough to grunt out something incoherent. He slowly opens the door, poking his head inside.

“You still gonna come with me, sleepyhead?”

His chipper voice makes you wince, your head pounding. “Mm, jus gimme…” you close your eyes again as the dull light filtering in through your blinds is enough to send you spinning. “…a sec.”

It’s quiet for a moment, and you think that Hobi must have left. A second later, however, you hear him padding across your floor.

“Are you sick?” He answers his own question as he places his hand against your forehead. “Oh, jagiya, you’re burning up.”

The pet name has your temperature rising a bit more. “Mm fine.”

Hobi chuckles softly, taking care to be quiet. “Have you eaten? Where’s your water bottle?” They’re all rhetorical questions apparently, because moments later he’s scooping your water bottle off the floor and tiptoeing back out of your room.

After what feels like hours later, Hobi sidles back into your room with a full water bottle, some soup he must have microwaved, and another glass of liquid. It’s steaming, the scent making you scrunch up your nose in distaste.

“What…” you can hardly muster up the energy to finish your sentence. Hobi perches on the edge of your bed, carefully placing everything on your nightstand.

“It’s medicine. Drink it, and it’ll help. But first you need to sit up.”

Easier said than done. Your body is exhausted, and your arms shake a bit as you attempt to scoot back against the headboard. Cheeks burning a brighter red, Hobi thankfully doesn’t comment on it. He just patiently readjusts your pillows and tucks your hair behind your ears with meticulous movements that have you smiling softly.

“Ok,” he sighs out once that’s been taken care of. “Now, eat some soup…” his words trail off as he hands the bowl off to you. He watches as you bring the spoon to your lips, mumbling, “Blow, it’s hot.”

Fighting the urge to roll your eyes, you follow his instructions. Once you’ve eaten over half of the soup and feel too full to continue, he hands you the steaming cup that has you scrunching your nose up all over again.

“C’mon,” he urges, “my mom used to give this stuff to me all the time when I was a kid. It works like a charm, promise.”

“Mhm.”

“What?” He crosses his arms, frowning. “You don’t believe me?”

You shrug, mindful of the full contents of the glass. “It’s just easier said than done, that’s all.”

“Here, I’ll take a sip to show you that’s it’s not bad!” Reaching for the cup, you burst out into a fit of laughter as Hobi stares down at the liquid with unabashed terror. He clears his throat and squares his shoulders. “Right…just one sip…”

Blowing across the surface carefully, he sacrifices his tastebuds. The instant he swallows, he thrusts the cup back into your hands and dives off the bed. “Ach!” He rushes out of the room, no doubt heading for the kitchen. Indeed, a moment later you hear the faucet running and wonder if he just decided to shove his head under the running water instead of wasting time on grabbing a cup from the cupboard.

With your water bottle on hand, you attempt to chug the medicine. It’s horrid, making you gag, but you continue until the contents are drained. You’ve just managed to drink some water to rid yourself of the lingering taste when you hear Hobi’s phone ring.

“Hey hyung,” he’s still in the kitchen, but you can hear him clearly. “Oh, yeah…I don’t think we’re gonna make it. No, it’s not that, she said she’d come.”

You freeze, holding the still-warm cup close to your chest. For some reason, your stomach does a little flip when you hear the way Hobi’s tone changes as he speaks about you. It’s infinitely softer, something you don’t recall hearing before.

“She took a nap and woke up with a fever-” he pauses. “Yeah, I just gave her medicine. But she needs to rest. She’s exhausted. What? Ugh, really Jin? I’m not-�� The sound of Hobi shuffling about has you leaning closer to the open door, trying to hear what he’s saying. His voice is much quieter when he speaks next, but you can still hear bits and pieces of what he’s saying. “I can’t just make a move on her while she’s sick, that’s unethical!”

Clapping a hand over your mouth before he can hear you snort, your eyes widen. Make a move?

On you?

“Yah, quit it. Tell everyone I say hey, I’ve gotta go.” Again there’s a pause, quickly followed by an annoyed hiss. “See, this is why I never tell you anything.”

He quickly says his goodbyes after that, and you scramble to appear normal despite your pounding heart. You hear Hobi’s sigh from the kitchen, and you wish you could know what he was thinking.

“Alright,” Hobi calls, heading back into your room. The second he enters you feel as though you’re seeing him for the first time. “Let’s get it- oh, you already finished it?”

You blink, suddenly blinded by the sight of his adoring smile. As he settles down on the edge of your bed, you manage a feeble nod.

“Jagi,” again with the pet name, “you look exhausted. Let me take the dishes and how about you go back to sleep?”

Despite the fact that you literally live in the same apartment, the thought of Hobi leaving you alone in your room has you stalling. “Uh, who called?”

There’s a flicker of panic that’s quickly replaced with an easy smile. “Jin hyung, he was wondering where we were. Don’t worry, I told him we weren’t gonna be able to make it.”

You’ve heard plenty about Jin – truthfully about all of Hobi’s friends. You were excited to meet them tonight, after hearing so many stories.

“I’m sorry,” you frown, still clinging to your glass. “You can still go, if you want.”

Hobi looks at you like you’ve grown a second head. “Why would I…? No, I’ll stay here with you. Can’t leave a sickie on their own, you know that.”

Groaning, roll your eyes. “I feel like an idiot.”

“If you’re an idiot, I’m an idiot.”

You snort, setting your glass down before you cause an accident. “Isn’t it, ‘if you’re a bird, I’m a bird’?”

Hoseok shrugs, a smile playing on his lips. “Close enough.”

He holds your gaze for a few seconds too long, but neither one of you look away first. Instead you bunch up your blankets in your fists and offer him a crooked smile. “Thanks, Hobi.”

His eyes linger on your smile, his lips mirroring it. “Anytime.”

4 months in

Nothing has changed, and yet everything has.

Ever since you fell ill, you’ve been jumpy. Anytime Hobi accidentally brushes up against you as he reaches for something in the kitchen, whenever he knocks on your door, even when he calls you from the grocery store. It all makes you jump and sends your heart racing.

“You’re so dramatic.”

You look up at Yuri, your most brutally honest friend. “…ouch?”

She shakes her head, sinking down lower in her seat across from you. You keep boxing up your leftover food to take home, wondering if Hobi would like it.

“I mean it. You’ve been freaking out about this guy for over a month now without doing anything about it.”

You pause, looking at Yuri with wide, pleading eyes. “What am I supposed to do? He’s my roommate!”

“So what? Your lease is up in a few weeks, isn’t it? If it backfires, just move out.”

You snort. “Easier said than done. I can’t just up and move whenever I like, you know.”

“You can’t or you don’t want to?”

“Shut up.”

“I refuse. Now,” Yuri checks the time on her phone. “tell me what you like about him.”

“I never said-” you sputter, but Yuri holds up a hand and cuts you off.

“Actions speak louder than words. He’s literally your background on your home screen.”

Ok, that sounds like a bit much. It’s true, though. A week ago Hobi finally got to take you out to meet his friends. Together you went on a midnight hike (something you’d honestly never do again) and found a breathtaking view at the top. His friends, specifically Jimin and Taehyung, had practically shoved the two of you together for an impromptu photoshoot under the night sky.

The photos are a little blurry and dark, but you love them. Enough to add one as your background. “But you can’t actually see us in the picture, it’s just pretty-”

“Sure it is. You two make a cute couple.”

“W-we do?”

Yuri jumps up, clapping her hands and startling a couple just a few tables down. “Aha! See, you do have feelings for him!”

“Ok, ok,” you hold up your hands in surrender. “Just sit down.”

Once she’s taken her seat again and apologized loud enough for the couple she scared to hear her, you lean in close over the table. She rubs her hands together, looking every bit the scheming friend she is.

“Alright, let’s plot, shall we?”

Hobi checks the window for the eighth time in under five minutes, brushing the curtains aside to see if your car is in the lot yet. It’s not.

“C’mon Jung,” he rolls his neck, bouncing on his feet. “Calm down. Keep it chill. Everything’s fine.”

Everything is not fine.

Things haven’t been fine for months now, something he’s been able to deny to an impressive level. Last weeks, however, the lie came to an end.

His friends loved you. Like, ranted and raved about how funny and cool you were until he was worried he needed to organize an intervention. Then, the icing on the cake.

Yoongi had grabbed him while you were hiking back down, sandwiched between Jin and Jungkook. He nodded down at you, turning a knowing eye to Hobi.

“So…when’s that gonna happen?”

Hobi played dumb, frowning at Yoongi. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Hoseok, c’mon.”

You laughed at Taehyung, who jogged up ahead. He was quickly joined by Jungkook. Hobi’s pretty sure his heart stopped beating as you turned around, searching for him. Once your eyes found his, your smile widened.

Yoongi laughed at his side. “You’re whipped, and you don’t even realize it.”

Indeed he was. Dangerously so, if he was going off of the amount of times he’s knocked on your door to ask you out only to change his story at the very last moment to ask you something stupid instead. You never seemed to mind, just laughing at his strange questions and teasing him mercilessly.

“Ok,” Hobi whispers to himself, still bouncing on the balls of his feet. “You’ve got this. Just rip it off like a Band-Aid. Quick and to the point.” He tilts his head to one side. “But not the painful part. No pain.”

He’s in the middle of his pep talk when the sound of your key in the lock alerts him to your return. Hobi is standing in the middle of the living room, looking like an idiot. Naturally, he shoves his hands in his pockets. Yeah, that makes him look less like an idiot.

The second the door opens and you step into the apartment, every thought eddies out of Hobi’s mind.

You freeze, not expecting Hobi to be standing in the middle of the living room impersonating a lamp when you got home.

“Hi…?” Hobi swallows at the sound of your voice, watching your every move as you slowly lift up the bag of leftovers. “I brought home leftovers if you want some…”

“I need you to go out with me.”

Now you’re really frozen, staring up at Hobi as his eyes widen at his own words.

“What? What for?”

“For me.”

You slowly close the door behind you, setting the food down on the counter before turning to face Hobi again. “For you?”

He nods, a panicked look in his eyes. “Yes. For me.”

“Hobi, I don’t understand. Do you need a plus one or something for an event? Is that what it is?”

Removing his hands from his pockets and taking a step towards you, Hobi shakes his head. “What? No, I need- I need you.”

It’s a good thing you already set the food down. “Me?” You squeak out, looking your roommate up and down as he takes another step.

“Us.”

Clearly there’s been a communication error. Hobi brushes his hair back from his face, chewing on his bottom lip before coming to a stop before you.

“Us,” he repeats, voice low. “I need us to be a thing.”

“O-oh.” That’s all you can manage as you try to recall if Hobi has ever looked at you like this before. It’s hard to contain yourself when you realize that he has, however he’s always been quick to mask it with something else. Or, more often than not, a silly question.

“Will- can you…” he stops, taking a deep breath and closing his eyes. Without his gaze on you, you gain a bit of courage and raise a hand to cup his cheek. His eyes fly open, and he offers you a shy smile. “Do you want to go out with me? On a date?”

Craning your neck, you hold your breath and plant a kiss on his cheek. You delight in the way he instantly flushes, garnering more courage by the second.

“Yes.” Then you arch a brow. “I have one condition, though.”

Hobi’s eyes are half closed as he looks down at you, appearing as though he’s slipped into some euphoric realm. “Hmm, anything.”

“I demand French Toast.”

Dissolving into a fit of laughter, Hobi sinks to the ground, taking you down with him. You protest, but not too much. Holding you tightly, Hobi subsides in his laughter enough to wink down at you. “French Toast it is.”

main masterlist

taglist: @baepsaetay @dreamcatcherjiah @kookie-vuitton @thecaffeinatedscribbles @moon-write @fangirl125reader @heishichoulevi @knjkitten @sacha-cff @vik7797 @eusticenatalie @hesmyphenominiall @miriamxsworld @kayahay @secretlycrazyhummingbird @marianeamine @hqtetsurou @protontippens @beginwithamin @limiworld @jeonyoongi-jimin @buttvi @yoontaethings @sunshinejunghoseokie @delacyrose224 @jiminiesmagicshop @hitsussi

#hobi x reader #hobi oneshot #bts x reader #bts sickfic #hobi sickfic #bts roommate au #hobi roommate au #jhope x reader #bts as your roommates #hobi as your roommates #armyadvocatesaapi #armywriterssupport

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umbravirtus · 12 days ago

Text

Hans stared at the tiny pill, still in disbelief that something so small could hold such power. But then again, what was real anymore?

Left alone in the room, his first priority was to find a place to hide the pill. He searched Eris's room methodically, his eyes scanning the walls for any crevice, nook, or cranny where he could stash his precious treasure. Thankfully, the wood was soft enough to work with, and he eventually found a spot—right behind the door. It was the least trafficked area of the room; after all, most people only pay attention to a door when they need to open it, not to what’s around it.

Satisfied with his hiding place, he left the pill there for now. He'd find a more secure container later. But since Blitz had left it out in the open, Hans figured it wouldn't spoil being exposed, and maybe, just maybe, the wood would age it like fine wine. The thought made him chuckle darkly.

Next, he sat down to eat, trying to stay calm while he mentally prepared for what was to come: Eris. The lord of the house. His master, for as long as he drew breath. At least there was some comfort in knowing that he could choose when his suffering would end.

As he finished his meal and stacked his plate, he couldn't help but acknowledge how surreal this experience was—eerily so. The best wine he'd ever had, the finest food, fabrics that felt out of this world. The level of opulence in this place was beyond description, yet it seemed to blend seamlessly with nature.

When Eris called his name, Hans snapped to attention, like the soldier his father had trained him to be. He hated that it was his default response, but when fear took hold, one reverted to what they knew.

"Yes, Master," he said, the word sounding strange on his tongue, but he hoped it might bring him comfort. "All my needs were promptly tended to. I thank you." His voice was formal, unsure, but polite.

He hesitated for another moment, then asked carefully, "If we were in my homeland, in a similar arrangement—not that humans could be in your position, but hypothetically speaking—I would offer you some cold water and assist you with undressing and getting to bed. Is that something you'd desire?" He made sure not to sound disrespectful in the slightest, his tone expectant but careful.

Then, with a cautious pause, he asked, "How would you like me to properly address you?"

Lord? King? Master? Owner? He wasn’t sure, but the last thing he wanted was to piss Eris off. Blitz had made it abundantly clear that such mistakes could be disastrous.

Hans had touched nothing in Eris's room despite Blitz's invitation. He hadn't bathed or taken any clothes. He remained exactly as Eris had found him hours ago. Why? He wanted to send a message: Eris was in control. He called the shots, all of them. And perhaps, by ingratiating himself in this small way, he could avoid worse consequences. Maybe, just maybe, his torture wouldn't be as bad.

This was uncharted territory and he was simply going with the motions.

This was no place for caring.

This was no place for hearts.

This was the fae realm. It was all Blitz had ever known, but it might as well be Hell for all the good compassion did here. Slaughtering Hans himself here and now felt like an unthinkable mercy and kindness, but what Hans was asking for... to give him the chance to live, to try and survive as long as he could, to suffer as long as he could, and then have to snuff his own life out...

Blitz rarely felt sick with the horrors of this place, having forced himself not to feel for most of his life, but he felt sick now.

He nodded and took a pretty little spider pin off of his chest. It was studded with gemstones, so rich a red they were nearly black. Blitz popped one of them out, meeting Hans's eyes as he offered it out, gripped delicately between his claws.

"Drop that into wine. It will only take a moment or so to dissolve. No more than a minute. It will be a painful way to die, Hans the Human. But it will be quick, and once the death begins, even the magic of a High Lord won't be able to save you." Blitz stepped back. "It's lethal to fae, too," he added, voice soft, low.

Traitor. He was a traitor for telling the human that, and could already see it ending in Eris's death, in Blitz's own death--undoubtedly by torture--but so fucking be it. Because could it ever really be treachery to stand against evil? To defy an evil place however you could?

"Use the bath if you want. Use Eris's clothes. Take anything you want of his, since he's making you his pet." The assassin's lips twitched slightly with his fury and disgust, although he kept his voice calm. "I'll have someone send you food soon."

With that, he stepped out, unable to look at that handsome, doomed mortal any longer.

A few minutes later and a tray of food was delivered. Good bread, a creamy mushroom soup, and tiny songbirds, roasted and drizzled with a sweet wine sauce--pampered creatures, once, doubtless prized for their songs, before someone tired of them.

"So, Eris," a glittering white fae asked, leaning over and filling his glass of wine now that the court session had ended and they had all moved on to supper. "What are you going to do to the human?"

"Break him, I imagine," Eris mused, gaze distant. He felt as if he could somehow point to exactly where Hans was right now--if he was blindfolded, he could still follow something, some call, and find his way through the palace and to Hans's side... and that chilled him. Even with their bond--which was more than he had expected it to be, dangerously so--this felt like too much, it felt like too much of a risk.... not that it mattered now, Eris corrected himself. It was too late. The deal was struck.

He listened to the courtiers chatter and chirp. At one point, he saw Blitz come back down. The assassin moved to a place in the shadows, but Eris could feel the buzz of his mind, feeling him paying attention--hyperaware and intensely upset.

He disapproves. As he should, I suppose. As they all should.

What am I going to do with Hans?

Closing his eyes, he tipped a large goblet of wine back and drank and drank and drank.

Several hours later, the High Lord made his way up to his room. He should just stride in and he knew it--the human belonged to him!--but he paused and knocked twice on the door first, then waited a moment before letting himself in, in case the human was doing... something. Anything. That he didn't want Eris to see.

"Hans?" he called out. Red-gold hair long and loose around his shoulders, moving a little unsteadily, more than a little bit drunk, Eris made his way over to an armoire to start undressing, hanging his garments up as he did.

"Were your needs all cared for, Human?"

What must I do? And how am I going to manage it? Why does this all feel so... fraught?

#doublejango #ℋ » Love is an open door. (C: Hans)#hans x eris ship tag tba #ℋ » Let the bonfires burn #ℋ » Let the bonfires burn 001 #DDDNE

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clandestineloki · 4 years ago

Text

drabble: to corrupt you

does this even count as a drabble anymore??

Loki watched you from the other side of the room, as you pushed your glasses up your nose with your tiny finger and flipped to the next page of a book, keeping that same childish expression that was somewhere between a pout and a sleepy look.

You were a SHIELD codebreaker, but if he didn’t know that he would mistake you for someone entirely innocent. You were beautiful, graceful, and quiet. But he knew, somewhere inside you, there was a part of you that would be looking for passion, for lust.

By the norns, you were something else.

You let out another giggle at some part of the book you were reading, and Loki almost crushes the glass in his hand out of annoyance or something else entirely.

You mewling quim.

“Did you say something?”

Loki’s eyes narrow. He said that out loud?

“I heard you say something, but I think I didn’t get it right,” you tilt your head, and purse your lips in the slightest. “What does that mean... mewling quim? Sounds like something for a cat.”

Loki chuckles darkly, moving to sit beside you on the couch. “Quite the pure one, aren’t you?”

You stare at him dumbly for a second, then shake your head with a tiny laugh. “I’m sorry, Mister Laufeyson, you probably don’t know who I am. I’m-”

Before you get to say your name he beats you to it. Your eyes widen in confusion and your cheeks darken.

“How do you know my name?” You mumble.

“I’m the God of Mischief, darling,” he smirks. “And Loki would be alright.”

You smile shyly and tuck a bit of hair behind your ear, all the more driving Loki insane.

“So, what you said a while ago... that cat thing-”

“Mewling quim?” He chuckles, then his voice drops a bit. “It means ‘whimpering vagina’.”

Your jaw drops and you break out into tiny stutters.

“Oh, god- I didn’t- It didn’t sound offensive to me at all- but- oh, God.” You laugh nervously. “I’m basically stupid when it comes to these things. I’m sorry, this is so awkward.”

Loki shakes his head, and laces his fingers through yours. “You are the perfect picture of innocence, my darling.”

You blush and smile at your joined hands.

“And I would like nothing more than to corrupt you.”

Your eyes snap up to meet his, your eyes widening as a grin creeping onto his face.

He moves his hand to your chest, pushing you down on the couch and crawling to hover above you.

“You crave lust, desire, submission,” he drawls as he brushes some hair away from your face. “I could smell your arousal all the way from where I was watching you, waiting for the perfect moment to lay my claim on what is rightfully mine.”

Your quivering hands weave their way into his hair. “I-I don’t know much about lust or anything.”

“Allow me to be your guide,” he takes your wrist, guiding it down between your legs. “Let me show you each and every curve of your body. I can bring you pleasure, I can make you scream and tremble with every orgasm that I intend to drown you in.” He slowly kisses up your neck, and up to the spot under your ear, “I can show you passion and love, one in the same, and you will be treated like the queen you ought to be, the only one who ought to reign at my side.”

“Your queen?” You ask.

He nods. “I’ve been enamored with you from the very moment I laid my eyes upon you, and there is no other being in the Nine I have ever loved as much I have loved you. All you need to do is give me your trust, tell me that you want this, and there is nothing I wouldn’t sacrifice for your happiness.”

You shakily breathe out a yes, and his lips eagerly, hungrily, latch onto yours, staking his claim on his innocent little kitten.

#loki odinson #Loki Laufeyson #Loki Love #loki oneshots #loki x reader lemon #loki x reader smut #loki x you #loki x ofc #loki x reader #loki x y/n #dom!loki #soft!dom!loki #dom!loki x sub!reader #dom!tom hiddleston #tom hiddleston smut #tom hiddleston #tom hiddleston x reader smut #tom hiddleston x reader #tom hiddleston imagines

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imherongraystairstrash · 3 years ago

Note

I know you write about relationships in TLH and TID that are rarely/seldom touched on in the books or extras, but I wanted to know if you would consider a Christopher and Thomas Lightwood fic. Maybe the first time they are both in the lab and Thomas experiences the first of the many explosions which Kit unintentionally created. You could follow it up with another scene: Thomas pointing out to Christopher what had led up to the explosion (a misidentified component or measurement).

Of course! I absolutely adore the Lightwood cousins! I put a tiny bit of all of them in this fic, but it's mostly focused of Thomas and Kit :)

Thomas and Kit:

Thomas’ sisters have been giggling for what felt like days. Not only giggling, but they kept pestering him, asking about what men fancied the most in women.

Oh, Tommy, do men like shorter hair or longer hair?

Do men prefer a woman who speaks softly or says what’s on her mind?

Thomas would always say the same thing: I don’t know.

Because, really, he didn’t. He’d never thought of women in that way, though the angel knew he’d tried. He simply couldn’t. His mind told him to like one thing, but his heart said otherwise. It was frustrating. And very confusing.

“Why can’t you just be yourselves?” Thomas said. “Who cares what the men think?”

They giggled again, which made Thomas furrow his eyebrows.

“Don’t you understand, Tom? You have to lure them in by attracting their attention, and then, once you have them wrapped around your finger—”

“Then, you can show your true colors.” Barbara finished.

“That’s a terrible idea.” Thomas said. “You’re just wasting your time.”

They both shook their heads in perfect synchronization.

“He’s too young.” Eugenia said.

“And innocent.” Barbara replied.

Thomas rolled his eyes as they giggled again, and began discussing possible bachelors.

Thomas could only tolerate two minutes before he felt suffocated and stood up, frustrated.

“Wait, we still need you.” Eugenia said.

“Where are you going, Tommy?” Barbara asked.

“Out.” He snapped, taking his coat from the hanger and tugging it on. He let the door close behind him, ignoring his urge to slam it, and quickly made his way down the steps of his house.

The cold air bit into his skin and made its way to his neck and down his back. He silently cursed his sisters for making him leave in such a rush that he forgot to take his scarf.

Thomas walked down the streets of London, letting movement cool his head.

He was tired of the world. Angry at it. The way his sisters embraced it and tried their very best to be a part of it. The way it would force him to live his life differently, with someone he could never truly love.

He wished it would disappear, leave him alone, and yet it was always there, floating over his head like a shadow.

He stuffed his hands in his pockets, and briskly crossed the street.

Most days, Thomas missed Idris; walking barefoot through the forest and simply being outside in the clean, rich air. In Idris, if he wanted to be alone, he could. He could lay on the grass and fill his lungs with it’s wonderful scent, or climb a tree and hum melodies of his own creation. Of course, he liked the fact that in London, he could be with his friends, but there are some things even friends can’t quite help with. His friends could calm his mind the way the soft breeze that ruffled his hair or singing of birds could.

Thomas didn’t realize where he was going until he was standing in front of his Aunt and Uncle’s house.

He knocked on the door, and when nobody answered, he shrugged and opened it.

He made his way through the house, poking his head in certain rooms, trying to find one of the residents. It was usually quiet today. He looked into the parlor and found Cecily with her back to him. She was swaying back and forth, her hair falling from it’s bun.

“Hello, Aunt Cecy.” Thomas said.

Cecily turned, and smiled when she saw him. Her eyes had bags under them, as she and Uncle Gabriel were very tired these days, the reason for which was soundly snoozing in Cecily’s arms. Thomas’ new baby cousin, Alexander (whom Kit had informed Thomas was very loud) apparently has lungs of steel. Cecily had said she looked like a raccoon these days, but Thomas thought she still looked as pretty as always. “Oh, hello Thomas. Have you come to see Christopher?” She asked, rearranging Alex’s blanket.

Thomas nodded, “is he here?”

“In his room. He’s been awfully quiet today.” She said, simply. Then she furrowed her eyebrows, as if realizing what she’d just said.

“Do make sure he's not partaking in something foolish while you’re there, Thomas, would you?”

“Yes, Aunt.” Thomas said, making his way up the stairs.

He hadn’t wanted to come any closer to his baby cousin, for fear that he’d wake him, and Aunt Cecy would have to put him to sleep again.

Thomas waved at Uncle Gabriel as he passed him in the study, as he walked down the hall. Gabriel waved back half-heartedly, as if the life had been sucked out of him.

When Thomas opened the door to Christopher’s room, he found him bent over the table in his room.

“You’re going to hurt your back if you stand like that.” Thomas said as a way of greeting.

His cousin looked up immediately.

“Shut the door,” he hissed.

Surprised and confused, Thomas did so, and Kit straightened.

“What ho! How wonderful that you are here, Tom. I was working on something fascinating.”

“Is it related to science in any way, because last time you tried something like it, you blew up one of Henry’s walls.”

“That was because I made a simple mistake.” Kit said, with a wave of his hand. “This time it’s different.”

Thomas wasn’t very convinced. He noted Kit’s askew cravat, his tousled hair, his glasses that sat crooked on his nose and his wide-eyed gaze and concluded that his cousin has officially lost his head.

“Why did you look like I’d committed the largest sin on the planet when I left the door open?” Thomas said, deciding to change the subject.

Kit scowled. “Alexander.”

Thomas blinked. “You’ll have to be a little bit more specific than that.”

“Any small amount of noise and Alexander will cry for hours.” Christopher said, scrawling something on a paper. “At least this way I don’t have to hear the racket so much.”

“Oh,” Thomas said.

“I don’t know why Mum and Dad even wanted another baby. They’re demonic creatures.”

“I thought you liked Alex.”

“When he didn’t cry so much.” Kit said, rather darkly.

Thomas had never seen his cousin so…gothic? Not only was he strangely gothic, but he has also thrown himself into science experiments, which didn’t settle well with Thomas. It was as if he were a mad scientist and Thomas, who’d read Frankenstein, didn’t think those two words were ever a good combination.

He cast an uneasy glance at Kit, who was biting his bottom lip as he combined two solutions.

“Kit, what are you even trying to accomplish?”

“Oh, erm, actually, I don’t know. I’m just observing what will happen if you combine— Oh, that’s not good,” Kit said.

“What’s not good?” Thomas asked, just as a large explosion answered the question for him.

“What the Hell was that?!” They heard Gabriel’s frantic voice call from the hall, just as Alexander began wailing and Cecily let out a noise that started out as frustration, then became something halfway between confusion and worry. Christopher, covered in soot, simply stared, dumbfounded, at the place where the vial had once been.

“Erm…” Thomas said, unsure of how to answer the question his uncle asked.

Not that it mattered, as Gabriel burst into the room a few seconds later. Much like his son, he blinked and just stared at the explosion site for the moment it took Cecily to come inside with a red faced Alexander in her arms. The latter was rubbing at his puffy eyes with his small fists, clearly not happy to have been woken up from his nap in such a way.

“Christopher Gideon Gabriel Lightwood, what in the name of Raziel have you done?” Cecily said, not hysterically, like most parents might ask, but more so weary, as though she wasn’t entirely surprised by the fact that there was an explosion in her residence on a Sunday morning.

Kit shrugged, still staring at the explosion site.

“Sorry to interrupt,” Thomas said, “but are these chemicals toxic? Shouldn’t we be evacuating?”

And for the first time in Thomas’ life, he saw his Uncle Gabriel and Aunt Cecily exchange a wide-eyed expression before Cecily ordered them all out of the room and briskly led them down the hallway.

She knocked on Anna’s door as they passed it. “Cariad, make haste, we’re evacuating the house.”

“Why?” Anna asked in a bored and strangely breathless voice, as if she were dancing.

“Your brother caused an explosion. Did you really not hear it?” Gabriel said.

“Oh, that’s what that was?”

“Yes, now come outside before you start glowing in the dark from the toxic fumes.” Cecily said firmly.

Anna groaned. “Alright. Let me get dre— I mean, I’ll be right down.”

Cecily sighed and continued down the hall.

…

Thomas waited outside with the Lightwoods, Anna climbing out of her window a short while later, not bothering to straighten her simple dress as she landed. If either Gabriel and Cecily were by any means surprised by Anna’s exit, neither remarked upon it. Nor did they mind that Anna was barefoot or that her wavy hair was unbound, waving in the wind like an ebony banner.

Gabriel and Cecily were simple folk, in that sense. They didn’t waste time trying to make their children conform to society, they just let them roam free.

Well, except for now, as they were scolding Kit, Cecily forbade him from any sort of experimentation within their house. They may differ from parents in many ways, but they were still parents, regardless.

Anna slumped down beside Thomas, watching the house.

“Another day, another dollar in the Lightwood residence.” Anna said mournfully.

Thomas just stared blankly ahead.

“One of these days, Tom, I’m going to get my own flat.”

Thomas nodded.

“And you can have my room here.” Anna said.

Thomas snorted. “Your room is pink. Very pink.”

Anna pressed her lips together. “Believe me, I’m aware.”

When Kit was done being scolded, he came over to them. Anna patted the grass next to where she was sitting and Kit plopped down beside her.

“How angry are they?” Anna asked.

Kit just frowned.

“At least they’re not disappointed.” Anna said, ruffling his hair.

Kit just pressed his lips together, identical to the way his sister had done shortly before. Anna and Kit looked very alike, despite their coloring. They always denied it, of course, just as Thomas always denies it when others say that he looks like his sisters.

“Well, you two are a dull bunch.” Anna said, getting up. “If neither of you are going to talk, I might as well leave.”

They watched her go to her father, most likely making a joke as she walked and despite everything that happened, Gabriel chuckled.

Kit scooted closer to Thomas, who put a hand on his cousin’s back.

“Maybe next time, you should study the chemicals better.” Thomas said, “see how they react to other chemicals. I don’t think spontaneity is something scientists encourage.”

Kit looked up.

“And maybe don’t do it in your room?” Thomas said.

Christopher nodded.

Thomas looked straight ahead, and they sat in a comfortable silence.

“Do you really hate Alex?” Thomas asked after a while.

“Not really.” Kit said. “He is just vexing sometimes.”

Thomas huffed a laugh. “I feel the same about Genia and Babs sometimes, if that makes you feel better.”

“I still like Alex, though.”

Thomas hummed. “Yes, I still love my sisters too.”

Thomas leaned back on his hands and closed his eyes. He may not be in Idris, but at least he still had his family. He may be different and the rest of the world might shun him, but at least his parents would still love him.

At least he was alive, and though sometimes it wasn’t always perfect, life was still good.

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amiedala · 3 years ago

Text

SOMETHING MORE (the mandalorian x reader)

CHAPTER 25: Tied

RATING: Explicit (18+ ONLY!!!)

WARNINGS: violence, suggestive content

SUMMARY: “Nova. Cyar’ika—” he whispers, and you flinch against the nickname, against the life you once had together, “I want you back. Need you. I need you.”

“Too late. You blew it,” you manage, and even though every cell in your body is telling you to stay, to forgive him, you try to do what you used to do best. Run.

“Cyar’ika,” Din says again. No, he’s pleading with you. “Please—”

“I looked it up,” you whisper, through shards of glass. You’re trying so hard to stay angry, but you’re teetering on heartbroken. “Cyar’ika. It doesn’t just mean sweetheart. It means beloved.”

He stares at you. You’re on the verge of tears. “Please,” he repeats, and Maker, he sounds almost as broken as you do, but you can’t help yourself.

“It means beloved,” you seethe, “and you fucking left me.”

AUTHOR’S NOTE: HELLO MY LOVES HAPPY SOMETHING MORE SATURDAY!!! this chapter is an absolute WHIRLWIND of emotions, and i am so excited to share it with you all!!! i hope you love it!! <3

“What are you doing here,” you manage, voice shaking. You have to grab onto the bar to steady yourself, keep your body upwards.

“I’m sorry,” Din says, and it comes out as a whisper. “I was wrong.”

You know how much this means to him. You know that coming here, after everything, wasn’t the plan. You know how much it means that he came back at all, how he’s standing in front of you, how he tracked you down after leaving you behind on Dantooine, how he probably followed your footsteps from Dantooine to Hoth to Polis Massa to here. You know how he’s standing here, unmasked, unmoored, undone, and it takes everything in you to back away.

“Please,” Din begs, and it’s so desperate that it makes you shake your head and move out from behind the bar, pull him into a quieter corner. People are staring. Gaping, actually. It’s closing time, and there’s barely anyone else left in the cantina, which means that all eyes are on the two of you. You can’t stop staring at him, so unencumbered, without his helmet. Everything in you wants to cover up Din’s face, to make everyone stop staring at him. Even hurt, even heartbroken, you can’t bear to watch him throw away his Creed, the one thing he had left.

He’s not even registering the glances he once was so terrified of. All he’s focused on is you.

“What are you doing here,” you repeat, crossing your arms over your chest to hide your shaking hands. “You left me.”

“I shouldn’t have,” he says, and it barrels over your own words. “Leaving you there—leaving you at all—was the worst mistake of my life.”

“It was.” You bite down, trying not to hide. “What do you want from me?”

“Nova. Cyar’ika—” he whispers, and you flinch against the nickname, against the life you once had together, “I want you back. Need you. I need you.”

“Too late. You blew it,” you manage, and even though every cell in your body is telling you to stay, to forgive him, you try to do what you used to do best. Run.

“Cyar’ika,” Din says again. No, he’s pleading with you. “Please—”

He stares at you. You’re on the verge of tears. “Please,” he repeats, and Maker, he sounds almost as broken as you do, but you can’t help yourself.

“It means beloved,” you seethe, “and you fucking left me.”

You turn on your heel. He says your name again, your real one, and you close your eyes against it, striding back to the bar. “I lost the kid,” he says, and that stops you. Immediately. Like a tractor beam, you freeze, turn, and stride back to him.

“What do you mean lost,” you choke out, hand coming up in his beautiful, broken, unmasked face. You knew, all along that your visions had been premonitions. You knew it months ago, and you had it solidified on Tython when you saw the Crest blown to smithereens. But the way Din’s mouth curves around the word lost, it sounds like Grogu is dead and gone.

He closes his eyes against your fury, and you inhale shakily, moving your hand back, shoving it in your pocket to contain it. “I…I had to give him up.”

“Had to?” He nods, swallows. You’ve studied him for more than long enough to recognize that he’s close to tears himself. You don’t push it. “Tell me what happened.”

“After we—we met Ahsoka,” he says, and your jaw clenches against her name, against the events that happened after her, “I took him to Tython. It didn’t go well. He—didn’t talk to anyone that I could see.” He swallows, eyes darting around your surroundings for the first time. “He—he got taken by Gideon’s soldiers.”

“I know,” you say, wiping a tear away as subtly as you can, “I—I mean how? What happened, exactly?”

“It was a planned attack,” he says through clenched teeth. “I had help, but they weren’t—enough. And Gideon’s troopers blew up the Crest.”

Your heart clenches at the memory of it, that the ship that was once your home is destroyed forever. In an instant, like it’s nothing. Like it felt when Din left you. “Who helped you?” You don’t know why you’re asking this. You know it was Luke Skywalker, but if the Crest was destroyed between Tython and Gideon’s cruiser, he had to have help elsewhere. You need to know the baby is okay. Your whole body feels like it’s been thrown into the lava rivers on Mustafar.

“Cara,” Din admits, and this makes sense. You breathe a sigh of relief—a tiny one, barely air at all, but enough to make your heartbeat quiet instead of quicken. “Bo-Katan and Koska. Fennec Shand,” he continues, and you narrow your eyes in confusion, “and Boba Fett.”

You stare at him. “Boba Fett?”

He nods, confused. “Yes. And Fennec Shand.”

“Boba Fett?” you repeat, loudly, and the music in the cantina cuts. You flutter your hand impatiently at the band, who have, somehow, been tiredly playing a background track throughout all of this, and they start up again. “The…the bounty hunter?”

Din nods. “Yes.”

“Eaten by a Sarlacc pit Boba Fett?”

He raises an eyebrow.

“Killed by Han Solo Boba Fett?” You stare at him, completely lost. He’s giving you nothing. “The—the unaltered clone Boba Fett?”

He startles at this. “Clone?”

You look at Din in utter disbelief. “You were helped by a legendary, Empire-contracted, elitist, dead bounty hunter,” you say. “Okay.” You wouldn’t believe him if it wasn’t him standing in front of you, completely confused. You swallow. You know how this story ends, but you need to hear it come out of Din’s mouth. “Then what?”

“We…all of us, we went to Moff Gideon’s ship. We barely made it out.”

“But you—the baby?”

“Grogu was fine.” He swallows. “Is fine. The dark troopers Gideon had—one nearly killed me. They were indestructible. But,” he says, and his voice is shaking again, “then a single X-Wing pulled up out of hyperspace. It came out of nowhere. When I saw it…” his voice is so quiet it’s barely anything at all, “I wished it were yours.”

You’re crying. Completely uncontrolled. You don’t know what to say. Din continues, quieter still. “I’ve never seen anything like it.” He pauses. “The Jedi…he was unlike anything I’ve ever heard. He took out an entire army of dark troopers with just his lightsaber and the Force. When he got to the bridge…he’d slaughtered all of them. Singlehandedly.”

You choke up.

“He knew…he said Grogu would be safe with him. That he’d teach him. He was one of his kind. I had to,” and his voice breaks over the syllable, “I had to let him go.”

You close your eyes. “Who was he?” You know the answer already. But, like everything else, you need Din to say it.

Din looks at you. “I…didn’t ask his name.”

You’re exasperated. Maker, he’s like the side character in his own story. “I—what did he look like?”

Din’s silent for a minute, eyebrows furrowed like he’s trying to remember. “Tall. Blonde hair. He…he has a robotic hand. A green lightsaber.”

“General Skywalker,” you breathe, even though this all makes sense, this is everything you’ve seen, but hearing Din put all the pieces together breaks your heart all over again, all the syllables coming out pitched and altered, and he looks at you, somehow confused again. “General Luke Skywalker,” you enunciate, and he startles.

“From your stories?”

You blink. You’re dumbfounded. “From the fucking Rebellion, D—”

You cut yourself off. Abruptly. He’s standing there in front of you, in front a whole cantina filled with people, with his Creed broken, with his mask off, but his name is the one sacred thing he has left. Even furious, even heartbroken—you can’t take that away from him, too.

“Nova,” he starts again, and you hold up a shaking head.

“Where is Gideon?”

Din steps toward you, you step back. He pauses. He looks just as broken as you feel, and still, you can’t forgive him. You can’t even let him touch you, because you know you’ll be a goner if he does. The second his hands go on you, you’ll forgive him. Even if it hurts like the scar Jacterr left up your belly, even if it breaks you in the same way Din leaving you did, you’ll forgive him. You just stare at him, trying to project the same look that he gave you when he found out about your Force sensitivity—betrayal.

“Bo-Katan has him,” Din answers quietly. “She took him back to Mandalore as her prisoner. I don’t think there’s any way that he’s getting out of her clutches—”

“I wouldn’t bet on that,” you interrupt darkly, swiping at the strand of hair hanging down in front of your eyes before Din’s familiar touch can do it for you, tuck it behind your ear. “If the baby’s still out there—if I’m still out there—Gideon will do everything in his power to get to us, take us back. You’re not safe here,” you say, trying to steel your voice, “with me, you’re not safe. Right? That’s what you told me. So you should go. Leave Tatooine. Don’t look back.”

Din cocks his head, staring at you. “Novalise,” he starts, his voice just as daggered as yours was. “Nova, I never wanted to leave you. I—I thought you would be safer if I did, if I split you and the kid up so that Gideon would come after us instead—”

“Bullshit,” you spit back at him. The word is dirty, dark. It sends Din reeling. “Bullshit, you never wanted to leave me. You abandoned me on Dantooine, the same place you kissed me for the first time. The place we started our lives together. Remember that? You dumped me like it was nothing. Like I was nothing. I don’t care if you did it to protect me,” you continue, even though your voice is all wavery, “you gave me everything in the galaxy and then you took it away. I’m just supposed to get over that?”

“No,” Din says, earnest, pleading. He tries to reach for you again, and you yank your arm out of his grasp. It slams up against the wall, but you barely register it. Din lets his own arms fall at his sides, looking utterly defeated. “No, but I—I promise, I’ll spend the rest of my life trying to make it up to you—”

“Fat chance,” you seethe, even though that’s all you want. Your voice isn’t even an imitation of confident anymore, it’s broken and fractured through. “Have a nice life, Mandalorian. Don’t you dare try to follow me.” You don’t want to do it. Everything in you, all the strength and promises you built up over the last year, are screaming at you to stop, to go back, to forgive him. But you can’t. Something in you, some sort of resolve, is so much stronger than logic. You don’t even look back, no matter how much you want to. You just grab your shit and leave the cantina, making a break for it the second you can, full on crying, running wildly towards where Kicker is parked in the hangar. You don’t want to leave this planet. You’re so exhausted of moving, of being on the run. Din promised you he’d kill Gideon, and it’s just another on the laundry list of how many he’s broken. Gideon’s alive, with Bo-Katan, sure, but he’s out there. The people living in the shadows of the Empire, they’re out there too. You’re not safe. You don’t know why you ever believed Din’s promise that once Gideon was dead, you’d be out of danger. You’re Force sensitive, the mother to another Force sensitive being, you’re in the Rebel Alliance, you know Luke Skywalker has your kid. You’re always going to be in danger.

You’re so full of heartbreak and tears, you don’t notice the people huddled around Kicker at first. It’s a stupid mistake, a foolish one, but you don’t even have your thumb on your blaster when one of the men steps forward to grab you.

“She’s prettier than her puck says,” he smirks, and you tug as hard as you can to rip your arm out of his grasp. It doesn’t work. He drags you in closer. “Why are you on the run, gorgeous?”

“Not a runner,” you spit back, stomping on his foot. It’s enough for you to stumble backward, but you collide into the backs of the two other men he’s with, “not a bounty either, so—”

“That’s where you’re wrong,” the first man says, stepping forward. You look frantically up at your ship, making sure that it’s in your reach if you can somehow, miraculously, get away from the three of them before they drag you away. The way the man in front of you is smiling looks so much like Merle. “Look.” He presses a button on his bounty puck, and a hologram of you pops up, your hair tied back neatly, your eyes gleaming. It looks like you and not like you at the same time. You don’t look hardened. Your features are soft, slightly rotating in the dusk. You squint.

“You’re not in the Guild,” you say quietly, fear bubbling up in the pit of your stomach, “are you?”

“Guild doesn’t pay us like the Empire does,” the man holding you says, grinning, looking down at you hungrily, “and you’re a hot ticket, pretty girl.”

You swallow. You’re scared now, for real. Not just because three men have you captive, but because there’s no logistical way that you can get out of their grasp, and even if you do, they’ll see you run straight for Kicker. You’re taking the very slim chance that they don’t know it’s your ship, but if they do, they’ve already alerted everyone they’re working for, and you’re in as much danger out in space as you are on Tatooine. Or, really, anywhere.

This would be the time that Din would normally come to your rescue. But he’s not yours anymore, and you told him not to follow you, so now more than ever, you’re on your own. You swallow. You’re trying so hard not to look scared, but you’re terrified. There’s no way you can even get word to Wedge, not without a direct line to him, since the Alliance’s servers have become fortified and secretive, and even if you’re not getting dragged to Gideon, you’ll be somewhere, held captive, completely alone without a chance in the galaxy of getting out alive.

It hurts more this way. You were so close to escaping it—the danger Gideon put you in, from the life you’ve been living for the past few weeks. You miss Grogu. You miss your parents. You miss Din. It hurts, just as much, to simply admit it to yourself, but it’s the truth. And if you’re going to be taken hostage by these creeps who look at you like you’re a piece of meat before they look at you even as a bounty, you might not get out of it alive. Everything you’ve been running from, all three of you, it’s right here, right now, right in front of you.

You close your eyes.

“Come with us,” the one in front of you taunts, but you don’t dare open your eyes to look at him, “and we’ll treat you right, baby, I promise—”

“My name is Novalise,” you murmur, not loud enough for any of the three of them to really hear it, but loud enough for them to know that you’ve spoken. And then, louder, “and I’m not going anywhere with you.”

The one holding your right arm yanks you back. Hard, enough for you to stumble, but in the chaos, your left hand comes free. It’s not enough to push them all away, your strength has been depleted from weeks and weeks of running and hiding without a break, but you take your chance. It’s quick. The sky is fully dark, now, both suns disappeared over the horizon. You know that this is your one shot to break free, so you let everything run out of you backwards—Din leaving you, the loss of the baby, Luke Skywalker, rejoining the Alliance, Wedge finding you back on Dantooine, your parents’ deaths—and unleash it in one roar, lifting your free hand.

The guy in front of you, skittered to the ground in the chaos, grabs at your outstretched palm. You smile at him as he snatches it, a real one, because you don’t need it. This is new, being able to move things—people—with only with your mind and the Force alone—but you can feel the strength of it, the vitality. It doesn’t matter that your head doesn’t know what to do. Your body does.

You pull the thug holding you closer, close enough to touch, and the fucker’s eyes are still lit up with the thought of getting to grab you again, and you don’t show him any mercy, no Force knockouts, no gentle pushdowns. You bring up your knee in between his open legs, hard, and the noise he makes when he doubles over, howling at the top of his lungs, almost makes the moments he held you, ready to devour, worth it. He’s cursing in three different languages that you can track, but you’re preoccupied with the other two. The man who spoke, who held your bounty puck, is still struggling to get off the sand, so the other man, the biggest one, lunges at you.

They’re so predictable. Men, these kinds of men, men that want to take you and eat you and spit you back out for seconds, men who think that voicelessness means yes, men who only go after people they deem weaker than themselves, they all make the same moves. This one’s trying to tackle you. You’re so good at evading tackles. You tuck and roll, easy, landing on your feet like it’s nothing. It’s like flying—that freedom, using the liminal space midair to take your shot, to use your punches. You do, eventually. You’re so sick of playing the offense, and when the big guy comes at you again, you let him lift you up in the air and haul you over his shoulder, and then you use his trapezius to push off into the open air, already knowing the Force will catch you before you go down too hard. He wails as you yank his arm, dislocating his shoulder, and then two out of three men twice your size are writhing on the sandy ground, unable to touch you.

The last man—the one who stopped you, the one who showed you the puck, is seething. He’s the scariest, even though he’s the smallest, because he has the same sick, determined fury in his eyes that Moff Gideon did. You swallow, tucking your hair behind both ears, holding your ground, out of reach of all three of them.

“You might not be worth all this trouble,” he says. You don’t doubt he means it.

“I’m not,” you say, shrugging. “Really. You can leave here, forget you ever saw me, or you can have me defeating you in your head forever. Either way, I win. But in one, you get to win too.”

“You’re worth just as much dead as you are alive,” he spits at you. “We were only taking you in as is because of the kindness of my heart. I don’t normally like to kill little girls,” he says, “or use them, either, but you’re an exception. I’ll give you to Gideon stripped down to nothing, freshly dead—”

And then he’s not speaking anymore, because his head is blown clean off.

You shriek, ducking and hiding behind a ship as quick as you can, hands fumbling towards the blaster strapped to your thigh before you realize how shaky your grip is. You spend a few seconds in the dark that feel like full hours, trying to figure out how to get free from the shooter before you hear your name. It’s unmodulated.

You peek out from behind the ship. “I thought I told you not to follow me,” you say, trying to sound confident, angry, staring at Din in the dusk and dust. The two other men you incapacitated are trying to get up. Din sinks blasts into both of them. You think they flash like stunners do, but you can’t be sure if he just killed all three of them. And, honestly, at this point, you’re so exhausted that you don’t really care. You swallow.

“I didn’t,” Din answers, voice quiet. “I left the cantina and then I heard all the noise.”

“I had it handled,” you squint at him, trying to project confidence and disgust, but neither of those feel accessible—or real—right now. “You didn’t have to kill him—”

“I recognized them,” Din interrupts, voice scalding. “Lowlifes. Scum dragged from the depths of the Empire. They would have kept chasing you down. It’s my job to protect you.”

“It was,” you say, measured, stepping forward, crossing your arms over your chest. “You know, until you fucking left me. Also, I’m pretty sure I’m stronger than you are now.”

Din stares at you. “Cyar’ika—”

And then he’s cut off by the familiar, horrible screech of TIE fighters. You curse, loudly, and then you dive behind Kicker, climbing up the gangplank backwards. There’s a few of them, at least five, maybe more. Their dark bodies are silhouetted against the blackness of Tatooine’s night sky. No matter what, though, you can’t take them on yourself. You need to be in the sky. You’re almost in the cockpit when you catch a flash of Din just standing there, helmet off, staring up at the fighters with this blank, resolute look on his face. When they start shooting at him, he doesn’t move, standing there, resolved, making peace with death.

“You—” you start, and then you’re hurling yourself down the ladder. Your fight-or-flight isn’t screaming flight, right now. It’s yelling at you louder than your determined, emotional heartbreak is. If you leave Din here, he’ll either let the troopers take him out or keep putting himself in danger until someone else does.

And as angry as you are, as much as it hurts, watching the man you love die isn’t something you can do. Not ever. Not even now. Your hands are full of beskar and yanking it towards you before Din registers you’re dragging him towards the ship. He starts to argue, but then a blast fires, close. Too close. Wordless, eyes wider than normal, he nods, hauling himself up the gangplank behind you as you run for the controls.

“Hold on to something!” you scream, flipping all the switches, giving the dashboard one swift pounding to wake Kicker from her grumpy slumber. It works, miraculously, and you’re airborne. The starfighter doesn’t handle like the X-wing did. It’s more streamlined, but the balance is definitely off, especially with another person onboard, and somehow, it’s clunkier. Still, you’ve had plenty of practice with getting yourself out of sticky situations, and when you fire at the fighters, it’s like muscle memory. You still hate killing. It lives, awful and dangerous, at the back of your mind, always. You have nightmares about it, even when it’s you trying to stay alive. But right now, you’re all tapped out of emotion to give. You send a volley of blasts, slightly off so that the fighters don’t immediately explode in their fiery deaths, and allow a soft smile when it hits three different wings, sending them into a dangerous tailspin to the ground, but nothing they could die from. You fly through the blasts from the last few, and when you’ve chased them out of Tatooine’s atmosphere, you disengage the controls. You don’t know if Din strapped into something, if he’s even hanging on to anything, but you’re safe, nestled into the safety belts, and you go weightless. It feels like a freefall back to the planet, and the fighters think they’ve got you, but then you power the ship back up and hurl every single thruster you have into warp, and you’re gone.

Despite it all, despite everything, you smile, heartrate slowing, letting yourself stay suspended in the victory for just a few minutes. You’ve earned it.

Once you let the controls go, you turn around to see Din standing there. He still looks so uncomfortable without his helmet on, so restricted, so broken. It slices you down the middle, but you lift your chin. “Told you,” you breathe, finally, and one of his thick eyebrows lifts. “I’m stronger than you are.”

He stares at you. “You always have been,” he says, lowly, voice strangled. “Always. Even when I didn’t know it—”

“Don’t grovel,” you manage, your words coming out high and breathless. “Don’t. I only saved you because I knew you wouldn’t have fought off the ships. You’ve been lost. Reckless. But I’ve never known you to be suicidal,” you say, leaning back against the seat, “so what the hell was that back there?”

Din sighs. It’s so quiet in here, the hulking kind, the kind that made space feel like prison in the first few days after Din left you on Dantooine. “You aren’t m—mine anymore. The kid got taken. I didn’t have much left to live for. What’s the use in fighting if it’s going to be a quick death?”

You stare at him, eyebrows furrowed down the middle. “You are not,” you say, breath heaving in your chest, “ever allowed to give up and die again. Do you understand that?”

Din’s shoulders sink towards the floor. It looks like all the tension in his body has evaporated. “Nova—”

“This doesn’t mean I forgive you,” you interrupt firmly, “but I mean it, Din Djarin, if you ever willingly try to leave this galaxy again, I will bring you back to life myself. You don’t just try to die. You have to talk to someone if you’re feeling that…defeated. Understand?”

“Yes,” he answers quietly. “I’m sorry—”

“Stop,” you say, voice barely anything at all, but he does. You’re exhausted. “Stop apologizing to me. I’m not ready to forgive you. I’m not—” you cut yourself off, bringing your fingers to the knots in your neck, “you’re not going to stay with me. I’ll leave you somewhere safe, but this—all of it—this is over. You ended it when you left me instead of trusting me to protect myself, Grogu, and you. You can sleep down the ladder,” you offer, pointing at a spare blanket. “I’ll wake you when we land on the next planet.”

Din looks at you, and his heartbreak is written all over his face. You want to take it all back, everything, but you can’t. You have integrity. You have drawn a line in the sand, and you need to make sure no one—especially yourself—crosses it.

“Thank you,” Din manages, and with one meaningful, loaded look, he climbs down the ladder. You exhale, pressing your face into the pillow in your nest of blankets so that he can’t hear you sob. This, somehow, hurts worse than him leaving you. And you don’t want this. You want to forgive him. You want to go back to the cantina and go with him, and you want more than anything to just let all this go. But you can’t. You know you can’t. Because he didn’t trust you to protect him, this is you showing him you can, from an arm’s length away.

And, besides, you have places you can go. You can call Wedge and pick up new tasks for the Alliance. You can land back on Dantooine and visit Arlen. You can even go back to Tatooine once the dust clears, apologize to Kuna and pick up other jobs at the cantina. And, maybe, if you’re brave enough, you can ask Wedge to put you in touch with Luke, and you can learn how to be a Jedi, alongside Grogu, alongside whoever else the greatest one in the galaxy is training.

You can do it without Din. You don’t want to, but you can.

Your sleep is restless, fitful. Multiple times, you wake yourself up, biting into your pillow or the flesh of your arm to stifle your yells. If Din hears you downstairs, he doesn’t let on. When you wake for good, you drop out of warp, look to see where you are. You were halfway hoping for it to be some desert planet, somewhere he’ll hate being, but it’s Mon Calamari. Not the safest place, but not the most dangerous, either. It’s some sort of wet, desolate compromise. And it’s somewhere desolate enough that Din will have to work up the credits to get a new ship, have to work at tracking you down if he does decide to follow you anyway.

Or, you know, he could call his new best friend Boba Fett to give him a ride. You barely can escape one bounty hunter. You don’t even want to think about what two would do. Cara, you decide as you park in the landing bay, you’ll reach Cara, because even though she’s Din’s friend first, you also have a pretty good idea that she’d kick his ass for you if you even alluded to the hurt he caused you. Cara would help you hide, and then she’d tear Din to shreds.

Your stomach is in a knot when you dock. You don’t want to go downstairs and look Din in his soulful, apologetic brown eyes, because if he stares at you for one more second, you’re afraid you might break. But you have to, in order to get out of here, so you steel yourself, push your shoulders back, and slide down.

“Nova—”

You look at him. You don’t want to, but you do. It’s dark in here, but not dark enough to pretend you can’t see the contours of his face, your eyes lingering all over the places only you used to eb able to see. You press the button on the gangplank, wordless. He startles at the sudden burst of light, even though it’s rainy and miserable, and you can tell he’s nervous.

You stoop down to pick up his helmet. You push it, quiet, into his hands, breaking your gaze for just a moment to stare at it. “Put this back on,” you say, softly. There are Quarren walking around on the dock, but the dawn is barely over the horizon, and they’re not paying any attention to you.

“I can’t,” Din says, voice empty.

“You can,” you say, nodding. “You put it back on after you showed me. Besides, who’s gonna tell the galaxy they’ve seen you? Cara? Grogu? Luke?”

At Luke’s name, Din startles.

“Put it back on,” you repeat, quiet and firm. “I won’t tell anyone you broke your Creed.”

“Novalise—”

“Goodbye,” you say, gesturing for him to descend the gangplank with your eyes. “And don’t follow me. I mean it this time.”

Din walks down the ramp into the rain. He doesn’t say anything.

“Promise me,” you call after him, “that you won’t follow me.”

His helmet is back on. He doesn’t nod, just cocks his head at you, and because you can’t stand to stare at him anymore, you take that as an agreement. The second the gangplank is up, you collapse onto the ground, wrapping yourself in the blanket you gave to Din, breathing in his musk and metal and cinnamon and cleanness, crying hard enough that you can barely see the ladder on the way back up to the cockpit.

You’re not sure how you get out of there. Everything feels like a blur. You want to run to Hoth, to go back and sleep in the place you made your home for a solid few weeks, to be around fellow members of the Alliance who knew you well enough to keep you around but not well enough to pry into your past, your life, your mess. You want to go back to Dantooine and move in more permanently with Arlen and the other women at the sanctuary, but you know you’re in too much danger and the people who are after you won’t hesitate to let innocent bystanders get caught in the crossfire. More than anything, more even than wanting the last month to not have happened at all, you want to go back to Yavin.

You’ve considered it. Seriously considered it, especially when it’s late at night and you’re lost out, castaway in the stars and silence, but you don’t know if you can bear to go back alone, especially when the last time that you were there, you got proposed to. And now all four members of your family are lost, stranded out there in the hulking, cruel quiet of space, and you don’t know how to light your own way back out. If you go to Yavin, it feels too much like an ending rather than a beginning. And you don’t trust your own shaky strength enough to try and flip the odds in your favor.

So you coast. You’re not sure for how long. Kicker has a clock in her, an old fashioned one built straight into the analog part of the dashboard, but you usually turn it off. You don’t like to think about the days you’re missing, because they all collide into how much time you’ve been wrenched away from Din and the baby. You fly, stopping every few planets for soap and food and water and whatever else you need, but for the most part, you stay up in the cosmos. You’re not sure if you need to actively be on the run or if you just need to avoid the Empire at large, so you’re careful. You don’t want to, but on one planet, you buy a can of paint and stretch it around the identifying symbols of orange rebellion. It’s not the best job, but it’s blurred enough that if people saw you, they wouldn’t immediately tag you for a Rebel. It feels dirty, guilty, to cover up something that’s so vital to your identity, but it’s a necessity.

You’re so tired of necessities.

When you do park Kicker more permanently, it’s on Ryloth. You hate it here. It’s swampy, and it’s swimming with Twi’leks who are undoubtably less dangerous and abusive as Xi’an, but seeing the teeth and skin are enough to make you second-guess your aim way back on Coruscant. You try to blend in, but there’s not a lot of humans who frequent this part of the planet, so you spend most of your time hiding away in Kicker, only venturing out to pick up food and drink and stretch your legs. Mostly, you just try to go unnoticed, wrapping your hair up in your shawl and pulling the hood down to your eyebrows, keeping your face trained on the ground so no one will catch your eye. You need a game plan, a good one, because you’re so tired of running. The threat was supposed to end with Moff Gideon, but Din couldn’t even make good on the promise he left you for, and now his particular shade is lurking somewhere imprisoned on Mandalore, existence taunting you even from parsecs away.

You could go to Mandalore. It starts as a joke, one you say out loud to the otherwise silent ship, because you’re going crazy when there’s no radio signal and there’s no one to talk to, a bitter, twisted one, because even though that’s the planet that Din technically belongs to, he wants to avoid it like the plague. You’re not sure how to feel about Bo-Katan—she’s commanding, graceful, kindhearted yet cold—but you’re a good fighter, and keeping Gideon close might be the only thing that could satiate the anxiety and nightmares that lurk on the edges of your sleep. It’s still a joke, but as the hours tick down, you’re considering it.

Not yet, though. You need to find somewhere with a comm system advanced enough to send a message to Wedge and the other fractured members of the Alliance without being detected, to show him you’re okay and also to make sure that you really can’t go back to Hoth. So you start plotting a course to do that—you know you can’t handle being back on Polis Massa, but there are comm centers on Balnab, and a bigger one on Coruscant—but you don’t think either planet would be safe enough to be on, both physically and emotionally. So you bide your time on Ryloth. When the planet’s atmosphere darkens at night, you wrap yourself up in your shawl despite the muggy, brutal temperature, and go for walks. Mostly, it’s to breathe in air that Kicker hasn’t turned stale and to keep your mind off your crushing solitude, but it also makes every little decision in your head get a bit easier to handle.

You aren’t expecting it. You never do, because when you’re at your most vulnerable, it’s when you aren’t paying attention, aren’t thinking about hiding. You hear your name behind you—your birth name, the one you haven’t answered to in years—and you freeze, slowly turning around to a horde of stormtroopers.

You sigh. Your hands are in the air. This is something that would have terrified you mere months ago, but you know you can beat them, even though there’s ten—maybe twelve—because you don’t need a weapon and because troopers have notoriously bad aim. But now, you’re exhausted. You’re not hardened from constantly being in danger, you’re just so bone-heavy, a tired even sleep can’t cure. “What?” you say, voice flat.

“There’s a warrant out for your arrest,” the trooper in front says.

You close your eyes. “Why?”

“Running and evading. Resisting arrest,” he volleys back, and you flick your eyes over to Kicker. If you haul yourself through the three of them closest to your ship, you can get to the gangplank. You don’t have your blaster strapped to your thigh, which was a really stupid, rookie mistake, but it’s the situation you in, so you try to inhale a breath deep enough to sustain staying upward.

“I don’t know if you guys got the memo,” you say blearily, “but the Empire’s gone now. You don’t have to be here, don’t have to do Gideon’s bidding—”

“Gideon?” one asks, stepping forward. “Oh, you’re mistaken.” His voice is full of venom. “If you think that Moff Gideon is your greatest threat, little girl, you’re in for a big, rude awakening.”

You want to come up with a snappy comeback, some sort of witty retort that’ll get blasters firing so you can move the bolts with your mind and get the hell out of here, but you’ve got nothing. You’re trying to show them that you’re not scared, that you can handle the sorry leftovers the Empire left behind in their wake, but Gideon has been your biggest fear for so long, you’d forgotten the possibility that he might not be the one calling all of the shots. Maker, you’re tired. You’re so tired.

But giving up isn’t in your blood, so you keep fighting.

“Funny,” you manage, finally, cocking your head at the last stormtrooper that just spoke, “your uniforms do look different. Who do you work for?”

“Come with us,” another one says, leveling the blaster up against your heart, “you’ll soon find out.”

“Mm,” you say, trying to keep your heartbeat as steady as it could be with this high-powered weapon pressed up against your chest, “I’ll pass. But let your boss know,” you continue, raising your left eyebrow enough to imitate that cockiness that panic takes place of, “war’s over. The Empire lost. Do you really want to do that twice?”

That does it. One fires, and it’s not the one that has the cool mouth of the blaster angled at your back, so you take your chance to dodge and drop, kicking the giant artillery as hard as you can. You’re much more of a kicker than you are a puncher, so you let yourself get dragged down to Ryloth’s surface so you can put your calves to good use. You’re no match for twelve troopers, not when you’re on the ground instead of airborne, but you feel even heavier than normal. Way heavier than normal, you realize, as your movements start slowing down, and when you blink twice, there’s about six guns in your face.

You got hit, you realize, there’s an open gash in your upper thigh, and you’re bleeding, but that’s not what’s disorienting you. They roofied you with a fucking dart when you were getting shot. You pull it out of your leg stupidly, staring at it, trying to make your eyes focus.

They don’t.

You’re panicked now, fighting and flailing against the drowsiness, but there are so many blasters swimming in front of your vision that you don’t trust yourself not to kick in the wrong spot and send yourself to a painful, ridiculous death.

“Not fair,” you slur, trying to remain as snippy and rebellious as you can while fighting off the tranquilizer they just shot you with, “dirty fucking move—”

“I have half a mind,” the one in front says, the one with the temper, “to strip you down for parts and leave you here for death,” and, Maker, you can feel the sneer in his voice, even through the stupid little modulator under their cowardly white helmets, “if we weren’t getting paid famously to keep you alive, I would—”

“You know,” you interrupt, and you know, somewhere, back in the part of you that’s still logical and lucid, “what happened the last time that someone said that to me?”

You feel the hiss of the modulator start to engage when, suddenly, he’s gone, too. You’re barely awake enough to see it, flailing on the ground, but when your head lolls sideways and your vision goes blurry, you catch the reflectiveness of Din’s beskar and something dangerous and electric as he slaughters every single trooper that pinned you down. Its’ hazy, so you think it’s just an extra-strength vibroblade, but there’s something more kinetic about it, and you stare, your focus oscillating in and out before you push it out of your mind entirely to berate Din for rescuing you twice when you said you didn’t want him to.

Finally, you feel like you have control over your words again. “I had—”

“It handled?” Din interrupts darkly. “Not this time.”

“—told you not to follow me.”

You’re being hauled into the air and being whisked away the few klicks to where the ship is, and when Din brings you onboard, your eyes, still unfocused, catch the carnage you left behind.

“Listening,” Din sighs, carrying you up the gangplank, hoisting you up the ladder, “is not my strong suit.”

“I’ve noticed,” you say, but all the malice and sarcasm that you loaded it with comes out all fuzzy. “Don’t feel so good,” you start, but then the blade of a needle is being stuck in your thigh, and you want to slap it away before it starts to kick in, shaking off all the drunken sleepiness that the tranquilizer sunk into you. “Oh.”

“We gotta go,” Din says, looking out the front window, “how the hell do you fly this thing?”

You stare at him for a second before you lug yourself off the floor, pushing down on the heels of your hands to rocket yourself upwards. You give a swift kick to the dashboard, and she comes to life, Kicker, this glorious, ridiculous beast you call yours, and you sling yourself into the pilot’s seat, fluttering a hand at Din to sit down or hang onto something. He obliges. When you pop out of the planet’s atmosphere, you see a barrage of menacing looking ships rocket out of warp, and you let out a string of curses underneath your breath.

“This is gonna get dicey,” you mutter, more to yourself than to Din, but he sighs in acknowledgement. “First, we get out of here. Then,” you continue, pressing a barrage of buttons and flipping multiple levers on the dashboard, “we teach you what not following me means.”

Din stares at you. Even under the helmet, you can tell. “Nova,” he says, quietly, voice halting like it’s catching somewhere between his mouth and the modulator, “I promised you forever. That doesn’t stop because I made a mistake—an awful, reckless, stupid mistake. I won’t ever leave you again. I—I’m—tied to you—”

You gawk at him, trying to settle on an answer between curses and tears, but the ships have caught wind of you and started firing, so you have the lovely, helpful distraction of being the Rebel fighter pilot you’ve spent the last month relearning. Kicker isn’t sleek, and she isn’t entirely responsive, but she’s fast. Fast enough that you can do all sorts of spins and shots while you’re still moving, a plus that the Razor Crest never could figure out. The ships are vast, and massive, but they’re slow. Especially in comparison to Kicker. Especially in comparison to you.

It does get dicey—their shots are fast and heavy, and their artillery completely outweighs yours—but you’ve had a lot of practice getting out of sticky situations relatively unscathed, and after the last month, you’ve had an equal amount of practice evading and escaping from the forces that still use their fallen Empire to justify death and destruction. You don’t stop shooting at them, but you take on your usual, pacifist kind of role, where you dodge instead of attack. You’re quick, and you’re fast, and you can keep up ten paces ahead of your movements in your mind, and it’s not long before you’re able to blast through a skeletal wing of a darkened fighter and hop into warp. You know they can’t follow you, because Kicker’s too quick and because they like to gang up on you instead of going on a wild goose chase, so you just gun it to go to the other end of this sector, deciding to just figure out how to get word of your safety to Wedge later.

Now, though, you can feel Din. His presence is large and lurking, demanding and stoic. With a long, quiet sigh, you exhale and turn around to face him. You’re sitting in your pilot’s chair, and he’s towering over you, but for once, you’re not intimidated. The both of you know you hold all the power here, and he’s waiting for you to speak.

“You left me,” you reiterate, and he winces at your words, harder this time than before.

“I—Nova, listen,” Din starts, trying to yank his helmet off.

“No,” you say quietly, and he freezes. “You left me like I was some problem to dump off elsewhere while you dealt with something on your own. And that something could have gone so much better if you had taken me along with you.”

“I know,” Din says, voice glum, defeated. “I—I knew it was a mistake. Almost immediately. But I did it to protect you, cyar’ika—”

“Don’t call me that,” you spit, and it’s so much angrier than you intended, but all the hurt filters up and out of your mouth, sharpening your words into malice. “Din, I held my own back on Er’kit. I protected you on Corvus. I fought off Gideon with nothing but my hands and mind. I know I’m not an experienced hunter like you are, I know that I’m untrained with too much raw energy, but did you really think that storming that bridge outnumbered would be a good idea?”

“I came back for you,” he says quietly.

“Bullshit,” you retort, immediately, before you startle with the memory of the Mandalorian helmet back on Dantooine while Wedge was taking you off to Hoth. “When?”

“After I lost the kid,” Din sighs. Slowly, as you watch, he sinks into his knees on the floor in front of you, his helmet leveling almost completely to your face. “When he got taken on Tython. I—I came to find you before I went to even Cara, to anyone else I knew. I realized how stupid I’d been, how I acted without including you in my decision. I didn’t t—think—”

“You didn’t think,” you repeat, lowly. Your voice is level. “So you just left me there on Dantooine, without thinking?”

“Yes,” Din murmurs, voice enunciated and intense. “I shut down. I’m used to protecting things, not to l—loving things. I fucked that up with you, and then I fucked it up again with the kid. I didn’t think. I just acted.”

“Loving things,” you echo.

Din stares at you. Your breath catches in your throat, wings stuck like a butterfly. You can’t breathe. The air in here is too stuffy, too intense. He’s never said that before, never used the word in the way you have, He’s told you he loved you by knowing you, by caring for you, by protecting you and then he broke you the second it was your turn to feel the same. Your stomach feels like a whole ocean that’s on fire.

“You know I lo—”

“Stop,” you say, and it comes out choked, like a sob. “Don’t say it now. Don’t you dare say it as a consolation prize to win me back. Say it because you mean it. Say it when I save you.”

Din freezes, again. You still can’t breathe. Everything in here is fuzzy around the edges, like it was when you got struck with the poison tranquilizer. Your breath catches again in your mouth, like it can’t touch the atmosphere of the ship around it. Din shuffles forward on one knee as he hooks his fingers under the rim of his helmet, and before you can stop him, he pulls it clean off. You stifle a small sob as he looks at you, his brown eyes dark and deep, filled with something colored like regret and guilt and, impossibly, belonging. What was it that he said earlier? That he was tied to you? You want to cut that string, but he’s magnetic, even when your heart is this broken, even after everything.

“You promised me you wouldn’t follow me,” you manage, around shards of glass. “I thought you were a man of your word.”

“I never promised you I wouldn’t follow you,” Din refutes, cocking his head slightly. “I just looked at you, and you pretended that was enough.”

“Din—”

“Let me prove to you I meant my apology,” he says, and he leans in. He’s electric. You’re on fire. “Please. Please, Nova, please, let me prove to you I mean it.”

“You’re tied to me?” you squeak. His lips, pink and divine, are so close to yours. You stare at them as his gaze bores a hole through you.

“What else does forever mean?” Din whispers softly, pushing his face into yours, his forehead resting, just for a second, against your own.

“I still don’t forgive you,” you say, trying to load your breathless voice with as much intention as you possibly can.

“I know,” Din murmurs, nodding, and you lean in to meet him in the middle. And then his lips are on yours.

I HOPE YOU LOVED IT!!!!!! we still have a whole arc to go my friends ;) i promise i'll let you all know when we're closing in on the last chapter, but for now, there's still more of SM yet to come, and, when it's over, the sequel will absolutely be coming! i hope you have a lovely week!! as always, i'd love to talk to you about your favorite parts of the chapter/theories of what's yet to come!

CHAPTER 26 WILL BE UP ON SATURDAY JUNE 19TH AT 7:30 PM EST!!!!

xoxo, amelie

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sweetestlamb · 4 years ago

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Temptation

Summary: Vincenzo is feeling parched.

Author's note: These two have been living in my mind rent free lately, I'm just shallow and they look so damn good together and when you add the chemistry, well I'm a goner. Just a little drabble based on today's episode, I'm taking a break from BMTL this weekend because it's going to be another 10k probably and it's the first weekend I'm off with my bf so I promised not to ignore him to write all day lol. Update soon though!

Bon appetit!

Wispy dark lashes flutter just above her high cheekbones as she awaits the blow, her pretty face scrunched up in anticipation as a minor twitch in her lip distracts him.

That's been happening far too often lately, more than he'd care to admit. It was easier when she was blindly following Babel and refused to see the insidious truth about the morally bankrupt company, it was easier to pacify his attraction when she was the bad guy. Not that he was the right candidate to judge, he'd done notifiable heinous things in his life. Her father had been the first person to look at him like he was worth something, like the evil that lurked under his skin could be used for something good.

But her eyes had been opened, in the end she had chosen her father. If only he'd been here to see it.

That decision unhinges the small grapple he has on his control, he finds himself looking at her all the time cataloging the many emotions that distort that expressive face. She's like a living caricature and instead of finding that off-putting he's intrigued and mesmerized. Constantly battling with his lips that won't stop rising in her presence, he's not someone who smiles lightly. Has never had much of a reason to.

Until now.

"What are you waiting for? Just do it." She whines impatiently, squirming side to side and pursing her full lips.

That small move captures all his attention, eyes locked on the rosy pink skin. Instinctively he steps forward until he can feel her body heat, her face is even more captivating up close. She was beautiful, that wasn't hard to admit he was a man after all and his eyes were functional. It was.... everything else that he couldn't admit, not even to himself.

Just do it.

If only she knew what those words did to him, he felt as if he was lit in flames by his own lighter; burning up just from his prolonged vicinity to the loud lawyer. She was being her usual brazen self but she had no idea, not the slightest inkling of what exactly he wanted to do to her. It usually ended in passionate screams in his dreams. Her wild abandon was a thing of beauty, he didn't even mind the mess on his silk sheets because his mind supplied such vivid imaginings.

Staring down at her he wonders how she would taste, perhaps like the spicy noodles she was so fond of or maybe something sweeter and forbidden, once you peeled back the many layers you would discover something so delicious it was addicting. She would be his ambrosia.

"Come on, you're killing me! What's taking so long?" She grumbles now pouting, plush bottom lip jutting out enticingly and his finger hovers in front of her forehead but he can't move, can't bring himself to hurt her no matter how insignificant the hit. Somehow this woman has weaved a web around him, he feels like a fly caught in a spider's deadly but beautiful trap.

What's wrong with me?

There must be indeed something wrong with him because he feels his hand unfurling and lowering until he's nearly cupping her jaw, the delicate point barely above his hand. He's so tempted. Taking another step forward he lifts his second hand, curling around the dip of her lower back. She's so petite despite her loud bark, her entire body could fit easily in his hand.

He wants to lower his hand, grab her face and her waist and.... And what? What is he thinking? This is not why he came to Korea. He wasn't supposed to get involved more than he needed to and he knows no good can come of this, there's only one outcome for men who are lured by seductive sirens. He has to ignore her song no matter how much his body aches when he's with her. Woman have never been elusive in his line of work, gorgeous Italian women who opened up for him easily, surrendering under his capable hands. They were nothing but a good time, a perfunctory scratching of an itch. But, Cha-young he wants to wreck her, take her apart piece by piece until she's putty in his hands.

"What are you doing?" She says sounding amused and he lifts his eyes to find her twinkling ones already on his face. She looks at the twin hands hovering above her body with a raised brow, face now turned into the hand adjacent to her cheek.

"Do you want to change the specifics of our deal?" She teases darkly and he gulps, finally lowering his hands but twisting them around his back to prevent himself from making a huge mistake.

"No." He lies, trying to douse the fire that is blazing in his blood.

"Aishhh. You're such a bad liar." She huffs, nose crinkled up in disbelief and he hates the way his heart smarts his lips twitching to form a smile. He feels so warm and he doesn't know what any of it means.

"Come here." She doesn't give him an opportunity to disobey before reaching out to grab his tie, her hands wrapped around the luxurious material and with a sharp tug he's pulled into her, their bodies colliding and everything feels right.

"Stop." He whispers throat feeling raw, his voice comes out rougher than he intended. His eyes widen at the red flush that it yields, he's not the only one affected it seems.

"You don't want to flick me," she states with certainty, eyes searching his face as she tightens her hold on his tie his neck strains under the slight pressure, leaning down to lessen the tension. Too late he releases how much closer that brings their faces, she's barely an inch away from him now her soft puffs of breath landing directly on his face. "What do you want to do to me instead, Mr. Cassano?" She boldly finishes her statement, dark eyes ping ponging between his lips and his eyes.

Mentally berating himself for his weakness he suddenly grabs her waist, his arm circumvents the entire circumference with room to spare. She gasps in surprise but doesn't look scared, rather she looks curious, biting her bottom lip as she earnestly watches him.

"Do you really want to know?" He bites out, bringing his hand to her jaw and then sliding lower curling it around her neck, fingers tickling the soft nape of head.

She smirks, unflinching in the eye of his storm. She stands on the tips of her toes, bringing them that much closer, "Oh you don't know how much I want to know, Vincenzo." His name is exotic on her tongue, the letters not quite settling correctly but it sounds delectable to his ears, he wants to hear her scream it loudly too.

"I'll show you then." He's done with words, it's clear that they're both cognizant of what's happening between them, the air is so charged it's nearly crackling. She isn't backing down and despite his better judgement he doesn't want to lose, he can't be the way to pull away now. Simultaneously they yank each other closer, him by her neck and her by his tie. He sees the passion in her eyes, finally bursting to the surface and that's all the consent he needs, if she wants him too then she can have him.

Twisting his head he surges forward, eager to capture her lips and devour her moans of pleasure, his hand is now curled possessively around the small swell of her tight posterior, her suit pants always putting it beautifully on display. He had been hungry to touch it, grab it and feel the plumpness in his hands. It's every bit as amazing as he's imagined, her lips fall open as he squeezes at the flesh and he leans forward prepared to eat her alive.

She wraps her free arm around his neck, dragging him down to meet her and he easily lifts her off the ground, grinning boyishly when she squeaks releasing his tie to wrap both arms around his neck, their faces are now level. His hand remains on her ass.

Silently they move towards each other, intent crystal clear.

He can feel the heat from her lip, just as he grazes the smooth skin he hears a loud crash from behind them and they both jump, foreheads knocking accidentally as they react to the sudden sound.

He unceremoniously drops her, but her arms still latched around his shoulder force him forward making his forehead now collide with her chin. She lets out a loud scream of pain, shoving him away and shouting obscenities. He rubs at the pained skin, wincing in discomfort before turning towards the loud interruption with a murderous glare.

Who the fuck was it?

Nam Joo-Sung stands quivering in apparent fear looking like he's seconds away from urinating himself, his knees knocking together viciously.

A deer in the headlights, his eyes are as huge and terrified as one.

"I--um well you see.... I forgot to water the plants....you both look angry. Scary. You don't want an explanation. I'm going. Gone. I'll just. Go." He stutters out nonsensical, suddenly grabbing the plants and he watches as the frightened man awkwardly lifts the pots, cursing when the soil falls out dirting his clothes and the wooden floors, then he falls to his knees scooping it back into the pots, crawling backwards until he's out the door.

They both stare at the door.

Awkward silence remaining even with the man's departure.

And then a vibration fills the air, she jumps as if broken from her stupor reaching into her tiny bag and retrieving her phone. He can barely hear her over the beating of his own heart but he catches the disappointed look she sends his way, they can't continue this.

"Yes. I understand, we'll be right there."

Grabbing his briefcase he takes a moment with his back turned to her to catch his breath, collect himself. He's Vincenzo Cassano, not some prepubescent teenager. He can control himself, control is his middle name.

Then he turns back around and loses all his hard worked composure.

She's right in his space, rubbing absently at her neck as she looks at him.

"We'll finish this later. Don't think I'm going to let you off easy, I always finish what I start." She promises, pointedly looking his lips before grinning then boldly she lightly smacks him twice on his cheeks, "Pick your jaw off the ground, we have to go."

Her long hair bounces over her shoulder as she skips away, his eyes locked on the hypnotic sway of her hips. Her hands are cutely by her side, her signature walk that he had found ridiculous before. He doesn't view it the same way now.

Next time, there will be no interruptions he will make sure of it. Even if he has to kill someone.

#vincenzo #vincenzo cassano #hong cha young #I live for their tension #that flick scene undid me #when they kiss I might lose my shit #they'll hear me scream in Korea #and Italy #I love teasing #Chazenzo #that's what I've been calling them #joo sung is their deer #🥴🥴

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didsomeonesaydaddydraco · 4 years ago

Text

My Oh My | Draco Malfoy one shot

Request: yes! @leydileyla (I would like to request a Draco Malfoy fic, with a Female Hufflepuff Reader (you don't need to specify Hufflepuff if you don't feel like it goes with the story) with the prompt,2. Take another step, and I can’t be responsible for my actions.Maybe it could be something like, they could have been flirting for a while and both sides feel like they are hitting their boiling point )

Word count: 3,205 words

Warning: drinking (just a tiny)

Pairing: Draco Malfoy x Hufflepuff!reader

Note: This was a requests from the prompt list. Used prompt: “Take another step, and I can’t be responsible for my actions”

They say he likes a good time

He comes alive at midnight

My mama doesn't trust him

He's only here for one thing

But (so am I)

The dungeons. The Slytherin Common Room was located there. A place for the cunning, ambitious, determined and resourceful wizards and witches. And of course the kingdom of the Slytherin Prince, Draco Lucius Malfoy. He was mysterious as the night, but oh Merlin, he was the most alive during the dark hours of the day. He really knew how to have fun and how to throw the best Common Room Parties without the professors or Filch founding out. Those parties were the topic of every conversation. Students were talking about how the Slytherins managed to sneak snacks and alcohol to their Common Room, and how clever they were to use the Muffliato Charm, so the loud music wouldn’t be heard from outside. But the most interesting and exciting part of those parties was the way students from other Houses were invited. Not so many people had the privilege to be good friends with a Slytherin, due to their struggles with trust, but that didn’t mean they refused to have some fun time with their fellow school mates. You could only enter the party, if a Slytherin invited you. They would leave a note in your book, on your desk before class or sneak it into your bag with the exact details and the password. That’s how Y/N was invited. Hufflepuffs and Slytherins were at the same Transfiguration class, and one Monday, when Draco Malfoy passed her desk, he dropped a piece of parchment. She bent down to pick up the folded note and give it back to him, but she saw her name on the middle of it, written in neat handwriting.

Beautiful, come to our party this Friday, 10 at night. Bring only one FEMALE friend if you want. The password is serpent. I’ll be expecting you - Malfoy

That was the beginning of a beautiful flirtationship with the Slytherin bad boy. That night, Draco never approached Y/N, but he was always around her, glancing at her while I was talking to our school mates, staring at her while she was dancing with Pansy on the tables. After that party, it was hot glances at each other during class. Draco couldn’t kept his eyes off her, and after a while, it wasn’t enough for him. For some strange reasons, he wanted to be as close to the Hufflepuff girl as possible, so he made her House mate move from next to her and sat by her side during classes. Draco would greet her with a compliment, and Y/N would wink at him in response. The small nice gestures and words soon turned into more. She would stroke her hand along his back as she passed him in the corridors. Draco would touch her hand secretly while they were chatting with friends. He never hid how he was feeling about her, and wasn’t afraid to threaten anyone who tried to approach the subject of his admiration. The flirting between the youngsters was something that couldn’t stay unnoticed by anyone.

“Who is the boy?” Her mother would ask when she was back at home for Christmas. She kept receiving owls with litters and small parcels with her name on top of them. Same neat handwriting. She would smile brightly and even blush while reading the shorter or longer notes attached to her gifts from Malfoy.

“It’s probably still Draco” Y/N’s sister groaned and with an annoyed expression on her face, she shoo away the owl. She didn’t like the idea of her sister being involved with someone who was mostly famous for his jerk behaviour and the idea he was brought up in. In her eyes, Draco Malfoy was the devil himself. She wanted to hex him just because he would breathe around her. Of course she didn’t want Y/N to get hurt or being used by him.

“Draco? As in Narcissa and Lucius Malfoy’s son?” Their mother looked up from her book and her kind eyes focused on her youngest child. She knew that family and heard enough about their shady businesses and arrogant behaviour “I don’t trust him, darling” she shook her head disapprovingly.

“You know he likes to sleep around and mess with girls, right?” Her sister asked, but Y/N shut their voices out. Of course she heard about his reputation, and even saw him throwing girls away from one day to another, but that was what pulled her in. She wanted his taste. Maybe he wanted only one thing, but so did she.

A little bit older

A black leather jacket

A bad reputation

Draco Lucius Malfoy. Everyone knew who he was. Everyone knew about his reputation at Hogwarts. And of course, everyone warned her about him. He had everything that a girl could wish for in a guy. He was tall and strong. He was hard to get and a total twat. He bullied everyone who wasn’t good enough in his eyes and he never regret it. But he had the most beautiful pair of stormy blue eyes with the slightest hint of baby blue in them. And that damn smirk that could make a girl faint. He was just a few months older, but his features made him look much mature. Y/N always found herself staring at him when he wasn’t by her side, just admiring the man he was. After a while, Draco would feel someone watching him, and would look for the person, secretly hoping it was the girl who he wanted so badly. He could have made her his fully, but they loved and lived for their little cat and mouth game. The bickering and flirting entertained not only the two of them, but everyone around them.

“Bite me” Y/N said to the blonde bloke towering over her body. She couldn’t tell anymore what they were arguing about, she just wanted to push his bottoms and see when he would snap. Her remark made Draco smile at her darkly, and leaned in, dangerously close to her face.

“Where, princess?” His was deepened and he bit his bottom lip. A tiny gasp left her lips and he knew he won this round “You thought you were so badass, but then you met me”

“You think too highly of yourself” she rolled her eyes and pushed him away. Draco sat back next to her on the bench and put his hand on her thigh, softly stroking her soft skin with his thumb.

“Am I not everything you wanted?” He asked with raised eyebrows, and he sneaked his hand up a little higher. They crossed the line of innocent flirting a long time ago. Y/N and Draco were basically on fire when they were just simply in the same room, yet alone sitting next to each other.

“I wanted a little less arrogance” she pushed his hand away and stood up, grabbing her back from the ground and walking away with a huge smile on her face. She loved the affect she had on the Slytherin boy, and enjoyed teasing him too much to end it anytime soon.

“You can’t resist me, Y/L/N” Draco yelled after her and watched how her hips swayed as she walked further and further away. That girl really knew how to ignite the fire inside him over and over again, but never stayed long enough to let it warm her. Draco smiled at the thought of chasing after her in the corridors and throwing her over his shoulder to her back to his room.

Insatiable habits

He was onto me, one look and I couldn't breathe

Yeah, I said, "If you kiss me

I might let it happen”

I swear on my life that I've been a good girl

Tonight, I don't wanna be her

Y/N was a good girl, always the first to submit her homework and the one who volunteered to tutor the younger witches and wizards when they had troubles with any of their classes. She liked to know all her assignments were complete and outstanding, searching for new information about the topics of their lessons to add to her essay and show her professors how determined she was about her studies. She was nice with everyone, she was the shoulder you could cry on even if you didn’t know her that well. She liked to help people and loved to make new friends. But she had a side that only a few people knew. She wasn’t that innocent little Hufflepuff girl like so many students would have thought. She was always up for a good party and flirt with boys. They were young after all. It was their time to live, to experiment, to fall in love and to make mistakes. She loved her life and wanted to live it fully. That was what Draco admired her. Her essence and the way she saw life. She was fun to be around, and hot to stare at. And he liked to watch every move she took.

“Like alchemy, Kabbalah isn’t one generalised study either, but several different branches. The two beaches that specifically have the most influence” she was trying to teach Draco everything about their Alchemy class before their midterm test, but she rudely interrupted her.

“You gotta stop doing that” he said with a teasing tone. He was laying on his side on the bed, keeping himself up by his elbow while he was playing with the rings on his long fingers.

“What?” she asked with a confused expression and looked up from her notes. Draco wasn’t paying attention to her words, but the way her lips moved.

“Saying things that make me wanna kiss you” she annoyedly rolled her eyes and pushed Draco of her bed. She might tried to act cool, but she couldn’t hide the smile dancing on her lips and her eyes brightening up by the thought of kissing him.

——-

“See you tonight, Y/N?” Pansy Parkinson asked as she passed by in the corridor. It was Friday afternoon, and they just get out of their last class. The usual Friday Night Party was the topic of every conversation, which made Y/N rather annoyed. She found it weird that she wasn’t invited. The last four months, she was there. Draco always made sure she was invited and had her by his side the whole night. But this week, she wasn’t. She kept checking for little notes in her books where Draco doodled during classes or Study Halls, she reorganised her bag to see if he had slipped a piece of paper, but nothing. Maybe he didn’t want her there.

“I wasn’t invited” she shrugged and tried to hide her disappointment with a smile. The Parkinson girl laughed and hugged her by the side. They weren’t the best of friends, but it felt good for Pansy so have another girl in their group of friends, who was actually a lot like them. It was a nice change to be able to have girly chit chats with someone, who wouldn’t make gagging noises by topics like skin care, menstruation or clothes.

“Oh, bunny” she shook her head in amusement. Pansy found it funny how a bright witch like Y/L/N could be so stupid sometimes “You don’t need to be invited anymore. You’re one of us now, so when you hear about a party, just know that it’s your party too”

“Then I’ll see you tonight” Y/N smiled happily and quickly kissed Pansy on the cheek before she hurried back to the Hufflepuff tower to take a nap before the party. Her afternoon was a blur. After she woke up, she found Parkinson sitting on the floor beside her bed, drawing little butterflies and birds on a parchment. Pansy insisted that they get ready together to the party, because she needed some girly time and she was fed up with Enzo and Blaise making fun of her for taking too long to get ready. So the girls went to her dorm room and took a few shots of Fire Whiskey while they were doing each others hair and makeup. Y/N had a plan for the night. She was done with their little game, and wanted Draco to finally make the first move. She had been trying to make him do something that would move their relationship forward, but it seemed like the Slytherin Prince was more than happy with their current status. If Draco wasn’t man enough to make a move, then she will do it.

Her dress was perfect for her plan, and even Pansy drooled over her a bit when she saw Y/N coming out of the bathroom. The dress she chose was a simple black dress with think straps made out of diamonds and reached only down to the middle of her naked thighs. The fine satin fabric hugged her feminizing curves perfectly, the light fall of it on her chest and the slit of the dress on her thigh gave the whole look a slightly innocent, but teasing vibe. And everyone in the Slytherin Common Room agreed on that. Boys turned their head after her and tried to talk to Y/N, but the Hufflepuff had eyes only for a certain Slytherin, who was nowhere to be seen at the beginning of the night. She was tipsy and waited for the two more shots she took with Theo and Adrian to kick in and push her into another stage of drunk. All her insecurities, worries and boundaries were long gone, all thanks to the Fire Whiskey burning in her system. She was determined, she felt irresistible and she knew she had the boy in her palms. He just needed a little nudge, to finally make a move.

Draco Malfoy wasn’t the one who was easy to be amazed, but when he finally spot Y/N walking towards him, he almost choked on his drink. He had seen her in a jogger and sweater, with absolutely no makeup on and with messy hair, and he thought she was the cutest little thing ever. He had seen her in leggings and a workout top, with sweaty hair and face, and Draco felt motivated to go and workout too. He had seen her with a high pony tail and her school uniform, and he thought she was someone who could easily beat Granger at studying. But this was new. She never dolled up like this for a party. Her dress, the way her corrugated, tied up hair swung from left to right in perfect harmony with her hips made Draco to think about a lot of unholy things. She was a goddess in his eyes and he wanted to be the man by her side. His whole body, his heart and soul had been burning for Y/N for months, and he was getting impatient with their little game. He desperately wanted to take the next step, but he wasn’t completely sure if she was feeling the same way. Of course she flirted with him. They had their heated moments, where both of them were seconds away from crossing the line and kissing the other, but somehow, they managed to control themselves. Draco loved to replay their playful fights, their bickering that turned into heavy flirting and the secret glances and touches when he was in bed and tried to sleep. He loved to see the light blush in her cheeks when he complimented her hair, makeup or just her beauty or brain in general. He absolutely lived for the flame igniting in her beautiful eyes when he said something dirty and naughty to her during class or Study Hall. But he wasn’t brave enough to actually man up and ask her on a date. Or maybe to be his girlfriend. They were far too deep for basic things like first date, first kiss or anything like that bullshit. Their relationship was on a different kind of level, and he knew she was someone you just don’t want to lose.

“Hey, handsome” she greeted him from a few feet away. Draco knew Y/L/N and Parkinson were getting ready together, and the two witches pre gamed a little before they came downstairs. He also saw her taking shots with their friends, so he was sure she wasn’t completely sober anymore. Not drunk enough, to not know what she was doing or saying, but definitely not sober anymore to be shy “Haven’t seen you all almost all night. Here I thought you were ignoring me” she smirked at him and twirled the end of her hair around her finger, looking at Draco with tilted head to the side. She wanted to take a step forward, but he held out his hand to stop her.

“Take another step, and I can’t be responsible for my actions” he warned her, his blue eyes never leaving hers. He couldn’t take this anymore. They were playing a very dangerous game, and they were so close to hit their boiling spot. Y/N straightened up and started the play with the ring on her necklace. Draco gifted her his ring two weeks ago, after he got enough of her always stealing it from him while they studied together. Little did she knew, Draco meant it as a sign, that she was all his. He wanted the boys at Hogwarts to see she was wearing his ring and she only belong to him.

“Than maybe you should take a step” her voice was teasing but serious at the same time. She bit her bottom lip and pushed her hip to the side a little bit, showing Draco that she was waiting. It was all up to him. And he did. The sassy look on her face, the way she was biting her bottom lip and everything that had been building up in him for long weeks, gave him a final push and he said fuck it. He grabbed her and pulled her to his body. Their chests were pressed together, he could almost feel her heartbeat. She looked up at him, fire burning in her eyes “If you kiss me, I might let it happen”

Draco kissed her. He kissed her like he had never kissed anybody before. It was exactly like it was written in romance books and said in the films. They had butterflies raving in their stomachs. Fireworks behind closed eyes. Hands holding onto the other like their lives depended on it. Lips moving in perfect harmony. She was his. He was hers. After months of flirting, it was good to finally burn in their love.

“Just for the record, you’re mine” Draco said and rested his forehead on her. They were both breathing heavily, trying to catch breathe after the kiss. She giggled at his possessiveness and rolled her eyes at him. Of course he had to show who was the alpha “Oh, and this dress is coming off at the end of the night” he winked at her and pulled her face into another passionate kiss.

#Draco Malfoy #Draco #daddy draco #draco fanfiction #draco x reader #Draco Malfoy one shot #Draco Malfoy imagine stories #Draco Malfoy imagine #Draco Malfoy x reader #Draco Malfoy x Hufflepuff reader #Harry Potter imagines #prompt list

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peaceoutofthepieces · 4 years ago

Text

Tracing Time

Friday, 20:23

Song: David Bowie - Changes

Sander shifts closer to Robbe where they’re side by side at the sink, and promptly slaps Robbe’s butt with the towel in his hands.

Robbe jumps, splashing soapy water everywhere as his hands flounder in the sink before he lifts one out to smack Sander away. “Hey,” he protests, laughing.

“What?”

“You know the rules.” Robbe raises a brow. “Around parents, best behaviour.”

Sander groans, sidling up close behind Robbe and wrapping his arms around the boy’s waist. He snuggles against Robbe’s back, nosing at his curls and resting his head on his shoulder and pulling Robbe closer with hands flat on his stomach as Robbe just laughs at him again. “You don’t like this behaviour?” Sander demands.

“This is okay,” Robbe murmurs, leaning back against Sander even as he returns to washing dishes, his adorable smile pulling at his lips. Sander wants to kiss it.

“Ahh, I have a very responsible son and son-in-law.”

Sander huffs a silent laugh at his mother’s words as Robbe flushes darkly and twists around enough to look at her. Sander holds him tighter before he can even think about escaping, and ignores the look his mother gives him as she comes closer.

“Well, only the latter, actually,” she muses, rolling her eyes at Sander. “You don’t have to do that, dear, I’ll just put it in the dishwasher later.”

Robbe shakes his head, smile having gone shy; Sander tries not to think about how cute he is. “I don’t mind. And he was helping me a minute ago.”

“You don’t have to cover for him, Robbe,” Ciel interrupts from the doorway, where he has apparently decided to rejoin them as well. “We know what to expect.”

“Is this ‘pick on Sander night’ or what?” Sander asks, picking his head up from Robbe’s shoulder enough to scowl at them both.

Robbe picks up Sander’s abandoned towel to wipe off his hands before turning towards Sander and brushing back a lock of his hair with a giggle. “No, really,” he assures the adults. “It was all his idea to begin with.”

“Sander’s idea? To do dishes?” Ciel demands, faintly impressed.

Léa waves a hand. “Oh, don’t be so harsh, it’s not the first time. He’s sweet when he wants to be.” Then she hesitates. “It was his idea though?”

“Yep,” Robbe confirms, pinching Sander’s cheek. Then he looks back at Sander’s parents and lowers his voice conspiratorially. “Though it does conveniently get him out of submitting his assignment.”

“Robbe,” Sander whines, as both his parents turn on him again.

“Sander,” Léa says. “God, when is it due?”

Ciel heaves a sigh. “Your professor was kind enough not to just fail you on the spot and now you do this?”

Robbe’s tone changes immediately, as he straightens up and sets his hands on Sander’s shoulders before cutting them both off in a soft but firm voice. “He’s already got it done,” Robbe informs them, casually, though Sander can hear the defensive, prideful tone underneath. It absolutely does not make his heart flutter. (Except it absolutely does.) “But you know how much of a perfectionist he is. I’m going to be, like, the fourth person to proofread it now, and then it can be submitted. As long as it’s done before midnight.”

He raises his brow slightly in question at the last part, and Sander nods confirmation then smiles as he receives a kiss on the nose. Robbe turns back and dries the remaining plate off on his own as Sander hugs him again and sticks his tongue out at his parents. Léa offers him an apologetic look and squeezes his arm as Ciel leans in the doorway and sighs.

“What would any of us do without you, Robbe?” Ciel says, shaking his head at the two of them. “I don’t know how we ever managed him before.”

“Excuse me,” Sander interrupts before Robbe can say something silly, like that he agrees. “I am perfectly capable of managing myself, thank you very much.”

“Yeah, but, he’s good, isn’t he?” Léa smirks, nodding at Robbe, and Sander has to give him another squeeze when he blushes again.

“And he’s mine to exploit only, so I’m taking him away now,” Sander informs them. He doesn’t give them time to protest, and he ignores Robbe’s, even as the boy calls over his shoulder to thank them both for dinner while Sander drags him out of the room.

Only once they’re safely closed up in his room does he let Robbe go, and even then it’s only to turn and kiss him. Robbe giggles against his lips, and Sander swallows the sound and lets it soften him up. “You’re terrible,” Robbe murmurs. “They’re looking out for you.”

“They’re annoying,” Sander groans. Then he smirks. “Besides, they agree that you’re all I need, Robin. What would I do without you, hm?”

Robbe tilts his head, and Sander knows he’s about to be cheeky. “Be very sexually frustrated?”

Sander makes an affronted noise, but eventually huffs another laugh when Robbe just continues to giggle. He kisses Robbe hard, nipping and then licking over his lips in a mild rebuke for the comment. It’s entirely forgotten, anyway, once Robbe tugs at his hair.

Robbe pulls away in less than a minute, though, and simply leans back further when Sander tries to follow him. “After,” he insists.

Sander groans, dropping his head against Robbe’s for a moment and letting himself be soothed by another soft kiss. Then he sighs, and picks Robbe up so he can toss him onto the bed. Robbe laughs as he bounces on the mattress, stretching out temptingly as Sander sits down in his desk chair and boots up his laptop to go over his assignment.

When he finally gets it open, he pulls Robbe into his lap instead. Robbe easily perches on his knee and begins reading over the essay, undeterred by the random, surprise kisses Sander litters over his shoulders. Which is fine, because Sander is doing it not to distract Robbe but himself, refusing to panic over someone examining his work with such rapt attention. It’s just Robbe, he reminds himself. Robbe, who will always be kind about how Sander’s disaster of a brain works.

It’s confirmed when Robbe has scrolled to the end and turns to Sander with an easy smile, pressing a kiss to his cheek. “It’s good. Considering I don’t really have any idea what it means and I found it interesting.”

Sander huffs, but smiles as well. “High praise.”

“It is.” Robbe hums and kisses him again. “I can’t see any mistakes.”

“You shouldn’t, really, considering it’s already been read over a dozen times.”

“Well, there’s nothing wrong with being thorough,” Robbe winks at him. At the weak smile Sander musters, he sobers slightly. “Why are you stressing so much, hm? This isn’t worth so much, is it?”

Sander sighs. “No, but...I messed up, and he was so nice about it, I don’t want to submit something now that’s shit.”

Robbe slips an arm around his shoulders and squeezes, kissing the crown of his head as Sander ducks into his shoulder. “It’s not. And your friends told you so too, right? You can be content with it. Let’s just get it submitted now.”

Sander nods. He reaches around Robbe to open his browser, and gets to the stage of having the file uploaded before he freezes, even as the cursor hovers over ‘Submit’.

“Sander?”

Sander licks his lips, hesitating. He’s staring at the screen which means, for once, he’s not looking at Robbe. “What am I doing, Robbe?”

“What do you mean?”

“What’s the point of all this?”

Robbe sounds hesitant. “To pass…?”

“No. What’s the point of...of the whole thing? What’s the point of me doing this? What’s the point of me at all?”

Robbe stills. “Where’d that come from?” he asks quietly.

It takes a second for Sander to realise what he’s said wrong, how he messed up. Then he turns into Robbe’s shoulder again and holds him and shuts his eyes. “That’s not what I meant. I just mean…” he stops. He did mean what he said. He’s not sure what it is he’s asking, but he meant to ask it. It’s what he’s thinking. “Sorry, I know I shouldn’t say stuff like that to you—“

“No,” Robbe cuts him off gently, carding a hand through his hair. “I’m glad when you tell me what you’re thinking or feeling, okay?”

Sander barely hesitates before nodding.

“Do you actually want me to answer, or was it more rhetorical?”

“You’re going to say something about it anyway,” Sander points out.

Robbe simply smiles and doesn’t deny it.

Sander presses closer against him and sighs. “But I wouldn’t mind hearing it.”

This appears to be all the permission Robbe needs, as he carefully extracts himself from Sander’s lap to stand. He holds onto the arm of Sander’s chair as he moves, spinning it around and pulling Sander with him as he sits on the end of Sander’s bed. He pulls the chair as close as it will go, so they’re eye-to-eye and knee-to-knee.

“Is this sort of like how you feel regarding the parallel universe stuff?” Robbe asks calmly, head tilted in that sweet way of his. “Like, alone or...insignificant?”

Sander shrugs, mulling it over before acquiescing, “I guess, yeah.”

“Then, do you not think it’s the same for everyone? Why would I have more meaning than you?”

“Because,” Sander says, but then, as usual, realises he doesn’t actually have a good response.

Robbe smiles, like he knows as well and is more pleased about it. “Do you want to know what I think?”

It’s not really a question, because the answer to that will always be ‘yes’, but Sander nods confirmation anyway.

“I think that none of us have a meaning,” Robbe says, which surprises Sander into sitting back before he continues. “I think each of us has many different, tiny meanings throughout our whole life. You know the butterfly effect? How one tiny thing can lead to another thing after another?”

Sander just nods again, always too enraptured when Robbe talks with him about such things to interrupt verbally. He can already kind of guess the rest of what Robbe will say, and that simple realisation already makes him feel better, and even that seems to hold meaning.

Robbe’s smile widens slightly, like he can tell. “I always think that, if I didn’t exist, so many things would be different. Like if I wasn’t Jens’s best friend, maybe he wouldn’t be the same kind of person at all. Or maybe he’d still be with Jana, and never would have looked at Lucas. And then I think it’s the same the other way. If I didn’t have Jens, and he didn’t have that connection to Jana and Britt, then we would never have ended up on that beach trip together. Even before, if I didn’t have them to be at that party with when I met Noor, maybe you never would have even laid eyes on me. That alone gives meaning to a whole handful of people. Myself, my friends, Noor, whoever even threw that party, whoever first set up that garage and whoever started using it as that kind of hangout and whoever told you or Noor about it in the first place. Everything affects everything.”

There are too many words here for Sander to absorb instantly, and he’s glad Robbe pauses for a moment so he can figure them out and internalise the message. But as soon as Robbe has seen them sink in, he continues.

“And I’ve told you before, how much you affect me, Sander. That nothing or no one has ever had the same kind of effect on me as you.”

“Never felt something like that,” Sander murmurs.

Robbe’s smile turns soft and gooey, but he doesn’t let his train of thought go. It’s fairly impressive. “I think I’m mostly meant to love you,” he says, casual as ever, which is still sickeningly sweet because it’s Robbe. “And it’s not because I’m putting so much importance on you that it feels like you have the most meaning. Instead, it’s...the meaning and purpose in loving you that makes you so important. Does that make sense?”

Sander swallows and shakes his head slightly; not in a denial, but a prompt for a little more.

“Like…” Robbe struggles, letting his eyes wander for a second as he licks his lip. He takes a slow breath before meeting Sander’s eye and trying again. “It feels like, there was a butterfly effect of events when I was a child that led me to Jens. There was a butterfly effect of events that led to me living in the flatshare. Or meeting the other Broerrrs, or the girls, or even going to the school I go to, and choosing the subjects I take. They’re all made up of a string of little meanings. But you, Sander...you’re the result of every single butterfly effect until I met you, and the cause of every one there will ever be after.”

Sander doesn’t know what to say. He isn’t even sure if he can speak. Robbe is just so earnest, and Sander wants nothing more than to be able to respond in kind, but he doesn’t even feel like he can process it. Maybe in the morning, it’ll seem clearer, and he can say something to Robbe then that makes sense, but it could very well take forever to actually sink in.

Because he could brush it off as a nice sentiment, a kind gesture full of sugar-coated words, sweet nonsense to offer reassurance. Because it’s almost impossible to believe that Robbe could mean what he says, or even believe it himself, that he could find something so steady and potent in someone who is a senseless, reckless storm at best. That Sander is, and was always meant to be, such an intrinsic part of his life, that he’s irrevocable and irreversible. Unforgettable in the mind and heart of one of the kindest, most loving people to exist.

It’s almost impossible, but not quite; because he knows exactly what Robbe means. Because he feels it, at his own very core, looking at the boy in front of him now. That this is meant, more than anything else, no matter which version of the universe they live in; and that it will shape the rest of his life with the width and weight of its meaning.

But he doesn’t know how to say that, and the last thought sticks out the most, so what he ends up saying is, “I’m not sure that obeys the minute-by-minute rule.”

Robbe simply laughs, though it sounds like it’s startled out of him. He twines his hands with Sander’s and leans in closer to him as he smiles. “I think,” he says slowly, “that we know we can manage a little more than that, now. We’re safe to play it day-by-day at least, I would say.”

Sander leans in and kisses him, because it’s the best way he knows to express any kind of response to such immense sentiments. And they sound so easy, so light as they slip from Robbe’s lips, but here too the meaning is always laced deep. Robbe knows exactly what he’s saying and he does so with purpose; this, at least, Sander believes, and it’s what often works to convince him of the words themselves.

“Gij en ik, voor altijd,” Robbe whispers against him. “Wasn’t that it? The future is still all us, baby.”

Sander kisses him harder, because what the hell else is he supposed to do? What else could ever be better? “Hundred percent,” he agrees. Then, having finally gathered his thoughts, he says, “You’re right, Robbe. I was born to love you.”

Sander says it in English, and it makes Robbe pull back and narrow his eyes. “That’s not Bowie,” he says.

Sander grins, kissing his nose. “No,” he praises. “Queen.”

Robbe hums, smiling into the next kiss he grants Sander. “Now, the actual point of this conversation. You need to submit your assignment.”

Sander actually freezes in confusion for a moment before he sits back with a huff, offering Robbe his attention again with curiosity.

“Whether you submit it or don’t will mean something,” Robbe says easily. “You just have to choose which you think you want.”

“But what if they have the same effect?” Sander asks, quietly.

Robbe tilts his head in question.

“What if I fail either way? What if I do this, all of it, and it’s not worth it at the end?”

Robbe considers this for a moment, before furrowing his brow and giving a slight shake of his head. “Either way, each step is something different. I can’t promise you that this will mean what you want it to, Sander. But that doesn’t mean it means nothing. It’s what puts you on your path. If that leads you to a dead end, then it’s proof you’re meant to make another.”

Sander stares at him, marveling, and lets out a huff. “You’ve got an answer for everything, don’t you?”

“I wish,” Robbe laughs. Then he bites his lip, and gestures at Sander’s laptop, still waiting on his desk. “Did it help?”

This time, Sander doesn’t really hesitate before rolling himself over and hitting the button. He’s vaguely aware of the confirmation popping up, but mostly he’s too busy turning back to catch Robbe’s grin. This time he simply stands and makes his way into the boy’s hold, lets Robbe pull him down and unravel him, take him in and take him apart. He’s done all he needs to do for this week, this day, this minute, and he knows what it—what he—means right now, with his most precious purpose in his arms, and that’s more than enough.

He’ll figure the rest out with time.

~^~

#wtfock #sobbe #rosander #robbe x sander #sander season #tracing time #that’s it!!#i hope it’s not too bad 🙈#and thank you for reading

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obsidiangst · 3 years ago

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Congrats on 100 followers! Could you do a thing for #47?

47: “How many more innocent people have to die?”

WARNINGS: Manipulation, vague nudity, non descriptive sex, body horror(?), stabbing, and open end.

Part 1 | Part 2

Zelda had to get out of this. The longer she stayed there, the more she realized she couldn’t just pretend that everything was so hopeless that there was no point in trying. She couldn’t abandon her people- Link didn’t die for her to do that. Though every plan she thought of to do something about her captivity was riskier than the last. If she was the last thing standing between Hyrule and mass destruction, she had to try to find something that wouldn’t kill her.

First thing: She needed to recover the Master Sword. Which would be difficult because the demon was keeping the sword in his quarters and despite being allowed to wander through the fortress, though she hardly did, she imagined she wouldn’t be allowed into his room for no reason. How would she manage to retrieve the sword then? What would come next when she did manage it?

While she sat in ‘her quarters’ deliberating internally about her plan, she looked over as the door opened, the demon entering as he did just about once every day. Whether he was checking on her or just coming to taunt, Zelda had no idea, but she kept her face flat. Link’s skin had long since turned a deep shade of charcoal grey and his hair was entirely silver. If his face hadn’t been the same and she hadn’t witnessed the slow transformation into this new appearance, she wouldn’t have known it was her Link at all.

“What do you want?” Zelda bit out, looking back down at her hands resting on the empty table before her.

“Well, that’s an awfully hostile way to greet someone who came to offer you a way to save the scraps of your kingdom.” He said dryly and Zelda looked back up at him sharply as he made his way to the chair opposite from her.

“You mean trick me into giving you something you want?” Zelda asked and the demon laughed.

“If that’s what you’d like to call it.” He said, pulling the chair back and taking a seat. “I have Castle Town under siege. At any moment I can say the word and have it razed to the ground.” He said, giving her a look like he’d just locked her into a checkmate in an invisible game of chess on the table before them. Zelda glared at him. “Or- I could call it off entirely.”

Her heart both sang and dropped into her stomach at this. So he was here to trick her. Wonderful. But- If it meant saving her kingdom, she would do whatever it took. Even if he wanted her head on a platter, she’d do that if he promised to end the attacks on villages and innocent people trying to live their lives.

“What do you want from me?” Zelda questioned, less harshly this time. Escape be damned, if she could at least do this one thing for her people-

“Marry me. None of your people will respect me as a ruler without a legitimate claim. If I marry you, then I will gain the right to rule.” Zelda stared at the demon dumbfoundedly. Was he serious? Just like that? When he had quite literally just admitted that he was doing so as a grab for power? As if she would-

She could trick him into allowing her into his quarters if she agreed. She would have easy access to the Master Sword then. She’d just have to lay with him- The thought almost made Zelda want to retch right there. If she gave herself to him under the guise of giving into his advances she could take the sword while he was asleep. It- Wasn’t the best situation, but- If she closed her eyes it could at the very least be Link in her head. And then she could kill him with minimal fuss. Zelda took a deep breath and closed her eyes, struggling with the idea of this plan. It seemed simple and yet-

“Think about it, Princess. I get what I want and you get to save your people. And you’ll get to be married to the person you love in a sense.” He edged her on, trying hard to convince her to accept his proposal. Oh- He really wanted this didn’t he? The demon who hadn’t even bothered to tell her his name since he had taken over Link’s body all those months ago-

“That’s-” Zelda stopped, unsure what to say still. She wanted the violence to end, but- She also didn’t want to use her own body in such a way. It was low and manipulative. But she had been being manipulated this entire time, so why should she care if it was or not?

“Come on, Princess. How many more innocent people have to die before you swallow your pride and submit?” He taunted her again. Oh, she wished she could slap him again right then- Her unease was cut through with anger. How dare he question her loyalty to her people- She’d show him.

“Fine.” She answered finally. “On the condition that you stop all violent activity against my people by this afternoon, I will agree to marry you.” He grinned wickedly.

“Consider it done.”

The demon was beyond pleased with himself and his guards had celebrated loudly for the rest of the day and well into the night at this ‘victory’. Oh, if only they knew the hell they would pay when Zelda got a hold of the Master Sword. Of Link’s sword. She’d make them wish that Link had killed the demon when he came to the fortress in the first place. Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned and she was a goddess and was fucking livid.

It was late the next evening when Zelda exited her chambers, padding her way barefoot down the hallway to where she knew the demon slept. Her heart was thudding loudly in her ears as she approached the door between her and the demon. Was this really about to happen? Would he be rough with her? Would she bruise? Would he talk down to her like she was nothing but a whore or would the tiny remnants of Link that remained in his behavior towards her come through and he would be gentle with her during her first time? She steadied herself before opening the door to the demon's chambers.

His crimson eyes fixated on her from where he was laid out over his bed that was much like her own. Odd that it wasn’t more lavish, but she supposed that wasn’t important.

“Oh? And to what do I owe a visit from my wife-to-be?” He teased her, propping himself up on his elbow and draping his other arm across his midsection. Damn him- He knew that was something LInk would do when she got his attention. Zelda slipped in and shut the door behind her.

“I’m- Tired of resisting.” She said, making sure that her voice had a tiny whine at the end of it. Like she was close to tears. Lady Impa would have been proud of her acting skills right now as the demon was eating it up. He raised a brow at her and smirked, gesturing her closer with a curl of a single finger.

“Are you now? Well, it’s about time.” He said, sitting up and watching her as she made a show of hesitantly locking the door behind her and ever so timidly making her way to the bed. “Don’t be shy, I won’t bite… Not that hard at least.” He teased, chuckling darkly and Zelda blushed.

Holy Hylia above, she was really about to do this. She didn’t have to fake the nerves as she crawled into his bed and let him touch her and disrobe her. The tremor in her hands as she started to touch him back was as real as the situation she was in. For all the demon’s aggression towards her in the past, he made sure to at least attempt to soothe her nerves, but every thought she had was plagued by the knowledge that this wasn’t Link like she was trying to pretend it was. This was a demon.

Thankfully, Link, or at least his physical body, was also inexperienced and wasn’t able to last too long. It had felt… Alright. Zelda would have been much more relaxed and emotionally fulfilled if she had been with Link instead of this spirit piloting his form.

“See, that wasn’t so bad.” THe demon rumbled into her ear when they were finished. He laid against her back, holding her naked form against his own. “I even made you finish~” He had, in fact, not done so. She had faked it to stroke his ego a little bit more into relaxing. She had been trying to focus on anything other than the demon the whole time: her plan to escape, going home and celebrating the end of the war, mourning everyone they had lost, mourning Link- But it was done now at least, she could turn her attention to her next step.

Of course, he didn’t make it easy.

With his arms around her waist and his face pressed against the back of her shoulder, it would be very hard for Zelda to get up out of the bed without waking him up. Especially because the way he held her wasn’t just a loose hold, he was gripping her firmly. Fuck, this may have been a mistake.

Though- She did have time to look around the room now. She didn’t know where exactly the sword was located or hidden, so she glanced around the parts of the room that she could see. There were weapons and baubles everywhere, but finally, Zelda was able to make out the golden triforce on the scabbard of the Master Sword in the corner of the room, concealed partially by a few other weapons.

Zelda shifted once. Then twice. Then a third time to see if the demon was awake or not. When he didn’t respond to her shifting in any way, his grip even loosening unconsciously around her, she knew it likely was safe to try and get up. If he woke up she could say she needed to use the bathroom or to… clean up from their activities. Carefully, Zelda squirmed and twisted from the demon’s grasp, finding the dress that she came in, not liking the bite of the cold air on her bare skin before picking her way carefully over to the corner where the Master Sword was.

There was no way this was going to be this easy- Surely this demon wasn’t so oblivious to think that she would just- Sleep with him without an ulterior motive. She had resisted doing it for months now, that wasn’t just going to change overnight.

She gripped the hilt of the Master Sword and carefully tried to move it from behind the other blades trapping it against the wall. Finally, Zelda was able to pull the hilt from behind the other blades and then carefully extracted the scabbard and blade from the tangle of weaponry.

That’s when a movement caught Zelda’s eye and she looked at the stack of blades on the wall. One of the swords crossguards caught on the Master Sword’s own crossguard as she freed it and it tilted precariously to one side, then started falling, falling- And clattered loudly on the ground, hitting two more on the way down, adding them to the noise as they also clattered against the stone floors.

Zelda whipped around to face the bed- Sure enough the demon’s eyes were open and fixed on her in a dangerous way.

“And what exactly do you think you’re doing Princess?” The demon questioned as he got up, not bothering to put clothes on as he put his feet on the ground and began making his way to her. This was bad! Very bad! But she had the sword! She had no idea how to use a sword, but! How hard could it be??

Panicking, Zelda yanked the blade out of its scabbard and sent a quick prayer to the Goddesses to help her as the demon paused in his advancements. Then he started to chuckle.

“Ohoho, is this really what you want to do, Princess?” He taunted, narrowing his eyes at her. “What are you going to do? Kill me? Kill him?” He said, edging around her, trying to circle so that he was between her and the door. Zelda stepped closer to the door, keeping her back to the wall and the point of the Master Sword towards the demon’s chest.

“You think this is all a game. You want to use me and him like pawns. It’s going to end. Tonight.” Zelda said. The demon tilted his head to one side and scoffed.

“Perhaps it will.” He said, raising a hand as a myriad of shadows congealed into the form of a blade not unlike the Master Sword but pitch black. “I should have guessed that you weren’t going to concede that easily, but- You put on a convincing show. You were rather determined to do this, weren’t you.” He said, gripping the blade tightly. Oh shit- Oh shit, they were really about to fight weren’t they? Oh this was bad- This was a horrible plan, oh goddesses help her-

The demon swung and by some divine fluke, Zelda parried the strike. How? She wasn’t entirely sure. She’d never used a sword in anything other than formal ceremonies before, by all means he should have just stuck her like a pig- Another strike and she parried again, her feet taking her back half a step, but she wasn’t dying yet so that was fine.

“What-?” The demon furrowed his brow and eyed her, clearly seeing the surprise on her face. “Stop doing that!” He snarled as he struck again. Once again, Zelda blocked. The demon snarled at her now and began rapidly trying to strike her. And as if the Master Sword had a mind of its own and control over her feet, Zelda blocked, parried, and pivoted away from each strike, much to the annoyance of the demon.

When Zelda thought that there was going to be no end to this cycle of strikes and deflections, she saw an opening. The demon raised his sword up as if to bring it crashing down upon her head- and left his entire abdomen open. Zelda pointed the tip of the Master Sword directly at his stomach and stepped forwards, putting her weight and everything she had in her behind the thrust.

The sickening sound of the blade cutting through flesh and sinew was far louder than Zelda had been anticipating and she let go of the sword, staggering backwards as she processed what she had- somehow managed to do. Waves of nausea overcame her as she heard the noise on repeat in her mind. Goddess above, what did she just do? The demon stared at the hilt of the sword as it stuck out of his midsection. The sword was buried so deeply into him the tip was also sticking out of his back.

Then a barrage of disturbing noises and gargles exited Link’s mouth as the demon shuddered, dark black liquid beginning to drip freely from his mouth, nose and eyes and then evaporating quickly away into the air like black little puffs of smoke. He dropped the jet sword, which also faded into smoke before it hit the ground.

“Damn, you- No! I-” The demon gargled out and more and more of the shadowy smoke began to leave Link’s body. Zelda watched in horror as Link’s charcoal grey skin lightened and his ash colored hair grew golden brown again and as his body wretched the last of the shadows out, crimson eyes blinked shut and finally opened blue once more.

Zelda could have cried seeing that beautiful blue.

“Link!” She cried, overjoyed that he seemingly was back for a split moment before a pained grunt left him and he went down to one knee, clutching at the Master Sword lodged in his abdomen. Zelda blanched as she realized that she now had to save Link a second time from something a lot more dangerous than a demon piloting his body. Oh- Oh shit-

#100 follower request #zelink #corrupt link #legend of zelda

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