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philliamwrites · 4 years ago

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The Dawn Will Come [Chpt.6]

Fandom: Fire Emblem Three Houses

Pairing: Dimitri x Reader, Claude x Reader, Edelgard x Reader, Yuri x Reader, Edelgard x Byleth, lots of minor pairings

Tags: #gn reader, # platonic love byleth & reader, #reader is a tactical unit, #angst, #slow burn, #subplots, #unreliable narrator, #pining, #remporary amnesia, #reluctant herp, #canon divergence, #lost twin au, #many chapters, #original content

Words: 5.1k

Summary: Waking up in a forest without any knowledge of your past and who you are, you join the house leaders of the Officers Academy to search for a way to return your memories. Unfortunately, the church has different plans for you, and Fate places you in the centre of a cruel game with deadly stakes. It certainly doesn’t help to fall in love with a house leader who is doomed to be your demise.

Notes: Chapter 5 | Chapter 7

Chapter 06: From The Beyond

Ah! It is well for the unfortunate to be resigned, but for the guilty there is no peace.

[Mary B. Shelley, Frankenstein]

Thinking back on it later, the events during Garland Moon were probably what set the hare running toward its demise. Not that any of you could have known that. Not the students who joyfully spend their days in cherished halls where daylight passes through coloured glass; not Byleth with her gift to correct past mistakes with a flick of her wrist and change the course of time; not you with your foresight to see what dangers await in the future and prepare a different path for those you care for to walk safely.

Thinking back on it later, everything that followed surely ascribed to and served Fate, and not even Sylvain could charm her with his silver tongue and golden wit, for Fate’s lover is Time and she does not look kindly upon those who enslave him.

Maybe that is why things turned out the way they did for Byleth and you.

But that future is still far away and every single one of you still believes the goddess has Fate tightly leashed to her side, her benevolence endless and spreading to every corner in Fódlan.

That is why you don’t think too much about it when one day, Seteth disturbs your seminar, a deep frown settled in his features as you explain how to turn an ambush to your advantage to the students.

“Apologies for the disturbance, Herald. Lady Rhea asks to see Ashe.”

The boy gives a pitiful squeal but is up on his feet nonetheless. “Me? Why?”

“You will see. Please come.” Seteth holds the classroom’s door open.

You nod, a little worried about the frightened glance Ashe sends your way like he hopes you can actually say no and decline Rhea’s command. An encouraging smile is everything you can give him on his way before the door shuts behind him. Its sound wakes everyone else from their slumber and it takes a few minutes to reclaim order and their attention. It certainly does help that the Blue Lion House isn’t as chaotic as a certain other, not to name any names.

Said house proves again to be more difficult to teach. Or tame. You didn’t have the courage to ask why they thought it was a good idea to see whose shoe would leave the darkest stain on Claude’s bedroom’s ceiling. Even days after their mischief students kept talking about how they have never seen Seteth this furious.

“Herald, please,” Hilda cries, tragically draped over the back of her chair, a maiden in bittersweet agony over her loss of free time. “It was all Claude’s fault.”

“Liars never prosper,” Claude calls from the far back of the room. He’s hunched over his papers, working vigorously on Seteth’s punishment. He ordered them to write hundred times I shall not throw footwear against any ceiling in the monastery. They’ve been at it for about twenty minutes and Claude’s quill hasn’t stopped its furious scratching against parchment at all.

“I won’t mess with Seteth,” you tell them and lean dangerously far back on your chair to place your feet on the teacher’s desk. “And you deserve it. Or do they not teach you proper manners in your noble homes?”

“Well, it’s not like anyone taught us not to do it,” Hilda chirps. You throw a glare her way and she quickly dugs her head and continues writing. Quills scratch on paper for about seven seconds before Hilda stops again.

“Herald,” she says. “What do you think about Lady Catherine’s Thunderbrand?”

You look up from your book titled Noticeable War Generals. Smile gone from her face, Hilda looks up at you with sharp curiosity. It’s eerily silent now, and a quick glance towards Claude shows he is listening as well.

Catherine’s Thunderbrand. Its sight is still burned into the back of your closed eyes: Golden ivory forged into a grotesque sword, a blood red Crest Stone in its middle that seemed to pulsate—as if it breathed. As if it was a living thing with a heart. You had simply stared at it in awe and thought What a mesmerising weapon.

“It’s … fascinating,” you manage. “A Hero’s Relic. There are more than just Thunderbrand, right?”

“Ten exist,” Claude calls from the back. “Bestowed by the goddess upon ten heroes, they are passed down to their descendants. House Riegan and House Goneril have one in their possession as well.”

“Then why don’t you use it?” You certainly wouldn’t miss a chance to own and wield a mighty weapon like that.

“Wield that?”Hilda shudders in disgust. “No thank you. It looks so weird, pulsating and moving like an insect.”

“And we’re way too inexperienced to use it in a real battle.” Claude puts his quill between his nose and upper lip and tries to hold it there. “They’re locked away anyway and hidden from those who might misuse their power.”

Claude has a point. Nonetheless, you’d gladly take a look at them. Maybe even hold one … Did the Herald own one as well? A special weapon only forged for the Herald. A slight shudder runs down your spine at the thought of using it in battle.

Ten minutes later, Claude jumps to his feet. He hurries towards you, slams his parchments on the table and leaves just as fast. “Bye Herald!”

“No way!” Hilda pales. “How is he so fast?”

You wonder as well and take a look at his papers. Instead of writing what Seteth has told them, Claude simply left poor drawings of their crime and promised with one sentence he wouldn’t do it again.

And we of House Riegan never break our promises, reads the last line.

You groan. Now it’s your turn to think about a good explanation to Seteth’s questions why you haven’t paid more attention.

Month three passed within the blink of an eye. Garland Moon brought the sweet smell of white roses to Garreg Mach, a tradition much anticipated by the students. Everywhere you went, garlands and gifts made of white roses were given to each other as a sign of friendship or budding love. Some found their way to your desk, though your admirers preferred to stay anonymous whereas Byleth was busy to stow them somewhere—not a day passed without her receiving something or a group of giggling students following her around.

“I really don’t know what to do with all those flowers,” she told you one day during a tea session, a deep frown on her face. “They wilt. Then I throw them away. It’s a waste.”

“Your students love it,” you replied but were glad not to be in her place.

Another good deed Garland Moon brought with it is longer days and shorter nights. Students lounged outside in their summer uniforms after class, enjoying those last warm days before raining season arrived with fierce gusts and heavy pouring, forcing them back inside where they spent their free time inside the library or the dining hall, playing little games to kill time.

For a change of pace, Byleth and Jeralt decided they’d hold a grilled fish dinner on every last day of each week and most of the invited either didn’t have the heart or the courage to tell them once every week was once every week too much.

Everything happened too fast after that. Rhea informed the teacher’s faculty and her Knights of Lord Lonato Gaspard’s planned rebellion against the church. With that, the mystery of why Seteth had demanded to speak with Ashe was solved; it also explained why he spent so much time inside the chapel, praying and wondering himself about his adoptive father’s reasoning.

“There is no question about it,” Rhea says in her cool, demanding voice once every teacher and Knight of Seiros gathered inside the War Room to discuss the matter. “We will send a troop to meet them halfway in Kingdom Territory. They will pay for mocking our goddess.”

“Allow me to lead the Knights, Lady Rhea,” Catherine says. Even now, you can’t take your eyes off Thunderbrand strapped on her back. “I know Gaspard and what he’s capable of.”

“We did not forget what you’ve done back when—” Seteth starts. Catherine silences him with one look, leaving no doubt she doesn’t wish to speak of it.

“And that is exactly why I have to go.”

Rhea nodded. “So be it. I know I leave this mission in your capable hands.”

“But why is he leading this rebellion?” you wonder. “I thought the Kingdom is strongly devoted to Seiros’ teachings.”

“Every flock has its black sheep,” Rhea says, sounding sad. “We will get our answers once we defeat and capture them.”

“What about the surrounding villages and those who support Gaspard’s rebellion but don’t fight?” Byleth asked. Until now, you haven’t really thought of those not directly involved in it, but she does make a good point.

Rhea squared her shoulders. “What about them?”

“They’re not directly involved but might try to get in our way.” Byleth glanced at the strategic map laid out before her. There is a way through the forest for your units to approach Lonato’s stronghold. Surrounding villages are marked with a red pin. They surround the forest in a loose circle, making an intrusion possible, though sending Knights of Seiros out to watch them and stop them could be quite easy—

“Everyone who supports this foolish rebellion should receive the rightful punishment,” Rhea says, her voice so cold it freezes your thoughts of how to make the villagers stay out of this. Your head snaps up as you stare at her. Byleth raises an eyebrow but remains silent just like everyone else. Something about that makes you shudder.

“But they’re civilians, right? If we can avoid having them interfere—”

“By joining Lonato Gaspard’s rebellion they pledge guilty to his cause.” Rhea looks up at you, scorn flashing briefly in her eyes. “I will not have them simply go if it opens the possibility for revenge one day.”

If you squinted really hard, there was reason behind her words. Still, your stomach turned at the thought of endangering civilians even though it could be prevented. Without any protests, that was the plan for the operation.

You sat this one out. There was much to prepare for the upcoming Rite of Rebirth, a ceremony when the Church of Seiros and its believers unite to pray for the return of the goddess. Even though you wouldn’t call yourself a believer—many find it strange that you remember the way of war but not the way of the Church as if you lived somewhere without Seiros’ teachings—your presence was of outmost importance as well. Though after you heard how the mission went, you really wished you had joined the Blue Lions fighting against Gaspard instead of sitting around and deciding which ceremonial robes fit better.

Loud voices drift through the closed door of a classroom, voices you immediately recognise belonging to Dimitri and Byleth.

“Are you insane?” You flinch back even though a heavy wooden door separates you from what is undoubtedly Dimitri’s wrath. “Those were civilians.”

A reply is lost, too quiet for you to hear, but whatever Byleth said, it wasn’t the right thing. A second later, Dimitri storms through the doors. The distress in his features stops you from asking what is wrong, a flash of betrayal lurking in his eyes seals your mouth shut. You look after him until he disappears around the corner, only slowly turning towards Byleth. She is propping herself up on the table, learning on her strong arms and staring at the opposite wall, her mouth a grim line—solid rock that stands against the raging waves summoned by Dimitri, her grip on the edge of the table hard enough to turn her knuckles white.

“Everything okay?” An unnecessary question answered by a simple shake of her head. You lean your hips against the table. “Do you want to talk about it?”

Byleth is silent. Only slowly, like a tight knot finally coming lose, the tension in her shoulders dissipates and she takes a long, deep breath.

“Dimitri told me about their mission. How they dealt with Lord Lonato’s revolt.” She finally steps away from the table and kneads the muscles in her shoulders. You imagine they’re hard like a rock. “They faced simple peasants who defended their Lord. Peasants who didn’t even know how to wield a sword without cutting their own thumbs off.”

“And Rhea made quite clear how to deal with them,” you finish, summoning unwanted imaginations about a gruesome butchery in your mind. Byleth nods.

“Dimitri asked for my advice,” she continues, her gaze drifting towards the door as if said young man might return like a bad haunting if his name is simply muttered. “If there was anything they could have done different. I told him there wasn’t.” She tears her eyes away from the door and fixes them on you. “I told him that is the way of war.”

She is right, a part of you insists. Such facts cannot be changed and claiming anything different is foolish, naive. Yet, something stirs, a tiny tiny voice, a feeling, that challenges that thought. A feeling you didn’t expect to be part of you.

“I don’t know about the details,” you say, shuffling from left to right, “but maybe it was avoidable. Lord Lonato must have known how his subjects felt about it. He didn’t need to involve them.”

“I think they joined on their own. The students gave them a chance to lay down their weapons.”

“Still—”

“Still they decided to follow their foolish Lord,” a voice from the door joins, cold and imperious, chilling you to the bone. Rhea enters the War Room, her expression void of any warmth or kindness. “There is no place for doubt. We must punish any sinner who may inflict harm upon believers, even if those sinners are civilians.”

“And you think to have the students punish them is right?” Byleth asks, earning a sharp glare from Rhea. She quickly, but somewhat begrudgingly adds, “Your Grace.”

“I have heard that some students struggled with completing the task,” Rhea acknowledges, doing her best to show how unaffected she is by Byleth’s criticism. “I pray they learnt a valuable lesson about the fate that awaits all who are foolish enough to point their blades towards the heavens.”

An icy shudder crawls up your spine, cold fingers tighten around your throat to keep you silent—a leash forged of obedience and intimidation, the mistress standing before you. It would be wise to keep your mouth shut, not draw unnecessary attention; keep your head low and nothing can slice it from your shoulders. But the words, burning hot on your tongue, demand freedom.

“Fearing the Church isn’t the same as respecting it.”

Something sharp flashes in Rhea’s eyes. “If fear is the only way to control them, then so be it. They are traitors to the holy teachings.”

“They are people. People with families.”

“People who would be wise to remember it was the progenitor god who gave them these lands and their life,” Rhea answers, growing impatient. She notices something in the way you look at her, for she takes a moment to collect herself by taking a deep breath. “I do not enjoy seeing those who wronged our holy teachings punished, Herald,” she continues, now much calmer. “But punish them we must before they hurt those who are dear to us.” Upon her last words, her eyes dart to Byleth, looking at her with so much fondness and care, a sting of jealousy in your chest forces you to avert your gaze to the ground. It isn’t the first time you notice Rhea’s palpable interest in Byleth’s wellbeing though no answer comes to mind why it is like that. If Byleth noticed the same, she doesn’t show it.

After that, the incident is quickly forgotten, making room for the new incident occupying everyone’s mind: an assassination plot on Rhea on the day of the Rite of Rebirth found in Lonato’s possession. You aren’t the only one wondering why he’d carry something like that around where it’s easy to find. Multiple theories go around, one more farfetched than the other. One particular makes sense, its source none other than sharp witted Claude who thinks this plot is a simple distraction for something much bigger.

“If security is focused on the Rite of Rebirth inside the Goddess’ Tower, pretty much anyone can simply stroll around the monastery and do who knows what,” he told you on the day Byleth and her class set out to discover what important places might become a target. Garreg Mach hides many secrets and treasures. Some of them even you are not allowed to see like relics passed down from archbishop to archbishop, guarded by the elite of the Knights of Seiros, tall and bulky men and women with grim mouths and determined eyes rooting them in place day and night in front of locked doors only Rhea knows what they hide.

With every passing day, tension hangs in the air like a thick blanket waiting to smother you all. But it isn’t simply the anticipation for whatever the Western Church has planned. It is also the holy ceremony of the Rite of Rebirth, one you’ve practised under the stern eyes of Seteth who doesn’t settle for anything less than perfect. Every word, every step is engraved in your mind.

On the day of the Rite of Rebirth the sun relentlessly blazes down at the monastery. Your ceremonial robes are heavy and woven from thick jacquard fabric lined with fine golden patterns that depict the Herald’s Crest on the back. You’ve barely finished preparing everything inside the round chamber inside the Goddess’ Tower but perspiration glues your hair to your forehead.

A whole feast is prepared; food offerings and gifts from the townsfolk and priests served on golden and silver plates on long tables covered with white table clothes. In the middle Seteth prepared a small platform for Rhea to stand and speak in honour of the goddess that she may return to Fódlan and show its people her infinite grace. In short, you’d do anything to join the students who are securing the locations lacking in defence right now instead of standing around and waving at pilgrims. The only joy lies in Flayn’s bright presence and her never ending optimism. She’s a sweet girl and has been looking forward to the ceremony since the beginning of Blue Sea Moon. Looking upon her, it is hard not to catch her excitement and joy when the ceremony finally begins.

Because of certain circumstances you couldn’t quite follow, the holy relic used for the ceremony, the Chalice of Beginnings, has been missing for a long time. Because of that, a mock chalice was prepared by the cardinals, a handful of high authority men and women who make it no secret they can’t quite decide if they like or dislike you and your position.

“You must excuse them,” one of the cardinals says after a group of them simply shook their heads at you happily scooping tons of food on a plate. His dark hair falls to his shoulders and unlike the other cardinals, his brown eyes are filled with kindness. “They simply think in old patterns and value their old traditions. You are quite young, Herald. They don’t know how to handle that.”

“But you do?” you wonder and notice too late how unfriendly that sounds. But he simply laughs.

“I do frequent with young folk, yes,” he says. “They are my flock and I will do anything to protect them.”

“That again, Aelfric?” Catherine joins you and slaps his shoulder just when he was about to drink from his cup. You pretend the pastries on your plate are far more interesting than watching him choke on wine. “You’re way too good for them, you know?”

“Who is ‘them?’” you ask but Catherine just sways her hand as if he wants to get rid of a nasty fly.

“Unimportant. You did a good job carrying the chalice to the podium.”

“I did almost trip over these.” You pluck at the heavy robes, already looking forward to getting out of them.

Catherine laughs but it is short lived. Out of nowhere, a knight hurriedly approaches and leans over to her, muttering, “They are after the tomb of Saint Seiros.”

Glass shatters as her grip tightens around the fragile stem but without so much as noticing it she storms towards Rhea, fury blazing in her eyes. Something happened. Something far more exciting than playing a believer in front of everyone, so you follow her to listen in more.

“Those dastards from the Western Church infiltrated the Holy Mausoleum,” she says. Rhea pales. “I will take some knights and go there at once.”

“Go and be swift, Catherine.” Rhea’s words are barely a puff of breath, those news shaking her but she remains stoic in front of everyone to prevent panic. Her voice drops dangerously low. “Punish those heathens.”

Catherine’s head dips in a slight bow. “I will, Your Grace.”

“I want to help too.”

Both turn around at your voice. Catherine narrows her eyes to sharp slits, but it is Rhea who says, “No. I need you here for the ceremony, Herald.”

“Please, let me,” you beg. Something inside you demands to follow, demands to see what is inside the Holy Mausoleum that causes so much bloodshed. “I can’t explain, but I need to be there.”

Rhea presses her lips into a thin line. Before she reopens her mouth to decline your wish, you whirl around and leave the ceremony room, Catherine in hot pursuit. You manage halfway down the hallway before she reaches you and grabs your arm hard.

“Even though you are the Herald, I won’t allow you to show this disrespect towards Her Grace,” she snarls. “If she tells you to stay, you listen.”

“I don’t expect you to understand,” you say, trying to free your arm from her bone breaking grip. “But something calls me to this place and I need to follow it.”

Catherine isn’t pleased but she knows better than do you any real harm. With a crude nod, she allows you to follow. Several knights wait for you and together you make your way through the warm evening air towards the Holy Mausoleum that lies behind the chapel.

You enter right before chaos erupts. At the end of the hall, its ceiling so high up it’s barely visible in the dark, Byleth stands tall and rises a sword that flashes in a bright red light. A throb goes through your body and brings you to your knees. It feels like an arrow drove into your chest, the stinging pain unlike anything you’ve felt before—no, it’s a pain you haven’t felt since the Crest appeared on your eye for the first time. And then that thrumming energy within you exploded, a sharp crimson that drenched every corner of your right vision, rushing through your veins.

“Kill them!” an enemy mage commands, fury fuelling him to a last desperate attack. With his remaining companions, they summon a giant fire spell you’ve only read about in books, a combination of spells into a group flame that covers a large area—the pre-stage to a much more fatal blaze that can scorch the land. Blaze or no, the effect watching the giant fire ball curling and sparking until it grows large enough to wipe out anything in its way is the same. Fear paralyses your body. Move, your mind screams, but you can’t. Your muscles have locked up; a high whine of terror fills your head and fizzes in your blood like poison, yet you do not understand where this fear of fire comes from.

“Take cover!” Catherine roars but it is too late. The blast hits the ground right before you, dispersing your small group of reinforcements like wind scattering leaves in all directions. A loud crack beneath you makes your heart skip a beat, a rumble shakes the hall and before you can fully comprehend what is happening, the ground gives way.

The last thing you hear is Byleth shouting, not Herald, but your name before you plunge into darkness.

Wake up.

You have to wake up.

This darkness is terrifying, so utterly black and choking, curling around you like a tight fist. Like someone is holding you in their dirty, tainted clutches, smelling of death and horror. Wake up, you tell yourself, more urgent now, your mind struggling to escape from claws digging into your consciousness, their goal unknown but you don’t want to stay here to find out what they are after. What they want to take from you.

Wake up, this time another voice, the voice, echoing like a sweet bell’s chime, the flicker of light in a darkness so black it hums. You have to wake up.

Your eyes snap open, the sudden white ceiling hurting like a sudden flash of light. Once you’re used to the brightness, you realise this isn’t a room, this is … this is your consciousness—no walls, no windows. It’s just a space, and yet you can clearly determine borders. Somewhere is an exit you’re free to use, nothing holds you captive. It’s your safe place. Your haven. Which doesn’t explain how you’ve gotten here.

All you know is it feels safe. It feels like a warm embrace, the feeling of hope, watching a budding flower embraced by soft, fragile hands—asteritrope, your mind provides out of nowhere, the flower always turning its head towards the Blue Star.

It is like breaking a spell. First, everything is simply white, empty, a second later, you stand in a vast field of asteritropes, an ocean of purple, gently swaying flowers at your feet. Everything smells of sweet innocence, of honey dipped fingers and bittersweet regret. It is a familiar scent, one your body remembers and reacts to with a shudder so strong it rattles deep in your bones; a chill so cold it freezes you on the spot, the slightest movement threatening to shatter you entirely.

What is this grief, this sadness? Is it your own or have you fallen into a sea of tears wept by someone else? Your chest is heavy with a burden, a pulling towards the unknown that is yet so familiar. It is homesickness towards a place you have never been but long to visit.

The flowers shaped like little stars stretch beyond what you think are the edges of this place. If this is a dream, you don’t want to wake up anytime soon, relishing in this peace and quiet.

A peace and quiet that lasts only a moment until you notice it. Not it, him. In the middle of the field, a boy sits, bent over something that demands his complete attention. Dark curls fall against pale skin, his brows pulled tightly together as his fingers work something in his lap. He is wearing a simple white robe, though it is unlike any of the religious wear you've seen on the priests and nuns; it seem ... too old for that. Only after you approach, you see he is folding purple flowers and green steams into a crown.

“Hello?” you say, only now entertaining the idea you might have died and this is the afterlife, the first point before returning to the goddess’ side. It is a strangely tranquil thought. “Can you hear me?”

The boy’s head snaps up, his eyes wide as he momentarily forgets his work, and you take a step back, struck by how bright his steel grey eyes are. They roam over you, up and down, back up again, as he slowly raises to his feet.

“You’re here,” he says, awestruck. “You’re finally here. It is so nice to meet you after all this time.”

His voice is like a punch to your gut. You recognise it immediately, the voice who pulled you back from the darkness.

“You—” Nothing makes sense. “Who are you? What are you?”

“There is nothing to fear,” he says, offering you his hand. The tips of his fingers are purple from handling delicate petals. The crown lies at his bare feet, forgotten. He looks strangely vulnerable.

You take another step back, worry a steady, hard pulse against your neck. The air catches in your lungs. You feel like the ground is opening beneath your feet. “Are you … the goddess? A god?”

The boy blinks, then throws his head back and bursts out laughing, the sound like sweet bells chiming in the wind. “You people love to call everything you do not understand god.”

“Then what are you?” It comes out as a breath, and for a brief second you think it’s fear that seizes your body, but no. You should be afraid and yet instead of frenzy panic there is a calm spreading inside you as if you belong here. You can’t say if it’s the boy’s presence or the familiar scent of wildflowers.

The boy leans his head to the side, his smile as vibrant as early sunlight casting away leftover shadows from a dark night. “Hmmm … the End, perhaps? Or why not just … a friend?”

“The end? My end?”

“No, the end is never simply the end,” he says, shaking his head.

“Is that supposed to reassure me?”

“It may be a rebirth,” he continues. “Or the passing into a new era. Into a new dawn.”

“A new dawn,” you mumble. The realisation makes your knees weak. “Don’t tell me—” You suck in a sharp breath, unable to belief where your thoughts are hurling towards in lightning speed. You kneel onto the soft flowerbed, careful not to crush any flowers. “Why are we here … do you know me by chance?”

“I … cannot say for sure,” he starts slowly, uncertainty turning his features even younger. “I have been watching you since you awoke four moons ago. On that day, I as well awoke from a deep slumber. But I do not know why it is you that I am bound to.”

“Bound to?” Your head spins. “What do you mean?”

“You must have felt it by now, have you not? I am here because of this,” he says, and lifts his hand to point at your right eye. You flinch back as if he smacked you right across your face.

“So you are him,” you whisper, a shudder ripping through your body. “You’re the first Herald. You are Seiros’ Champion.”

The boy smiles.

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espieviolet99 · 3 years ago

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The Redwood Firecracker - Chapter 1: Kozik

Patience, very reluctantly, trudged into the clubhouse in the morning. Already there were many people there. She had her earplugs in tight, and was not happy in the least to be coming into a small building that was now going to house so many people for the next however many days. She made her way past a good few people, even gaining the attention of a blonde man, who seemed to be part of the Tacoma charter, as she made a bee line for the corner just behind the pool table. She slumped onto the small chair in the corner, and closed her eyes, trying not to think about the amount of people in the room.

"You okay, there?" Came a voice. She cracked an eye, to check if the muffled voice was addressing her. She found the blonde man looking over at her, concern on his pleasant face. She gave a slight nod, before shutting her eye again - to hide the true amount of people.

The blonde man heard the other biker he was talking to clear his throat, and he turned his attention back to him. It wasn't too long after this that Tig and Clay emerged from the Chapel. The blonde man noted the way Tig looked over at the woman, but didn't manage to ascertain much else as Jax made a signal for Tig to quieten the room. At the sound of the whistle, the woman's eyes opened - but the plugs remained in her ears. She noticed his glance, and gave him a vague smile. Which he returned with one that seemed to brighten it.

"Everybody! Listen up!" Tig called, as Clay moved to the centre of the room; "I wanna welcome you all to Club Reaper. I'm glad you made your reservations early, 'cause as you can see, we are booked to capacity." Clay mused, earning some scattered chuckles." You're here because you're family. And because SAMCRO takes care of its own. Next couple of days, this club's got some business to handle... that could put our members, and those connected to us, in... unfriendly situations. Now, chances are nothing's gonna happen, but people have already been hurt on my watch. And that ain't ever gonna happen again. Nobody gets in. Nobody leaves without an escort. You got a safety concern, you talk to Piney. You got a comfort concern, you talk to my Queen. Under this roof, you'll all be safe. I want you to make yourself at home. I love all of ya."

A loud round of applause started, and the blonde man noticed the way the woman grimaced, picked herself up and left the room in discomfort. Were it not for his need to go to Church, he would have followed to make sure she was okay. Patience found herself up on the roof, mostly alone. A couple of guys at the corners, but she was in a significantly quieter environment. She sat there, quite content in her own thoughts until a figure approached her.

"Hey, you okay up here?" The blonde from before asked her. She took one plug out. "Yeah, thanks. Just, a lot of people and noise." She shrugged. She nodded to his kutte." Tacoma, huh?" "Yeah, come down to lend some extra muscle. I'm Kozik." He replied, watching as recognition waved across her face. "Oh, damn." She murmured, looking him up and down." You're not what I expected." "Oh?" He grinned. "I'm Patience." She smirked, bringing her knee up to rest her elbow on it. His face paled in recognition. "You're Tig's daughter?" "Don't worry, Koz. I'm not going to haul your ass." She shrugged, smug about making him shit himself a little. "That's a relief." He sighed, taking a seat a few spaces from her. "Nice to meet you. I've heard... a lot about you." She raised her brow. "Well, same. But, good things. Happy has a soft spot for you." "You going to be down long?" "We'll see."

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"Hey, Pay!" Jax called, entering the clubhouse. From the gym Kozik noticed the woman poke her head round, this time taking an earphone out. "Yo!" She called back. "I need you to come with." Jax spoke, stunning Kozik. "Aw, come on, man," Tig groaned." I thought we were-" "On my way!" She cut her dad off.

Kozik noticed the way she strode out of the room, pulling a Sons hoodie on over her purple cropped tank as she came. She wore camo print jeggings, with her lilac trainers. He now fully noticed her physique, seeing how toned she seemed, if her ab definition was anything to go by. She seemed the same height as Tara, maybe a smidge taller, and her braid across one shoulder. Tig continued to huff, as she grabbed a hold of her purple helmet and continued to walk out with the group.

"What's the run?" She asked, seeming to switch from bubbly to business. "Going to fight. 10 v 10. Need you with us." Clay spoke. Kozik raised a brow, turning to Happy in confusion. "Who we fighting?" "Weston." "Gotcha." "Who you ridin' with, sweetheart?" Tig spoke. "You guys doing anything else other than the fight?" She raised her eyebrow. "You know it." Jax smirked." Kozik will be comin' back here straight after, though." "That settles that, then." She grinned, Tig grew stern. "No." Tig told her." No way." "Kozzy, you happy to give me a ride?" Patience ignored him, beaming over at the blonde man - who wasn't sure whether he should be amused or not. "Certainly." He tried to sound neutral. "Patience." Tig warned. "It makes sense, admit it." She waved him off. Tig groaned and gave up, not interested in wasting his energy on this right now.

She followed Kozik to his bike, and waited for him to get on, before mounting the bike herself - whilst clipping on her helmet. She wrapped her arms about his middle, and a few heard the muffled "oh damn" she released when she felt his muscularity through his shirt. Jax and Clay smirked at each other, before they all began to peel out of the lot. Kozik felt himself revelling in the way Patience's arms wrapped round him, already intrigued with the younger Trager. Before he remembered what they were off to go and do, and how he was then very interested to know why she was coming to a fight.

When they swung into the place, and the engines turned off, he felt somewhat of a loss as she let him go and got up. Until he was distracted by the clicks her knees gave out when she bent them inwards, twisting his face in vague disgust. He watched her features, which showed no pain, as she gave a squat or two to help stretch herself out. She caught his inquisitive stare and smiled, showing her fang that poked out of the left side of her mouth. He instantly chuckled, taking his own helmet off and putting in by hers on his handlebars.

"What's so funny?" Tig demanded. "I got knees." Patience answered, causing Bobby to snigger, among others. "I would certainly hope so, lass." Chibs shook his head, a smirk gracing his features. "That or the goofy grin she's got on her face." Jax also smirked, putting a hand to her cheek as he passed. "Oh, blow me, Teller." She shoved his hand away, also beginning to share in the smirk. "Warm up?"

Jax didn't need to ask twice, as Patience swung her leg up next to his face. He hopped back, letting her waltz forward. Clay and Tig sighed, as the other's began to watch with varying degrees of intrigue and entertainment. Jax made to punch, but she caught his fist and suddenly manoeuvred it behind him, letting go before point of pain. Jax then went to swing behind, but she did some near matrix shit, before swinging back up to give her own punch. Jax grabbed her arm and lifted her onto his shoulder. Clay knew what would be next, and before Jax could throw her;

"Alright, you two." Jax put her down, and they fist bumped. "You keep safe, yeah?" Jax told her. "I am not going to be safe with these cuntbags at all. No restraint." She mused. Kozik's eyebrows shot up at her language. "Alright, let's form up." Clay interrupted.

She smirked at Kozik, before they all got into position. He then watched as she began stretching out more; toe touches, lunges, arm stretches, the lot. In fact, he even heard her continue to have some repartee with Jax, and even Sack, as they waited for the AB crew to show up. He barely registered must of the dialogue, before Lin and Laroy turned up, and they decided to initiate.

Kozik watched as Patience surged forward, throwing herself into a combat role before the momentum brought her back up and she delivered a mighty punch to the guy heading for him. As that guy staggered back, she turned and raised her leg to kick another in the face with her heel. She then ditched both to spartan kick another before settling on one man. She and Kozik both kept noticing each other at different stages. She was very impressed with his heavy, boxing style approach to his fighting, whist he appreciated her speed and agility. He'd just laid a guy down, when he saw the way she raised her leg to hook round a guy's neck, and brought his head swinging into another guy's, before sirens started up.

"Oh, bollocks." She exclaimed, causing Happy to let out an amused snort. "Come on." Lin spoke to his lot, as he and Laroy's people promptly fucked off. "Collect everyone. Get out of here." Weston spoke. Kozik chuckled as he watched Patience kick one of his guys by the ass back to the direction of their cars.

In the next few minutes, Hale showed up and arrested Weston, prompting Clay to get Tig to call Unser. He then told Kozik to get Patience home, aggravating Tig a bit as he watched them smile at each other before getting on the bike. He hated seeing the way she contentedly wrapped her arms around him. Their ride was a lot quieter on the way back, as he heard her hum to herself contentedly. He smiled as he took a leisurely pace back to the clubhouse, as he equally took the time to relax after the fight.

"You unscathed, Kozzy?" Her voice came. "Pretty much. You?" "I think so, too." She yawned. He felt her tighten her grip, before she leaned forward to rest her head against him. "Don't fall asleep, will ya?" He grinned. "Oh, no. I'm just relaxing a bit. I know not to sleep on a bike, stud." "Where did ya learn to fight like that?" "Honestly? Movies. And improvisation." She chuckled. "Impressive." "What about you?" "Was in the marines. And I used to box." "Impressive." She mimicked. "I can see why they brought you." "Yeah. It was that and I can't bear lockdowns." "How come?" "Noise levels. I was real bad as a kid. Sensory overload."

For the rest of the journey, Kozik learned about her ADHD, her favourite colour and a few of her interests. He felt so comfortable with her, and the more she spoke with him, the more he felt connected with her. It was on this ride, that they realised they could like each other more than they probably should - but each knew that they had barely been acquainted 24 hours. Though, something just felt right. Eesh, try telling that to dad... Patience thought to herself.

#herman kozik #sons of anarchy #SAMCRO #samtac

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why-this-kolaveri-machi · 3 years ago

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whumptober day 9: take me instead

still here, still doing this! ‘twas nice to take a break for the last 6 months but i think i’m ready to come back.

summary: set after titans s2. jericho’s spent years as a mind without a body--enough to think he’s not in real danger from the villains the titans fight on a regular basis. it isn’t until dick puts himself on the line to save him that he realises how wrong he’s been.

warnings: SPOILERS for s2. serious body horror including gore and mutilation. a whole scene of this is inspired straight from a nightmare i had, so please be cautious as the descriptions are graphic.

take me instead

Leave him alone! I can… I can give what you want, and more. I’ve seen and done things you couldn’t even imagine.

Take me instead.

It’s the last thing Jericho remembers for a while.

When Jericho is next aware, he’s sitting at a familiar workbench next to his father. Slade is taking apart and putting together guns of increasing complexity at a steady pace, not looking at Jericho once, but the silence is familiar and almost… comfortable. There’s none of the cloying dread or desperation that he felt while spending six years trapped in Slade’s head; the guns might as well be fishing rods or model airplanes to the curl of warmth in Jericho’s chest.

“I want you to be ready,” Slade says in the manner of someone already in the middle of a conversation, “for this next mission. I know that it’s on short notice, but there’s something in the next room that should help you.” He finally turns to look at Jericho, and he realises with a jolt that Slade’s actually smiling. For a long, dumbfounded moment, Jericho stares at his father, at the beaming smile, the crinkle of crow’s feet at the corners of his eyes.

“Go on, then,” Slade says, tilting his head at a door that Jericho didn’t notice before. A part of Jericho is pulsing with anxiety (remembers that endlessly white prison, dead-but-not) but it’s smothered by a haze of contentment and a ready, easy trust that has him get up, open the door, and step through.

There’s a long metal table with a body on it. The reason it’s a body and not a person is because it’s covered with a long white sheet and the shapes underneath the sheet are… unnatural. The angles too sharp, the girth too thin, everything too still to be anything that’s alive. Jericho’s not sure why Slade thinks a corpse would help him with anything, but he moves ahead as though compelled, again, and lifts the sheet away.

The body is on its back, naked, limbs splayed awkwardly. It’s emaciated to a degree that the skin is worn down to the bone in some places: the fingers are literally skeletal, and so are the jutting crescents of the hips. There are enormous festering wounds on one thigh and one arm, excavated through layers of skin, fat and muscle like craters filled with… slough, and pus, and other disgusting things, and still bleeding--

--still bleeding--

Jericho’s been avoiding looking at the face until now, and there is a slow, sad sort of resignation in his chest as he lifts his gaze to see skin cleaving to the skull, eyes huge and watering in nearly abyssal sockets. The body’s lipless mouth moves.

“Jericho,” Dick says.

There’s no moment where Jericho’s jolted back to reality; just a dawning horror. There are a thousand questions crowding in his throat but the one he asks is: “Did… did Slade do this to you?”

“No, he--Jer--” Dick coughs, and Jericho watches with sick fascination as his ribs glide underneath his skin. “You have to get away from here. Now.”

“Not without--” you, I can’t leave without you “--knowing what he did to you, how could this even--”

There’s a chill in the air, so sudden and fierce that it slices through his skin and numbs his lips. The room he’s in--that he’s hardly paid any attention to so far--warps and twists, the edges where the walls meet the ceiling blackening like it’s a photograph that someone’s taken a flame to. Dick twitches on the table, trying to move, and bloodied spittle sprays his chin as he says, “Leave! Now!”

“I don’t--”

I SEE YOU.

The voice, female, is both a whisper in his ear and a roar that echoes inside the collapsing room. Dick lets out a scream that frankly Jericho would’ve never guessed he had the strength for and an invisible force pushes Jericho to the door that he just came from. Jericho tries to fight back, twist and get back to Dick, but before he knows it, he’s stumbling through the door, falling to his hands and knees. He jumps to his feet, unaccountably angry at Slade, the world, and mostly Dick--who, despite having far less experience with this slippery, in-between world than Jericho, just tossed him aside like it was nothing at all.

Overachieving bastard.

He whirls around to confront his father, but Slade has disappeared, and so has his workroom, and any semblance of a place at all. Instead, Jericho stands in the middle of ever-extending blackness that might be a cavern, given the way his footsteps echo eerily and the weak light that filters in every few metres. Dust motes float lazily in those little beams, and their presence makes the whole place somehow creepier than the complete absence of light.

“Dick?” Jericho’s voice is small, uncertain, but the word echoes nonetheless, making him flinch. Once the echoes die, however, there is only silence.

He picks a direction and keeps walking, because, honestly, what else is he going to do? It doesn’t take long for a human shape to materialise in one of the pools of watery light, and Jericho isn’t entirely surprised to see that it’s Dick. This Dick looks… whole, though, strong and broad and dressed in his Nightwing suit sans mask. He’s got his escrima sticks out as though anticipating an attack, and he’s not really looking at Jericho.

Jericho’s about to call out to him when a shape swoops in from the darkness straight to Dick. It’s moving with incredible speed, claws extended and glinting in the light, but Dick is faster. He swings his sticks around and knocks it to the ground, only to bring them up again to block the next attack.

Soon Dick is at the centre of a storm of black, punctuated by the rustle of cloth and the screams of the creatures dying as his sticks turn into swords. He’s barely finished skewering one creature before he’s lifting the sword--still dripping with gore--and plunging it into the heart of another creature. Jericho watches, open-mouthed, as Dick fights with a frightening combination of grace and force, his body twirling and leaping like he’s dancing but his thrusts sharp and brutal, driven by pure anger. Jericho can hardly countenance this… force of nature with the man who melted in his arms when he gave him an unexpected hug, or the one that came to seek absolution from his mother, half-wrecked by guilt and anguish.

He could’ve kept watching forever (Dick could’ve kept fighting forever) when he feels a bony hand like icicles rest on his shoulder and hears I’VE FOUND YOU, LITTLE ONE

“No! Jericho!” Dick stops for the second it takes him to shout Jericho’s name, and Jericho realises why Dick had been such a storm of movement: it takes only a fraction of that second for the shadow-creatures to overcome his defences and… tear at him. Blood and gore spray in a messy arc as his arm is torn clean off his body but Dick’s still standing, staring at him, shouting--

Jericho’s knees shake and his stomach’s turned to water but he shakes off the hand on his shoulder and runs--away from whatever it was that spoke to him, away from Dick, whose shouts have died and been replaced by the sickening, wet sounds of ripping flesh.

He runs, but there’s Dick again, younger now, crushed between two panes of glass like an insect in a display case--

YOU CAN’T RUN FOREVER.

--turns a corner, and Dick’s on a rack, an actual rack, and at each corner there’s somebody turning the pulley and stretching his limbs until his shoulders and knees pop out of their sockets, and, and, is Batman one of them? And one of the others, his face is half-shrouded in scar tissue--

ALTHOUGH, and now there’s a hint of amused menace, THAT MIGHT BE FUN, TOO.

Jericho sets off again, heart thundering in his chest and pulsing in his neck, panic scraping his breath through his throat and nose. It’s been so long since he’s had a body to call his own, but his mind can’t forget what it feels like to be truly afraid, to look at a threat and think: that’s going to really hurt, or i’m going to die, or both.

Along the way he feels little nudges from Dick, helping him pour on the speed. When these nudges stop, and he’s run out of corners to turn and reached one where he can only huddle, he turns.

There’s a woman standing there: tall, almost statuesque. Her skin is grey and her hair hangs limp past her shoulders. But her eyes are luminescent: pools of algae on water that reflects a coal-black night. There is naked hunger in the way she looks at him, in her smile full of mossy, pointed teeth.

HE’S RIGHT IN A WAY, she says. HE BURNS SO BRIGHT, AND HIS PAIN SO EXQUISITE. BUT HE IS ALREADY BURNING OUT. YOU… she steps closer, YOU WILL LAST FOREVER.

Jericho feels frozen as she reaches a bony hand towards him. HIS SACRIFICE WILL HAVE BEEN IN VAIN--HOW DELICIOUS.

He feels a familiar ice-cold pain along his throat, razor-thin, and a deeper, hotter pain that’s boring into his stomach. If he closes his eyes he can imagine that it’s Slade on the other end of a sword, eyes wide in horror and--and betrayal--

“No.” The pain in his stomach stops, and Jericho opens his eyes to see Dick’s back in front of him, the pointed end of an icicle emerging from his middle and dripping blood on Jericho’s feet.

And Dick still--

“While I’m still here, in my head,” Dick growls, “you don’t get to touch him.”

The woman screams--it’s a horrible sound, full of rage that buries itself like needlepoints in his eardrums--but Jericho has no time to linger as he feels the hardest push he’s gotten from Dick yet, and a sensation like someone’s reached into him and pulled his stomach clear out of his body, and then--

then--

he’s out.

For a long, surreal second, he is just a mind floating without a body, threatening to vanish into the ether if he can’t ground himself in somebody else’s head. He casts frantically for the nearest person and enters--and to his relief, it’s Rose. She must know something of what’s going on, because she immediately steps back and lets Jericho take over her body.

They’re in the Titans Tower, and he can see Kory, Rachel and Gar crowded around something--well, somebody--on the floor. At his choked, “Dick,” they immediately part, and there’s Dick on the floor, curled around nothing, ashen, eyes open and unseeing. He’s shaking minutely, but besides that there’s nothing to indicate that right now, inside his head, he’s being torn apart over and over and over again--

“He won’t let me help him,” Rachel says, her voice trembling, tears streaming down her face. “She wants you. He says he won’t let that happen.”

Jericho crashes to his knees next to Dick. He gathers his head onto his lap--tries to ignore how cold he feels and banishes all memories of his wasted body on that cold table--and kisses his forehead. “Please,” he says, tears spilling to land on Dick’s face and slide down to his ears. “Just--please.”

He’s not sure what he’s asking for. But he thinks Dick will find a way to give it to him anyway.

#titans #my fic #dick grayson #jericho wilson #a byronic cupcake

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ambientstars · 4 years ago

Note

Could I please request thirteenth Doctor & fem!reader where the reader has a soft squishy tummy and she’s kind of insecure about it? 🥺

Gif credit: unknown

Note: not my best work and I haven’t proofread it yet because I’m too tired so apologies for any mistakes. Anyway here’s this. And please please remember that no matter what you look like, you are beautiful and perfect and I love you 🖤

- - -

You took a deep breath as you looked at yourself in the mirror, smoothing down your tight fitting dress. The Doctor had chosen it, explaining that she thought the colour of it would bring out your eyes.

She had been right, of course, your eyes glowing against the soft fabric that shimmered in the spotlights above you, but still you felt uncomfortable and embarrassed.

The dress wasn’t the problem, rather the way it sat over your stomach and highlighting all the places on your body that you disliked greatly.

“Are you ready to go?”

The voice of The Doctor echoed around the room, your muscles softening at the sound. She would always be the best form of relaxation, just her presence was enough to make you breathe like you’d been drowning and were finally allowed up for air.

You made a sound of agreement and turned to face her in her tux, altered to be the same length and style as her usual coat and trousers.

She adjusted her bow tie and smiled brightly, her eyes creasing at the corners. “After you.”

She gestured for you to walk ahead of her out of the room, her smile never faltering. You appreciated her chivalry, but it made you uncomfortable to know she’d be looking at the back of you, taking in your unflattering appearance and most likely making silent judgments.

You mumbled a small thank you and forced your legs to move forward towards the door.

“So, where are we going?”

“You’ll see!” The Doctor rushed past you once you reached the console room, pulling a lever that brought the machine to a halt.

She opened the door and poked her head out to make sure you had landed in the right place and then looked back at you. “Come on, then!”

Her smile was contagious, a smile of your own forcing it’s way into your face. You pushed aside your negative thoughts and followed as The Doctor stepped outside to the mystery location.

You entered a grand hall, it’s wide marble floor filled with people who appeared to be human, but you knew well enough to know that they probably weren’t.

Golden pillars stood tall at each corner of the hall, leading to the ceiling that adorned a beautiful design of swirling patterns that resembled long leaf stems, connecting at the ends to form an endless stream like bunting along the edges, framing the stunningly detailed mural in the centre.

Large chandeliers hung above the heads of the dancing guests, shining brightly in a warm hue, sparkling like diamonds and projecting reflections onto the walls.

“Doctor, this is…” you stopped to think of an appropriate word to sum up just how wonderful this room was. “Incredible.”

“I knew you’d like it.” She beamed beside you, also looking out at the cheerful crowd. “Want to dance?”

You weren’t much of a dancer and in fairness, neither was The Doctor, but she led you over to an open space on the floor and held you close, swaying you both from side to side, her arms around your waist.

It felt nice to be so close to her, to share an intimate moment with her, her gentle eyes locked on yours and her mouth pulled up into a small smile as a sign that she, too, was enjoying the moment.

However, despite the warm tingling the feeling of closeness gave you, you were still very much aware that she could feel your body against hers, her arms and hands touching places on you that sent an unpleasant shiver down your spine.

Negative thoughts swarmed your mind again, the angry voices screaming at you, making their judgements of how disgusting and unappealing you are very clear.

“What’s wrong?”

The Doctor’s voice was calm and soothing against the voices in your head, full of concern and curiosity.

You shook your head and smiled to dismiss any of her worries. “Just a little thirsty.”

Her face changed to a look of content, accepting your answer as the truth. “Let me get you something to drink. You wait right here.”

- -

“I’m getting kind of tired.” You said with a yawn, your back slumped against the marble statue of an almost naked man on the balcony of the grand hall.

You’d been here all evening, dancing with The Doctor for hours, holding each other close and quietly talking about everything and nothing as you swayed.

The night had been wonderful, everything you had ever dreamed of. You were the happiest you’d been for a very long time and you highly doubted it you’d feel this way if the timelord hadn’t been by your side the entire time.

“Want to see our room?”

“Our room?”

She nodded. “I may, or may not, have accidentally destroyed the part of the TARDIS that had our bedrooms in it. And I know how you humans like to spend your lives sleeping so until the ol’ girl rebuilds that part of herself, we have a room here.”

You took a moment to process all the information she had presented you with, wondering when and how she had created said destruction to the poor timeship, and how she had said our room.

“We do not spend our lives sleeping!” You quipped, following her up the winding staircase towards the second floor, your hands tugging the dress up slightly so that you didn’t trip on the length of it under your feet.

She gave you a pointed look over her shoulder, the ghost of a smirk on her lips. “You literally spend a third of your lives asleep. That’s almost 230,000 hours wasted away in favour of lying unconscious when you could be doing other things.”

You huffed through your nose, dropping the subject, knowing you weren’t about to win this fight.

She led the way down long corridors and up even more stairs, the rest of the building decorated just as beautifully as the great hall, it’s walls adorned with portraits of important people and framed with the same swirling patterns as the ceiling.

“Here we are.” The Doctor announced, breaking the comfortable silence between you.

She unlocked the door and stepped inside, leaving you to quietly trail in behind. You looked around as you entered, taking note that the design of the building's decor also moved into the bedrooms.

You sat on the edge of the bed, the one bed. “Uh Doctor?”

She looked up from whatever trinket she had found and put it back down on the dresser, giving you her full attention.

“There’s only one bed.”

She frowned, confused. “Is that a problem?”

“No, not a problem,” you quickly corrected, your gaze falling to your lap in embarrassment. “It’s just that we’ll be sleeping together… in the same bed.”

The Doctor laughed lightly, the sound of it relaxing you ever so slightly. “I won’t be sleeping. You have the whole bed to yourself.”

You made a conscious effort to ignore the feeling of disappointment that also came flooding in with understanding and relief. “Right.”

- -

You watched silently from under the covers as The Doctor gazed out the window, watching something or someone move around the garden. She, too, stayed quiet so that you could sleep, or at least attempt to.

You clenched your jaw tightly until it ached, desperately trying to stop your teeth from chattering, the coldness of the room seeping through the layers of fabric until it reached your bones.

“Cold?”

You nodded at The Doctor’s question, although she could see from your shivering that you were. “A bit.”

She made her way over, her movements swift and fluid, her feet moving with purpose. She kicked off her boots at the end of the bed and climbed in under the covers with you, her slender body slipping in right next to yours.

She pulled you closer so that your body was squashed right up against hers and your head was forced to rest on the spot on her chest, just below her shoulder. She snaked an arm around your middle to keep you close and pulled the covers right up to your chin with her free hand.

“Better?”

You swallowed nervously, feeling comforted and overwhelmed at the same time. In truth, it was better - the shivering had already begun to die down and your stiffened muscles relaxed, a contented sigh escaping you. But your proximity to each other made your heart race, your stomach doing somersaults.

Her thumb absentmindedly stroked the skin of your side and panic overcame you, knowing she was feeling a part of you that you despised under it. You quickly moved her hand up towards your shoulder instead, keeping it there with your hand on hers.

“What’s wrong?”

You shook your head, closing your eyes in an effort to brush off the subject and fall asleep, your body now warm enough to fall into unconsciousness.

A finger lifted your chin so that you were forced to look up at her. From this angle, she looked different, but still just as beautiful. “Tell me.”

You looked away again, releasing a nervous breath. “I don’t like being touched there.”

You couldn’t see her face now that you had turned your head back to its original position, but you guessed that her brows were knitted in confusion, the crease between them deepening.

“Why not?”

It wasn’t hard to confide in The Doctor, her kind eyes locked on yours when you whispered a secret, the non judgment in her voice as she gave you advice back, her gentle hands on your arms as a reminder that she was truly there in the moment and listening - all of it made it easy to trust in her and tell her even the hardest of truths, but that didn’t make it any less embarrassing.

You carefully picked up a small piece of lint from the other side of her chest between your fingers as you whispered, focusing your eyes on it so as to keep yourself from tearing up.

“It’s all squishy and gross.”

“Hey,” the timelord beneath you snapped back quickly, her tone displeased. “Your body is not gross!”

“But I-“

“It may be squishy, but you know what else it is?” She sat up, effectively forcing your body to fall beside her as she turned to face you. “Beautiful. This body carries and protects you everyday. It keeps your heart and your mind safe, it protects the organs you need to live. It grows and changes, and breaks, and thrives! The human body is amazing, truly, and a little bit of extra soft and warm padding shouldn’t get in the way of you loving the body you have.”

Tears brimmed your eyes, your bottom lip wobbling despite being sucked into your mouth. You should’ve known that The Doctor would view your body, along with everyone else’s, as a magnificent organic machine that against all odds, grew and repaired itself, and battled against the elements. To her, the human body was a glorious physical representation of just how far evolution had come and she admired it deeply.

To her, beauty wasn’t defined by size or shape, by colour or style. To her, beauty was smiles of happiness and tears of sadness, resilience and natural radiance, creative minds and beating hearts.

She placed her hands on either side of your waist, holding gently so as not to frighten you. “Who told you that your body is gross?”

You fought back a cringe and drew in a shaky breath, avoiding The Doctor’s narrowed eyes. “Well, no one in particular.”

She sighed like her heart was broken and in response your chest tightened with guilt. “Look at me.”

You did as asked, forcing your eyes to meet hers. She carried an expression on her face that you hadn’t seen before, something between disbelief and worry, whatever she was feeling, it wasn’t positive.

“This wonderfully unique body you have,” she spoke quietly, putting all of her truth and conviction behind her words, desperate for you to really, truly hear them. “Is perfect.”

A tear escaped as you blinked, quickly falling down your cheek before you could raise your hand to wipe it away. The Doctor’s hand came to rest on the now damp cheek and swiped the following tear away with her thumb, her eyes never leaving yours.

You opened your mouth to speak, but your tightened throat refused to release a sound. So instead you pulled her back down to you, holding her flush against you in a bone crushing hug she had not expected.

Silently you sobbed as she held you close, your warmth spreading to your cheeks and circling around the pit of your stomach.

You weren’t sure if you’d ever truly come to love the body you were in, but The Doctor’s opinion was the only one that mattered and that was enough for you. Maybe she’d have to remind you of your beauty every day and you had no doubt that she would, but tonight was a start and already you felt better with your skin pressed against hers.

#13th doctor #thirteeth doctor #doctor who imagine #jodie Whittaker #doctor x reader #13 x reader #thirteenth doctor x reader #thirteen x reader

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nukyster-blog · 4 years ago

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Changing Course Chapter 27) Raven named Utstøtt

.-.-.

He should be exhausted, but Ivar was wide awake, back in shackles and frustrated. Worrisome thoughts ate their way into his subconscious like maggots feasting on rotting flesh. Everytime he closed his eyes, images appeared; of his mother waving her last goodbye, his one-eyed father being eaten by a flock of ravens, and of the fair-maiden, walking past him into her dread filled future. Even Piglet’s dark eyes and temper came into view.

Ivar could no longer pinpoint who he was. He had been a lot of things; a prince, a despised brother, a cherished son. A disgrace.

He’d become a lot of things, too; a slave, a savior, de martelaar, the bloody bear of Kattegat, a cursed one.

And he was and always would be a cripple, nature’s mistake. Possibly a changeling and the reason for his father’s absence.

He held so many titles. Too many, and he no longer knew which one to hold onto and which one to throw away forever. What use was it to ponder over his royal blood, as it had been spilled countless times by his masters?

But to embrace the title of a slave? Never. The Giant could flog him over forty times, break his useless legs and spit on his grave, but he’d never fully bow to the rulers of De Haar.

Another toss and turn, another long sigh of frustration, and Ivar crawled on his side to stare in envy at his sleeping companion.

Although spring had kindly rid the shed of cold, after twilight, Piglet still turned into his shadow. No longer would she cling onto his body for heat, but she’d sleep at his side.

It no longer bothered him, not even that high pitch weeze she’d make as she’d fall deeply asleep. Or how her stone cold feet always managed to find their way up against his knees.

There was a level of trust from her behalf and it was an odd and unfamiliar sensation to receive such a gift from someone else. It was a fragile treasure, one he’d broken countless times. Yet the shards and shatters always magically seemed to restore, as he’d proven his loyalty to the slave maiden.

There was this strange balance between them, one that at times made him push her away and yet drew him closer and closer.

“Why?”, he whispered to the sleeping form of Piglet, “why do I bother to care for you? You are just a soil skinned slave”.

His words were meant to sound harsh and insulting, but they came out so hopeless and quiet.

.-.-.

Ivar had been very wrong about one thing. He most definitely hadn’t missed cleaning chamber pots. Retching, his back arched against the stone well as the stench of human waste mercilessly filled his nostrils.

What should be a miracle actually felt like a punishment; at dawn the Giant had released him from his chains, hoisted Ivar on his shoulders, and tossed him into the midst of the cobblestoned centre.

He’d been freed and turned into the laugh of the town, as he’d suffered his way through the chamber pots. The stench already sank into his skin and Ivar was fully aware that the Giant unleashed him only to torture him. Yesterday, he’d been able to cleanse his body for the first time in months, and now he stank even worse than before.

Even Piglet, queen of poor personal hygiene, scrunched up her nose as she rapidly dumped his breakfast at his feet.

Ivar did not blame her and, frustrated, he whipped at the flies circling around his head.

After fulfilling his duty, the Giant picked him up again and carried him over to the entrance of the castle. Dropping him to the floor like a sack of shit, he handed Ivar a bucket and a cloth, indicating that he’d better start scrubbing.

This task was less revolting and allowed Ivar to embrace the meager glimpse of daylight. Although his stiff muscles and knees ached, he counted this moment as a humble blessing. To be outside, breathe in fresh air, and be able to observe the residence of de Haar. Small children playing silly games around the well, carts bringing in new livestock, the linen maidens handing out loads of fresh laundry. A peaceful scenery, a delight for the eye.

But that wasn’t what filled Ivar’s heart with content. Now that he was deployed to another part of the Castle, he was able to observe far more interesting aspects; the specific amount of guards and their route. Without drawing any attention, he was able to glance at their weaponry. From the main entrance, it was easy to view the main gate and how it was being watched by two guards. Two, it took two full grown men to open the gate. Now that was a very important discovery, as this meant Ivar wouldn’t be able to escape during nighttime, when the gate would be closed.

‘Unless I grow wings’, Ivar thought to himself as he enviously glanced up at the circle of ravens flying high in the air.

Ivar pulled himself onto the fifth step of the stone stairway when his ears perked at the sound of distressed squeaking.

A hatchling lay in the middle of the main entrance, ready to be stomped to death. A little puzzled about the baby bird's previous whereabouts, Ivar crawled closer to inspect the tiny little thing.

It looked hideous, mostly bald with tufts of light feathers. The baby bird was defenseless and incapable of fleeing as the limp wings lacked strength and feathers, it’s eyes hadn’t even opened up yet.

Ivar glanced up again, scanning the rooftops and walls until his eyes rested on a raven’s nest submerged in between roof tiles. Two ravens flew on and off to provide food for their offspring. Neither of the parents seemed aware or bothered by the unfortunate youngest who’d taken a massive tumble down.

The heavy footsteps of the Giant marched close and without any hesitation Ivar picked up the bundle of cold naked flesh and stored it inside the pocket Piglet sewed in to smuggle food.

Meaty fingers raked through Ivar’s hair and yanked him up onto his knees with a pained hiss. The Giant was not pleased with his slave taking a break. With force, Ivar received the cloth back in his hand while his face was shoved into the dirty water of the bucket. Reliving vividly how he’d nearly drowned inside the well, Ivar squirmed, gasped and whittered.

The threat of drowning was short but powerful and the moment his lungs were allowed to fill themselves back up with air, Ivar’s hand turned into fist and dutifully began scrubbing the entrance of De Haar.

.-.-.

Piglet was in a state of pure bliss with so many new animals inside the shed. Sheep with lambs, a flock of chickens, and six young calves were stored inside, all with hungry mouths to feed.

“You’re working yourself to death for those stupid animals”, Ivar felt the need to tell her.

Of course, his statement fell on deaf ears and Piglet happily slaved herself through countless troughs of fresh water, bales of hay, and handfuls of grain. She then still remained strong enough to fill up Ivar’s trough and announced he stank. Which he did, there was no denying that.

“Use this”, Piglet said as she handed him a black lump of lard, motioning by scrubbing her own arm and face, “it helps”. Ivar recognised the structure of the lump; it came close to the herbal soaps their elderly made in Kattegat. It was a time consuming process, not to mention very delicate work.

Ivar pulled the tunic over his head and scrubbed the greasy lump over his smelling skin and washed himself. As he rid himself from the stench of human waste, Piglet came back with supper.

“Piglet, you know a lot about herbs and ointments”, Ivar stated, referring not only to the soap, but also to the professional way she’d tended his wounds. “How do you know all of this?”

Piglet paused, shoving a handful of potato into her mouth and chewed slowly, buying herself some time, because by the Gods, his question meant revealing something about herself.

“Before you, there was another cripple, but not her legs. No-”, Piglet tapped her index finger against her temple a couple of times, “in here. She meant no harm, but she talked. All the time, never shut up”, Piglet gestured towards the stairs, “I slept up there, called her Rattle-mouth. Her real name was Mabelia, not that anyone cared. She taught me about plants, herbs, soap, how to disgust men, keep them away. She was my friend”, Piglet added, sincerely.

“Was?” Ivar noticed how she’d spoken in the past tenses.

“The Toothless burned her alive”, Piglet whispered bitterly, “everyone knew about her special gifts. She knew things. She helped people, she cured sickness, wounds, colds. Never asked for anything in return. She saved lives, until she couldn’t. And the Toothless blamed her for that”.

“Who died, Piglet?” Ivar asked, “who’s the one she couldn’t save?”

Piglet stared at him but seemed to look right through to him: “his son, born in breach, never able to draw his first breath.”

The Giant lost his son. Oddly enough, that made the man seem less untouchable and more human.

“She was accused of witchcraft. Toothless stated she purposely murdered his son for her Lord, the devil. She burned the same day his son was buried. Mabelia Rattle-mouth at the stake with her tongue cut out, all because she failed to save his son.”

“Yet you survived”, Ivar stated sharply, “you were her friend. A witch’s friend.”

“I spoke lies, that she bewitched me, that she talked to the Devil night after night. I caused her to burn, saved my own skin.” Piglet told her story pragmatically but the guilt that crushed her was unmistakable. It took over her whole being, she seemed to shrink and cower away.

Ivar wanted to lash out at her, because that had been a gutless act on her behalf. Although it wasn’t his betrayal, her confession felt like a stab in the back. For he’d taken a flogging for Piglet, one that nearly caused him his life and left him scarred forever. He’d never expected her to return the favour, but to hear her say she’d sold out a friend, yes, that put her in a completely different light.

Yet, all the poor young woman had done was simply survive. No doubt, Mabelia would have burned without Piglet’s lies, for failing the Giant’s son.

A muffled squeak eventually broke the silence between Ivar and Piglet. Ivar had completely forgotten about the baby bird hiding in the safety of his tunic. During the day he’d been so focused on his tasks, the small animal warming up due to his body heat, becoming a small bundle of warmth, skin and a heartbeat.

Ivar picked up his tunic and scooped the bird up. In his large hand the bird seemed even smaller and so fragile.

“You’ve saved a bird? Why?” Piglet asked curiously, as Ivar never before showed much care to any of the animals aside from the pigs. And that care had only been there because it had been his task.

Ivar shrugged, still unable to answer that question for himself.

Piglet leaned in for a closer look. “Does it have a name?”

“He,” Ivar snapped, “it’s a he and he does have a name: Utstøtt.”

Piglet’s brows furrowed as she hadn’t learned that word yet, “what does that mean?”

Ivar’s fingers petted the small beak of the bird, “Outcast.”

.-.-.

Over the course of days, Utstøtt’s feathers started to flourish and his eyes opened. That was how Ivar understood his subconscious reasoning for saving the young bird. Instead of growing ink black feathers as all ravens do, Utstøtt’s feathers were white as snow. Another abnormal feature was Utstøtt’s eyes. His right was milky and pupil-less, while his left eye was icy blue.

Had Utstøtt’s fall from the nest been an accident? Or had the parents deliberately pushed their offspring from the nest? In the animal world there was no place for abnormalities, nature could be cruel, allowing the parents to either eat or kill their young.

Or abandon them in the woods, to let the wolves do the dirty work for them.

Neither Ivar nor Utstøtt should be alive, because they didn’t stand a change in this cruel world. They both had all odds against them, but Ivar knew from experience that sometimes the damaged ones can rise.

So, he did his best to keep Utstøtt hidden inside his tunic. Collected worms during his tasks outside and chewed the boneless, wiggling things up to feed his pet raven.

Piglet was appalled by the way he fed the bird, yet touched by his will to care for Utstøtt. She brought him scraps of beef and chicken so he no longer had to chew on worms.

Utstøtt turned out to be a smart bird, oddly aware of when he needed to remain quiet and still inside Ivar’s tunic. While at other times, he’d poke at Ivar’s chest and caw, indicating that he was hungry. With his good eye, he’d stare up at Ivar accusingly if he took too long.

And so, another chapter started in Ivar’s life, that of being a foster of a white, one-eyed raven named Utstøtt.

.-.-.

A/N: So, for this chapter I had about 6 tabs open about ‘ravens’, and then 3 more about ‘how did they make soap before soap?’ This chapter felt a bit all over the place, but I didn’t feel like cutting it up in pieces and adding extra ‘space’ purely to make it more organized. Basically I didn’t want to bore myself and I needed to get a lot of thoughts/information/background and Utstøtt into the story. So yes, most of all happy with the chapter. Hope you enjoyed it too:)

Xoxoxo Nukyster

The kickass beta: @sarahh-jane

The tagged ones:@youbloodymadgenius @xbellaxcarolinax @saldelys @shannygoatgruff@pieces-by-me@apenas-mais-uma-pessoa@readsalot73@lauraan182 @conaionaru@sarahh-jane@peachybonelessIf you’d liked to be tagged, please let me know:)

#ivar the boneless #ivar the boneless fanfic #alex hogh andersen #vikings fanfiction #vikings fanfic #viking fanfic #ivar lothbrok #ivar oc #ivar ragnarsson #ivar's heathen army

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mrs-hyperfixed-writes · 5 years ago

Text

Things are Different Now

For the Rat-mama down at @the-tragic-hero-and-you. You turned me into an Actor stan and a drawing of yours inspired this. I should be studying but this was more important.

The Actor deals with the aftermath of a fight with Y/N.

The Actor cracked his knuckles against his desk, the noise audible all throughout his study. His other hand nursed a glass of whiskey, the ice cubes gently clinking against one another. The room was quiet except for the roaring of a fire, and one could make the mistake that it was peaceful. But internally Mark’s mind was like a black cloud. He was in a foul mood, and likely would be for the rest of the day if he didn’t fix it. Maybe for the rest of the next as well.

An argument. A stupid argument with his dear y/n.

They had fought before, countless times. What couple doesn’t? But this felt different. This felt final. Y/n had started the fight when they had found the Actor in his old bedroom holding Celine’s old dress, running the fabric through his fingers. They had seemed to snap, complaining about how they always would be just a replacement for Celine, or at the very least a second best option. They had said that he would always choose Celine first. Would he prefer that they started dressing and acting like her? Would he like it if they had been as cold and cruel as she had? Maybe if they’d fuck the butler, the closest thing Mark had to a friend besides themselves then he’d feel like she was with him again. Or maybe they should just go fuck themselves. He’d often forgotten recently how they’d been a DA, they knew how to argue and what buttons to push.

Indignant, he had bit back about how the same could be said for y/n and Damien. How they’d probably trade Mark in a heartbeat to have him beside them instead even after what he’d done. It wasn’t Mark who’d trapped them in the mirror, but it was Mark who’d dragged them out. And then he’d gotten angry. Very angry. He was on a roll now, and he couldn’t stop himself if he’d wanted to. And they’d been the one to poke the wound that Celine had left. He was a man in mourning. He had told them that if they really wanted to go then they could, and he would love to see how long it took for them to come crawling back. Maybe they would find that monster that Damien and Celine had become. Maybe they would see how good they had it when it looked at Y/n from their original body with nothing but disgust in their eyes. Maybe when it learned how Y/n’s relationship with the Actor had developed it would try to hurt them. But then it would discard them when it realised that not even Mark wanted them. And they would be all alone again.

Something in y/n’s eyes had seemed to break. Tears started to fall and they’d put a hand to their mouth and the other to their stomach as if they were in agony. They had looked at him once more before running from the room, leaving him there with clenched fists and metaphorical steam coming out of his ears.

He had made his way to his study at one point, pouring himself a drink, and another, and another. He had been left to stew and consider what had happened. He hadn’t meant those things, of course not. But he had an uncontrollable temper sometimes. And Y/n had started it. How could they be so stupid? Thinking that he didn’t value them? That they were second fiddle to his ex-wife? He was loath to admit he was in the wrong, and he still wasn’t convinced that he was, but he needed to talk to them about it before they did something drastic. If they did leave he didn’t know what he would do with himself.

He pushed his chair back, attempting to clear away the last embers of his anger and get rid of his bad mood. He put his half full glass on his desk, the ice rattling loudly with the force of it. Maybe he still needed a minute to think clearly?

***

They shared a bedroom at this point. Not the Actor’s old one, it had too many memories of happier times with Celine. He had figured his Y/n would have gone to the new one they shared. He knocked lightly on the door, not wanting to wake them. When there was no answer or sound of movement beyond the wood he opened it gently. Sure enough, Y/n lay curled up in the middle of the bed. They seemed to be fast asleep. The bed was enormous, making them seem so small.

He crept closer to the side of the bed they faced to take a look at them. The pillow was wet where their tears had soaked through the fabric, and Mark felt a pang in his chest. But his attention was drawn to what they were curled around. A brown teddy bear in a red robe with black trimming with an empty martini glass fastened to its hand. Blotches of the fur on the bear’s head were wet where Y/n’s tears had soaked in. They held onto the bear for dear life as they slept, clinging on like it was the only thing in the world that would keep them grounded. Whatever was left of his anger dissipated in a puff of smoke.

When had they made this? Why had they made it? Where had they hidden it?

They loved him. They really did. But seeing him with Celine’s dress had tipped them over the edge. He supposed he did talk about her a lot. And he had noticed Y/n staring at the wedding ring still on his finger. He sat down on the edge of the bed and put his hands in his head. Why were things so fucking complicated?

He was a stubborn man, and hated admitting he had done something wrong. Y/n would apologise when they woke up, but this time he was going to beat them to it.

Y/n stirred behind him, and he looked over his shoulder to see that they had tightened their grip on the teddy bear. A tear fell from one of their eyes as they continued to be dead to the world.

Then he stood up, and made his way to his old bedroom again. Throwing open the old closet doors he took out all of Celine’s old clothes and threw some of them over his shoulder. Pile by pile he took them to his study and threw them on the floor in front of the fireplace. Then he went back for her shoes and scarves. And then her veils, hats and even her jewellery. Everything that belonged to her was cleared out of that room. Once all that was left of her was on his study floor he looked at his fireplace.

It was a massive thing, useful for keeping the chill out in a mansion that Mark couldn’t be bothered modernising. You could fit a person in it, and at the lowest point in his life he had considered throwing himself into it and lighting a fire underneath him.

He stopped to consider only for a second. He would be destroying what was left of his ex-wife. And there had been happy times with her. But then he thought of Y/n curling around the teddy bear they had modeled after him. Then he had thought of the first time he had ever received a bouquet of flowers, and the card that had said I love you - Y/n. He thought of how they would lie with him when he had a bad day, and how they would lead him out of bed to give him a bath and feed him. And he remembered when he had finally bought a stereo and the two of them had danced until their feet heart and drank until they’d ended up tangled in each other's arms.

So considering all of these moments, he threw the first pile of Celine’s clothes into the fire and then watched it burn. He didn’t even wait for it to finish before the next pile went in on top of it. And then the next. He increased fervour, his breathing becoming heavier as he picked up handfuls of fabric. And then he was throwing jewelry. And suddenly there was nothing. Nothing but a roaring fire so hot that sweat was beginning to drip down the end of his nose.

He looked down at his left hand. The gold band winked back up at him. Without taking a second to think otherwise, he slid it off his sweaty finger and threw it into the fire. It was going to take a while, but by the time that fire finished burning it would be nothing but a chunk of metal. And that was perfect.

He picked himself up from the carpet and left his study, making his way towards the bedroom he shared with his love. They were still fast asleep in the centre of the large four-poster bed. Without a word, he crawled next to them and pulled them towards his own chest, the bear between them. They subconsciously snuggled closer, burying their face in his chest.

He sighed, content. “Things will be different now,” he whispered before letting himself fall into a deep slumber

#markiplier #markiplier egos #actor Mark #y/n #actor mark x y/n

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singledarkshade · 5 years ago

Text

The Doctor And The Nurse

Summary: On his way to work, Rory Williams meets a strange man on the strangest morning of his life. So far. Author’s Note: I saw this Tumblr Gif set with Rory as the Tenth Doctor's companion and this appeared. All Eleventh Doctor canon is gone, as is River (at the moment). I intend to write more in this as I have quite a few ideas but until then, enjoy. ********************************************* “Hi, Rory,” Amy’s grinning face appeared on the screen, “I’m in India, not that you would know since I’m in my gorgeous hotel room,” the camera moved and panned around the room before moving to the window, “I can’t even show you the sights through the window cause I’m over the pool.”

The camera returned to her smiling face, “We’re here for a few more days, maybe a week depending on how things go then we’re heading to Peru. Can you believe it?” She paused and tilted her head, “I miss you and I wish you were here to see all this, but I know you’re too busy keeping everyone healthy.” She blew him a kiss, “I will be home for your birthday so I will see you then. Bye.”

Rory sighed as he watched Amy’s message for about the hundredth time since he’d received it six days ago. She had surprised everyone when she suddenly announced she’d gotten a job working with Clayton Gove, a well-known writer, and his wife, Julia Gove as their new assistant. He was writing a new novel, while his wife was researching a travel book, so it meant going to far-flung and exotic locations for the next year.

But that was Amy, adventurous and capricious, a whirlwind in his life since childhood but his best friend he couldn’t imagine life without.

With a sigh, Rory finished his coffee before getting his things together to go to work.

Looking around his tiny flat, Rory sometime wished he’d stayed in Leadworth but that would have meant still living at home and he had been trying to assert his independence.

The thing was he was supposed to be moving to London with Amy and sharing a flat with her, except she got her fantastic job, so he’d basically fallen on his face.

Realising the time, Rory grabbed his jacket and headed out the door.

The TARDIS landed.

Wondering where he’d ended up since he’d used the random setting, the Doctor slid his coat on and opened the door.

“Really?” he asked, looking out the door to see a sunny morning in a park in what he was sure was London, “I thought we’d be somewhere much more fun.”

Musing for a moment, he knew that when the TARDIS stopped somewhere there was usually a reason for it so, closing the door, the Doctor stepped out into the warm morning.

He would admit he was a little bored since Martha had left, and he was on his own which meant he ended up talking to himself far too much these days.

Sticking his hands in his coat pocket he strolled along the path, smiling at people as he passed them. It was a quiet day but there was something…something he couldn’t quite put his finger on but something.

“Sorry,” a young man said when the Doctor bumped into him.

“My fault,” the Doctor told him before heading away.

Continuing he frowned hearing a strange scuttering from nearby. Stopping he strained to hear the noise, getting onto the ground and pressing his ear to the grass.

“Are you hurt young man?” a woman asked from above him.

He grinned up at her, seeing the perfectly set grey hair and pink jogging suit, “Just checking that the worms are able to move around freely.”

She gave him a confused looked before power walking on.

And then all hell broke loose.

Rory heard screaming and turned to see people running as what looked like bats rose up from a hole in the ground. The man in the long brown coat who had bumped into him was ushering people away as he pointed a strange pen at the sky.

He saw several people stumble, an older woman wearing a pink jogging suit fell to the ground with a cry. Pushing through those running in the opposite direction Rory reached the woman just as the strange man did.

“Here,” Rory said as they both crouched to help her, “Slowly.”

Helping her to a bench, Rory dug into his bag for his first aid kit as the strange man finally cleared the strange creatures.

“You’re prepared,” the strange man said as he sat on the back of the bench with his feet on the seat.

Rory glanced at him as he began to clean the cut on the woman’s arm, “I’m a nurse.”

“Good,” the man said, nodding, “Excellent. That was good luck you being here. But then I suppose this is on your way to work.”

Frowning slightly confused Rory nodded. He checked the wound and started to put some antibiotic cream on it.

“So, you’ve never seen anything odd?” the strange man asked, “No one weird hanging around?”

Rory turned to him, “Other than you?”

“Good point,” he chuckled, before continuing, “I mean it’s strange for the Chrilckingkiki to attack like that.”

Looking at the woman he was helping who shrugged back at him, Rory knew he was going to regret this but asked, “The what?”

“The things that attacked,” he explained, “But they never would come to Earth…”

“Earth?”

“You would expect to see them on Mars,” the man continued not even acknowledging Rory’s question, “Which begs the question, why are they here?”

Finishing bandaging the woman’s arm, Rory looked up at the strange man, “My question is what are you talking about?”

The man laughed, “Never mind. You should get to safety.”

With that said he bounced away leaving Rory and the woman staring after him.

“That was odd,” Rory said.

She nodded, “Yes, it was.”

“Oh,” the man reappeared again making them both jump, “You wouldn’t happen to have any chewing gum?”

Distracted as a policewoman appeared to check on them, Rory nodded, “In my bag.”

“Thank you,” the man said as he ran away again calling back, “Get to safety.”

Rory sighed.

“What’s wrong, dear?” the woman asked as the policewoman started her moving.

“He took my bag,” Rory looked in the direction the strange man had run, he glanced at the policewoman, “Please ensure she’s checked for a concussion.”

With that said he ran after the man who had stolen his bag.

The Doctor checked the sonic and fixed the frequency, if he could find their nest then he might be able to work out how they got there. He opened the bag to find the chewing gum and frowned that he couldn’t find what he was looking for.

The bag was snatched from his hands making him jump to see the nurse standing there.

“I told you to get to safety,” the Doctor reminded him.

“You stole my bag,” Rory told him.

The Doctor stared at him for a moment before realising, “Aww, sorry. Where’s the chewing gum?”

Rory opened the front pocket and pulled out the packet he had, “Here.”

“Excellent,” the Doctor said before realising he had no idea who he was talking to, “What’s your name?”

“Rory, look I…”

“I’m the Doctor,” he cut the younger man off, shoving a few strips of chewing gum in his mouth, “Chew this.”

Rory looked confused with two strips of gum sitting in his mouth, so the Doctor motioned what he wanted him to do. The bemused expression didn’t move as he began to chew.

Checking the signal on the sonic he began to move again, Rory following on. Reaching a large tree in the centre of a grass circle the Doctor frowned.

“The signal stops here,” he grimaced, shaking the screwdriver, “That’s rubbish. A tree.”

“That’s new,” Rory spoke up from his side.

The Doctor spun, “What?”

“I walk through this park every day,” Rory told him, “I have never seen a tree here before, especially one that looks older than I am.”

“Really?” the Doctor stared at it, “Give me your gum.”

Rory stared at him, “You want my chewed gum?”

“Why do you think I gave you it?” the Doctor rolled his eyes, “Gum, now.”

With a disgusted look, Rory took the gum out his mouth and handed it across. Nodding at the young man, the Doctor rummaged in his pockets and pulled out the atmosphere sensor he had. With the gum and the sonic he altered it so he could check for portals instead.

“What are you doing?” Rory demanded watching intently.

“The Chrilckingkiki aren’t from here,” the Doctor explained as he worked, “So they must have come through my portal. Now, if there is a portal there is someone who has created it and considering there is a tree bang smack in the middle of the park that wasn’t there yesterday then we know that there is someone orchestrating this.”

“So…”

“So, I am going to do a feedback loop and close the portal,” the Doctor told him.

Rory stared at him for a few seconds before shrugging, “Okay.”

With a nod the Doctor activated the scanner, finding the frequency he glanced at Rory who was watching thoughtfully.

A high pitched squeal began to sound from the tree.

“What is that?” Rory demanded.

The Doctor winced and grabbed Rory’s arm, “Run.”

Rory was a little surprised as the Doctor grabbed his arm and yanked him away from the tree. The Doctor skidded to a stop and snatched Rory’s bag off him again, opening it he dumped the contents onto the grass.

“Hey!!” Rory cried, picking up his stuff from the ground.

“Sorry, Rory,” he said, “I need this, the portal isn’t closing and unless I close it then it will rip a permanent hole between the worlds and…”

“And?” Rory demanded automatically taking the bag when the Doctor handed it to him.

“I need to be able to detonate a large enough explosion and need a way to deliver it without getting either of us killed.”

Staring at the other man, Rory nodded and didn’t resist when the Doctor took the bag back. Using the handle, he began to swing it in a circle around his head before letting it go.

“Allonsy,” the Doctor cried as he released the bag.

It flew through the air in a smooth arc, and Rory gripped the Doctor’s arm as he watched it hit the tree. The explosion threw them both backwards and they slammed into the ground.

The Doctor sighed in relief that his plan had worked, he knew it had been a long shot but sometimes they worked the best.

Pulling himself to a stand, the Doctor offered Rory his hand to help him off the ground.

“You okay?”

“Ahh, yeah,” Rory sounded winded, looking around. He stared at the empty space where the tree had been, “What happened?”

“We closed the rift and made sure that it can’t open again,” the Doctor smiled, patting Rory on the shoulder, “Well, that’s us fixed everything so you should go and get to work.”

Looking a little shell-shocked, Rory nodded and holding all his things in his arms wandered away. With a smile the Doctor headed back to the TARDIS.

*********************************************

Rory finished his shift, his supervisor had heard of the chaos in the park so he hadn’t received any reprimands for being late. He’d managed to get it out of his mind while he worked but now, as he wandered home Rory kept thinking about the insane morning.

As he walked along the side of the park, it was still cordoned off after this morning’s insanity so he couldn’t follow his usual route home. Rounding the corner to his street, Rory stalled as the Doctor stood in front of a police box sitting on the street.

“I thought I would check up and see how you were after this morning,” the strange man said, pushing himself off the box.

Rory stared at him for a second before asking, “Who are you?”

“I told you,” he grinned, “I’m the Doctor.”

“I know a lot of Doctors and none of them are like you,” Rory replied.

The Doctor continued to grin, “I like you.”

“Thank you?”

“So,” the Doctor said, “Where are you from? Because you don’t seem at ease here.”

Looking bemused at the questioning Rory took a moment before he shrugged, “I’m from Leadworth.”

“Never heard of it,” the Doctor mused.

“It’s in Gloucester,” Rory replied before shaking his head, “Why am I telling you this?”

The Doctor smiled, “I’m listening?”

Rory stared at him, still bemused.

"So, you've never been anywhere other than here or some tiny village in the middle of nowhere?" the Doctor asked.

Rory shrugged, "Never really had the inclination to travel much."

"Then you've never thought of another sky above your head, or different grass beneath your feet?"

"My friend Amy was always the adventurous one," Rory told him, "She’s currently in India, I think. It might be Peru by now."

The Doctor chuckled, "Since I destroyed your bag, how about I make it up to you by giving you one trip."

"How?"

Pointing to the TARDIS, the Doctor waited for the young man's reply.

"In your wooden box?" Rory asked, the scepticism clear in his voice.

With a grin the Doctor opened the door, "Have a look."

Confused Rory moved closer and stopped as he saw the room through the door, turning he walked around the box, his hand trailing along the outside to ensure there was nothing there to create an illusion.

Returning to the door he stepped inside and looked around.

“Well?” the Doctor said, waiting for the normal response.

Rory turned to him, “After today, this doesn’t surprise me.”

Laughing the Doctor threw his coat over the railing, closing the door before he jogged over to the console.

“I should probably ask,” Rory joined him at the console, “Trip where?”

With a grin the Doctor pulled the lever.

#fic #doctor who #tenth doctor #rory williams #alternate universe

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attackthepinata · 4 years ago

Text

Flirting means Death (I think)

Pairing: Roceit

Word Count: Idk forgot to check, well over 1000 tho

Content & Warnings: Pride!Roman, Sympathetic!Janus, flirting, kissing, food mention, Roman is a smug bitch, Janus is in Love™

A/N: So like this was written at various 2-4 a.m’s throughout the week, so if it really choppy, I’m very sorry. This is just something I’ve kinda been craving for some reason so I wrote it. I don’t think this has any plot or continuity or anything but I’m posting it anyways because it took too damn long to write and I’m not going to let that sit in my drafts so, here you go. I’m sorry in advance.

Janus stumbled into the living room, “He’s flirting with me”

Virgil looked up from his phone and gave him a quizzical brow, “Who?”

Janus’ human cheek was flushed pink, he had a look of what was either disgust or love (maybe a mix of both), and he was rather mishappen. He looked up from his spot on the floor, “Pride”

An uneasiness settles over the room at the mention of the Side, like just by saying his name, he would show up. There was no real downside to him being around, it was just rather awkward.

“Well,” Logan started, “That can mean one of two things. One, he thinks you’re rather handsome and would like to date you. Or, two, he absolutely hates you and wants you to die”

“Those are two entirely opposite scenarios” Virgil commented.

Janus ran a hand over his face and groaned, “I think the second one fits best”

“Yeah, he does seem to really hate you,” Virgil pointed out.

Janus just glared at him and said, sarcastically, “Why thank you, Virgil, for that reassurance”

Virgil smirked, “Just doing my job,” he said as Janus sunk out.

—————————————————————————

Janus has locked himself in his room the rest of the day. It was his best chance on not getting murdered by Pride. He had allowed one person in his room that day and it was Remus. Actually, allowed is a lie. Janus had dropped something under his desk and bent down to find Remus smiling up at him. He didn’t force the Side to leave, and he didn’t mind his company too much.

Right now, Remus was laying on Janus’ bed, head hanging off the side looking at Janus upside down. Janus had seated himself in his office chair, making small talk with the chaotic Side.

“I don’t usually pride myself on being cowardly-” he was cut off by Remus snorting a laugh.

“Pride yourself! Get it? Because-”

“Yeah, I get it. Unintentional”

Janus sighed and leaned back in his chair, looking up at the ceiling. For some reason, he was so caught up about Pride, and what Logan and Virgil had said. That he was flirting with him, because he hated him. But there was still a slim chance he liked Janus.

Remus have a soft expression and rolled over so he was looking at the snake side properly, “You know, Jan,” Remus said softly, “If I didn’t know any better, you share the same feelings with Roman”

“I- what?” Janus sputtered, “I do not- He doesn’t- I shouldn’t- We could- I-” Remus cocked an eyebrow and Janus. Janus just sighed, “Roman hates me”

Remus let out a loud laugh, “You think he hates you?!” he cackled some more, “Wow! I guess love really does blind people!”

Janus looked up from his spot on the ground, “Wait, what?”

Remus jumped off the bed, “Well I gotta go now. It was nice talking with you J-Anus, why don’t we do this more often?” he said before sinking out.

Janus sighed and called after him, “That’s not how you pronounce my name!”

He groaned and buried his face in his hand. He couldn’t keep hiding in his room to avoid Pride. Though, the consistent thought of him was better than not being able to form a sentence as a tall handsome man dressed in dark clothing is towering over you saying your scales look pretty when they shimmer in the dark.

Oh, Janus was dead. Either it was because Pride took his sword and drove it through his heart or because he was so lovestriken that he would collapse.

What Remus had said didn’t help with his thoughts either. How could Roman possibly like him, he saw Janus as a villain. Maybe he did manipulate him once or twice, but the majority of that wasn’t a lie. When he did compliment him, he meant it… and there seemed to be a double use in complimenting someone. But Roman would never believe that.

Janus was suddenly pulled away from his thoughts when he heard a low grumble. He rested a hand over his stomach, and groaned for the eighteenths time that day. He needed something to eat.

He looked over at the time. 1:02 A.M. Surely Roman would be asleep right now, so Janus had nothing to worry about.

He got up from his chair and slipped out of his room down to the kitchen, careful not to make too much noise.

“If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you’re avoiding me” a voice said from the shadows.

Janus jumped and stifled a scream. He turned to see a figure leaning against the wall, red eyes seemingly glowing in the shadows.

Janus let out his breath and tried to relax, “Pride” he said rather evenly.

“Deceit,” he returned smoothly, “What are you doing out here so late?”

Janus shrugged and fixed the capelet around his shoulders, “Midnight snack,” he answered quite honestly, “You?”

Roman stepped out from the shadows, eyes toning down from red to a softer brown. He unfolded his arms and let them rest at his sides as he said, “Just couldn’t sleep” Something flashed behind his eyes but Janus didn’t detect a lie nor did he push.

He just cleared his throat and turned to start back down towards the kitchen, “Well, it was nice seeing you, Roman. I’ll be off now”

“Ah, ah, ah,” Roman said disapprovingly while grabbed Janus’ wrist, spinning him back to face him… or to stare at his chest. Janus let out a small squeak of surprise at the sudden movement. Roman spoke again, “You didn’t answer my first question, are you or are you not avoiding me?”

“Well, see, when you first said it, it wasn’t really a question, it rather more of a statement that I was able to contradict…” he trailed off as he fought his gaze up from the centre of Roman’s chest to his face. Where he gave Janus a rather quizzical and smug look. Janus immediately stopped talking and shot his gaze back down to the dark red sash. He was way too obvious, but that smug smirk that Roman gave him just shut down all of his senses.

Roman let out a low chuckle at the sight of the flustered Side. he was still holding Janus’ wrist too. Actually, he was holding both of them. Janus didn’t realize when he did so, until he let go of it. He placed a finger underneath Janus’ chin a directed his gaze back up towards his face. Janus’ breath hitched at the contact.

“Are you or are you not avoiding me?” Roman asked again, a bit more clearly this time.

“I…” Janus trailed off again, trying to look away from Roman’s gaze. Eyes shooting from different places along the walls and behind the taller side.

He was suddenly brought back to reality, when he felt a thumb travelling up the jaw if the human side of his face. He looked back at Roman, who raised an eyebrow at the smaller Side, still wait for a response.

“No” Janus fought out a lie.

Roman didn’t seem to notice the lie, he just gave him a satisfied smirk and said, “Good”

Janus stared helplessly up at Roman. His had was still holding his wrist, and his finger was still under his chin, keeping his head and gaze up at the taller Side.

“You have such clear skin” Roman said, studying the human side of Janus’ face.

“I moisturize” Janus replied sheepishly at the compliment.

Roman softly smiled at the comment, the corner of his mouth lifting upwards.

“Breathtakingly beautiful,” he murmured, meeting Janus’ mismatched gaze again.

Janus’ face heated up, “You sure know how to compliment someone” he said as smoothly as he could muster.

“Learned from the best” Roman replied, alluding to Janus himself.

Janus’ gaze softened. And he remembered what Logan had said, that Roman was flirting with him because he wanted Janus dead. Maybe if Janus tried to apologize, “Listen, Roman, I didn’t-”

“You didn’t mean to?” Roman cut him off, “You weren’t trying to hurt me? And you’re sorry? Yeah, I’ve heard that speech multiple times”

Janus moved his eyes down in shame. There was nothing he could say. Roman would probably drive his sword into Janus any minute now.

“Don’t worry, though,” Roman whispered, moving his face closer to Janus, that there’s were almost touching, “I forgive you”

Janus lifted his gaze up to meet Roman’s. He was…astonished. Roman was never one for forgiving. His soft brown eyes spoke truth.

Roman chuckled at Janus’ shocked face. And the next thing Janus knew, was that his lips were on Roman’s and Janus’ eyes had fluttered closed.

Janus was up against the wall, Roman passionately kissing him back. Roman’s hands had migrated to his hips, and Janus was holding Roman’s elbows.

Roman pulled away after a bit, and brought his hand back up to Janus’ face, cupping it.

Janus’ eyes fluttered open to meet Roman’s find one. Janus spoke, “But I thought,” he sucked in a breath, “I thought you hated me”

Roman chuckled a bit at the statement, “Maybe just a little bit,” he said before kissing Janus again.

They were back again in the middle of the hallway, Janus’ hands on Roman’s chest, and Roman’s hands cupping Janus’ face.

They pulled away from each other’s lips, soft smiles adorned on their faces. Roman laughed as he moved his hands away from Janus’ face, and to his head, plucking the hat off his head and putting it on his head.

“You are officially forgiven,” he said with a large smile, fixing the hat atop of his head. He then softly nudged Janus back in the direction of the kitchen, “Now as much of a snack as I may be, you’re probably still hungry. So go get yourself something to eat or whatever” he said before turning in his heels and disappearing down the hallway.

Janus stood frozen in the hallway for a few more minutes before muttering a soft, “Right” and turning to go get food.

——————————————————————————

The next morning, or the same morning a few hours later, Janus woke up to a bouquet of roses. He picked them up, and noticed they had a note attached.

It said,

To my snake faced friend,

Thank you for the hat and the kiss. They’re almost as half as wonderful as you are.

- Prince Roman

Light or Dark, the Prince did not loose any of his signature touches, including his cheesiness. Janus smiled as he set them down again, before it him.

Memories of what had happened, flooded back to him now. He could have sworn it was a dream but the proof that it actually happened was sitting right in front of him.

He quickly got dressed into his regular clothes (minus his hat of course) and popped up in the living area, where Virgil, Logan and Remus were all sitting.

They all looked up from their various activities to see Janus, eyes wide with realization, standing there.

He finally looked up from his spot on the floor and said, “He kissed me”

#roman sanders #deceit sanders #roceit #sanders sides #ts roman #remus sanders #ts deciet #logan sanders #virgil sanders #pride roman #dark!roman #symapthetic deceit #janus sanders #ts janus #sympathetic janus #food mention

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drjackandmissjo · 5 years ago

Text

Roses are Red, Tattoos are Forever

Chapter 2 --- previous chapter --- next chapter

Feysand Masterlist

The lies we tell at coffee shops

A bad text arrives and ruptures the quiet calm of the day A bad decision can destroy their friendship and both of them for that matter

Her screen lit up abruptly. The phone vibrated on the couch. Both of them froze with chopsticks in mid-air: Feyre about to put them down to grab another bite and Rhys with noodles escaping from his, falling back into the bowl.

She froze in fear and immediately looked like a cornered prey.

He froze in rage and immediately got a murderous look on his face.

“I have to answer. I owe it to him.”

“You owe him nothing. Don’t answer.” Rhys’ tone was icy and he was one step away from throwing daggers at the wall in front of him.

She was shaking her head softly: “He might’ve changed. He might’ve realized his mistakes and retorted back into his old self.”

“Don’t you dare trying to make excuses for him. He was horrible for you! Fey, he made you stop working and when you left him you were nothing but skin and bones and a broken soul! Don’t do this to yourself.”

The phone went silent, the screen black once more. The girl was still looking at it, waiting for it to turn on brightly again.

“Fey, please, look at me.”. He was starting to worry, rage passing over to concern.

When she did, her eyes were empty once more. They hadn’t been like that in almost a month.

“You deserve better than him, you know that. Right?”

‘You deserve so much better than that self-centred asshole. And I deserve more than the heartbreaks you’ve caused me. And yet.’ He thought bitterly.

“I’m not so sure about that. What if...”

“Cut the bullshit.” Rage swept over him again.

Rhys was alright with being only her friend as long as she needed him to be. He was happy to be in her life for as long as she needed him. Hell, he would’ve been okay with never being able to confess his feelings for her, if that meant that she’d be happy. He would have let her go if he needed to.

But not with Tamlin. Not again with that moron that didn’t realise she was drowning with him and, what’s even worse, didn’t care.

It took her two weeks to confide with Rhys that she would wake up with nightmares in her last period with Tamlin. She died, was tortured, imprisoned, had to kill everyone she cared about. Feyre would wake up in the middle of the night covered in sweat, panicking. She would sprint for the bathroom and empty the content of her stomach every night. She would cry over the toilet. And then she’d go back to bed, like nothing had happened. Tamlin would wake up next to her and ignore her desperate cries for help, until she calmed down herself. He would pretend to be asleep when she came back into the room, but she knew he was awake thanks to the sounds of his breathing.

She hadn’t had nightmares since she left him.

The screen lit up again. A single message.

“I have to answer.” She said, her voice shaking and almost inaudible.

“You don’t have to. I’m begging you, please. Don’t talk to him, ignore him like he did you. Please, Feyre.”. Rhys was panicking. Last time Tamlin and Feyre fought, he had almost hit her. Who knew what could happen if he had the chance to touch her again.

Feyre read the text anyway. “He says he just wants to meet to talk.”. A dark chuck escaped her lips. “He says he’s sorry.”

She sounded tired. She didn’t really believe those words and yet.

“Sorry my ass! ‘Il lupo perde il pelo ma non il vizio’ as the Italians say. The wolf may lose its fur but not his nature, Fey. Don’t fall into his trap again.”

“He doesn’t put traps. At least not for me. Maybe his career imposes him to act a certain way, but with me, he was always sweet and thoughtful and he cared and...”

“MAYBE HE DID ON THE FIRST MONTHS! Maybe he did when you were going through a lot with your sisters and your father and maybe he did everything that was right back then. But he changed soon. His manners got more impulsive and violent. He was psychologically abusing you and you’re going to let him do it all over again! You can’t see it, just because you’re afraid and you got used to having him manoeuvre you as he pleases.”

Hate sparkled off both their eyes: Rhys towards Tamlin; Feyre towards herself and her vulnerability.

The phone screen lit up once more, for another text.

“He says he’s found some old painting material of mine I’ve left at his. He’ll bring them tomorrow at the café we used to hang out at in the beginning. We had our first date there.”

She should’ve sounded hopeful, given the circumstances and the facade she was pulling for Rhys.

Instead, she was regretful, of all the time and tears and self-respect she had wasted on Tamlin.

Instead, she was scared, of how things ended and how they would evolve if they got back together.

Instead, she was tired.

“Really? He’s found something of yours at his after a month? Just now. Wow.”

The level of sarcasm Rhys was serving was stellar. “You know what, Feyre? Do whatever. Go and meet the devil. Fall back in line into his schemes. Let him use you as a pawn on his chessboard. I don’t care.”

He did, however, care. But one cannot reason with a wall, which was exactly what Feyre was pulling up.

Abruptly rising from his seat, he gave her a last look before storming out. She was looking at her plate, hands on either side of it.

“I am not going to babysit you, Fey. But you should just ignore him.”

“Well, then don’t babysit me, Rhysand.”

And on that, he left.

***

That day, Rhys took one hour more to go to work.

The day before, Feyre had her meeting with the Asshole. She hadn’t called or texted since their fight. She hadn’t shown up at her shop, even though she had the appointment in the afternoon.

The night before, Rhys couldn’t sleep. He tossed and turned and tossed again, thinking of the love of his life in the arms of her captor. There was no better description. And yet, when the stories would be written, Tamlin would be the good guy, saving a starving-from-affection girl. His temper and bad behaviour would be looked over, for all he did. He will get the girl. And Rhys would be viewed as a bad guy for having fought with the girl when she wanted to get back with the main hero.

That day, Rhys was exhausted. He stayed in the shower until the water turned icy cold and took his time to get ready and get to work. He took his bike since the day was nice. Such a contrast between his turbulent emotions and the clear blue sky.

He didn’t expect her to show up for the next few days. Considering everything, he expected her to close up the tattoo parlour for good. He was bitter and scared of not having her in his life anymore. Mostly he was scared of what could’ve happened to her if she was left at Tamlin’s mercy.

But, as she had said two days earlier: “Don’t babysit me, Rhysand.”. And babysit her he wouldn’t.

He wasn’t expecting anything. After all, it’s better to not damage a broken heart with futile hope.

“Rhys. You’re late. I had brought you coffee and doughnuts, but now they’re cold. The coffee is cold, the doughnuts are gone. Magically disappeared!"

His heart leapt in his throat. He couldn’t believe what happened, but also didn’t want to give away any sign of attention or desperation.

“Overslept. Sorry to disappoint.”, he said coldly and briefly before opening the door to his shop.

The door had to been left open for customers, but also for Feyre to walk right in.

“May I help you?”, Rhys said in a polite work tone.

“You’re pissed at me?”, she asked, even though the answer was clear as day.

“I am not. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got work to do and I suppose you do too.”

He started putting everything in order, making his way through his daily schedule.

“I’m sorry for what I said and what happened. You were right.”

She looked at him with hope in her eyes, but he kept on finding things to be distracted with.

“Keep on going. I am not going to stop you”, he said while cutting dead leaves off one of his plants.

With a slow nod, Feyre began: “It was good in the beginning yesterday. He was there early, waiting for me. He had ordered my favourite coffee and brought brand new supplies that cost more than my house rent, just to keep the scene up. He said all the nice things and did all the right things until I slipped the reasons behind my ‘escape’. He was not pleased to know I felt that way, as one can expect. He was also beginning to get angry, his hands balling into fists and his voice growing dangerous as I told him that I didn’t feel safe in his house. He corrected me, saying it was ‘ours’.”

The look of disgust on her face was priceless as she said the last sentence. Rhys smiled a little.

“I told him that I never want to set foot there in my entire life. He replied that ‘We could go house shopping then, start anew!’. As if that’s what would’ve made me go back to him!”

“You were thinking about going back two days ago, though. What changed?”. Rhys had to know. Rhys had to know if he could build his hopes up once more, or if it was better to become a hermit un on a lonely mountain.

Feyre looked at the ground, trying to focus her thoughts on her shoes. “I don’t really know. I think I had to see him once more, just to know that I’m not the same girl I was when I moved here and when I started dating him. I reacted badly the other day, that’s true. But it was because I was afraid of being that weak again. I’ve grown and archived so much. Besides, I never got to say what I really thought about Tamlin to his face without having to worry he’ll overreact!”

He laughed heartily, before realizing the meaning behind her words and worrying immediately:“Fey, you sure that was a good idea?”

She nodded solemnly. “I told him that if he ever comes close to me again, I’ll immediately go to the police station and fill a stalking case against him. Let his reputation go to hell!”

“Well, what can I say? ‘Hello. The old Feyre can’t come to the phone right now. Why? Oh, cause she’s dead!’”

“Well, yeah! That’s what he made me do!”. They were both laughing now.

Rhys decided to let himself be vulnerable, for once. To test the water where they stood. “I’m really glad you didn’t get back with him.”

“Me too. I think it would’ve killed me if I did.”

They stayed in comfortable silence for a while. The first clients came and went and half an hour later, Rhys asked Feyre:“Don’t you have work to attend to in this beautiful day, Feyre Darling?”

She put a pensive face on:“Maybe, Rhys Dear. Let’s just say I’ve got a client booked that will arrive any minute now. But let’s also say that I’m free for lunch.”

He shook his head softly, a smile broad on his lips. “Fine, I’ll bring you a sandwich when I go to take mine. Happy now?”

“Nah”, she said while hopping off the counter she was sitting on, “I’ll come with you. This way I can both pay and check that you don’t put cheese in my sandwich.”

“That’s a deal”

They shook hands to that. They smiled at each other.

That was both a start and an ending.

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ventrue-rosary · 5 years ago

Text

D&December - Entry 9

Week 2, Prompt 2: The Wizard’s Tower

Kinda played it fast and loose with this prompt. Also used modern Amaranthe and Autumn. Trigger warning for attempted rape

Ko-Fi

In every neighbourhood, there is one house that begets rumours a witch lives inside, one that will put children in her cauldron and boil them alive. On Bramble Street, the house at the end, which looked more like a tower than a house, was such one.

A narrow, crooked house rising up three stories, all painted black. Its sagged, tiled roofs looks all too much like a witches hat. Whether this is coincidental, or an intentional design choice no one knows and no one can agree on the answer.

Autumn never saw who lived in there, and if indeed is a witch. She never saw anyone leave, and closed curtains block out each and every window.

Still, she dallied outside every day on her to and from school, hoping for a glimpse inside this mysterious tower, and to finally see if a witch or wizard indeed lives there.

But Autumn remains disappointed, as the door and curtains stay shut.

On her daily commute home, Autumn stays and watches for just a few minutes longer than usual. Her impatience is catching up to her. She wants to know now. She thinks she notices a flutter in the ground floor window, but no, its a reflection of three people she desperately didn’t want to see.

Autumn turns on her heel and begins marching back home until a hand snags her backpack, pulling her into the centre of three boys: Jared, Markus and Damon--the horrors of Bramble Street. They were 4 years older than her, still kids but they should have a bit more self-pride than to pick on a twelve year old. But they don’t care.

‘Hey, horn head,’ Jared says, grinning as his friends giggle.

Autumn bows her head in shame. She wishes she had a hood or hat to hide them.

‘Why do you always stand around gawking at the witches house?’

‘Figures a freak would be interested in the freak house.’

‘Maybe the old witch there is your mom? Did your dad fuck the crone? Well?’

Jared shoves her when she doesn’t answer. She collides against Markus.

‘Ew, the freak touched me!’ he shoves her away.

‘Stop it!’ she screams as they continue to push her between them.

‘Stop what? This?’ Jared gives her one last harsh shove.

Autumn falls to the ground, grunting in pain as her body lands on the hard asphalt. Her backpack is ripped off her shoulders.

‘Give it back!’ Autumn lunges for it, but Markus and Damon hold her back.

She is forced to helplessly watch as Jared tips it upside down. Her sketchbook, notepad, water bottle and wallet fall out. He takes no notice in anything other than her wallet.

Jared examines the content, raising his eyebrows in what looks like pleases surprise. ‘Lot of money for a freak. We’ll be taking it, as compensation for your existence.’

Autumn struggles against the arms holding her as he pockets her months worth of allowance.

‘Don’t look so worried, freak. I’m sure you mom can spread open her legs and earn back what we took.’

The other two guffaw. Autumn feels no more panic, but the rising heat of anger. Her hands shake as they ball into fists.

Jared’s expression morphs into one of horror. His eyes widen and mouth falls open as he wordlessly stares. She at first thinks its the glower on her face, but then notices his eyes look up and left of her.

‘Is that--’

‘Shit, run!’

The three of them bolt away. Autumn slowly turns, and sees the door of the witch’s tower is open. An elderly crone stands in the open doorway, her thin, stringy grey hair blowing in a non-existent breeze. Her back is curved into a hunched posture, but then she straightens herself out to her full height, tightening her shawl around her shoulders as she begins hobbling over to Autumn.

Her legs freeze in place before her mind surges with terror, kicking her muscles back into action. She tears down the street, not stopping until she is safely back inside her home.

Unseen to her, the crone stands watching in the middle of the road, staring out after Autumn. She shoves all of her belongings back into the backpack, then returns back to her house with it.

‘Autumn? Is that you?’ Her mother appears in the porch, and takes in her appearance. ‘What happened to you?’

‘I...fell down.’

'Hmm.' She gently lifts up her chin, scrutinizing her closely.

Autumn dodges eye contact, immensely uncomfortable.

'Put your clothes in the wash. They're filthy.'

'Yes mama. Oh...mama? I--I need more pocket money…'

'Again, Autumn? Where is it all going?'

She shrugs.

'Fine, fine. I'll give it to you before you leave tomorrow.'

Sleep evades Autumn for most of the night. She spends it tossing around in bed, turning over the days events in her head. The boys laughter, their taunts, the old crone watching from her door…

She shivers, burying herself deep under her blankets, and waits for morning to come.

The following day she hurries straight past the house, not even daring so much as a sideways glance.

Forced to use her small shoulder bag, she has to carry most of her belongings in her arms.

Jared slaps her books out of her arms as he passes her in the hall. Autumn waits until they are gone before she retrieves them, her entire head burning with embarrassment as all the other kids look on or even laugh.

Their laughter chases her into the classroom, as the first bell rings.

Halfway through class something small and hard bounces off the back of her head. A tiny balled up piece if paper lies on the ground to her right.

Autumn waits until the teacher isn't watching, then scoops it up and smoothed it out on the desk.

A very unflattering drawing of her bloody severed head mounted on a wall like a hunters trophy.

She twists in her seat to see Jared drawing in his notebook. He grins at her over it, an evil ness to her eyes. She turns back around and tries to focus on the lesson, but all she can feel is his glare.

Autumn waits for them to leave first after school, slowly, painstakingly gathering her belongings and pulling on her coat. Her footsteps are deliberate and slow, letting as much distance as possible between then grow.

Yet, it is still not enough. They wait for her, in the middle of the road. They spot her, nudging each other and starting to march over. Her heart lurches into her throat. She turns, hurrying away.

They start yelling, running. She breaks out into a sprint. One hand grabs her, spinning her around. She swings her hand sound as she does, slapping Jared across the face.

'Cunt!

He smacks her. Autumn sprawls onto the ground with a yell. The sting in her cheek rings tears to her eyes.

One hand grabs her by the hair and pushes her onto her back. Her head smacks against the concrete, the ache pushing the tears down her face. Hands pin her forearms to the ground, as Jared straddles her hips.

'Stop!' She barely cries out through the pain.

'Hold her down.'

'Dude...I don't know about this…'

'Shut up. Just hold her down.'

Autumn tries to break the grip on her, but another set of arms hold her down.

'STOP IT!' Autumn squirms one free, kicking Jared in his stomach.

He doubles over her a grunt, seizing hold of her legs that she kicks out at him again, spreading them apart.

'You're going to regret that, you little bitch!'

A loud banging echoes across the barren streets. The wind picks up, whipping the discarded leaves into autumnal tornadoes.

They release their grip on Autumn, as they face the crooked tower on the end if the street, screaming in terror.

Autumn screams in horror and disgust as Jared's tongue severs itself. It hits the ground with a wet smack. Damon's eyes melt out of their sockets, streaking down his face.

Markus clutches his ears with a strangled cry as blood leaks out if them.

'Speak no evil...see no evil...hear no evil.' The crone cackles as the boys drop dead around her. 'Serves them right. Before I forget, I have your--'

Autumn has already torn down the street, screaming for help, and just from our terror of the horrid she witnessed.

The crone scoffs to herself as she watches her retreat. 'Thats gratitude for you.' She looks at the bodies of the boys and sighs to herself.

#Autumn Darcelle #d&december #writing #my writing #dnd #d&d #writeblr

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yourdreamscenarios · 6 years ago

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When he says something hurtful

∙ Request ♡ ∙ Word count: 3,574

You couldn’t believe he had done this to you. To be honest you couldn’t even wrap your mind around the fact that he would even think about saying something like that during a life interview. It was nothing like him and it surely wasn’t a habit of his to talk about his relationship with you about others, especially not on international television. You wanted to know what had gotten into his mind and what had caused him to think that this would be okay. The entire room had gone silent as everyone’s eyes were glued onto the screen, it was almost as if they were all afraid to say anything. Next to you, Elena even seemed to be holding her breath, as if the sound was enough to make things explode. “Jesus.” Amanda whispered from the furthest spot inside of the room and her make up artist had stopped patted the foundation onto her cheeks and was now staring up at the TV which was hanging in the corner of the room. It seemed as if the interview had gained the attention from everyone who was present, and you couldn’t blame them for being shocked. You were shocked yourself. You didn’t know how you should be feeling right now.

One part of you was just very disappointed, while a deeper part inside of you was starting to get really angry. How dare he say something like that about you. ‘I mean, of course she supports me. She doesn’t agree with every single thing I do and sometimes we fight about stuff. She doesn’t like it that I’m never home, but I guess that’s normal.’ That was exactly what he had said. To say that it was a complete lie would be bullshit, of course you’d rather want him to be home than on the other side of the world or a different continent. But you had never once told him that you didn’t support him. As an idol you knew how important it was if the person you loved stood behind you and had your back, how much it meant if they cheered for your dreams. You had never once made him feel as if you were holding him back. yes, you often told him that you missed him and that you wished he was with you instead of in some hotel far away from you. But you had never begged him to come home, had never accused him of being a bad boyfriend simply because he wasn’t able to celebrate your birthday with you.

And of course you’d been mad at him before because he seemed to forget about your dates somehow, or when he never texted you back even though you’d have something important to tell him. But that was the thing about relationships, they all contained drama in their own special ways, the only difference was the two of you fought about things people with normal jobs might not fight about. you didn’t argue about money or laundry or the one who never cleaned up their shit behind themselves. You didn’t fight about the other standing too close to another man or woman or about who’s turn it was to empty the dishwasher. Those things simply didn’t fit into your lives. No, you two fought about the who was the busiest one and why there was always one of you who had to work on the they the other one was off. The two of you argued about not having sex often enough and not being able to see each other. But through out all those years you had never once told him that you didn’t agree with what he did or what he loved. You’d always been his number one fan and the only reasons why you spoke up to him sometimes was because you were worried about him. He pushed himself too often, ignored the condition of his body and just crashed over the line.

But when you told him to slow down he wouldn’t listen. Yes, the two of you argued, but what he saying right now was not fair. At the start of all of this the two of you had promised each other that you would not let other people in on your relationship and you wouldn’t reveal questions too personal which were asked during interviews. It was one thing that he broke that rule, but the fact that he was talking about you as if you were the not so supportive girlfriend who whined at him during her free time made all of this even worse. “I’m not holding him back! I’m trying to encourage him, but I want just don’t want him to cross his own limits. Is that such a weird thing?” You said, and you noticed that your voice was way too loud to fit inside of this small dressing room. Next to you Amber shot you a worried glance, but the girls all nodded never the less. The staff quickly darted their eyes away from you, knowing it was impolite to stare at you they way they had been doing for the past few minutes. A hand settled itself on your shoulder and gave it a soft squeeze. When looking up you spotted Jessica standing behind you, giving you a motherly smile. That was what they always did when you were upset, because they were the older ones and you were the youngest one, you were the one who had to be taken care of.

“Of course we know that. We’ve seen the two of you together for so long, we know you’ve got his back. I have no idea why he would say something like this.” Jessica convinced you and you realized as she said that that you didn’t know either. Why would he go around telling people that you didn’t support him. Your fans probably all knew that the two of you fought behind the scenes, fights were present in every healthy relationship. But to have their favorite idol say it in real life, that wasn’t what they wanted to hear. Some of them wanted to keep living in the fantasy that everything was always perfect between the two of you. And then of course there were the ones who had never liked you in the first place, and who now had another reason they could add to their list to hate you even more. As if on cue your phone started buzzing on the make up table in front of you and you looked down upon it, but somehow you weren’t sure if you wanted to see hat it had to show you. It wasn’t promising to be much good. When you’d walked in here earlier today you had actually believed that today was going to be a good day, but it seemed like you had been terribly wrong.

“There’s probably a good explanation for all of this. You just need to talk to Jungkook, I’m sure he didn’t mean it the way he makes it sound.” Samantha tried, and everyone knew that she had alway been the most positive one out of all of you. But at this moment you weren’t even sure if you wanted to talk to Jungkook in the first place. Your phone buzzed again, and you were no longer able to contain your curiosity. For one reason or another you found yourself hoping that it was Jungkook, apologizing for what he had said after he’d seen the interview being replayed himself. That he had replied that he’d been an idiot and that he’d never meant anything of it, that he would take back his words if he could. But to your disappointment it was not your boyfriend. Instead it were notifications of your social media, and you could see that the number of comments had already increased to one hundred and two. The interview had only been out in the open for two minutes and people were already crashing into you. The rational part of your brain told you to ignore it, that it was an extremely bad idea to read those comments. You probably didn’t want to know what was in them because you could predict they wouldn’t have anything good to say.

At the beginning of your career you had been terrible at ignoring these comments and you’d actually had to see a professional to help you get over it. You’d never been the kind of person who’d liked to be in the centre of attention, you had always been the kind of girl who’d just wanted for people to like you and go on with their lives. But after you’d become an idol, everyone suddenly had some kind of opinion about you, and ever since there were a lot of people who didn’t like you. They would always have something to say, about everything you did or said, every single outfit you wore or every single guy you dated. People could be very mean towards those they couldn’t stand, you’d learned that the hard way. Some of them just posted mean things on your social media accounts, but others pushed even further and it wouldn’t be the first time nor the last time you’d gotten dead threats. It had been something you were supposed to get used to, but you hadn’t been able to accept it. And so you’d decided you should talk to someone about it, someone who didn’t judge you for who you were and what you did. It had been the only way you’d been able to put yourself past it. For the past few years you’d actually been able to handle it.

You had simply tried to ignore the things others had to say, knowing that you shouldn’t be believing anything they said. They didn’t know you after all, and they couldn’t judge someone they didn’t know, not truly. But somehow you couldn’t manage to ignore the notifications on your phone this time around. You just had to look. And so you pressed your finger against the button in the middle of the device, watching the way it unlocked itself and the page of your Instagram account opened itself automatically. The words you saw caused your stomach to turn upside down. You couldn’t actually feel bile gathering in the back of your throat as the color drained from your face. It seemed like Elena immediately noticed something was wrong, because she quickly appeared by your side. “______________, what’s wrong?” She asked, but you weren’t even able to answer her as you pushed your phone inside of your head before dashing out of your seat. You couldn’t remember the last time you’d run so fast as you speeded out of the room, rushing towards the bathroom. Somehow you managed to reach the toilet just in time before the content of your stomach made its way back up. You felt disgusted as you felt the muscles of your stomach contract until the last bit of your breakfast had come out.

It took only a few seconds before you could hear several sets of footsteps behind you. And shortly after someone started gathering your hair away from your face, holding it behind your head in some sort of ponytail. Another hand patted your back reassuringly, while you could hear concerned whispered coming from somewhere behind you. “We’ll fix this ______________, we’re not going to let those people get away with this. You’re going to be alright.” Amanda said convincingly, trying to do her job as a leader as well as she could. During other times that might have helped, but somehow you couldn’t get rid of that image you had seen on your screen and you were afraid you would never be able to forget again. This was what happened when you kicked your hates against the chins. They would fight back, and they wouldn’t even care about the actual story. You knew that it wouldn’t end here, there was much more to come and they wouldn’t leave you alone. They thought that you were trying to ruin Jungkook’s career, they were convinced you were trying to steal them from him and that you were being a terrible girlfriend to him.

The only thing they’d heard about Jungkook’s word in that interview was that you never had his back, that you tried to stop him from chasing his dreams, and now they were planning to make you pay for it. You couldn’t even find the tears you needed to cry. All of a sudden your stage outfit felt much too tight, the fabric suffocating you and sticking against your skin. You didn’t have the room to breath, there was no oxygen left inside of this small bathroom. “It’s okay ______________, calm down sweetie.” Amanda muttered, patting your hair softly, but her voice was almost unrecognizable. The only thing you managed to hear were Jungkook’s words, replaying over and over again inside of your head, as if your mind had recorder them and put them on tape. You could see the image burned onto your eyelids, you could still read the comments underneath them. The last thing you heard were the astonished gasps and squeals when everything turned blank around you and you fainted on the cold bathroom tiles.

You couldn’t remember the last time you’d had such a terrible headache. And the taste inside of your mouth, something metallic, like copper, was absolutely horrible. It was as if you were covered by a heavy and woolen blanket, pressing you down. No matter how hard you tried to move, you just couldn’t seem to do it. “I never meant for this to happen. I don’t even know why I said that, it slipped out before I even realized it.” The voice sounded apologetic and guilty, and somehow your subconsciousness thought he deserved it. The headache transformed into a thumping sensation, and it was starting to irritate you as the conversation continued. “Well, it doesn’t matter now. You shouldn’t apologize to us, you should apologize to her. And in the mean time we should figure out a way to fix all of this. We need to fill in a report against the people who posted this on her page, it’s sickening. Who would do something like that, it’s insane.” The first voice didn’t really seem to have an answer to that and it remained silent around you. Yet, the longer you stayed down the worse you felt, until at a certain point you felt as if you couldn’t handle it anymore.

You fought off the blanket causing a soft groan to escape from your lips as your eyes fluttered open. The lights inside of the room were dimmed and you were grateful for that. Somehow you got the feeling as if it would have been true torture if they’d been shining down into your eyes. “Hey, take it easy.” Someone sat down on the edge of the couch next to you as you tried to push yourself up to check your surroundings. It didn’t take very long for you to figure out that it was Jungkook who had settled himself beside you, putting a comforting hand on top of your arm. You couldn’t help yourself when you brushed him off and he couldn’t seem to help the upset look that traveled onto his face. “What are you doing here?” You spat, sounding much ruder than you had thought you would but you noticed you didn’t mind, he deserved it. Even though it felt as if someone was playing a bowling game inside of your mind, you perfectly remembered what had happened. Your boyfriend opened his mouth to say something, but closed it again as no sound seemed to come out. In the back of the room you could see the way Amanda was forcing everyone outside so the two of you could continue this conversation in privet.

As soon as the door closed behind the last person a heavy and icy silence fell over the two of you. And while Jungkook was searching for the right words to apologize, you had already found the words you wanted to yell at him. “How could you say that! What the hell is wrong with you?!” You wheezed, forcing your way past him as you placed your feet onto the floor. You couldn’t stand laying here now that there was so much adrenaline rushing through your veins. You were furious and embarrassed, you couldn’t believe you had lost the grip you held over yourself like this. Pushing yourself up from the sofa you felt yourself swinging on top of your legs, and Jungkook was fast to react as he shot upright beside you, steadying you by placing a hand underneath your elbow. You quickly tugged your arm away from him. “I didn’t mean in like that, you know I didn’t.” He started, saying the same thing he had told Amanda earlier, but you weren’t as naive to actually believe him. Glaring at him you wondered if it was capable for someone to faint twice in a day. “We promised each other we wouldn’t answer those kind of questions! Did you even see what they did?” The tone inside of your voice got higher, and it seemed as if someone was pinching your throat as you thought back about that picture of yourself, beheaded and your head on a stake. It wasn’t him who had been threatened in such way.

People had found it funny, and they’d all agreed that was the kind of fate you deserved. “I’m not going to let them get away with this ______________. They can’t…” Jungkook continued, but you didn’t even let him finish. You couldn’t remember the last time you’d been this angry with him. you couldn’t remember the last time you’d been this scared. What if someone actually decided to do that to you? “None of this would have happened if you hadn’t said anything in the first place!” You roared, feeling the way tears overflowed your eyes and dripped down your cheeks. The sound of your sob filled the room and it came from somewhere so deep inside of you it barely fit through your throat. Jungkook’s face fell as he watched you cry and once again he tried his best to make his way over to you. Shaking your head furiously you extended your hand, wordlessly telling him to back off, but that idiot didn’t listen. Instead he walked up to you, so fast that you didn’t even have the time to back away as he suddenly showed up right in front of you. You pressed your hand against his chest as he snaked his arm around your waist, trying to push him off.

But you had always known he was much stronger than you, though that didn’t mean that you never tried to beat him. Somehow you ended up smashing your fists against his chest, softly at first, as a sign for him to get his hands off of you, but in the end force added to your blows until you were convinced they had to hurt him, even though his face didn’t show it. “I hate you! I hate you!” You sobbed, as your hands continued to collide with his collarbones. He allowed you to hit him one more time before all of a sudden his hands enclosed around your wrists and he prevented you from punching him. Your fight didn’t stop there as you gathered your last bit of strength to tug your arms away from him, but they wouldn’t even budge. Before you knew it he’d drawn you against his chest, his strong arms wrapping around your back and shoulders in a strong cage, your head hiding against his sweater. “I’m so sorry, I’m sorry. Don’t cry. It’s going to be okay. Please, don’t cry.” He muttered inside of your hair, his voice hoarse as he tightened his hold around you. Yet, no matter how many times he asked you not to cry, you simply couldn’t help yourself. The gates had opened and you couldn’t stop the flow of tears that seemed to appear from behind it.

You cried until your throat felt raw and your limbs were weak. Until every bit of energy drained from you and you no longer had the power to cry. And even though that seemed to take a very long time, he didn’t once loosen his hold on you, and he never stopped whispering those soft words into your ear. You hadn’t noticed how much you needed him until he was here. You hit your arms around him, cherishing his embrace. Even though he had fucked up, he was still the only one who was able to make you feel better, and who was able to make you believe that this terrible world wasn’t going to swallow you. When your sobs finally died down and you were barely able to stand on your feet he guided you back towards the couch, settling you down as he crouched down in front of you, your hands strongly in his. “I’m going to fix this, I promise.” He said, his thumbs brushing circles on top of your knuckles. And somehow you believed him. You sighed deeply as you nodded your head and this time you didn’t try to pull your hands away from him. “I love you, alright?” He muttered, causing a small smile to appear onto your face.

∙ BTS Masterlist ♡ ∙ Masterlist ♡

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magic-and-moonlit-wings · 6 years ago

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Chapter 34: Making Arguments

This didn’t get posted last week because it didn’t match the theme of my April Fools’ Day prank. Thank you for your patience!

Content warning for this chapter: the ‘farming humans as food’ concept is discussed and Changeling!Jim doesn’t quite get why the humans are horrified.

Becoming The Mask

Nomura had successfully avoided Barbara for the entire class. She hadn't been partnered with her, or even made eye contact. Now she just had to get to her car and she would be in the clear for another week.

"Zelda!"

Curse how the human had longer legs than Nomura did in this form!

"Can I talk to you?"

"Can I stop you?"

Jim leapt over a spinning blade as it erupted from the floor, and used it as a shield from the fire jets, giving him a moment to catch his breath before the floor began to tilt and he had to run again.

He was surprised to realize he'd missed training in the Hero's Forge during his week away from Trollmarket. The Forge was like a friendly rival. It didn't actively wish him harm, not having a conscious mind, but it would utterly crush him if he didn't put his all into one-upping it.

He put on an extra burst of speed to cross the path of a pendulum-axe … but not fast enough to compensate for the tilting floor. The axe clipped his calf. Jim cried out and fell on his stomach.

Barely, he grabbed a floor groove and pulled himself up and forward, so his legs were out of the axe's path on the backswing. Jim climbed to the top edge of the floor section he clung to, and slid down it to the Forge's centre.

"Master Jim!"

The arena rumbled. The training equipment returned to starting positions. Toby and Darci weren't standing alone – Claire and Mary had rejoined them, and Blinky and AAARRRGGHH were at the Forge's controls.

Jim stretched his arms and flexed his hands as he walked over. He should start doing chin-ups or handstands or something. Despite Coach Lawrence's rope drills, Jim wasn't used to suddenly having his full body weight on his hands. If you did the rope drill right, a lot of your body weight was on your legs.

"You're limping," said Blinky. "Let me see your leg."

"I don't think it's cut, I think it's just bruised from impact force."

Jim vanished the armour from the knee down on his aching leg. Blinky practically pulled it out from under Jim. Jim reeled forward and AAARRRGGHH caught him.

"Also, I'm pretty sure this is a yoga pose." Jim stuck out his arms like he was playing airplane. Toby snickered.

"You are correct that your leg isn't cut." Blinky poked and prodded at Jim's calf muscle. "Hard to tell just what condition it's in, through this material, but it doesn't seem severe enough to require that you disrobe for a more thorough examination.”

Blinky released Jim's leg and AAARRRGGHH tipped him back upright, giving Jim a gentle one-fingered tap on the top of his head as though to make sure he was properly balanced.

(Jim held down an impulse to rub his forehead against AAARRRGGHH's hand. That would be … weird. Like hugging Mr Strickler in public.)

"I thought the armour was an all-or-nothing deal," said Darci.

"No, it adjusts. I've been experimenting." Jim reconjured his leg armour and closed the helmet's faceplate. "Amazingly, I can see through this."

Reluctantly, Nomura let herself be dragged off to a coffee shop. She picked at a scone while Barbara poured out her problems, clumsily avoiding any direct mention of trolls or Changelings.

"I feel like I'm seeing things more clearly now, after talking with Walt. He explained a lot about … mmm, cultural differences. History. What I might expect from Jim, going forward. But I don't want to just base all my judgement on one source, so I wanted to talk to you, as well …"

"As fascinating as the Amulet's properties are, we have other matters to discuss. Claire has updated AAARRRGGHH and myself on certain … recent developments."

"She spilled the beans on Not Enrique," said Mary. Jim glared.

"His name is Enrique until he says otherwise. More than one person can have the same name."

Claire made a noise not unlike a growl. "He already took my brother's life, he doesn't get to keep his name, too!"

"Claire, what the heck?" said Darci. "This was not the plan!"

"Plan?" repeated AAARRRGGHH.

"We were gonna play it cool and encourage Jimbo to bring the Changeling thing up," explained Toby, "so we'd know he really had told you, like he said, and you guys weren't going to arrest him or something for it."

Blinky, standing between the rest of the group and the Forge's main entrance, stretched out his lower arms like a barrier, patting the air in a quick 'keep it down' gesture with his upper hands.

"Trollmarket at large has not been informed. It would be in Master Jim's best interests for it to stay that way." He frowned at Jim. "You arranged for Claire's younger brother to be replaced?"

"Don't sound so disappointed. This was months ago, back when I still worked for Gunmar. You hadn't even met Claire yet. Also, technically all I did was make a suggestion. I don't actually have the authority to decide who gets swapped."

"Oh – question!" Darci half-raised her hand. "If we weren't friends yet, why did you, you know … 'suggest' Enrique, specifically?"

"Mrs Nuñez is active in local politics and it's always useful to have an eye on the inside." Jim grimaced. "Sorry, that's the, ah, Changeling reason, I guess. We might not've been friends, but," he gave Claire a hopeful look, "we were at least friendly. We've done projects together, we got along. You talked about your brother so much, I thought you'd be happy he was off the menu when the Gumm-Gumms invaded and ate everyone."

"How would I possibly have known that?" She had backed up to the weapons rack but not reached for anything yet.

"Okay, that part I didn't really start thinking about until after we were friends," Jim admitted. "I had a few arguments prepped for how you'd be more useful kept alive, too, but I didn't get a chance to present them before I changed sides, so that's not relevant anymore."

"What arguments?" asked Mary.

Jim froze. He'd been exaggerating – he'd really only come up with one argument.

"I thought you guys could be … useful … for something I found out wasn't going to happen anyways. So it doesn't matter."

AAARRRGGHH must've caught on, because he stepped back, looking stricken.

"You can't just say something like that and expect us to drop it," said Claire. She had her hands on a spear now. Her back was to it, and her grip was more like she was holding a guardrail than clutching a weapon. That could change quickly.

"Well, it turns out Gunmar's primary goal is to permanently blot out the sun, which is self-defeating because then all the surface life the Gumm-Gumms want to be free to hunt is going to die off, so farming humans wouldn't work out, and –"

Jim hoped to jabber out some long string of something to bury 'farming humans' in the middle of a ramble. He didn't speak fast enough. They all gasped.

"You thought," said Claire, "I'd be grateful, that you stole my baby brother, so he wouldn't get eaten by trolls, and were keeping me alive, to have more babies, who would get eaten by trolls?"

In the interests of sustaining a genetically diverse breeding stock, they probably wouldn't all get eaten, Jim had the sense not to say.

"That," said Darci, "is literally one of the most horrific scenarios I could possibly think of."

Mary looked green. Toby was shaking his head, an expression of disgust growing on his face.

"I know I'll regret asking this but I'm not gonna be able to stop thinking about it if I don't," said Toby. He swallowed. "What about your mom?"

"All these years of secrets and sneaking around, and I want to believe he means well, and I want to understand where he's coming from, but I still get so angry thinking about it …" Barbara stirred her coffee with a biscotti. It had been in her drink for so long it was probably mush below the waterline. "What do you think I should do?"

"… Personally? I think you should let Jim come home, and go about your life pretending you never found out about any of this."

Really, what was the woman expecting from her? Nomura didn't remember volunteering to be the human's confidante.

Barbara sighed heavily and got up.

"Well, thanks for letting me vent."

"Mom's a doctor. She'd be totally useful alive."

"That's … that's messed up, dude. What made you think she'd even go along with that? I mean, what's to stop her just mercy-killing everyone?"

"Bribery," said Jim simply. "I'd go back to living as a troll full-time, and Mom could have Jay-Jay back to reward her compliance and as a hostage for future good behaviour. Which would also extend her life, because if she taught Jay-Jay medicine apprentice-style, then once she got too old to practice, he could take over, but she'd still be kept alive as his reward-slash-hostage."

"I am incredibly creeped out by how proud you sound of that plan."

"Well, I know now that it wouldn't have worked out," said Jim defensively, "but it felt totally reasonable when I came up with it." Back when he'd thought Gunmar had considered the practical concerns of running the world after taking over.

There was a rumbling noise. The Soothscryer rose and glowed.

Because of course the Ghost Council couldn't have called him in three minutes ago and let him avoid most of that conversation.

The last thing Blinky said to Jim, before Jim went into the Void, was, "This conversation is not over."

The first thing Kanjigar said to Jim, the second time Jim was in the Void, was, "I did not say that."

"Didn't say what?" Jim rubbed his head. The abrupt shift in location and topic of discussion left him with whiplash.

A vision floated in the air beside them, of Jim talking to Draal after the Trollhunter's first summoning by the Soothscryer. In the vision, Jim was claiming Kanjigar had instructed him to tell Draal that Kanjigar loved and was proud of his son, and how sorry he was for pushing Draal away.

"I did not say that," said Kanjigar sternly.

"Yeah, well, you should have. Because maybe if you'd said that to Draal while you were still alive, he wouldn't have been so damn desperate to inherit the stupid death-sentence amulet, because he'd know you valued him just as much as you valued being the Trollhunter. Forgive me for trying to give your son closure after he found out I could go chat with his dad's ghost and he wasn't invited."

"I wanted to keep Draal as far away from the amulet as possible! You have only encouraged him to endanger himself!"

"By refusing to sideline a skilled and powerful warrior for sentimental reasons?"

"You dragged my son into your fight with Bular –"

"I don't know what fight you were watching, but I did not drag Draal anywhere. He had at least two chances to run after the fight started."

"And thanks to Draal, Bular is dead." The eyes of the past Trollhunters' bodies sometimes lit up when they spoke. Deya the Deliverer, on the highest pedestal in the Forge, had her eyes glowing. "The Changelings have a point about the efficiency of fighting with backup."

"Thank you." Jim nodded to her.

"This is not why we called you here," said another Trollhunter; one who looked like Kanjigar, but had died in a fighting stance, sword in hand.

"We told you before;" this speaker had long, wavy horns that stuck out to the side, like Vendel's; "if you wish to protect your human friends, you will need to kill Bular, and Gunmar."

The wispy lights began circling Jim.

"You have defeated the son, but not the father."

"But there's no way to kill Gunmar."

"He's invincible."

"No, he's not!"

"So far as we know," the previous voice clarified.

"What do you know?"

"He may have started a cult around himself, but he's not a god," said Jim fiercely – and blasphemously, having being raised in that cult. "And besides, tons of myths involve gods being killed."

"Legend has it that Merlin found a way," said Deya. "If he did, he never told his Champions. I suggest you talk to your mentors."

Barbara knocked on the door to the Domzalski house. After a minute, she tried the doorbell. She hoped Nancy was home, and had her hearing aids on.

A cat came out as soon as the door opened wide enough. It wound itself around Barbara's ankles.

"Barbara, dear!" said Nancy warmly. "What a nice surprise."

"Hi, Nancy. Can we talk?"

"Of course. Come in. Is this about how Jimmy's been staying here for the past week? I was starting to wonder if you were out of town and I'd forgotten."

Previous Chapter (Claire tells Blinky she knows Jim’s a Changeling)

Table of Contents

Next Chapter (Jim and Strickler find out the human kids know Strickler’s a Changeling)

#Changeling Jim #Tales of Arcadia #Trollhunters #Becoming The Mask chapters #fanfiction #Monday is fanfic day!#Claire Nuñez #Tobias Domzalski #Darci Scott #Mary Wang #Blinkous Galadrigal #AAARRRGGHH #Kanjigar #Deya the Deliverer #Dr Barbara Lake #Nomura #Nana Nancy Domzalski #My Fanfiction

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readyplayerhobi · 6 years ago

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Little Drummer Boy

; Metal Band!Hoseok x Reader

; Genre: Smut, fluff

; Word Count: 6.8k

; Warnings: Sub!Hoseok, Dom!Reader, blowjob, face sitting oral (receiving), light biting, restraints, unprotected sex, creampie,

; Synopsis: Entrusting the task of building a bed to your new husband should have been easier, but there’s a reason he’s a professional drummer and not a carpenter. Maybe a little fun will encourage him to remember to follow instructions in the future.

; Behind the Mask Masterpost

; A/N: This was my way of getting over writer’s block. It’s fluffy smut that I just needed to cheer me up, and hopefully cheer everyone else up too!

Placing your hands on your hips, you looked over the wooden bookcase that you’d finally finished building. DIY was not your forte but you’d been determined to not be defeated by a damned bookcase, which was why you’d spent the last hour carefully studying the instructions and putting it together slowly.

It may have taken you a while, but it looked good and it was sturdy. Smiling to yourself in pleasure at having completed it, you dragged over the box marked ‘BOOKS’ and began to place them on the shelves carefully. You had no particular system of ordering, just making sure that books by the same author were placed together. The only thing you required was that the sizing looked okay.

Nothing was more annoying than having a really tall book in the middle of everything, ruining the image. Once the books were in place, you contemplate for a few moments what kind of decorations you can add to make it look a little bit more homely. One of Hoseok’s bandmates had bought you both a light box that had been made to look like a traditional cinema sign.

Though packed away, you knew that it said both of your names and you figured it would look pretty cute on here. You’d add it, but you weren’t entirely sure what box it was in yet. Eyes glancing around the room, you let out a deep sigh as you noted all the full boxes that still remained around your new house.

Your rigid and unforgiving family had meant that you’d lived alone for the four years that you’d dated Hoseok. Secretly dated. Though he’d basically lived at your apartment by the time he’d proposed, but the two of you had decided that you’d buy a new house together. A house that was big enough to raise a family in.

Opening up the box that was simply titled ‘MEMORIES’, you pulled out the large, black picture frame that was made up of lots of smaller frames. Each one was filled with a photograph of Hoseok and you, from selfies that included big smiles to candid photos taken by your friends of intimate moments.

Scanning the main room with a firm eye, you note the perfect place for it and rest it against the wall on the floor. You’d need to buy hooks to start putting up the picture frames but for now, you’d just put them in places that you think might work. Hoseok might have a different opinion but he was free to give his thoughts.

Pulling out a single photo frame, you stare down at it before chewing your lip slowly. It’s of you and your brother, Jimin, on the night of your engagement party. His black hair is parted just off centre and styled away from his forehead while a black and white letterman style jacket adorns his torso, a plain black shirt underneath matching the skinny black jeans he’d worn.

The entire image he gave off was casual but unattainable. His jacket looked like something anyone could wear, but it’s only when you looked closer that you would notice the Louis Vuitton logo that immediately put it far above what most people could afford. Your brother made style effortless and it made him popular with the ladies.

He looked every inch the playboy businessman he was, but it still made your throat thicken when you looked at the image. Your brother had supported your relationship with Hoseok 100%, keeping your parents attention firmly away from you and coming up with a million excuses as to why you weren’t at a dinner, or why you didn’t want to go on holiday. He’d been the number one supporter of Hoseok proposing and had apparently been the one to convince him to finally pop the question.

Poor Hoseok had wanted to for a year, but he’d never even bought a ring as he’d thought it was a pointless and futile endeavour. There was no way your parents would ever approve of marriage to him; they wouldn’t have even approved of you dating. The terror of your parents had manifested itself in Hoseok to the point that every time you went to tell them about your relationship, he’d panicked and stopped you. A secret relationship was better than no relationship, he’d argued.

It had broken your heart to know that your sweet and kind husband had been content with the idea of remaining a secret from his other half’s family, possibly forever. He must have let it slip to Jimin though, which had resulted in Jimin convincing Hoseok to give it a chance. You had no idea what he’d said, but you suspected it was something along the lines of ‘you love my sister, not my family. We don’t even love our family’, or at least that’s what you imagined.

Unsurprisingly, your parents had gone nuclear when they’d been introduced to Hoseok. You still cried today about the things they’d said to him, finding everything possible to pick apart about him. His piercings and tattoos had produced a physical reaction of disgust, despite the fact he’d dressed nice for the occasion.

The fact that he was rich, very rich, and successful with his band didn’t even register to them. They’d focused on his poor upbringing, the poverty he’d grown up in and the dangerous school he’d been educated in. They’d sneered at the fact he’d dropped out of high school to join the band, drums being his one escape from his life that a kindly music teacher had encouraged him in.

Everything that they could have skewered Hoseok with, they did until eventually you had a full on screaming match with them. Your father and mother were used to being obeyed though and they’d thought that you would eventually back down, as you always had. But they’d underestimated just how much you loved the man who had sat there and taken their verbal abuse without so much as a flinch, all because he loved you.

And so you’d refused to break the proposal and refused point blank to leave him either. That had enraged them and led to you becoming disowned from the family, cut off from any funding and banned from any family events. They’d tried their hardest to enforce it on Jimin, but he’d quite plainly told them they either let him continue his relationship with you, or they could disown him as well. And he was more important than you to the family.

The harsh severing of your family ties had upset Hoseok intensely, leading to him suggesting that perhaps you might want to leave him. Family was important to him, with his band members being his adopted family that he relied and depended on intensely. But you’d simply noted that he was your family now, and one day you’d have a family that you would both love without reservations. It just so happened the people who had given you life didn’t want to be part of that.

Running a finger along Jimin’s face, you give a soft smile that wobbles ever so slightly. Jimin was the only blood family you would claim now, and you wished him to have the happiest life possible. He was the one who had walked you down the aisle and the one who had cried like a baby giving his speech at your reception.

And he was the one who had given Hoseok courage to do things he’d been terrified of, becoming your husband’s brother just as much as your own. Placing the frame on the bookcase you’d built earlier, you vowed to call him over to show him your new home as soon as possible.

Realising that you’d been putting the frames out in complete silence, you frown slightly before heading over to the bedroom. The door was shut, but you open it quietly before leaning against the frame, tongue in your cheek as you watch the spectacle in front of you.

Your new husband is sat on the floor, his ripped black jeans stretching over his muscular thighs while his plain white shirt makes the colourful tattoos rippling along his arms and neck stand out even further. His black hair is a complete mess on his head, and his hand running through it once more lets you know why.

Watching in silence, you smirk slightly as he sucks on of his lip rings into his mouth idly, the soft clinking of the metal ring against his teeth the only noise in the otherwise silent room. His brow is creased as he reads the instructions on the sheet in front of him, mouth twisting into a confused expression before he looks back at the bed he’d said he’d build.

You’d both opted to fill the large master bedroom with a queen sized bed, allowing the two of you plenty of space to sprawl without interrupting the other. As great as relationships were, sometimes sleep just required you to have your own space without getting tangled in someone else.

He’d taken charge of building the bed while you had opted for the bookcase, though maybe you should have let him build the bookcase instead. Or maybe nothing at all as you look over what is apparently supposed to be a bed. It was a four poster bed which required piecing together carefully, and it was with lots of bemusement and a little frustration that you note that your husband has managed to put half the bed together one way and the other half the other way.

How he’d managed that, you’ll never know.

The shifting of your feet catches his attention and he looks over suddenly, eyes wide like a deer caught in headlights. Said eyes flicker back to the deformed bed before he looks back over, a sweet and innocent smile causing his cute dimples to appear.

“Hi.” He says simply, fingers tightening slightly around the instructions while a dusky rose brushes his cheeks. Stepping into the room, you let the door close behind you before crouching down next to him and simply observing the bed.

“I thought you said that you could put it together?” You ask, tone carefully neutral. He reluctantly looks at the bed too and gives a tiny shrug, his shoulders rising slightly in embarrassment. Lifting the instructions he waves them and the crackling of paper takes over.

“I totally could. It’s just...these instructions make no sense.” He mumbles towards the end, sucking a lip ring in again as he nervously chews it. Pressing your lips together to try and stop the smile that wants to spread, you reach forward and gently tug the lip ring back out.

“You always eat that ring when you lie baby. You didn’t read the instructions did you?” Hoseok’s mouth opens to refute your statement before he realises that you obviously know. Letting out a deep sigh, his shoulders lower as he nods, pretty pink lips puckering into a pout.

Laughing quietly, you lean forward and press the quickest kiss to those lips before leaning back. “I told you to read them. I read my instructions and the bookcase is done.” He fumbles for a moment, trying to figure out what to say before giving you a dejected look.

“I thought it would be easy.” The corners of his lips turn down before he suddenly brightens up, his expression getting light and happy as he points at the queen sized mattress taking up the corner, covered in the duvet and pillows you’d bought to combat the cool nights of autumn.

“I put the covers on the duvet though! They’re pretty…” He trails off, gaze looking down before he looks up at you through his lashes. “Like you.” You laugh out loud at that, noting the neutral flower pattern that you’d both chosen at the home decoration store.

“You’re such a charmer. That mouth will get you anything won’t it?” You grin, dropping to your knees and pressing another kiss to his forehead. When you pull back, you note that his eyes have closed in contentment while a tiny smile graces his face.

“You’ve never complained about this mouth before.” He whispers, voice low and raspy as he opens his eyes to reveal them slightly glazed. A tiny smirk raises the corner of his mouth before he’s tugging you into his lap, wrapping his arms tightly around your waist and rocking slightly as you squeal and laugh.

Stopping, you simply admire his face for a few moments while he does the same in turn to you. The septum piercing that had sent your mother into fits combines with the two lip rings to always give the impression that this is a man who likes the wilder side of life. A few of your friends wonder why on earth he would choose to interrupt such an arresting face, but you liked his piercings.

They turned a sculpture perfect face into something more realistic, intentionally interrupting the model worthy lines that swoop and swerve to produce the face you’d fallen for years ago. Running your fingers through his soft hair, you let your nails gently drag along his scalp and take enjoyment out of the soft shudder of pleasure that runs through his body.

Your other hand comes up to play with his earrings, the black plugs that take up space in his ear lobes, the industrial piercing in his left ear and the countless rings that scatter across his right ear. You’d teased him plenty of times for being addicted to piercings as well as tattoos, particularly when he decided to get his lip rings but he’d simply shrugged.

“I thought you wanted me to build the bed.” A gravel like tone makes your insides quiver and the heady look in his eyes has you squirming slightly. Despite his words, his hands are slowly running the length of your waist in slow and calculated movements.

Looking back at the bed you’d have to dismantle, you shrug before looking over to the mattress on the floor. “We don’t need a bed, just a mattress.” Tugging your lip into your mouth, his eyes watch the movement intently and you feel his hands tighten ever so slightly. Reaching down, you take his left hand and slowly bring it to your lips, pressing feather soft kisses on the pad of his fingers.

When you kiss his ring finger, you go one step further by slowly sucking it into your mouth, pressing your tongue firmly against him until your lips meet his new wedding ring. He watches with an open mouth, the softest groan leaving him at the sight while his eyes go hooded as you swirl your tongue around his ring.

Pulling his finger out slowly, you press the final kiss to his pinkie finger before leaning forward to meet his lips. He’s eager and you feel more than a few wisps of neediness as his tongue meets yours, fighting for dominance until you’re both gasping for breath. Normally you’d give him it, preferring to let him control the sex and rule over you.

But today you feel like turning the tables and it takes so little effort to tug at the silky strands of his hair. He lets out a quiet noise of annoyance at not getting way until your tugging becomes firmer, gripping tight and pulling until his head slowly rolls backwards.

You don’t move though and the seal of your lips breaks, leaving you both panting at each other as he looks up at you with defiance and lust. The thick column of his throat moves as he swallows, the angle causing it to be more defined than normal and you let out a muted moan at the sight of his Adam’s apple bobbing.

The vibrant splashes of colour that line his throat are even more visible at this angle, easily seen from above the low cut of his collar. Vivid red roses clash with yellow sunflowers, tiny little skulls visible in the gaps inbetween and without a thought you’re mouthing along them. His body stiffens and you feel him trying to pull his head back, but the firm grip you have on him stops him.

The tattoos provide the perfect canvas to trail and you slowly run your tongue along the bold black outlines. He shudders and a deep groan vibrates through his throat onto your tongue, the vibrations acting like a direct line to your pussy as you clench around nothing.

“Baby, we don’t have any of our toys.” He manages to get out and you pull away, looking down at his flushed face. Smirking, you close in on him and watch his wide pupils blow out at the look in your face. Your tongue lazily plays with his lip ring, causing him to open his mouth slightly and let you see a glimpse the tongue piercing he’d gotten a few months before your wedding.

“I don’t want to be your little bitch today. You messed up the bed, so I think it’s time for my little drummer boy to shut up and let Mistress have some fun, yeah?” He fights it for a moment, a whole myriad of emotions fleeting across his face quickly from annoyance to craving.

Your sexual relationship with Hoseok had nearly always been with him in the driving seat. Under his caring and experienced hands, you’d reached new heights of pleasure that you’d only read about in books or seen in films. It had taken you over a year before you finally realised that Hoseok was not, in fact, a sole dom but that he also enjoyed switching into submissive on occasion.

It was usually when he felt like it though and you rarely engaged in it, preferring to have your Master take care of you. But sometimes, like today, the Mistress just came right out with a need to bring him under control.

You watch with eager eyes as his expression finally flattens out, deep brown eyes watching you carefully as every muscle in his body relaxes under you. His next words have your body shuddering with excitement and pleasure, hearing something you never thought you’d be interested in but had learnt to love. “Yes Mistress. I’ll be a good boy.”

A caring smile paints itself on your face and you let go of his hair lightly, gently running your hand along his jaw while your thumb strokes his cheek. Pushing off him, you stand and point to the mattress. “Strip and lay down. And do it slowly, I want to enjoy it.”

He stays still for a moment before his pink tongue flicks out, licking his lips quickly. Moving over to the mattress with long, confident strides, he turns around and gives a slight smirk. Gripping the hem of his shirt, he slowly lifts it before tugging it over his head, leaving him standing in just ripped black jeans.

There’s absolutely no sound between the two of you as he watches, his eyes daring you to do something and you note that he has no intention of being a good boy. He never did when you took control. His fingers slowly move down his torso before reaching the button of his jeans and he moves achingly slow as he undoes them.

Keeping his eyes firmly on you, he lets the jeans slowly drop down his legs, revealing incredibly toned thighs and calves, the golden skin occasionally broken by the odd smattering of colour. With a casual movement, he throws both items of clothing to the side and stands before you naked, his semi-hard cock bobbing slightly in the air.

“I get the feeling you’re not being a good boy,” You murmur, tugging your clothes off quickly to make sure he doesn’t get the pleasure of seeing you strip for him. It doesn’t stop the flare of desire that lights up in his eyes though but he stays quiet.

Once you’re naked, you click your fingers and point to the mattress and he slowly lays down, watching you out of the corner of his eyes. Moving over to him, you smirk at the look of defiance that he gives you before leaning over and biting gently on his side. He hisses immediately, body shifting slightly to get away from you but you simply lave the sore spot with your tongue slowly.

His chest is taken up with a huge tattoo of a phoenix, golds and reds exploding across his chest in a vision of fire which slowly transform into dragons, fighting over his stomach. You take your time to repaint the pictures with your tongue, making sure to keep the touch light so as to drive his senses crazy.

“Baby…” He moans out as you hit a particularly sensitive spot, his twitching erection catching your attention out of the corner of your eye. You curse the fact that your toys are all gone, desperately wanting to put his cock ring on him, but when his hand twines in your hair, you decide to improvise.

Reaching back over, you grab your shirt and take his hands, pressing them together before tying the fabric firmly around them. He scowls at you but stays quiet, being good for once though the lip rings ruin the image completely.

“I don’t have much to make you be good little drummer boy, but you will be good otherwise you won’t cum. Got that? I’ll leave you hard and aching, and if you get yourself off then you’re not having sex for a while.” He gapes at you slightly and goes to complain before snapping his jaw shut with an audible click.

“Yes Mistress.” Hoseok mutters and you laugh, dragging your fingernails along his stomach and enjoying the way his muscles convulse immediately. Leaning down, you let your tongue circle one nipple, peaked from the cool temperature, and he’s letting out a restrained grunt.

You move down his stomach, enjoying the way his toned muscles flex underneath your mouth before you reach the patch of hair that surrounds the base of his cock. Nosing along the soft skin, you smile slightly when you feel the tip of him brush against your cheek, leaving a wet trail behind.

Looking up at him, you smirk as his face scrunches up at the sight of his precum that streaks your cheek. You decide to leave it there, knowing how much he loves it when your face gets messy from him but abandon that area of his body completely. Even though he’s trying to follow your orders, he can’t stop the ghost of a whine that leaves his throat as you move away from the area he wants you in most.

Throwing a leg over his waist, you look down on him from your lofty position and smile brightly. His face shifts into a look of confusion before his eyes narrow in suspicion. You say nothing for a moment, simply lowering yourself and slowly grinding against his stomach, letting out a quiet moan as he unwittingly stimulates your clit.

Immediately he’s lifting his head and looking at the spot, letting out a breathy sigh at the sight of you leaving behind wetness on him. Pushing at his shoulder, you make him lay back down and continue to rotate your hips slowly, eyes fluttering closed as you use his body to give you pleasure.

You carry on like this for a few minutes, your pants slowly growing louder while his face looks more pained the longer you go on. Stopping your movement suddenly, you look down at the wet mess you’re making on his stomach and grin broadly, shifting further down his body in slow and sensual movements.

His cock brushes against your clit as you move, causing him to choke on a breath at the oversensitivity he’s suffering from not being touched. “Watch me little drummer boy.” You whisper low, voice gruff and immediately his bringing his head up to watch you.

Keeping firm eye contact with Hoseok, you lazily lap up the wet patch of your juices on his stomach and hum contently, causing a whistling whine to leave his throat at the sight. “Do you want to taste me too?” You ask innocently, making your eyes go big and wide as you pout your lips ever so slightly.

His head is moving in a nod before you’ve even finished your sentence and your lips tug into a smile. “Yes Mistress, please Mistress.” You sit back on his thigh, finger tapping your lips as you consider for a few moments just to prolong his need before giving a cute nod.

“Okay, you can taste Mistress.” He’s about to move, muscles rippling across his body as he expects you to lay down and for him to nestle between your legs. But instead, you press a hand firmly onto his stomach, leading him to frown in confusion.

Without a word, you crawl up his body slowly, a predatory gaze of seduction in your eyes that has him swallowing thickly. You keep going until your positioned directly above his face, giving him the perfect view up your body, but most importantly of the achingly empty and wet place between your thighs that’s just begging for his tongue.

“Eat.” You order, grinning as you lower yourself enough so that he can reach you without getting neck ache. There’s a moment of nothing as he simply watches you with blown out eyes before he opens his mouth and slowly extends his tongue. The sight has you shivering, but it’s the gentle touch of his tongue to your soaking entrance that has you moaning out loudly.

He doesn’t bother with your clit for the moment, instead sinking his tongue as far as he can into you before slowly pulling it back out. Hoseok repeats the action for the next minute, going as slowly as he can until your hips are pushing down on him desperately, body tightening around the thick, wet muscle.

“Speed it up, drummer boy,” You curse quietly, voice demanding and sharp as you reach down and grip at his hair. He grunts in response before acknowledging your order, his tongue beginning to simulate his cock as he fucks you faster. Each curl of his tongue inside your pussy has you gasping out, face creasing in concentration as your thighs tremble.

It’s made even more pleasurable by the ball of his tongue piercing pressing against your inner walls, each stroke pressing the metal against you firmly and sparking tiny wildfires of pleasure in your body. He pulls his tongue out of you and slowly licks up to your clit, playing with the engorged bundle of nerves lazily with the tip before pressing firmly against you.

His piercing hits your clit perfectly and he can tell by the way your body jerks forward slightly, an animalistic groan leaving your throat as your hand tightens in his hair, other hand falling forward onto the mattress. Tiny movements of his tongue stimulates your clit, which when combined with the overwhelming wetness of his tongue has you letting out noises that would have embarrassed you years ago.

“Make me cum little drummer boy, make me cum on all over your face yeah?” You whisper out, voice haggard from your moans. Wrapping his lips around your clit, he hums in acknowledgement before his tongue goes to work. The flexing of his hands underneath the shirt restraint lets you know that he’d be fingering you right now he could get his hands into position and the knowledge makes you clench.

It’s a heady combination that tips you over the edge, sparks of pleasure erupting from your stomach outwards as your husband’s talented tongue makes you orgasm for what feels like a whole minute. He doesn’t stop either, continue to kitten lick at your overly sensitive clit until your hissing, lifting yourself just enough that his tongue can’t reach you anymore.

Moving a jelly like thigh over his body, you slump against the wall and pant as you watch him. He eyes you with a smug look, licking his lips slowly and you’re clenching around nothing at all at the sight of his wet cheeks and chin. Leaning forward, you ignore the complaints of your thigh muscles as you ever so slowly tongue yourself off his face, enjoying the hissing sigh he lets out as you do.

“You were a good boy. I think I should reward you.” You murmur, pressing an open kiss to his mouth and moving away before he can react. Before he can say anything else, you grab a tight hold of his cock which has his hips jerking up automatically.

Eyeing the thick member with hunger, you squeeze tightly while stroking upwards, the skin hot and silk soft underneath your hand and encasing what feels like steel underneath. Whiny pants leave his throat at your touch, morphing into a low groan when you reach his tip and swipe a thumb over the slit there, wiping at the pre-cum currently leaking from him.

“So hard, I think someone likes being dominated by his wife right?” You ask, voice pleasant and smile sweet as you look back at him. He twitches in your hand at the word ‘wife’ and you have to bite your lip to stop yourself from saying something. Even in the midst of being dominated, he gets turned on you calling yourself his wife. Cute.

Twisting your hand around his shaft, you stroke in a consistent manner that has him writhing on the bed. His precum isn’t providing enough lubrication for you and so you engulf him in your mouth, his frustrated red tip being swallowed whole as you move him even further till he hits the back of your throat.

Staying there for a moment, you continue to stroke him from his base to your lips before you swallow around his tip, causing him to cry out. You keep him firmly in place by pressing your other hand to his hips hard before you slowly pull your head up, tongue leaving a slick trail up the underside of his cock as you do so.

Shifting your hand, you cup his balls gently, playing with them while you lick at him with tiny, almost non-existent licks. It amuses you slightly how you push his cock away with your tongue and how it comes back immediately, desperate for your touch.

Looking back at him momentarily, you note his closed eyes and the look of pleasure and frustration that has his face creasing. His colourful arms are tensed, the muscles gained from drumming prominent, yet you note with pleasure that he’s following orders and hasn’t moved them.

Turning back to his dick, currently swaying as if trying to get your attention, you smirk before making your next move. Squeezing his balls just enough to be pleasurable, you lick along his frenulum at the same and enjoy the explosive curse words he’s shouting out.

Grinning, you take him fully into your mouth once more and begin to hum along to one of his songs that is in your head. You know the vibrations are driving him wild from the tiny thrusts his hips are making before he’s suddenly letting out a strained laugh. “Good one Mistress, singing my song to me.”

You pull off him with a wet pop before grinning back at him, giving him a slow wink before licking along the thick vein of his cock like a lollipop, all the while maintaining eye contact. He grits his teeth at the sight, letting his head fall back with a frustrated cry.

Getting bored of blowing him for a few minutes, you let his cock fall to his stomach before sitting back and looking at him. He lifts his head up to gaze at you again, expression fucked out and hair even more all over the place than when you’d first come in here.

Smiling at him, you straddle his waist before taking a firm grip of him, rocking your hips lazily so that he’s slipping between your lower lips, pressing against your clit and getting covered in a delicious wetness. Hoseok bites his lip at the sight and you enjoy watching your husband, tattooed, pierced and normally so dominant, being so pliant and submissive between your legs.

“Do you want to be inside me?” You ask charmingly, a coy smile on your lips. He reverts his focus from between your thighs to your eyes, nodding before he even realises what he’s doing apparently.

“Okay, you’ve been a good little drummer boy today haven’t you?” You say, slipping the tip of him inside you and letting out a soft moan as your slickness makes his entrance easy. He lets out a responding groan, the sound elongating as you slowly sink down his length.

Your eyes rolls back into your head as he bottoms out, your thighs releasing any tension as you rest on top of him for a moment. It fascinates you how he always feels so damn good inside you, cock filling every empty space and pressing against all the spots that make you cry out in bliss.

Squeezing around him experimentally, you can’t help but beam at the ceiling as you feel your husband jerk underneath you. Letting your head fall back down, you clench your thighs to lift yourself up, almost to the point he’s in danger of slipping out of you before slowly sliding back down him.

The next few minutes are just filled of that, the heady sounds of both of your pants and along with the slick sounds of his dick moving in you. Pressing a hand to his stomach and letting the other rest on the mattress, you use the position to speed up your movements, hips rotating on each rock and causing him to press against the extra special spongy bundle of nerves inside you.

“Hoseok…” You whisper, your willingness to continue on the dominant role disappearing with each thrust. This was why he was the better dom, as he had an iron control over his desire and could keep it up for ages. You on the other hand put up a reasonable start before dissolving into fits of need.

It’s hard to care though when you open your eyes and see him watching you, mouth open as he gulps for breath while sweat is already causing his tanned skin to glow even more. Any control you have vanishes as you lean forward, catching his lips with your own and whining at the feel of the cool lip rings pressing against you.

He can tell that the game is up, resulting in his arms flexing for a few moments before there’s a quiet ripping sound and his hands are free. If you weren’t so completely gone on the pleasure his cock is providing, his own hips moving up to meet yours, you’d have complained at him ruining yet another shirt.

Instead, you simply open your mouth when he swipes his tongue along it, the taste of yourself still strong, and let him take over. Growling slightly, you feel his body tense momentarily before he’s suddenly pushing you over, rolling on top of you without even leaving your body.

“What happened to Mistress?” He asks, low and strained with effort as he begins to lazily thrust into you, hips snapping forward. You let your head roll back onto the mattress with a sigh as your legs wrap around his lean waist, pressing your feet into the small of his back to encourage him deeper.

“She went away, I want to make love to my husband for the first time in our house.” You whisper, cheeks flushing at your words. You’d worry that he’d find it sappy, or be annoyed that you’d stopped the dominance game with him but instead he just gives you the sweetest smile, his face brightening up as it takes over.

“I can do that.” He murmurs, lowering his head to recapture your lips as his hips continue to move, each thrust of his hips building the ball of pleasure inside of you. One hand leaves your hair to slowly trail down your body, his fingertips igniting fires of pleasure along your sensitive skin until he finally reaches your engorged clit.

Pressing down, he uses two fingers to make tiny circles on the nerve bundle, pressing down until your body twitches in pleasure and letting him know he’s got it right. He makes a circle in time to his movements, angling himself until his penis is pressing firmly against your g-spot with every thrust and you’re letting out quiet whimpers into his mouth.

Each touch of his fingers, combined with his relentless assault on your pussy, eventually has you writhing around on the mattress. “Hoseok please.” You beg, pulling away from his kiss to let your pleading breaths brush against his lip lightly.

“That’s it, come on baby. Cum for me.” He encourages quietly, fingers circling even faster as his hips move even faster. The feeling becomes too overwhelming and suddenly your head is pressing back against the mattress, face contorting into pleasure as a long, low moan is ripped from your throat.

Your inner muscles are convulsing around him continuously, causing him to grunt out in a combination of pain and pleasure, while your hips swivel wildly from the force of your orgasm. Only when you let out a sob of oversensitivity is when he removes his fingers, instead resting his elbow next to you while his head buries itself into your neck while he soon begins to chase his own high.

As you pant desperately, whimpers of pleasure being pulled at the feeling of him fucking into you in your post-orgasm bliss, he begins to let out low grunts and moans. The unbelievably wet sound of him thrusting into you stops suddenly as he presses himself fully inside, body shuddering as he lets out a long sigh that’s filled with satisfaction, cock twitching inside you as he empties himself.

Neither of you move afterwards for a minute, both simply enjoying the quiet moment between the two of you as the sweat on your skin begins to dry, causing your skin to goosebump in the cool air. Lifting his head, he looks at you with a tired grin which ignites a reciprocal smile from you.

Running your fingers through his sweat soaked hair, you tug his head down for another kiss. It’s sweet and chaste compared to what you’d done, but filled with so much love and happiness that you can’t help but sigh as your chest swells with emotion.

Rolling off you, Hoseok lays to your side and simply watches you, chest heaving as he works to regulate his breathing. Wrapping a tattooed arm around your waist, he tugs you closer before resting his head on your shoulder. The atmosphere is calm and relaxed, and you can’t help but bury your nose into his hair, inhaling the enhanced sweaty scent of him and the strawberry shampoo he’d used this morning.

“Are you happy?” Hoseok asks softly, his warm breath tickling your throat. Today was the first day you’d come into your new home, with the last two weeks spent in Greece on your honeymoon. Despite how content you’d both been, you could hear the slight anxiety and worry in his voice and it caused your heart to clench.

He was still worried that you’d realise one day that you’d made a mistake by marrying him. By choosing him.

Rolling onto your side to face him, you trail your fingers over his cheek gently before giving him a reassuring smile. “I’m happy with you.” You say firmly, trying hard to put your love and belief in him into your voice.

He stays quiet for a moment, chewing on his lip in a desperate effort to try and prevent a smile. It’s futile though and you see it creep along slowly, the tiny mole on his upper lip prominent. In an attempt to create a distraction, he nods over to the monstrosity he’d created earlier. “Even though I can’t even build a bed?”

You laugh softly and kiss his chin. “Beds are overrated. But I believe with my whole heart that you’ll definitely be better at building a life with me.”

“Is your name Mozzarella? As apparently I married a giant cheeseball.” He snorts, but he can’t stop the tinge of rose that spreads across his cheeks, or the content smile that makes its way across his face. You feel relief to see that.

Pushing at his bare chest lightly, you whine softly before cuddling back up to the warmth he offers in the cold and empty room. “You love it.” You whisper against the phoenix that adorns him.

He quietens before hugging you tighter, his hands stroking up your back. “I love you.”

“Hi Mr Cheddar, my names Mozzarella and it’s nice to meet you.” You say cheekily, grinning at his exasperated sigh.

“I love you only sometimes.”

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