#and then someone replied with 'to hide if there were moles and/or scars on his face bc those could identify him | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

le-fruit-de-la-passion · 5 months ago

Text

Two Hours - Chapter 2 - Shigaraki x Reader

After a little over three months, you had gathered a significant amount of information on Tomura Shigaraki.

He was smart, incredibly so, and an absolute genius with computers. He was probably the most hardcore gamer you had ever met and simply refused to lose a single match of any game. And, most importantly, he was kind of an asshole.

"Seriously? That's all the content you prepped for today? What am I even paying you for?"

He toyed with the greyed-out strings of his hoodie in boredom. "They were basically the same as the ones from two weeks ago," he grumbled.

"Well," you said as calmly as you could, "I could have prepared more if you actually did the lectures I asked you to do last week."

"They were useless."

"How could you know that if you didn't read them ?"

"I don't need to do something useless to be able to tell it's useless."

So maybe the jawline he hid under his layers of oversized black clothing was as sharp as it was delicate. Anyone could recognize an attractive jawline without making it weird. You certainly could.

"The idea is that we both work to help you, Tomura," you replied with much less bite than you would have liked. The look of superior smugness on his face didn't disappear.

Maybe the little mole under his lip looked lonely there. Like it needed to be kissed. That was a totally normal, platonic thought to have about someone you saw once a week and who did nothing but complain.

"I don't know," he grinned in a mocking sing-song tone, "I think you like helping me."

Ever since the afternoon you had spent playing video games with him, something had changed in your perspective of him. And he certainly wasn't the one who had changed: he was still very much a pain in the ass to work with.

No, the change was from you.

You couldn't remember the last time you had let anyone take a peek under your prime scholar's persona, much less someone who enjoyed it as much as he did. When was the last time you had gamed with someone? Told them about all your nerdy little interests without feeling rejected? Joked about something other than your thesis topic?

Poetry wrote itself in your mind every time you'd think of him. His skin was like cracked porcelain, pale and white, the marks marking his face doing nothing to dampen his beauty. If anything, it only made him more interesting, more enticing, and you wanted to trace each of his scars with the tip of your fingers.

You were going insane for a guy who had visibly never kissed anyone in the 3D realm, and you couldn't even find the will to care about it.

He stretched lazily, a sliver of skin showing an impressively toned stomach before it was covered back with black fabric. What else was he hiding under there?

Obviously, you hadn't gotten laid in too long. There was no other explanation as to why you'd feel so attracted to him. You tried to shake off the thought, reminding yourself that it was just a momentary lapse in judgment. But everything about him seemed to pull you in, a magnetic force you couldn't resist. Did you even truly want to?

"You know," Tomura said, his voice low and casual, "if you keep staring at me like that, people might start to think you're into me."

You blinked, snapping back to reality, cheeks flushing with embarrassment. "What? No! I was just... thinking about your midterm paper. That's coming soon, isn't it ?"

He sighed loudly, slouching back in his chair, giving you the perfect opportunity to at least try to regain your composure.

"I don't know what I'm even supposed to write about. The teacher is so bad at his fucking job half the time I wonder if he's not some homeless guy the university pays to stand around and do nothing," he complained, and you couldn't help but let out a small laugh. After a second, like he had hesitated before saying it, he casually added: "You'd be way better at teaching the class."

You tried to hide your surprise at the unexpected compliment, failing miserably the moment you heard your voice come out as a shaky squeak: "Well, um, thank you. That's very nice of you to say."

"I don't say things to be nice. I say them because they're true," he retorted bluntly.

Damn it, you thought as you felt another pleased smile tug on your lips. Damn it all to hell. You couldn't let him dig his way deeper into your stupid little heart.

"You know," you said, desperately wanting to change the topic, "I could pull out my own paper I wrote back in the day for the class. I'm sure I have it somewhere back at the dorm. Maybe that could give you some inspiration!"

"Sure, just text me some pictures later," he replied, seemingly uninterested.

"Or we could go get it at my dorm now, and look at it together."

The weight of your words seemingly hit you both all at once like a 20,000-pound truck.

"Me," he stated, his thin eyebrows shot up in surprise. "At... your dorm?"

You had fucked up. You had fucked up so badly that perhaps your only choice now was to run out of the library, change your name, and leave the country.

If you took it back, and laughed it off as a stupid slip of the tongue, Tomura would no doubt take it badly. Very badly. And he was not the kind of person you wanted on your bad side.

If you rolled with it, pretended you had actually meant to invite him to a place with a conveniently lockable door and a soft pillowy bed, he might catch on as to the very bothersome feelings that you held for him. That wasn't a very good option either, but the lesser of the two evils was obvious.

"Well, guys aren't usually allowed in, b-but the security guy will let you through if I tell him you're with me !" you explained quickly, trying to sound confident.

The embarrassing truth was, you had never brought a guy back to your dorm. Fool around at some dude's apartment or in the back of his car, sure, but never inside your own private little space.

Tomura, on his end, looked like you had just asked him to go into an active war zone. "I-I don't know..." He hesitated, glancing around at every item in the library to avoid looking you in the eye. "Maybe just like five minutes? I have shit to do after, so..."

"Don't worry, we'll be in and out," you reassured yourself more than him, eager to be done with the entire situation, "It'll be fine."

---

It was definitely not fine.

The game was called Kira Kira~☆! Stories of Dormitory Love, which was a stupid name for an equally stupid game. Tomura was fifteen and he had discreetly bought it online using Kurogiri's credit card, because he had learned the hard way Sensei checked his account statements. If Kurogiri had noticed, he never said anything about it.

The synopsis of the game, if anyone could really call it a synopsis, was that you, the protagonist, were called to do repairs in an all-female dormitory. You'd go about screwing all the girls one by one as they'd throw themselves at your feet, begging to be taken with their round tits and perfect asses. Tomura spent that entire summer locked in his room playing it over and over again.

As it turned out, that scenario was much less pleasant in real life.

He felt the eyes of every girl they passed, judgmental and disgusted at the mere sight of him there. They huddled in little groups like scared chickens, muttering between themselves as they threw him worried looks. He glared right back at them, and one of them let out a small gasp like she would faint out of fear. Good. He hated it, he hated them. But to some extent, he couldn't fully blame them; he didn't belong here in the slightest.

Tomura's fingers held onto his neck protectively, his uneven nails digging as deep as they could into the skin. The pain didn't help; he was still definitely there.

And you.

You made it all so much worse with how nice you were to him, and how you laughed at every dumb thing he'd say, and how you licked your lower lip in focus every time you'd try to explain something-

He hated you for it.

"If you want, when we're done looking over my paper, we can play some Plus Ultra 2 on my computer," you smiled hesitantly at him, completely oblivious to how badly you were messing him up.

"I don't really feel like gaming anyway," he muttered between his teeth. It was a lie, an absolute fucking lie: he never felt like not gaming.

From the moment you had told him to fuck off under the rain, he had liked you. But you weren't any different from any of the dumb pretty girls he'd jack off to at night; at least not at first. You glared at him with fear and disgust, like you knew he'd spend the rest of the afternoon picturing you pinned under him and choking on his cock. And why wouldn’t you? No woman in her right mind would look at him and think he was anything other than a creep.

Until you did exactly the opposite.

You started smiling when you'd see him walk into the library. You'd laugh at his dry sarcasm and bad attempts at humour. You'd hang on to his every word when he explained the secret behind mastering a peculiarly hard combo, eyes filled with wonder. You'd look at him with pride and genuine joy when he finished all the lectures you had given him.

And suddenly, it wasn't just about how tight all your shirts looked on your chest, or how well your ass would fit against the palms of his hands. It was about everything else, all the cheesy shit he never understood and skipped in dating sims to get to the sex scenes. He despised how easily you had gotten him under your thumb, ready to do anything for you without even realizing it. He wanted you to think of him as much as he thought of you, more, even. You were an obsession he couldn't get rid of, and it itched, it itched, it itched- but not at his skin, no, much deeper, into the depths of his entrails and in a heart he didn't even realize he still had.

You turned back to look at him as if you felt his inner turmoil, a small pout tugging at your lips. He wanted to rip it off you with his teeth.

"C'mon, just one game? Last time you said you’d teach me how to triple combo with Present Mic."

"Whatever," he said instead, staring holes into the floor. Why was the floor so goddamn clean? Did girls clean their floors every day? Why was everything about you so picture-perfect?

Fuck you, he thought.

"Oh hey, Neijire!"

His head snapped back up. Oh no.

A few girls were sitting on an assortment of couches, watching some kind of stupid TV show. One of them replied to your greeting with a smile so bright it hurt his eyes. He wondered if all pretty girls gravitated around each other naturally.

The girl he could only assume was Neijire excitedly jumped off the couch, tightly wrapping her arms around your body. His lips tightened at the sudden sting of jealousy, at the fact that she could so easily touch you while the idea of holding your hand made him delirious.

"Hey, oh my gosh, you're here!" the overly energetic girl squealed. "Wanna watch some Love and War? We just started season 2 and the plot is so crazy-"

Then, she noticed him, and her bright demeanour fell slightly.

"Oh, is he... is he with you ?" she gently asked you, like she wasn't sure if it was safe to address him directly.

"Yeah, this is Tomura, one of the guys I tutor !" you replied.

'One of the guys ?' Tomura bitterly thought. Was he nothing more to you than one of the other NPCs you tutored? Did you bring the others to your dormitory too?

If you noticed how quickly his mood had soured, you didn't show it: "Maybe we could borrow the common room for a couple of minutes? I just need to go over some material with him really quickly!"

Neijire turned around to look at the other girls, the unspoken hesitation written all over their faces as they glanced at him.

"I don't know," Neijire softly started, "we just started watching TV. Maybe another time, if he comes back ?"

Please don't come back, was the implicit message under that sentence.

"No worries! We'll just go in my room," you said, and he noticed the worried fidgeting of your hands. There was no way you could feel as stressed as he did going into your room. You probably had guys in there every week, hell, every day for all he knew. What did you have to be nervous about?

As you both headed up a flight of stairs toward the second floor, Tomura couldn't help but feel some excitement in between the overwhelming sense of dread. Being in such close proximity to you, entering your personal space, stirred something within him that he couldn't quite comprehend. He had never, in his entire life, even gotten close to the inside of a girl's room.

'Toga doesn't count', his mind supplied unhelpfully. 'Toga would let a raccoon inside her room if she could.'

The moment you opened the door, it was dizzying: the flowery smell, the pastel pink walls, the books neatly organized together in shelves worthy of a magazine spread. It left a sickly sweet taste in the back of his mouth, and he tried to nonchalantly observe the room to savour every inch of it. It was probably the closest he'd ever get to tasting you.

The room was small, much smaller than his own back at the bar. A simple bed, a drawer, a suspended shelf, and a work desk with a foldable chair were the only furniture of note. As simple and boring as one could do.

But then as he walked in, Tomura noticed a few things much less visible from the doorway. Various trinkets laid around the room; a bag of takeout was haphazardly thrown into a small trashcan; a pair of mismatched socks were left on the windowsill, seemingly forgotten. On the furthest wall, there was a small but obviously cared-for poster of All Might, half of his classic I AM HERE catchphrase hidden by a laundry basket.

It was like all the girl's bedrooms he'd imagined but... different. Like someone actually lived there.

"Let me try and find that paper," you hopped away to the suspended shelf, taking out various coloured folders filled to the brim with papers. You clearly weren't kidding when you told him you saved every single one of your essays.

"You can just sit anywhere while I find it," you said without looking back at him, and his thoughts immediately went to the bed. The bed that you had slept in. The bed that you were sleeping in every night. The bed that you probably touched yourself in, and that he could justifiably sit in without looking like a creep.

He was going to go insane.

"I-I should probably just wait downstairs," he managed to stutter out. He could feel his face heating up; he had to get out of the room, and fast, or you would definitely notice.

"No no, wait, I found it !" you triumphantly exclaimed as you pulled out a stapled document from one of the many files. "There's not a lot of space on my desk, so we can just... sit next to each other on the bed and look it over?"

You smiled brightly at him, a tinge of red on your cheeks, unaware of the nuclear bomb you had just sent off in his brain. He had to say something to get out of there. Anything.

"People are going to think we're having sex," he blurted out.

Fuck.

That was unequivocally the dumbest thing he had said in his entire life. He was going to dump university and never leave his room again. He'd live as a hermit and survive off Mountain Dew and Lays chips until the ends of time. It didn't sound too bad, actually; at least that way, he wouldn't have to see your face ever again.

The look on your face stayed blank for a few horrifyingly heavy seconds. The silence felt deafening, ringing in his ears like the "GAME OVER" theme in an RPG.

And then, you laughed.

You fucking laughed at him.

Anger bubbled up inside him faster than he could control it. It itched. Everything itched.

Of course you laughed. You didn't like him, and you never had. You probably laughed at his jokes to get him to shut up. You brought him to your room out of pity, to mock him. All the girls downstairs were probably on it too, cackling in laughter at how stupid he was for thinking you saw something more than a scared-up freak when you looked at him.

"I'm fucking out of here," he spat out, storming around to open the door. The feeling was crawling up his arms, up his neck. It itched.

"Wait, Tomura!"

You grabbed his arm and he roughly shoved it away, almost making you fall down. Your eyes were blown in surprise, and perhaps, a little fear. Good. You should fear him. He'd never make the mistake of trusting anyone again. How had he even let himself trust you?

"I get it, I'm the joke. Ha, ha, you bring up the freak to your room, make him think he has a chance with you, and laugh in his face, everyone claps," he jeered.

"That's not what I meant, I-" you started.

"Is the idea of being with me that disgusting to you ?" he harshly cut you off. It came out sounding more hurt than furious. I'm so pathetic.

"Shigaraki. That's not what I meant," you said softly, as if trying to calm a wild animal. He wasn't having any of it.

"So now, you're back to calling me Shigaraki," he bit back bitterly. "The whole buddy-buddy thing was an act too, huh."

"Tomura, stop."

He looked at you now, properly looked at you, fury burning in his eyes, and you flinched.

You didn't look like you were having fun.

You looked... hurt.

"Tomura, I brought you here because I like you. As in, I really like you."

You were trying to bait him again. You wouldn't fool him twice.

"Yeah, sure," he snorted, voice dripping with irony. "That's why you laughed, right ?"

"I laughed because I was stressed out, I-I didn't know if it was appropriate to bring you here, because I'm tutoring you, and I didn't know if you actually liked me-" you rambled like a deer caught in headlights.

"You seriously expect me to believe that? That you were worried I liked you?"

"I laughed because I've been thinking about nothing but having sex with you for the last month and you're worried about people thinking we're having sex!"

The blunt admission caught him off guard. His breath hitched in his throat, his mind struggling to process your words.

"So you... think about me," he rasped out, a glimmer of vulnerability in his tone.

The weight of what you had just said seemed the catch up to you. Your cheeks tinted a deeper shade of pink, and you made an expression you had never made before in front of him. You were embarrassed. Genuinely, honestly embarrassed.

"And? So what if I do?" you mumbled, desperate to avoid his gaze.

"What do you think about me doing to you?" Tomura insisted. He was pushing his luck, he knew he was. But he had to know. He had to know if this was real.

Your lack of answer frustrated him, and he tsked in disappointment.

"C'mon," he taunted. "Where's the girl who told me to fuck off when we first met? Was that all an act too?"

Silence. I knew it, he thought bitterly.

Then, in a moment that defied all logic and expectations, you closed the distance between you both, and you kissed him.

---

It was messy, full of wet tongue and clashing teeth; it wasn't hard to guess it was the first time he'd ever kissed someone. But what he lacked in experience and technique, he made up in sheer passion, his body holding your own so tightly you felt like he wanted to swallow you whole.

You gasped for air when he pulled away, a single thread of saliva connecting your mouth to his. His eyes were blown wide, pale cheeks a deep crimson, mouth agape as if he had just witnessed an otherworldly miracle. Had anyone ever looked at you that way, so desperately raw and honest?

"Again," he let out a low, broken whisper, "do that again."

You couldn't tell if it was a request or a command, and it frankly didn’t seem like he knew either, but you immediately complied, pulling him back against you.

You guided his mouth to your bottom lip with your tongue, hoping he'd get the message. With precision, he copied the movement, watching you carefully for any reaction. You let out an approving moan and he seemed emboldened by it, deepening the kiss and wrapping his body over yours, trapping you against the wall.

When had his hand found its way under your shirt? You felt rough fingers drag along your skin, curious and possessive, grabbing at the flesh like he wanted to take parts of you back with him, like he wasn't sure this was real.

Knock knock.

"Anyone home?"

You both froze. Shigaraki looked at you like an animal caught in a trap, eyes wide and mouth still slightly agape.

"Move, move!" you hissed at him, pushing him off you. "Just a second!" you shouted at the door.

Shigaraki was still looking at you with the face of a confused child left alone in a supermarket. He wasn't going to be any help. You straightened your shirt and quickly combed your fingers through your hair before opening the door.

"Ah, Miss Kayama!" you smiled tightly at the dorm's resident advisor. "I'm sorry, is the TV too loud? I can lower the volume,"

"No, no, the TV is fine," she replied, peeking through your doorway. "In fact, I don't think your TV is even on."

You could have died right on the spot.

Miss Kayama tucked a strand of her dark hair behind her ear, straining her glasses. "I was just made aware you brought a guest over, so I came to remind everyone that there are no visitations allowed after seven."

"Ah, I'm sorry, I didn't realize it was seven already !" you stammered hurriedly. "I was just telling Tomura he should pack up." You turned around to give the man a look: "Right, Tomura ?"

Tomura was still standing against the wall, as unmoving as a rock. He looked as though he had been frozen in time after the kiss, like his mind had short-circuited trying to process it.

"Tomura," you repeated more pressingly.

The sound of your voice seemingly pulled him from his trance, and he nodded slowly, walking towards the door like an automaton. He bumped against Miss Kayama's shoulder, and disappeared without a word down the wooden stairs.

"I'll see you next week," you weakly called out.

He didn't answer.

Miss Kayama slowly closed to door behind her, her usually delicate features were scrunched in worry. "Sweetheart, what you girls do in your dorm rooms isn't my business, as long as you're being safe about it. But who you bring here is important to me," she added, her tone more serious than you had ever heard before. "Make sure you don't mingle with the wrong kinds of people."

You opened your mouth to answer, then closed it.

Was there anything you could even reply to that?

---

The next few days were not fun ones.

[You: Hey, sorry about the whole kicking you out thing, Ms. Kayama really means well but sometimes she's strict with the rules]

There was still no answer three hours after you sent the text, which did not bode well at all. Any time Tomura's hands weren’t on any kind of gaming console, they were on his phone. He didn’t go anywhere without it, and you'd gotten used to getting replies to your messages within mere seconds. You sent a second attempt:

[You: My TV excuse was pretty lame right]

You laid on your stomach as you kicked your legs against the bed, glaring holes through the phone. Maybe your Wi-Fi was unstable?

[You: We actually call her Midnight in the dorm, cause she gets REALLY cranky when anyone has lights on after that]

Still no answer. You felt absolutely ridiculous, a lovesick teenager waiting for her crush to give her any attention. He had kissed you. Or rather, you had kissed him, and he hadn’t exactly pushed you away. That had to count for something.

You sighed, turning off your phone before huddling in your covers and closing your eyes. He'd definitely answer by tomorrow morning.

But when you woke up, there wasn't a single new message from Tomura Shigaraki.

[You: Hey, I sent you pictures of the paper I told you about, hope it helps with your assignment!]

[You: Sent 4 images]

The day passed as it usually would. You washed your face and brushed your teeth, got dressed, grabbed a quick breakfast, and made your way to your morning lecture. The hours seemed to drag on as the teacher talked, his words going through one ear and out the other. And still, no text from Tomura.

The next day had come and gone without any more communications. Your messages sat alone in your discussion, unread. Soon, the weekend passed too, and still, no word from Tomura.

[You: Are we still on for tutoring on Wednesday? I can move it if you need me to]

To say you had been freaking out would have been an understatement. For as much as you tried to control it, you felt like a mess, barely able to go fifteen minutes without checking your phone for messages. Was he that mad you had to kick him out? Did he still think the kiss wasn't genuine? Did he leave the country to join a pro gamer team, just to get as far away from you as he could?

The questions ran through your mind like an endlessly spinning record.

[You: Just tell me whenever you can!]

Would he even show up on Wednesday? Would it be like the first time you had met him, waiting hours for him to come, except this time, he never would?

You grabbed your face between your hands. Enough. You couldn't let one kiss send you through a never-ending spiral of doubt. If he was there on Wednesday, then great, you would talk. If he wasn’t, well, you'd deal with your feelings then and ask the faculty for someone else to tutor him.

And if you left the volume for your notifications on at maximum for the next few days, well, that was nothing more than a coincidence.

---

"Hey."

The familiar yet unexpected raspy voice almost made you fall out of the library chair, the sound of your book dropping on the table echoing through the building. The librarian threw you a dark look you barely registered, your mind focused on the tall man with dark red eyes standing next to you.

"Hey," you hesitantly said, awkwardly fidgeting with your hands. When had you gotten so self-conscious? "I wasn’t sure if you would come."

He answered with a small grunt, still not sitting down next to you. Deep, dark circles sagged under his eyes, and you wondered if he had also spent his week barely sleeping every night.

"Well," you said in the happiest tone you could muster, "we can start by checking your draft for the midterm, and seeing what we can add-"

"I already finished the midterm," he interrupted drily. "I sent it in last night."

"Oh," you swallowed slowly. Your throat was starting to feel itchy. "I guess we can... start looking at your next lectures then."

"I don't want to," he objected. "Let's just go somewhere instead."

Out of everything he could have said, that was one of the sentences you least expected.

"Tomura," you answered with uncertainty, "I'm still supposed to be tutoring you."

"And I'll tell the advisor you're the best fucking tutor there ever was and this session was great, now, will you just shut up and follow me ?" he groaned impatiently, his right hand wrapping around his neck and scratching at the fragile skin. He was anxious.

"Alright," you said softly, gathering your things before getting up and silently following the man out of the library.

The walk there was not the comfortable, calming silence you had gotten used to around him. It felt clunky, awkward, the unspoken weight of last week's kiss like a dark cloud above your heads, ready to erupt in thunder at any moment.

Once again, he led you off the beaten path and into alleyways you had never taken before. What did you truly know about him, after all? There had been so many unanswered questions about who he was outside of university. What insurance did you have that he wasn't leading you to an abandoned lot to snap your throat and sell your organs off to the highest bidder?

He stopped walking so abruptly that you bumped into his back, immediately backing away in fear of angering him. But he said nothing, staring blankly at the sign above the building, the neon light of the word "ARCADE" turned off. A huge padlock rested heavily against doors that had once been painted into bright, colourful motifs that had faded into an unreadable mess over time.

"Tomura, it looks closed," you remarked slowly.

"That's because it is," he answered drily, pulling out what looked like a bent paper clip from one of his pockets, hands instinctively going for the lock. After a few seconds of fidgeting, you heard a distinctive click, and the lock fell to the ground with a sharp metallic sound.

He smirked at your obvious surprise, welcoming you in with a flourish on his hand:

"Come on in."

You followed him in with as much confidence as you could project, which was not much considering the probability of him murdering you in an abandoned building had just significantly gone up.

The arcade was much larger than it had seemed from the outside, and had clearly been marked by the passage of time. Though there was no light on or a single window, you could make out the shapes of turned-off gaming arcades placed haphazardly throughout the room, as if the owner hadn’t been sure where to put them. The walls were covered with wallpaper that had seen been days in the eighties, old water marks deforming the large flower pattern.

Suddenly, your foot caught into something, and you yelped in surprise as you felt yourself lose balance. A surprisingly strong hand caught your arm, steadying you back on your feet. You stared at Tomura with your eyes wide, heart skipping a beat when you realized he was still holding onto you.

"Thank you," you said gently, and he let go instantly, like the touch had burnt him.

"Be more careful," he mumbled under his breath, quickly putting his hands back into his pockets. "I can't always be there to save you if you're that clumsy."

Suddenly, somewhere in the darkness, a man's angry voice rang through the arcade:

"If you goddamn kids are trying to break in again, I swear to God-"

You froze in fear as a large figure emerged, dressed in a bright purple suit and holding what looks like a metal pipe in his hand. You screamed, paralyzed into place, but as soon as the man saw Tomura, he lowered the makeshift weapon, squinting as he adjusted the small round glasses on his nose.

"Oh, it's you," he said with disinterest. You tensed as he dropped the pipe to the floor to take a puff of his cigarette, the metallic sound confirming just how heavy the thing was. "The usual?"

"Yeah," Tomura confirmed, impatiently putting his arms on the admission counter. "Hurry it up."

The older man hummed, unperturbed, like he hadn't just almost killed you for breaking in. He walked to a larger machine in the corner of the room, and inputted a few numbers on the keypad. Suddenly, the lights turned on, their artificial glow blinding. Heavy wiring sounds echoed through the room as the arcades individually powered up, chirpy 8-bit music starting to pour out of various sound systems. The whole room had suddenly taken life, like an old beast waking up from a thousand-year slumber.

The man reached into one of his deep suit pockets, pulling out two dozen shiny silver tokens before slowly counting them, cigarette still tucked between his lips. He handed them to Tomura who immediately pocketed them, not throwing a single glance at the man in the suit. The man sighed, blowing another puff of smoke, before seemingly noticing you for the first time. His lips widened into a mellow smile, revealing a missing front tooth.

"Why, Shigaraki," he purred, running a hand through his short gray hair, "you've never brought company here before. Will you introduce me to the lovely lady ?"

"Keep it in your pants, Giran," Tomura grumbled, the warning clear in his tone. "Leave us alone."

The man sighed in disapproval: "Snappy today, aren’t we? Then again, when aren't you..."

Tomura went past him without a word, and you hesitantly followed, throwing an unsure look at the older man.

"Well, I'll be in the back if you need me, don’t forget to close up when you're done," he called out, picking up the metal pipe from where he had left it on the floor.

"Yeah, whatever," Tomura replied without looking back.

You followed him through the strange maze of glowing screens and bright cabinets as he moved forward with a clear goal in mind.

"So, um, who was that ?" you asked with uncertainty.

"Some guy I know," Tomura replied. "He owes me one, so he lets me play in here for free when the arcade is closed."

That answered absolutely none of your questions. If anything, it added more. Why would this shady-looking man in this barely still standing arcade let him roam around and do as he pleased, with nothing in exchange? What kind of weight did Tomura have in these backstreet alleyways?

"Oh... alright," you replied miserably, not wanting to press the subject harder.

"Stop thinking so hard, I can hear it all the way from here," he complained.

"Sorry," you almost whispered, feeling the embarrassment creeping in. Had you always been so easy to read, or was he just that good at seeing right through you?

"Whatever," he replied with disinterest, "look at this instead."

He had stopped in front of a peculiarly large machine, in a significantly better state than anything else in the arcade. The bright yellow of the cabinet, the familiar little tune that rang from the vintage loudspeakers unmistakable.

"No way," you gasped, in awe of the inconceivable treasure that stood in front of you, "that's an original 1991 Plus Ultra arcade cabinet..."

"With the original paint job and controllers," Tomura completed, absolutely glowing with pride.

You approached the cabinet slowly, admiring it like an ancient artifact from a museum. It might as well could be one: out of a hundred produced, only three were known to still be up and running around the entire globe. It was the stuff of legends, the kind of priceless gem most people would have to settle with only ever seeing in the confines of a laptop screen.

"That's so cool," you whispered, running your fingers over the worn-out buttons with reverence, feeling the age and wear of the machine. What was it even doing in this dump?

"You haven't seen shit yet," Tomura said with a mischievous grin. "Wanna take her for a spin?"

If you could have kissed him right then and there without making things more awkward between the two of you, you would have.

---

Unsurprisingly, Tomura was good at every game he touched: from shooting games to rhythm ones, it was like he understood the secret behind every machine, long fingers nimbly moving at the speed of light. He took great pride in every win, grinning smugly for each ass-kicking he handed you. And yet, you couldn't resent him for it; you were having the most fun you had in years.

It wasn’t just the games, either. It was him. It was the way his eyebrows furrowed in concentration when he shot 2D zombies, the way he'd mock you for getting a low score at the racing simulator yet always took the time to show you how to ace all the difficult maneuvers, the way he made your heart bump increasingly against your chest every time his arm brushed yours. It was all maddening, and yet you would have exchanged it for nothing else.

"Ah, shit, it's already eight," he said, bringing you out of your reverie. You looked in the same direction as he did, surprised to find a working clock suspended on the dilapidated walls. How had time passed so fast? "We gotta go," he added.

You couldn't help but let the disappointment slip through your voice.

"Oh, alright..."

Tomura didn't answer, long legs already heading towards the exit. You followed him like a lost puppy, looking around for the man in the suit you had met earlier.

"Shouldn’t we thank the owner for letting us play ?" you asked.

Tomura looked at you with confusion, seemingly perplexed at the very concept.

"Why? I told you, he owes me."

Without another word, he walked out the door, leaving you alone in the derelict yet brightly lit arcade. You couldn't help but yell out a "Thank you!" towards nowhere in particular, hoping your words would reach the elusive man. When no one answered, you walked out to join Tomura, throwing one last look at the strange room before the door closed behind you.

"Took you long enough," Tomura mumbled, putting the forgotten padlock back into place and snapping it shut. Just like that, it was back to being an abandoned building like any other, none of the lights or sounds escaping through the thick doors. There was something nostalgic about it, as if the arcade existed somewhere outside of time and space.

"Thank you for today," you said genuinely, locking your eyes into his. He obviously hadn't expected your earnestness, his pale skin quickly turning red as pointedly stared at the floor. "I had a lot of fun."

"Whatever," he replied in a way that made it painfully clear it was not whatever, and that was quite pleased with himself. "We need to hurry up, we're already late."

Late?

"Late to what ?" you asked.

"Stop asking so many questions all the goddamn time. You'll see when we get there."

"You're just bitter because I kicked your ass on the last round."

"I went easy on you because you're not used to arcade controls. Don't let it get to your head."

You could add ‘sore loser’ to the list of things you knew about him, you thought with a smile.

Whatever awkwardness had been there earlier had completely vanished, and you felt at ease walking next to him and letting your fingers brush against his. Of course, the kiss hadn't fully left your mind, but you felt like you could breathe around him again, like he had brought you both back to the way things were before the dorm incident. Maybe a friendship wasn't exactly what you wanted, but if it was what he wanted, you could respect that.

"It's here," he said, interrupting your reverie.

Much like when he had brought you to the arcade, at first, you thought there had been a mistake. This time however, it wasn't because it looked like an abandoned warehouse.

It was because it was the exact opposite of an abandoned warehouse.

The building was positively lavish, decorated from top to bottom with delicate mouldings and golden ornaments. The red marquis at the door shone with bright, warm lights, the entryway surrounded by a perfectly cut hedge and vases filled to the brim with red roses.

It screamed of luxury, opulence, and most of all, money.

"Tomura,” you started uncertainly, feeling fidgety at the idea of even standing in a 10-mile radius of something so expensive, “I can't afford this."

"Me neither," he shrugged, seemingly totally unbothered by the situation, "but I'm not paying."

He walked in and you had no choice but to follow, feeling somehow more nervous than when you had both broken into a building barely a few hours earlier.

If the outside of the restaurant had seemed overly extravagant, the inside was unfortunately much worse. The walls were all covered with those abstract paintings that cost an arm and a leg; the floors seemed to be made out of real marble, the kind with delicate gray veins and a pearly shimmer; in the middle of the room stood a large chandelier, from which dangled hundreds and hundreds of tiny diamonds. It was out of a fairy tale.

"Reservation ?" the maitre d'hotel asked, cocking an uncertain eyebrow at your duo.

Embarrassment shot back up into you as you realized what you both looked like. You weren't wearing anything peculiarly provocative, per se, but you looked so out of place when put next to the sea of suits and sparkling dresses that you might as well have been wearing a full clown get-up.

"Shigaraki," Tomura said plainly, like he was annoyed the man would even ask him that question. You were surprised a security guard hadn't kicked you both out yet.

The man's eyes widened. He muttered a few words of apology before turning around and almost running into the backroom. From the oval windows on the doors, you could see him hurriedly grab another man by the shoulders and ask him something. After a few seconds of back and forth, the man came back out, looking slightly nauseous.

"Of course, my deepest apologies for the wait," he stammered with a deep bow before motioning you towards the dining room. "Please, follow me."

The table he brought you to had obviously been carefully selected. The glass wall it was next to gave a beautiful view of the outside street and the setting sun. It was close to the live musicians, without being too close, and a little further away from other diners, like it was its own little world. It was impossibly… romantic.

The maitre d'hote pulled your chair for you to sit; you felt like royalty, if royalty wore shoes that had been 60% on discount during last year's spring sale.

The man left with another curt bow, and you attempted to open your mouth to ask Shigaraki just what exactly was happening. But seemingly out of thin air, another well-dressed man appeared, holding a large bottle of wine.

"You should have told me we were going somewhere like this," you whispered as the waiter poured you two glasses from the bottle, which, upon closer inspection, looked to be worth about your entire college tuition. "I feel… underdressed."

And entirely out of place.

Tomura seemed unimpressed, shrugging in disinterest as his lithe fingers toyed with the perfectly folded mouchoir on his plate, effectively ruining its shape. "You look fine. Who cares what some random NPCs think?"

"Still, this is...", you hesitated, glancing at the seemingly unending parade of crystals from the chandelier on the ceiling. Was that an indoor water fountain in the middle of the room? "...A lot," you concluded.

"You don't like it," he flatly stated.

"No, that's not what I'm saying !" you hurriedly answered. "It’s gorgeous, it's just... I didn't expect this for a… first date?"

A moment of silence passed, crimson eyes observing you with an unreadable expression, before Tomura said:

"Who said anything about a date ?"

Your heart dropped.

You swallowed with difficulty, finding that all your saliva had mysteriously vanished from your mouth. "It’s... not?" you hesitantly asked.

"I mean, it's not like it isn’t, but it's not a date either," he explained vaguely, looking away from your face, "it's just us, going out somewhere. To do a thing. Like the arcade. There's no need to make it weird."

"Ok," you replied, trying to hide your disappointment and the bundle of conflicting emotions this night had built up in you. One thing at a time. "Well, I like this... thing. Even though that glass of wine probably costs more than my entire salary as your tutor," you commented with the most honest smile you could try to muster.

Thankfully, the playful, snarky expression was back on the man's face: "All the more reason for you to drink it, then."

There was something pompous yet bored in the way he drank, like he had been raised on some sort of wine etiquette and still unconsciously followed its rules. You sipped the wine politely, afraid of angering some sort of wine diety by not properly appreciating what was clearly a great vintage.

"So, what made you choose this place ?", you inquired. "It's not exactly the type of place I expected you to frequent a lot."

"I asked a friend," he replied with little interest. "He said girls like that type of shit.” He licked a few drops of his lips, and you couldn't help but immediately remember the feel of them against yours in your bedroom.

Focus, you scolded yourself.

“Was it the guy from the bar? Dabi?" you asked, remembering the encounter with the ominous-looking man.

"Hell no, I wouldn't ask that guy for advice if my life depended on it," he scoffed. "He's some guy I know online. We play League together sometimes. He's alright."

"So, you asked a random guy online where to take girls on... things that aren't dates ?" You raised an eyebrow, feeling a smile tug at your lips.

"Stop saying it like that, and no, Spinner isn’t some random guy, I know him," he clarified defensively.

You couldn't help but let out a laugh: "His name is Spinner ?"

"His gaming handle is Spinner, just-" he interrupted himself, lips thinning into an accusatory pout. "You're doing this on purpose, aren’t you."

"Yeah, kind of," you admitted.

His lips stretched into a small smile, like he couldn't make himself stay mad at you for more than a few seconds.

“I can play that game too,” he replied with a half a grin.

Before you could say anything, a hand made its way to your thigh, and your leg bumped against the table in surprise. His palm was cold, refreshing against your skin which felt like it was warming up by the second. You barely managed to suppress a squeal when he squeezed his fingers into your flesh.

"Tomura..." you whispered, a mix of desire and apprehension in your voice.

The look on his face had gotten more smug, his eyes dark, cleared emboldened by your reaction.

“Relax, you're moving around too much. They'll notice,” he admonished you in a falsely sweet tone. His hand went up a few inches higher, sliding closer towards the inside of your thighs.

The chatter and music inside the restaurant had turned to pure white noise. His nails dug gently but firmly into your skin, his long fingers massaging the meat of your thigh. It was like you were back with him in your dorm room, your body burning like wildfire with the way he seemed to revere touching you. Time stood still for a moment, and you let yourself drunkenly sink into the feeling.

A foreign voice broke you out of your stupor and of the moment you were sharing, alarm bells going off in your head at the idea that someone had noticed you both. Tomura very reluctantly moved his hand away from its dangerous position, staring daggers at the intruder.

“Sir, Madam, would you like me to introduce tonight's menu?” the unsuspecting waiter asked, totally obvious as to what he had just interrupted.

“No,” Tomura replied, cold as ice. The waiter's eyes widened slightly; was it out of surprise, or fear? “Can't you see we're busy?”

“Of course, of course,” the waiter apologized hurriedly, taking a step back, and now, you knew for sure the man was scared. His body was rigid, holding onto the printed menus for dear life. You could fully understand someone being nervous when faced with a disgruntled Tomura, especially if they didn't know him, but this was something else. The man was scared shitless.

“My most sincere apologies. I-I would never have interrupted if I had known- Please do tell your father that-”

“Leave.”

You knew that tone. It was the one he had used when talking to Dabi the day you had met him. It was like the growl of an animal warning its prey of the incoming attack, giving it one last chance to run before it would pounce.

The waiter swallowed with difficulty, his terrified gaze stuck on the floor, and after muttering something that sounded like five different apologies strung together, he left the table so fast he might as well have vanished out of thin air.

The tension could be cut with a knife. Tomura's pale brows were furrowed in displeasure, the hand that had so fervently caressed you now wrapped around his neck. He scratched at his skin, rough and unforgiving, and you noticed you hadn't seen him bruise himself that way in quite a while, now.

You cleared your throat.

“So, your father-”

“Don't.”

His lips had thinned into a line, his crimson gaze lost somewhere beyond the window you sat next to. The scratching continued, practiced and mechanical, and you could see his pale skin turning an angry red under the pressure of his nails.

“Tomura…” you sighed. “I'm just trying to get to know you. I don't understand what you want from me.”

His eyes flickered back to you.

“One minute I'm kissing you,” you explained, “and you're kissing me back, but then you don't answer my messages for a week. And then you bring me to the arcade, and to the fanciest fucking restaurant I've ever been to, but you won't say it's a date, and when I ask anything to know you more you shut me down!”

You hadn't realized you had raised your voice before you finished your rant. You realized with embarrassment the two tables closest to you had paused their conversation to look at you. You could have dug a hole into the ground to bury yourself if you could. Why did you always end up feeling that way around him?

Tomura stayed silent.

Now, you were starting to get a bit more than frustrated. His eyes were fixated on your face, like he was trying to gauge something, but he still said nothing. You had poured, shouted your feelings out, and they had fallen on deaf ears.

Before you could gather the shreds of dignity you had left to get up and leave, Tomura finally spoke, voice raspy and deep.

“You want to know me?”

You could have thrown your hands in the air in exasperation.

“Yeah, I thought I made that pretty obvious,” you replied drily.

“Fine, then,” he said, leaning forward. “See the water fountain in the corner?”

You turned your head to face the direction he was looking towards, easily spotting the imposing water feature.

“There's some restrooms right behind that. The men's are fine, but the women's are better. Cleaner. More space.”

You wanted to ask how he knew that the women's bathroom was better than the men's, but you had more pressing questions.

“I don't get where you're going with this.”

He grabbed his glass of wine, finishing what little liquid had been left before shrugging, the hint of a smile dancing on his lips.

“Haven't seen anyone walk in there since we got here. I think it's empty.”

Why would it matter if the bathroom was-

Oh.

"Tomura, we can’t," you protested immediately, thoughts in your mind racing.

"You do what you want," he replied dismissively as he got up, his eyes never looking away from yours. Why was his stare always so intense, so enticing? "I'm heading over there. You can decide if you want to come or not."

Without leaving you time to say another word, or even formulate another thought, he was walking away, disappearing out of sight behind the fountain.

You couldn't tell if you were mad, confused, frustrated, or horny.

Tomura Shigaraki was a roller-coaster, and you didn't know how to get off it.

He was so profoundly different from anyone you had met, let alone romanced before. He was unpredictable, his mood swings constantly keeping you on your toes, but there was undeniably something you liked about that. About how unapologetic he was to be himself.

But you? You had spent your entire life building a fortress of perfection to hide behind. You got As on every assignment you were given. You finished on top of your class, in every class. You graduated with honours and three scholarships to boot. But was that you, or the person you wanted everyone to believe you were? When was the last time you did something stupid, for the hell of it? When had you been to an arcade with a friend and fooled around for hours without worrying about anyone else's thoughts?

You glanced back at the bathroom at the far end of the restaurant; no sign of Tomura. You knew he wasn't coming back.

You looked at your table, staring at your half-empty glass of wine, the liquid the same colour as his eyes. He was brash, and impulsive, and never let you catch a break. You thought back to Ms Kayama's words, back at your dorm. Everything about him screamed ‘bad idea’.

The choice became clear.

You chugged the remains of your glass, and, lightheaded but not hesitant anymore, you made your way to the bathroom.

—-

It took a grand total of three steps inside the women's restrooms before you were unceremoniously whisked away into one of the stalls, two hands crashing on the wall on both sides of your face.

"Knew it," he smirked wickedly, "you're a pervert like me."

For as much as he made himself look unbothered, you could see clear relief in his features. He was scared you wouldn't follow him.

"It's not like you gave me many options,” complained mockingly, his crooked smile contagious. “What was I gonna do, get up and pay the wine myself? I would be in debt for the next forty years."

"You always talk too fucking much. You need to learn to shut up.”

Dry yet increasingly familiar lips crashing into yours, closing the gap between your bodies. He was already a much better kisser than he had been a week prior: he was making full use of his tongue and teeth, tasting every inch of your mouth and possessively biting on your lips. You responded in favour, wrapping your arms around his shoulders to bring him closer. The ends of his hair tickled your fingers, soft and curly. When you pulled away to catch your breath, his pupils were blown wide, a drop of saliva making its way down his chin.

Beautiful, your brain supplied. The word you're looking for is beautiful.

"Can I…" he hesitantly started, and he was back to being the lost little boy who ran away from your room without a word, like he fully expected you to reject him. How could one man go so fast from self-confident and controlling to awkward and unsure?

"Tomura," you said, pressing yourself ever closer to him. His eyes darted to your cleavage pushing against his chest, and right back up, as if he wasn't sure if he was allowed to stare. The temperature in the room had gotten so warm it was dizzying, but you wanted to be closer, always closer. "I would not be in a restaurant bathroom stall if I didn’t like you.”

He swallowed with difficulty, one hand hesitantly gliding down your shoulder and stopping at your collarbone.

"I'm not going to warn you again, alright?" he muttered. "You can't just back out after this."

You grabbed his arm, firmly laying his hand on one of your breasts, before kissing him deeply. He let out a small sound of surprise, frozen in place. Then, it was as if he had awakened all at once, his fingers grabbing all they could hold onto. You moaned encouragingly in his mouth as the digits got rougher, possessively latching onto the supple flesh with the desperation of a starved man. When you pulled away for air, his grip on your chest did not lessen, instead being joined by his other hand. You muffled out a moan as he sharply massaged your breasts, the slight pain of his forcefulness unbelievably intoxicating.

"Fuck, your tits are so soft. I could shove my face in there," he rasped out. He was drunk off the feeling, off his own words, and you couldn't blame him, because you weren't faring much better. “No wonder that fucking waiter couldn't stop staring at them."

He pinched your nipples with the tip of his fingers, and you moaned. He looked positively delighted by your reaction.

"The waiter wasn’t staring," you protested weakly.

"Of course he was," he dismissed, twisting your hardened buds again to watch you squirm under him, "but it's too bad for him. I'm the one who gets to touch you today."

He pulled off your top so fast you wondered if he had ripped it. Nimble fingers took off your bra in a single try, and if you hadn't known better you could have believed he had had practice with this. You thought back to your afternoon at the arcade, how agile he was with his hands. How good they would feel grabbing your body instead of a controller…

Tomura watched the jiggle of your freed breasts with so much intensity and reverence you covered them with unexpected shyness, feeling your cheeks redden.

He frowned, grabbing both your wrists.

“Don't fucking do that.”

You let him guide your hands back around his neck as he bends down, and without warning, he wrapped his mouth around one of your tits.

"How are you so warm…" he mumbled against your skin, more to himself than you.

Through the thick fabric of his sweatpants, you could feel his erection rubbing against your leg. He was as hard as a rock, rutting more and more rapidly, and you wondered if he would cum untouched. While there was certainly something very flattering about that idea, that wasn't the way you wanted your first time to go with him. You wanted to show him you cared. You wanted to show him just how much you wanted him.

You pushed him gently, and he looked at you with dazed confusion, and a little annoyance, like an animal whose bowl of food had been taken away.

You gave him a small kiss on the top of his head to appease him before bending down and falling to your knees. You gently pushed his pants down, exposing boxers with a large stain of precum, the outline of his dick pressing against the material with desperation.

"Hey, wait, what are you..."

"Shh," you smiled up at him, "you talk too much."

If the restaurant patrons hadn't heard your hushed and whispered moans, there was absolutely no way they hadn't heard the ungodly sound that came out of Tomura's mouth when you wrapped your mouth around his length.

"Oh fuck, oh fuck, fuck-"

The taste wasn't as bad as you would have expected for someone who changed clothing as little as he did. The smell of musk and sweat wasn't pleasing, and neither was the lemon-scented cleaning product they seemed to have scrubbed the entire bathroom floor with, but god, was it worth it for that face. The skin down to his collarbone was bright red, his eyes rolling into the back of his skull, his lips opened into the first syllable of a curse he couldn't manage to push out.

His thighs started shaking uncontrollably, and even if you were certain this was the first time someone touched him this way, you couldn't help but feel some sort of pride at the idea of unravelling him so quickly. Unintelligible strings of words were the only thing that escaped his lips between raspy breaths, and he let out a deep groan when you licked across the thick vein on the side of his cock.

"H-how many times have you done that before, shit-"

You could already taste fresh precum on your tongue, and you doubled your efforts, determined to make him see stars.

"I'm gonna cum," he barely panted out, grabbing the back of your head savagely, "don't you dare fucking move away."

He was in too deep, the rapid movement of his hips making you gag, but before you could pull away he came, the warm liquid filling your mouth. You coughed, ready to spit it out, but he put his hand on your mouth, his eyes glowing under the fluorescent light of the bathroom stall.

"Swallow" he simply said.

He watched the movement of your throat with utter fascination as you obeyed him, the salty taste burning. He was already getting hard again, the idea of holding so much power over you clearly arousing.

He fell to his knees and kissed you deep, his hands back all over your skin, flickering his tongue against yours as if chasing the taste of his cum in your mouth. Maybe he was right calling himself a pervert. But then, you were also one for liking it.

“Can we… do that again?” he mumbled after a few minutes against your lips, voice strained. Strands of white hair had stuck to the sweat on his forehead, and you pushed them gently to the side. You wanted to say yes. You wanted to stay here forever.

But as the fog of sex dissipated from your mind, you were starting to remember where exactly ‘here’ was.

And exactly how loud you had just both been.

"Tomura…" you swallowed with difficulty, putting a hand on his chest to put some distance between the two of you, "there’s absolutely no way the entire restaurant didn't just hear that. We're in huge trouble. They're going to kick us out as soon as we step out of here."

Oh, God, forget kick you out, what if they were calling the police? Could you get arrested for having sex in a restaurant bathroom? Surely a place like this one had connections all over the city, hell, all over the country! What if they kicked you out of school? What if-

"They can't kick us out if we're gone" Tomura interrupted your rapidly derailing train of thought with a smirk.

"What?", you replied, stunned.

Wordlessly, he pushed the bathroom stall open and headed towards the furthest wall, bare except for a few ornate mirrors and one small window. In one surprisingly agile jump, he grabbed the ledge of the window, pulling it open enough for his body to slide through. He looked back at you from outside, a smug expression on his face.

"We can't just leave without paying for the wine !" you hissed, looking behind you in fear someone had heard the sound of his acrobatics and opened the bathroom door. But there was no one.

"Let them worry about that," he shrugged, "the reservation isn't under my name anyway. At least, not exactly."

"But-" you protested.

"Trust me."

It wasn't a question, but a statement. And deep inside your heart, no matter all the warning flags and unanswered questions, the abandoned arcades and fancy restaurant bathrooms, you knew it was true.

You took his hand.

#AHHHH FINALLY I'VE UPDATED THIS #thank you to all the lovelies who left comments on this both here and on Ao3!!!#shigaraki x reader #mha shigaraki #bnha shigaraki #my hero academia x reader

28 notes · View notes

russellsppttemplates · 2 years ago

Text

Take me home (Pierre Gasly)

Y/N's been needing to feel what is like to be at home and luckily for her, Pierre seems to be the one to allow her to build a roof over his heart

Note: english is not my first language, here is some Pierre content that I wrote after hearing a song I haven’t heard in ages and it made me think of this immediately. I tried to depict a reality I got to know over the past few weeks and I hope I treated it respectfully as I know that is obviously bigger than anything I could have tried to write here. Also, I feel like this is a shitty piece but I am way to insistent apparently

Thank you so much to everyone who likes and reblogs, your feedback is appreciated 🤍 and I'm not taking requests so if you have any ideas or concepts you want to share, feel free to do so but know that I'm not certain when I'll be able to tend to them!

Tw: living away from family

"Pierre, they're going to need you downstairs in 10 minutes to check if your seat is okay!", you called for the driver inside his room in the hospitality since one of the mechanics had asked for the favour given that you were going upstairs anyway, "Since when do you do these call-ups? Usually Fabiana is the one ordering me about. Wait, is this finally you succumbing into my charms?", he said as he opened the door, catching you still in the corridor. The french man had no issue flirting openly with you, he never had from the first moment he noticed in the preseason new staff introduction meeting where he sat next to you and had already asked for your number so you could grab dinner together. And much to his disappointment, you had politely denied every single advance he had made in the last year. "Marc asked me to do it, so I'm being a nice colleague", you explained, not missing the smirk on his lips, "and you could be so nice to me too", he said, "I am nice to you, since when am I not nice?", you glared playfully, having had different variations of the same conversation many times before, "you are, but it would be even better if you finally accepted my dinner invitation", he said, earning a shake from your head before you made your way into your office.

Pierre was back from his media duties when he found you sorting papers into files in the engineers' room, your focused expression capturing him like always. It was the way your was always up in a ponytail to prevent your hair hindering you in the eyes, making him see all of your features perfectly, your moles, the scars on your face, the crease between your eyebrows whenever you didn't understand something or the crinkles on your eyes when someone said something funny and your smile got the biggest and most beautiful he had ever seen. "Sorry, do you need the room? I won't be long, if you can wait", you asked when you noticed you weren't alone, "No, no, I was just looking for John because he said we'd meet up to talk about the race but he's not here yet apparently", he said as he sat in one of the chairs next to you, "Congratulations on P8, by the way", you said softly, stapling some sheets together before looking for the hole puncher in the middle of the mess on the table. Grabbing the gadget for you, Pierre handed it, "Here", he smiled, "and thanks, with everything that happened around this weekend, it was definitely a positive to extract from it", he replied before he heard John get inside the room, patting Pierre's back before placing his hand confortingly on your shoulder, "Do you need help, Y/N?", he asked, "No, this is the last one for now. I can't do the rest before we get moving tomorrow, by the way, you didn't confirm yet if you're coming with the rest of the travelling crew...?", you forwarded, closing the binder and grabbing the other two you had done, "I can't, I have a medical appointment but I'll meet you on day two, hopefully", he said before you nodded and excused yourself, Pierre failing to hide his confusion and endearment as you walked out of the room. "What are you thinking so much about, Pierre?", John asked, "the team are leaving already today?", he asked, knowing how much preparation a race involved but also knowing they would have two weeks in-between the next race weekend, "early tomorrow. Despite having more time to dot it, they need someone to supervise and make sure everything gets there without any issues", he replied, noticing the AlphaTauri driver was still not processing the whole information, "and Y/N is the one doing that. Not alone, but she is a big part of the department that ensures that", he explained the full thing. "So, she doesn't go and see her family and friends all that often then?", he asked, having talked to a good part of the staff that made sure himself and Yuki could race in the best conditions possible every weekend, hearing many FaceTime stories from parents and their children and partners or the quick visits they could pay eachother, "Yeah, she's probably the one who sees them the least, they can't come to many races because they have their own jobs and she barely had time to go too, especially after the pandemic and all. I think she saw them last four weeks ago, maybe", he said, knowing you wouldn't mind him sharing that and noticing Pierre's genuine concern about it.

You were celebrating the team's results on that weekend when you felt Pierre's hand on your back, "cheers to this weekend!", he said as he clinked his glass with your, you both taking a sip as you looked into eachother's eyes, "you don't want to be inside?", you asked, wondering why he had followed you to the balcony area of the get together that had been thrown because of the results he was partly responsible for, "No. I noticed you were having a hard time today and I came to check up on you", he forwarded, now wanting to seem too nosy but wondering if you maybe wanted a shoulder to cry on. Feeling your eyes get filled with tears, you looked up to the sky so you could hold them back somehow, "are you just being nice or can I actually open my soul?", you asked, figuring that if he really was all in like he said he was, this would be a good starting point, seeing him nod for you to proceed, "I haven't seen my parents in a while, same with my friends. And today is also marks two years that I have applied for this job and I love it so much, and it's silly because everyone here is my family, but sometimes is hard to feel at home. I don't want to sound ungrateful, because AlphaTauri are my second family but yeah, it gets hard", you whispered, tears running freely now as you felt Pierre's thumbs wipe your cheeks. "You're not ungrateful because you miss your family, your home. Everyone here is working so hard week in and week out and you barely have time for everything", he mused, smiling a sad smile when he noticed your breathing wad back to normal and you had leaned into his touch, "it's just an accumulation I guess, tomorrow I'll be fine but today it really hit me I think", you said as you allowed your body to lean completely on his, your head landing on his shoulder.

When the music died down and everyone started leaving, Pierre grabbed your hand and got the both of you up, "Thank you Pierre, for staying with me. I know you didn't have to do that but that was very kind of you", the man smiling soflty at you, "for you, I'll do whatever I need to prove to you I'm serious with this", he said as his other hand gestured to the area between your bodies.

You were sitting in the factory's meal area for your (very late) lunch break when you heard someone get inside the room, "I'm sure that it is lunchtime somewhere in the world", Pyry said as he walked inside, noticing Pierre was right behind him, grabbing some food for themselves and sitting next to you, "touché, hm?", you replied back. Chuckling, the personal trainer started digging in his food, while Pierre did the same with his, "In my defense, I was up late last night so I got in later this morning and I was only hungry for lunch now", you replied. Engaging in light conversation about the upcoming weekend, Pyry had to take a phonecall outside, leaving you and Pierre alone in the table, "By the way you have been declining my invites, I'm going to count this as a date", he said as he took a sip of his water. Earning you a eyeroll, Pierre forwarded, "what is it going to take for you to finally say yes?", he tempted you, and how would you argue now? He had been amazing those last two weeks, he was asking if you were okay just the right amount of times, taking some of his day to talk to you and help in anything he could (albeit not much because his skills go beyond bookings and shipping managements) and overall just being a nice company. "What about tomorrow afternoon? I'm free then", you said, surprising him with a bolder than usual move from your part, "really?", he couldn't hide the surprise on his face, "surprise me, Gasly", you winked before you left.

"So we're going to the lake?", you asked, holding Pierre's hand since you had left his car and he grabbed it while you walked a bit further so you could get ice-cream together, "I figured you wouldn't be swept away by fancy dinners and you always mention this lake near your grandparent's house so I assumed you would like it here", he smiled. After getting you both ice-cream, the driver led you both to one of the bench by the lake, the little duckies and their mama duck giving the whole scene a calming and comforting aura, "How do you deal with it all?", you asked, "The distance I mean", specifying what you were talking about, "it gets a little bit easier when you start feeling comfortable with it, comfortable-ish anyway. But it takes a lot to get to that point, it did to me at least. Switching teams and everything is always challenging but along the way you find people who can make it feel like home to you", he smiled, latching your hand back in his as he rubbed his thumb over your skin.

You were sat in the hotel room's balcony late that night, looking at the stars while you tried to make sense of your thoughts and feelings. Your family had visited today and despite being hard to say goodbye to them, you felt recharged in spite of the feelings of longing in your body. You really liked Pierre, and you had to admit his latest actions had swept you off of your feet, but at what cost? One day he might just figure that the life you lead, despite being somewhat similar to his, it would never work and you'd be giving yourself to someone who would ditch you again.

You had a good voice for singing, and although you never wanted to do anything with it, music always helped you manage your feelings and so, assuming no one would hear you, you sang soflty and quietly to the setting sun.

Take me home

I sometimes wonder what I'm doing here

It's been a long time since I've been lost

I don't know myself as well as I thought

Take me home

And let them finish the party

Kiss my face, my hands, my forehead

Let me see if the world comes crashing down

Take me home

Let's walk through this city

And see that home is a person

And that we both fit there

"Don't get scared, but I had my window open and I couldn't sleep so I came to see whose beautiful voice was that", you heard a French accented voice say from the balcony next to yours, Pierre's bed head popping over the glass door that separated the areas, "May I?", he asked, his hand already on the handle that allowed to transform the balconies into a connecting one, grabbing his chair and sitting next to you, "you have a very beautiful voice, why did I not know that?", he started. Looking at him to see his eyes glued to yours, you sighed, "thank you. I know I have been a bit harsh with you", you said, earning a genuine confused look on his face, "How come?", leaving you to smile slightly, "I have been setting my foot down, and not let you in. And maybe it's stupid, maybe it's everything coming at me all at once, but I can't loose a friendship like yours and I can't risk it if it's not for sure", you explained, Pierre's face showing he was now understanding where you were going. Thinking it was nor or never, he grabbed your hand in his, "At first, I just wanted to get to know who the new girl was but you quickly turned my world upside down. And it's hard for you not having a ground yet, but I'll allow you to build a roof over my heart, I've allowed it already", he chuckled, "I know you don't think this has what it takes to go forward but I'll show you if you'll allow me". Getting closer to him, his hand grabbed your cheek while you looked at eachother's lips, flickering to the eyes before you leaned in, lips finally crashing together, "let me make a home for you, be a home for you", he whispered before kissing your cheek, your hands and your forehead, the happy sigh you released informing him you were just enjoying this as much as he was.

#pierre gasly imagine #pierre gasly × reader #pierre gasly fic #pierre gasly fluff #f1 x reader #f1 fanfic #f1 imagine

235 notes · View notes

yehsahihai · 2 years ago

Text

Smiles of our hearts-pt.3

The one where Ram finally gets his damn kulfi

“Y/n I swear if i don’t get my kulfi in the next 10 minutes-”

“You’ll what? Start crying? Throw a tantrum? Go off to sulk?”

Ram opened and closed his mouth a few times, before setting his jaw and saying, “Yes. Yes actually I will. Then you can deal with the crowd asking why there’s a grown man weeping near your feet.”

Y/n had to roll her eyes at that, turning away from him to hide her smile. “Overgrown baby, that’s what you are. If your villagers saw you like this they’d completely lose all faith in you.”

“Oh please. You love it when I’m like this”, Ram was having too much fun like this. The last time he’d annoyed someone like this had been 15 years ago with chinna. He quickly shut down that train of thought.

Y/n huffed out a breath, before replying, “No I don’t……..”

He scoffed. “Achaa?” He ducked to her side, where she was still hiding her smile and turned her to face him. “AH-HA! See. Hasee toh phasee!”

Y/n had to beam at that, before saying, “ See. Overgrown baby only.”

Ram couldn’t stop smiling. What was with him. He was pretty sure at this rate his cheeks would begin aching, but did he care. No he did not. Nudging her shoulder he said, “But I’m your overgrown baby.”

Y/n couldn’t stop the blood rushing to her cheeks. She was grateful it was a hot day, otherwise with the way Ram was behaving, she knew he’d never let her hear the end of it. Samilng softly, she muttered, “That you are.”

Paying for the clothes, Ram and y/n stepped outside the shop, only for Ram to violently tug on y/n’s arm. Unfortunately, her husband severely underestimated his own strength, causing her to trip. It was only years of quick reflexes that Ram was able to catch her, before she hit the ground in what would have undoubtedly been a very undignified manner.

Y/n was still clenching her eyes as she waited to hit the ground. However, she only felt a pair of arms around her; on her waist and neck. Utterly confused she opened her eyes to see Ram, gazing down at her, a rainbow of emotions swirling in his eyes.

“Shit, shit, shit”, Ram couldn’t stop cursing as he looked down at her. He had never seen her like this. Never been this close to her, that there were barely a few centimeteres between them. And now he didn’t know if he could let go. He was, frankly, utterly spellbound.

His eyes roved all over he face, noting the tiny scar on her forehead, the small mole on her cheek, the shadows cast by her lashes; and she opened her eyes and Ram knew he had never seen anything more beautiful in his life and likely never would.

Y/n couldn’t stop either. Couldn’t stop the way she was staring at him, the way she noted every emotion in those beautiful depths of his eyes.

They were broken out of their reverie by someone bumping into them, as they walked past. Ram and y/n quickly sprang apart, remembering that they were, in fact, not alone. Wiping off the non-existent dust on her sari, y/n asked, “You, uhhh- You wanted to show me something?”

“Huh? Ohh yeahh. Look”, Ram pointed to a cart at the other end of the street.

Blowing some unruly strands out odf her face y/n squinted and said, “Ram I have no idea what that is.”

“ Aareee, that’s the kulfi cart. You promised…” Whining. This devi had brought him to whining.

Y/n sighed. It was too hot to be anywhere outside right now. That combined with the shopping had left almost no energy in her. “Ram, we can go some other time as well na. Chalo abhi. Let’s go home.”

She managed to get two steps, before Ram spun her around to face him. He was too close, again.

Ram was pouting, looking up at her in the exact way cats often did when they wanted something. “You promised jaana, ab you can’t back out.”

Y/n could feel her breathe stuttering, but she still managed to say, “Well tickets are given to be denied and promises are made to be broken.”

He was still doing looking at her in that infuriating way of his and y/n could feel her resolve slipping away. “Achha baba thik hai. We’ll go get your damn kulfi.”

“YESSS!!”, y/n started. Ram had never looked so excited about anything ever. She almost felt jealous of the kulfi, before scolding herself. “What the hell is wrong with you? Kulfis? Really? That’s where you’ve fallen?”

Ram practically dragged her to the kulfi cart. But looking at the radiance on his face, y/n didn’t feel even the least bit annoyed.

“Bhaiyaa, ek kulfi de dena. Kesar pista.” Turning to y/n he asked, “And you? What will you have?”

“I-I didn’t know we were both eating.”

Ram really had to raise an eyebrow at that. Did his wife really think there could be any happiness in his life now that he didn’t share with her?

“Of course we are. Now what do you want?”

Y/n considered for a second before saying , “Malai.”

The vendor quickly fished out their kulfis as they went and sat on the nearby bench. Feeling the first taste of the sweet, cold desert on her tongue, y/n sighed in blis, remembering the times in her childhood when she’d beg her parents to buy her kulfis. She couldn’t help giggling as she thought of the way the roles had been swapped today. Her acting like her parents and Ram being the stubborn child.

“Kya hua?”

“Hmm?”

“You giggled. You only do that when something is really funny.”

“Nothing. Just, thinking of how you’ve been behaving like a child all day today, asking me every two minutes for your kulfi.”

Ram nodded, eyes narrowing as he said, “Achha? Like a child huh?”

Still slightly giggling, y/n responded, “Haan ji, bilkul. Hell, you even caused me to almost fall in your haste.”

“Achaa ji?”

“Hmm”

“AAAHHHHHHHHH”

y/n jumped out of her skin, looking wildly to where Ram was pointing to see something, anything. Try as she might she couldn’t find anything out of the ordinary.

Ready to tell her husband off, she turned to face Ram, only to see him holding two kulfis in place of one with a grin on his face that could only be described as pure mischief.

“RAM!!”

The bastard didn't even have the sense to look sheepish, innocently asking, “What bangaram? I though I saw a snake.”

Getting ready to tackle him, y/n suddenly realised he had never been like this. This was the first time she was seeing this mischievous, childish side of Ram bubbling out of him. And selfishy she wanted it to last, for as long as possible. Because she knew, the moment the sun rose tomorrow this bubble of theirs would pop, dousing her in the cold water of reality.

Losing her will to be angry at him in an instant, she could only smile at him as she looped her arm through his, before saying, “Ghar chale ab?”

“Of course jaan.”

“I’m already home anyways”

@juhiiiiii @manwalaage @maraudersbitchesassemble @gauri-vishalakshi @lil-stark @rambheem-is-real @seherie @irisesforyoureyes @zaddylokiandthorsimp @bromance-minus-the-b @kafkaesquebestie @hissterical-nyaan @ramayantika @phoenix666stuff @iam-siriuslysher-lokid @obsessedtoafault @chaanv @nerdreader @kalavathi @hxnky-pxnky @shawty-writes-a-little @azraelcruor @rambheemisgoated @aasthuu @jeonmahi1864 @thewinchestergirl1208 @budugu @ronnoxandlumoss @rorapostsbl @dumdaradumdaradum @rishi-sita @fangirlshrewt97 @burningsheepcrown @ma-douce-souffrance

#rrr #ram x reader #ram x wife!reader #ram charan #desiblr

59 notes · View notes

bitsandbobsofwriting · 3 years ago

Text

The Hell he’s been through;

The Knights have no clue of the suffering Merlin has endured… until one day, they do.

TW: Scars, panic attacks, nightmares, PTSD except they don’t have a word for that, non-graphic description of scars/injuries

Part 2(final part)

It was the height of summer, the bright blue sky was utterly free of clouds and the noon sun beat viciously down onto the training field.

Only the central six knights, their King, and Merlin braved the exhausting heat, the other knights had chosen to train later in the day, when it was cooler, so the field was empty of anyone else. Merlin was sat cross-legged in the shade of a tree, jacket and neckerchief removed (not that Arth- anyone noticed. Definitely not.), though his sleeves were still pulled low over his wrists and his tunic was fastened high up his neck. Despite that, the lack of an extra layer definitely displayed Merlin’s surprisingly broad shoulders more than normal (another thing that Ar-no one noticed).

The knights were shirtless, despite Merlin’s warning of sunburn, sparring semi-playfully with wooden dummy swords, the type squires train with, and no armour.

Merlin rubs absent-mindedly at the dull, almost gone ache in his ribs, just below his armpit, as he rolls his shoulder. The injury, if it could even be called that, had never been serious and hadn’t even hurt that much when he’d gotten it on the last patrol (a stray mace swing from a bandit just clipped him), at least, not compared to other injuries he’s sustained over the years, but it was an annoyance that made his shoulder stiff on occasion.

Unfortunately, the movement caught Arthur’s eye, and the King frowns, stopping his observation of Elyan and Mordred’s spar to lay a crudely hidden concerned gaze upon his manservant.

He’d fussed endlessly when he found that Merlin had bandaged his own torso after the fight, demanding that he let someone help next time; Merlin just rolled his eyes at that. The other knights had wisely chosen not to comment, knowing that the attack, and Merlin’s subsequent injury, had already put Arthur in a bad enough mood; though admittedly, the only thing stopping Gwaine from ruthlessly taking the piss out of Arthur’s mother-hen tendencies all the way home was Percival harshly clamping a hand over his mouth and pushing him away.

Merlin looks up to see Arthur staring at him, and the King quickly covers his concern with a look of annoyance when the manservant raises an eyebrow:

“If you’re not going to do anything useful Merlin, get up here, you clearly can’t be trusted to even cower effectively, so you’re going to have to learn to defend yourself.”

Merlin’s eyebrow just rises higher as the rest of the knights’ attention is drawn to the conversation. Lancelot and Mordred hide knowing smiles, well aware than Merlin was more than capable of defending himself, if he really needed to. Gwaine went to open his mouth with teasing grin, though quickly pouts when Percival punches him on the shoulder, and Leon and Elyan smirk at each other before moving their amused gazes to Arthur.

When Merlin doesn’t move, just stares at him disbelievingly, Arthur rolls his eyes and gestures at the half-empty rack of wooden swords:

“Come on, Merlin, up on your feet, grab a sword.”

Merlin just snorts in amusement and shakes his head, settling back against the tree trunk even more:

“Absolutely not. I can handle myself just fine, thank you very much.”

The knights (bar Lancelot and Mordred of course) raise their own eyebrows. Gwaine snorts out loud, stepping up next to Arthur and dropping an overly-friendly hand on his shoulder, much to The King’s displeasure:

“I know you can hold your own in a tavern brawl Merls, but that’s not the same thing as facing bandits and assassins and shit. Princess is right, it might be worth it for you to at least know how to use a sword.”

Arthur turns an accusing gaze on Gwaine, shrugging his hand off as he says:

“And I presume all the tavern brawls Merlin has apparently been getting into are your fault?”

Gwaine grimaces slightly before shrugging with a smirk, and Merlin hides his laughter with a cough before inserting:

“Entirely his fault. Gwaine starts the fights, promptly passes out, and I have to finish them.”

Arthur laughs incredulously; Mordred has to hide the angry clench of his jaw and Lancelot has to hide his sorrow when Arthur replies in a taunting tone:

“I’m meant to believe that you are regularly winning Gwaine’s unfinished fights, am I?”

Merlin shrugs in mock defeat, a grin on his face:

“Believe what you want, Sire, I’ve faced worse than you lot and come out singing, I don’t need training.”

Arthur resists the urge to smirk at the appealing way Merlin manages to make his title sound insulting, and he instead raises his eyebrows:

“You’re not getting out of this, Merlin. I can’t have you bruising yourself every time we leave the city.”

Merlin takes in a deep breath, settling a disconcertingly assessing gaze on The King for a few moments before he sighs and stands up, walking towards the equipment and picking up a sword before turning back to Arthur:

“I suppose you’re right, I doubt any of the other servants would be willing to put up with you if I got too injured. Who would you like me to spar, My Lord?”

Arthur scoffs and shakes his head as the others step back, looking upon the whole scene with fond amusement, bar, once again, Lancelot and Mordred, who are looking an odd mix between concerned and proud. They know that Merlin is capable of more than he lets on, even with a wooden blade.

“You can’t spar with any of us, Merlin, that would be far too dangerous. We’ll start with some basic moves, and then maybe we can move on to a slow, choreographed spar.”

Merlin twirls the sword expertly in his hand, and he’s vaguely away of Gwaine nodding approvingly and Leon raising an eyebrow out the corner of his eye, though he pays them no mind, raising an eyebrow of his own at Arthur:

“Surely starting with a simple spar will tell you my exact skill levels so you can tailor the lessons? You need to know how crap I am before we start.”

Lancelot hides a snort behind a hand, knowing full well that Merlin is just trying to goad Arthur into letting the servant show off his skills without too much effort beforehand. Or without giving Arthur the satisfaction of thinking that he was the one who taught Merlin how to fight. Thankfully, Arthur takes Lance’s snort as a teasing one aimed at Merlin, as opposed to what it really is, so waves him into the ring with a smirk.

Merlin just rolls his eyes, moving to stand opposite his best friend and muttering, just loud enough for everyone to hear:

“Fine, but I’m not taking my shirt off, I’m not as arrogant as you lot.”

Lancelot widens his eyes as Arthur freezes, dread growing in his stomach at the knowledge that The King would take that as a challenge. Arthur turns slowly, a shit-eating grin on his face, and Lancelot grimaces as Arthur claps his hands together:

“Right! I wasn’t going to mention it, but you do have a point, Merlin, if you are to train, you must train as one of us. Come on, tunic off.”

Elyan, Percival, and Gwaine just laugh, but Leon rolls his eyes exasperatedly, and Mordred and Lancelot frown in concern. Neither of them have seen Merlin’s scars in their entirety before, but knowing about the servant’s secret second life had definitely made them more observant than the others, and they had seen hints of old injuries here and there. That’s not even mentioning the times he’s shown up in their chambers, bloody and bruised and in need of treatment, but not wanting to worry Gaius.

Merlin just flushed and stared at him indignantly and Arthur’s teasing grin grew:

“Don’t be shy, Merlin, I’m sure whatever horrific mole or ugly birth mark you’re ashamed of isn’t that bad.”

Merlin rolls his eyes, stepping away from Arthur when he moves towards him. The demand to de-robe, even partially, had immediately put him on edge, and he had gone from playfully annoyed to genuinely irate in a split second. He crosses his arms over his chest protectively when Arthur gestures at him demandingly:

“I don’t have a weird mole, Arthur, you Clotpole, but unlike you lot, I’m not all that keen to show off my old scars.”

Apparently, that was the wrong thing to say. Merlin was hoping that mentioning his scars in passing would appeal to the knights’ warrior sides, would make them sympathetic to his… shy-ness. It did not. It just made them laugh, even Leon, and they all began to point out various scars they had on their chests and back, remarking that he couldn’t have worse than them.

Gwaine twisted to the side, patting a pink, jagged circle halfway down his back, a grin on his face:

“This beauty is from when I propositioned a lovely fella who was, apparently, already taken. Man’s wife smashed her bottle on the counter and damn near took my eye out with it.”

Elyan cackles at Gwaine’s story, pointing to a perfectly square burn on his shoulder-blade:

“Yeah, well at least you didn’t fall back into a red hot brand at the ripe old age of fifteen because a girl smiled at you.”

Merlin’s back-up plan, which was sneakily sulking off whilst the knights compared their most embarrassing scars, was cut short basically immediately when he heard Arthur yell out:

“Absolutely not, Merlin, I’ve already told you that you’re not getting out of this. Tunic off, spar Lancelot.”

Merlin huffs, annoyed, feeling rather like he was backed into a corner, and Mordred walks forward, to be between him and The King, quietly saying:

“You don’t have to Merlin, just fight with it on.”

Arthur narrows his eyes in suspicion, but before he can say anything, Merlin squares his shoulders and looks at him defiantly, dropping his sword to the floor as he begins unlacing his tunic, his words coming out harshly, his tone dark:

“No, no it’s fine. The King wants to see my scars, and we all know that The King gets whatever he wants.”

The smiles melt rather quickly off the knights’ faces as Merlin speaks, and Arthur flinches slightly at his tone, starting to realise with just a little guilt that maybe this wasn’t funny anymore. He opens his mouth to take it back, to tell Merlin that he was only teasing and he could keep the tunic on if he really wanted to, but before any words come out, Merlin is gripping the collar of his shirt, pulling it over his head swiftly and screwing it up before tossing it to the side, not once breaking his stare on the now pale King.

Arthur lets out a sharp breath at the patchwork of scars that cover Merlin’s chest, and he’s vaguely aware of the various low cries and gasps of outrage coming from the knights behind him. There are so many, some are large and some are small, some look to be from clumsiness, but others look like they should have been fatal. Arthur’s eyes can’t focus on just one, he’s barely taking in each scar before his gaze is drawn to another, and then another, and then another; it’s a little overwhelming, and it’s only when he starts to feel a little woozy that he remembers to breath.

When he finally comes to the conclusion that his brain isn’t going to able to process this for a while, he looks up to Merlin’s face, instead taking in his resolute expression and hard eyes:

“Merlin, what… what happened to you?”

Merlin raises a slow, mocking eyebrow before breaking his statue-like stillness and picking his sword up again, turning to face a distraught looking Lancelot. This movement only reveals the second mosaic of scars covering his back, but he speaks over the next round of gasps and muffled curses, his tone still unbearably dark as he gestures Lance to get into position:

“I told you, I’ve faced worse than you lot and come out singing.”

The knights are so distracted by the myriad of scars covering Merlin’s torso that it takes the servant’s first harsh, well-aimed blow with his sword to break them out of their stupor. They watch the ensuing spar with morbid fascination, finding that not only can Merlin hold his own, he’s winning. Lancelot loses his breath and rhythm much quicker than Merlin does, and the fast-paced spar only lasts around three minutes before Merlin lands a strong punch to the centre of Lance’s chest and the knight stumbles back in shock, lowering his sword just enough for Merlin to step forward and trip him up.

The scarred servant’s chest rises and falls deeply, but not too rapidly as he lowers his sword and offers a hand down to the beaten knight. Lancelot takes it with a slightly shocked smile, patting Merlin on the shoulder as he stands. Merlin flinches away from the touch, no one misses it, clearly not too fond of people touching his bare skin, and Lance drops his hand rapidly, frowning only briefly before he smiles again:

“Bloody hell, Merlin. I knew you were good, but not that good.”

Merlin gives him a strained smile, grateful for the distraction. Everyone sees the moment Merlin’s mask goes up again; he gives Lance a smug grin and twirls his sword once again as he shrugs mockingly:

“I’ve been watching you lot train for ten years, and I’ve been in a few sword fights in my time. I picked up a few things.”

Arthur finally reacts, scoffing as he shakes his head in disbelief, scars momentarily forgotten:

“There’s no way that you can- that was a fluke.-”

He looks smug as he says it, like he’s figured out some great secret, and Mordred lets out a low, annoyed growl; no one notices thankfully, but Merlin shoots him a quick frustrated line across their mental link:

“Please try not to antagonise him any further.”

Mordred looks to him, keeping his face blank as he nods almost imperceptibly. Lancelot and Gwaine look openly disapproving of Arthur’s assertion, but Leon, Percival, and Elyan look almost convinced. Arthur nods decisively, picking up his sword once again and waving it in Merlin’s direction:

“-My turn. And once I’ve beaten you, you’re going to tell us about all of… that.”

Merlin’s eye twitches, but he doesn’t say anything, just nods slightly as he holds a placating hand out in Lancelot’s direction when it becomes obvious that his best friend is going to start trying to defend him.

Arthur takes Lancelot’s place in the ring and Merlin grips his sword tightly, his shoulders tense and his face showing only mild annoyance, despite the anger that Lancelot and Mordred were sure was simmering under his façade. At Arthur’s nod, Leon reluctantly counts them in, and the match begins.

This one is somehow even more fast-paced, though no one is surprised. The last ten minutes had caught Arthur extremely off-guard. An off-guard Arthur is a grumpy Arthur, and a grumpy Arthur is, unfortunately, still the type to take his frustrations out on others. Arthur wasn’t good at dealing with his emotions, meaning the disturbing mix of horror, guilt, and anger at Merlin’s scars, slight… shock, (because he refuses to call it anything else) at his deceptively strong physique, and surprise that apparently his servant can take out one of his best knights without all that much effort, all together have The King bursting with adrenaline.

He throws blow after blow, but Merlin’s defence is incredibly strong, and Arthur has yet to land a hit anywhere other than the opposing sword. After a couple of minutes, Merlin switches styles, and Arthur almost trips when he realises his servant has, in the space of a second, gone from fighting like Arthur, to fighting like Leon. The knights notice it as well; Gwaine lets out a low whistle and Elyan smacks Leon on the shoulder, pointing incredulously at a sequence of complicated footwork that usually only the First Knight can manage so gracefully. Apparently Merlin can do it too.

Arthur adapts to this quickly; Leon was his sparring partner most often, meaning that he was accustomed to switching between their styles, and they were the most similar fighters in all the group.

Another minute passes, and the pair still don’t slow, seemingly unbothered by their dumbfounded audience and the sweltering heat, and this time Merlin suddenly starts fighting more like Gwaine. Instead of staying on the defensive and trying to trip Arthur up, he goes on the attack, landing heavier and heavier hits as The King barely manages to defend himself in time.

Merlin is quickly growing tired, his stamina not nearly as good as Arthur’s, but The King grows complacent, even with the vicious pace, certain that he just has to wait Merlin out. He was wrong. Arthur finally gets an attack of his own in but Merlin dives to the side instead of blocking it, rolling and coming up to Arthur’s left before the blonde has time to regain his balance and turn around. He freezes in place when Merlin touches his wooden sword to the side of Arthur’s neck. He can feel it shaking, but it’s undoubtedly a killing blow, and when Merlin drops the sword to the floor in favour of bending over, one hand on his knee and the other on his side again as he pants, Arthur turns around faster than he thinks he’s ever moved before:

“How the fuck did you do that?”

Merlin is vaguely aware of the knights all clapping and shouting encouragement at him, but he doesn’t look up, just waves dismissively in Arthur’s direction:

“I told you, I’ve been watching you lot train for years. It’s easy to imitate you after a little practice.”

Arthur just stares at him in disbelief, but Leon hands the servant a water-skin, ripping his gaze from the whip marks on his back with clenched teeth before schooling his tone and face into something more friendly:

“Merlin, you switched styles twice in as many minutes… you beat the best swordsman in the Kingdom after already being tired from another spar, that’s… that’s incredible.”

Merlin drinks the entire skin as Leon speaks, looking up with another playful mask on his face:

“Well believe me, I’m so sore I don’t think I’ll ever be able to do it again.”

Merlin’s smile drops when he realises everyone is back to staring at him, more specifically, his scars. He steps away from the curly-haired knight, who furrows his brows in concern and resists the urge to reach a comforting hand out to him. Merlin crosses his arms over his chest defensively, hunching his broad shoulders slightly as he frowns at the floor.

Lancelot quickly throws his tunic to him, and Merlin scrambles to pull it on as quickly as possible, but before he can even get his arms through the right holes, Arthur snatches it away, a stern, angry look on his face. Though every one of then can see the badly hidden concern as well:

“No, you agreed to tell us.”

Merlin makes a move for his tunic, but Arthur jumps out of his reach. The servant huffs, annoyed and close to tears all of a sudden as he petulantly replies:

“Actually, you said once you beat me, I had to tell you. I won.”

Arthur raises an eyebrow, taking another step back:

“I’m happy to go another round if you are, Merlin?”

Merlin glares at him angrily for another few moments before completely sagging, staring at the floor with sad, tired eyes as his arms drop to dangle at his sides. Arthur and the knights are completely taken aback at Merlin’s sudden change of disposition, though it heartbreakingly strikes them as less of a change and more of a... reveal. A reveal of some kind of sadness that’s been there all along. How did they not notice this??

Arthur’s breath hitches and his tight clutch on Merlin’s tunic loosens slightly as he all but whispers:

“Merlin... who did this to you?”

Merlin finally looks up at him, letting out a humourless chuckle as he rakes a hand through his sweat-dampened hair roughly:

“Does it matter? Most of them are dead, I-”

His eyes narrow and his voice lowers. The knights hear it nonetheless:

“... I made sure of that .”

Arthur lets out a huff of frustration, not bothering to hide the desperation in his eyes as he pleads:

“Please, Merlin, you’re my... subject, you’re meant to be under my protection. And don’t lie, none of these are more than eleven or twelve years old at most and you got here ten years ago, so they happened in Camelot, under my watch. Please, Merlin.”

Merlin sighs, walking towards the tree’s shade once again. For a moment Arthur panics, thinking he’d pushed Merlin too far as he turned away, knowing that if this conversation wasn’t had now, their relationship would never be the same. But before The King can say anything, the servant slumps back into place against the tree trunk, sitting cross-legged again and biting his lip as he looks at Arthur expectantly.

Before anyone else can move, Mordred and Lancelot take the places either side of Merlin, sitting protectively close. Lance gives Mordred a pointed look, to which the younger knight nods before settling a blank expression on the side of Merlin’s head. Merlin doesn’t look back at him, but pats the knight’s knee as the corner of his mouth turns up briefly in a barely-there smile.

Arthur narrows his eyes, but stores that odd exchange in the back of his mind to deal with at a later date before sitting across from Merlin; the other knights look to each other, worried, before settling in the empty spaces to complete the circle. The group is silent for a while, all staring at a statue-still Merlin who in turn is staring at the grass in front of him; he doesn’t move even when Lancelot brings his hand into his lap, stroking his thumb over the servant’s knuckles absent-mindedly.

It’s Percival that finally breaks the silence, asking in a quiet voice:

“What happened, Merlin?”

Merlin looks up suddenly, as if he had forgotten he had company, taking in a deep breath and tightening his grip on Lance’s hand. He gulps before once again running his free hand through his hair, shrugging slightly as he mutters:

“I don’t recall all of them in perfect detail, just ask about... whatever catches your eye I guess, and we’ll see what I can remember.”

The knights all nod, looking to each other expectantly, no one really wanting to go first. Eventually Leon clears his throat, his voice gentle:

“Why don’t we start with the whip marks on your back?”

Merlin nods, grateful that they were at least starting off with the non-magical injuries. He doesn’t make eye contact with anyone as he speaks, his voice croaky and quiet:

“The newer ones are from Cenred, from a few years ago. He wanted information and I spat at his feet and told him to fuck off. He... he didn’t take too kindly to that.”

Gwaine lets out a quiet curse, and Arthur sits up straight, saying in a crackingly authoritative voice:

“Merlin, if anyone ever tries to extract information from you again, you give them anything. Everything. We’ll deal with the fall-out afterwards, it is not your job to withstand torture.”

The other knights nod approvingly but Merlin just looks up at The King with a raised eyebrow:

“Like hell. I can put up with a remarkable amount, I’d never sell Camelot, or you, out. Never, Arthur.”

Arthur huffs and resolutely ignores the tears gathering in his eyes, but Elyan beats him to the mark:

“That’s not... you shouldn’t have to put up with anything Merlin, it’s not necessary. You just... keep yourself safe. We’ll worry about everything else.”

The other knights nod again, but Merlin scowls and tenses even further, even as Lancelot squeezes his hand comfortingly:

“I’ve been through literal hell, multiple times, in order to protect my home and the people that are important to me. I’m not going to stop that just because it makes you lot uncomfortable, and you have no right to tell me to it’s not my place.”

Everyone looks desperate to argue, but they can’t deny that, after what they’ve seen today, in the last half a candle-mark only, Merlin is evidently a lot stronger than they’ve ever given him credit for. Both physically and mentally. Leon just gives Merlin a small smile and nods; he’s the only one here who has known Merlin just as long as Arthur, and he may not be as close to the younger man as The King or Lance or Gwaine or Mordred, but he’s seen his loyalty in action several times over the years:

“You said the newer ones were from Cenred. You’ve been flogged more than once?”

Merlin nods at the knight, grateful for his understanding and change of subject, even if said change of subject was back to his scars. His expression turns slightly guilty as his gaze moves to Arthur, and The King has a feeling he’s going to feel incredibly terrible at whatever it is Merlin is about to say:

“The others are from... uh.... Uther.-”

Arthur takes in a sharp breath as the tears he had just about managed to get under control gather again. The other knights just look angry, bar Leon, who, though miserable, looks as though he sort of expected it:

“-He didn’t like me very much.”

Arthur whispers his response:

“When? Merlin, when and why did my father have you flogged, and how did I not know about it?”

Merlin tenses his jaw, going from guilty to angry in a split second, snapping his response:

“Why do you think?!-”

Arthur recoils and Merlin closes his eyes briefly as he takes a deep breath, looking back to Arthur with a blank mask and speaking in a monotone voice:

“What did you think he would do every time I took the blame for you missing a meeting or a meal or a training session because you were entertaining a woman or pissing about with your knights? I had to walk into the council room and apologise for your absence because I slept in or I forgot to tell you or I sent you on a hunt on the wrong day. Uther was in the habit of burning people and chopping off an alarming number of heads, did you really think I would get away with it punishment free??

Arthur goes pale as a sheet and his hands tremble with the understanding. He shakes his head slightly as he looks to his lap, ignoring the tears on his cheeks as he murmurs:

“Merlin I am so sorry, I didn’t... I didn’t think... if I had known I would have duelled him in the damn town square to protect you.-”

Arthur looks up sharply, wiping his face clean as he settles an assessing gaze on his servant, ignoring Gwaine’s murderous glare as he slowly continues:

“-... which is exactly why you never told me, isn’t it?”

Merlin shrugs, a small smile on his face:

“You may never admit it, Arthur, but you were protective of me, even then.”

Arthur flushes slightly, before frowning again and shaking his head:

“You should have told me, it’s my job to protect you.”

Merlin raises an eyebrow, smirking slightly:

“I think we’ve already had this conversation.”

Arthur huffs and narrows his eyes again, good-naturedly this time, and Merlin just rolls his eyes before seeming to sag again, speaking quietly:

“Come on, next one.”

Elyan raises his hand slightly before pointing to the centre of Merlin’s chest:

“How the hell did you get a burn like that?”

Merlin tenses, rubbing a hand over the roughly circular, pink and white scar in the centre of his chest. The flesh looked melted in places, white scar tissue spider-webbing out from his sternum, beginning to fade just before it stretched around his sides, and stopping a few inches above his naval:

“Witch threw a fireball at me. Hurt like hell, but there was quite a lot of adrenaline at the time so I didn’t really notice the pain until later.”

Gwaine raises an eyebrow, evidently trying to control his anger as he asks, in a shaking, though forceful, voice:

“And what were you doing fighting a witch powerful enough to throw fire around?”

Merlin stops rubbing at the scar when Lancelot tugs his hand and Mordred mutters “You’re going to hurt yourself, Merlin.” in his head, curling his hand tightly in his lap instead and speaking slowly, as if he were choosing each word individually:

“Only Leon and Arthur were in Camelot for that. Arthur was dying from the Questing Beast bite, I... went to the Isle of the Blessed to speak to the followers of the Old Religion. There was said to be someone there who had power over life and death and I... Arthur was dying, I had to try.-”

Arthur’s eyes widened at Merlin’s words, mostly the mention of such a power, but stays silent, nodding at him to continue:

“-But the Old Religion requires balance, a life for a life,-”

Leon releases a deep breath, looking to the floor at the implication with his eyes closed, and Arthur lets out a whispered whimper, knowing the depths of Merlin’s loyalty:

“-I offered my own in exchange for Arthur’s. She, Nimueh, that is, accepted,-”

Arthur opens his mouth to say something, he’s not sure what, but before he can yell about Merlin’s self preservation, he notices the darkness on his dearest friend’s face and his voice catches in his throat. Merlin stares at the floor, his face drawn and angry and his voice stormy and clipped:

“-but she tried to trick me. I didn’t appreciate that, we fought, she died. Her life for Arthur’s: the deal was done.”

An audible gasp goes up around the circle, and Percival, who is (other than Merlin and Mordred of course) the most well versed in Magic Info, responds breathlessly:

“Merlin... Nimueh is a High Priestess, The master over Life and Death, she’s very very powerful.”

Merlin looks up at the gentle giant sharply, his gaze unforgiving and his tone harsh:

“Yeah, and she’s also very very dead, because she pissed me off.”

Percival gulps and lowers his gaze, but Arthur seems to have missed everything the two of them just said as he stares blankly at his servant:

“You’d barely known me a year, and I’ll admit that I was an arse back then, and you tried to give your life for mine. Why?”

Merlin looks at him curiously, not responding for a few moments as his anger dies down and his pride grows:

“I had it on good authority that you would become a Great King one day. It only took a little squinting to see it, you were a good man, a man I was, and still am, prepared to sacrifice myself for. You were an arse, yes, you still sort of are, but I have faith in you, always have, always will.”

Lancelot and Mordred smile fondly at him as the other knights stare dumbfounded, but Arthur clenches his jaw, ignoring the shaking in his voice as he says:

“Well, I... I forbid it. You are officially forbidden from sacrificing yourself for me, legally.”

Gwaine perks up slightly:

“Out of curiosity, do we all get the same-”

Arthur interrupts him with a forceful, though slightly amused:

“Shut up, Gwaine. And no, you’re a knight, your entire job description is to jump head first into danger so I don’t have to. I have every faith that you’ll die for me one day.”

Everyone lets out quiet snorts at that, bar Gwaine of course, who looks jokingly affronted before he nods and shrugs, quietly muttering “Yeah, fair enough,-”, the rest of his sentence (”especially considering you’re in love with him but not any of us.”) goes unheard and unchallenged.

Merlin chooses not to respond to Arthur’s demand, but everyone knows that’s his way of not committing to anything, knowing full well that Merlin had never listened to Arthur’s orders before, and sure as shit wasn’t going to start now.

“Next one.”

Merlin’s face had fallen slightly, knowing he wasn’t going to get away with explaining only two sets of scars, and Gwaine asks next, his eyes being drawn to Merlin’s gesturing hand:

“The red bands around your wrists and neck. They look like burns, but not very deep ones. How did they scar if they weren’t deep?”

Merlin looks down at the scars on his wrists, resisting the urge to absent-mindedly claw at the one he knows sits low on his neck. They’re about two inches wide, pale pink and almost impossible to see in the dark but impossible not to see in the light of the noon sun, even sat in the shade. The edges were clean cut and perfectly straight, and Merlin winced slightly at the memory of his magic being contained in such a way.

He looks around the circle, speaking easily. Though it was painful, it was no where near the worst Merlin has ever had, and even if he couldn’t tell the full truth, it felt sort of nice not to have to hide these ones:

“Some sort of enchanted chains, they drained my energy, made me sick and tired, but the magic in the metal sort of... stung, I guess. I don’t really know. I’d been captured by Morgause (is Morgana not mentioned in this entire fic but still Good? Yes.) again and I suppose she didn’t want to take any chances.”

Everyone looks shocked at his casual admission, and Leon is the first to break the tense silence:

“When were you captured by Morgause?”

Before Merlin can respond, Arthur pipes up incredulously:

“Again. You said again. Merlin, how many times have you been kidnapped by Morgause without anyone realising? How many times have you been kidnapped in general?!”

Merlin winces slightly, speaking in a slightly defensive tone as he stares at Arthur as though the answer is obvious:

“Arthur... I’m The King’s personal manservant. I have the power to overrule the Steward and the Housekeeper if I wanted to; as far as servant’s go, I have the most authority, even more than some low level nobles, especially when it comes to running the citadel. I’m sort of... a big deal. I have access to pretty much any information I could want, even more than this lot-”

He gestures to the knights around the circle. Mordred and Lancelot look a little proud once again, Leon is staring at Arthur, shocked that The King didn’t know this, and everyone else stares at Merlin, only just realising that... Merlin was right. None of them have considered it before, but he practically runs the castle.

“-most of the time, and I’m the only one who knows every single state secret, simply from my proximity to you and your council and your paperwork. That is rather... desirable to people like Morgause, people who want to attack Camelot.”

Merlin purses his lips awkwardly as everyone stares at him blankly, but Gwaine is the first to break the silence:

“... and we’ve just been letting you walk around, unprotected.”

Merlin raises as eyebrow:

“I think we’ve already established I don’t need protection.”

Arthur huffs and throws his hands up awkwardly:

“Well you obviously do, if you’re getting kidnapped so often. When even was this?? You haven’t disappeared for a while, and we haven’t had any trouble from Morgause in months.”

Merlin’s face falls, and the knights are taken aback at the reappearance of the... cruel darkness in his expression:

“Believe me, I know. She... won’t be bothering us any longer, I wasn’t fond of her repeated attempts to kill me or you so I... took care of it.”

The knights go pale at Merlin’s casual admittance of killing yet another High Priestess of the Old Religion. He smirks into his lap briefly until Lance once again squeezes his hand, as if reminding him of the mask he should be wearing. Arthur stares at his servant and long time friend, struggling to reconcile the clumsy ideal he has in his head with this... hardened, tortured protector:

“How? Nimueh and Morgause... just... how??”

Merlin’s eyes slowly move up to meet Arthur’s gaze, and The King gulps at the assessing way the servant tilts his head:

“Playing the role of clumsy rural idiot can be a little demeaning sometimes, but it also means that people tend to underestimate me. They think I’m an easy target, and by the time they realise I’ve played them, it’s too late.”

Arthur recoils slightly, and Merlin once again changes dispositions, shrugging casually and smiling easily, his tone light:

“You can get away with a remarkable amount when people think you’re stupid.”

The circle lets out an in-sync breath. All of them knew that Merlin wasn’t stupid by any stretch of the imagination, but they didn’t realise just how smart he is. None of them would admit it, but Elyan, Leon, Percival, Arthur, and even Gwaine on some level, still subconsciously considered Merlin “just a servant” in the back of their minds. At least... they did.

(Not that that old thought process made them think any less of him, they just didn’t think of him as complicated, as a warrior.)

Merlin takes a deep breath, knowing that his friends would never see him in the same way, but sort of hoping that that was a good thing, gesturing vaguely to the circle once again. Arthur asks the next question, touching his hand to the back of his own neck softly:

“There’s a cut on the back of your neck. It looks deep, like it was reopened over and over, what is it?”

Merlin grimaces slightly, wiping his free hand over his face in exhaustion as Lancelot squeezes his other hand, and Mordred pats his knee comfortingly:

“That one was a few years ago, courtesy of Morgause again. She put something called a Fomorrah in me-”

Percival gasped slightly, harshly whispering “Gods.” under his breath. Arthur spares him a quick glance, making a mental note to question how his knight seems to know so much about sorcery at a later date:

“-so she could try to make me kill Arthur; it sort of... controls you. Makes you only able to focus on whatever instruction you’re given when it’s first put in you. Gaius kept having to cut it out of me, it wouldn’t stop re-growing until we killed the rest of it’s body, and that was with Morgause somewhere out of the city.”

Arthur looked a little outraged, hiding the worry of “I now know that Merlin could kill me without any trouble at all so how the fuck am I alive?”. Apparently he doesn’t hide it well; Merlin gives him a comforting smile and shrugs his shoulders slightly:

“I fought the compulsion pretty well, kept coming up with increasingly complicated assassination plans instead of just... stabbing you in your sleep or something.”

Arthur goes to respond, but he’s interrupted by Leon loudly cursing, his eyes wide as he stares at Merlin with flushed cheeks:

“I just... gave you a crossbow!! You said you were going to kill Arthur and I thought you were joking and I let you walk out the armoury with a crossbow and a handful of bolts!!”

Merlin chuckles, a blush of his own rising as he responds, rubbing the back of his neck again:

“Yeah... I don’t really remember it, but Gaius and Gwen filled me in on what had happened. To be fair, it’s kind of flattering that you never considered that I was the assassin, despite the repeated attempts being made on Arthur’s life and the fact that I admitted it to your face.”

Leon stares at the floor with wide eyes, seemingly trying to process the fact that he had pointed a would be assassin in the right direction, muttering something along the lines of “oh my Gods oh my Gods oh my Gods” over and over until Elyan awkwardly patted him on the back, breaking him from his embarrassed horror.

Arthur clears his throat, staring at Merlin with an almost unreadable expression:

“I did wonder why the attempts just... stopped?”

Merlin understands the question in his tone and nods slightly before replying:

“Hmm. Gaius and Gwen figured out it was me, found a way to paralyse the thing in my neck until I managed to get back to Morgause’s little lair and kill the main body.”

Arthur nods distractedly. How many times had this happened? “This” being something entirely ridiculous and/or incredibly dangerous right under his nose.

Percival clears his throat and Merlin looks to the nervous man, nodding at him to ask whatever it was that was on his mind, despite his growing discomfort:

“There’s... on your back, it looks like a stab wound but... worse. The veins around it are black and it looks painful despite it’s obvious age and... well... it looks like a Serket Sting, but it... it can’t be, right?”

Merlin tenses, back to looking as exhausted and scared and as ready to bolt as he had at the beginning of the conversation. Lancelot squeezes his hand again, tightly this time, and Mordred takes his other to stop him from clenching it too harshly, murmuring:

“You don’t have to, Merlin, not this one.”

Arthur clenches his jaw at the knowledge that two of his knights had known about this. Had known the collage of agony on Merlin’s body, had known what he’d been through and done nothing. Hadn’t prevented it, hadn’t brought it to Arthur, hadn’t protected him. But equally, with how protective and loyal and secretive Merlin is, and how heartbroken the two of them had looked when Merlin first took his tunic off, they likely hadn’t known the full extent of damage.

Merlin just sighs and shakes his head, sensing the curious stares of the others before rising to his knees and turning around, running a shaking hand over the scar briefly before dropping his hand to his side again. The others stare, astounded. They’d only caught brief glimpses of it before, but now they could see it properly it was undoubtedly a Serket Sting.

The deep puncture mark on his lower back had closed up, but the skin was still sunken in slightly, red and angry looking with hints of purple towards the middle. Percival was right: dark veins, as if permanently poisoned, stretched out from the centre of the wound, dipping below the waistband of his trousers and fading about halfway up his back.

After a few moments, Merlin turns around again and sits back down, placing his still shaking hand back in Lance’s lap without prompting. Arthur’s one-word question is whispered and cracked, and no one judges him for the tears in his eyes; most of them have tears of their own gathering and falling at their friend’s pain:

“How?”

Merlin gulps, not looking up as he leans slightly into Mordred’s shoulder. The young knight presses back, knowing how fond the servant is of warm pressure, not minding the sticky sweatiness of their still uncovered torsos in the noon heat:

“Morgause again. She got annoyed with me always ruining her plans, getting in the way. Left me chained up in the middle of a nest of... in the middle of a nest.”

Leon takes a deep breath, rubbing his eyes harshly and sniffing before asking, his voice strong despite the slight waver:

“How did you survive that? I’ve... I’ve seen men get stung by serkets and it’s not... nice.”

Merlin breathes shakily, his mouth open slightly as he stares at the floor, memories flashing through his mind and the scar on his back twinging uncomfortably. Again, Percival was right, despite it’s age, it did still hurt. He takes one last deep breath, clenching his eyes shut tightly before looking up at the curly-haired knight, not quite making eye-contact:

“I uh... a lot of screaming, and the help of an... old friend. I was out of Camelot for a few days whilst I recovered, my friend didn’t fancy being executed for helping me, for just existing.”

Arthur furrows his brows but the others, bar Leon, nod in understanding, looking only slightly guilty and not looking to The King as he asks:

“What do you mean? If someone has found a way to cure a Serket sting then they most definitely wouldn’t be executed for it.”

Elyan snorts and Mordred and Lancelot frown at the floor as Merlin stares at Arthur with poorly concealed contempt:

“Arthur... the cure for a Serket sting has been around for centuries, it just involves very strong, very complicated magic. I didn’t fancy dying in absolute agony, and my friend didn’t fancy being executed for the act of saving my life so we stayed away from the city whilst he treated me.”

Arthur looks at his servant, dumbfounded and confused, and the knights stay silent in their awkwardness. Leon, a lifelong citizen of Camelot, is the only other person to look surprised at Merlin’s explanation, though he nods after a few moments, conceding that it... makes sense. Of course it does.

Mordred frowns when he notices Merlin’s knee begin to bounce up and down slightly, but it’s the way he gulps and tightens his grip on Lance’s hand that has the two knights begin to properly worry. They share a quick look, obviously agreeing on something, before Mordred takes Merlin’s other hand and settles a soft touch on his vibrating knee whilst Lancelot looks to Arthur:

“I think we’re done for the day. This has been... a lot.”

Merlin is getting paler by the second and Mordred can sense the man’s distress, shooting Lance a desperate look before subtly trying to shuffle closer to Merlin, who leans even further into his touch. Arthur doesn’t seem to notice, looking annoyed at Lancelot’s assertion and rolling his eyes before moving his gaze back to Merlin’s quivering form:

“No, Merlin’s suffered and I need to know why. There are mace wounds on both your shoulders, I remember one, but not the-”

Arthur is interrupted by a low whine from the back of Merlin’s throat as he thumps his head back against the tree, eyes still shut tightly. His words out come quietly and broken, as if it were a struggle to breathe, let alone speak:

“Can we please stop now?”

Mordred ignores Arthur, moving to kneel in front of the servant whilst Lancelot glares at The King. Arthur just huffs slightly, though he obviously completely underestimates the distress his friend is in, looking concerned, but not letting up:

“Merlin, we’ve barely gone through a third of them, we can’t stop-”

Lancelot lets out a low growl, letting go of Merlin’s hand and moving towards Arthur, glaring as he says:

“Arthur, we need to stop. Now.”

The young King looks taken aback, though the argument is stopped in his throat when Mordred’s quiet voice interrupts him:

“Merlin, you need to breathe.-”

He peers around the young knight as best he can, but Lance’s still vicious glare stops him from moving too close. Mordred brings one of Merlin’s hands up, pressing it against his chest and continuing his soft instructions:

“-Copy my breathing, alright? Can you tell me where you are right now, Merlin?”

The knights all stare on in horror at Merlin’s pale skin and ragged breathing, staying still in their places when Lancelot gestures at them firmly. It’s Merlin’s next word, cracked and whispered, that trigger another round of tears to gather in their eyes:

“C...cave.”

Mordred shakes his head slowly and Lancelot curses under his breath, kneeling back next to Mordred and retaking Merlin’s other hand, holding it between his own securely. Mordred’s soft voice floats in the wind, and if the knights weren’t so distracted by their friend’s pain, they would think it sounds almost magical:

“No, you’re safe, Merlin. Think, listen, feel. Can you try to tell me where you are again?

Merlin shakes his head roughly, his still-shut eyes not stopping the tears from squeezing out as he flinches, strikes of lightening-like agony shooting out from the scar on his lower back. Lance worries his lip between his teeth, rubbing one of his hands up and down Merlin’s shivering arm; a nod from Mordred has Lance speak, his words soft and low despite the waver in his voice:

“Merlin, you know where you are, and me and Mordred are right here with you. You need to open your eyes buddy, tell us where we are.”

Merlin’s breathing instantly seems to calm a little at Lancelot’s voice, and he cracks his bloodshot eyes open, immediately sighing when his blurry gaze lands on the canopy above him, whispering:

“Tree... sky... Camelot.”

The others can see Mordred let out a relieved sigh, and they force themselves to relax slightly. Merlin’s body sags again and Lance frowns, but the young servant’s stuttering words as he stares blankly up into the tree interrupt any reassurance he could have offered:

“Please, I can’t... I don’t... please don’t make me-”

Lance stills his hand on Merlin’s shoulder, not even paying the slightest bit of attention to anyone else as he replies:

“No one’s going to make you, Merlin, we can carry on another day-”

Arthur’s interrupted “But-” is quickly shut down when Lance turns around to glare at him, a sharp “-I said we’re done for the day.” sent his way.

Merlin flinches again, the pain in his back getting worse and worse and making it harder to keep a grasp on reality, so damning the consequences, Mordred presses a hand to his forehead, closing his eyes and he mouths the words to a sleeping spell as quietly as he can. Thankfully, everyone’s attention is on the glaring contest between Lancelot and The King, so no one immediately notices the way Merlin falls forwards into Mordred’s arms, not until he nudges Lance in the leg and mutters:

“He passed out. We should get him to Gaius, he needs proper rest and pain medication.”

Lancelot nods his head firmly, back to ignoring Arthur and the others as he moves to Merlin’s side, pulling his arm over his shoulder as Mordred does the same on the servant’s other side. Mordred’s eyes scan over the knights, searching for whoever looks the most likely to help without question; his gaze stills on a terribly worried looking Gwaine:

“Gwaine, run ahead to warn Gaius, tell him that Merlin had a really bad episode and then passed out.”

Gwaine gulps but nods, gathering his tunic in quick hands and putting it on haphazardly as he sprints back to the castle. Mordred and Lancelot adjust their grips, standing and bringing Merlin up with them as they turn in the direction Gwaine had ran and begin the careful journey back to the citadel. The knights follow behind them closely, hastily dressing themselves and desperate to ask questions, but knowing that now was not the time. Elyan jogs ahead of them to open doors and clear a path, and Percival had grabbed Merlin, Lancelot, and Mordred’s tunics as Leon put all of the swords away before catching up.

Thankfully they don’t come across many people, though Lance and Mordred still do their best to conceal Merlin between them, knowing that he would be distraught if anyone else saw his scars. They make good time to Gaius’ chambers, and they find the Physician preparing a few strong pain potions and sleeping draughts as Gwaine paced.

Gaius looks incredibly worried, but unsurprised, and Lance and Mordred carry Merlin up to his room without prompting; the sick feeling in Arthur’s stomach tells him that they’re practiced at this. The King goes to follow them, but they kick the door shut behind them so they can have at least a little privacy whilst they settle their friend in his bed. They leave the covers off, knowing that he’d just overheat or kick them off in the nightmares that they know are coming. Lance nods knowingly at Mordred, and the younger of the two moves swiftly back into the main room, shutting the door behind him again softly, avoiding eye contact with anyone bar Gaius, even as Percival hands him his tunic.

The elderly Physician raises an eyebrow, and Mordred answers the wordless question quietly, though not quiet enough for the other knights to not hear him:

“Not yet, but soon, he’ll definitely need a sleeping draught to get him through it. It was his back, so he’ll need the strongest pain one you’ve got.”

Gaius nods, picking up two of the many concoctions he had prepared, not reacting to Arthur’s desperate questions, leaving the conversation to Mordred:

“What are you talking about? Get through what??”

Mordred sighs and frowns slightly, unable to get over all of his anger at the King for pushing Merlin so far:

“The nightmares. He always gets them, especially after an episode that bad.”

Arthur recoils, just a little horrified, but Gwaine beats him to the mark, asking in a shaking voice:

“Episode??”

Mordred moves his gaze to the worried knight, a little more sympathetic to the man he knew was more loyal to Merlin than he was to The King:

“Flashbacks, panic attacks. Merlin has been through... a lot. Chronic pain or difficult conversations sometimes trigger a sort of... breakdown, he struggles to differentiate between memories and reality. Normally he can just wait it out with a little help. When it’s really bad we put him to sleep, it’s the only way to stop him from hurting himself accidentally.”

Everyone looks horrified at that, their focus on Mordred rather than Gaius, who was stealthily ascending the steps to Merlin’s room, potions in hand. Arthur is the first to break the tense silence:

“How long? How long as he been getting these episodes, and why the hell did no one think to tell me?!”

Mordred moves his harsh gaze back to The angry King, glaring at him when his voice rose:

“With all due respect, My Lord, lower your voice. Merlin needs rest, he needs to not be disturbed.”

Arthur looks annoyed, though still heartbroken, but nods slightly, almost whispering as he responds:

“You didn’t answer my questions. How long, and why wasn’t I told?”

Mordred sighs, looking to the floor briefly as he crosses his arms over his chest . After a few moments of considering his answer, he finally looks up again, suddenly appearing exhausted and resigned as he replies softly:

“I don’t really know. He didn’t tell us, we just... found out. It took us a while to convince him to explain it properly and let us help. He didn’t want anyone worrying or treating him like glass; it doesn’t happen very often at all, and this is... this is the worst one I’ve ever seen.”

Arthur frowns and shakes his head slightly, but it’s Leon that speaks next:

“Why not tell us, at least? What if something had happened and you weren’t with us? We wouldn’t have known what was wrong.”

Mordred takes a deep breath and shrugs, nodding slightly, obviously aware that he couldn’t tell them about his and Merlin’s mental link:

“We tried telling him that, but he wouldn’t have it. We were maybe one more conversation away from convincing him to tell Gwaine or Guinevere, but I guess that’s not necessary anymore.”

Arthur pushes down the twinge of jealousy that Merlin had never even considered telling him, but it obviously shows on his face; Mordred scowls slightly, clenching his hands to try and cover his annoyance. Before either men can say anything, Lancelot comes back down from Merlin’s room, leaving Gaius with the young servant:

“It’s starting, Mordred we need to go, everyone else, out.”

Percival throws Lance’s tunic to him as the knights move to the door, albeit reluctantly, but Arthur doesn’t move, glaring down at Mordred angrily when the younger man stops him from going into Merlin’s room:

“He’s my manservant, I want to be there when he wakes up.”

Mordred narrows his eyes, and Arthur kicks himself for never realising how much Merlin meant to him before now, but before the knight can say anything, Lancelot steps up next to him, answering in his stead:

“No, me and Mordred will be there, that’s all he needs. You need to go, My Lord.”

Arthur gears up to argue, to pull rank, squaring his shoulders and snarling slightly, but an angry Lancelot is something he’s never seen and never had to deal with before, so he’s far too surprised to say anything when the knight interrupts his posturing:

“I said no, Arthur. He has to pretend in front of you. You’ve already done this to him,-”

He gestures angrily to the door to Merlin’s room:

“-he needs to not tense up and stress out immediately upon waking up.”

Arthur steps back slightly, but clears his throat, pushing through the slight heartbreak and guilt to argue:

“Oh, and he doesn’t have to pretend in front of you two?”

Mordred rolls his eyes, giving Lancelot a pointed look before stalking up to Merlin’s room, leaving the older knight to deal with the angry King. Lance clenches his jaw and lets out a harsh breath, looking away briefly, as if trying to stop himself from saying anything cruel, before giving up and glaring back at Arthur:

“No. He doesn’t. Because we, and Gaius, are the only people who actually know the first thing about Merlin, and he trusts us. He needs space, and time to heal, and comfort, not the demanding presence of a King whose already pushed him too far, who treats him like shit and forces him to think he has to hide who he is. For God’s sake, Arthur, can you please, for once, think of anyone but yourself.”

Arthur widens his eyes, and though Lancelot looks a little like he regrets what he said, he doesn’t back down, nodding to the door behind Arthur and not moving away until The King steps back again. Arthur takes a deep breath, turning to exit the Physician’s chambers before the knight could see the guilt on his face and the tears in his eyes. He leaves without looking back, ignoring the gaggle of knights waiting worriedly in the hall and stalking straight to his chambers, only just managing to shut the door behind him before the tears finally started falling.

Back in Merlin’s room, the servant thrashes in his sleep, whimpering despite Mordred’s comforting whispers in his head, Gaius’ hand in his hair, and Lancelot’s soft lap as a pillow.

This... was going to be a tough one.

The End of part 1!!!

This was legit supposed to only be one part buuuuuuut we can all see how that went. Part two will follow on really quickly, but it was getting far too long to leave all as one 😅

I hope y’all enjoyed it, link to part 2(the final part) at the top!! :)

800 notes · View notes

xsamsharons · 4 years ago

Text

there's a light - k. brekker

pairing: kaz brekker x reader.

genre/warning: a slight mention of a scar but fluff!

words: 1.2k.

summary: ketterdam was said to be the darkest of places. however, in your opinion, it's just a matter of knowing where to find the light.

Ketterdam was a strange place to call home. The never-ending sound of gunshots, the smell that came from the streets and the amount of people willing to do almost anything for money, all served as reasons to explain why the city wasn’t for everyone. However, if you are lucky enough, you’ll find something or someone in the city that reminds you not everything is darkness.

“I really don’t get what your obsession with sitting on windows is.” you heard a voice say from behind you, a voice you didn’t have to turn around to know who it belonged to.

“Yet you always seem to join me when i come here.” you replied, as you felt his body move to the opposite side of the window you were sitting on.

It was raining, so that meant the city got a break from the action for a night and the streets looked deserted for once. Every street corner told a story, and while the dim glow of the moonlight has tried not to shine on it and the water that comes with the rain has tried to wash it all away, you could still see it if you looked hard enough. You could see it on the pavement- every forgotten newspaper, every drop of dried blood and every broken cobblestone. You could see it on the walls that framed the thin corridors and you could see it in the wind as it blew through the city and took every disregarded memory with it. Most importantly, you could see it from above. The height gave you the opportunity to see every roof in which two lovers shared a last goodbye- hidden from their enemies, you could see every balcony door that was closed in hopes of keeping the rain out of their home. And if someone were to look up at that very moment, they would see two people using meaningless words to fill the room, while they danced around the truth and hid the depth of their feelings.

“Well, it is my room after all, you know?” he asked, with a slight raise of his brow while meeting your gaze.

“It’s the tallest one.” you shrugged. As you turned your eyes away from him to look out the window, you could feel his still on you, making your cheeks grow hot. Was it from embarrassment? Were you flustered? Or were you simply too tired? You preferred not to know. He noticed, despite your efforts to hide it with a small smile and a cheeky comment. “You know, a painting would last longer.”

“Could say the same about the city below us.” He challenged. “How was it you put it once? Paintings don’t tell stories as well as once sight?” he continued and you smiled, glad to know he remembers the things you tell him.

“And which stories would a painting of my face not be telling?” you asked, as you turned to face him with an amused smile on your lips.

“Well, for one, the scar you got on your first job as a member of the crew- above your eye but half hidden just below your eyebrow. The uneven lengths of different strands of your hair because you let nina cut it one too many times. That one mole that is so far up your forehead, it gets hidden by your hairline unless you tug your hair backwards. The little scratches on your hands because you refuse to give up trying to learn how to flip knives.” He listed as you held your breath, eyes wide at the possibility of finally admitting to each other what you’ve both known for a long time. “All these little stories wouldn’t show up on a painting, knowing them is a result of observing someone for minutes on end, everyday, until you feel like you’ve only been put on this earth to admire them.”

“And you do?” you asked, watching as he walked closer to your spot on the window, leaving his corner. All while keeping his eyes on you. “Observe and admire me, i mean.”

“I do.” He nodded.

“Because i’m a member of your crew and you need to keep an eye on all of us? You once said staring at everyone on the ranks had become second nature.” You tried, noticing how close the two of you were now that he had stopped walking towards you. You saw the corner of his lips quirk to the side, which was the closest you got to a smile with Kaz Brekker.

“But i didn’t say stare, did i?” he asked “What did i say?”

“Observe.”

“And?”

“And admire.” you finished with a whisper, struggling to meet his gaze.

“You think I observe and admire Matthias?” he continued, the same amusing quirk of his lips on his face. And you would’ve laughed, you truly would’ve, if everything racing through your mind at that moment hadn’t been how close he’d gotten, and how much you liked having him near. Instead, the noise that came out of you mouth sounded more like a huff of air.

“Why do you stare at me, then? If it’s not something you do with every one of us?” You asked.

Say it, you thought, say it aloud for only us and the deserted city below us to hear.

“You know why.” he answered. And you did, god, did you know. You knew why because you did the same, because you felt the same.

And somehow, hearing him say that, so much closer to you than he’d willingly gotten to anyone in such a long time. Hearing him say that as the sound of the rain served as your own makeshift background noise. Hearing him say that as he stared at you with so much intensity you swore you could read every thought in his mind just through his eyes. Somehow, hearing him say that: right here, right now- it was enough.

You stared at each other for what felt like an eternity, trying to say everything you couldn’t with words, with your eyes. The glow of the candle that was still lit beside you illuminated his face like it was the only place it was ever meant to shine on, and as your eyes moved from his own to explore his face you realized what he meant: every curve, every line, every scar on his face told a story that not even the greatest painter in the world could attempt to replicate. Your eyes continued travelling across his face as his stayed on your eyes, and when your gaze finally reached his lips, you felt him tense up.

“I-i can’t” he uttered in a tone that could only be described as ashamed, as if he was sorry he couldn’t offer that to you, but you weren’t expecting him to. You weren’t dumb, you could see his aversion to touch ran deeper than just wearing gloves when he was around people.

“I know.” you whispered, shifting your gaze back up to his eyes. “And I don't expect you to. Not now, and not ever if you’re not ready.” you continued. “We have time, and i’m not planning on going anywhere any time soon.”

“Neither am i.” He replied, and in his eyes you could see the relief he felt after what you said.

As you turned your gaze back to the city, you felt his eyes still on you- observing and admiring you, except this time you were aware. And when a slow breeze blew the candle that had been sitting next to you out, you found that every single light in Ketterdam could go out, and Kaz would still find a way of continuing to observe your face- and so would you.

a/n: first time writing kaz so i'm sorry if he's a little ooc. anw my inbox is open if any of you have any soc requests (any character)!

#kaz brekker #kaz brekker x reader #kaz brekker fanfic #kaz brekker imagine #six of crows #six of crows imagine #six of crows fanfic #six of crows x reader #shadow and bone #shadow and bone fanfic #shadow and bone fanfiction #shadow and bone imagine #shadow and bone x reader #my writing

553 notes · View notes

unwanted-animal · 2 years ago

Text

Modern WillBilly AU: California Dreamin’

Moving across the country had been harder than Will expected. Not just moving their physical things, but saying goodbye to his mom, to Jonathan, to his friends… but Indiana was growing too small for him. For them. People were talking, throwing questioning looks their way. He was seventeen, Billy twenty, and every day together risked someone running their mouth to the wrong people. Secret dates were hard, running around was hard, and though Joyce knew (and slightly disproved) and the gang knew (and greatly disapproved) Will could feel eyes on them when they were out. The bad boy and the ghost. Mismatched.

But they were the only ones who knew the touch of the Mindflayer. A better match? There wasn’t one. It was something intimate they’d experienced, and with no one else to share with the boys had found each other. Why was that so wrong?

Billy couldn’t wait to go back and show Will the sights California had to offer. To get away from Neil, to get out of that fucking house and restart his life. Again. This time, though, he wouldn’t be alone. He had Will. Will, the cute little nerd who hung around with Max. Who had looked into his eyes and known. Known what haunted him, what things stalked his dreams, how the world around Hawkins flickered in and out of reality.

Who Billy really was. Because Will was the same.

It wasn’t like he was the only guy in Hawkins who liked guys too, but he was sure as shit the only one Billy trusted. It started after the mall fiasco - after Billy got out of the hospital.

Will was there with Max, reading a book quietly in the corner. Billy had laid there silent, feigning sleep until Max went to get food. Only when she was gone did he turn his head toward Will and speak.

“What the fuck are you doing here?”

“Don’t talk to me like that,” Will had replied flatly. “I’m the only person in Hawkins who knows what you went through this summer. I’m only gonna offer this once, Billy - if you want to talk someone, I’m here for you. If you don’t, fine. But you’re gonna have nightmares. You’re gonna see things. Even El doesn’t know what it feels like to have that thing inside you. So think about it. And be a little nicer to me.”

The kid had a spine. And he was right. After that, the two were almost inseparable. When Will got to high school and the slurs came harder, Billy beat the shit out of anyone who ran their mouth to him. Before long Will had peace, in the protection of Billy’s reputation and willingness to hurt bullies.

Soon that friendship began to grow into something more. Billy noticed workout mags hidden in Castle Byers. He caught Will staring at him from the corner of his eyes. Sometimes Will would come to the pool, fully dressed, and sit with his feet in the water all alone - trying not so subtly to catch glances of Billy in his trunks. Even on days his scars bothered him and he wore a tank top to hide them.

And Will was growing into a good-looking guy, especially after he ditched the bowl cut Joyce insisted on. Like Harrington he had a few small moles scattered on his skin, and his eyes were a rich shade of brown that reminded Billy of autumn. His smile was bright, and he shot up like a weed his freshman year. He could look Billy in the eyes. And that changed everything between them.

“You doin’ okay?” Billy asked as they drove through the city, heading toward Venice Beach. He couldn’t hold Will’s hand, the Camaro was a stick shift, but now and again he reached over and brushed his fingers against his thigh.

“Just nervous. I’ve never surfed before. Obviously. I’m not a sports kind of guy.”

“It’s alright, baby. It’s just for fun! I’m a lifeguard, remember? You fuck up too bad I’ll be right there to save you.” He grinned and stuck his tongue between his teeth, peeking over at Will.

Will smiled at him. “You better be.”

Adjusting had taken time, and Will still had to finish his last year, but he’d gotten a job working with a guy named Argyle at a pizza place and with Billy picking up work at a local mechanic, they’d been able to get a little place of their own. This was their first vacation since arriving, a day trip to the beach to relax and spend some quality time together, and both were looking forward to it.

The past few years felt like a dream. Now they were far away from Hawkins, and if they saved up Will could go visit his family back home. But now, in the California sunlight, flying down the road in Billy’s Camaro, Will was grateful for the chance to start a new family. To be free. Himself, with the man he -

Hell. He really meant it, didn’t he?

The man he loved.

#Willbilly #stranger things #strangerthingsfic #jwrites #it coulda been longer but I didn’t wanna LOSE THE POST

12 notes · View notes

cleanlenins · 3 years ago

Text

Ectober Day 4: Glitter

Bottled Beauty: Reasonable Rates

A new shop opens in the mall. It sells amazing products that make you more beautiful. The prices are fair, as Paulina finds out.

AO3

Warnings: None

A new store opened in the Amity Park Mall, and no one knew how it got there.

One day, there was nothing there but a wide expanse of plaster wall, adorned with a few flyers taped and torn. The mall closed down at half past eight. The guards and workers closed down by nine. Doors locked and no one entered.

When security opened the doors again the next morning, they stood in awe of the new addition. Wide glass windows displayed a varied assortment of unusual goods. Shiny bottles of makeup and perfume. Glittering combs and brushes. Sparkling collections of hair pins and clips. Face masks and nail polish and hair oil and scented powders. Jewelry of every type sparkled in the bright led lights that flooded the store. Beautifully embroidered scarves and accessories were hung with meticulous care along the walls.

Security was flabbergasted. They had heard nothing about this store. Nothing reported to them. They called it in, asking CBL if it was legit. The radio replied that yes, all paperwork was in order.

Bottled Beauty was open for business.

Paulina was frequently at the mall. What better place was there for her to be? There were so many stores for her to peruse, so many things to buy. People could marvel at her perfection. And the Ghost Boy tended to appear there all too often. A bonus. As familiar as she was with the mall's set-up, she immediately noticed the new store. She smiled in delight when she saw the products through the window and eagerly walked in.

It was even better than what she had imagined. Paulina was awestruck. She merely stood there, eyes drifting from item to item.

“Is there anything I can help you with?” A voice asked. Paulina turned at the sound. A person stood there. Paulina could not tell if they were a man or a woman, but she marveled. They were beautiful, dark hair framing their face with a waterfall of curls. Lovely green eyes sparkled with glitter eyeshadow, smiling wide with perfectly full lips. They stood there, dressed in a glittering button down shirt, a small box in their hand.

“Oh, I was just looking. I’ve never been here before. It’s amazing,” Paulina whispered reverently. The glittering person nodded.

“Thank you. We here at Bottled Beauty pride ourselves in spreading beauty at a reasonable rate. What is worse than looking at an ugly world?” The employee grinned as they sat the box on the counter. Paulina nodded in agreement. “Was there anything you were looking for in particular?”

Paulina shook her head.

The employee hummed, tapping their finger against their chin as they examined her. Paulina fidgeted under the stare, but was once more mesmerized by the brilliant green eyes. They walked closer to her, merely inches away. Paulina stood straighter as they got closer. The employee’s eyes gleamed as they stared down.

“My dear, do you know you are very nearly perfect?” They purred. Paulina blushed.

“Really? I mean, of course I am,” She preened. The employee grinned again, green eyes bright. They reached up and gently grasped a strand of hair.

“Only nearly, my dear. But we can fix that,” The employee clarified. Paulina could not bring herself to be offended. “You have such thick hair. So dark, like the night. Many people would be jealous to have such hair. But it must be so difficult to manage. The frizz alone would be a full time job. Am I wrong?”

Paulina thought back to the hours she had spent on taming her hair. How difficult it was every morning to get the perfect style. How she had to pay for so many conditioning treatments to keep it from puffing up in an unmanageable mess.

“You’re right,” Paulina said. The glittering person dropped the strand of hair and stepped away.

“I have just the thing,” They called over their shoulder, walking into the store. Paulina hurried to follow. They stopped at a display of different combs. The employee plucked one, showing it to Paulina.

“Comb your hair with this and you will be able to style it any way you wish,” They said. Paulina’s eyes widened in wonder. “Whether you choose to wear it curly, or straight. Up or down. It will go exactly as you want it.”

“That sounds too good to be true.”

“But true nonetheless. If you are unsatisfied, you can always return it.”

Paulina wrinkled her brow.

“How much?” She asked. The employee tilted their head.

“For you, I would take a laugh,” They said. Paulina blinked in confusion.

“A laugh? You just want me to laugh? That’s all?” Paulina repeated in disbelief.

“At Bottled Beauty, we believe in reasonable rates. A fair price for fair folk,” The employee put their hand over their heart. “And we so crave perfection, something you are so close to already.”

Paulina laughed in delight at the compliment, given from someone so pretty. The store owner handed her the comb and bid her farewell.

Paulina combed her hair with the comb, and wondered at the results. Her hair was perfectly shiny after only one stroke. She preened as her classmates gawked, tossing her hair over her shoulder for emphasis. Dale was so starstruck that he walked into the school’s front door, tripping all the way down the stairs. All of the A-list laughed at his expense. Except Paulina.

She returned again to Bottle Beauty, quickly looking for the employee.

“We thought you would be back,” A voice whispered right next to her ear. She turned eagerly.

“The comb was perfect, so I had to come back,” Paulina said. The employee laughed.

“We are glad you are satisfied,” The employee chuckled. They examined her again. “Your skin is nearly flawless, my dear. But I am sure you already knew of the flaw there?”

Paulina touched the mole on her cheek, the one her Papa never let her get rid of. That makeup could not hide. She had played it off over the years, but still it grated on her nerves to see it in the mirror. The employee led her to another aisle, this one filled with different creams. They grabbed a selection.

“Cover your face in this cream, and all blemishes will be removed, no matter how big or small,” They held the cream out with a flourish.

“I didn’t know anything like that existed,” Paulina said happily, looking over the cream. “How much?”

“For you, my dear, how about some cheer. You seem the type to be a cheerleader, yes?” The employee said. “Does that seem a fair price to you?”

“It’s a bit weird, but sure,” Paulina said. She gave the employee her best Casper High cheer, to which they applauded with enthusiasm.

Paulina hurried from the shop to try out her new cream. It worked like magic, her complexion even more perfect than she had ever dreamed. The mole was erased away as if it were never there. The few pimple scars she had concealed were gone as well. It even erased a small scar she had on her finger, just from where she had applied it. She wanted to dance around her room with joy, to cheer this new development in her life. But she didn’t.

Paulina returned again. The employee was leaning against the counter when she entered.

“It is so good to see you again,” The employee cheered her entrance. Paulina grinned back at them, showing off where her mole used to be. The employee eyed it with approval. “How can I help you today?”

“How do you think you can help me?” Paulina teased. The employee laughed brightly, smiling back at Paulina with fondness.

“I wonder if any have come as close to perfect as you, my dear. Let’s see how I can help,” The employee gently held Paulina’s hand and spun her in a slow circle. “My dear, there is only one thing that mars your perfection. Follow me.”

The employee led Paulina once more into the store, hand still clasped in hand. They came to a display of different makeup. The employee picked up a small container of eyeshadow. It glittered. The employee held it next to their own eye. It matched the shade they wore.

“As you can see, I definitely recommend it,” The employee said. “Wear this, and you will show no signs of aging. You could be sixty, and you will look as you are now. It may be one of our pricier products, but you will not be disappointed.”

Paulina looked at the small palette with greed.

“How much?”

“For you, my dear, I want only your name,” The employee said.

“That’s fair. My name is [ ]” [ ] said, an uncomfortable feeling rippling over her skin as she took the small palette.

“I am glad you are satisfied,” Paulina responded with a laugh, green eyes glittering with joy and something more.

Bottled Beauty: Reasonable Rates

Fair Price for Fair Folk.

#Ectober Month 2021 #Ectoberhaunt 2021 #Ectoberhaunt treat #danny phantom #Cartoons #Paulina Sanchez #My writing #this one is more creepy than horror I think

114 notes · View notes

whatifyoulivelikethat · 4 years ago

Text

mango, m | jjk | 4

pairing(s): jungkook x reader

summary: A love story between bad boy Jeon Jungkook and a strange girl with mango eating obsession.

warnings: rated M (18+) for language; reader has knife scars on her legs (read 2 for explanation); smut (f-receiving oral, penetrative sex); there’s so much fluff you might die; non-idol!AU - university!AU; badboy!Jungkook x sociallyawkward!reader; Jungkook likes his ears being played with hehe

You pulled away, breathless. Jungkook blinked rapidly, backing up a little.

“Do you, um… want to come in?”

You tilted your head curiously. Your eyes shifted down and Jungkook slid to the side, closing the door a little, glaring at you.

“Do not pay attention to him.”

You took a step in, clutching your bag tightly. “Why?”

He frowned and took a few steps back, letting you in the apartment. “He doesn’t know time and place.”

You shrugged. “Maybe he does and you don’t.”

Jungkook shot you a quizzical look but you dropped your bag, sliding out of your sneakers. He closed the door, watching you suspiciously as you inspected his furniture. He had a nice black fabric couch, black coffee table, a branded television. A dark blue and black rug.

“Aren’t you a virgin?”

You hummed. “Why would I be a virgin?”

Jungkook narrowed his eyes and stalked over to you. “What fool touched you and left you? I’ll beat him up myself.”

You looed away from his knickknacks and blinked slowly. “Left me? It was only some guy from high school. I wondered what the fuss was all about, but it wasn’t very interesting.”

A muscle in his eyebrow twitched. “Was he drunk?”

You shook your head. “No, but we did it with clothes on, because…” You trailed off. “Anyway, I think we weren’t that interested in each other. We wanted to be able to say we did it, that’s all.” You looked Jungkook up and down, nodding to yourself. “But I think it will be better with you.”

He placed his arms over his chest. “Excuse me, I am not some object. I have feelings.”

“Oh.” You looked away, back to the snow globe on his shelf. You shook it and watched the fake snow swirl around. The base of the globe read ‘Malta.’

You felt Jungkook’s long fingers encase your arm and pull you to him. “Ah, that doesn’t mean ignore me. I meant it as a joke,” he pouted ruefully as your body pressed against his.

You pursed your lips. “You are very confusing.”

Jungkook puffed his cheeks. “No, I’m not.” He sighed, smiling. “We could sit down, watch a movie or something. I have Netflix.”

You pressed your thigh against his crotch and Jungkook hissed at you, jerking his hips away. But you had already felt it.

“Wouldn’t it be reasonable to take advantage of the situation?”

Jungkook narrowed his eyes at you. “If I acted on every single hard-on I had, my life would be a lot more complicated.”

You pointed to your chest, jabbing it a little. “But what about me? I want it.”

His expression changed at your words. He chewed on his lower lip. You watched him, his long messy hair over his eyes. You reached up and tucked some behind his ear, clearing his face from the black curtain. He inhaled a deep breath, letting it out slowly. Dark brown orbs to yours.

“But you didn’t say I love you.”

You paused, hand lingering by his neck. He tried to hide his unease by smirking.

“Is that how it should be?” you inquired. “You can only have sex if you love them?”

“No, but I only want to have sex with you if you love me,” Jungkook replied, chuckling nervously.

His laughter died in his throat as your hand slid down. You stared at his pecs, pressing your palm against the left side of his chest. His heart beat fast against your skin, pulsating rapidly. You reached over with your other hand and took one of his, pressing it against your racing heart, beating in time with him. You lifted your head to his round, doe-like gaze.

“I confess, I don’t know what love is,” you murmured quietly. “But I think we’re on the same wavelength, so if you love me, then it must be love.”

You realized, with every smile Jungkook gave you, something inside you melted a little bit.

“You’re strangely romantic,” he remarked.

You let go of his hand and removed yours from his chest. “Should I just… yank off your pants or something?”

He laughed, richer this time, shaking his head. “You want me to be fully naked and you fully clothed?”

You shrugged. “No, I can get naked.”

“Wait, what–”

You grabbed the bottom of your sweatshirt and pulled it over your head, chucking it aside. Jungkook gawked at you as you reached for the zipper of your leather skirt, unzipping it and stepping out, kicking it away. Now you were in your black bra and black opaque tights. You gripped the top of your pantyhose and pushed it down. His hands suddenly shot out and grabbed yours, stopping you.

“You don’t…” He groped for words. “If you’re uncomfortable or something.”

You blinked at him. “You already saw my scars. Do you not want to see them?”

Jungkook released your hands, swallowing. “I want you to feel okay with not showing me, if that’s what you want. But your battle scars are really cool. I would be happy if you were comfortable enough to show me them again.”

You stared at him for a full thirty seconds. “If you love me like you say you do, you will end up seeing them anyway.” You cleared your throat, packing your nerves away. “I want to… normalize them when I’m around you.”

His brown eyes became indescribable, something between gratitude, relief, and happiness.

“Okay.”

You took a deep breath and pushed the stockings down your legs, taking your feet out of them. Staring down at your ugly knife scars, the memories that came with them, wondering when they would fade, wondering when you would look at them and see something else.

Jungkook knelt, fingertips extended to touch the lines. He traced each one with parted lips, sending sparks up your skin. Features racked with empathy. He pressed his fingers against his lips and then his fingers to your largest scars.

“I think they’re past being kissed better,” you muttered.

“My kisses are magic,” Jungkook answered. “They’ll make you feel beautiful.”

You laughed a little. “Are you sure?”

He stood up, arms slipping around your waist, smiling at you. “Never know unless you keep trying.”

You looked up at Jungkook, him and his mischievous smile, his tiny mole underneath his lower lip, his nose scrunch, his sparkling brown eyes, losing yourself in them and being okay with it, because this wasn’t anything like what you’ve known before. It was much nicer, much more heavenly as you got to your tiptoes and kissed him, arms around his neck. Pulling him close, whispering his name, relishing in the loveliness of his soft pink lips as he pulled you to him and walked you to his bedroom, sighing in satisfaction as you pressed your body against his harder, more muscular one.

“Damn, all that mango must be doing something right,” Jungkook murmured, running his hands down to your ass and squeezing it. “Eat more of it.”

You smiled against his lips. “Are you saying I’m fat?”

“I’m saying you’re juicy and I like it,” he teased, lowering you to the bed.

Your hand reached up and touched his wild hair. He stiffened a little as you ran your fingers through the long strands, dry now from your conversation.

“Why do you always slick your hair back at school?”

The side of his lips quirked upwards, somewhat regretfully. “It’s the hairstyle that gets me the most attention.”

You tilted your head. “It’s kind of nice like this, though.”

“I can’t see that well,” Jungkook laughed.

Your two hands collected his hair into a ponytail. “What about like this? With some in the front? I think I’ve seen this style before.”

How could someone have such a brilliant smile? “I trust you. You can do whatever you want with my hair.”

You brought his face down to yours, kissing Jungkook and that smile. Maybe one day you could smile like that. Maybe one day you could, but for now you settled for smiling into his kisses, fingers tangled in his hair, breathing into his mouth and making him moan. Your skin tingled at his noises, deepening the kisses, lacing your tongue with his. He nudged you up the bed and the two of you crawled back, laying against the sheets. You arched your back, brushing your chest against his and he groaned, teeth sinking into his lower lip.

“What do you want to do?” Jungkook murmured against your lips.

You kissed up his jaw, pushing his hair back. Your tongue traced his earlobe and he sucked in a tight breath, pushing you against him.

“I thought you liked it when I whispered in your ear?” you said softly, pressing your lips against his skin.

He swallowed, deep voice shaking. “Yeah, I do. A little too much.”

You nipped experimentally at his earlobe and he moaned, fingers pressing into your sides, clutching you tight.

“M-more…”

You took it into your mouth and swirled your tongue around his earrings, tugging lightly. He shivered, gasping your name, hands sliding up your back, his breath against your neck. Turning his earlobe in your mouth, sucking softly. Jungkook rolled his hips into your thigh and you felt his hardness. He began to rut against you as you played with his ear, kissing all the way up before nipping your way back down. It made his body shake and moans tumble from his lips.

You were suddenly hit with an epiphany.

“Is this why you always stared at my mouth?” you breathed. “When I was eating dried mango?”

Jungkook let out a trembling chuckle. “You c-caught me.”

“I just thought you were a pervert.”

“Maybe a little bit.” You pulled your head back and raised your eyebrows. Jungkook grinned. “Maybe a lot.” He nudged your chin with his nose, kissing down your neck, dipping his tongue between your collarbones. You reached back and unclasped your bra, sighing softly as the straps fell. His hands came up and cupped your breasts, strong fingers kneading you. Every breath on your skin igniting the fire, whimpering as he pressed his thumbs against your nipples and rubbed them in circles, making out with your cleavage.

“I thought about these tits way too much,” he mumbled. “You never wear anything tight up top.”

You gasped as he kissed your nipples, licking them lightly. “I was trying to… be more okay with my legs. Even if it’s just the shape.”

Jungkook’s large hands slid down your sides and hips, gripping your thighs. “Everything about your legs is fucking fantastic,” he growled hotly. He licked a stripe down your chest, flicking his eyes up to you, forming his words against your skin as he slid down. You felt your chest tighten, seeing his hunger, his want, feeling his palms against your thighs and calves, calluses against your scars.

“Your legs make me so damn horny I have to come up with strategies to hide my erections when I’m around you.”

You laughed a little. “They’re always covered up.”

One of his sculpted eyebrows raised. “Except I remember what they look like,” Jungkook mused, lips travelling down your thighs, running his hands up and down your skin making you breathless. “And maybe I like all the different socks you wear.”

“… Pantyhose?”

“Whatever,” he mumbled, ears turning pink. Jungkook kissed your legs all over and shivers danced up and down your spine as he paid attention to them, soft pecks and light touches. You reached down and gripped the sides of your black panties. His brown eyes shot up to you, squeezing your calf a little.

You smirked and he smirked back.

You pushed them down, gasping as cold air hit your wet warmth. Jungkook’s breathing stuttered, hands reaching down as you got to your thighs, taking them from you and pulling them down your legs, gasping as strings of your juices snapped against your skin.

“Can I eat you out?” he asked breathlessly as your panties were flung into the far side of his room.

You wondered if you would find them again. “I guess. Is it that nice for you?”

Jungkook gave you a surprised look. “Of course. You never had someone eat you out?”

You shrugged. “It wasn’t that special.”

He hummed, a slow smile forming on his lips. “Let me change your mind.”

His head dipped down between your legs. You tilted your head, breath cut short as he gripped your thighs, tipping them up, fingers pressed against your skin. And then your eyes widened as he placed his lips on your dripping slit, tongue licking you all over, moaning into your core. Your hands clutched the sheets, crying out as he thrust his tongue into you, curving it inside your pussy.

“A-ah, Jungkook…”

His brows furrowed, sliding his lips up a little. You moaned as he pressed the tip of his tongue to your clit. Sucking delicately, lapping at the sensitive bundle of nerves. It felt like pleasure was shooting up your body way too fast, like a time-lapsed video of a flower growing. You moaned, back arching and head tipping back as he worked you, one of your hands suddenly gripping his head, nail scratching his ear.

Jungkook whined, muffled by your pussy as he sucked harder, rougher, and somehow your hips were jutting into his face, unsure if it was just your involuntary shudders or your need to orgasm spurring you on, feeling your juices leak out from his lips and paint his cheeks, his intense dark eyes on yours.

You orgasm crashed into you, waves of pleasure torrenting through your chest. Your thighs threatened to snap shut, but Jungkook gripped them open, groaning as you filled his mouth with your taste, shifting down to you opening and sucking it all up. Your eyelids fluttered and your elbows slid out from under you, falling onto the bed with a flump.

Holy shit.

You were panting hard, unsure how Jungkook gave you such a powerful orgasm with his mouth. He licked you lazily and your hips shivered. Satisfied, he got to his knees, licking his lips clean.

“You have to warn me next time,” Jungkook pouted.

“Sorry, I… I wasn’t expecting it…” you wheezed out, pressing your lips together and letting out a long breath. Jungkook suddenly threw himself down on you, mouth to yours, filling your nose with your scent, tasting yourself as he inhaled your breath, moaning in his throat.

“Fuck…” he breathed, nipping at your lips. “Your breath is so fucking wonderful.” He shuddered as you panted into his lips. “You taste so good too, so fucking sweet. I’ve never tasted anything so delicious in my life.”

You chuckled. “Maybe it’s the mango.”

Jungkook kissed you repeatedly in while speaking. “Then I can’t risk it; I have to keep buying it for you.”

You smiled, gently pushing him off you, switching your positions. He blinked up at you, but you pressed his hand against his cheek, moving his head to one side, brushing back his hair, exposing his ear.

“W-wait–”

You bit his ear and his words died in his throat, turning into a moan as you nibbled. You lowered your body onto his, your softness against his muscles. His strong arms wrapped around you, gasping as your hard nipples rubbed against his chest and your lips encircle his earlobe.

“S-suck on it…” he pleaded; hands splayed across your back.

You did, playing with his earrings and Jungkook whined, nails digging into your back. You hummed approvingly and he scratched down your skin, shuddering and crying out. You kissed his ear and his hips bucked into you with a moan. He pushed his sweatpants down impatiently, freeing his hard cock so it rubbed against your thigh. You felt the pre-cum smear onto your skin as you whispered his name into his ear, making his eyes roll back into his head. His hand pressed his cock against your thigh and he began to hump you as you sucked on his ear again, whimpering.

“Please, please, please,” he begged. “More…”

You were breathing hard too, shallow and tight as you felt him rut against your hot skin. “But I want you to fuck me, Jungkook…”

His moan so deep and erotic that you felt your pussy clench with need.

“Okay,” he panted and you freed him from your grasp so he could reach over to the nightstand, fumbling for a condom.

“You really like your ears being played with, huh?” you wondered out loud, noticing how hard he was, the head of his cock a dark red.

His flush on his cheeks deepened. “Yeah, but I don’t like telling people, because I sound pathetic…”

You tilted your head. “I think it’s sexy.”

You saw the blush turn from pink to red. “T-thanks.”

His fingers scrambled with the condom and you took it from him, opening it carefully. You tried not to laugh, but Jungkook puffed his cheeks at you, noticing your contained expression immediately.

“It was only a compliment.”

He frowned and pursed his lips as he put the condom on. “It’s a compliment from you, the one I love.”

Your stomach did that weird floppy thing again. Jungkook shuffled over to you, taking your thighs and positioning himself between you. He looked up at you, chewing on his lower lip.

“Are you prepped enough? I could–”

“Jungkook, just put your cock in me,” you cut him off, smile on your lips.

“I don’t want to hurt you,” he said, gasping as the head rubbed against your wet opening.

“You’re not going to hurt me. I’m tougher than you think.”

He grinned. “That’s true. Okay.”

You snaked your hand between your bodies, putting him into the correct position and he slid in slowly, his eyelids fluttering. Oh. Jungkook was bigger than you thought. Or perhaps you hadn’t had that many dicks in you or something. You sucked in a breath, trying to relax your muscles as he filled you up, leaning back and spreading your legs, chest quivering as he pressed his hips into yours.

“Oh fuck, you feel so fucking good.” His voice was unsteady, gripping your knees hard.

You tensed and tightened your core.

Jungkook yelped, snapping his head down at you. “H-hey!”

Your eyes shifted up to his face, letting the mischief show. “I heard Kegel exercises have many benefits.”

He shot you a pained look. “You’re trying to murder me.”

You pulsed around him again and he hissed, placing your legs on your shoulders and pressing down.

“Stop it or I’ll blow my load in three seconds,” Jungkook warned.

“Maybe two?”

He narrowed his eyes at you. “Let me enjoy your legs pressed against me as I pound your pussy, please.”

You sucked in part of your cheek. “Okay…”

Jungkook slid out a little and sank back in, making both of you moan. You clutched the sheets, breathing hard. He noticed your strained expression.

“Are you okay?”

You nodded. “Never had it this deep before. Keep going.”

He began a slow, deep pace, radiating pleasure all over you. You weren’t aware it was possible to feel this much, your skin prickling with lust, his hips slapping against yours, the feeling in your chest swelling so much that your almost couldn’t breathe. Your gaze locked with his and the way Jungkook was looking at you, like he couldn’t help himself, like he was becoming lost in you, like he wanted all your days and all your nights, taking your breath away because you wanted that too. His curly long hair hung down, pupils blown wide with lust, jaw clenched as he increased his pace, your moans deepening at the sensation.

“You’re so handsome,” you panted between gasps.

Jungkook grinned. “You’re prettier.”

You smiled and his expression softened. “I love it when you smile at me.”

You chuckled awkwardly, tapping his arm. “Faster and harder, please.”

He smacked his hips into yours, earning a pleased gasp and a clenching of your pussy. Jungkook gritted his teeth, fucking your hard and fast like you asked, feeling it build inside you, pushing you to the precipice. You bit your lip, whining, Jungkook so strong and gentle over you, but also giving you what you wanted, watching your face the entire time. You squeezed his cock and he groaned your name.

“Cum for me,” he whispered. “Cum for me and I’ll cum for you.”

Your fingers found his arms, clutching his tense muscles, his tattoos peeking out from your grasp. There was a sharp tautness inside you, so close, so close, and his piercing brown eyes drowning you and, soon enough, the words came, tumbling out of your mouth in wispy gasps.

“J-Jungkook… fuck, I love you so fucking much and I’m going to cum, fuck.”

You threw your head back, moaning his name again as you came, pussy spasming and throbbing around him. Jungkook hissed above you, slamming into your hips one last time, cock jerking against your walls as he followed suit, your orgasm massaging his out, spilling into the condom. You could feel his cock pulsate inside you. He whimpered your name softly, pushing his hips into you a little. You exhaled, legs slipping from his now sweat-covered shoulders.

Jungkook reached down and pulled out gingerly, holding the condom in place.

“Finally got to hear you say I love you,” he chuckled.

You laughed, pressing your head back into his pillows.

“Guess I just needed you to stuff me with your cock.”

Jungkook poked you, pouting. The mole underneath his lower lip winked at you. “I want to hear it normally too.”

You sat up, looking into his eyes. His dark chocolate eyes that stared at you the first time, the eyes that took in every detail about you, the eyes that slowly began to know you and would continue to know you because now you knew there was another feeling that wasn’t nothing, another emotion that wasn’t apathy.

You placed your hand on his cheek, pushing back his long, dark hair, smiling at him.

“I love you, Jeon Jungkook.”

“What do you think?”

Jeon Jungkook took the small compact mirror from your hand, inspecting your work.

“Looks kind of funny,” he chuckled. “But I like it.”

He had showed up to Chemistry lecture early, long dark hair brushed but undone. No gel this time. He had sat down in front of you, black leather jacket creaking, folding his jean-clad legs under him. You had arrived with a black hair tie and black nails with tiny pink flowers on them. Combed your fingers through his hair and collected it into a ponytail, revealing his clean undercut. A few strands framed his face, accenting his high cheekbones.

“You wanna be my barber?” he teased, looking up at you.

You shook your head. “I don’t know how to cut hair.”

Jungkook stood up. “That’s okay. You can learn. Then I can spend more time with you and remember you every time I look in the mirror.”

You looked at your nails, remembering Hoseok’s smile as he painted them.

“I guess I would have to look up some YouTube videos.”

fin. haircut drabble. 2021.09.01 - birthday drabble

masterpost

#jungkook x reader #jeon jungkook x reader #jungkook smut #jeon jungkook smut #jungkook x you #jeon jungkook x you

723 notes · View notes

peter-pan-on-neverland · 4 years ago

Text

Opposites Attract: Part 2

Request: hey may I request a one shot for your Peter Pan story if yes can you, use my real name (Zai) instead of Y/N if you please and can you have me pans total opposite like sweet, shy everything he would hate but in the end he falls for her and becomes really protective

Pairing: Pan x Zai

Warnings: Cliffhangerrrr

< Part 1

Heavy, gloomy, and dark atmosphere swept through the camp, the boys quite obviously upset but too afraid to show any grievance in front of their ruthless leader as they held tears back behind their eyes. It had been like this for a week now, but somehow I couldn't seem to share the same sadness with the boys, I didn't feel bad, I hardly knew the boy and what I did know about him I didn't like.

The loud cracks and pops of the fire pulled me from my thoughts, snapping my head up to watch the orange and red flames dance with each other. The golden glow spread across the camp, painting it, contrasting with the dark gloomy sky.

A familiar pair of green eyes were caught staring at me from across the way, meeting my brown ones. I would say it bought a light blush to spread across the King of Neverlands cheeks, but as quickly as it came it left again. It was probably a trick of the light but this wasn't the first time I had noticed him watching me, observing me. Probably wondering if I was worth keeping around or not.

I found myself spending more and more time with the cold leader of the lost boys, not because I wanted to, just because he always seemed to be around me like a phantom slowly stalking me in the night. Never leaving, never straying from the path that I created, always watching, lurking, creeping. It seemed like he kept track of my every word, making notes of where I went and what I would do, who I spoke to.

Sweat trickled down my fare skin, the sudden feeling of grease and muck made my whole body tense up in disgust, I needed a wash and soon. Rising from the makeshift bench I was sat at I began to walk out of camp, I felt his eyes following me.

Stepping over the threshold of the Lost Boys territory I released a breath I didn't know I was holding in.

It was so peaceful walking through the forest at night, there were no animals or birds to be heard as they were all sound asleep by now, there was nothing but me and the trees. They silently watched as I passed them by as if they were guiding the way to the waterfall for me, mapping out the path I would take, making sure I didn't stray, and get myself into trouble.

The sound of rushing water grew louder and louder in my ears, indicating it was a step closer to becoming clean once more.

There it was, the most beautiful thing I had ever seen before. Clear, clean water running down cliff face basking the glory of the pale moonlight causing it to glow with a powerful silver shimmer. Everything surrounded it seemed to glow too, as if this tiny part of the island was untouched by the boy's wicked ways and remained pure, holding the power of a Goddess. The flowers seemed to dance in the moonlight stretching towards the starry night sky to drink up its silver shine. The scene before captured my gaze, refusing my eyes from averting themselves. As if possessed, I stalked forward ever so slowly, scared that the delicate scenery would be ruined by my presence. It was so beautiful, I was terrified I would mess it all up it like throwing a bucket of water over a freshly painted canvas, but it was like the spirits of the water pulled me in closer and closer, beckoning me to come in and be purified by the magic it supplied the island.

Slowly, the top part of my dress slipped off my shoulders, revealing the nape of my neck to the onlooking moon. I had no reason to hide or cover myself, for I was loved, the moon welcomed me, hugging me with its beaming silver light. It continued to fall, showing the beauty of my back which connected to my behind, the cold air was not a problem for the giant in the sky protected me from any harm such as the harsh cold. White cloth that once covered me tumbled down, leaving my entire body exposed to the wilderness. Next to flee my frame were my boots, feeling my feet meeting the grass, letting it rub in between my toes, and grounding me.

I stood, completely naked and free, praising my imperfections. Smiling down at every stretch mark, kissing every scar, appreciating my moles, befriending every freckle that resided on my skin, grasping the love handles at either side of my body and giving out a giggle of happiness.

I felt like I was a child once more, so innocent and carefree. The love that poured into my heart was overwhelming, calming, freeing. As I got closer and closer to the healing water of the waterfall, my appreciation for myself only grew more and more intense. Beautiful roses seemed to empower me, tall trees gave me the courage I needed, the small koi fish which swam around in the clear waters supplied me with the grace I always knew I had. A single tear slipped down my rosy cheeks soon being washed away by the remedial waters the island gifted to me.

Drops slide over my skin, healing me from the toxicity of my old mindset. I was free, happy, cleansed, and totally whole. There is no reason for me to hide myself anymore, there was no reason to hide myself in the first place for we are all perfect no matter what we look like. Bliss consumed me, bursting into every cell in my body, flowing through my veins as I laughed and smiled, cupping the beautiful water, letting it pour through my fingertips.

I danced and cheered, this was the first time I had felt like this and no words could describe how amazing it is. I had been holding onto society's idea of the "perfect" body for too long and now I see we are all perfect, every single being in the universe is totally and utterly beautiful. All of us, children of the moon, stars, and sun as they lend us their beauty. We are pure. We are whole. We are loved.

It was only then that I caught a glimpse of a familiar figure, perfects poised, leaning against a tree. Vibrant green eyes stood out the most in the dark forest, reminding me of the Cheshire cat lurking in the shadows. His arms crossing over his broad chest, veins almost popping out of them, his shirt hugged his frame nicely as if it were made for him.

I felt proud, not feeling the need to cover up, not like it matter to the king much anyway for his eye didn't scan over me as I had expected them to do. They stared deeply into mine, not moving, a smile played on his lips but there was something about it that was different. It wasn't an act of lust but rather one of amazement, as if I had taken his gaze as a hostage much like the way the waterfall had mesmerized me.

As quickly as the boy appeared in front of me he left again, surrounding himself in a cloud of dark green smoke, leaving nothing but the air in his wake.

Bright stars shimmered in the sky, lighting the way back to camp. I didn't put my shoes back on but carried them in my hands, the dirt and leaves crumbled below my feet. Camp looked more lively upon my return, the boys were finally up on their feet and dancing around the fire, clashing their sticks together and they cheered and hollered.

A small, tired voice sounded, "Zai~" He spoke, pulling on the hem of my dress.

I smiled down at the sleepy little boy, "What's up Daemon?"

"Can you read me a story?" The glimmer in his eyes made it hard to refuse his request, the little boy warmed my heart, giving his place a sense of hope and innocence.

I nodded in reply and with that his little hand grasped mine, guiding me towards his time tent that was lit with nothing but a candle. Hopping up onto the bed he pulled the cute little storybook out from under his pillow, passing it to me.

I ran my thumb over the cover whispering the title into the cold air of the night, "Peter Pan" I almost laughed at how ironic it was, no wonder the small boy had ended up here.

"Once upon a time..." I began.

As time passed the child's eyes grew too heavy for him to keep open and he let sleep consume his body. Silently, I leaned over his, placing a soft kiss upon his forehead.

"You're good with kid's," A British accent whispered, turning to face him he seemed to stand in the exact same position that he had when watching me at the waterfall, like he is a statue.

"You were watching me," I replied in a hushed tone, more as confirmation to myself rather than a question.

"I was, you're good with him," He said, "Daemon needs someone like you to keep him safe, a mother."

"I am no mother," I whispered to the king of Neverland.

"You're more a mother to him than the woman who birthed him," Pan spoke, "She starved him, beat him, and left him for dead in a street alley."

It pained me to know what he had been through, my heart cried for him. He was safe now, here with his family, here with the lost boys. How could anyone do that to someone so pure, someone so innocent and small?

Pan knew that although I didn't respond, I understood. He could see the pain that I was feeling on the boys' behalf.

"You were also watching me at the waterfall," I said.

"That I was, I admired you. Seeing the way that you danced, you were free and happy. You had the power to turn your weaknesses into strength, you're stronger than you look, little one." With that, he gave me a smile before leaving the room.

I felt a sense of pride swell up in my chest, could this be true? Could the ruthless, cold-hearted, cruel, malicious Peter Pan be proud of me? Could I possibly have earned his respect after so long of being here?

As the days passed by the boys seemed to warm up to me, allowing me to hunt with them, dancing with them around the fire, play games with them. They stopped treating me like an outcast and more like part of their family.

"Listen up boys!" Pan's voice boomed, scaring birds from trees and causing animals to sprint away, "We have some visitors."

The smirk on the boy kings face grew causing a shiver to travel up and down my spine, I felt hot all of a sudden.

The lost boys hollard and cheered, we all knew what this meant, pirates.

Excited and eager we all rushed down to the shore, weapons at the ready. The boys were ruthless and bloodthirsty, looking for a fight, I however was on the more cautious side of things. I don't like to fight, I never did, but if I didn't want to be seen as weak again it would be a smart idea for me to join them only if it is for the time being.

By the time my feet met with the sandy beach, the fight was already in full force, the sound of metal clanking with metal and battle cries filled the crisp air. From where I stood the lost boys all looked so small, like ants fighting against another colony.

Silently, I watched the scene before me unfold. People were getting hurt, boys were getting hurt. Thick red blood dyed the golden sand with no remorse and I could do nothing but watch.

So wrapped up in my own thoughts I didn't notice the dirty pirate sneaking up behind me, hand covering my mouth as he attempted to drag me to Hook's ship.

I didn't know what to do, or how to react, but I wasn't going anywhere without putting up some kind of a fight.

Wriggling and struggling against him I tried my hardest to keep my feet planted into the ground, my efforts were useless. I bit down hard at the hand covering my mouth, causing him to yelp out and grasp the attention on the others. A sharp, sneering pain exploded in my side as I let out a muffled scream, trying hard to not look weak in front of the lost boys.

My foot came down hard on his and my elbow swiftly embedded itself into his stomach before he fell to the floor with a groan, in an effort to get as far away from him and possible I stumbled to the tree line. A wet feeling covered my hands, sticking to my shirt and sides. Red, that's all I could see.

"Zai" Pan's voice filled my ears, the look of worry was noticble on his face, it was strange seeing him show any emotion other than angry, "I've got you, don't worry I've got you."

Panic flowed through my veins, who's blood was that? His or mine?

My vision quickly became blurred, it was like I was under a spell, stuck in some trance that I couldn't get out of. The king of Neverlands voice echoed around in my skull, I wanted to reply, I wanted to tell him I was fine, but the words couldn't leave my mouth before everything went black.

"Zai!" the angry shout from the leader was the last thing I heard before falling to the ground.

#ouat fanfiction #ouat fic #ouat imagine #ouat #ouat felix #ouat pan x reader #ouat peter imagine #ouat pan #ouat peter #ouat peter pan #felix ouat #ouat fan fiction #ouat ff #ouat fandom #felix fic #ouat felix imagine #felix imagines #felix x reader #pan x reader

79 notes · View notes

stealingpotatoes · 4 years ago

Text

Trying to Explain the Desmond (sorta) Lives AU: Part 2

(part one)

(hi I’m back and I was bothered to write more explanation. bla bla sorry for the mess also this bit was acccidentally lengthy and 2.5k words, whoops)

> > > >

Shaun and Rebecca more-or-less knew they were going to find Desmond. They more-or-less knew they were going to see him. They more-or-less knew that he was going to be all glowing like he was in the footage. This being said, they weren’t really prepared for um… any of that to actually happen.

Desmond is standing here, he is talking. He is moving. Alive. Shaun and Becs are across from him, silent and dumbfounded at the sight of their long-dead friend.

(I need you, my darling reader, to think of the most confused and shocked you’ve ever been in your life, and then bap, you’ve more or less got what’s going on in this room tbh.)

“Desmond?” Shaun finally asks in shock.

“...yeah?” Desmond answers, obviously very confused at Shaun’s tone.

“Holy shit,” whispers Rebecca.

“What happened? We were in the Temple and- and then suddenly I’m here and I’ve got… these?” He gestures vaguely to himself-- the Isu markings.

What he said is enough to sort-of snap the duo out of their shock enough. “What?”

“Yeah, what?” Des agrees.

“No, no. The temple-- 2012… that was six years ago. And you...” Rebecca says (still looking at Des with an expression that can only be described as ‘what in the genuine fuck’).

Shaun and Rebecca wouldn’t have even noticed Galina coming up behind them if it hadn’t been for Desmond’s slight shift into near ready-to-fight, tho he relaxes after a second (his eagle vision’s still there and says she’s an ally).

Shaun and Becs manage to take their eyes off Desmond for long enough to glance back at Galina, who’s come to find them.

“You were not replying on your comms--” Galina stops and takes a proper look at the man behind them. “Oh. He does not look dead.” Then back at Shaun & Becs; “We all need to go.”

Desmond is somehow even more confused than he was earlier. “Why would I look dead? And-- who are you?”

Shaun has manners, even in very confusing situations; “This is Galina. She’s an Assassin. And Galina, meet… Desmond Miles.” (audible question marks)

Shaun and Rebecca share an awkward glance. “We’ll explain everything when we get to safety?” Becs says, though she’s really not sure how they are going to explain, or what they’re even going to explain.

The two random assassins who don’t have names also came out of the fight fairly unhurt and meet up with the rest of them. They’re pretty weirded out to see a person with glowy lines on his face, and have heard of Desmond Miles’ death. However they’re obviously not as weirded out to see him alive because they just didn’t know him. They’re probably doing the best here lol.

Galina’s pretty confused but she’s become very good at compartmentalising over the years, so isn’t dwelling on things right now.

Shaun and Rebecca are-- okay, to say Shaun and Becs are “dealing” with this is definitely the wrong word. They’re moving forward like Assassins should, while trying to comprehend that Desmond is right there… and also trying not to look at him too wide-eyed and shocked. To them, everything feels like it’s going way too fast and way too slow all at once.

The trio and Galina all get into a van and head out of there, not planning on waiting for more Abstergos.

They reach an old Assassin safehouse outside of the city after a very Odd drive. The two unnamed Assassins stayed in the city to keep investigating and keep up their work before, so now it’s just Shaun, Becs & Desmond in the safehouse with Galina on watch outside.

They get in, make sure they’re safe -- protocol stuff. But Des really needs some answers. Like right now.

“What happened?” Desmond asks. This time it’s very serious, and you can almost feel the hundreds of years of killers’ lives he’s lived behind his voice.

Shaun and Becs share yet another look. The disbelief hasn’t worn off at all, but they’re, as I said, moving forward. “What’s the last thing you remember?” Shaun asks.

It quickly comes to light that Desmond has no memory of what happened after touching the Eye-orb-thing in the Temple. It’s just “a helluva lot of pain” in December 2012 and then boom, waking up in the middle of a city (shut, i know i still haven’t thought where), in October 2018. He also can’t recall bursting out of that Abstergo facility either -- his memory seems to start from where the weird glowing-eyes-and-apple-light thing he had going on stopped.

“But the Temple was six years ago?” Desmond quietly half-asks, half-states.

“Yeah...” says Rebecca.

“Then where have I been for that time.”

“You died.”

“What?!”

Shaun takes over; “Or at least, we thought you died. In 2012, we got clear from the Temple as you told us to. But then Abstergo, they--” (how on earth do you say this) “They got there before we could. They took your body and...”

“But obviously you didn’t die because you’re here.” Becs gestures at Des.

“Right,” Shaun agrees unsurely.

Des nods slowly, trying to take this all in. “But that doesn’t explain… all this.” he gestures to the Isu markings on his face. “Or what I can do.”

“Do you know what you can do?” Becs asks. She and Shaun don’t really know what was happening w Des’ whole abilities thing at ALL because they only saw a small bit recorded.

Des shrugs, but then unzips the definitely-stolen-hoodie a bit and pulls the opening to the side so his bare collarbone is on show. “I got shot when I… when I woke up.” Rebecca makes yet another confused expression. “There’s nothing there?” She’s right; there’s no wound, no blood there. Not even a scar.

“Exactly.”

“Oh.”

“I heal faster, I know that. And--”

“What’s that?” Shaun numbly gestures to his own chest where a scar starts on Desmond’s. It’s not like either of them have seen Des shirtless much at all before, but that wasn’t there in 2012, they’re pretty sure.

Des looks down then unzips the hoodie a bit more and oh.

Shaun and Becs didn’t notice that on the security footage. Tbh Desmond barely noticed it, too busy looking at the glowiness. But that’s an autopsy scar. Des has an autopsy scar. That’s...

Desmond zips his hoodie back up, but everyone in the room is Very Confused.

This is even more question-mark-inducing and raises about a billion questions; Did they do an autopsy on an alive person (for the sake of taunting the assassins)? Shaun and Becs wouldn’t put it past Abstergo; the Templars are messed up like that.

Or… did Desmond genuinely die? And did Abstergo… bring him back somehow?

Either way, Shaun’s mentally decided the “weird Isu clone of Desmond” idea is probably wrong because why would they autopsy a clone of a dead man?? makes no sense.

There’s more long pauses of bewilderment before Rebecca makes the very good suggestion that they all have something to eat. So yeah, they eat, they’re chatting. It’s mostly basic stuff. They should definitely have all had medical checkups first, but they’re all very much too confused and in shock to do like… anything.

It’s a bit awkward at one point (more awkward than the ENTIRE ordeal of seeing your dead friend again has been) because Shaun catches himself before telling Des a part of a story that involves secret Assassin crap and stops awkwardly.

Desmond seems to catch on, and he’s like “I get it. Abstergo might have done something to me.” Made him a mole or a sleeper agent like Daniel Cross.

Shaun and Becs feel really bad, but Desmond’s got this weird air of resignation about him. He understands. He knows he might be all messed up and controlled by Abstergo. That being said, the general resignation might just be pure shock at everything. A Lot Has Happened to him in a Very Short Span of Time (to him).

They continue on chatting, mostly inane shit. Desmond asks if his parents are… still around. Shaun and Becs assure them they’re fine, though still fighting. Say a little about how William took Des’ death really hard, (no duh), and dropped out of the fight for a year. Only came back after finding out what Abstergo did to Des’ corpse (or… alive body???) -- tho the duo try to avoid saying what Abstergo did for now.

However there’s another pause when Rebecca is, in very vague terms, explaining what happened in London in 2015. Rebecca starts telling Des what the Shroud is when she pauses and looks like she’s just solved some complicated code.

“I thought you were skipping the secret details?” Des asks.

“This isn’t that-- the Shroud heals people. Like, really fast,” Rebecca says.

Shaun gets where she’s going. “Ah... so say if someone got shot, it would heal almost immediately. And there would be no scar or visible wound afterwards.”

Desmond takes a moment, and then he’s like “...you think I have the Shroud’s powers?”

Now this doesn’t really solve any questions, and if anything creates more… but it adds something? Heck, this is all so confusing for everyone involved.

Anyways at some point they decide to actually all go to sleep. Galina’s still here btw, she also goes to sleep lol. Though before they do go to their own beds, Shaun and Becs have a quick chat about how weird this all is. Very Weird.

Uh yeah so shrugging noises, Galina at some point the next day is assured the trio will be fine on their own and heads back to the city to investigate with unnamed Assassins.

At some point they do actually do medical checkups lol, and comes up as, overall, Good. Desmond is pretty spritely for a dead guy.

However they run into an issue: the DNA thingie just Isn’t Cooperating. It won’t sequence it. Probably definitely because they don’t have any tech that can get his wacked-up now-a-lot-more-isu DNA. But it also means they can’t check to see if he’s got the same DNA as he did. So yeah.

For Rebecca and Shaun, it’s weird how quickly everything starts to feel like old times. As if they might be back in Monteriggioni, or the Temple, hiding out from the Abstergo and the Templars, as if the six year gap never happened. I mean- it’s not quite the same, obviously. Desmond glows now, and there’s always Something to remind them that they thought he was dead, that he was gone -- that something might be Wrong with him.

Desmond’s, on the other hand, in this very awkward place. Aside from the fact he now has superpowers (which he doesn’t yet know the extent of), he’s also dealing with the fact he was supposedly dead for 6 years. That the world moved on without him and his friends haven’t seen him for six years. 2012 feels like days ago to him, not years. Shaun and Becs are very happy to have him back -- but Desmond didn’t know he was ever gone . So where they’re nostalgic for old times, he can’t help but only notice the differences?

They need to find out what the heck happened in the 6 years they thought Des was dead. Seeing as the Abstergo facility that Desmond escaped from is -- funnily enough -- crawling with Abstergo agents that would very much like to get the three of them, (and that the trio has been told to lay low and try to go as dark as they can for now, while they all try to figure out what’s happening w Desmond) going back there to find crap out isn’t an option right now. So what Rebecca and Shaun are doing -- with a bit of help from Desmond, though he isn’t a tech guy or necessarily allowed to go into the Assassin database stuff yet -- is trying to scrounge up anything they can on Des and the missing six years.

They’re also slightly trying to work out some of Des’ powers, but they’re wary of him using them too much as Abstergo might pick up on whatever power traces he’s giving off. Shaun thinks Desmond definitely has a second PoE-based ability, and thinks it may be the Apple.

One of the first nights, Desmond asks Shaun and Rebecca what they are going to do if Des turns out to be a sleeper or something. They can’t actually come up with an answer.

Tbh, the search for info isn’t going brilliantly, even with two of the Assassin’s best searchers on the case. There are other assassins and PLENTY of Initiates looking for info across the world too -- Desmond just… coming back is a very big thing, and moreso is how he came back (ie all Isu-y). They haven’t heard any word from their mentor, Mr Miles senior, though.

But then Rebecca has an idea! If Desmond’s conscious memory doesn’t know what happened, maybe his genetic memory does? Small issue: they don’t have an animus with them. So they ask for one ig lol.

Anyways, they’re all chilling, researching, and trying to get to grips with the INSANE idea of EVERYTHING, ya know? Friendship hours. Catching up -- tho Des doesn’t have much to tell. There’s also emotional times!!! Shaun and Becs getting to say what they never had the chance to say while Des was alive, hugs, talking a little bit about the fact that his death (or “death”, perhaps) hit them Hard (though it’s difficult to talk about for all three).

The first piece of the puzzle that they get isn’t from somewhere they expect.

About a week after Desmond showed up (so after about 4-5 days of them being at the safehouse), Layla Hassan gets out of Atlantis. She’s just done the Trials via Kassandra and got the staff of Hermes Trismegistus (...in doing so, losing one teammate and gaining some anger issues. oops). Layla’s not that important yet. What is important right now is when she opened Atlantis.

Layla doesn’t have an exact time as to her opening the gates, but guess what happened very soon after the rough time she opened it? One Desmond Miles burst out of an Abstergo facility, glowing like your overly-dramatic neighbour’s Christmas lights display.

So then this all just adds more mystery to the uh... Mystery™. Did opening Atlantis resurrect him? Did it give him these powers for some reason? If so, why?? The gang also find out/ the Assassins overall realise that opening Atlantis caused some weird powersurge in every PoE -- but if that caused some kind of surge in Desmond too, does that mean he’s a Piece of Eden now? He has the powers of at least one, PoE now, they know, so…? There are too many questions and nowhere near enough answers.

The trio is itching to get out there and start investigating themselves -- but they’re told that there’s another assassin coming to join the three of them soon (it’s protocol to not say Who), before they start doing anything, and that they should wait for them. Also said Assassin is bringing one of them mini-animuses (animi? whatever; the one Layla has in ACOd) so they can do the genetic memory thing like Becs suggested.

So I guess it’s time for more waiting, for whomever the assassin may be...

#desmond (sorta) lives au #desmond miles #shaun hastings #rebecca crane #galina voronina #idk what im doing words are just coming out #ONCE AGAIN AM JUST EXPLAINING NOT FICWRITING #THIS IS A MESS #asscreed #assassin’s creed #potes wrotes #at this rate we’re gonna get to like part 4 or 5 before I explain how he actually got rezzed #the night that the sun came up

73 notes · View notes

translations-by-aiimee · 3 years ago

Text

Mistakenly Saving the Villain - Chapter 4

Original Title: 论救错反派的下场

Genres: Drama, Romance, Xianxia, Yaoi

TW for this chapter: Sexual abuse (skip to the solo ". . ." to skip that part)

This translation is based on multiple MTLs and my own limited knowledge of Chinese characters. If I have made any egregious mistakes, please let me know.

Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3

Chapter 4 - Breaking Out of Hell

Song Qingshi finally connected the child with the red tear mole in his memories and the peerless beauty on the golden bird frame.

Someone eavesdropping on their conversation clapped his hands and laughed: "Xie Que is really wicked. It must have been so amusing to see when the little apprentice discovered the truth."

Since Jin FeiRen had cultivated immortality, he had received countless beauties, but he was still excited about the moment that Yue Wuhuan entering the door: "That year, when I was eight hundred years old, I received countless congratulations, so I held a feast on this Langgan stage and invited all my friends to celebrate together. Xie Que also came with Wuhuan. He seemed to tell Wuhuan that he was going to send him to Golden Phoenix Manor to learn sword fighting. Wuhuan was overjoyed. When Xie was absent, he took out the spirit bead and asked me to inspect the slave. His incredulous expression was really cute. . ."

Jin FeiRen casually played with the long hair of the boy in white, forcing him to look at the beauty on the golden bird stand, and then told everyone about the past events:

At that time, Yue Wuhuan had just grown up, wearing the Yuelan clothes that all immortal disciples liked, with a sword on his waist, his hair tied with a simple white jade crown. His body had a clean smell, his facial features were exquisite, and his phoenix eyes were clear and innocent. He had dignified manners, unlike someone with a mortal origin, but like the young son of the immortal family.

He earnestly bowed to the immortals at the banquet and then told Jin FeiRen that he was already in the middle stage of foundation building and that he would work hard to master his sword at Golden Phoenix Manor in the future, and live up to Master's expectations and become like Mo Yuan. The powerful sword repair. At that time, everyone laughed, and there was an ambiguous atmosphere that was built from the laughter. Yue Wuhuan realized that there was something wrong with their laughter and wanted to retreat. Jin FeiRen had already walked down, lifted his hand, studied it carefully, and laughed: "Such a beautiful hand is not suitable for swordsmanship. It's more suitable for serving people."

Yue Wuhuan's face turned pale and he desperately retracted his hands.

Jin FeiRen let go and smiled: "Immortal Xie, since you have brought some excellent goods, you must let me inspect the goods."

The people in the room also clamoured and demanded to inspect the goods on the spot.

Yue Wuhuan watched as his master took out a red bead. He turned his mind, and lost control of his body. He desperately tried to prevent his trembling hands from reaching his waist and threw his most treasured sword away like trash. Long sword. Then, his belt fell, and the layers of Yuelan's clothes faded away. His self-esteem was destroyed in front of everyone, and his dream of cultivation was crushed to pieces.

All sounds of the dinner stopped, and all eyes were staring at the beautiful scenery.

Jin FeiRen couldn't help but straighten up.

Yue Wuhuan was struggling in this controlled state, wishing to die on the spot. He looked at his master in pain, his beautiful lips squirming, and begged silently. Xie Que finally walked towards him and gently stretched out his hand, just like when he touched his head every day to praise him.

Xie Que gently pulled off his white jade crown.

The white jade crown fell to the floor and smashed into pieces. The long, slightly curled hair dropped down to his waist like a waterfall, covering the enchanting Acacia Seal on his pale back. The despair and helplessness in the dark golden phoenix eyes were enough to arouse any raging thoughts. The red tear-shaped mole made people feel allured, and the originally beautiful boy was turned into a seductive collectable.

The more Wuhuan struggled, the more his head lowered to hide himself away in embarrassment.

Xie Que grabbed Yue Wuhuan's long hair and pulled it back fiercely, forcing the ashamed young man to raise his head so that everyone could see one of the best beauties of the country.

He smiled and said: "My vision is never wrong."

. . .

The sound of the flute resonated further, and the depth of the sadness in that lingering sound became more devastating.

Song Qingshi's throat stiffened from sadness, and he was left a little breathless. He gradually understood the meaning of the words Yue Wuhuan said by the river bank. He seemed to see himself locked in a physical prison from his past. He shouted every day, but no one could hear his cry for help.

He didn't want to think about it anymore. He already knew the answer.

He wanted to save was this bruised beautiful bird with his strings of scars.

Song Qingshi began to think wildly about how to naturally whisk this boy away.

The song ended, the flute stopped, and the remaining notes curled away into the wind.

The guests had already been enthusiastic from the song, and now some were even making fools of themselves.

Jin FeiRen got up and announced boldly: "This is the toy that Golden Phoenix Manor will give to you all immortal friends tonight. Please enjoy!."

Song Qingshi was startled and looked back worriedly. Yue Wuhuan only raised his eyebrows. It seemed that he was used to such a scene. He indifferently cast a wink at the immortal beside him, his beautiful calves stretched out under the feather skirt, shaking the bells on the golden shackles on his feet. He swayed them towards everyone as if inviting them to taste.

The Hidden Moon Sect's Young Master looked at him with desire. He raised his hand to grab his foot and wanted to tear off the feather skirt and drag him off to the side to play around with.

Suddenly, there was an exclamation from outside the hall, and the maids and servants fled one after another. A demon tiger rushed into the hall. Its eyes were red, staring at Yue Wuhuan, roaring in a low voice, as if it saw some delicious prey. Yue Wuhuan’s eyes began to glaze over as if he had been drugged. It was like he didn't know what fear was. He actually walked towards the demon tiger, closer and closer, seeming not to know what it was. . .

LingBao Xianzun said in surprise: "This is the show my friend arranged tonight? Such flair!"

The guests were full of drunken spirit. They were getting extremely exciting and started cheering.

The white-clothed boy finally couldn't help standing up. He pushed Jin FeiRen away, and shouted: "Stop! Don't do this! This sort of show. . . is too much!"

Jin FeiRen was a little puzzled. He had arranged a demon tiger hunting slave game tonight, but he was only going to use ordinary slaves. Why would he ever be willing to use such a stunning beauty as Yue Wuhuan? But now the atmosphere of the guests was too energetic. Yue Wuhuan knew how to ensure the guests would not be disappointed and keep the energy. The accusation of the youth beside him also made him feel like he lost face, so he sneered: "Why not? You just have to open your eyes and take a good look. If you dare to disobey me, I'll let you have a go against the beast."

The white-clothed boy's face turned pale. He opened his mouth, but he dared not make any more noises.

Seeing him approaching, the demon tiger became even more frantic and lost its wit. He grabbed Yue Wuhuan's shoulder and bit down. Yue Wuhuan’s shoulder was torn open with a big, bloody mouth. He finally woke up from his dazed state and drew back. The demon tiger still continued to grab and bite at him, trying to tear up what was trying to escape in front of him.

Song Qingshi racked the original body's memories until he found a suitable attack spell he could use. He turned the Underworld Ghost Fire into a needle as thin as cattle hair and shot it at the demon tiger's body. The demon tiger raised his head and roared, and the thin needle that should have been hit its neck hit its leg insted.

Fortunately, the poison of the Underworld Ghost Fire spread quickly in the demon tiger. The demon tiger instantly grew stiff and fell on its side After a while, it turned into a boiling corpse and evaporated.

Song Qingshi got up and walked towards Yue Wuhuan who was lying in a pool of blood. He quickly sealed the wound and pressed a few acupuncture points to stop the bleeding.

Yue Wuhuan was trembling in pain. He kept panting, his beautiful face was covered with blood, and he looked like a ghost. Looking at Song Qingshi, there was no joy of being rescued, only deep resentment and despair. Finally, before he passed out, he said in a soft voice that was almost inaudible: "I was so blind. . ."

Song Qingshi put a spirit pill in his mouth to keep his heart working.

Jin FeiRen came over and was very displeased: "Song Xianzun, why did you kill my demon tiger?"

This demon tiger was his most valuable treasure, capable of human intelligence, and able to protect his master. Much more valuable than a tired slave.

Song Qingshi put himself back into the character of the original body, and said coldly: "I want him."

Jin FeiRen smiled and said, "Was Xianxun actually moved by this display?"

Song Qingshi replied: "I will use him to test my medicine."

He wanted to use Yue Wuhuan to try various miraculous medicines to restore his body to what it used to be!

Under Song Qingshi’s deliberate misguidance, Jin FeiRen was completely fooled. The advantage of the wood spirit root system was that the natural body had a strong resilience and was a good choice for medicine refiners. Medicine Master Xianzun’s behaviour was like immortals that flew through the sky. It was hard to guess what he was thinking. Since the demon tiger was dead, there was no point in investigating it, so it's better to take this opportunity to have Song Qingshi owe him a favour.

Song Qingshi took out a bottle of his immortal pills from his mustard bag, and didn't really count out how much he took out. Instead, he directly handed them to Jin FeiRen as compensation. Refining pills were extremely beneficial to practicing cultivation. It’s just that the materials were extremely precious, and they were very hard to come by. Pills refined by the Medicine Master Xianxun himself were even more of a rarirty. Considering this was compensation for the demon tiger and a slave he was tired of playing with and might now even make it. . . this was a very sincere offer. . .

Song Qingshi was afraid that he would reject the offer, so he thought about it and then said: "This tiger has been drugged. He was overly vicious and had become deranged, so it couldn't be left as was."

Jin FeiRen hurried down the steps, erased his spiritual thoughts from Yue Wuhuan's bead and transferred them to Song Qingshi. He thanked him for discovering the tiger's madness and killing it without injuring the guests on the court and ordered someone to investigate the demon tiger being drugged.

Song Qingshi courteously paid his farewells to Manor Lord Jin and rejected his enthusiasm for sending him home with some beauties.

He picked up Yue Wuhuan, who was seriously injured and still unconscious and stepped out of this hell of jade carvings.

In hell, there were still many souls that still couldn't escape. . .

Behind him, the carefree laughter grew farther and farther away.

The blood on Yue Wuhuan's face has been wiped away, and the crow feather-like eyelashes are tightly closed, trembling slightly, fragile and beautiful.

When Song Qingshi looked at him, his heart gradually became firmer.

He suddenly remembered the story his mother told when he was a child:

There are thousands of fish from the tide pushing them into the shallow puddles on the beach.

He has no way of saving all the fish. He can only release the dying fish in his hand to the freedom of the sea.

"Because this fish cares."

#mistakenly saving the villain #mistakenly saving the villain translation #chinese novel #chinese bl #bl novel #english translation #yaoi novel #danmei novel

22 notes · View notes

celestialvoid-fanfiction · 4 years ago

Text

You Arrested My Boyfriend?

Stiles comes back to Beacon Hills to help his dad on a case, but when Derek is wrongfully arrested, Stiles gets a little protective of his man.

Commission for @ditheringmind

(You can read it on AO3, here)

There was a quiet knock against the plane of glass that lined the wall of the Sheriff’s office.

“Sheriff?” Parrish said tentatively, leaning in through the doorway slightly.

“Yeah?” Sheriff Stilinski replied, not taking his eyes off the case board in front of him.

“The FBI consultant is here,” Parrish told him.

The Sheriff let out a measured sigh.

“If it’s Special Agent McCall—” Sheriff Stilinski’s voice was tense and bitter – almost mocking – as he said the name. “—tell him to shove off.”

“That’s not very nice,” a familiar voice said, scolding him gently.

John spun around, his eyes falling on the young man who stood in the doorway.

“Stiles,” he said, delighted. He rushed over to his son’s side, scooping the young man up in his arms and holding him close.

Stiles let out a quiet chuckle as he hugged his dad back.

“It’s so good to see you,” John said, slowly pulling back to look at his son. He gently patted his son’s shoulder, looking him up and down. “Look at you.”

He was a little taller than when John had last seen him, his broad shoulders and slender but fit figure accentuated by the fitted white dress shirt he wore. He had a gun holstered on one hip and his ID and badge on the other. He looked like a grown man, mature and confident. But some things never change; his chestnut-brown hair was still a tousled mess, his mole-speckled cheeks still dimpled when he smiled, and his dark eyes still held their glint of mischief.

“How have you been?” his dad asked.

“Good,” Stiles replied. His smile grew more tense and his voice hesitant as he added, “But you and I have a lot to catch up on.”

“We sure do,” John said, a fond smile turning up the corners of his mouth.

“Catch me up on what you have,” Stiles said, nodding towards the case board.

John walked his son through all of it: the victims, the crime scenes, the evidence they had, the leads they were chasing up, and those that had fallen through.

“Is there any chance this could be… supernatural related?” Stiles asked, keeping his voice low enough that only his dad could hear.

“I don’t know,” John said. “We can’t find any connection between the victims themselves or any connection between them and the few families I know of.”

“I’ll ask around,” Stiles offered. “Between the ‘wolves and the hunters, someone’s bound to know if they’re supernatural or not.”

John nodded, folding his arms across his chest as he leant back against the edge of his desk.

“We’re almost out of options,” he admitted.

“Whoever did this, they seem like an outsider,” Stiles pointed out. “There hasn’t been a crime like this in Beacon Hills in over twenty years – aside from Peter’s outburst and the Darach – which suggests that whoever did this isn’t from here.”

The Sheriff nodded.

“We should check with motels, hostels, and air BNBs to see if they had any new customers in the days leading up to the first incident,” Stiles suggested. “Have patrols check out abandoned houses and buildings, especially the industrial end of town. We’ll talk to real estate agents and get them to take us to any houses up for sale or not yet rented out in order to check for squatters. Check the camp grounds and the reserve as well in case our suspect is hiding out there.”

“That reminds me,” John said quietly. “I need to clear some boxes of old case files out of your room before you come over.”

“Oh, you don’t have to worry about that. I—um… I’m staying with a friend,” Stiles said.

“Oh, okay,” John said.

“Wait, why do you have old case files at home?”

“Something about this…” John let out a heavy sigh, raking his fingers back through his thinning brown hair. “Never mind.”

“You always told me to follow my gut. Since when do you dismiss intuition?” Stiles asked, folding his arms over his chest as he turned to look at his dad. “Tell me what’s going on.”

John couldn’t help but smile. Stiles had always been able to read him like a book.

“There are things about this case that remind me of another case; one I worked when I was a deputy,” John told him.

“You think it might be a copy cat?”

“Worse,” John said. “There are similarities between the cases that are too close for this to be a copy cat—pieces of evidence that were present in the old cases that were never spoken of or brought to caught; facts that were never disclosed to the public.”

“So, we’re dealing with a returning serial killer or a protégé.”

“It seems that way.”

“Would I be able to look over those old files?” Stiles asked. “Maybe another pair of eyes could help.”

John nodded.

Stiles paused, noticing the solemn look in his father’s weary eyes.

“What’s wrong?” Stiles coaxed.

“That case was twenty-four years ago,” John said quietly. “The guy we arrested died last year.”

“So, either he trained someone,” Stiles started, his voice trailing off slightly as he realised what the alternative was.

“Or I arrested the wrong guy,” John confirmed.

The house stood proud among the trees; the new siding painted a soft brown with dark window frames and wooden shutters. The porch that ran along the front of the house still needed some work—the fresh pine planks still had to be stained and sealed before winter set in.

It was like a glimpse of the past—the newly restored house looked so much like his childhood home.

Inside, the walls were covered in crisp white paint. A few of the support beams that framed the rooms had been replaced—the large beams weathered, scarred and stained in an effort to match the surviving beans that were burnt, black and distorted like the disfigured body of Atlas bowing beneath an unimaginable weight.

The house smelt of sweet dew and crisp pine trees, tainted by the smell of ash that never seemed to fade.

There were scattered signs of history and new life mingling among the ruins. There were pieces of furniture that had been restores or salvaged, wooden tables with charred legs and warped paint like scars. The walls of the hallways were lined with photos of the Hale family, pictures that Stiles and the pack had helped Derek track down—and new photos; photos of the pack.

Two large windows framed the front door, morning light streaming through them and illuminating the angelic swirl of the sparking particles of dust.

Derek heard the blanket of leaves crunch beneath the wheels of an approaching car, the quiet rumble of the engine dying away.

He opened the front door, stepping out onto the porch.

A young deputy – one that he didn’t seem to know – stepped out of the car, levelling his eyes on Derek.

“Good morning, officer,” Derek greeted. “Can I help you?”

“What’s your name?” the deputy asked.

“Derek Hale,” he answered.

The deputy looked at the house and back to Derek. “Do you live here?”

Derek nodded.

“How long?”

“Just moved back in a couple of days ago,” Derek answered honestly. “I’ve been trying to get the place ready for my partner.”

“Do you have some ID on you?” the deputy asked.

“Yeah,” Derek said.

He stepped down the small stairs and onto the damp blanket of autumn leaves, fishing his wallet out of his pocket and pulling out his driver’s licence. He handed it over to the young deputy.

The deputy’s eyes flitted down to the card. His face seemed to harden as he handed it back to Derek.

“Put your hands behind your back, sir,” the deputy said firmly.

Derek’s brow furrowed in confusion, but he did as he was told. He held his hands behind himself, turning his back to the deputy.

“Can I ask why?”

“I’m placing you under arrest for suspicion of involvement in the abduction and murder of three people.”

“What?” Derek gawked.

“You do not have to say anything, but anything you do say can - and will - be taken down and used against you in a court of law,” the deputy began, reading Derek his rights as he guided the man into the back of the police cruiser.

Stiles sat cross-legged on the floor of his old bedroom, the old dusty boxes stacked around him. An unlidded box sat beside him, full of evidence bags and pale manila folders.

Stiles rifled through the old folders, flipping through sheets of paper work—witness statements, autopsy reports, photographs, evidence submissions, arrest reports, etc.

Another folder lay open beside him, filled with sheets of paper and photographs from the latest cases.

His dad was right; the similarities between the cases were too close to be a coincidence.

His phone buzzed as the screen lit up with a message.

He set the file he was reading aside and picked up his phone.

It was from Parrish.

‘Hayes has arrested someone. He thinks he might be connected to the case.’

The phone buzzed again as Parrish sent through a copy of the arrest report and a photo of the man who had been arrested.

Stiles opened the photo, feeling his heart drop as he looked at the familiar photo.

His body tenses as burning rage tore through his body.

“You’ve got to be kidding me.”

Stiles shoved open the door to the Sheriff’s office, barging into the room.

“You arrested my boyfriend?” he shouted.

John blinked in surprise.

“Your what?” he stammered.

“Derek,” Stiles reiterated.

The Sheriff held up a finger, pausing the conversation. He stood up from his desk and crossed over to the door, leaning out into the bullpen and calling in a young deputy who Stiles hadn’t met before.

Stiles looked down at the man’s name badge. Hayes.

The Sheriff sat down behind his desk again.

“Hayes,” he started. “Please give us a debriefing of your arrest.”

“The man fit the profile,” Hayes said.

“In what way?” Stiles objected, feeling defensive.

“The profile said the suspect would be an outsider. His driver’s licence says he’s from New York. And he had another card in his wallet with a Virginian address. He was on his own, hiding out on private property in a house that has been abandoned for years.”

“He wasn’t ‘hiding out’; it’s his family’s property—his property,” Stiles said through his teeth, his jaw tense. “The house was destroyed ten years ago in a fire. He’s spent the last year rebuilding it.”

“The profile said it’s possible our suspect could be working with someone – a mentor – and learning from them,” the deputy continued, quoting the profile Stiles had put together back to him. “He said he was waiting for his partner.”

“Yeah, me,” Stiles said. “I’m his partner. He came down from Virginia a few days early to get the house ready for us to move into while I finished off my last days at Quantico before coming here.”

“He has a record,” the deputy added.

“Of false arrests,” Stiles countered.

The Sheriff held his hand over his mouth, trying to hide his amused smile as the two bickered back and forth.

“Okay,” he interrupted, silencing the two of them. “Derek Hale may be antisocial and he may look like a serial killer—no offence,” he quickly added, cutting his son off before Stiles could argue. “But I can say for certain that he is not a killer.”

Stiles let out sigh of relief, feeling the coil of rage unwind in his chest. The tension in his body began to ease, his shoulders dropping as he let out another measured breath.

“Deputy, you’re dismissed,” John said.

Deputy Hayes nodded and left. He paused in the doorway, turning back to Stiles.

“I’m sorry,” he said quietly.

“It’s alright; you were just doing your job,” Stiles said, his voice calm and level. “I can’t help it that my boyfriend fits the profile.”

He offered Hayes a friendly smile as the Deputy walked out of the office.

It was only after Hayes was out of the room that Stiles realised what he had said. He felt his chest tighten again, his heart hammering against his ribs.

He swallowed against the lump in his throat as he turned to look at his dad.

The Sheriff met his gaze, his hazel eyes lit with curiosity. He arched a brow as he met his son’s gaze.

“You and Derek?” John started slowly. “How long has that been going on?”

“Nearly three years,” Stiles admitted.

“Three years,” John gawked.

“I was going to tell you,” Stiles said. “I just needed time to figure out how.”

A soft smile turned up the corners of the Sheriff’s mouth. He stepped around the side of his desk and over to Stiles’ side, pulling his son into his arms.

Stiles hugged him back, burying his face in the worn cotton of his dad’s shirt.

John pulled back slowly, craning his neck to look his son in the eye.

“You know I love you, no matter what,” he said softly.

Stiles dropped his gaze, unable to look his father in the eye.

“Stiles,” John said softly. “All I want is for you to be happy. And if Derek makes you happy, then that’s all that matters.”

“He does,” Stiles admitted, his voice quiet.

“You love him, don’t you?” the Sheriff asked.

Stiles nodded.

He swallowed hard, hesitantly looking up and meeting his father’s soft gaze.

A smile lit up the man’s weary face and Stiles couldn’t help but smile back.

“Now, let’s go get your boyfriend out of jail,” the Sheriff said, trying to hide the amusement in his voice.

Stiles let out a quiet chuckle, following his dad out of the office, across the bullpen and down the hallway that led to the holding cells.

326 notes · View notes

azozzoni · 4 years ago

Text

restless & wreckless | VDS | 7/8

Jens had a mole just below his hairline on the back of his neck, and Lucas frowned at it, the tip of his pen digging into the desk, carving a jagged scar in the wood. The teacher was talking, but the words filtered right past Lucas as though whispers on the wind, floating out the rain-streaked window.

It had been four days, Lucas thought as he forced his gaze from the back of Jens’ neck, back to his desk, the gouge growing deeper beneath his pen. Four days and he was still thinking about what Jens had said.

“But I like you.”

They echoed in his brain, and he glared at the guy in front of him, his crooked collar, Cheeto dust on his fingers from lunch as he scratched his neck.

I like you.

Annoyed, Lucas slumped further in his seat. He wasn’t sure why he’d even showed up today. He could have skipped, spent the day in the drizzly rain, wandering around town, avoiding going home where his dad had taken his phone as soon as he’d gotten home and locked it away in his car.

He didn’t know why he cared so much, why it bothered him so much that Jens had said it.

Lucas didn’t intend to make friends here. He didn’t intend to go to parties and drink and jump around to shitty pop music just for the hell of it. He planned on surviving until the end of school, until he could get out of here and back to Utrecht.

Apparently Jens hadn’t gotten the memo.

“Lucas.”

A sharp voice brought Lucas’ attention back to the teacher, her arms crossed, face unimpressed.

“When you’re done defacing school property, maybe you could tell us what you think is the main theme of The Bell Jar?”

Leaning back in his chair, Lucas raised an eyebrow. “Rich girl needs major therapy.”

Nobody laughed, and Lucas caught Jens watching him from behind the teacher, a crease to his brow. Scowling, Lucas looked away. He didn’t need Jens’ judgment. They weren’t anything. A hook up gone wrong.

“Well, you’ll have plenty of time to think over that answer in detention,” the teacher said, and Lucas didn’t bother sighing as she turned away.

He caught Jens’ gaze, shoot him a glare instead as he turned to the window and tuned out the teacher. At least it wasn’t going home.

Jens stood with his friends across the courtyard, huddled under a tree to escape the rain, and Lucas dropped back against the wall of the school. He still had time before detention, maybe enough time for a smoke. But he didn’t duck around the corner, watching Jens say something and laugh as he shoved one of his friends.

Jens wasn’t any different, Lucas thought, than any other guy he’d hooked up with before. There had been guys, back in Utrecht, guys he made out with a couple times, guys who freaked the moment they got anywhere below the waist. None of them had ever looked at Lucas the way Jens was gazing at him now, over his friend’s head, as though trying to figure him out.

There was nothing to figure out. Whatever they’d been doing was over, and there was nowhere for it to go anyway. What would Jens have expected by telling his friends? That they’d suddenly be boyfriends? That they’d go to movies and eat fries off each other’s plates and hold hands in the hallway?

Maybe there was a part of Lucas, deep deep down, that didn’t think it would be so bad to have a boyfriend, to have someone who wanted to talk to him and see him and kiss him hello. But that person wouldn’t be Jens. It wouldn’t be some guy from Antwerp who just happened to follow Lucas to the teacher’s lounge one day, who liked skateboarding and oversize sweatshirts and who had two little sisters that he walked to school in the mornings and who was always warm and soft, gave inviting kisses and could always tell when something was wrong even when Lucas said nothing.

Fuck. Lucas caught himself thinking it even as something hot and heavy dropped into his stomach. He liked Jens.

He liked Jens and Jens liked him, and that wasn’t how this was supposed to go at all.

There was no time for a cigarette now as the thought hit him, shaking his head as though that might rid him of it. But it didn’t.

He’d chosen Jens because he was hot. Because he had a suspicion Jens would be up for something stupid, something wrong, something they could hide away for a while until it got old and they moved on. He hadn’t chosen Jens so he could stand outside in the drizzle, watching Jens across the courtyard, five minutes from having to go to detention, and realize he’d royally fucked up.

A weight settled on his chest as he stood there, a pressure making it harder to breathe as he turned from the wall. He couldn’t think about this. He didn’t want to think about this.

Inside, the halls were mostly empty as he headed for detention, wishing he could make this feeling go away, this squeezing around his throat as he paused at the door, anxious and nervous and panicky all at once.

“Hey.”

Lucas turned at an unfamiliar voice behind him, frowning as one of Jens’ friends—the little one with fluffy brown hair—approached from down the hall.

The guy hesitated as he reached Lucas, and Lucas wasn’t sure what was happening. Very few people at school actually talked to him, and for good reason. He didn’t want them to.

“I’m Robbe,” the guy said when Lucas didn’t respond, crossing his arms and furrowing his brow. “Jens’ friend?”

“So?” Lucas asked finally.

Robbe swallowed, seeming nervous as they stood outside the classroom door. “Jens kind of told us he was bi yesterday,” he said slowly, and Lucas tried not to react. He hadn’t expected Jens to actually do it. “And he said he wasn’t with anybody, but he’s been weird. Canceling plans, lying about where he’s been. It doesn’t take a genius.”

“So?” Lucas asked again when Robbe paused. He didn’t know why Robbe was telling him any of this.

“So I just wanted to tell you that I’m really glad you helped him.”

Frowning, Lucas stepped away from the door, taking in Robbe. He was tiny but strong as he didn’t shrink from Lucas’ searching gaze.

“Helped him?”

Robbe shrugged easily. “I know he made out with a few guys last year, but he kept saying he was totally straight. I thought maybe he was worried about actually being bi, you know, how people judge you, like it’s an in-between. I’m glad he can be who he is. And I think you had something to do with it.”

Lucas swallowed instead of answering. If he had had anything to do with it, it hadn’t been intentional.

“Whatever Jens does is up to him,” Lucas said finally. “I didn’t do anything.”

He didn’t deserve any credit for this. The only thing he deserved was detention, which he was now late for. He’d been a total dick to Jens, out of… fear? Teen angst? He didn’t even know the answer as he took a breath and watched Robbe shake his head.

“I don’t think that’s true. I think he really likes you.”

Lucas felt a pang in his chest at Robbe’s words, glaring instead as he reached for the door.

“Then he’s an idiot,” he just said, pulling open the door. “And I’m late.”

The door swung shut on Robbe’s confused face, and Lucas slid into a chair as the teacher sighed resignedly.

“Lucas, finally joined us?”

Lucas didn’t reply, turning his face to the window and the rain dribbling down the pane.

#skam nl #van der stoffels #wtfock #my fic #just one more chapter...

40 notes · View notes

chapitre7 · 5 years ago

Text

The night with your dazzling name

The Untamed [陈情令] | Mo Dao Zu Shi [魔道祖师] fanfiction

Lan Zhan | Lan Wangji/Wei Yīng | Wei Wuxian (Wangxian)

Canon compliant, canon continuation

Inspired by this art

Soundtrack

Read on AO3

날 보는 두 눈에 나의 깊은 밤 그대는 나만의 연인이오

In your eyes that look at me There is my deep night You are my only lover

– Park Hyo Shin, Lover

The soft tapping wakes him almost instantly. Although he’s never been a heavy sleeper, his body tuned to changes and threats in his surroundings at all times, his home had always been a place of solace, of shelter, of peace. With the weight of the Stygian Iron heavy in his bones, Lan Wangji knows the time for peace is all but over. So when the tapping comes, he rises, reaches for Bichen, and opens his window at once.

The fight drains out of him, shoulders almost imperceptibly relaxing, at the sight of Wei Wuxian’s grin. A reprimand is ready at the tip of his tongue when Wei Wuxian says, “Lan Zhan, I know it’s past curfew, but there’s something you need to see!”

He touches Lan Wangji’s sleeve, giving a gentle pull. Lan Wangji is caught between wanting to pull back and wanting to be pulled forward. These perceptible changes in his feelings, his impulses, are unnerving to him. As if he came back from the Cold Pond Cave a man full of questions, his head full of images, of wars waged, of losing someone precious, living with nothing but regret in isolation for hundreds of years. For years, too, all he’s known is a life of cultivation, of ignoring whispers behind his back and focusing on becoming a better version of himself. But now his body knows and remembers the warmth of someone else by his side, and has discovered the colors that show in someone’s eyes when you’re close. He feels awake, from deep slumber, mind still stumbling, trying to catch up. He’s awake, looking at Wei Wuxian’s smile, in the dim light of the night.

He’s awake, and he can’t bring himself to cite any rules, not when he still feels the ghost pull of Wei Wuxian lingering at the ends of his forehead ribbon. So he raises his hand, lets Wei Wuxian take his wrist, and for the first time in his life, he exits the Quiet Room through his window, Bichen left behind atop his rumpled sheets. A storm is coming, but for a night, maybe, in the space between yesterday and tomorrow, between action and reaction, the Cloud Recesses are still his solace, his shelter, his peace.

Wei Wuxian leads him to his own roof and settles himself down on the tiles. On a different night, not too long ago, they had fought over impropriety under the all-seeing gaze of the full moon. Looking down at him now, sprawled gracelessly and looking rather proud of himself, Wei Wuxian doesn’t seem to have changed at all. So maybe it’s Lan Wangji’s eyes that see differently, his heart that beats a different rhythm as he remembers Wei Ying’s promise alongside his own to Lan Yi. It’d be easy to brush him off as someone seeking his own glory, his own shameless promotion, but Wei Ying looks at the night sky with clear, open eyes. He gazes at the ageless stars and his smile goes from mischievous to solemn, to something honest, almost making Wangji’s core tremble. He mustn’t have awakened properly, still caught in restlessness and dreams. He never remembers his dreams.

“Lan Zhan, look,” Wei Wuxian says, hand stretching up, palm wide. “The moon is so beautiful tonight.”

It is. Tonight, it is only a sliver of light, only the promise of a full moon. But there are no clouds to hide it, and it feels close, big, symmetrically perfect, a proof that nature could never do wrong. The moon is a precise stroke of a brush, just like the grass is precisely arranged, and the coldest winter always sings of a colorful spring. The moon is calming, constant and infallible, and nothing at all like the human heart.

He was only just beginning to see it, eyes slowly opening, waking from childhood dreams.

“Is this what you wanted to show me?”

It’s late and there’s no sound at the Cloud Recesses but the huff of Wei Wuxian’s chuckle.

“We were stuck in that wet, cold cave for too long, don’t you think?”

Tied together, bound intimately by rules that Lan Wangji selectively attempts to ignore. And because he’s trying not to think about it, trying not to think about Wei Wuxian at all, he paradoxically sits down next to him, his gaze cast upwards, towards the celestial moon. It is beautiful. Always watching, even when you couldn’t see it. When will they be able to watch it again?

“Lan Zhan.”

He didn’t expect anything else; he doesn’t lower his gaze.

“Are you scared?”

He’s not scared of a fight. Not scared of committing, not scared of retaliation. But he thinks of Lan Yi, committed to her duty, a victim only to her own shortcomings. He thinks of his father, of what was whispered of his mistakes. And for the first time in years, he thinks of his mother, whose face is now but a ripple on the surface of his memory, thinks of her caged happiness, until there was nothing left.

If there’s fear in death, is there fear in living?

He doesn’t speak. The moon, for all her perfection, provides no answer. His choices are only his to make. What is he to make of his future?

“Of course you wouldn’t be scared,” Wei Wuxian replies to his silence, drawing his own conclusions. He doesn’t care to address him. “And if you’re not, how could I be?”

He blinks, shielding his eyes from moonlight, before drawing his gaze down, to look at Wei Wuxian. He’s looking back, almost as if Lan Wangji is the sight to behold, the unmovable force in the night. With his back straight, as it always is, and his legs perfectly folded in the lotus position, he holds the gaze of this ridiculous, impudent disciple for seconds, and he swears Wei Wuxian’s smile only grows under his attention. So he looks away, closes his eyes.

There’s a stray thought, born of overthinking, perhaps fatigue, sleep clinging to his eyelids, to his conscience. That lying down and falling asleep, bathed by the moon, in Wei Wuxian’s company, wouldn’t be so bad.

In the years that come, he doesn’t remember what he says to him before he leaves, jumping down from the roof and climbing back through the window before sealing it shut. He just remembers that that night, and so many nights after that, Wei Wuxian enters his dreams uninvited, and he stays. Even after he can no longer listen to his laughter, he still remembers it clearly, pristine in the Cloud Recesses silence.

He’s always there, like the moon. Unseen, but ever-present.

***

The Quiet Room, after a lifetime, has known sounds other than rustling of paper and the melody of a guqin. After a lifetime, after the fall and rebirth, it’s known chatter. The sound of alcohol swirling inside a jar; heavy footsteps, full of purpose and poise and character; and laughter, resounding, chiming laughter, coming from one’s core, forever golden. After a lifetime, it remains unbroken. After a lifetime, Lan Wangji’s soul, like his heart, moves again, alive, under fingertips that play his song. Their song. Permeating the Quiet Room like incense, like air, like happiness.

It is, however, quiet again that night. Like a blotch of ink on otherwise fairly good days. Lan Wangji prepares for bed in movements that he doesn’t even register, perfected over the years, perfectly proper. The accessories in his hair aren’t removed lazily or with haste, but at the right pace, in the right angle. The layers of his garb are folded and put away without a wrinkle. His sheets are unblemished, without any stains, and cold as he settles under them, back perfectly straight, fingers perfectly laced together. And in the stillness of the night, Lan Wangji lets out a sound from deep in his throat.

It could hardly be heard by anyone, even if they happened to be in the Quiet Room with him. It’s not a whine or a cry. It’s something small, and carrying just a little bit of pain. If that’s what it is. Lan Wangji has felt a great number of things over the years, over sixteen years of silence and empty dreams, like a moonless night, but he doesn’t bother to name them all. They all bear a single source, after all, and they used to contradict each other for so long. Nowadays, he just allows them to come, now that they’re bearable and not suffocating, all encompassing. Closing his eyes, he thinks about how much he wants to see him. In the colors that play behind his eyelids, he thinks about how he can come back any day now. He can come back. He’ll come back.

The tapping comes seconds after he’s laid his head on his pillow. With his heart already soaring above his physical body, Lan Wangji opens his window, and basks in the smile of Wei Wuxian.

“Lan Zhan,” Wei Wuxian says, and his voice fills the empty halls of Lan Wangji’s body like the warm sun. I want to see you, I miss you, his heart recognizes, even as Wei Wuxian stands in front of him. “Good evening.”

“Wei Ying,” he says, because he can, because he missed him. “What are you doing here?”

“Huh?”

Wei Wuxian blinks, once, twice, opens his mouth to reply before following Lan Wangji’s gaze to the window frame. So he laughs instead.

“I was moon gazing!” He says, smile wide and bright, even in the semi-darkness. “Join me?”

His gives him his hand, fingers open, inviting. It’s just the same as it once was, just like that smile, just like his eyes. When he looks up at his face, Lan Wangji sees him the same way he did twenty years ago, even if his mole is gone, and the scars, and his golden core. He’s Wei Wuxian, a sun shining the night. Wei Ying, no longer fifteen, but still impossible to cage, impossible not to love. The days he’s spent away feel like a lifetime, so Wangji’s grip on his arm is firm. Wei Wuxian only smiles wider, gripping back just as tightly, and together, they jump on the roofs of the Cloud Recesses.

The moon seems to have come to greet Wei Wuxian, after days of hiding away. It’s crescent and bright, shining after the gloomy full moon, a smile after the darkest days are past. Did he really use to think the moon was proof of perfection, a symbol of the symmetry of the world? But the moon is just like Wei Ying, restless, ever-moving. A gentle touch of light when you wake from nightmares you can’t remember, but still feel. The moon is memory, and the past, and the present, and tomorrow, but moody, coming and going as it pleases. He smiles under its gaze, his shoulder touching Wei Ying’s. He’s sleepy, finally relaxed, in the peacefulness of their reunion.

“Oh, Lan Zhan, didn’t you miss me? Are you going to sleep on me?”

He hums, letting his head fall on Wei Ying’s shoulder, because he can, because he allows himself to crave contact with him, in any and every possible way. “I missed you,” he says, eyes closed, inhaling his scent. He smells of journey and freedom, of the road and Little Apple, and like Qinghe. He touches the fabric of his robes, and thinks they must complement him well. Nie Huaisang’s appreciation for well-balanced beauty is known to all. He runs his fingertips through the patterns on Wei Ying’s robes, letting his hand rest on his waist, just as Wei Ying’s arm move to support his shoulders.

“Lan Zhan, are you drunk? Did I leave you alone for too long? You’re really honest tonight.”

He doesn’t bother with a reply. He’s been awake for too long, aware for too long, consumed with himself for too long, so he lets go. Before another lifetime passes, he takes another step in the dance he’s been dancing with Wei Ying since he returned to him the first time. Always parting and reuniting. He’s done with regret, doesn’t believe there’s space for it between their hands. Wei Ying supports his shoulders, holds him close to his side, and the sound that leaves him is just content.

“Lan Zhan, you can’t sleep here, it’s too cold,” Wei Ying says, and it’s less playful, less loud, spoken just for him to hear, his free hand brushing a few strands of hair away from his face.

“Wei Ying will keep me warm.”

There’s a hitch in Wei Ying’s breath, and he can’t help how it lifts the corners of his lips. With his eyes closed, he can’t see what sort of gestures Wei Ying does, he can only feel his movements in his privileged spot against him. Then he recovers, huffs a laugh, and says, “Yes, I’ll keep you warm, Lan Zhan.”

They don’t sleep on the roof. It’s already too cold at this time of the year, and too open, and even to his indulged heart, it’s not exactly what Lan Wangji wants. They jump down, enter the Quiet Room — from the window, like teenagers — and Suibian comes to rest by Bichen. There’ll be time for a bath, for stories and for unhurried, proper dressing later. But now, there’s only time and space for Wei Ying to shed his travel-worn clothes and climb onto Lan Wangji’s bed, to cradle the Second Jade’s head against his chest and let him breathe into his skin, cold noses and fingers warming with their contact. He thinks Wei Ying kisses the top of his head, thinks he runs his fingers through his hair, but the intensity of his longing has tired him, so he keeps his eyes closed and his arms secure around him, until dreams of his eternal company overtake him.

He needs to tell him in the morning, is his last thought. No, his last thoughts are words, mismatched still, of all he feels for him. In the morning, he’ll know how to make them work. He’ll tell Wei Ying, so he knows, so he’s sure, so honesty isn’t just a fleeting moment in unwelcome inebriation. He should tell him in the morning, and the morning after that, and the one after that as well. And in the evenings too, right before they fall asleep, in all the months that Wei Ying is there, right there. He’ll tell him what Wei Ying already knows, but needs to hear. He deserves to hear. How every night, since the first full moon, has only had his name.

In the morning he’ll pour him his heart. But right then, there’s only the moon, shining down through the open window on their tangled limbs. Where does one begin and the other ends?

The moon smiles in the sky.

#The Untamed #Mo Dao Zu Shi #fanfiction #Wangxian #Lan Wangji #Wei Wuxian #Canon Compliant #post-canon

38 notes · View notes

bapyess1r · 4 years ago

Text

Sunny Daze

WARNINGS: cursing

Pairings: Sam x OC, Rafe x OC

Author’s Note: sorry if I don’t get all the details correct but I’m really excited to be writing this XD I have such plans for Sam and Sunny and it deserves to take some time 😭💖 pls enjoy!

Chapter 4

Sunny’s POV

I sat in the bathroom stall, pulling up the blueprints of the estate and pointed out the ventilation system. “The vents’ll only take you but so far, Natey. You’re gonna have to figure some shit out. Maybe climb a little on the outside to get in.” I noted in a hushed tone.

‘Of course. Because easy would be too cliche.’ I heard him joke.

“You’ll have to cut through the cellar. Ten minutes on the clock, bub. Get goin’.” I smiled as I tucked my handheld back into my clutch.

‘You’re the best.’

“Yeah, Yeah…” I smirked before flushing the toilet to make some noise and exiting the stall.

I looked in the bathroom mirror, touching up my makeup and holding small talk with the other women present. I got many compliments on my dress and all I could do was thank them, bragging about how Rafe Adler bought the dress for me to appease their ears. As I left, satisfied with the way I looked, I bumped into what I thought was a wall. The soft pair of hands told me otherwise. When I looked up my eyes met with a beautiful woman. ‘Aaand I’m gay…’ I thought as a blush spread across my cheeks. She had soft curly hair, brown skin, light eyes and high cheekbones with a sophisticated mole just above her curved lips. She had a few scars but it didn’t take away from her beauty one bit. As I grabbed onto her shoulders to steady myself, I was shaken by the structure of her arms. ‘I’m really gay…’. And when she smiled politely, I truly thought that I would just die. “Are you alright?” She asked me with an accent I couldn’t place. Whatever it was, it sat right in my spirit and sounded like music. I felt my face heat up as I pulled away from her.

“Yes! I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to bump into you like that.” I said, clutching the life out of my purse, truly taken aback by this wonderful lady and her athletic build behind a red blouse and dress pants with a simple pair of sensible heels. She shot me a heart wrenching smile and I couldn’t stop grinning like an idiot. To avoid further embarrassment, I continued my way to Rafe. “Enjoy the rest of your evening!” I called to her in a voice very unnatural to my own. “Holy shit…” I mumbled as I made my way to the ice sculpture, surrounded by glasses of champagne. I knew things were about to go down so I opted to make it my last glass. I sipped it slowly.

‘Dammit! It’s locked…’ I heard Sully say in my ear.

“What’s locked?” I asked, changing my course and heading to the emptiest balcony. I heard Nate sigh.

‘I thought you propped it open! Can we pick it?’ I heard Sam say. And like a bunch of children, the three began to bicker. I rolled my eyes, listening as they did when they abruptly stopped conversation.

“Boys?” I asked, looking around briefly.

‘Did you see that? Back left pocket.’ Sully murmured.

“What’s happening?” I asked, sipping my champagne.

‘Doors locked electronically, we’re gonna lift a key card. Standby.’ Sam informed me. I huffed as I crept back into the ballroom to watch their backs, stealthily avoiding Rafe as best as I could. I listened to the Drake brothers bicker in my ear about who was gonna do the lift when they decided to “run it like the old days.” Yet even with Sam’s distraction, the waiter they tailed kept moving. I rolled my eyes as I watched them struggle and decided to get it done myself. I scanned the room for a waiter and one just happened to exit from a room down the hall. I watched as she put the key card in her front pocket and smirked as I made my way towards her. I succeeded in one try with a classic bump and lift technique, quickly tucking the key under the back of my wig with a slick smirk. I weaved my way through the people to meet Nathan and Sam as they watched the waiter again for another try as they continued to mock each other.

“Oh boys. You take entirely too long.” I mumbled to them as I walked by, pulling the key from my wig to flash it to them on the low and slipped it into Nathan’s breast pocket. Sam caught my gaze and raised an eyebrow, flexing his lower lip with impression as I walked to the bar to join Rafe.

‘I could’ve handled it…’ Nathan mumbled.

‘Right. Of course you could.’ Sam replied. I reached the bar and placed a hand on his shoulder with a smile. He slipped his arm around my waist, resting a hand on my hip and pulling me close.

“I was wondering where you’d run off to.” He whispered to me.

“Just touching up my makeup! Girl stuff!” I told him. I gave him a lot of half truths all night and he believed every word.

‘Alright we’re in.’ I heard Nathan say.

‘Make it quick, boys.’ Sully told them. And so the plan started. ‘I’ll grab ya when it goes dark, Sunny.’ I couldn’t respond but I got the message.

I stayed with Rafe as he entertained a bunch of rich old white men, their wives absolutely enchanted by his handsome looks and charisma. All the while he kept his hands on me. I would hook my arm with his, daintily caressing his arm as I sipped my drink while he talked. After a while it got old. He began to sound like a game show host. I stood for about two or three minutes listening to him make terrible jokes in his stories. And because of his status, everyone laughed to validate him. ‘Hurry the hell up, boys. This man is literally killing me…’ I thought as Rafe looked behind me. I shot my glance to where he did and my stomach flipped. He had spotted Sully, chatting to a familiar looking figure. “See someone you know?” I asked, playing off my slight nervousness.

“Yeah. An old friend…” he replied, gritting his teeth. “If he’s around, trouble isn’t far behind… Let’s go give him a little greeting, shall we?” Something didn’t sit right with me when he said that. But I smiled and followed him anyway. As we made our way over, I noticed Sam had already secured a uniform and was slowly making his way through the crowd with a platter of champagne. When he caught my eyes he winked at me. ‘Thank God…’ I thought. This would all be over soon. I could hear Sully’s conversation with the woman he called Nadine. She asked about Nathan and he sighed, feigning ignorance.

“I’ve been flying solo for a while now. Drake’s out!” He said, taking a sip of his scotch.

“Oh! You mean like… ‘dead’ out?” I heard the woman’s voice and as we approached I noticed it was that woman I ran into earlier. My chest tightened as Rafe put on a smile.

“Nah, no! Last I heard he settled down and got married.” He took a puff of his cigar and his expression faltered a bit when he noticed me. And Rafe rolled straight into the conversation.

“Well then he might as well be dead, right?” He chuckled. “Victor Sullivan! How the hell are you?” He stuck his hand out and they shared a strong handshake.

“Rafe.” He said, with a polite smile.

“How long has it been? Ten years? Twelve?”

“Fifteen.” Sully grumbled.

“It’s amazing. Here we are, all these years gone by and we’re still haggling over dead people’s junk.” Rafe said with a chuckle.

“Really? Aren’t you running your parents business?” He asked. I fought off a snicker at his petty comment. I could tell it irritated Rafe and he immediately began to act like a baby about it. Complete contrast from how he’d been all night. The woman Nadine and I shared a similar expression of annoyance.

“It’s my business now.” He said darkly before changing his tone. “But yes that is my day job.”

“Well that’s one helluva day job. You could probably afford everything on the block tonight.” Sully continued.

“Well sure… but what would be the point in that? Nowadays I’m only looking for the uh….good stuff… The big score.” He nodded. The way he looked at him, I could tell he was already getting suspicious. “Any advice on what I should be picking up tonight?” He asked, taking a sip of his champagne.

“Yeah. Like I wanna bid against him.” He said sarcastically in both Nadine and I’s direction. We both chuckled. Sully was still charming as ever even in the face of adversity. Then he leaned in towards Rafe. “Just between you and me, I did notice they changed the order. I think somebody may be trying to rig this auction.”

“Hmm. Well remember where we are. This crowd didn’t get rich by playing fair.” He responded, his thumb steadily rubbing against my waist.

“Which is why you really need someone watching your back in a place like this…” Nadine chimed in, slowly making her way to Rafe’s side. I tried not to be offended but I was definitely getting some weird vibes between them as he looked at her with the same charming smile he’d been giving me. Sully was also putting two and two together.

“Ah, well I do hate to break it to ya, but you are working for an American.” He commented.

“With. We’ve partnered up on this one.” She responded, taking a sip of her scotch. I downed the rest of my champagne to hide my facial expressions. I knew they were showing plain as day.

“I see. Talk about a power couple.” He chuckled.

“Hey now! Not in front of my date- which my apologies, sweetheart, how rude of me.” He finally brought attention to me in all of this. “Victor Sullivan. Meet Sunny Spurrs. One of the brightest young ladies I’ve come across.” He said with what seemed like a genuine compliment. ‘When in doubt, act like we don’t know each other.’ Words of advice from him long ago began to ring and I smiled brightly, sticking my hand out to shake and he kissed my knuckles.

“Pleasure. Where’d you pick up a girl like this, Rafe?” He joked.

“I have my ways.” He smirked, looking at me with those green eyes and pulling me close. Just as Sully fixed his mouth to reply with what I’m sure would’ve been another hilariously shady comment, the auctioneer’s accented voice came through the speakers.

“In a few moments, we will begin bidding for the next item… an inlaid wooden crucifix from the Trott estate.” She announced. As we locked eyes briefly, Sully took a deep breath, knowing it was time to make himself scarce.

“Welp! I know when I’m third wheel- or fourth in your case. You kids have fun tonight-” he began to turn and walk away but Rafe let go of me and halted him, grabbing onto his elbow.

“Just hold on, Sully…” He said darkly. ‘Shit.’ I thought, internally panicking. “How’d you find out about it?”

“‘It’? And what ‘It’ is that, Rafe?” Sully retorted with a similar level of seriousness. I pursued my lips together and took a single step back from their brewing altercation. “Nadine, I think your partner here has had one too many Bloody Marys-”

“Cut the bullshit, old man!” Rafe exclaimed, slapping Sully’s glass from his hands. I jumped a bit as I watched it shatter on the marbled floor, people nearby turning their attention to our little group to watch the scene play out. He eased up to him, poking an accusatory finger in his chest. “Now I don’t know how you scammed your way in here, but if you even so much as think about bidding on Avery’s cross, I can tell you how you’re gonna be leaving here. In a god damn body bag-”

“Rafe!” Nadine snapped, bringing his attention to the gazing eyes of those around us. I carefully approached him and placed a comforting hand on his back, hoping it would calm him some. He took a deep breath and squeezed Sully’s shoulder with a nervous chuckle before brushing off the wrinkles on the old man’s suit.

“Well… you get the gist.” Rafe said with a hint of warning, wrapping his arm around me. He tapped his fingers on my hip like a nervous twitch and I placed my hand over his own. He brought his gaze to me and took a deep breath, trying to get over being so worked up. Sully just just grunted and took a puff of his cigar.

“Lovely seeing you both. Ms. Spurrs, you enjoy your evening.” He said to me with a hint of warning, only detected by me and we split off into our respective parties. I was beginning to worry. Had something happened to him? The clock was ticking now and we still hadn’t heard a word from Nathan.

‘Nate… Nate?! Goddamn it, kid, where the hell are you?’ I heard Sully say in my ears. I waited to hear his voice but got nothing.

‘We’re running outta time, little brother…’ I heard Sam add hastily after a few minutes of his silence.

I followed Rafe to the table where bidders received their panels and he kissed my hand. “I’m sorry you had to see that. Why don’t you head over to the bar and relax. I’ll meet you once I’m done here.” He told me. And I gave him a hug. Bro seemed like he needed one. “You know… I’ve been trying to behave all night. Trying to resist the urge to kiss those beautiful lips of yours…” he said lowly, caressing my cheek. I wanted to throw up. But the expression in my eyes never faltered as I looked at him. I kissed him on his cheek and wiped off the stain with my thumb.

“Perhaps later… Mr. Adler. When there aren’t so many eyes.” I whispered suggestively and his grip tightened on my waist.

“Absolutely…” he growled. And I slipped away to the back of the ballroom, out of sight. My job was done. I could finally cringe in peace.

“Jesus H, it’s a fucking miracle he let me go anywhere.” I grumbled. I could hear Sam’s faint chuckle on the coms.

‘Where are you now, Sunny?’ I heard Sully ask.

“By the bar.” I replied.

‘Get as close as you can to the exit without being suspicious.’ He ordered and I confirmed his order, walking to the extravagantly large doorway and leaning into its frame. Suddenly, Nathan’s voice came through the coms and I felt a massive wave of relief.

‘Sam? Sully? Sunny? You guys still there?’ I heard him say. ‘I made it to the breaker room.’

“Oh, thank god. The sooner this is over, the better.” I exclaimed in a hushed tone.

‘God damn, kid! What took you so long?’ Sully hissed.

‘Yes, I’m fine and I’m alive. Thanks for asking.’ Nate began sarcastically. ‘I had a few close calls but I made it.’

‘Yeah, well if you’re gonna cut the power, now would be a good time to do it.’ Sully replied.

‘Yeah well I’m gonna need a minute to get into the breaker panel, it’s locked.’ He said with a grunt.

“You don’t have a minute, Natey. Rafe is about to walk outta here with that cross.” I said.

‘He’s the highest bidder so far.’ Sam’s voice came through the coms in a rough tone.

‘Then outbid him!’ Nate said as I heard him rumble through some things.

‘With what? I don’t have that kinda scratch!’ Sully was beginning to sound as worried as me.

‘You do realize we’re stealing this cross right?’ Nathan told him.

‘What if he calls my bluff?’ I watched Sully from a distance as he scratched his mustache nervously.

“I don’t think he will.” I said, making what could’ve been a bad judgement call but we needed to buy my best friend some time to get into that panel.

“We have an offer at 90,000 euros. Is there another offer in the room?” I heard the auctioneer say.

‘Guys, if we do not get this cross, I am as good as dead.’ Sam muttered.

‘And if I end up with the highest bid, then we’re all dead!’ Sully rebuttals.

‘Sully, I need you to buy me more time.’ Nathan said with the utmost urgency.

‘You kids better be right about this…’ he grumbled as the auctioneer started to finalize the bid.

“Do it, Sully.” I said, covering my mouth with my fist as intently watched the bid take place.

‘Ah, screw it.’ I looked over at Sully as he raised his panel and the auctioneer stopped the finalization.

“Benè! We are now at 100,000 euros. Do I hear another offer in the room?” Just before the auctioneer could finish her sentence, Rafe’s panel was raised. He stared at the old man brimming with annoyance. I watched them battle it out to 190,000 euros. I underestimated just how wealthy Rafe actually was.

‘Hey man, I’m starting’ to sweat bullets here-’ Sam rushed in a panicky voice.

‘I’m in! You guys ready?’ Nathan asked.

‘As I’ll ever be. Sunny?’ Sam asked.

“We got one chance guys, let’s get this done.” I said with a small smirk as the adrenaline began to surge in me. “Sully?”

‘One second.’ He chuckled before raising the panel again, just to piss Rafe off a little more. I chuckled to myself as I watched Rafe ball his fists like a child on punishment.

“500,000! Let’s get this show on the road!” He shouted impatiently.

“Um… very well. We have 500,000 euros in the room. Does the gentleman wish to bid again?” The auctioneer asked and the entire room looked in his direction. I tried my best to fight off the laughter at Rafe’s expression, all tuned up like a burnt weenie. Sully gestured to him that the bid was all his.

“You had me worried there for a minute, Victor. I thought I was gonna have to kill ya!” He remarked and the room around them laughed. Sully gave a fake chuckle and put his cigar to his lips.

‘Okay… Let’s ruin this asshole’s evening.’ He said.

“Let’s.” I smiled, ready to go.

“500,000 going once….. going twice…. and the crucifix has been sold for 500,000 euros-” and just like that the lights went out. By the time the backup generator came on, the crucifix was gone from the stand and Sam was out of sight.

I stood in my corner as Sully made his way over to me, swiftly grabbing my arm to leave a Rafe made a scene.

“They’re gonna need a getaway. Let’s get to the car.” He told me as we picked up the pace and left the estate.

#uncharted 4 #sam drake #sam drake x reader smut #samuel drake #samuel drake x reader #uncharted #uncharted smut #uncharted x reader #sam drake fanfiction #sam drake smut #uncharted 4 a thief's end #poc

5 notes · View notes