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ubemango · 4 years

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delicacies of the season (m)

part 3: days apart

note: hey!! What’s up!! first, I officially have named this series!! it’s right up there for ur viewing glory! ok anyway here’s something before I disappear for the next four weeks because I am drowning in school!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! also just a side thingie for this story: I’ve already established that oc isn’t on birth control but here I’m implying that they’re doing natural planning (i.e. fertility awareness where the person who menstruates keeps up with their cycle and thus only has sex when their cycles allows for it). PLEASE DO NOT DO THIS UNLESS YOU KNOW THE RISKS!!!!!!!! Oh Lord putting your impregnation chances up to God?! I couldn’t do it. But also this is fanfiction and nothing bad will happen to this couple so let’s all just... suspend disbelief for a second ok

PAIRING. taehyung/reader GENRE. romance, farmer au RATED. M WORD COUNT. 2.5k WARNINGS. kitchen sex, unprotected sex, dirty talk, a good ol’ creampie bc wot is the ubemango experience without one :/ SUMMARY. Taehyung missed you.

Auntie Gaeul comes over when the rooster crows to tell you to check out the passion fruits today. They’re ripe not because she’s seen them but because she just knows. Call it the Elder Instinct for Ripened Foods. You tell her you’ll give her half the harvest, and she swats at you before she leaves.

“Stop being so polite, I’m not that old,” she spits in jest. “And make some of that honey iced tea your grandma makes. If there’s extra, then I’ll have some.”

Taehyung would probably like some, too; he chugs down anything with passion fruit like he’s about to go into hibernation. And when you come back home from the fields with a basket-full perched heavy on your back, you resolve to make some tea right away to bring over to his house to see if he’s there. You haven’t seen him in five days—his cousin had the stomach flu, and his aunt needed the extra help with tending to the livestock. Being the eldest nephew (and the only one who can drive a motorcycle) had him obligated right from the get-go.

“Grandma! Can you show me where you put the honey jars, I can’t remember where they are. And can you help me peel these—um. You’re not Grandma,” you stop.

Taehyung looks up from where he’s perched on the stairs of your awning, flicking bits of strawberries to the ground for Danbi to eat. Your little puppy scrounges it up so fast she nearly falls over on her fluffy bum.

“I told her to go play bingo with the rest of the granny crew, someone’s betting chicken feet,” he says. You smile wide when he trods over to you for a short kiss, slipping the strap of the basket off your shoulder to put on his. The hand he keeps low on your back is as warm as the ten AM sun. “Hi. I missed you.”

“I was just gonna go see if you were home,” you say. He smells like the wind. Something you’d scrunch your nose at but he makes it work. “When d’you come back? How’s Daeshim now?”

“An hour ago. And he’s better. He ate up all your ice cream, only thing he could keep down.”

You frown. “Poor baby.”

“I know. You gonna clean these now?” He nods his head toward the water basin, carved rock he’d installed for you on your third anniversary.

“Yeah. Can you start? I’ll just wash up quick,” you offer. Suddenly you’re aware you’ve got an ugly shirt with oil stains and holes in random places—nothing Taehyung minds, but the occasion probably deserves better.

“Got it, boss,” Taehyung says. He slaps your ass before you run to the bathroom. A familiar signal of his intentions but he’s too polite to bring it up so quickly.

“Hey!”

“Hurry up,” he calls. As if you’re going to take another five days to get back to him but you get it. You missed him, too; a little more than you’d like to let on. Your grandma is great company but she watches her TV too loud and she hates when you’re not there to sit with her because she might need your help switching channels. It’s a miracle you didn’t jump Taehyung the second your eyes landed on him.

You change into whatever shirt you’ve tossed on the floor that looks semi-presentable. It’s too early for your sweat to reek like it does under the afternoon heat, but you spritz some perfume on your neck anyway. Just for upkeep, because you’d be lying if you said you weren’t anticipating sex, a sloppy makeout session at the least. Danbi’s too hyper to be left alone, plus your grandma likes making surprise visits at your house because she’s a forgetful woman.

By the time you’ve come back from scrubbing the dirt and dead ant bits caked under your nails, Taehyung’s a third of the way through the basket, tossing the clean passion fruit into a bucket Danbi is trying so hard to climb into. She yelps when her fat paws slip at the edges.

“Danbi! Mama’s gonna be mad if you get hurt. I’ll give you some later.”

“Go play with your toy,” you call out to her. “Danbi! Go!”

Her ears perk up at your command, and she pants and pants till she decides to go in the complete opposite direction of the ball and into the patch where all the potatoes are. She hasn’t hit her teething phase so you’re safe from her snuffing anything out with her mouth. It’s her fur you worry about. She’s such a nice shade of white amongst the semi-wet dirt, it almost hurts seeing her get soiled.

“Like a little cotton ball,” Taehyung says. He points to the bucket. “This good?”

You nod—it’s enough to have extra for Auntie Gaeul. “Yeah. Wanna carry it to the kitchen like a good man?”

“As if I’m not one already,” he snorts, grabbing the handle. “Danbi, come!”

This is how it always goes. Taehyung ogles from over your shoulder (usually he’s off to the side but he’s a lot clingier, not that you mind) while you do your business because you don’t trust him with a knife. Not since the time you’d tasked him with chopping garlic and he’d nearly sliced his palm open when he tried crushing them first.

And now you’ve got a new addition to the routine: Danbi sniffs around the dried leaves for the fire, sneezing when she breathes the ash in too hard. You hear her collar jiggle as she explores the earthenware stacked on the side. You made sure Taehyung left the door open because she gets antsy fast.

“Can I just say that I have a thing for seeing you use a knife,” Taehyung says, hands stroking your tummy because he’s got nothing better to do.

“You’re really bad at hiding how turned on you are.”

“Who said I was trying to hide?”

You laugh. “What are you trying to get at, mister?”

“I’m saying I missed you,” he says simply.

“So that’s why you kicked Grandma out the house,” you tease. Taehyung splutters in your ear.

“No! They really are betting chicken feet. What do you think I am?”

“Horny.”

“Ugh.”

You turn your focus back to the chopping board. Taehyung lets the sound of the knife smooth down the goop of the insides fill the space.

“...Are you mad if I am?” He whispers tentatively.

“Oh my god. It’s ten in the morning.”

“You think my dick cares?”

“You think I care?” you joke.

Taehyung gasps. Like his heart just shattered from your vitriol, but all you want is to finish cutting up these damn fruits before you’ll allow his hands to touch you. “Wow. You—? Okay, fine.”

“Wha—”

“I appreciate your hard work,” he coos. He wraps himself around you even tighter, traces a slow kiss on your neck. “Really. But don’t pretend you didn’t miss me too.”

“I never said I didn’t.”

“You’ve got a fucking mouth on you.”

And that gets you to shut up. Taehyung only swears when he wants you to stop talking. Not for the sake of real anger but to show you he’s got something brewing, and you’re here to take whatever it is he’s about to give you.

“I just wanted to be a good fiance and visit the one I love the most after five days because I missed them so much.”

His teeth catch the lobe of your ear. Biting down softly because he’s still aware you’ve got the knife in your hand, but you’ve lost all motor skills the second he started his little bit. You drop the handle slowly. At the last second you push all the shit you’ve laid out on the counter to the farthest corner. Something tells you this space is being defiled this morning.

“Good. Are you wet?”

“N-No.”

“Then we’ll have to do something about that, huh.”

You watch his hands glide up, and you’re half-expecting him to fondle you gently, the way he teases you when you think he’s taking it slow. But instead he goes right for the kill: using those long fingers to pinch right at your tits just to get you to gasp into the feeling. You roll your eyes shut, let your head fall back on his shoulder.

“You like that?”

“Mhm,” you whine.

“Take your shirt off for me.”

You’ve never exposed yourself to kitchen utensils and rice wine on the pantry shelves before but Taehyung makes you want it. He shows his appreciation for your compliance with another hard grope of his hands, this time with his mouth sucking on your neck too. Craving your skin like he’s been absolutely deprived. The calluses on his fingertips rub your nipples raw.

“You smell good,” he croons. “Come here.”

You nearly tip over from how fast he spins you around, but he catches you easy, tongue on yours in the next second. The desperate tug of his lips on yours, the smack of your spit when he pulls you in deeper, all the intricacies of needing someone else to save your own sanity—it culminates here, and now your ass is up on the cold of the counter, Taehyung pulling back from one last kiss to drag that same heat down your body.

“Please let me eat you out here, holy shit.” He tugs at your pants, slides your underwear down with it. Mouthing hungry at your mound because you haven’t answered him yet, so you just groan a quick please, yes and he doesn’t even look at you before he presses his tongue inside you.

Somewhere in the back of your mind, the guilt of ruining this space with your (embarrassingly) uncontrolled libido is raging. But you could care less with the way Taehyung swipes his tongue around your clit, gets you clawing at his hair for brief respite. You’ve most definitely exceeded wet boundaries. His chin practically shines.

And he knows it’s because of him. Not just from his mouth but the knowledge that he wants you trembling towards a heady orgasm, the kind that consumes you whole. His laving gets bolder with every stroke, every moan you try to keep stifled but it’s useless. “Taehyung. Oh my g-od, fuck—no d-don’t use your fingers, I’ll come.”

He laughs, adjusts your thighs so you’re not cramping. “Think you’ll tap out?”

“I wanna come on your dick,” you pants.

“Oh my god,” he groans. “You’re perfect. Oh my god. I’m so fucking hard. Can I come inside you?”

“Yes yes yes yes, just get inside me already.”

Taehyung’s foot gets caught on his pants when he shoves them off, nearly crashing face first into your pussy again. And he laughs and you snort and when he’s naked waist-down he kisses you again, a little slower this time, a breather for just a moment.

“I know it’s only been five days but I missed you. A lot.”

You trap his hips with locked ankles on his back. “I know.”

“It’s just—I had to shovel so much horse shit—”

“Oh don’t say that!” You bat at his chest.

Taehyung snickers. “Sorry. Ahh, I don’t know what to do with myself.”

“You can stick your dick inside me and we can go from there,” you suggest.

“I like the way you think, missus.”

It’s almost laughable when he sinks right in. No resistance, just the slick of your arousal and his spit, an unholy mixture for this thick sacrilege. Taehyung’s eyes stay locked on the sight.

“Fuck yeah. Oh baby…”

If it’s got him uttering curses this early in the round then you’re definitely worse off. You’ve got one profanity for every inch he’s claimed inside you, all lined up behind your teeth but you don’t have the brain capacity to get them out. He fucks you straight to incoherence.

Your delirium keeps you mum. Taehyung will make up for it. He slots his hand up the back of your thighs, hits deeper when you arch through the pleasure. “Holy fuck that’s so good,” you whine. “Taehyung—oh god.”

He doesn’t say anything. Just pants hard with every moan you’ll give him, and you watch the sweat glow on his collarbone, the thick of his neck. Places you claim with your mouth when you lean forward because it’s too hard to keep balance without his gravity.

Taehyung breaks when you bite. “Sh-it. Oh fuck you’re so hot. ‘M not gonna last, shit.”

“You’ll fuck me when you come?” you plead, hold his gaze. He’s just as gone as you are. “You’ll fuck your cum inside me?”

“Yeah baby. I’ll give it to you. So fuckin’ good.”

He never lets up. Just keeps that steady fucking, stiff with every drive into your slick till he adjusts your knees with one push. Pussy open to the angle that gets you begging for his thumb on your clit because it’s right there. You fall back on your hands, no steady grip because Taehyung’s faltering too.

“Oh—!” You flutter your eyes shut to pending ecstasy. “Tae—please—harder—right there right there don’t stop!”

“You gonna come for me?”

It’s a rhetorical question. You know he sees the way your chest collapses, the rub of your clit in quick gestures for your high. He’s got you right in his hand.

“Fuck—ohhh yes!”

“Ugh,” he whines. It’s nearly lost to the ringing in your ears, the clench of your pussy from his pounding. You cream him so good when the orgasm’s strong enough, pulsing hot, the rough intensity. And that’s not lost on him when he cries: “God your pussy’s so wet. Holy shit.”

Usually you’re spent by the time your vision’s cleared to the sight of Taehyung fucking you through it. But he’s promised you something, and you’re greedy for it.

“Come inside me,” you urge, guiding a hand through his hair, pulling hard at his nape. He keeps his eyes on his dick priming you for those final strokes.

“I’ll fucking come,” he snaps. “You ready? I’ll come so good for you baby. Come so fucking—good—!”

He stiffens with a shout, grinds his teeth, lets his orgasm splash inside with so much heat you mewl. And he keeps minimal movement, thrust for soft thrust because it’s too much with the squeezing you tease him with.

“I.” Taehyung clears his throat, panting to a stop. “I… wow.”

Your ass is rubbed raw against the counter. But you’ll risk it again to see the glint in his eye when he pulls out and watches his cum drip down your hole, onto the floor for you to clean when your legs aren’t jelly.

“Wow,” you repeat.

“Do… Am I… Am I ovulating?” He looks genuinely confused. “I don’t… I’ve never been that horny before.”

You snort. “Five days felt like forever, huh.”

Taehyung kisses you slow. “If it means we get to fuck like that again then I’m going to the city for a month.”

“Hey!” You pinch his arm, using his bicep to stand up, tiptoeing around the mess on the floor. “God. Help me clean up here, please. And where’s the dog?”

(Danbi sleeps peacefully in the wicker basket, head lolled on one of the passion fruits. You make sure to bring her over to Auntie Gaeul’s for extra snacks.)

#bts smut #taehyung smut #v smut #bts scenarios #taehyung scenarios #v scenarios #ubemango fic #f: farmer!tae series #f: delicacies of the season

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waywardxwords · 4 years

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Whole Again

Summary: When Crowley is holding your family hostage, you jump into gear to try to rescue them. You feel angry as Dean insists you need a plan before rushing in. Your feelings are overwhelming, especially when you realize why you’re feeling the way that you do. You just want to feel whole again.

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Female Reader

Word Count: 4,821

Warnings: Violence, blood, vomiting (not too detailed), severe sadness/despair, swearing, and fluffiness (bc I don’t know any other way lol)

The engine of your 1969 Mercury Cougar roared against the asphalt as you drove down some one-lane highway in the middle of some rural town in Kansas. You pressed your foot even further on the accelerator, not minding the speed limit. You didn’t care; there wasn’t enough time.

Your eyes watched the path in front of you, bathed in the light from your headlights. Out of the corner of your eye, you noticed your cell phone screen light up—the buzz from it vibrating, slightly noticeable against the vinyl seat upholstery.

Without even looking at the ID, you knew who it was. You reached for the device and slid to answer—this was the fifth time he had called. He wasn’t going to stop until you obliged. “What?” You barked into the receiver of the phone.

“Y/N, listen to me,” Dean Winchester breathed into the phone. “You have to turn around. We need a plan. You can’t just barge in there.” You could tell he was doing everything he could to remain calm and collected; must be nice, you thought to yourself. He doesn’t have a horse in this race, so of course he wants to play it safe.

“You don’t get to tell me what to do, Dean,” you spat back. Your eyes blurred from the angry tears that had pooled there. You blinked—hard—to will them away. Instead, they escaped through the corners of your eyes and trailed down your face. You didn’t care.

“Dammit, Y/N,” all bets were off, and Dean had returned to his angsty, gruff self. “This is a trap, and you know it.”

“Do you really think I’m that stupid? Of course, it’s a trap, Dean! But what the hell am I supposed to do?! You tell me what you would do in this situation if it were Sam,” your words dripped with bitterness, but again—you didn’t care. The emotions in you ranged from anger to annoyance to disappointment—you had trusted him, and now you felt like a fool.

“Y/N…” he trailed off.

“Exactly. You can’t tell me, because you would be doing exactly what I’m doing,” there was a fierceness behind your words that Dean hadn’t heard before. “You made your choice to stay. And you know what? That’s fine; that’s on you. I don’t even care anymore,” you tried to make your voice sound strong and sure. You wanted him to believe every word, even though you knew there was no truth to it. You did care. You cared so much it hurt physically.

“So what are you gonna do, then? Just walk in there, guns blazing? Hope you can take out a few demons before Crowley puts you out of your misery?” If he had been hurt by the words you had said, he wasn’t showing it.

You blinked against the tears a few times; the grip of your left hand tightened on the steering wheel. “I’m going to give him the tablet.” You pulled the phone away from your face and quickly hit ‘End’ before tossing it back on the passenger seat beside you.

-----

You weren’t sure how long it had been, exactly. You couldn’t be sure how many times you had lost consciousness at this point, but it was certainly more than once. You blinked against the darkness; your hands still secured behind your back. The ropes were still tied firmly around your ankles, making it impossible for you to budge.

Eyes closed tightly, you tried to remember what had happened—how you had gotten here. You were certain you could’ve used the tablet as leverage. Crowley would accept the tablet and in return, he would release you and your family—unharmed, back to normal.

“Ah, she’s awake,” a bright light snapped on overhead—it blinded you for a moment. You blinked against it, aggressively squinting to make out Crowley and two men in suits. Your jaw tightened as you struggled against the ropes on your wrists. Bile crept from the pit of your stomach up towards your esophagus; it burned the base of your throat. “Morning, Sunshine.”

“Where are they?” You found your voice. You were disappointed by how weak it sounded. You had been hurt—you could feel the leftover gashes in your skin. Your face felt tight, so you knew there had to be dried blood there.

Crowley looked around the warehouse as he played dumb. “Who? Mummy and Daddy? Your baby sister?” He asked coyly. You grinded your teeth, your jaw ached from the pain. It wasn’t even the physical pain. The pain in your chest as you assumed the worst about your family.

“Y/N?” You heard a soft voice come from behind you. Crowley took six steps towards you and strongly lifted your chair to turn you towards the voices. There in front of you were three different racks, of sorts. You imagined these were like the racks in Hell—the racks that Dean had described in painful detail one night when you both had gotten carried away drinking.

On the first one, your father. His arms pulled back to each corner of the rack; his legs tied in the same fashion at the bottoms of the rack—spread out like an ‘X’. His head was down, and you knew he was unconscious. Blood dripped from his head—a pool of crimson red forming below him on the concrete floor. He had wounds all over his body. You couldn’t make out what was cut versus blood from other injuries.

On the second, your mother. She seemed to be awake, but barely. Her eyes were tiny slits—squinting towards you. You swallowed past the lump in your throat as you realized she was trying to determine if you were real or just a figment of her imagination. Blood caked her hair—it had already matted in places. Her body was leaning forward, pulling her away from the rack. Your eyes were drawn to her wrists, which were being cut by the cuffs around them as gravity pulled her body forward.

And then the third rack—the rack with your baby sister. She was only two years younger than you, but you still referred to her as your baby sister. She was the one who had called your name out. She, too, was strung up just like your parents. But her core muscles allowed her to hold herself up. You could tell she was terrified—the panic made her arms move and pull at the cuffs holding her against the rack. She writhed against the metal. It made the bile bubbling like boiling acid in your stomach unavoidable. In a quick motion, you leaned to your right and your entire body heaved.

Crowley looked down at the floor, a grimace pulled over his face. And in one quick motion, his hand slapped across your face. It was such a hard slap, you were certain you had the outline of a handprint in its wake. “You dumb bitch, you yakked on my shoes!”

Your eyes glazed over; you didn’t care about the pain, or the smell of the bile. You couldn’t get past the smell of blood, and the way your sister looked at you. “Y/N,” she repeated, this time she choked out a sob. “W-What’s happening?”

Before you could speak, Crowley moved towards her. “Your sister,” he started as he paced in front of her rack. “…let’s just say she has poor decision-making skills. She had a choice,” he glanced back at you as he continued. “And she chose a Moose and a Squirrel.”

Your sister looked confused, and you didn’t blame her. You closed your eyes and dropped your head, but only for a moment. Your memories began to come back. “Crowley, I gave you the tablet! What more do you want from me?” You sounded desperate, but you couldn’t help it.

In just a few swift steps, Crowley was back in front of you. The breeze from his speed made you blink as he held onto the armrests of your chair and leaned as close to your face as possible without touching. “I WANTED THE WINCHESTERS!” He screamed.

You couldn’t help but close your eyes again. “They aren’t coming!” You screamed back. “I told you, I came here alone.”

Crowley stepped back once more and it was then that you realized he had a blade in his hand. “And that’s why we’re here, puppet. That’s why we’re all here. Mummy, Daddy, little sister…”

Your eyes were glued to him as he walked slowly—so slowly, you felt like he could almost be moving backwards. It sounded so far away as you heard your sister scream. Was he really walking that slowly, or was your mind playing tricks on you? Your sister just kept screaming over and over again—blood curdling. You realized your eyes had glazed over again and you weren’t even seeing clearly. And that was when one of Crowley’s pawns put his hands on your head and turned it towards where Crowley stood in front of your sister.

You watched. He took the blade in his hand and drove it straight into her gut—her eyes were widened in horror, her mouth agape. Blood began to slowly flood her mouth and drip down to the floor. Her body was no longer able to hold her against the rack, and she fell forward—only caught by cuffs that wrapped her wrists and ankles.

“You can thank your big sis for that,” Crowley muttered loud enough for you to hear. In a swift movement, he twisted the blade completely until her head fell forward and you knew she was gone. He pulled the blade out and with a handkerchief he pulled from his pocket, he wiped it down. “Are we having fun yet?” He turned back to you with an evil smile spread across his lips.

Your heart pounded so hard against the wall of your chest, you were certain it would thump right out of your body. But yet you wouldn’t scream. You couldn’t move. For the first time in a long time, there were no heroes. There was no saving.

One by one, Crowley made it down the line. Putting your family out of their misery. You winced with each slice—you believed something in you to be broken, as you couldn’t get out a reaction. But then you realized your face was wet, and you thought you could hear your own voice echoing off of the concrete walls of the warehouse. Maybe you were screaming, after all.

And finally, Crowley sauntered over to you. Your eyes felt heavy—like you were tired. You summed it up to a combination of the blood loss and watching your entire family be slaughtered while you sat there, unable to move.

You closed your eyes as he stood in front of you. You waited…would there be pain? Was there really a bright light? Would a Reaper come for you?

Crowley cleared his throat in front of you, causing you to open your eyes. “Here’s the deal, love,” he looked down into your eyes. “I’m going to let you sit here and stew in your own juices. I want you to feel the pain…just watching your family’s meat suits rot. And when the Winchesters inevitably show up, you tell them Crowley would like a word.” He whispered the last part so close to your ear it made the hair stand up on the back of your neck. With a snap of his fingers, he disappeared into thin air.

And so you sat there.

Screams fell from your lips, but there was no one around to hear. Your eyes were forced to look at the bodies—this blood was on you. Your family’s blood was on you. You couldn’t save them. You could pray to Cas, but you didn’t want to. You hoped more than anything you had ever hoped for before that your blood would seep out onto the concrete floor around you, and a Reaper would come for you. Maybe you’d get lucky and it would be Tessa. She seemed pleasant…for a Reaper, anyway.

You closed your eyes. It was better than the alternative.

-------

You blinked. Once, twice…three times. Voices, you heard voices again. You had come to accept that it was your mind playing tricks on you—hallucinations, you assumed. Probably from the blood loss.

“Hey, Y/N…you hear me?” Someone was in your face. Your hallucinations were…touching you? That didn’t seem right. Then again, you had never been on the edge of death before. So you guessed it could be possible. “Sammy, she’s waking up.”

The Winchesters? You were on the brink of death and your mind decided to hallucinate the Winchesters?

Your eyes were thin slits at this point—sunken in. Your hair was matted with blood, but you felt their hands on your face, your head, your torso. Someone—Sam, you thought—had his fingers working quickly on your wrists.

“Go…away…” you muttered in between raspy breaths. You tasted blood—you weren’t sure if it was from a strand of hair that had slipped in between your lips, or if you had internal bleeding that was making its way up your throat. You didn’t care.

“Y/N, stay with me, okay? We’re gonna get you out of here.” Dean said as he tried to keep eye contact with you. “Cas!” He practically growled. He looked up to the ceiling—waiting.

A bright light surrounded you in the room—standing before you was Cas, trench coat and all. Your eyes lulled back again, you anticipated to pass out once more. You felt arms around your middle and your head cradled in a shoulder—you knew that shoulder. It belonged to Dean.

“Fix her…please,” you felt the rumble in his chest as the words fell from his lips. You knew you weren’t lucid, but you could have sworn you sensed a hint of begging. The Dean Winchester you knew didn’t beg.

“Don’t,” even in your haze, the word slipped between your lips.

“Y/N,” Cas approached you carefully. His eyes moved over you as he assessed the damage. “If I do not heal you, you will die.”

You remained silent. Cas looked between you and Dean. “Cas!” Dean barked once more.

Within seconds, the light was brightening around you—blinding you. You squinted against it. You willed your body to writhe away from him and fall on the nearest blade. But it was too late.

The physical pain suddenly began to fade until it was gone. No open wounds, no more seeping blood. “Her injuries are healed,” Cas explained. “But it will take some time for her blood levels to normalize.” You noticed there was still ringing in your ears, and you felt a bit dizzy. But all things considered, it could have been so much worse. But that made your heart sink.

“Fuck you, Dean,” you muttered as you shoved with all the strength you had at his chest.

“Y/N,” he breathed, his eyes closed for a second. You moved to stand but felt lightheaded. In trying to find your way back to your seat, you almost fell. Dean caught you just before you hit the ground. “Alright, Speed Demon. Take it easy.” With one arm around your back, he dipped the other behind your knees as he lifted you bridal-style. “Dean Winchester, put me down right now,” you muttered through gritted teeth.

“I can throw you over my shoulder, if you want,” he smirked. The smirk…you wanted to slap it off of his face. It took everything in you not to.

“Put…me…down,” your teeth were so gritted now you thought they might break. “I’m not kidding, Dean.” You shoved at his chest and managed to wiggle from his grasp. He held his hands up in defeat. You slowly made your way to the exit of the building and realized it had started to rain.

The gravel was wet. You were thankful it was gravel, your shoes seemed to grip it a bit better. One slow step at a time, you passed the Impala and just kept walking. The darkness was overwhelming as you moved away from the yellow street light positioned just outside the warehouse and kept moving. You didn’t know where you were going. As soon as you hit grass, you fell to your knees. A bubble formed in the pit of your stomach; you felt it roll up your body until it rumbled out of your mouth as a sob.

Your face was wet—a mixture of tears and rain. You heard the gravel shift behind you and knew he was there. You closed your eyes and bowed your head, your knees soaking through from the wet grass.

He didn’t say anything, he just kneeled directly beside you. You saw his head duck as he tried to capture his thoughts.

“Y/N—” you didn’t give him a chance to say anything else.

“Shove it, Dean,” you cut him off, your words bitter. “Nothing you say…” you mumbled in between sobs. “…nothing you say can fix this.”

He cleared his throat. “I know that,” his voice was a little louder as the rain pelted down around you. The droplets bounced angrily off of the metal roof behind you. He stayed silent. The rain inspired you to pour everything out.

“If you and Sam had come with me,” you shook your head as the tears continued to fall. “It just…we could have stopped Crowley, Dean! We could have done it! Every, fucking hunt you find—I follow you blindly.” You didn’t mean for your words to sound as angry as they did; or maybe you meant every emotion behind them. You didn’t care. “Every time, Dean. I never ask any questions. I trust you and I go.”

Silence.

The only sound that filled your ears was the continued fall of the rain, and your heavy sobs. You managed to turn your head to look at him. You couldn’t be certain, but his face was covered with water—was he…crying?

You had never seen Dean Winchester cry, so you really didn’t know what to make of it. Before you could do or say anything, you felt a sadness in your heart. But it wasn’t from having witnessed your family be brutally murdered before your eyes…no, that was a feeling of despair; the worst pain you had ever felt in your life. This was sadness. Sadness for your friend—the man you had grown to care for, though he didn’t know it.

“Dean,” you started. You were mad at yourself—you were supposed to be pissed off at this man sitting next to you. You should have been seeing red. But you couldn’t. You had to make sure he was okay.

“Y/N, I am so…so sorry,” he breathed out as he wiped at his face. He tried to rid his face of the tears and the rain drops as they mixed together. “I thought that we had time. I thought we could…” he trailed off as you watched his eyes move over the strands of grass in front of you as he searched for the words. “…come up with a plan. I had no idea this would happen.”

Silence again, your eyes closed as more tears slipped through your eyelids. “Of course, you didn’t know,” you finally breathed out. Desperation set in as you realized this wasn’t Dean’s fault. You wanted someone to blame; you didn’t know what to do, what to say, where to go. “I don’t have anywhere to go anymore. My family is gone; I have no one.” The words fell from your lips as quickly as they entered your brain—you hadn’t even realized you were talking out loud until Dean moved on his knees until he was in front of you and his hands were on either side of your face.

You felt the calloused pads of his thumbs swipe under your burning eyes, his wrists moved to lift your gaze to meet his. “You have us, Y/N. You have…you have me,” he said so softly you weren’t sure you had heard him. “We will always be your family. Always, do you hear me?”

Your eyes scrunched closed as you cried. You brought your hands up to his and held on for dear life. You were grasping at anything at this point; it felt as though you were drowning.

“I can’t do this anymore, Dean,” you mumbled as you slowly opened your eyes to look at him—desperation.

He swallowed and nodded as he pulled his hands back. “I understand if you don’t want to stay with us,” he nodded, like he was trying to convince himself that he truly understood.

“No, Dean…this. Life, how am I supposed to even keep going?” Had you heard yourself speak this way a day ago, you would have been disgusted with yourself and how weak you sounded. But it was different now, and you didn’t care.

“Listen to me,” he reached for your face again—his eyes bore into yours. “It’s not easy, and I get that. The shitty part about life and what we do, is that we lose people. It happens way too often, and it never gets easier,” he said firmly. “But what you’re gonna do is come back to the bunker, get some rest and let us help you.”

The tears continued to fall—at this point, you had no idea how there were any tears left. But you were too tired and weak to fight him. Dean was too strong to fight when you were operating at one hundred percent; there was no way you could fight him now.

His eyes moved between yours as he studied your features. When he realized there was no longer resistance, he stood up from his spot on the grass and leaned down. He scooped you up into his arms—one arm behind your back and the other behind your knees. The exhaustion was overpowering as your head hit his shoulder and you closed your eyes. The rain continued to beat against your hot flesh.

Sam opened the passenger door to the Impala while Dean helped you sit up. He grabbed your keys and tossed them to Sam. After closing your door, he had a few words with Sam before getting in the driver’s side. There were no words; just the hum of the engine as Dean drove you back to the bunker.

-----

Back at the bunker, numbness had set in. You had always heard of the Stages of Grief, but you never imagined going through them.

You felt tears bubble again; dammit. You hated crying—everything about it. The emotion, in general, but then also the congestion, the swollen eyes, the overall puffiness in your face. Dean had you on the edge of the bed facing the wall of your room in the bunker, he had just kneeled down in front of you. His eyes looked over your face and you could tell: Dean Winchester was trying to fix you. But there was no fixing this unless he found away to reverse time or bring your family back.

“Hey,” he breathed. His thumb ran small circles over your denim covered knee. “Listen, I know you’re going through it right now…” he trailed off. “But you’ve gotta get out of those wet clothes. You’re cold, you gotta get changed.” You could tell his brain was picking each word so carefully, which wasn’t very Dean Winchester-esque.

You hadn’t realized you were cold until you noticed your body was physically shaking. “I don’t care.” You breathed.

“Dammit, Y/N,” he muttered and stood up. His jaw tightened as he tried to control his frustration. He rubbed his hand over his face as he paced around your bedroom, one hand in his jean’s pocket, the other over his mouth, resting on his chin.

“I’m too tired, Dean. I just…I can’t,” you begged the tears to stop falling, but your body wasn’t listening. He turned back to you and you could see the sadness wash over his features.

“Well, will you let me help you?” He asked, calmer now as he realized you were just mentally and physically done.

You shuddered at the thought, but this time it wasn’t from the chill of the air on your wet clothes. This was something much deeper; something that had developed months ago but you had worked so hard to push out of your heart. You didn’t have the will to fight it anymore. You nodded carefully, a small nod—but you had been sure he had seen it.

His eyes watched yours and he nodded; he moved towards the dresser and retrieved a pair of pajama pants and an over-sized hoodie. He brought them back to the bed and cleared his throat. You could tell he was trying to keep this as professional as possible—he just wanted to take care of you. Dean put his hand out in front of you and you carefully took it. He helped pull you to your feet so you were standing just in front of him.

“Arms up,” he whispered. You brought your arms up to about your shoulders and winced, a slight pain on your left side just under your breast. Concern covered his face as his forehead creased. “You alright?” He pulled up your shirt and identified the culprit—there was a pretty solid bruise just under your bra. “Dammit, Cas healed you…” he seemed worried.

“To be fair,” you breathed. “There were a lot of injuries to heal. One healing session might not have cut it.”

He nodded in agreement and carefully continued to help you pull off your shirt. You had forgotten that you would be standing in front of Dean with your bra fully visible. The thought made your cheeks flush with warmth as you avoided eye contact. He cleared his throat again—clearly a bit uncomfortable himself. He reached for your hoodie and slid the arms on first before pulling it over your head.

You managed a small smile as your head popped through the hole at the top of the hoodie. “Thanks, Dean.” Your words were soft, and for a moment he thought he didn’t hear you correctly.

“Don’t thank me…” his eyes moved between yours again. “I am just…Y/N, I’ll never stop being sorry.” You could see the pain in his eyes; the guilt.

“Dean, I had no right to blame you,” you shook your head. There they were again—the fucking tears. And that’s when it hit you; it all hit you square in the face. You had been so hurt when Dean wouldn’t go, because you trusted him blindly—because you loved him. You loved him, and you wanted him to love you—to trust you.

“You alright?” He watched your eyes as you contemplated all of this.

You nodded and swallowed past the lump in your throat. “I just…” you hesitated; you weren’t brave enough to confess your findings to Dean. But then again, your mind went back to your family…your loved ones. If you had learned anything tonight, it was that life is short and time is fast—and Dean had even been the one to say it; we lose people. You decided against your better judgment and just went for it. “I think I blamed you because I trusted you, and I wanted you to trust me.”

Dean had his hands on your face once more. “I do trust you, Y/N—”

You cut in before he could finish. “No, I know. But I realized I trust you so much because…because I love you.” Your eyes found his yet again. They darted quickly between his green orbs to try and get a sense for what he was thinking. But you couldn’t read him; you couldn’t tell what was happening in his brain. “And…and I wanted you to love me, too.” You prayed it didn’t sound as pathetic as it felt coming off of your lips; but, no regrets. You didn’t want to regret anything, not after tonight.

Without another word, his lips were on yours. They moved against you feverishly; it was as though he had yearned for this moment just as much as you had, if not more. One hand remained on your cheek, steadying you. The other moved to your hip and slipped under your hoodie, gently grasping onto the warm skin on your lower back to pull you closer.

He pulled back and you felt your chest heave as you came up for air. His eyes danced over yours again, this time reflecting a glint of…hope? Affection, maybe? Passion? You couldn’t be certain.

But then he licked his lips, his eyes traveled between your eyes and your now swollen lips. “I love you, too.” He murmured before his lips slowly caressed yours once more.

And in that moment, you felt whole again.

-------------------

A/N: Thank you so much for reading! I meant to finish this yesterday, but the episode last night about broke me in two and I couldn’t write. Please let me know your thoughts!! My reading requests are open (submit via the Ask Me! link on my page). Please re-blog, like, etc.! All mistakes made in this are my own, please don’t re-post anywhere off of Tumblr :)

xx S

#supernatural #supernatural one shot #supernatural fanfiction #supernatural ff #supernatural fanfic #spn fanfiction #spn one shot #dean winchester x female reader #dean winchester x female!reader #dean winchester x you #dean winchester

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thosch3i · 4 years

Text

Xiao Yuliang Interview [Eng Trans]

[Photo: XYL’s dog]

so remember this post? yeah well i wound up doing a mostly full translation of the entire 6 minute interview on twitter. some parts are paraphrased and a few details were skipped bc he sometimes repeated himself and there were one or two details i wasn’t 100% sure of, but other than that an eng transcript of the full interview is below the cut:

1. Introduce your role in "Ultimate Note"?

XYL: In Ultimate Note I play Zhang Qiling, Xiaoge.

2. What kind of impression does this character leave in your heart?

XYL: Before, I thought he was a really strong, and then a very cool, and then a very cold/detached person. But later, I finished reading the novel and read the script, and I felt like he's someone who lets your heart ache for him. The feeling he gives me--because once I was reading the script in a car, and I almost wanted to cry for him, because he's always searching for the things he's lost. And he's very strong, but he wasn't born strong; he also went through a lot, and he made himself strong. He can bleed, and he can get hurt; it's just that he doesn't say anything, and he doesn't show that he's in pain.

3. Talk about the initial pressure of receiving this role?

XYL: When I got this role, the pressure was really really big, but I also thought I was pretty lucky, because I'd played Zhang Qiling before, and I get to play him again, and I think that's pretty lucky. But the pressure is too big, on set right now, the pressure is very big.

4. Netizens were pretty satisfied with your performance; have you seen these comments?

XYL: When Sha Hai was airing, I saw their comments. Some of them approved, and I was happy, but others--like, saying some suggestions or opinions--I also looked at them. I also looked at the performances of other actors who played Zhang Qiling and comments on their performances. I used them as a reference, and I learned from the experiences/evaluations of others.

5. What was the greatest challenge of playing Zhang Qiling?

XYL: The biggest challenge is that there are too few lines. It's really hard to act! [Xiaoge] has some expressions where it's just, you can't make them too obvious or too "unrestrained" because his actions are also very restrained, but if you're too restrained then everyone just thinks you don't have any reactions. And the editors are also very hardworking, because they'll have 4 pages, and I won't have a single line, just reactions. The others will talk for 10 minutes, and I'll just be reacting. [Xiaoge] is a person with few/no words, but with his whole heart, he wants to go care for others...it's very difficult; this "no lines" is very difficult. Another thing is fight scenes are very difficult, and the weather is too hot.

6. What are some scenes that left the deepest impression on you?

XYL: Like when it's 3am, and we're running through a wild river, the water is all up to our waists, and we don't know what's underground. I was just afraid there were snakes, you know? Nothing we can do, just run. And there's also, because the filming location is at Xishuangbanna, there really are snakes. We've seen snakes etc on set, so we were afraid accidents would happen. Thankfully they didn't. And there was also when we were rubbing mud on our faces during the hot day. Actually, what we were rubbing was chocolate paste. When the chocolate on our faces dried, we spread on more, and it feels like you've become a "chocolate person", not a "mud person". I also tasted it--the BTS side clips recorded it; the taste is okay. [t/n: here is a link to that clip]

7. How did it feel working with the other actors in the crew?

XYL: Liu Yuning-laoshi [t/n: Hei Xiazi] is really nice. He doesn't have a temper, and he's a very calm and tranquil person. I think he's really nice. Xiao Xi [t/n: lit. “Little Xi”, nickname for Zeng Shunxi aka Wu Xie] is a little mischievous. Xiao Xi likes to stir up trouble on set and play around. In any case he plays around with Pangzi and me, but Liu Yuning-laoshi is more tranquil, not quite the same as [his character] in the show.

8. Before you posted a vlog caring for your pet on Weibo, why don't you introduce your pet?

XYL: My dog's name is a character I played once; my mom named him. Because we'd just finished filming that show, and then my mom got a dog, so she just called him my name in the show. Tell me, isn't that annoying? [t/n: drama was called 反骗天下/Fan Pian Tian Xia and his role was called 米若/Mi Ruo; his dog is apparently called 米诺/Mi Nuo.]

9. You've been an actor for awhile now; can you discuss what being an actor feels like?

XYL: Initially, before I became an actor, I thought, "Oh, cool". Everyday you're just, wow, holding weapons, cool! But now I think it's so hard. Especially while shooting this show, I got a sty for a month, and it's still not better even now. [t/n: you can definitely see the swelling under his eye in ep1] I think this sty is from accepting this role, or because of work. In any case, it's still not better. But it's no problem; thankfully, my hair can cover it. You also have to be careful of safety on set; real blades can slice open your hands. Once, I wasn't careful and cut my wrist, but thankfully the doctor's stitching skills were pretty good. When he was still stitching, I even said, "Doctor, you have to stitch it well, okay, I'm an actor, I use this hand to perform", and he said "Okay". After the stitches were done, he asked me, "Are you satisfied with the stitches?" The results were pretty good; it didn't really leave a scar.

10. Finally, promote this show to our fans.

XYL: You all have to watch our "Ultimate Note", because filming was really tough, and we've diligently tried to accomplish these three roles [t/n: the iron triangle, I’m assuming] and later on some of the the details of many of the books. I hope you will see similarities to the novel in some of the show's scenes.

and we are done! so yeah, i think his take on xiaoge’s character was the most important part, but some of the other stuff (listening to him complain about some things lmao) was kinda funny too. im still laughing about the whole ‘im an actor i need this hand to perform’ bit bc dude you literally sliced yourself open w a knife badly enough to need stitches but that’s your first priority???? glad you’re dedicated to your job though i guess but LOL

Quick question/answer:

1. What do you want to say to Zhang Qiling?

XYL: Xiaoge, you've worked hard.

2. Who from the show would you pick to go with you on an adventure?

XYL: I’ll choose...I'll choose Pangzi, because he'll definitely bring food. And he's fat, and he's pretty joyful, oh right, I can also bully him.

3. Describe the level of your cooking skills.

XYL: Cooking skills? The rank of instant noodles. Just boiling instant noodles, then adding the flavor packets, and then tomatoes, eggs...instant noodles.

4. If you're not restricted, what kind of role do you most want to play?

XYL: If I'm not restricted, then I want to play that guy who, in the morning, is just delivering takeout or is really well-behaved and wears glasses, that type, and then at night he pushes his hair back like this [xyl mimes pushing his hair back], and he starts to....different types...in any case, like split personalities, right, split personalities.

5. A sentence to describe your ideal life.

XYL: My family and I are healthy, and I have enough money to go live a normal life, eat/drink whatever I want, travel with my family, and just grow up slowly.

oh right additional note, in zsx's interview, when asked which character he'd take, he said xiaoge without hesitation. and the interviewer asked if he wanted to know who xiaoge picked and zsx was all "he didn't pick me did he...I'll be leaving now, thank you~" 😂

#dmbj #zjbj #ultimate note #xiao yuliang #zhang qiling #shouting into the void #i made an effort to capitalize and make some grammar corrections in english this time lol #its not perfect but like you get the point #i also think it's cute that he calls zsx xiao xi lol #on the other hand seems like zsx just calls him yuliang #translation

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sarriane · 4 years

Text

endless night - missy & twelve prompt fill

For Em / @littleteagirl, who wanted some Missy, and some soft Twelve <3 Sorry it took me so long, I am incapable of writing anything under 1,000 words.

Set sometime between ‘Eaters of Light’ and ‘World Enough and Time.’ It’s a little angsty, but that’s bc angst is my therapy.

***

endless night

“This is why you shouldn’t have left the TARDIS,” the Doctor says. He’s acting all stern and disapproving. Missy can’t see him, but she can imagine his eyebrows scrunched together.

“Really? I thought it was because I might kill somebody,” Missy huffs.

“That too.”

The Doctor’s voice echoes a little. They’re sat in one of the TARDIS bathrooms, one of the posh ones with a huge bathtub and everything done up in marble. Missy’s clothes are lying in a muddy heap on the gleaming white tile. She’s wearing a fluffy bathrobe that’s far too large for her, sitting on the edge of the bathtub, and splashing her feet in the water filling the tub.

The Doctor’s hands are gentle in her hair. Missy feels a tiny tug as his fingers catch on something – another bur. He pauses to carefully untangle it from her hair, then drops it into the trash bin.

“What did you think you were doing in the woods, anyways?” the Doctor asks. Missy shrugs, because she’s not going to tell him. That’s too easy. He continues, “I told you I would be back in a few hours. I had important errands to run on that planet.”

“I was bored,” Missy says.

The Doctor silently picks another bur out of her hair.

“Missy,” he murmurs.

“You better hurry up, the little egg man will have a heart attack when he realizes we’re gone,” Missy snaps.

“Missy.”

The Doctor’s hands disappear from her hair. Missy stands still, her back still to him. She hears the Doctor stand up, footsteps echoing in the tiled room.

“What are you doing?” Missy says as the Doctor kicks off his shoes. He folds up his trousers to his knees, then sits beside her on the edge of the bathtub, dipping his feet into the warm water.

“Ooof, isn’t this a little hot?” he says, wincing.

“I didn’t realize it was your bath,” Missy mutters.

The Doctor reaches over and pulls another bur from her hair. He holds it between two fingers, ignoring the sharp spikes. The burr is brown, the same brown as Missy’s hair. Funny, how so many planets all looked the same sometimes.

“We’ve been to that planet before,” Missy says very quietly. She wants to stop herself, but she doesn’t want to, all at once. She’s been feeling that way lately – a horrible fluttering in her chest, like a bird caught in her ribcage, battered between her hearts. It tells her yes and no and leaves her stumbling over her thoughts and words whenever the Doctor is near. If he’s noticed, he hasn’t said anything.

He doesn’t say anything now, either. Maybe it’s one of his wretched therapy techniques... be quiet, keep her talking to fill the silence, let her tell him what’s on her mind. Or maybe it’s because he doesn’t know what to say.

“A long, long time ago,” Missy continues in tiny murmur. “It was one of our stars, wasn’t it? One of the ones you were going to take me to see. Except we got the timing all wrong, and it was in the middle of a year-long winter. No sunrise. Just... endless night.”

She splashes her foot aimlessly in the water.

“Not endless. Just polar night,” the Doctor says. “It’s the planet’s axis and orbit – causes long winters in this hemisphere. The sun will rise eventually.”

“I wanted to see it,” Missy says. “I saw the coordinates and I thought that maybe… but that wasn’t why you took me there, was it? It’s still nighttime.” She takes a sharp breath in through her teeth.

The Doctor reaches out towards her. Missy closes her eyes, expecting him to pull another bur out of her hair, but he doesn’t. He just cups her chin in his hand.

Missy doesn’t open her eyes. She wants to remember his touch, the warmth of his palm, to bask in it. She can feel that stupid metaphorical bird fluttering. The Doctor pulls away.

“It’s a dangerous winter on that planet,” he says. Something in his eyes has changed. He’s looking at her strangely.

“I’m dangerous, too,” Missy says sharply.

“But no match for a bur bush,” he points out.

“Shut up,” Missy says, but there’s no venom in it. She looks down at her bath and sees that it’s almost full. She switches off the tap.

The Doctor looks at her for a long time when he thinks she’s busying herself with her soaps and shampoos. When Missy glances up, he looks away, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly.

“Did you get all of them?” Missy asks.

“What?”

“The burs,” Missy says. She runs a hand through her hair carefully, feeling for anything caught in her hair.

“Oh. I think. Let me check.” The Doctor climbs out of the bathtub and immediately slips on the tile floor. Missy grabs him around the middle to stop him falling.

“Please don’t slip and regenerate in the bath. I couldn’t stand to be seen with you again,” Missy says, steadying the Doctor.

“You could tell everyone you tripped me,” the Doctor replies. He dries his feet on a towel.

“No. It’s not my style at all,” Missy says. She tries not to smile when the Doctor pauses behind her, and she feels the Doctor’s fingers combing through her hair again. She knows all the burs are gone, but she lets him pretend he’s missed one. Maybe one day, he’ll give up the pretense.

By the time Missy finishes her bath, the Doctor is nowhere to be found. She walks into the console room, her bare feet cold on the floor, the over-large bathrobe trailing behind her on the floor. The console room is uncharacteristically dark. It takes Missy a moment to realize that the doors are open.

She walks over to them and peers out. They look like they’re still on the same planet, though the TARDIS has landed on a different part than the forests – a cliff, overlooking a valley. It’s still nighttime. A thousand stars wink down at them.

Missy’s eyes slowly adjust to the darkness. The Doctor is a few feet away, lying stretched out on a picnic blanket. He turns when he hears Missy and beckons her over.

“I’m not wearing any shoes,” Missy protests, but the Doctor just waves more excitedly. Missy groans and tip-toes over the dusty rock.

“You’re just in time,” the Doctor says, reaching out and grabbing Missy’s hand, pulling her down beside him. Grumbling, Missy sits on the blanket with her knees to her chest.

“It’s only a few minutes,” the Doctor says, blithering on, not wanting to let go of her hand. Missy looks around the dark valley and shivers. Her hair is still wet. If the Doctor would stop babbling about the rotation of the planet and its orbit and axis and stonehenges and solstice festivals, maybe he’d notice and offer her his coat.

“Doctor –” Missy begins.

“There it is!” the Doctor exclaims, pointing across the valley. The sky has begun to lighten.

Missy looks just in time to see a cool blue sun rising over the hills in the distance. A few wispy grey clouds and bright stars are its only company. The sun makes its way over the valley so quickly that Missy can track its progress.

The Doctor squeezes her hand as they watch the valley below light up. She recognizes the forest where they had landed earlier. As the sun travels overhead, the trees bloom right before their eyes. White flowers blossom and close and blow away on the wind – all in the few short minutes it takes the sun to rise.

“So much death,” Missy says, watching a few withered petals blow up over the ridge and drift over their spot.

“Yes. But first, there’s life,” the Doctor says. “Resilient, beautiful life.”

The sun sets as quickly as it had rose, fading into a slate grey sky. The forest fades away into darkness just as quickly as it had come to life.

“So,” the Doctor says slowly, carefully. “That was one of our stars, like you said.”

Missy shivers involuntarily. The sun hadn’t been out long enough to warm her in her bathrobe.

“So, what?’ she asks.

“So,” the Doctor says again. “What did you think?”

Missy considers for a moment. She wraps her arms around herself.

“All those trees, they wait years just to see the sun for a few moments,” she says.

“So did we,” the Doctor says. He shrugs out of his jacket and drapes it over Missy’s shoulders, ignoring her glare.

“But we have a time machine,” Missy points out. “We could see it any time.”

“But we didn’t,” the Doctor says. Missy imagines she can see a hint of a smile teasing across his face, under the cover of darkness. “We waited, like the trees. Was it worth the wait?”

Missy pulls the Doctor’s jacket around herself. The velvet is soft. It smells like coffee and cloves, freshly cut grass, and the horrible after scent of human dry-cleaning.

“I don’t know,” Missy says. The stars are beginning to pop out again, the sky back to an inky black. “What was next on our list?”

“What?”

“The next star. Wasn’t it Moxto 7? Only I think I blew that one up,” Missy frowns.

“Do you want to see it?” the Doctor asks, sounding a little skeptical.

“Why not?” Missy asks. She gets to her feet. “We’ve got time. We could see them all, if we wanted to.”

The Doctor is silent. He takes her hand once more and clasps it between two of his own.

“If you like,” he says. This is uncharacteristically noncommittal, for him. “How about we get inside first? It’s cold. Your hand is...cold.”

“I’m not the one who dragged us out here,” Missy mutters back.

The Doctor gathers up the blanket and the two of them walk back into the TARDIS. He closes the doors and leans back against them, clutching the plaid blanket to his chest in a bundle. Missy stops beside the console and glares at him, her arms crossed.

“What?” she asks, annoyed, tucking her damp hair behind her ear self-consciously.

“Do you really mean it?” the Doctor asks her.

“What?” Missy repeats. The Doctor takes a step forwards. His eyes are so sharp, Missy wonders if they could slice right through her.

“Would you like to see more?”

Missy stares at him. He looks ridiculous, the way he’s holding the blanket, his grey hair sticking in every direction, eyes wide like a madman. She knows she looks ridiculous, too, standing there in her bathrobe. Missy’s chest is filled with that horrible fluttery feeling again, and she wants more than anything to just answer him. Could it be that simple? Is anything ever simple? Doesn’t she deserve that, just once?

“I said I did, didn’t I?” Missy asks, raising an eyebrow. “If I’m allowed to.”

The Doctor frowns. Missy has ruined the moment, utterly shattered it, and the fluttering in her chest has stopped. She watches as the Doctor crosses the console room to stand beside her. He tucks his blanket underneath one arm and reaches out with the other. Missy tenses up.

He picks a tiny burr off the collar of her bathrobe.

“Tea?” the Doctor offers neutrally, tilting his head. “We can draw up a new list.”

He leaves her standing in the console room, staring after him as he heads off to the kitchen. He looks smaller than usual in his waistcoat and shirtsleeves.

Belatedly, Missy realizes she’s still wearing his velvet jacket over her bathrobe. She pulls it closer around herself. It feels warmer than any sun she’s ever seen.

the end

#twissy #thoschei #doctorxmaster #i write fanfiction #dw #prompt fill #littleteagirl

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peachyteabuck · 5 years

Text

eating a heart in a marketplace

summary: "[C]ommunion doesn’t need to be holy. Or even decent." - THOMAS C. FOSTER

After one of Tony’s men injures one of yours, he must present a peace offering in order to keep his black market distributor business afloat.

Good news: you accept the gift.

Bad news: the gift is Thor.

pairing: Thor Odinson x Reader

words: 5,863

trigger warnings: dubcon ig, humiliation, heavy d/s dynamics, mentions of canon-level violence, use of gags, collars, basically kidnapping, dehumanization (sexual and nonsexual)

notes/other: this fic is entirely self-indulgent and i am anticipating sequels bc i .... love it. enjoy!

sk box / masterlist / commission info / ko-fi

The obnoxiously long, dark oak table lays mostly bare, the only places set are the ones at each end of the exquisitely made piece of furniture.

The pink, sheer robe you’re wearing does nothing to hide the matching baby pink lace lingerie, just as the equally feminine heels donned with a strip of pink puff across the base of the toes would do nothing to protect your perfectly manicured feet from the harm of the eerie storm raging outside. Still, the garments and accessories are not meant to be something that cover you up, keep you warm, help you run from danger; they’re tools, tools you’ll hopefully use to get your way as the final meal of the evening approaches.

The entire event is set up just the way you want, with your makeup setting just as expected; the pig roasted to perfection, the pasta firm to the touch, the carrots and broccoli steamed until palatable, the champagne chilled. Most important, though, was the arrival of your guest. At exactly 6:05, your head butler comes in to notify you of the car pulling in front of your expansive home. With the wave of your hand she’s instructed to let the man come in, allow your rival to step into the palace you’d constructed for yourself when you’d risen to the top of your organization.

Well, maybe “rival” is the wrong word. “Rival” implies an active dislike or struggle, when in reality you two operate in separate spheres of influence.

“Companion,” though, seems too friendly.

As the distinct sounds of footsteps filter through the grand hall and into your study, the man you’ve decided to call “fellow leader” steps into sight. His fine pressed suit, dry as the Sahara desert, smiles as you come into his view.

“Ah, my favorite mob woman.” His eyes seems more sinister than you expected. You attribute it more to the dark tones of the evening rather than actual malice.

“Stark,” you say with a curt nod. You go up to exchange a kiss on each cheek, heart racing with the anticipation of what’s to come, excitement increasing with each step. “Come, we have a wonderful meal prepared for you.”

Anthony doesn’t protest, simply accepts a glass of Scotch a maid hands to him and follows you into the dining room. He chuckles a bit at the display you’ve put on, but doesn’t say anything outright. You two have enough respect for the other not deny their counterpart the joy of a dramatic display. He simply sits, the pig placed in the middle of the table large enough to be an obvious sign of wealth but not too big as to deny the two of you eye contact.

Small talk is exchanged as the meal is served, biscuits placed, and pork cut into thick slabs. Vegetables placed delicately on plates and napkins placed on laps. You ask how Pepper is doing, he asks if the dress you had handmade from some extravagant designer turned out how you wanted. Half your plates are clear before either of you truly start to converse.

You’re the first to break the silence as Anthony begins on his mashed potatoes. “I appreciate your understanding of the deal. I’m not a fan of bloodshed, and the demonstration at the club that night are something I wish to forgive and forget as soon as possible.”

Anthony nods, speaking around a bite of the creamy starch. “I agree. Odinson’s actions were inappropriate, wildly and unpredictably so. In truth, I’ve thought he was a liability since he joined, but I never thought he’d lash out like that.”

As you slice through a particularly thick cut of meat, your fork slips and scraps against the china. Both of your winkles your noses at the grating sound.

“Yes,” You pause to chew. “cutting off Barnes’ arm during a bar fight does seem a little…” The bite of biscuit you had gotten was just perfect, the equal amount of butter and brown sugary, apple flavor from the pork together. God, you really do love a good meal. “Rash.”

Your guest hums in agreement. He then clears his throat, preparing to talk. “To symbolize my apologies, I have brought you the gift we spoke of earlier,” he pauses, raising his left hand just above his elbow and bending his first two fingers forward. You sit up, intrigued.

As the large French doors behind him open, from the dark depths of your hallway comes the man who scarred your oldest friend for life, cost you hundreds of thousands of dollars in medical bills, and has put your best hitman out of commission. He’s tall, fills the doorway like a key in a lock. His scruff thick and dark, bags under his eyes from lack of sleep.

Something deep in you stirs, and squeezing your thighs together does nothing to stop it.

Thor Odinson is clad in a suit, as most of Stark’s enforcers are. Though, the handcuffs keeping his hands behind his back are new.

“Interesting addition,” you note, staring at his straining arms in the expensive fabric.

Anthony doesn’t give any indication that he hears, let alone cares, about your sarcastic comment. “I’m assuming this” he gestures to the man. “Will put me back in good spirits with you and the rest of your crew?”

Odinson walks to your side, head hung in shame and hair tied in a tight bun as his former employer speaks. He knows what he’s in for now, has been told in so many words he is now something less of a person – and it’s obvious this has put him to shame.

You consider it – think about letting all that happened go with a simple olive branch. Before you can do that, though, you must make sure that the merchandise lives up to the promises on the box.

“Down,” you command. Immediately, he drops to his knees. You smirk, dragging your baby pink nails down his stubbled jaw.

“Oh, yes. This will do just fine, Stark. Just…fine.” The last two words are long, almost forgetting to finish them as your mind travels to all the things you could do with him.

Anthony smirks. “Perfect. I’m assuming business with resume as usual?”

Your fingers stroke at the sides of Thor’s face and trace around the shell of his ear. “Of course. I’ll call the appropriate people later. Everything should be up and running by midnight.”

Suddenly Anthony tenses, his fingers moving to fidget with his tie. “If I may-”

“You may,” you tell him, not meeting his eyes.

Anthony audibly gulps, fidgeting in his seat and with his tie. “That’s quite late, that’s hundreds of millions of dollars that we’ll miss out on if we-”

You hold up your hand flat while your gaze remains locked on your new toy. “That’s the earliest I can assure you. Whether or not it happens before that is,” you stop to try and feed Thor a small bite of carrot from your hand. He hesitates but accepts after a few moments, plucking the orange vegetable with beautiful teeth and a gentle bite. He doesn’t make eye contact like you originally wanted, but this is a good start. “Not guaranteed.”

Anthony knows that you’re stubborn, much too stubborn to be moved away from your current stance. He’s done all that he can do to sway you, and now whatever income he hopes to make between now and the end of the day depends on Thor.

In short, Anthony Stark Junior (and his bank account) are royally, utterly fucked.

As he leaves your home he can hear you call to your head servant to tell Customs and Border Patrol to let his packages in (an assured start to him not losing a fortune), but he still wrings his hands as he slides into the backseat of his solid black Escalade. As the partition opens to reveal the man at the wheel, the thought of angry text messages from smugglers trying to get their goods into the States flash in front of Stark’s bloodshot eyes.

His driver, Happy, notices the fellow man’s anxiety as he looks at his boss through the rearview mirror.

“You think Odinson is gonna be okay, boss?” He asks, sort-of worried but mostly focused on filling the deafening silence in the expensive car. Money can buy a lot of things, but it can’t fill the awkward spaces in conversation that always come post-transaction.

Tony just laughs, typing something into his watch. “Of course not. That woman is going to chew him up and spit him out by the end of the fiscal year.”

Happy chews at his bottom lip. That’s two weeks from now. “You really think it’s gonna be that quick?”

“Probably,” Tony shrugs. “She’s never been known for mercy.”

The other man nods, quiet as he makes his way to the Stark residence. The quiet, cold night air strikes the mobster as he steps out of the car; the sharp grass smells fills his sense and bloodstream, calming him as he steps into his home. Pepper’s at the counter, stirring something in a pot. She doesn’t turn around when she hears his footsteps, but knows he’s somber nonetheless.

“Hard day at the office?” She asks, giving him a small taste of the homemade alfredo sauce.

Tony snorts, moving to lick at the wooden spoon. “Oh yeah,” he mumbles, wrapping his arms around her waist. She’s in one of his t-shirts and sleep shorts, the soft material comforting him. “You could say that.”

You only make good decisions when you’re in a good mood, and right now said mood depends on Thor Odinson - a man so insecure he once got himself tortured just because his captors told him he couldn’t take it. The man is a stubborn, uncontrollable mess with an anger issue to rival that of Lyssa, or a lighting on a field of dried grass.

He was feared within the Nest and by the lower Excidium members, but he didn’t make palms sweat and hands shake and hearts beat faster quite like you do.

No one fucks with you because you’ve very appropriately placed yourself on a pedestal based on madness, control, and desire for power. Thor’s just feared because he’s a dumbass with a short fuse. It’s the difference between a forest fire and a crazy, drunken uncle holding a lighter; one you can try and prevent, coax it into submission and run away if necessary. The other? More unstable than Francium.

(At least you know that thing’s only going to last twenty-two minutes, though. At least it’s predictable in its instability.)

Back inside, you’re more than ecstatic to have a new plaything. You were fully prepared to let the kid’s behavior slide, especially since the Nest brings in a hefty amount of revenue. But if Tony wants to give up a weak link, you’ll gratefully treasure the broken piece of steel you picked up from the gravel.

Thor stays like that, on his knees and eating out of your hand, for so long his legs fall asleep. You spend the rest of the night chatting at nobody, talk to him like he’s an old, deaf cat who just remains in your favor because he’s soft to pet and is cute. You sign some deals, check the language of some proposed treaties, write your to-do list for the next day all at the dinner table. Thor only dares to look at you when you’re too busy conversing with maids or chastising someone who works under you or any time your head is turned enough that he can make out the scar that runs from behind your left ear to the back of your neck.

Your form, the way you speak, he’s obsessed with his chance finally take it all in.

He hasn’t seen you in person before, just heard rumors and conspiracy theories and whatever else people spend their time making up about you. Thor always passed it off as fiction, simply inflating the higher-ups to pass the time. Everything about you, though, seems exceptionally true. Maybe even underestimations. It’s true you walk around your house in matching lingerie sets, possibly a robe if it’s breezy. The East Coast heat can be unexpectedly warm, but as the sun sets on the July day he can see goosebumps rise across your soft skin and the shivers that sometimes shake your spine. Your house fits all the descriptions he’s heard, too. The decor seems almost welcoming, faded oranges and pastel pinks and dull whites and baby blues and mustard yellows. Plush, velvet furniture the same deep magenta, mirrors trimmed in what Thor can assume is real gold.

It’s like a scene from Mean Chicks or whatever those 2000s teen movies are. If one of those movies took place in the home of an incredibly powerful mobster, it’d look like this.

“What do you think, pet?”

Oh shit. Thor was supposed to be listening, wasn’t he? When he looks up, Bucky Barnes (the man who called him a pussy and “Stark’s whore,” prompting him to grab one of the decorative - but still fully functional - swords from the wall of the bar they were in and just...slice away at his tormentor), Steve Rogers (who looks like the human version of a sugar cookie while specializing in torture) , and Sam Wilson (a sarcastic little shit who knows exactly how to get anything past the feds) are all staring down at him. Barnes’ left arm (stub? It’s mostly just stub now) is still bandaged, but he’s at least walking now. Thor was told he might die from blood loss, but no. Thor Odinson would never be that lucky.

“They never listen, do they?” You sigh, rolling your eyes as you shift to face them. None of the men sit, knowing they won’t be there long. Plus, they get a much better angle of Thor’s tortuous position while standing.

“You don’t think that deserves punishment?” Steve asks, a smile curling at the sides of his mouth that speaks volumes.

You shrug, not looking at him. “Later. Now I want you to donate fifty thousand to the Vermont special elections. I need that entry point into Canada or else there’s no way we can get out shipments into that garbage country in a timely manner. Also,” you turn to Sam, whose eyes are caught staring between Thor’s left upper ribs. “Call CBP. Stark held up his end of the deal, I have to hold up mine.”

All three of them huff, both at the large sum of cash you’re about to give to a twenty-something know-nothing frat guy who knows nothing about politics but everything about being open to bribes and about them not being able to watch the man they hate become the most embarrassed version of himself in front of the man he tried to kill and his two best friends.

Whatever. The trio’s time for revenge will come, you promised them that - promised Bucky when he was in the ICU that you would find the man that did this and would make them pay.

Bucky has never known you to break a promise.

When the three leave you and Thor, you raise your left arm high flick your wrist towards the large doors. Understanding the cue, your maids wordlessly close them to seclude you from whatever responsibilities you were intending on dealing with tonight. Whatever it is, was, can wait until tomorrow, can wait until you’ve begun Thor’s assimilation into your home.

There’s a moment of quiet, of stillness in the house before Thor hears the sounds of several pairs of footsteps – maybe four, he counts – that enter the large dining room with haste. He’s quickly escorted down a long hallway and up a winding set of stairs. Thor can’t see much as he’s rushed away, and the little he can make out is a baby blue wallpaper with gold patterns etched into it, and fine paintings that appear sporadically on the walls. Some are black and white with abstract patterns, others depictions of angels, a few featuring intricate designs that resemble the sky and sea.

It feels like a forever before Thor is slammed down onto the floor of your bedroom, his knees hitting the wood with a painful smack. Despite the earsplitting sound, he doesn’t wince, doesn’t even flinch as his hair is pulled back by one of the maids so he’s forced to look at you. As you gaze upon him he bares his teeth; you can see fire behind his eyes. What a cutie, you muse to yourself.

“Wrists,” you instruct. Another maid moves behind him with dusty pink rope, securing his wrists together behind his back. “Legs,” you tell them next. Thor is easily flipped onto his back, arched at an uncomfortable angle because of his arms. Just as quickly as before, his legs are tied so that his calves and the backs of his thighs meet. When he’s flipped back up, all he can see is you smiling devilishly. “I’ll do the rest myself ladies. Go ahead and take the night off, I want him all to myself.”

“Yes ma’am” they respond in unison, Thor unable to see their hurried steps but understanding that when he hears the door closing behind them, he’s completely and utterly alone.

For a moment you two just stare at each in silence, his nostrils flaring and chest rising from anger and adrenaline. He heaves as you calmly gaze upon him, pissing off your captive even more. All Thor can do is react while you stand there, stationary and speechless.

Within a few moments, he’s lashing out to break the painful quiet. “This fucking sucks,” he hisses through clenched teeth. “That Barnes fucking deserved that shit, you know? He’s a whiny bitch that gets into shit he doesn’t belong in. I bet he’s fucking compensating for something, ya know? He’s not even a big enough man to come at me himself, needs his master to do his bidding ‘n shit. Why the fuck am I ever here anyway, do you go through boytoys so fucking often you just steal them so that you don’t have to pa-“

You roll your eyes, shoving three fingers into his mouth. Thor looks more confused than anything else, but he does immediately stop talking. Good, exactly what you wanted.

You two stay like that, your jaw tightened with one eyebrow raised – daring him to defy you - and him looking up at you like a puppy who’s just pissed on the carpet in defiance. “Listen, you little brat. I used to babysit for twenty dollars an hour. I put myself through grad school twice on money from too-rich white-ass parents who couldn’t control their kids so they pawned them off to underpaid college kids. I got here because I worked for it, dealing with men much more powerful than you acting like children. If you think for a fucking second that I will tolerate this behavior in my house, under my roof, then you are wrong. Very wrong. Do you understand me?”

Thor’s eyes narrow, and though he doesn’t bite, he does press his teeth into the skin of your first knuckle. It’s enough to keep your attention entirely on him, eyes locked on his as you throw your phone onto the bed next to you. You know this game, and you know breaking first would mean he has some sort of holding over you. Unblinking, you stay silent as he swallows around your fingers.

The tension in the air is thick; it’s nothing you can’t handle, nothing you aren’t used to. Thor is the first one to surrender, looking down at your baby pink stilettos. “Good boy,” you huff, moving to open a drawer that conveniently sits just within arm’s reach. You withdraw you hand from his mouth but don’t move to wipe his spit from your fingers. Thor can’t see anything you’re doing, but does hear a smaller (and less used, judging by the squeaking noise it makes as you open it) drawer open, the sound of a little bell, and then the loud scraping of both drawers closing on top of each other and hitting the back of the structure that holds it.

“Head up,” you command. “Look at me.” Thor’s hesitant but ultimately obeys. His eyes widen as he sees the items in your hand. The first is a simple, black ball gag and the other a frilly, pink collar with a small bow and equally tiny bell at the front center. In the back, an adjustable metal clip.

The gag is slipped on first, the uncomfortably large sphere blocking any searing remarks from leaving his lips. As spit pools below his tongue and from the corners of his mouth, all he can do is growl low in his throat.

Despite your long, pointed nails you open the clasp of the collar with ease, flashing it close to your captive’s face like an owner showing a dog his new restraint. Thor may be your pet, and you may be his rightful owner, but the move isn’t one that builds trust. It’s one that makes his insides curl, because it’s a demonstration of how much power you have over him. Look at this thing, the gesture conveys. Do you understand now? You’re mine. Everyone will know that. Everyone will know what you did. This is your retribution.

“Are you gonna shut up now?” Thor doesn’t move, but he also doesn’t make any disgruntled noises. “Good. Now, let me make myself clear, since it appears you do not know the terms of Stark’s and my agreement; Stark settled to give me the man who permanently injured one of my best men in exchange for my forgiveness of the entire event. That means two things. First, Stark gets the money he needs from my business in order to remain powerful. Second, I get to do whatever I want to you. Understand?”

Thor’s eyebrows furrow. What do you want to do to him?

“For now, though, I am going to untie you and go to bed, because I am tired, and it has been an exhausting day. Got it?”

Thor nods.

“Good.”

He flinches as you kneel down to his level and begin to untie him from the complicated binds. Your fingers move with purpose, your nails occasionally scraping across his electrified skin. With his body uninhibited, he flexes his fingers as to examine the indents in his flesh.

“Don’t worry,” you tell him. “Those will go away by morning.”

Somehow, he doesn’t believe you.

He spends the night on the cold wooden floor, occasionally making a desperate attempt to fit himself on the tiny plush pink carpet that the dresser rests on. Thor doesn’t get much shut-eye, time either spent shivering or trying to plan for survival. He can’t escape, it’s been made very clear that both Excidium and the Nest will both be hunting him down if he so much as pisses where he’s not supposed to. It seems keeping his mouth shut, following orders, and taking whatever it is you want to put him through with whatever tiny amount of dignity he has left.

(As the night progresses, he realizes the last part will be the hardest).

When the world comes alive again, Thor remains mostly ignored. As the sun comes up and you awaken with your alarm, he barely gets so much as a brush of fabric as you pull off your white nightgown and slip into a pale-yellow sundress with a long, white cardigan. It’s much different than what you were wearing last night, but as you readjust the strap of your lacey white bra from its improper place on your shoulder, he guesses that was more show(wo)manship and a reiteration of hierarchies than an honest exchange between business partners.

As the first full day under your whim progresses, he’s left behind as you move to your office. You feel some time apart may be good for his insolence, even if his fierceness amuses you so.

You like a challenge, especially one you know you can win; a little tussle didn’t hurt anybody, has it?

You instruct one of the new recruits to buy you a dog bed – the largest one they can find – and you have it placed on the floor next to your bed so you can keep an easy eye on him throughout the day. Thor’s kept on a leash attached to the collar on his neck; the piece of leather is flimsy at best, but the man still refuses to break out of it for fear of punishment.

There, on a large, baby pink pet meant for some Doberman or Pitbull or other bigass dog, he waits, ears perking up whenever someone, anyone steps into the room. But, while he craves human contact, the hushed voices of the maids that clean up the dirty clothes and make your bed make the hairs on the back of Thor’s neck stand in fear.

Natasha, lover, retribution.

Bucky, money, revenge.

Loki, trip, return.

He can’t tell which name fills him more with dread. Barnes is barely healed and full of rage at his injury, desperate for vengeance against the man that hurt him so. Natasha Romanoff is a woman that Thor has never truly met, only seen when Stark and you have business that requires some back up. Even so, the stories of her apathy and brutality need no introduction; once, she cut a dude’s dick off, made a wallet from the foreskin, and sent it to him while he was recovering in the hospital. She carries a switchblade in the inside of her bra. She only has red hair because the blood crusted onto it permanently stains the follicles.

And Loki…

Well, Loki and him have been estranged since they were both late teens. They’ve both had daddy issues since birth, and Loki’s so happened to manifest in a weird mix of picking up mercenary work, becoming a serial sugar baby, and wearing a lot of black. The last thing Thor would expect is for Loki to settle down for someone like you, a woman who requires loyalty of heart, mind, soul.

His thumping heart and terrifying internal monologue are interrupted by a maid, one he hadn’t yet seen, whose face scrunches up when she notices your absence from the room. She then sighs, and beckons two other maids – one pushing a cart filled with a small buffet of food, one carrying a cart with cutlery and dinnerware – through the threshold. The three of them stop at a bone-white desk, fretting about as they set up what Thor can only assume is a late lunch.

As you step into the bedroom – pushed through the doorway by the maid from before – Thor can tell you are less than happy.

You’re annoyed, to say the least. Can’t even tell why, really, can’t find an even barely comprehendible reason for you to be tearing through financial documents as if they were important family heirlooms that were on fire. No reason for you to snap at a recent recruit for misspelling the code name of a spy you had placed in the Nevada Supreme Court three courts back. Some madness bites at your skin as you nibble on small sandwiches and drink a large glass of cold sun tea, and Thor can tell it’s tearing you apart.

Thor can’t see much from the floor, but he can feel the electricity in the air as you scribble in a notebook that he guesses is where you plan all of your mob’s heinous activities. He wonders what your handwriting looks like, how you keep all the people you’re blackmailing straight, what kind of code you use. Stark keeps everything on paper as well, in a locked room inside of a secret room inside of his basement (well, maybe. Thor’s never been there, he’d never gotten high enough in the Nest to warrant being given access to such a space, but he’s heard the rumors).

It's about an hour later when the head butler from before, the one who led him, his (former) boss, and his (former) bosses men through your maze of a home, steps just into view of your tired eyes.

“Miss, you need a break,” she says simply.

You sigh, rubbing at the bridge of your nose and then your temples. Resting your head in one hand, you use the other to grant her permission to grab your paperwork. It’s only when she’s gather your things and left the room that you speak.

“She’s right,” you let out a small chuckle before sauntering over to the white dresser in the far corner of the room. “I do need a stress reliever.”

The man on your floor can’t see what you’re doing, his eyes only widening when you place the thickest, blackest dildo he’s ever seen into his view.

“Wh-“he starts to speak, trying but failing to push himself away from you. “What are you doing to do with that?”

You shrug, eyeing it up and down. “I don’t know. Could fuck myself with it…could fuck you with it…”

Thor’s stubbled face is beet red from embarrassment, even more so than when you made him kneel in the dining room or gagged him with your fingers.

“You’d like that, wouldn’t you, you little slut,” you hiss. When he doesn’t look up at you, you grab his chin and force his head back. He doesn’t want to admit it, but it wouldn’t be fun if he just gave in the second you put the tiniest bit of pressure on his overly-tough facade. “Tell me you love sucking my cock.”

But all Thor does is open his mouth wide as it can go and pushes his flattened tongue as far out of his mouth as it’ll go. He’s got this glimmer in his eyes and a smirk on his lips that tells you Thor knows what he’s doing, he knows he’s pushing every button he can think to push.

You’ve danced this routine before, though this time Thor’s much more confident, willing to push further, push harder.

“You want to be a brat?” You ask, begging him to give you a smartass response. “Then take it like one.”

With swift movements of your right leg he’s pushed flat on the ground, his back hitting the hardwood with a low thud. “Flip over,” you tell him. With an unfortunate lack of protest, he does, toned stomach settling onto the floor barely warmed by his back.

You climb over him, leg on each side and core pressed into him as you gather his hair in your first. “You’re such a fucking tease,” you hiss through grit teeth. Thor makes a similar – but more pained noise – as you wretch his head back. “Such a little tease, begging me to put him in his fucking place. If you wanted me to fuck you like you deserve, you should fucking ask for it next time.”

Smack, the deep sound of your callous hand hitting the soft flesh of his ass almost makes him flinch more than the pain. Smacksmack, two more, quicker this time.

“I’ve met little fucking brats before, but never like you,” you pull the rest of his clothes off with minimal protest. “Gotta get you cock drunk before you’ll figure out how arrangement of ours works, don’t I?”

Thor, with his eyes scrunched shut and mouth lax, says nothing in return.

Your hand reaches under him, hips lifting to provide a small space between him and the floor. He’s already hard, aching, leaking, and he moans brokenly when you wrap your hand around him.

It’s rough, hurts more than it pleasures, but it still feels so, so good all the same. Thor almost wants to say so, too, but can’t make himself push the words from his throat.

“So easy to get you all fucked out isn’t it?” You whisper low in his ear. “So easy to break brats like you, makes me wanna make you cum and then leave you here for the rest of the night…”

The subsequent whine from Thor makes you laugh and push him harder into the floor. “But I won’t do that, can’t leave little things like you all alone, would be like leaving a baby bunny to a bunch of wolves.”

Thor doesn’t disagree, doesn’t try to build his demolished ego back up.

“Doesn’t that feel good, sweetheart?” you purr, hand keeping a slow, torturous pace. “Doesn’t it feel good to be good?”

All Thor can do is squeak and push his face into the floor, trying to hide the deep redness in his cheeks.

For once, you don’t punish him. You want to, want to stop and make him beg for forgiveness for his nonanswer. Maybe tie him up and fuck him with your fingers until he’s ready for your biggest strap, pounding into him.

Oh, Babyboy, you’re being so good taking this whole cock inside of you, aren’t you? So good for your owner. I bet nobody’s ever fucked you this good.

Maybe you’ll tie him up, edge him until he’s sobbing. Wait until he’s just about to cum and pull a vibrator or your hand away – make him whine and tease him as his whole body twitches.

Are you not enjoying yourself, baby? Because it looks to me like you are. Look at those glassy eyes, do I need to slap you to make you pay attention?

Thor screams as he cums all over your floor, whole body tense then completely lax within the span of seconds. His breathing is loud enough to be heard across nations, each exhale laced with a small moan.

He cries, deep and low, when you climb off of him, tries to arch his spine into the nothingness that once held you.

“Shh,” you tell him. “Mommy’ll be back in a second.”

Thor seems to calm with that, heart still racing but head and body slumped.

When you come back, you hold a bit of salmon - small grains of buttery jasmine rice and cranberry sauce stuck to the pink meat. You’ve grasped it with three fingers – thumb, middle, point – and have it nearly pressed to Thor’s plush, pink lips. It’s still warm, dinner having been served by the maids despite your absence from the dining room.

“C’mon baby,” you tell him. “You gotta eat sometime.”

Thor glares at you but knows you’re right – his already flat stomach howling in pain from lack of sustenance. Reluctantly, meekly, he pulls your fingers between his lips and swallows the soft food.

“Good boy,” you tell him. “See? Following directions isn’t that bad.”

Thor, for the first time in days, says nothing to the contrary.

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charmingcentry · 5 years

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Bechloe - Lost

Part 1

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- CHLOE’S POV -

A wide stiff yawn emerges from an awakened Chloe, turning off her 5:30 A.M. alarm. Although her veterinary profession doesn’t require her to clock in until 9 A.M. sharp, she rises extra early to run errands beforehand in hopes of free time after clocking out at 5 P.M. She rubs her eyes and stretches out her body, letting out another yawn in the process. The redhead creeps out of her room, cautiously walking to the bathroom, not wanting to wake her roommate, Aubrey Posen. Let’s just say, no one would want to deal with grumpy exasperated Aubrey unless they’re looking for a death wish. Chloe lets out a sigh of relief after her seemingly long walk from her bedroom to the bathroom, grateful that she didn’t wake up the blonde. The redhead switches on the shower faucet and steps in, resisting the urge to break out into song. Instead, she hums the tune of When I’m Gone, a song Beca had shown Chloe over the course of their many video chats.

Ever since the two met, they have been inseparable, usually talking over the phone after Beca has put Jamie to bed and after Chloe has taken care of her veterinary-related research along with dinner. Their video chats, audio calls, and text conversations have lasted approximately an hour each night, their longest being 2 when coincidentally, the two had an off-day from their profession. The two feel like teenagers whenever they talk at night, avoiding to stay up too late since they both wake up early morning. Throughout the day, Beca and Chloe usually send somewhat flirty texts to enlighten the other’s mood and day.

Chloe: this puppy i just took gave vaccines to reminds me of you ngl. Beca: is it because im as sick as a dog? Chloe: ha ha very funny. but no, it was pretty tiny actually ;P Beca: hey! Chloe: its coat of fur had similar color to yours. it was also pretty adorable too;) Beca: you callin me cute beale? bc trust me, when im sick like this, i look horrifying Chloe: aw no you donttt. you looked really hot during our facetime date last night;)) Beca: it was probably bc of my high fever but thanks chlo Chloe: oh whatever. i gotta go but ill text you later. feel better becs!

The redhead turns off the shower faucet and dries herself up, using a blow-dryer to quicken the process of drying her hair. She walks out of the bathroom into the kitchen, greeted by an energetic Aubrey who is chopping up fruits on the counter. The blonde greets the redhead, shoveling the sliced fruit into a blender. Chloe pats her friend’s shoulder and quickly downs a banana that she snatched from Aubrey’s cutting board.

“Hey! That was gonna go to our smoothie Chloe.” Aubrey exclaims as she tears another one of the yellow fruit from a bowl.

“Sorry, Aubrey!” Chloe exclaims, tying on her running sneakers. “Needed a quick snack before my run.” She opens their apartment door and heads out. “Bye Bree!”

“Bye Chlo, be safe!”

- BECA’S POV -

“Mommy get up already!” The brunette lets out a groan as her little daughter basically body slams her, feeling Jamie’s hair smothering her own face. Beca elevates herself and lays back on her forearms, noticing the clock read 6:45 A.M. The brunette ruffles her daughter’s hair as Jamie lets out a giggle, proceeding to then step off of the bed to pull her mother by her arm. “Come on! You promised you would get me ready for picture day!”

Beca finally gives in to her pleading daughter and gets out of bed, scrambling around her room to turn on the lights. “Okay sweetie, let mommy get ready first alright?”

The excited girl lets out a squeal and makes her way down the hall of their small condo as Beca continues to wonder how in the world Jamie has this amount of energy so early in the morning. Well, I guess it’s because she’s only five and for some reason, younger kids have a lot more energy than everyone else in the world. The brunette lets out a yawn, grabbing a change of clothes from her closet as she shuffles her way to the bathroom as her slippers scarped against their hard wooden floors. Beca brushes her teeth as she scrolls through her phone, being met with dozens of text from her friend Stacie Conrad who is already teasing about Chloe this early in the morning

Stacie: how are things with that redhead going;)) Beca: honestly its too early in the morning for this stace. but its good i guess. we have a coffee date later tonight which should be cool Stacie: YAY! so happy you decided to go through with it Beca: thanks i guess? but i mean, i am too. chloe seems pretty nice and stuff Stacie: you needa sharpen up on your complimenting game if you want a second date with that gorgeous redhead of yours Beca: oh shut up conrad. Stacie: :). oki, imma help Bella organize her school items now. byeeeee! Beca: cya weirdo.

The brunette walks out of the bathroom, feeling refreshed after dousing her face in cold water. One of the cons of being a night showerer is that they definitely suffer from lack of energy in the morning, so Beca splashes her face in cold water to make herself more alert and awake. She finds her daughter sitting patiently in her room, still in her pajamas with wet hair, Beca smiles that her daughter is beginning to learn how to shower on her own. Jamie’s mouth turns into a big grin when seeing her mom walk in, immediately bouncing up from her small racecar bed - a hand-me-down from Stacie after Bella grew out of it - and rushing towards her mother.

“What should I wear?” Jamie asks in excitement, still jumping up and down in place. Beca smiles and scoops her up, walking over to her closet. The brunette slides the door open and puts on a dramatic pondering face, causing Jamie to let out a laugh.

“How about~ this!” Beca exclaims, pulling out a light yellow sundress with white polka-dots scattered across the fabric, a present from Chloe the redhead had given it to Beca when she saw the brunette’s dad pick up Jamie from kindergarten.

“Yes! Chloe gave me that!” The brunette puts her daughter down and playfully throws the dress over Jamie’s head as she lets out another laugh yet again. “Hey! That’s mean mommy.” Jamie pouts as she pulls off her pajamas with the help of Beca. The tinier brunette lifts up her arms as her mom drapes the sundress over her body, Jamie letting out another squeal of excitement as she sees her outfit.

“Careful with noise Jamie, we don’t want to bother the neighbors do we?”

“Bo-ther?” Her daughter asks, Beca being reminded that there are words that Jamie still doesn’t know - the music producer also has to watch her cussing too...

“It means you make someone sad in some way. Some of our neighbors get bothered when there is a lot of noise when they want to sleep.”

“Oh, okay! I’ll try not to… bo-ther.” Beca smiles as she kneels down to braid her daughter’s hair, finally getting the hang of it after countless tutorials on Youtube and incidents of countless hair pulling. After 5 minutes, the braid was finished and Beca finishes off her outfit with baby pink sneakers, planting a kiss on Jamie’s cheek.

“Okay, let’s roll Jamie! Get your backpack.” Beca states, tying on her sneakers and grabbing her car keys off of the bowl that rests on top of the kitchen counter

“What about breakfast?” Jamie asks, getting a backpack that is twice the size of her own body.

“Don’t worry, we’re stopping by a cafe. I need to get coffee for someone and we’ll eat there.” Jamie lets out a small cheer, she always loved when they ate breakfast at her favorite cafe.

“Who are you getting coffee for?” Beca takes ahold of Jamie’s hand as they walk out of their condo, the brunette locking the door after them.

“Chloe sweetie.”

“Why?”

“Just a little surprise for her,” Beca states, wondering why her daughter is suddenly asking many questions.

“Wow mommy, you really like Chloe.”

Beca chuckles as she presses the elevator button to the main floor of their condo building. “Yep, I sure do Jamie.” They walk over to the parking lot and Beca hoists Jamie in her car seat and begins the seat buckle process.

“No, wait! I can do it on my own.” Jamie says, grabbing the seatbelt from the top left corner and clicks the belt into the slot. Beca stands back in astonishment and prevents a tear trying to escape. Her little Jamie is slowly growing up.

“Pretty neat little dude, getting smarter every second.” She walks over to the driver side of the car and gets in. She buckles her own seatbelt and starts the car, turning up the radio, laughing when Jamie quietly raps along to No Diggity... maybe Beca should play this song a lot less with her daughter in the car.

#bechloe #beca mitchell #chloe beale

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shreyamistry · 6 years

Text

Tangible Freedom - Sabina x MC

Title: Tangible Freedom

Pairing: Sabina x MC (Lapis)

Word Count: 1.7k

Summary: Legate Aquila lies dead, now Sabina must make her choice for her future in a mere moment or face the consequences of what’s coming should she choose not to flee.

Prompt: “You make me feel safe.”

Taglist: @glowinghelena (bc it’s their request!)

A/N: Hi! Welcome to my first Sabina request, as mentioned above this is a request for my wonderful, amazing, and iconic friend Kylie! Love you!!! So, as stated in Annabelle’s request, I know that Sabina is a lesbian and identifies as lesbian, this fic with the use of they/them pronouns for MC is in no capacity trying to deny that or take away her sexuality, the request called for a nb (they/them) lesbian MC and that’s what I did. If you have questions, google is free!

Thanks for reading! I hope you like it!

“Come, we must hurry.”

Sabina’s stumbles over her feet, seeing Legate Aquila lifeless body lying on the floor in her common room. Her eyes settling on his eyes barren and empty after the punishment of his crimes against Lapis and herself were paid for in blood. She turns to Lapis who holds their hand out to her beckoning her to come with them.

“You must trust me, Sabina. I would never lead you astray.” She meets the determined look in Lapis’ eyes, begging her to come with them. She hesitates, how could she not? Her entire life is in this house, despite the bad she had reasons to fear still. Her future. Her father. Lapis’ future. Their relationship. Everything accelerated from the moment she agreed to help Lapis take vengeance on her husband, and it was liberating to be free of him. But how free could she truly be? Without the help of Lapis and the trust and safety she’s found in them, she knew her path would have even less freedom. She knew what she must do then.

Sabina takes a steely breath clasping Lapis’ hand in her own, running with them off towards the entryway of the house she shared with the man she was forced to marry. Every ounce of her told her to be sad, but she couldn’t muster the feeling as the neglect and abuse she’d endured over the months passed through her mind thinking through her decision to conceive the plan against him.

She remembered the vial of poison she slipped into his drink a mere hour ago, she remembered Lapis bursting into the home to warn her they mixed up the poisons and he would wake up soon, but before they could even finish the statement he drew his sword against them preparing to murder the both of them. She barely remembered the fight that broke out, the way Lapis continued to put themselves between Sabina and Legate Aquila pushing her backwards every time he managed to make a move against them.

Her legs keep pace with their speed as they rush towards Lapis’ home. Their hand tightly holding her own, surging her forward throwing a few hushed encouragements in her direction. She wondered what the morning would bring, should she find herself in a prison cell awaiting her trial or if she would be married off again if her father found out. She looked towards the person promising her a future, the feared look on their face as they wind through town coming upon their home.

The pair burst through the door, and Lapis slows to close both of the doors firmly locking them to keep out any who should try to stop them. They turn to face Sabina taking her hands into their own, giving them a squeeze of reassurance looking into her eyes, she finds herself hypnotized by the look wanting nothing more than to meet their lips in a kiss. Lapis brings their hand to her cheek, resting it firmly against her delicate features, brushing their thumb back and forth gently.

“You are bleeding.” Lapis whispers, trailing their fingers up the curve of her cheeks to a cut resting on Sabina’s forehead. She glides her finger over dried blood chipping away at the red flakes as they fall to the floor. “Sit.” They motion for Sabina to sit on the edge of the tub, before fetching a rag made of animal skin from a tucked away corner of the room. They dip the rag into the mostly empty tub of water, wringing out the cold water from it before scooting closer to Sabina, their thighs pressed against one another’s gaining a gasp from Sabina. “Should I move?”

“Please... don’t,” Sabina whispers softly, struggling to find the words a few strands of her hair fall into her face as her head lulls downward away from Lapis. Lapis smiles to themselves, brushing the loose strands of hair behind Sabina’s ear, letting her hand linger longer than necessary, finding self-control to not bring her Sabina’s lips to their own in her vulnerable state. Sabina glances upwards at the loss of skin to skin contact, her eyes boring into Lapis’ a longing they’ve long felt between them since the moment they met. Lapis nods in response, a tiny smile tugging at their lips as they bring the washcloth to Sabina’s forehead, brushing the rag against her delicate skin.

Clearing away the blood caked on her skin, Lapis couldn’t place whose it was, Legate’s, their own, holding out hope it wasn’t Sabina’s own blood. Their touch soft and gentle against Sabina, a direction she wasn’t quite used to after all the time she’s spent having to please Legate’s demands with her. She nudges her hand closer to Lapis’ her pinky fingers brushing against Lapis’ own.

Lapis moves their shoulder to place their hand against Sabina’s hand crying out in pain as the wound on their shoulder rages with pain at the sudden movement instantly clutching the wound in their free hand. Sabina’s face tensions with worry as she turns to face them fully moving her hands towards Lapis’ own.

“May I…. help you, Lapis? Please… I learned healing wound techniques from Legate time in war.” Sabina takes the rag from Lapis’ hand, prying it gently from their fingers. After a few seconds, Lapis nods, turning to show Sabina their entire shoulders, parts of their dress ripped where the blade sliced their skin. “Oh no.” Sabina whispers.

“I am fine, Sabina,” Lapis replies starting to turn their shoulder away from her.

“Lapis, please don’t fight me on this. I want...to help you.” She swallows heavily at her own words.

Lapis hesitates a moment before caving, turn back around, “Very well Sabina. I trust you.”

“Good.” Sabina can’t help the grin that takes over her sweet face, she moves her hands to the back of the dress, untying the straps that keep the garment from falling off. She helps Lapis out of the outfit, before dipping the rag into the water beside her. Lapis squeezes the ledge of the tub for support as the frozen water runs down their back over the wound. “Sit still.”

Lapis nods in response, as Sabina continues to clean the wound with the rag. Wiping away the blood, as tears begin to prickle her eyes blurring her vision. Despite this, Sabina continues to work the rag against the wound until her crying starts to become audible.

“I’m sorry.” Sabina whispers resting her face against Lapis’ back, “I did this to you.”

“You did nothing wrong, Sabina. Legate earned all that came to him.” They reassure her quickly, reaching their hand back to rest on her leg, giving her a comforting squeeze. “I would do it again in a heartbeat Sabina. You are safe with me.”

“Safe.” The word feels foreign on her tongue.

“You believe me?” Lapis questions.

“I,” Sabina falls silent thinking over the words. How do you not feel safe with the woman who protected you in a fight against a man with a sword? Lapis defended both of them with common household objects she’s collected over the years with legate. How do you not feel safe with the woman who’s touch feels like heaven and only does it when you approve? How do you not fall in love with the woman who saves your future? “Yes, I feel safe. You make me feel safe, Lapis.”

“I am honored,” Lapis replies hastily.

“How shall tomorrow go?” Sabina questions, returning the rag to Lapis’ skin.

“You will have to trust me. I have thought through a plan should this occur. The staff will recall that you left earlier in the day to spend the night in a healing sanctuary to produce an heir and I will be they who healed you.” Lapis explains, “And then we will enter the manor with bright news and find the servants and authorities discovering Legate’s body and it shall never be traced back to the both of us.”

“Thank you, Lapis.”

The pair turns to face each other, silence between the two of them nothing making any move to break apart from one another. The gentle caress of warmth from their breaths on each other’s skin, Sabina’s lips tingling with desire as she reaches up a hand to rest on Lapis’ face. The latter in turn closes more the distance between their bodies, their arms falling around Sabina’s waist pulling her closer into their form.

“May I kiss you, Sabina?”

Sabina’s eyes flash with shock glancing around the common room, before nodding silently in agreement her eyes fluttering closed as Lapis’ lips meets her own in a soft kiss. Her body melting into the touch, as she lets Lapis’ tongue meet her own searing with desire as she shuffles closer, nearly straddling the other’s lap.

“Sabina.,” Lapis whispers into the kiss. Sabina quickens the pace of the kiss, her hands still warm pressed against Lapis’ skin. Lapis supports her weight in their hands, holding her tightly against her body wanting more and more of them to be touching. The kiss breaks momentarily as the sound of footsteps could be heard from upstairs. Before they could think any further, they break apart Lapis’ hand grabbing Sabina’s in the dark pulling her towards their bedroom. Once confined in their room Lapis backs Sabina up against the door trailing kisses on her jaw eliciting a moan from Sabina.

“Wait... Lapis stop.” Lapis takes a step back.

“Are you alright?” They ask in worry, refraining from reaching out to her in case they hurt her.

“I am. I would prefer we stop for the night. I… don’t think I’m ready for this yet.” She blushes with her words, taking a step towards Lapis encasing their hands in her own. “You mean the world to me, but after this night I don’t suppose I’m ready. If that’s alright.”

“More than alright. Come.” Lapis guides her to the bed, “Rest. You need it. I shall sleep on the floor.”

“No, please.” Sabina pats the bed beside her. “I insist. I need the comfort.”

Lapis nods in agreement and climbs into the bed beside Sabina letting her fall into their arms. They place a kiss to the top of their head, stroking her arm absently as they try to get some rest to prepare for the coming of the day to be. The day Sabina will finally find her freedom and be with them.

#sabina x mc #sabina #playchoices #acor #a courtesan of rome #mc x sabina #choices acor #choices a courtesan of rome #this is not ns*w as it may seem by the gif #you gotta make do sometimes lmao #i haven't found any other good pictures or aesthetics sigh #request #prompt #my writing #you make me feel safe #glowinghelena #kylie jenner? no the better kylie #thats my tag for you let me know if you hate it lmao

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vizhi0n · 7 years

Text

Sawney - Part 37

Chapter Masterlist

@kellyn1604 @i-am-negan-trash @flames-bring-a-ton-of-ash @lucifers-trash-stash @genevievedarcygranger @originalwinchestervamp @curlyhairedblueeyedangel @heartfulloffandoms @hannibalssweaters @jasoncrouse @superprincesspea @strangersangel9 @deviousginga @collette04 @negans-network @gremlinfuck @embracetheapocalypsewithme @jeffreydeanneganstrash @castielwinchester22 @toxic-ink @mypapawinchester @my-achilles--heel @vinylmadwoman @lovingzombiechaos @mcnegan @melodicdolls @moonypetyr @negans-shtten-pants @romeomontvgue @itstotalyblue @darkangel66a @neganswinchesters @jessiellong1987 @crzcorgi @rapsity @kijilinn @imjustmakingsuffupagain @ladylorelitanyfanfiction @fatedwisp @nycktmcginn @backseat-negan @orchiddingme

If you wanna be tagged or untagged lemme know!

HELLLO.

Okay I’m so so sorry for being so annoying with this bc I legit update every day, sometimes twice a day and I don’t want to annoy anyone. So if I am let me know srsly I can take it. But anywho, I hope ya’ll enjoy this chapter. It’s probably one of my favs and I’m super proud of how it turned out. Thank you guys so much for reading - we’re essentially in the final stretch of this fic now.

Warnings: Gore, language. Fun stuff.

“We start moving when the sun sets,” Alpha said. She glanced back down at Carl, then Desa. “We take these two with us.”

“We’re taking the bus, correct?”

“The herd is too far out. No amount of noise will be able to redirect them from our position,” Alpha explained. “The girl is with us, now. We’ll execute the boy if he causes too much trouble. Until then, he is an investment with potential.”

Carl was groaning, holding his ribcage. Dried blood caked his lips and nose. Desa was hovering over the boy, shielding him with her own body as Beta and Alpha surveyed them as if they were prey.

“Load them up.”

Desa and Carl were dragged. The bus was parked by the tree line, its colors old and worn down. The yellow had been sprayed with graffiti, the windows smashed in. One of the Whisperer’s remained up front, while the other two ushered Carl and Desa to their seats.

A shout.

Desa and Carl’s head whipped to the side. They craned their necks, trying to see where the sound had come from.

“That’s my dad!” Carl hissed. One of the Whisperer’s stepped closer, but that didn’t deter Carl from rising to his feet so he could get a better look.

He wasn’t wrong. Rick was standing before Alpha and Beta, an almost casual tilt to his hips. Desa’s eyes narrowed — there was no way he’d come alone. Then again, the man was bold, and stubborn as a mule. He was clearly outnumbered, and the Whisperer’s behind Beta and Alpha had perked up, hands on their weapons.

It had to be a trap.

“Sit down,” one of the Whisperer’s planted a firm hand on Carl’s shoulder, pushing the boy back into the seat.

When Desa turned back to look out the window, something had gone wrong. Whether it was intentional or not, Rick was diving to the ground as bullets began to fly, all coming from the direction of the trees. Desa ducked, before lifting her head to peer out once more.

Alpha and Beta were running. And then, appearing behind Rick, was the one person she’d been longing to see.

“Negan!” Desa screamed as loud as she could. His head whipped to the side and he shouted something. Again, Desa yelled, “Ne—”

She was cut off mid word. One of the Whisperer’s backhanded her, but she snapped forward and clamped down, hard, upon his exposed wrist. Her teeth pierced the skin and he screamed, just as Alpha and Beta burst onto the bus.

“Drive!” Alpha snarled.

Desa released the Whisperer. The bus was assaulted with bullets, and she promptly fell to the floor. Carl did the same. It was too late, and the vehicle was bouncing across the field and towards the main road.

“Shit,” Desa murmured, scrambling to look back out the window. Rick and his people were in pursuit, tearing onto the asphalt in their own vehicles. Not taking her eyes off the road, she shouted to Alpha and Beta, “Nice job choosing a bus! These things are slow as shit!”

The Whisperer she’d bitted yanked her by the hair, into the aisle, and she screamed. Carl lunged but was held back. Beta, the top of his head fully touching the ceiling, began walking over with a scowl on his face.

He drew his knife.

“Easy, Beta,” Alpha said from the front.

Before he could do, well, whatever it was he was going to do, the bus rattled, the impact knocking almost everyone to the floor. An engine revving sounded from outside, and Desa dared a peek outside — a jeep was pushing against the side of the bus, driven by Michonne and a dark-haired girl Desa didn’t recognize.

“Desa!” Carl warned. When she looked up, Beta had regained his footing and was bringing his curved knife down towards her face.

Desa brought her arms up to meet him halfway. The blade pierced her wrists, just a bit, while the rest sliced clean through the rope holding her hands together. She retaliated immediately, aiming for the first part of Beta that she saw — his crotch.

Beta howled. A second of celebration, and then Desa was tackled, cheek connecting brutally hard with the window of the bus. The entire vehicle shifted to the side, driving Michonne and the dark-haired woman off the road and into a ditch.

Gunfire shattered the glass of the back emergency exit. In her peripheral, Desa saw Alpha’s shoulder spewing blood. The Whisperer holding her dropped, a clean hole blown through the side of his head. She immediately began digging through the corpse of the Whisperer, yanking his knife from his belt.

Before Beta could intervene, she began cutting Carl’s bonds. Alpha, holding her wounded shoulder, snarled, “They’re up on top!”

Footsteps pounded from the roof of the bus, and Beta have a roar of frustration. The moment the emergency hatch began to shake, he charged, giving Carl and Desa no time to brace themselves. He batted Carl to the side as if he weighed nothing, seizing Desa by her shirt.

She screamed.

The emergency hatch opened. Negan and Regina dropped to the floor. A Whisperer lunged and Regina blew a hole through his skull, before turning her gun on Alpha.

Beta saw, and he reacted by tossing Desa through the air. She slammed, hard, into Regina, both women crashing to the ground like a pair of bowling pins. Air left Desa’s lung like a vacuum, and she gasped. Her ears rang and she scrunched up her face, inhaling through her nose. Her entire body hurt. So, so terribly bad.

Alpha, the driver, and Beta were the only ones left. She shakily looked over her shoulder and saw Beta advancing on Carl and Negan, dwarfing both with ease. An intimidated look flashed across Negan’s face, and he gripped Lucille tightly.

Regina, dazed from the fall, scrambled to her feet, and to Desa’s horror, Alpha sprung into the isle.

It was over in a second.

Alpha’s knife pierced the side of Regina’s neck, coming out the other end. Blood gushed from the wound and she gurgled, reaching out to grip Alpha’s shoulder. It did nothing, and her knees buckled. Desa turned away in horror, sparing a glance behind her. Beta was backing Negan and Carl towards the emergency exit, footsteps unwavering. He would trap them, and kill them.

So Desa, tearing her eyes away from Regina’s corpse, stood and ran. She threw her full weight against Beta, clinging to his back and doing the only thing she could think of doing — she bit into an exposed sliver of flesh just past his shoulder.

He bellowed, and she saw Negan and Carl scramble towards the emergency hatch. Using the seats as support, Carl went first, lifting himself onto the bus’ roof. The entire time, Desa clung to Beta’s back. She only released him when she felt sinewy flesh come free, her hold on his loosening as blood flooded the back of her throat, making her gag. Her rear hit the floor and she spat out the chunk of meat.

Alpha, wounded, slumped against the wall with a glare on her face. Beta was still bellowing, holding his own wound. Negan took advantage of the opportunity, helping Desa to her feet.

They clambered through the emergency exit, Carl and Desa hauling Negan up with them. Lying flat on their stomachs, Desa glanced over the side and saw herself staring at the flatbed of a truck, Drake’s arm hanging from the driver’s seat.

“That’s our ride,” Negan rumbled. “Jump!”

Two things crossed Desa’s mind: she was afraid of heights, and slamming into the flatbed of a moving truck hurt much, much more than she’d anticipated. She crumpled, knees first, before landing on her back. The truck bounced on its axels as Carl joined, and then Negan.

The bus swerved, suddenly, prompting Drake to serve. Before Desa could say anything, the truck flew from the road, dipping head first into the narrow drainage ditch by the side of the road. Desa, Carl and Negan tumbled from the back before landing in a heap of tangled limbs. Once again, the wind was knocked from Desa’s body, and she felt drain water soak through her clothes.

“Nice job Drake!” Negan bellowed, wincing in pain and holding his shoulder. “Pretty sure I just broke every bone in my fucking body!”

Smoke seeped from the hood, and Drake fell from the drivers seat. The car was cloudy on the inside, the airbags having deployed, full force.

“Sorry,” Drake groaned, falling to his knees and holding his head. His eyes fell across Carl, and he said, “Shit, uh…the kid isn’t moving.”

Desa immediately flipped Carl onto his back. She checked his pulse — he was unconscious.

“Shit, shit, shit,” Negan groaned, staggering to his feet. His head whipped back and forth. “Where the fuck are they?”

“Got caught up by biters. A bunch flooded the road. We were so far ahead…,” Drake trailed off. “We need to move. Like, now. They’re coming.”

Groans filled the air. Gurgling, gasping groans that made Desa’s blood run cold. She felt Carl’s cheeks, checking his pulse once more out of instinct. She grabbed his hat from where it had fallen, placing it atop her head before hooking her arms beneath him.

“I’m not saying it’s the right thing to do, but we could, you know, leave the kid,” Drake wiped blood from his forehead. “Uh, shit.”

A few biters toppled into the drainage ditch, landing with a splash. Negan squeezed Desa’s shoulder and said, “I’ve got him.”

Drake drew his gun and fired, downing a biter. Negan, holding Carl in a vice grip, began limping towards the woods. Another biter fell, then another, flooding the ditch.

“Drake, cmon!” Desa shouted.

Another gunshot. Then Drake turned and began limping, his movements slower than Negan. Getting out of the ditch was going to be difficult. They were all wounded, to some degree. Drake fired, and fired, occasionally glancing over his shoulder, before a biter yanked at his shirt.

“Drake!”

“Go!” Drake waved an arm as Negan, Carl in his arms, crawled up the steep, muddy slope. When he lost his footing and nearly fell, Desa began pushing him from behind. Drake was still fighting, attempting to keep them at bay — it wasn’t working, and with a final shove, he turned and limped with vigor from the ditch, Desa in tow.

They were still overrun. The biters looped in from the right, hobbling towards what they assumed to be their next meal. Desa wiped mud and sweat from her brow, cursing. Beside her, Negan repositioned Carl in her arms.

All of a sudden, his face paled.

“Drake?”

“What?”

“Your neck.”

Desa’s first instinct was to do nothing. She just stared. The bite mark was bleeding, but it was a bite mark, right above his collarbone.

And Drake, like her, did nothing. He just glanced down at the wound, and then glanced at Negan, acknowledging the horrified look on his face, and then at Desa.

“Tis’ but a scratch.”

“This…is not the time to be quoting Monty Python,” Desa said hollowly. “Drake…”

He just shrugged. He turned back towards the tide of biters, extending a hand and gesturing for Desa and Negan to get back.

“Go. Seriously. I’ll handle this.”

“Drake, we’re not leaving—”

“I’m giving you guys time. Being the hero or whatever,” Drake drew his knife and advanced. Over his shoulder, he called, “Take the kid and get out of here. And don’t die.”

Then, he began yelling. Waving his arms and his knife. The biters point of interest changed in that very moment, and they began shifting towards Drake as he hooted and howled and swung his knife, slowly inching towards the woods.

“C’mon,” Negan murmured. “Desa, let’s go.”

“I can’t—”

“You have to leave him. Let him go.”

Desa’s feet carried her, mind blank. Every once and a while she’d turn, watching Drake advancing farther and farther into the woods. The fifth time Desa looked back, she could see the color of his clothes and the glint of his knife. His hoots and howls had transformed into shrieks of agony. Teeth tore chunks away from his flesh, the dead descending upon him like a swarm of bees. His cries eventually became gurgles.

And then, there was nothing left.

#vizhi0nw #negan

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raspberrybitters · 7 years

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I Spent Like 3 Days Writing About Food

Killing time waiting for my roommate to get out of the fucking bathroom, and thought I’d make a list of friendly foods that have gotten me through some shitty times, because these past few days have been rough and I haven’t wanted to eat anything. Granted, I’m a chubby little pig right now, but for my entire adult life thus far I was able to remain vaguely sane and underweight on these foods without having to give in to anorexia and bulimia craziness.

The categories within are:

General philosophies about food that kept me alive and sane during my thin days + which will hopefully return me to those days shortly

Dishes for eating with others

Food to make up my daily intake otherwise

Things to put on other food that won’t add much intake but will make it more nutritious, if I do have to eat something I don’t really like/feel safe about

Emergency “I’m gonna faint please help me” food.

General Food Philosophies That Have Helped Me

Eat more fish.

Experiment with different fish-based dishes. Even dehyrdated fish made into a stock/broth is helpful and more nutritious than a dang bullion cube. Plus, dried fish are very easy to weigh out and portion, so you know exactly what you’re eating. (I do recommend lightly cooking them first with just a little bit of oil, to make the broth more even/less sour tasting.)

Basically, I’m saying that if you don’t like fish now, there is a way to find fish prepared in a way you do like. It has saved my ass so many times.

Be proactive about allergies.

I’m allergic to a lot of uncooked produce (Google “oral allergy syndrome”), but I used to just eat it anyway because it was healthy. Stop doing that if you do! You’ll feel like shit and everyone will associate you with weird allergies, henceforth making you the “weird food issues friend.”

Further, when I didn’t pay attention to my allergies, I became afraid of any food that I might be allergic to. I was definitely unable to eat cherries, so I was cautious around fruit, and then any kind of sweet plant-based food. I ended up limiting myself to bland starches and just not eating because I didn’t want to eat large amounts of those, either.

Pay attention to what you don’t like. There are foods around you that you only eat because they’ve always been a part of your life and everyone around you seems to like them.

When I realized it was usually just the least offensive combination of bread and cheese (North American problems, right?) that I was eating and perhaps I just didn’t like the vegetables and etc. that came with this type of diet because of the seasonings and styles of preparing food common in my area and culture, I realized I could eat all sorts of planets pickled. That made things MUCH easier because I had one extra safe food, rather than just not eating at all.

Dishes

This isn’t exactly what I eat when left to my own devices, but oftentimes I will have people over and I’ll want to be a good host and feed them. It’s a bit weird to cook for people but not eat with them… plus, one of the best things about food is that they have a social component, and I personally try to maintain a social appreciation of food as much as possible, despite having a fucked up relationship with it.

I’m not suggesting any building a dinner party around this list, but they are good for feeding your friends and talking over a nice plate. Plus, if you ever bring a friend home and they’re extremely drunk/sick, you will 100% need to feed them. (This happens to me a lot…)

Bugeoguk

Dehydrated pollack and garlic stir fried in a little toasted sesame oil; 7 cups of boiling water + half a sliced up Korean radish, daikon, black radish, or similar fleshy-kinda radish with white insides; keep on boil for 20-30 minutes. Add some sort of salty liquid (fish sauce, soy sauce with extra salt to take out the sweetness… or something else, idk), then add egg and wait for it to cook. Then add green onion. You win!

This soup helps everyone. I add lots of hot pepper flakes and gochujang (hot pepper paste) to the broth because I like to make my nose run. My nose has bled as a result of my love for spice before.

With the amount of gochujang I add, I can usually get four bowls out of it for about 200 calories a bowl, and giving your guest rice with it makes it more filling.

Egg whites in/over bell pepper, plus hella green onions and whatever kind of hot pepper paste you have

GIANT FUCKING SALADS.

For some reason they seem fancy and make people happy. They’re not fancy. I get the nice canned pink salmon (like the spendy kind, bc I can’t be fucked to cook it myself), bean sprouts, greens, sesame seeds or sunflower seeds, and something kind of sweet (maybe walnuts, maybe Mandarin orange slices, etc.).

Squirting some lemon juice and water into a kind of slurry worked fine for a dressing for me because I’m not really into dressing and I don’t think my friends have ever cared either. I’m 99% sure salad dressing is a myth. Anyway, people are always like, “ooh, what a nice salad!”

If you bring someone home drunk, make them ramen, add two eggs while it’s cooking (broken or unbroken doesn’t matter. It’ll just mean you may have to feel and crush up a slightly boiled egg), put in hella green onion and nutmeg, and serve.

If they want you to eat with them, you can drink some of the broth with just one of the eggs and seem extremely normal.

Beef (or very savory substitute, but I am 100% opposed to putting chicken in here for some reason), pepper paste, rice wrapped in lettuce.

People love shit you have to wrap before you eat. You participate by just not using as much ingredients within the lettuce.

Day-to-day Food

Here you can see how much fucking sodium I must ingest every day.

Hardboiled eggs, whites only

Give yolk to nearest animal if possible. Always made my family dog’s coat really shiny. (Of course, don’t give them too much, or they’ll get fat and have heart problems or… whatever it is that too many eggs do to you. I can’t remember. But it’s something.)

Berries

But I must be careful! I’m allergic to some fruits and it isn’t fun. I used to be able to eat kiwis and now they make my mouth super itchy… so perhaps someday this list item will be no more. My body seems to hate fruit. :(

Pickled ginger

Pickled radish (all kinds, including the very cute pickled watermelon radish)

Any vegetable that I’m not allergic to + gochujang

Straight lettuce or bean sprouts, rinsed well

Add To Any Food

Add to any dish if you need to make it healthier or bulkier without adding too much to your daily intake.

Bean sprouts

Example: if everyone at the office is eating some sort of sub sandwich and it would be strange not to, just cut the bad ingredients in half and ask for a ton of bean sprouts

Egg whites

Kelp and/or dried (not roasted) seaweed, while cooking

Emergency

When you feel very unwell or know you will only get one chance to eat that day and would like to keep your metabolism up.

Rice topped with toasted sesame oil

Rice with bell peppers (chopped), egg whites (beaten first if necessary, then scrambled with peppers), and green onions

Steak

Hear me out, pals. I know steak is what clogs arteries and ugh, the idea of eating cows, etc., etc., but there is a Chipotle every two feet in my city. (I’m only exaggerating a teeny bit.) If I’m out and about with friends and get extremely lightheaded or something, there is a good chance they’ll be all like ~*~Chipotle, let’s go, why not, it’s lunch, it’s predictable, it’s never bad!~*~ and you can get steak alone. It’ll fix you.

Further, I feel like I could just buy the cubed steak from them and eat it as I’m walking around and my friends would just think it was a quirk.

#hazel lives

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jaeminlore · 7 years

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I Just Wanna // Lee Taeyong

the prompt: I would like to request/suggest two song based scenarios, the 1st one based on “I just wanna make love to you” with Taeyong.

words: 1195

category: fluffy fluff

author note: i realize the chorus is kinda angst so i cut the entire chorus bc i wanted to write a husband!taeyong fluff. also i’m a pure bean so there is no love making in this. rather, it’s about the little things that make love so attractive to us :)

- destinee

i am so very soft for this boy

“I don’t want you to be a slave. I don’t want you to work all day, but I want you to be true. And I just wanna make love to you.”

You straightened the files you had just organized and placed them in a drawer before sitting down at your desk to work on your designs.

You were a graphic designer for a famous company. It was your dream job, and although you were working long hours, you couldn’t be more happier.

As you opened photoshop, you felt two arms wrap around your shoulders and a pair of lips pressing against your temple. “Hey, love.”

Your heart fluttered like it always did when he called you that, although you were surprised as to why your husband had visited you so randomly during the day.

“What are you doing here?” You asked, spinning your chair around to look up at Taeyong. His dark eyes were boring into yours, a small smirk on his face.

“Can’t I come by to see my wife whenever I want?” He asked. “Besides, you’ve been working so much that I wanted to make sure you were still alive and breathing.”

You giggled. “I’m alive. We’ve just been really busy with this new product. I’ve been trying to make a logo for it that will please my boss. Do you want to see?”

“Can I?” Taeyong asked. He waited while you turned around, and leaned over your shoulder. He watched you pull up your designs and smiled to himself, seeing your talent.

“Which is your favorite?” You asked.

Taeyong hummed, thinking. “They’re all so good, but the red one is the most eye-catching.”

“I think so too,” you said, leaning on your palm and sighing, “but my boss doesn’t like any of them.”

Taeyong spun your chair around, meeting your gaze with puppy dog eyes and a pout. “Why not? Your designs are beautiful.”

You shrugged. You were already stressed by the fact that your boss turned down all of your ideas. “I’m supposed to stay here until I design one he likes, so expect me to be home late.”

Taeyong leant his forehead against yours. “I wanna be with you, though.”

“I know,” you whispered. “I’ll be home as soon as I can, so wait for me.”

Taeyong responded by pecking your lips over and over, a surefire way to get you to smile.

Sure enough, you giggled and squealed quietly in protest as he smiled against your lips, his own laughter spilling out.

“Taeyong, I’m at work,” you said through giggles.

He obliged, choosing to just go back to resting his head against yours. A content smile appeared on his lips. “I love you, Y/n.”

“I love you, Taeyong.” You craned your head to return his smile. “Now go back to practice so I can work.”

“Fine,” he rolled his eyes playfully. “Come home soon.”

“I will,” you promised.

“All I want you to do is to bake your bread just to make sure that you’re well fed. I don’t want you sad and blue, I just wanna make love to you.”

You arrived home at eight o'clock in the evening. Your boss had finally chosen one of your designs, albeit with a nonchalant attitude as if he was just settling for one of your designs. This discouraged you, since you had worked your butt off to design those logos.

You hung up your bag and your coat, feeling your shoulders droop with the weight of your stress. “Tae? Are you home from practice?” You called for your husband, shuffling out of the vestibule and into the living room.

“I’m in here, love!” Taeyong’s voice called from the kitchen.

You walked into the kitchen slowly and felt your cheeks warm at your husband’s bare back facing you. He was already washed up for the night, wearing only his sweatpants. His hair was slightly wet, and you smiled fondly, knowing that he had always liked it when you dried his hair.

You shuffled forward and wrapped your arms around his torso, pressing your nose into the space between his shoulder blades and inhaling softly. “Hey. What’re you making?”

He chuckled. “Just some grilled meat and rice.”

“Yay,” you mumbled, still cuddled into his back. “I haven’t eaten since breakfast.”

You could hear the scolding tone in Taeyong’s voice. “I should’ve asked you earlier today. Why didn’t you tell me?”

You shrugged, “It slipped my mind. It’s okay. I had a banana a few hours ago.”

“That’s not enough,” Taeyong said. “Why don’t you go take a warm shower while I finish cooking?”

“M'kay,” you said, liking the sound of some warm water to relax your sore muscles.

You walked upstairs slowly, already missing the natural warmth of your husband’s body.

When you came downstairs, your hair freshly dried and your comfy pajamas, Taeyong was just placing the food down on your coffee table, along with two cups of soda.

You sat down on the sofa and accepted the chopsticks Taeyong handed to you.

He kissed you on the forehead, obviously seeing how tired you were. “Let’s eat.”

You didn’t have to be told twice. You grabbed a spoonful of rice and a slice of beef and stuck it in your mouth. “Thank you so much,” you said as soon as the food hit your tastebuds. “I know you practice late, so it means a lot to me that you’d make dinner.”

Taeyong took a bite of food for himself before reaching over and patting your knee softly. “Practices haven’t been too extreme lately. I’m happy to do something for you every now and then. I wish I could do more for you.”

After that, the two of you watched whatever drama was on the television. Not much talking went on between you, save for occasional laughter or a comment about the show.

You ate quickly, not enough to choke on your food, but enough to be done with your meal within fifteen minutes. You sat back against the cushions and let your eyelids drop while Taeyong finished his supper.

You barely heard Taeyong’s voice as he whispered, “Aw, couldn’t stay awake, could you?”

You felt his arms slip under your knees and back and wrapped your arms around his neck as he picked you up bridal style. “Let’s go to sleep.”

“What about the clean up?” You mumbled.

“We ate all the food,” Taeyong whispered comfortingly. “I’ll get the dishes in the morning.”

“What about practice in the morning?”

“I’m off the next two days,” Taeyong said. “So we can spend a lot of time together.”

“Yay,” you said happily, albeit sleepily.

Taeyong chuckled at your exhaustion. When he reached your bedroom, he laid you down on your side before crawling in after you.

He pulled your back against his chest until he was spooning you, his nose in the crook of your neck.

He pressed a soft kiss to your shoulder. “I’m sorry I can’t show you how much I love you all the time, Y/n.”

Although you weren’t replying, he knew you were listening by the way you kept squeezing his hand reassuringly.

“Sometimes I feel like you can do anything, and you don’t need me. So I often forget to show you how much I love you. But I want you to know, Y/n, I love you so much.”

You squeezed his hand once more and sighed contently. “I love you, too.”

The two of you fell asleep together, listening to the peaceful sounds of each other’s breathing.

~the end~

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