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randomingoftherandomness · 4 years ago

Note

Prompt! WKX is an omega who's been suppressing his heats for years with the help of Aunt Luo. When he leaves the Ghost Valley, his heat comes unexpectedly because of prolonged suppressant use. Alpha!ZZS helps. Smut or not, up to you.

A/N: I see Omega WKX and just like that it’s on like donkey kong 😝 No smut for this one though I may revisit this. I had to take a pause in writing the Smut Dialogue Prompts because I had to work for my Taobao WoH merch money. But keep sending them in!

I place this fic as taking place somewhere on the journey to the Longyue Cabinet.

This fic is longer than I had anticipated...

—

It hits him that he’s out of tea three days into the constant discomfort of aches on the base of his spine, the almost debilitating need to scent Chengling as if he was his young, and the embarrassing urge to bare his neck to the Old Toad Monster whenever they argue. But above all that, the most mortifying thing of all is the distracting awareness of where his Ah Xu was at every given moment and the insanity that rages through him to kneel and submit to him even when the man still looks at him with nothing but a suspicion that makes him want to keen and whine.

Wen Kexing is supposed to be above all this, not just as the Lord of the Ghost Valley, but as someone who is trying to prove to this Alpha that he was the right--

He perishes the thought before it can even finish.

The nondescript brocade pouch is empty save for a few remnant leaves that would barely be enough to tide him through even the first hour of what’s coming next. It’s fine, he tries to reason through the rising panic in his mind that this was missing the mark of ‘fine’ and hitting the bullseye of ‘you’re completely fucked’. This blend is unique to Aunt Luo’s stores and if Ah Xiang was still by his side, she would have a backup pouch for him. As a Beta, she would have no need for it herself.

Unbidden, the memories of the scant few times he had let his Heats run their course comes flooding through him; the pain and ache of being untouched, unfulfilled, the taste of blood and sweat as he rides through the terror of his heart burning through the fever, the fear of that lone door being broken down by some crazed Alpha and being mated against his will. He remembers the rawness of his throat for weeks after, screaming and crying for that boy who balanced a cricket on his head and promised him good food when he could come home with him.

Wen Kexing swallows tightly around the knot of emotions drumming thick in his throat. It’s an old fear and it is the nightmare that he has survived and lived through by the grace of Aunt Luo’s protection. He’d presented early; far too early by the sounds of Aunt Luo’s recollections and the theory was that the trauma of his parent’s deaths coupled with the Mengpo Soup being administered to someone so young, was the cause of things.

“Lao Wen?”

“Hm?” He quickly plasters on a smile, blinking up at his Ah Xu before darting his gaze somewhere over his shoulder instead. This is dangerous.

He’s sweating through his inner robes and it won’t be long now before his scent draws every Alpha in the 15 mile radius from where they are in the forest. He finds himself simultaneously surprised and disappointed that Ah Xu has barely reacted to his scent when the Old Toad Monster had taken a sniff at him this morning and declared that he was taking Chengling along with that strange child-man off their hands for a few days.

It’s ridiculous and he reminds himself that he has nothing to fear when Ah Xu has been nothing but courteous this entire time even when knowing from the beginning that he was an Omega with a bloodlust that could fill entire oceans.

“Lao Wen, are you alright?” Ah Xu asks. Wen Kexing looks at him then; meets his gaze and decides it is all or nothing at this point. Should Ah Xu say no, he won’t press, he won’t push and he won’t beg. His heart will break but that wouldn’t be anything new.

He has survived worse things than a broken heart.

“I’m going into Heat,” He admits, eyes fixed on Ah Xu, gaze strong and unwavering. “It’s going to be bad because I’ve been on suppressants and I need you to know this.”

Ah Xu remains impassive, quiet and still, before he asks gently, “So what are your plans?”

The words twinge something awful in his chest and he forces himself to keep smiling. “Find an Alpha. Pay for one if I must. The last Heat I went through was horrible and I nearly died. I’m not keen to repeat the experience,” He inhales and finds himself stuttering on the sour scent of... Anger? Jealousy?

Ah Xu’s tells are still things he is learning but even with this shallow pool of knowledge, Wen Kexing can tell that he is displeased.

His immediate instinct is to go on his knees, wrap his arms around that slender waist and rub his cheek to his belly until that cold, unhappy scent sweetens into something warm again. But he restrains himself, tries to stand his ground even when he can feel the quickening of his heart demanding that he submit, he surrender, he give himself over to his Alpha; to just reach out and touch and kiss and love and be loved--

“Am I not enough?”

The slow enunciation of the syllables breaks through the cacophony in his mind. Wen Kexing thinks he must be dreaming and half convinces himself that this is some Heat wrought dream, and that there is no way that Zhou Zishu would ever--

Careful hands hold him by the cheeks, wrists placed close to the corners of his lips and he can almost taste the way he can be owned and marked and belong to this Alpha. This same Alpha who is looking at him with eyes of liquid gold and is saying, “Lao Wen, please let me share your Heat with you.”

“But you...” He trails off.

“Me?”

“You haven't even reacted to me,” Wen Kexing says a little dumbly, body swaying into the promise of an embrace.

On that, Ah Xu smiles a little wryly. His hands move, trailing fingers southwards to rest right against Wen Kexing’s nape. The heat of his palm, right over where a Bond Mark should be shouldn’t be this thrilling, but the promise that is etched in the heady weight of his gaze is enough to steal a soft whine from the cages of his ribs.

“It’s the Nails. I’m slowly losing my senses. I can’t smell much anymore,” Ah Xu admits with a gentle press of his fingers to sweat slick skin for the briefest of a moment, before pulling away, huffing with fondness. “Was that what worried you? That I wasn’t reacting to you? I thought I’d held your hands enough times and touched you more than was appropriate. Even Senior Ye could tell.”

The gentle whining that comes from within him builds into something needy that bellies the spreading damp on his inner clothes.

“I won’t force you to do anything you don’t want to,” Ah Xu says, leaning in to press their cheeks together. When he speaks again, his words come on heated breath that has Wen Kexing spreading his legs, letting him occupy the space between them. “But I can say this. If you spend your Heat with me, I won’t hurt you, I’ll make it so good for you. I promise you won’t remember all the Alphas you’ve shared them with before.”

Wen Kexing bites down on his lip and ducks his eyes. Ah Xu has never been so forward and yet, with just these few sentences, he has turned his entire world axis on its head. “There weren’t ever any other Alphas,” He confesses in a quiet rush. “I...”

“You’ve never...?” Ah Xu’s eyes widen.

“Never. I’ve never trusted anyone enough.”

Ah Xu seems to ponder on this. “And now?”

Wen Kexing closes his eyes, surrendering to the need to press his brow to Ah Xu’s strong shoulder. The need prickles deep in his groin and he knows Ah Xu can feel it even through the folds of his robes. There is no mistaking where this will go and Wen Kexing finds that there is no fear in this desire.

Here was his Alpha, the one who will catch him when he falls. Here is the one he had chosen as a child when the world was bright. Here he is for him to love, to hold, to cherish.

Beyond any measure of rhyme and reason, Wen Kexing knows that even if this is the only Heat he ever gets to share with him, it will be enough. “You’re it for me,” He says softly, pouring every bit of sincerity and honesty into those words. Even if Ah Xu still suspects him, even if he never loves him the way Wen Kexing has loved him for a lifetime, he has been Zhou Zishu’s Omega from the very beginning.

Whatever Ah Xu finds on his face must be enough, because their lips meet, at first, in an inelegant kiss that was too much teeth that clacked and bump, and then again, in a kiss that was half-laughter and many parts delight.

“Then, let me take care of you,” Ah Xu says, thumb tracking the curve of his jaw, pressing his body close.

Wen Kexing shudders, hands moving to hold him by the waist.

“Alright.”

#wenzhou #word of honor #gab writes stuff #wen kexing #zhou zishu #this was hella longer than I had anticipated #it's the heat verse

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uniquevocashark · 4 years ago

Text

Tea and Ice Lattes

Part 2

tw cussing and mentions of pain

...

Rosalyn relieves you of work immediately after the Countess leaves, and Maxwell spreads the salve on you before you can bloody your cheek.

“Hey,” he snaps his fingers in front of you and you jolt upright. “Hey, stay with us.”

You look around and find that the back room is trashed, the chairs thrown about and the table flipped over. Rosalyn has your arm trapped against the wall, your fingers twitching back and forth. You open your mouth to speak but your jaw aches so bad you snap it shut.

“Here.” Rosalyn murmurs, and spreads a bit more salve on your face. Your eyes water but the pain fades eventually. “You should go home until this heals.” She counsels, letting go of your arm slowly.

You rub your cheek and wince.

It takes longer to heal than you think it should.

The first three days you’re never far from an ice pack and you burn through three quarters of the salve before the pain cools. Rosalyn checks up on you those days, often with jars or bowls that someone left for you at the store of foods so soft you can suck them up a straw. After that, Maxwell takes her place, though he doesn’t stay long.

A week after your incident, he comes by with a large purple box, wrapped with a ribbon softer than anything you had in your house. The card stuck to it was equally as soft and shone like spun silver under the light.

“Hey,” You greeted him, “What the fuck is this?”

“Yeah.” He laughed uncomfortably, then handed the box over. It’s too large to fit under your arm, so you end up carrying it like a forklift with your arms out and palms up. You wonder how he even managed to carry it up the stairs, let alone fit it through the doorways.

Your name is written in large, loopy cursive on the letter, in letters too large to have been comfortable to write with a normal sized hand. “Do I need to worry about this?”

“Oh, nah,” He shrugged, “We did the cat test, and it turned out fine.”

“The cat test?”

“Yeah, the cat test.”

“Elaborate, please?”

“It’s an old superstition about the Dimitrescu’s. Nothing dangerous,” He assures you when you look at the box suspiciously, “We rubbed a couple cats on it.”

“You rubbed cats on the box?”

“Yeah. We held them up like Simba and rubbed them on the box.”

“Alright then,” You say, “Which one is it from?”

“I don’t know,” He paused, checking his watch, “hey, I gotta go. Adrian and I are going on a lunch date.”

“Oh, right. Have fun!”

“Yeah. See you later.”

…

By nightfall, after you’ve managed a dinner of chicken nuggets and creamed corn, you still haven’t opened the box. It’s very picturesque unopened, like those aesthetic photos you see sometimes. The letter, too, is very nice, with a proper wax seal to close it.

It smells distinctly like the Countess, which makes your face itch so badly you have to flee to the kitchen and get the salve to calm yourself down. You make yourself a coffee. It isn’t a good thing to do, especially so late at night, but you drain two cups before you can force yourself back into the lounge.

The letter isn’t anything special though, or particularly harmful. It’s a long three pages of an obvious copy paste offering all kinds of platitudes and condolences that don’t really have anything to do with you. The only thing of note is the handwritten note at the end, which differs from the mechanical writing of the letter with thick cursive in red ink.

To whom it may concern,

I hope this gift will convince my errant daughter that my apologies to you are sincere, and that I didn’t mean any truly debilitating harm to a lovely creature like yourself.

With my full regards,

Countess Dimitrescu

“Creepy.” You say to no one and through the letter back on the table.

You take the lid of the box and are met with a mountain of velvet. Beneath the lilac layers is a set of teacups and a finely filigreed book. The book is an 1898 version of Bram Stoker’s Dracula, which is a little on the nose, considering the Dimitrescu family history.

The teacups though are too large for you, more like a soup cup than anything, painted delicately on each of the sides are birds. One depicts a duck, another a hummingbird, and another a kingfisher. They’re a little impractical, especially since you don’t drink tea, but they are lovely.

Hidden in one of the teacups is a bundle of duck fluff and feathers and a small portrait of a very happy duck in a finely made suit.

…

You decide to treat the teacups like a white elephant, because they are no doubt expensive, and you want to have them sit around for a little bit before you use them. The book is even worse to look after, because you have no idea how to keep it pristine and end up keeping it along with the duck portrait in the box.

Thursday rolls through with a lazy breeze and light snow. It’s spring, and the icicles on your windows are a little smaller than they were yesterday. Maxwell comes by practically glowing, and he spends the walk to work gushing over his boyfriend. They went a town over to have lunch, where the place was built half in the woods and half out of it.

You’re barely into the rhythm of work before you’re swamped. It is nice to be able to do something again, that isn’t scratch your cheek and watching the same series for the fourth time, so despite the heavy work load you find yourself smiling.

Today must be a special day too, because Alcina walks in around one, wearing a perfect purple pantsuit and sleek black and red heels. She seems surprised to see you, and her smile is more genuine than she usually directs at other people.

“You’re better.” She says by way of greeting, leaning forward more so than usual as she stands at the counter.

“I am!” You smile, straightening your apron, “Your usual today?”

Her chest gives a little peep. You peek lower than you usually would and see a duckling in the fold of her jacket, its beak peeking between her fingers. Alcina clears her throat, her smile a little more sheepish, “That was a yes.”

Her duck peeps again and she remains by the counter, watching you make the drinks.

“Archibald,” You hear her admonish quietly, her voice thick and disappointed, “That is very naughty, young man.”

Archibald peeps quietly again, and it sounds cheeky. You glance over and see Archibald held to her eye level, her lips pursed, and eyes narrowed.

“Are you taking it to go?” You ask after a second, not sure if interrupting is rude or not.

“No,” She says calmly, at odds with the face she gives her duckling, “Here is fine.”

You look at her a second longer, the way her face isn’t drawn or tight. Alcina languidly strokes the top of Archibald’s head, and she seems calmer than the last time you say her.

She catches your eye, “Yes?”

“Oh, nothing.” You smile and she looks away.

…

“I wanted to ask a question.” Alcina says as she comes up to pay.

“Yes?” You reply.

“Would you accompany me to an event this weekend?”

You deposit the money into the till. You weren’t, precisely, busy. Being cooped up at home for the week with nothing to do meant that you had powered through your household chores. Archibald, as if he could sense you debating, waddled towards you on the counter and shook his little tail feathers. He was from a large breed, almost twice as large as your hand, and he nudged at your fingers until you pet him gently.

“If it’s on Saturday, then yes.” You say.

Her fingers shook for a second and her voice was smooth as cream as she whipped a pair of black glasses onto her face. “Excellent. I’ll pick you up at ten on Saturday?”

“From the store,” You say quickly.

Alcina scooped Archibald into her hands, “Yes! Yes, of course.”

You gave her the receipt. “I’ll see you Saturday then.”

“Yes, Saturday.”

She strode from the store more quickly than you’ve ever seen her move. You looked at Maxwell and he looked at you before cracking a smile.

“Holy shit.” He laughed, “She asked you out.”

“I guess she did.” You say lightly.

He wiggled his eyebrows. “Somebody has a crush.”

You flip him off.

#alcina dimitrescu #lady dimitrescu #lady dimitrescu x reader #tea and ice lattes #my writing #duck finally returns #coffee shop AU

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es-kay-zee · 4 years ago

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This Is How We Fall - Chapter 1

pairing: hyunjin x female reader

genres: angst, smut, maybe occasional fluff, lots of religious overtones, fantasy au, slowburn (or at least an attempt at it)

warnings: none

word count: 2.7k

taglist: @jisungsplatforms @etherealeeknow @qtieskz (if you wanna be added let me know)

proofread: definitely not

a/n: this took me longer to write than i thought it would, but oh well. let me know what you guys think of it :)

____________________

You’re going to die.

That’s all you can think as you plummet through the sky at record speed. The only thought in your head is about your imminent death. And the only thing you can feel is the burning. You don’t have a chance to think about anything else as the pain emanates from your entire body. Your skin feeling as it it’s been ignited with the flames of Hell. The pain is debilitating, it cripples you to the point where you can’t even scream.

Time seems to slow around you, your Fall feeling as if it’s lasting several millennia. You’re just Falling silently as you wait for it all to be over. You wait for your body to go up in flames, for your pain to end. And when flames steadily begin to engulf your wings, you think it’s finally going to be over. The flames dance along your wings, devouring every feather in their path. And you can feel every single one. You can feel every single feather be consumed by the flames. You can feel the way each and every one is turned to dust and scattered in your wake. It’s only a matter of moments before every feather is gone and all that’s left is the charred and blackened remains of your wings.

You expect the flames to engulf the rest of your body, but they don’t. Instead, they die down, slowly shrinking until they disappear completely. The flames are gone, and along with them, the burning. You feel nothing. Hollow. Empty. There’s nothing but an absence of anything as your descent continues. But there’s something about the moment that feels almost calming. As if you no longer have to worry about anything.

Until you hit the ground with a loud crash, and it feels as if every bone in your body breaks upon impact. You wish the impact could have killed you, anything to stop the pain. But that’s not possible. Only a Blade of a Divine can kill an Angel. All the crash provides is a fresh new wave of pain to every nerve ending in your body, but worse than the ache that you can feel everywhere, is the burning of your lungs. The dust from the ground swirls all around you, dancing in the rays of sunlight. It fills the air, fills your lungs, and it burns almost as bad as the flames did.

Your mind screams at you to stand up and figure out where you are, but it’s several minutes before you can even move your fingertips. Slowly, oh so slowly, you manage to sit up, opening your eyes and squinting at your surroundings. The first thing you see is the dust that’s still floating around you, particles coming to a rest upon your skin. The air starts to clear, and you can see trees. An endless sea of trees all around you. A dark, lifeless sea. The trees are dead, dying at best, only a few leaves clinging onto the otherwise bare branches. Those few leaves are dark, sad, not even lit up with the colours of autumn.

You look down, trying to figure out what you landed on, because it sure hurt a lot worse than dirt. Beneath you, you find a cement altar table, upon which rests the cracked indent of your body. Around the edge of the altar table grows flowers, just as dead as the trees. The surround the altar table, acting as a gloomy autumnal-toned barricade between your landing place and the rest of the world around you. And as you gaze down at the colourless flowers, you start to wonder if, perhaps, that is just how all plants grow here. If they’re not actually dead, but they simply appear as if they are. You reach down for a petal, expecting to find it dry, but instead it’s soft, delicate, full of a life that is just not visible.

You slowly rise to your feet, being sure to step over the line of flowers as not to trample them. They’re beautiful, in their own way, and there’s something special, about them being the first thing you’ve touched in this new place, that you will always hold dear to you. Finally standing, it takes everything not to collapse back down to the ground. Your body and mind both feel heavy, as if they’re being weighed down with bricks. Willpower. That’s what you need as you stumble closer to the trees. If you weren’t so determined to figure out more about where you are, then you wouldn’t’ve had the strength to will your legs to carry you. But you are determined, and that’s what carries you as you make your way through the seemingly never-ending forest. It’s not easy, you’re weak and tired, but you push through. You have no idea where you’re going, or what you’re going to find, but whatever it is has to be better than nothing.

It’s about an hour before the exhaustion gets too much, and all you’ve managed to find in that time is a small clearing containing another altar table. It’s strange, you would’ve thought you’d somehow just travelled in a circle if it weren’t for this altar table being smooth. It’s undamaged, free of any blemishes. It’s clear that you didn’t land here. It’s surrounded by another ring of gloomy flowers, and the untarnished surface is the only indication that you’re not exactly where you stared.

You step towards the altar table, again being sure not to tread on any of the flowers before taking refuge on the cement surface. It’s cold, the chill from the cement seeping through your clothing, turning your skin icy as you lay down upon it. It’s only for a moment, you tell yourself. You’re only allowing yourself a moment to rest your weary body before continuing on your journey to find something, anything that lets you know you’re not the only being here. But as your eyelids start to droop, you tell yourself that maybe a little bit longer will be beneficial. That perhaps a short nap will provide you enough strength to travel further.

‧͙⁺˚*･༓☾ ☽༓･*˚⁺‧͙

The alarm blares obnoxiously through the room, reverberating off each of the walls. It’s been a long time since the siren’s gone off, months since this sound has echoed down these halls. The young man jumps up from his seat, running over towards the map. He sees two markers pinging in the forest, small lights flashing at both points. It’s only a matter of moments before the room is filled with other people too, all surrounding the young man looking at the map. He’s shocked that there’s two pings, never before has that happened. He’s quick to divide the gathered group into two teams, instructing the first to search one site and the other to search the second.

Within minutes of being given instructions, the teams are setting out on their assigned missions. It takes them each several hours to reach their destinations, the places being some of the furthest away from the palace. The first team arrives at the first location, and are shocked to find no one there, just a broken altar table and no signs as to which way the person travelled. The second team yielded better results, finding someone sleeping restfully upon the concrete. They try waking her, with no luck. So instead, they opt to just carry her all the way back. She sleeps the entire way, not stirring even once from her deep slumber.

They make it back to the palace, walking through the quiet halls, carrying her towards one of the sleeping chambers. She’s placed on the bed, showing no signs of life other than her steady breathing. Even though it’s unlikely that she’ll wake up, everyone is quiet as the file back out of the room. She’s exhausted, the Fallen always are when they first show up. The young man enters the room, holding a blanket in his arms. He drapes it over the sleeping person, being sure to cover their entire body. He pauses for a moment, taking in the beauty of her face, before quietly exiting the room, allowing her to sleep until she’s recovered.

‧͙⁺˚*･༓☾ ☽༓･*˚⁺‧͙

Gold.

It’s the first thing you see when your eyes flutter open. You see hues of golden, shining in the flickering light of the numerous candles lining the walls. Your eyes slowly start to focus, and you realise that it’s golden locks of hair framing the most beautiful face you’ve ever seen. You try to focus on the details of the face, but you’re eyes keep drifting back to the hair, the shades of gold rivalling only those of the solid gold architecture of Heaven’s palace.

It’s the first bit of colour you’ve seen since you were banished, since you were sent away by the very Archangels you served. And you’re enchanted by it. Your desire to know where you are is overpowered by your desire to never look away from such a beautiful colour.

“You’re awake,” speaks the golden-haired person, and the words pull you out of your daze.

“Huh? Oh, yeah, I suppose I am.” You’ve only just awoken but you’re already so tired once again.

“Get some more rest. We’ll take you to meet The Boss when you’re fully recovered.”

“Recovered? But I’m fine now.”

“No, you’re not. You can barely keep your eyes open and,” he pauses, pressing the back of his hand against your forehead. It’s soft, his touch, and you desperately want to feel more of it. But he pulls his hand away sooner than you wanted him to. “Yip, you’ve still got a bit of a fever. It’s fine, the Fall really takes it out of ya. Just a few more days of resting and then you’ll be good to go.”

“Wait, few more days? How long have I been sleeping?”

“About four days so far.”

“Four days!?” you want to sit up, but you’re still so exhausted that you can barely move your body.

“Yeah, but that’s normal. We’ll answer any questions you have when you wake up again. We also have a couple questions for you as well, but for now, just go back to sleep,” his voice is calming, and at just the sound of it you can feel yourself drifting back into a dreamless slumber.

‧͙⁺˚*･༓☾ ☽༓･*˚⁺‧͙

By the time you open your eyes again, the room is no longer lit by burning candles. Instead, sunlight pours through the large windows, bathing the room in a warm light. It’s comforting. Peaceful. The way the light streams through in visible rays is breath-taking, reminding you of the warm summer days in Heaven.

“How are you feeling?” a voice asks from across the room. You slowly sit up, turning to face the direction of where the person spoke. You were hoping the voice belonged to the boy with golden hair, but it doesn’t. It belongs to another boy, this one with dark hair. He’s holding a spare change of clothes in his arms as he walks towards you.

“Uh, fine, I guess,” you reply. “I don’t feel so tired anymore.”

“That’s good. These are for you to wear. What you’re wearing now can be cleaned for you if you want. But in the meantime, you can wear this,” he smiles, placing the folded clothes on the bed next to you. You look down at the clothing currently covering your body, and it’s obvious that the dust from the altar table is caked into the fabric. “I’ll be waiting just outside the door while you change. Just come poke your head out when you’re done and then I’ll take you to meet The Boss.”

He disappears out the door, closing it softly behind him, and you finally have a proper moment to look at the room you’re in. It’s a large room, the ceiling towering high above your head. The bed is large too, and the whole place reminds you of the bedrooms in Heaven’s palace. There’s an extravagant fireplace on the wall opposite the bed, in front of which sits a lavish couch, a deep red in colour. Grand curtains frame the large windows, and it’s in the light of day that you can see the sconces resting upon the walls. It’s beautiful, the architecture and interior design, absolutely stunning.

You pull your attention back to the clothes next to you, not wanting to keep the boy waiting for too long. You stand up, legs slightly wobbly as you do so. A shiver runs down your spine when you pull your dusty clothes from your body. The air is cooler than you thought it would be, the sunlight doing surprisingly little to warm the space. You quickly redress yourself in the new garment, paying little attention to what you’re wearing, just wanting something over you to be warm once again. It’s only when your reflection catches your eye as you walk past the intricately-framed mirror that you notice what you’re actually wearing. It’s a dress, one more beautiful than you’ve ever worn before. It’s plain, but that’s where it harnesses its beauty from; it’s simplicity. You pry your eyes from your reflection, continuing on your way to the door. You pull it open and are greeted with the sight of the smiling boy.

“You ready?” he asks, the smile never leaving his face as you nod in response. “Good, now if you’ll just follow me. And if you can hold all questions until we get there because The Boss can answer them all for you.”

“Can I ask one thing now?” you say, unable to help smiling at the boy’s chirpiness.

“Sure, I’m not usually that good at answering questions, but I’ll do my best.”

“I’m sure you can answer this one with no problem.”

“Really? That’s good. So, what’s the question?”

“What’s your name?” He pauses for a moment, halting in his tracks as he turns to face you.

“Goodness! I never introduced myself! Sorry about that, I’m Jisung. Nice to meet you,” he holds out his hand, and you reach up and shake it. “What about you? What’s your name?”

“Well, Jisung, it’s a pleasure to meet you too. I’m y/n.”

“Y/n. That’s a pretty name.” Your cheeks warm at the compliment, a smile gracing your lips.

You both continued walking forwards, turning various corners and passing numerous doors. But there’s something about the path you’re both taking that feels all too familiar. As if you’ve walked these exact halls before. But you can’t shake the feeling as you continue walking. It plays on your mind, and it’s not until you Jisung stops in front of a pair of large doors, arching high above you both that you realise why it feels so familiar. It’s because you have walked these walls before. Not these exact ones, but the one’s in Heaven’s palace. They’re identical to the hallways of this palace. Your heartrate picks up, your mind thinking back to the last time you were in front of these doors. Back to when your life changed. Your sentencing.

Jisung steps forward, knocking twice on the door, the sound echoing though the otherwise empty hallway. That’s one difference between these doors and the ones in Heaven; these don’t have guards stationed on either side. The heavy doors slowly swing open, and immediately you notice more differences. This room is filled with light, sunlight beaming through many windows and skylights. And there’s less thrones. In Heaven there’s four of them, but here there’s only one. And upon it sits a man. A man who holds all the power here, it’s obvious from the way he holds himself that he’s in charge. His posture impeccable, him radiating an authoritative aura. The same aura as the Archangels in Heaven. But also, different. The man before you seems homier, comfier. Just being in his presence makes you feel safer than the Archangels ever did. This man radiates a level of comfort and security that you’ve never felt anywhere else.

“What’s your name, child?” Even his voice is soothing, making you feel warm.

Y/n,” you reply, freely giving away your name for the second time today.

“Hello, y/n. I’m Lucifer. Welcome to Hell.”

#stray kids fic #skz fic #hyunjin fic #hyunjin series #skz series #stray kids series

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elldell1204 · 4 years ago

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I Sing for Love - Jay Halstead x Reader

fofisstilinski: hi, i would like a jay halstead with prompts 3 - “Can you just shut your mouth?”, 60 - “But I want to hear you sing.”, 63 - “I think I love you.”, please, thanks

Thank you for this! ❤️ I didn’t reblog @darkdisrepair ’s prompt list to be getting them, but they kindly let me use them so definitely go and check them out. Their Upstead fics are like no other! They’re genuinely amazing. 😘 Anyways, I really loved writing this one. I did alter some of the prompts slightly to make them work in the sentence, by the way. Also, I’ve been playing The Last of Us II recently, and this fic was partially inspired by the scene of Ellie playing the guitar in the music store. I’ve linked it down below so you can listen to the song I mean, as it’s really beautiful and thought it’d fit nicely here. I hope you like it, even if it is a little long-winded. Enjoy! 😊

Warning: couple swear words, may make you cry :( sorry!

wc - 2,783

Click here for the song

Admiring the pile of untouched boxes in the otherwise empty corner of the living room, you took a moment to finally let it sink in. ‘I’m moving in with Jay.’ It was a seemingly simple event to anyone else, but for you and your best friend, it was a huge step forward in your hopefully long life together. Because you knew this was it. You had shared your heart, your mind, your soul with Jay Halstead, a feat you had never even come close to achieving with any of your other boyfriends, not that there were many.

It was scarily similar how alike you two were, yet at the same time, you were totally different. You were both quick-witted, divergent thinkers, aware of the true horrors of the world but in different lights. He had first discovered that when his father gave him ‘tough love’ as a child, a trait he vowed never to adopt. Next was when he saw the travesty that is war; tragic losses of friends as their lives are ripped from your hands by beings you could swear weren’t human, the methods of finding information that haunted you in the form of your worst nightmares, the survivor’s guilt that plagued your everyday when you came home to the widows of the men you fought so hard to save, but unfortunately it wasn’t hard enough. It was a miracle he was able to pull himself out of that hole, and still, he hasn’t fully. But with your help and Hailey’s, he’s surviving. Knowing him now, you weren’t surprised that Jay went into the police force after his active duty. Some say that Chicago is a warzone in itself, but he knew that he could endure this one. After all, the heart he possesses wouldn’t have allowed him to do something with his life that didn’t help others. One of the many reasons why you loved him. Every day he sees the scum of the world, but when he manages to help someone, it reminds him of why he does it. And he knows when he comes home to you, he’s safe. You both know that. Because you have each other, and you protect one another, physically and mentally.

You weren’t on the front lines like Jay was, but still you saw the suffering and agony the world withstands. You were an ASA, a dream you had since you were a child. From the age of three you were better at arguments than any other child on the playground, something your dad used to tease you lovingly for your whole childhood. He told you to “chase your dreams until they become reality, because you would never forgive yourself if you didn’t”. You had asked him why he seemed so forlorn when he said the last part, sat on your bed one night after he’d read you your story. That was when he told you about his dream of becoming a singer, an almost unachievable dream, but one he worked so damn hard for. You asked what happened, and he relayed how his mother became troubled with drinking and drugs after his father left, and so he, being the eldest child, had to work to provide for the family, and so his dream stayed a dream.

You remember saying “But, Daddy, you can still be a singer. I can be your audience.”, and you can still see the smile that spread across his face at your words, the expression being etched into your memory ever since. That was the night he decided to make you his protégé, teaching you how to play guitar and singing with you. This went on for years, and by the time you were thirteen, you were both playing along together, serenading and smiling without a care in the world.

But it wasn’t long before your world crashed down around you. You were seventeen when you got the call, walking out of school one afternoon, with the biggest of your problems being a boring geography assignment, when your mother told you to get to the hospital instead of going straight home. She wouldn’t – more like couldn’t – tell you why over the phone, and as you rushed to Lakeshore Memorial Hospital, your mind was racing with possibilities.

Your dad had collapsed at work, luckily not severely injured, but after running further tests, it was discovered he had stage four lung cancer, and there was nothing they could do. You barely left the hospital the next few weeks, sitting by your father’s bedside as he drifted in and out of consciousness, coughing one minute and throwing up the next. He managed to stay awake a few hours a day at the start, holding your hand and telling you he loved you, retelling stories from his childhood and yours. But when his lungs got weaker, he asked you to bring in your guitar and sing to him, seeing as he couldn’t do it himself. “Music makes me almost as happy as you do, my darling.”

So you did. You sang until your voice was hoarse, until you fell asleep mid-verse, until your fingers and thumbs were blistered. Your mother sat like a mannequin in the chair on the other side of his bed, holding his hand, treasuring the feeling. The feeling of the man you lost too soon.

“If I ever were to lose you, I’d surely lose myself. Everything that I’ve found here, I’ve not found by myself.” You sang, tears pricking at your eyes. You looked up, gazing over at the weak form of your father. If it wasn’t for the machine hooked up to him that was beeping quietly but steadily, you may have thought he was already gone. He was that debilitated, with his limbs laid straight, outlining his body, his eyes closed and his lips, that seemed paler than ever before, the only landmark in the vast ocean of ghastly white that had replaced the face once full of life and laughter.

You laid your guitar back in its case before moving closer to him, intertwining your fingers with his, scared at how cold they felt already. You looked over at your mother. She was silently crying, her eyes rimmed red and streaks traced down her cheeks, and she nodded her head at you.

You sniffed, letting the tears that stung your eyes fall as you stood, leaning over to press a gentle kiss to your father’s forehead.

“It’s okay, Dad.” You whispered. “You can go now. Go be at peace. I love you.”

And after a deep breath, you turned to the doctor that stood at the doorway. “You can take him off life support now.”

You let the tear flow down your cheek for a few seconds before you wiped it away. You shook your head, trying to get rid of the sadness. You had a job to do.

You had officially moved in with Jay a few weeks ago now, but due to your busy lives, the only things you had unpacked were the bare necessities, most of which were already dotted around your shared apartment.

It still sounds weird to refer to Jay’s apartment as your own. You practically lived here before he asked you, anyways, seeing as yours was a lot smaller, in a worse neighbourhood and had a lot of noisy neighbours. It was practically the complete opposite to Jay’s, his being a two-bedroom condo with sweet Mrs Elizabeth Bailey next door who you often helped out by carrying her groceries or fixing a dodgy cupboard door. She was like a great aunt to you both, inviting you round for dinner or baking you some cookies every so often. Many a time had she told you about her late husband, Tommy, and their stories from their lives together. Both you and Jay loved to hear the tales of their adventures, and you were saddened that you never got to meet him. One night, you sat close together on Lizzie’s couch, Jay’s arm wrapped around your waist as you leant into his chest, admiring a photo album she had passed to you as she recalled the memories linked to each image from her armchair. She had surprised you when she suddenly said, “You two remind me of Tommy and I; hopelessly in love.” You looked up and smiled at her, a twinkle in her eye as she remembered her husband, and you felt Jay pull you just that little bit closer.

It was also that night, when you both returned to his apartment, that he asked you to move in with him.

And now you were rummaging through your stuff that was packed into boxes, pretty much half of your life stuffed neatly into them. Looking through each one, you realised how little each of the material items mattered to you now that you knew Jay. Apart from the photos of friends and family, the odd keepsake you’d collected over the years and meaningful gifts from various birthdays and Christmases, it was all just junk. At least you thought so until you spotted your guitar case tucked away into the corner.

You took a deep breath before reaching over and picking it up, getting to your feet as you carried the case over to the couch. You sat down slowly, your heartrate picking up even with your meticulously controlled breaths. You gently laid it down in front of you and opened it, lifting the lid like it would shatter if you went too fast. You hadn’t opened it in years, not since you closed it at the hospital on that horrible day. A droplet landed on the smooth mahogany, one that came from your eyes. It took you a while before you wiped it away, unsure if you were strong enough to touch the instrument without breaking down before it.

‘Pull yourself together, Y/N, it’s been ten years’ you thought. And despite telling yourself that you had mostly moved past your father’s death, trying to see the light from it instead of the darkness, you still had moments where you were majorly overcome with grief. But you knew you could do this. You had to. He would have wanted you to.

So you picked it up. You examined it, not that there would be any new marks or scratches with it being shut off from the world for a decade, and then laid it on your knee like a baby, your hands assuming the positions that were like second nature to you, like another language. And you strummed the strings. They were horribly out of tune, so you let out a sodden laugh at the sound before tuning it to perfection.

Now all you had to do was play. You had time before Jay got home, so that wasn’t stopping you. What was is the thought of playing the guitar your dad bought you, the guitar your dad taught you to play, the guitar that you played to him and with him as you sang together. You knew he wouldn’t want you to stop playing, but you couldn’t bear the thought of playing it without him there to listen.

So you closed your eyes and imagined he was there with you, listening and smiling, as your fingers found the first chord on the neck of the guitar and you played it. Then the next. And the next. And you were doing it. You were playing the song. Now all you had to do was sing. You saw your dad’s smile and you knew you could do it.

“If I ever were to lose you,

I’d surely lose myself.”

Then suddenly there was a loud smash of glass on the floor behind you and you jumped, spinning around violently to see Jay stood in the doorway over some shattered glass.

“What the hell, Jay?! You scared the shit outta me.” You shouted, a hand over your racing heart.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to disturb you, I just wanted to hear you sing.” He smiled sympathetically, walking a little further in to lean against the chest of drawers in the corner.

“Shut your mouth. Like hell you did. You just wanted something to make fun of me for.” You huffed, frowning, as you moved to put away your guitar. You could feel the unjustifiable anger bubbling deep inside you at him hearing you, allowing yourself to be so careless as to let him in the first place.

“What? No, of course not. It was really beautiful, and I’ve never really heard you sing before.” He said cautiously as he came to sit beside you on the couch, taking a hold of your hands to stop you putting away the guitar. He could tell you were annoyed, and though he wasn’t sure why, he knew to tread carefully, as he seemingly had hit a nerve.

“Yeah, well, I don’t do it around other people, at least not since I was younger.” You said softly, feeling guilty for shouting at him.

“With your dad?” He asked. He knew all about the story with your father, minus the part where you sang to him before he died. You couldn’t bring yourself to relive that if you didn’t have to. But now you did have to. You couldn’t let Jay be in the dark about it any longer. All he had ever been was supporting and caring to you, and you felt ready to let him in fully.

“Yeah.” You whispered, not trusting your voice. You shuffled in closer to him, and he let go of your left hand to wrap his arm around you, and then you took a deep breath. “I, erm, haven’t played my guitar since the day my dad died. He asked me to play it to him whilst he was in hospital, because he couldn’t do it himself like before he got sick. And on his last day, I played him that song you just heard; it was one of his favourites. Not that he was conscious. He’d been knocked out cold with meds for days by then. After, we said goodbye and took him off life support. And I could never bring myself to play my guitar since.”

Silence followed, allowing him to process and you to recover. He kept rubbing his thumb over your knuckles, showing you support without using his words.

“I’m so sorry, Y/N.” He whispered, pressing a kiss to your hair. “But wouldn’t he want you to keep playing? For him?”

“He would, that’s why I’m trying now.” You pulled away slightly and smiled at him. “He’d have liked you, y’know? He really would.”

“I’m sure the feeling would be mutual.” He returned your smile.

Every day he reminded you of the wonderful man he is; caring, funny, kind, smart. But he also showed you he loved you, that he trusted you. And so you did the same.

You sat up, retrieving your guitar and laying it on your lap once more. You glanced over to him and smiled.

“This was also one of his favourites.” You told him, and then you started to play.

“Talking away,

I don’t know what,

I’m to say I’ll say it anyway,

Todays another day to find you.

Shying away,

I’ll be coming for your love okay.

Take on me,

Take me on.

I’ll be gone,

In a day or two.

Needless to say,

I'm odds and ends,

But I'll be stumbling away,

Slowly learning that life is okay.

Say after me,

It's no better to be safe than sorry.

Take on me,

Take me on,

I'll be gone,

In a day or two,

In a day or two.”

When you finished, you sighed deeply, a half-sad, half-loving smile spreading across your face as you turned towards Jay. He was sat in an awestruck daze, smiling back at you as you put your guitar away in the case. When you sat back up, he shifted closer to you, gently taking your cheek in his palm as he gazed into your eyes, running his thumb softly over your cheek.

“I think I love you.” He murmurs.

You scoff jokingly and roll your eyes teasingly. “Well, you better bloody love me, Halstead. We’ve moved in together.”

He chuckles, and you can feel his warm breath brush over your cheek.

“I do. I love you. And I’ll keep saying it, even when you’re sick of hearing it.”

“I’ll never get sick of hearing it, Jay, because I love you too.” You whispered, smirking as you leaned in to kiss him. He met your lips with his, kissing you lovingly, assuring that you knew you were it for him, as he was it for you.

#jay halstead #jay halstead imagines #jay halstead x reader #jay halstead imagine #jay halstead fluff #Chicago PD #chicago pd imagine #jay halstead fanfiction

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ohwereusingourmadeupnames · 4 years ago

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Let Us Feel, Not Understand

Pairing: Peter Parker/Tony Stark (Starker) Rating: Mature (M) Word Count: 4.5k Notes: This came from the prompt ‘“ this room’s so hot ” - forced marriage a/o starker.’ Oh, nonnie - you must have been reading my mind. I had a good time with this one, hope you enjoy it! Warnings: NSFW things - knotting, bonding marks. Summary:

Peter never imagined Ben and May would sell his mating contract to the highest bidder - yet, there he was 18 and on the verge of marrying a man he’s never met.

Or: Tony strikes a deal to appease the board of SI and Peter reaps the benefits.

do the thing - send in all the prompts.

When it first happened, Peter didn’t think too much about presenting as an omega. He paid attention enough in sex-ed to understand the dynamics of his physiology – heats every 3 months until mated and then every 6 months after that. Of course, experiencing his first heat wasn’t anything to write home about, but he got through it.

Getting to the age he was old enough to get on suppressants reduced the insatiability and lessened the want for an alpha knot – which meant he got to go about his life with much clearer of a head. Without the debilitating haze, Peter found himself able to focus and actually get back to the academic excellence that he upheld for most of his life. It felt good to graduate high school and see a light at the end of the tunnel.

Funny how quickly that light got snatched away from him.

The day after he turned 18, Peter found May sitting on the couch, a worried look on her face. Most of the time, he tried not to worry too much about May’s shift in moods, but he could smell the worry in the air – his aunt went on suppressants 10 years ago and didn’t often smell like anything, especially apprehension. He stopped dead in his tracks then, the scent too much for his biology to ignore.

“What’s up, May? You’re scenting up the place with something sour and it’s getting to be a little nauseating,” Peter muttered, his eyes widening when the smell got worse instead of better. Trying to disguise the move to his nose, Peter wafted his hand to try and clear up the air right in front of him. “Now you’re really worrying me.”

A crinkle brought his eyes to May’s hands that were clenching around a piece of paper – the edges of it folded from her grip. He kept staring at it as the silence filled the room, the swirling combination of awkwardness and the reek of unease making his head spin a little bit. “May – what the fuck is happening?” Peter practically shouted after another few minutes of total quiet. She’d been staring at him, her eyes unblinking.

Like his words were magic, May picked up her arm and shoved the paper at him, a grimace on her face when it was in his hands. It took him a second to open it, his eyes still trained on his aunt in front of him – her behavior was weirder than it’d ever been; and that was saying something. Sucking in a breath, Peter unwrinkled the paper – his stomach dropping the second he saw the words on the top of the paper. He never in his life thought he’d be holding his future in his hands.

“A mating contract, May?” Peter questioned, the younger man not even bothering to see who his family promised him to all of those years ago. The date on the bottom said 2010 – which meant May had more than 9 years to tell him how easily the rest of his life was decided for him. Since presenting as an omega, Peter felt the first wash of shame overcome him.

May got up from the couch like she was going to try and pull him into a hug – Peter subconsciously took a step back and watched as a look of resignation washed over her face. In that moment, Peter didn’t want anything to do with her – how could he when he knew how easily they gave up his ability to choose? “You have to understand, Pete – “

Cutting in immediately, Peter felt his temperature flaring up before he could stop himself. “I have to understand? That seems like a pretty screwed up thing to say – I just found out that you gave my ability to do what I want away, May. I think understanding is an emotion for a later date.” Peter’s voice was loud by the time he stopped speaking, his nostrils flaring a bit. He could smell himself; the unfamiliar scent of his anger not a nice one.

The words seemed to cut her down even more, May looked taken aback – his aunt startled by his outbreak. In all of his time living with her, he kept himself even keeled. There were enough worries in their lives, he didn’t need to compound them with typical teenage bull shit. Yet, he almost regretted not giving her a hard time – not making waves when he could. Briefly, he wondered what his life would have been like, if he knew that 18 would be where the freedom stopped.

“I never thought you would present as an omega. It seemed like a good gamble at the time. We were struggling – trying to make all of the ends meet just to keep the rent in the mail and food on the table. The alpha we made the deal with just needed paperwork to get people off of his back – I never…” May trailed off then – her face was red from unshed tears and embarrassment.

A part of him appreciated the fact that she was suffering a little bit – it was a small part, but in existence, nonetheless.

Peter shook his head and started to turn away, all of the things he thought he knew about his aunt rushing from his mind, each one replaced with this instant – the memory of her helpless face trying to negotiate a way out of feeling guilty for taking his choices away.

Later, when he felt a little better about the situation and didn’t want to yell in her face, Peter felt guilty for even allowing such a thought to cross his mind – but in that instant, it felt right, appropriate; way more than she deserved.

----

Peter didn’t get to meet his new mate until the day before the wedding – May stuffed him into a suit and made sure he looked good before walking into the admittedly big house. He figured the place would be stuffy on the inside, but it was tastefully decorated and radiated a sort of class that Peter didn’t know existed. The idea of being rich and subtle about it never crossed his mind before – for the first time since finding out about this mating thing, something positive settled in his gut. Maybe the guy his family promised him to wouldn’t be so bad.

They were ushered into a formal dining room that was set with a quant table. There were only a few place settings at the table, that fact immediately pulling some of the pressure from Peter’s chest – the last thing he wanted was to be forced around a bunch of people he didn’t know and probably wouldn’t be getting acquainted with any time soon. Jarvis, as he introduced himself, pulled out May’s chair and then did the same for him, the man meeting his glance with a firm smile. “So happy to have you, Master Parker.”

Returning the look, Peter sat down, a sigh leaving his lips. “Thanks, Jarvis,” he replied as he settled into the chair to find a comfortable position in it. For some reason, Peter immediately felt a little hot under the collar the second they walked through the door – it felt a little like the skin scorching fire that came with a heat; but he hadn’t had one of those in a couple of years.

May tried to catch his eye across the table – her eyebrows were pinched with the same pained look she took to sporting since the day Peter turned his back on her and didn’t simply take the words she wanted to give him at face value. Even now, sitting in his future mate’s dining room, Peter still didn’t feel good enough about forgiving her – despite the fact that things were happening regardless of whether he wanted them to or not, he felt justified in his decision to keep his shoulder a little icy towards her.

Before she could track him with her eyes some more, the door at the opposite side of the room opened. Peter turned his head to catch the first glimpse of his future alpha and almost choked on his own inhale of breath. Though older, the man, Tony Stark, was striking. His hair was streaked with gray and had a heavy dose of it at his temples. Dark facial hair covered his chin and upper lip, the goatee obviously meticulously styled on a constant basis. Thick lips were pulled into a slight smile.

His eyes caught Peter’s and before he knew it, he was standing up – some sort of instinct kicked in and pulled him right out of the chair. Bowing his head slightly, Peter waited to be acknowledged, the warmth he felt earlier starting to surge more consistently across the surface of his skin. At least a part of him was appreciating the object of his forced union.

The fingers under his chin were slightly surprising, Peter’s eyes were on his shoes and then suddenly looking into the most unique pair of eyes – they were dark brown but speckled with lighter hues and bits of hazel flecks. He was met with a curious look and a sudden rush of pheromones. They were rich and syrupy, reminding him of waffles and butter, the slightest hint of bitterness pulling his mind towards the cup of coffee he pressed for himself that very morning. Well, that was different.

“Hi, Peter – I’m Tony Stark,” the alpha started, his hand dropping now that they were making eye contact. “Thanks for joining me today. I thought it might be easier – to not be meeting for the first time a couple of hours before we tie the knot,” Tony used air quotes for the last couple of words, the gesture pulling a reluctant laugh from them both.

Trying to shake the haze from his head, Peter nodded, his brain finally catching back up. “The thought is appreciated. Your house is amazing, Tony – the architecture is so unique,” Peter complimented, his words genuine.

Tony grinned at him, the alpha finding his seat before Peter realized he even moved from his personal space. He took the seat to Peter’s left, the head of the table made obvious by the place settings provided. “I’m happy you like it. I designed it myself.” The smile on his face grew a little wider, the fact that his omega inadvertently gave him a compliment obviously making him preen.

Peter took in a big gulp of air to clear his thoughts and immediately regretted it. The alpha’s scent seemed to be permeating in the air – it was swarming him from the outside in, his skin completely covered in it. Something like that hadn’t ever happened to him before – normally, he didn’t even notice alpha scents; his blockers did a pretty good job. Yet, he felt himself trying to grasp onto a bit of consciousness and not get swept under the deliciousness that wanted to pull him under.

“Are you an architect?” Peter asked in an attempt to stay in the moment. The answer was pretty obvious, they were sitting in the evidence. Rationality, however, did not seem to register – Peter needed to grasp onto something.

Taking the question in stride, Tony went about telling him about the architecture firm he owned and operated and some of the spaces he personally had a hand in. Most of the noticeably new buildings in New York were his pet projects – and if his heady scent wasn’t already pulling him under, Peter didn’t need much more information to be sold on at least getting to know the guy a little better.

The big surprise came when Tony asked what he wanted to do in the future – in all of the scenarios he thought through in his head, none of them included him being able to have a choice in the matter. His restraint was already gone, so he let the truth come tumbling from his mouth. “I want to be a Mechanical Engineer. My high school robotics team went to Nationals every year and the tech booths were amazing. Having my hands on technology in some way is the dream.”

He felt himself color at the words that rushed from his lips – Peter hadn’t told anyone about that, not even May. She looked at him with a mix of curiosity and pride; in all the time he spent conducting academic pursuits, May supported him the most. Midtown Science and Tech happened because she wanted the best for him and his educational potential. Throwing her a smile, Peter promised himself to make things okay between them again. Despite this situation, she did her best to take care of him.

Throughout the rest of the meal, Tony spent most of the time asking Peter questions and responding intelligently, like he actually paid attention every time words came out of his mouth. It was a different experience than what he heard about from friends that went through the same process. Tony seemed to genuinely be interested in Peter and the things he wanted from life. He even mentioned college, which hadn’t been a thought in his mind since finding out about the arrangement.

It didn’t take much convincing to get May in the car so Peter could have a few minutes alone with Tony. They shared a look and he gave her an approving nod – his earlier nervousness seemed unfounded; Tony Stark presented himself as the perfect gentleman.

A soft touch to his hand brought him out of his thoughts – Peter blinked a couple of times to find Tony staring at him. “I never thought this would actually happen. I signed those papers to get the board of my company off my back. They didn’t want an unbonded alpha running things – the contract at least got them to shut up. I’m – “ Tony grabbed Peter’s hand then, his fingers so warm where they wrapped around his own. “I’m going to take care of you as best as I can. Your ambitions interest me, Peter. I can work with that.”

Lips pressed against the back of the hand Tony was holding, the hazy scent of all things delicious swarmed the air again, this time a little more purposeful. He hadn’t been scented before personally but understood what it was – what it meant. “You’re not what I expected,” Peter replied through the thick haze of the warmth that’d been settling under the surface of his skin all night.

----

The next morning found Peter aching and much warmer than he felt the day before. It didn’t take a genius to recognize the signs of an impending heat – he remembered the alien that took over his body and wondered what it would be like, going through the misery mated to an alpha he wasn’t completely opposed to. Shaking those thoughts from his head, Peter forced himself to focus.

It took way too long to get into the suit Tony sent him off with the night before. It fit him perfectly, which meant May meddled in his affairs once again. Peter couldn’t bring himself to be mad about it, though – the maroon look good against the pale template of his skin. Slipping his feet into the shoes, Peter smiled in triumph; just two more hours and he’d be able to get his fucking clothes off and attempt to find some relief from the rapidly increasing scorch within him.

He met Tony at the front of the same house they shared dinner at the night before. Jarvis, who opened the door without Peter having to even knock, directed him to the back of the house. Tony gave them a tour the night before, but it was dark – the vastness of the open windows facing heavy greenery was a sight to see; one he thought he might not hate getting used to in the coming days.

Tony turned around before Peter could announce his presence; his nostrils flared and like that, his soon-to-be-mate knew of his heat that with every second, got stronger and stronger. “You smell – I mean, look incredible, Pete,” Tony muttered, the previous smile on his face turning into something much more primal.

A swift kick of pheromones scented the air and made the pit of Peter’s stomach quiver. It was getting increasingly hard to not drop to his knees and beg for Tony’s knot. He could feel a bit of slick starting to collect at his rim, the moisture there a little uncomfortable in the well-fitting suit. Peter watched Tony take in a deep breath, the delectable brown in his eyes quickly getting overtaken by the rapid dilation of his pupil.

“Uh – Happy and May are going to stand in as the witnesses. I thought Jarvis could do the ceremony,” Tony said, the man talking just to distract them both from the tantalizing tangle of their scents in the air. To Peter and the part of his biology that appreciated the warmth of Tony’s alpha presence, the smell surrounding him felt a little like coming home.

The reality of the situation hit him when he was standing in front of Jarvis on the small balcony that the kitchen opened up to – the view was absolutely stunning, and Peter couldn’t wait to explore it at a later date. In that specific moment, he was nervously clenching his hand in Tony’s, the fact that he was moments away from both being married and going into full blown heat not lost on him. Everyone knew it, too – he could see both May and Happy trying their hardest not to breathe deeply or stare at the pre-mating ritual happening between him and Tony.

By the time the ring was on his finger and the marriage license was signed by all the necessary people, Peter was already starting to claw at the collar surrounding his neck. May gave him a quick kiss on his cheek and mumbled congratulations before making a hasty exist. Happy followed not long after, a certain relief flooding Peter now that there was only one Alpha scent in the room.

Peter kicked off the shoes he didn’t bother wearing any socks with and turned towards Tony. “I’m not going to be coherent for much longer. I really like orange Gatorade and mint chocolate chip ice cream when I’m not out of my mind with need. If you don’t mind,” he started to undo the buttons on his jacket while he spoke, everything about the clothes on him now driving him absolutely insane. “This room’s so hot.”

There were a few mumbled words that Peter didn’t hear, he mindlessly ripped at the jacket on his arms and pulled the maroon shirt over his head. He wandered down the hall towards what he assumed were bedrooms – the other side of the house was filled with open space and not much more.

A sigh of relief left his lips when warm hands pressed themselves against the long flank of his side. “Keep going straight. The bedroom is at the end of the hall,” Tony said, his voice sounding twice as loud as usual.

“Tony, I need – “ Peter started, his brain stopping halfway through the transition from sensory to motor stimulus. His skin started to prickle and like that, all of the control he’d been trying to cling to was quickly out the window.

It had never been like this before – so all consuming.

The air around him changed once again when they got into the bedroom. If he were in his right mind, he might have realized that his heat triggered Tony’s rut and because of that, his body was responding accordingly. In that moment, all Peter knew was the hot tickle under his skin and the rapidly acquiring slick in the now ruined boxer briefs.

Tony didn’t say anything for a while, his fingers worked meticulously to get them both undressed. The movement of his hands was efficient where Peter would’ve been sloppy and uncoordinated – every slip of Tony’s fingers across his newly exposed skin made the thoughts in his head more fleeting, his alpha’s touch was the only thing that registered.

“Alpha, please,” Peter mumbled, a long moan leaving his lips when the cool sheets hit his over-warm back. It didn’t take long for them to reach his body temperature, though – it was warm everywhere and only one thing would give him minimal relief; the knot he could see just the tiniest hint of.

Each word seemed to push Tony a little closer to finally losing control. His cock visibly throbbed, the size of it doubling and then tripling right in front of Peter’s eyes. His mouth watered with the need to have it between his lips, the muscles of his entrance fluttered at the thought of finally being stretched to a capacity that didn’t seem possible.

Hands that were slowly starting to become recognizable framed his face, the contact forcing him to look up, the lust blown eyes of his alpha staring down at him in a way that made more slick start to well at his entrance. A second later, their lips were pressed together in a hot kiss, Peter tilting his head and shamelessly moaning when the caress deepened, and his mouth was flooded with Tony’s taste.

It didn’t even register that it was their first kiss – it felt so right in that moment that Peter could’ve easily been convinced they’d been doing it his entire life. When Tony pulled back, Peter tried to cling to him, his legs like vices around the alpha’s hips. Tony let his lips caress the shell of Peter’s ear – “Don’t worry. I’m going to take care of you. I smelt the start of your heat yesterday. You immediately reacted to me and I knew – you’re meant to be mine.” Sharp teeth bit just below his ear as the words washed over him.

“I’m going to knot you, my sweet omega – and then I’m going to dig my teeth into your neck and pull every ounce of pheromone from you before mating you. I want your sweet smell all over me, all over this room.” Tony enunciated his words by rolling his hips down into Peter’s – the slick hardness of his cock pulling a shout from the younger man.

Coherency wasn’t a thing, anymore, he felt himself moving restlessly, his hard cock so uncomfortable against his stomach – his ass felt so empty and the pit of his stomach that craved the solid bump and grind of a cock head against it absolutely ached. “Fuck, please I need that. Need you. Alpha.” The words were scattered, broken up by breathy moans and involuntary moans up into the warm solidness that was Tony’s weight against him.

All of the sudden, his front was pressed down against the mattress, the sheets wet from the slick that got worse as the seconds passed. He heard Tony suck in a deep breath as he spread his legs and presented himself. “Take me – knot me,” Peter babbled incoherently, his hips thrusting back in hopes of friction, in desperation of being filled to the brim.

A tongue was not what he expected – at the same time, however, he wasn’t disappointed. Peter started to grind himself back against Tony’s skilled mouth, the man’s hands holding his ass cheeks apart, the scruff of his beard rubbing against his sensitive cheeks with every pass of his mouth. Peter knew he didn’t need much prep, the natural lubricant that was absurdly leaking from his loose hole would guide the way. Tony didn’t seem to be in any hurry, though – the languorous licks and swipes of his tongue spoke of enjoyment, not necessity.

Fingers joined Tony’s tongue after a while – Peter was so strung out, he couldn’t tell how much time passed; or if any had gone by at all. Tony’s fingers were wide, the thickness of him nice against the rim of his achy hole. He clenched down on them in a needy attempt to pull them in further, to have the tips of them press against his prostate with every stroke in the scandalous way he craved.

Finally, Peter felt Tony pull his fingers out and eagerly replace them with his cock head. Peter pushed back and let the tip breach him – the stretch already tugging a groan from him. “Fuckkk!” Peter shouted as Tony really started to fill him. He didn’t stop until the flats of his hips were butted up against Peter’s ass cheeks. The full feeling made him smile – the monster within him soothed for the time being.

“You’re so tight. My knot is going to stretch you wide. So wide, Pete,” Tony remarked, his tone deep, each word sounding breathy and choked out.

Groaning, Peter flatted his hips against the bed and let the rhythmic pull and snap of Tony’s hips take him out of the blaze of his heat to a place that was a different kind of consuming. His first orgasm hit the instant the tip of Tony’s cock brushed against his prostate – and then again a couple strokes against it later. Each clench of his ass around Tony’s cock made the knot at the base of his cock swell a little bit more.

With each stroke, Peter could feel it bump against his rim – his entire body aching for it. “Ah – I’m going to knot you, Pete. Fuck – I’m so close.”

The words sounded like they were right next to his ear, each panted out breath seemingly caressing the side of his neck. Turning a little, Peter was slightly surprised to see Tony’s face so close to his own. The rush of his scent sent another wave of arousal through him – the eye contact between them ruined by a particularly hard drill against his sweet spot. “Knot me. Knot me, Alpha. Tony.”

He tilted his head to the side and drop his hips a little more. The spread of his thighs gave Tony a bit more room to work with, the man’s knot getting further inside of him with each stroke now. It didn’t take but another handful of them before Tony was grunting into his ear and ripping a hole in his neck, his scent gland exploding on contact.

A scream left his mouth before Peter lost consciousness – his entire body finally succumbing to the weighted drag of Tony and the tantalizing affect he had on him.

Peter broke through the haze what felt like days later – though the still drying cum on his chest and Tony’s cock still buried inside of him spoke of mere moments, not hours. Tony had adjusted them so that they were on their sides, the older man’s arm wrapped tightly around his waist.

There wouldn’t be much time between this moment and the next mindless haze, so Peter reveled in it – his new mate held him so closely and the throb on his neck felt particularly good. As if thinking the same thing, Tony nuzzled his nose into the mark, his tongue flashing out every now and again to attempt to soothe the ache.

Softly, Peter heard him whispered a reverent “my omega” against his neck – the sweet words sending chills down his spine.

#starker #ironspider #bobbie writes #let us feel not understand

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thelittlesttimelord · 4 years ago

Text

The Littlest Timelord: The Death of the Doctor Chapter 36

TITLE: The Littlest Timelord: The Death of the Doctor Chapter 36 PAIRING: No Pairing RATING: T CHAPTER: 36/? SUMMARY: The Doctor’s death is looming on the horizon and Elise is growing every day. What the Doctor doesn’t know is that he has 200 years to teach Elise all he knows. Amy, Rory, and River let Elise in on their secret, because River knows she will keep it. What will Elise do when he’s gone?

[A/N - Welcome to the last chapter of “The Death of the Doctor”. Title and sneak peek at the next book to come!]

“Where are they?” Elise asked River.

“They’ll be here any minute,” River assured her daughter.

Soon enough, Amy and the Doctor entered the room.

“Dad!” Elise yelled.

“Elise!”

Elise threw her arms around her father.

“How…how did you get here?”

“River found me. Trust me when I say I have never been happier to see you!”

The Doctor smiled. Elise let go of him and he turned to River. “Hi, honey. I'm home.”

River turned to face him. “And what sort of time do you call this?”

“The death of time. The end of time. The end of us all. Oh, why couldn't you just die?” Madame Kovarian asked.

River grabbed Elise. “Behave, sweetie.”

The Doctor looked at the two woman.

“She keeps trying to kill her,” River explained.

“Did my best, dear,” the Doctor told Kovarian, “I showed up. You just can't get the psychopaths these days. Love what you've done with the pyramids. How did you score all this?”

“Hallucinogenic lipstick. Works wonders on President Kennedy. And Cleopatra was a real pushover,” River told him.

“I always thought so.”

“She mentioned you.”

“What did she say?”

“Put down that gun.”

“Did you?”

“Eventually.”

“Oh, they're flirting. Do I have to watch this?” Kovarian complained.

“It was such a basic mistake, wasn't it, Madame Kovarian. Take a child, raise her into a perfect psychopath, introduce her to the Doctor. Who else was I going to fall in love with?” River asked.

“It's not funny, River. Reality is fatally compromised,” the Doctor told her, “Tell me you understand that.”

“Dinner?”

“I don't have the time. Nobody has the time, because as long I'm alive, time is dying. Because of you, River.”

“Because I refused to kill the man I love.”

“Oh, you love me, do you? Oh, that's sweet of you. Isn't that sweet. Come here, you.” The Doctor rushed towards River.

“Get him!” Amy yelled.

Several soldiers grabbed the Doctor.

“Don’t hurt him! Please don’t hurt him!” Elise begged.

Amy wrapped an arm around the brunette.

“I'm not a fool, sweetie. I know what happens if we touch,” River told him.

The Doctor managed to grab River’s arm.

“Get off me. Get him off me!” River yelled.

“Doctor, no. Let go! Please Doctor, let go!” Amy yelled.

“It's moving. Time's moving!” a woman in a white coat told them.

“Get him off me! Doctor!” River yelled.

“I'm sorry, River. It's the only way.” They started glowing as time sped up again.

River pulled away from him. “Cuff him.”

“Oh, why do you always have handcuffs? It's the only way. We're the opposite poles of the disruption. If we touch, we short out the differential. Time can begin again.”

“And I'll be by a lakeside killing you.”

“And time won't fall apart. The clocks will tick. Reality will continue. There isn't another way.”

“I didn't say there was, sweetie. There are so many theories about you and I, you know.”

“Idle gossip.”

“Archaeology.”

“Same thing.”

“Am I the woman who marries you, or the woman who murders you?”

The Doctor leaned in close to River’s face. “I don't want to marry you.”

“I don't want to murder you.”

Amy and Elise felt drops of water hit their heads.

“Doctor, what's that?” Amy asked.

“The pyramid above us. How many Silence do you have trapped inside it?”

“None. They're not trapped. They never have been. They've been waiting for this, Doctor. For you,” Kovarian told him.

Rory came running in. “They're out! All of them. No one gets in here! Ma'am, my men out there should be able to lock this down. We have them outnumbered.”

“And you're wearing eye drives based on mine, I think. Oops,” Kovarian said.

“What do you mean?” the Doctor asked.

Electricity surged through the eye drive that the woman in the white coat was wearing. She cried out in pain.

“Help her! Help her!” the Doctor yelled.

The soldiers around them starting yelling as they were electrocuted.

“She's dead,” Amy told him.

The Doctor and Elise’s eye drives tried to shock them.

“Eye drives off now. Remove them,” the Doctor ordered.

Amy pulled the Doctor’s off. The Doctor turned around and pulled Elise’s off as Amy’s started to shock her.

“The Silence would never allow an advantage without taking one themselves”, Kovarian taunted as River tried to pull Amy’s off, “The effects will vary from person to person. Either death or debilitating agony. But they will take you all, one by one.” Madame Kovarian’s eye drive started to shock her. “What are you doing? No, it's me. Don't be stupid. You need me. Stop it. Stop that!”

The Doctor turned to River. “We could stop this right now, you and I.”

“Get it off me!” Kovarian yelled.

“Amy, tell her!” the Doctor said.

“We've been working on something. Just let us show you,” she told him.

“There's no point. There's nothing you can do. My time is up.”

“We're doing this for you!”

“Then people are dying for me. I won't thank you for that, Amelia Pond.”

“Just let us show you,” River begged.

Elise stepped between the two women and the Doctor. “Please. Don’t leave me alone. It’s you and me, remember? No matter what,” she told him, “Do it for me.”

“Captain Williams, how long do we have?” Amy asked.

“Er, a couple of minutes,” Rory said.

“That's enough. We're going to the Receptor Room right at the top of the pyramid. I hope you're ready for a climb,” River told the Doctor.

They made their way to the top of the pyramid, Amy and Rory following close behind.

“What's this? Oh, it's as timey-wimey distress beacon. Who built this?” the Doctor asked.

“I'm in charge of the TARDIS. I understand the physics. Elise helped of course too,” River explained.

“But that's all you've got, a distress beacon.”

“I've been sending out a message. A distress call. Outside the bubble of our time, the universe is still turning, and I've sent a message everywhere. To the future and the past, the beginning and the end of everything. The Doctor is dying. Please, please help.”

“River! River, this is ridiculous! That would mean nothing to anyone. It's insane! Worse, it's stupid! You embarrass me!”

“We’re just trying to help you!” Elise yelled at him.

Amy and Rory joined them.

“We barricaded the door. We've got a few minutes. Just tell him. Just tell him, River!” Amy said.

“Those reports of the sun spots and the solar flares. They're wrong. There aren't any. It's not the sun, it's you. The sky is full of a million, million voices saying yes, of course we'll help. You've touched so many lives, saved so many people. Did you think when your time came, you'd really have to do more than just ask? You've decided that the universe is better off without you, but the universe doesn't agree.”

“River, no one can help me. A fixed point has been altered. Time is disintegrating.”

“I can't let you die.”

“But I have to die!”

“Shut up! I can't let you die without knowing you are loved by so many, and so much, and by no one more than me and our daughter.”

“River, you and I, we know what this means. We are ground zero of an explosion that will engulf all reality. Billions on billions will suffer and die.”

“I'll suffer if I have to kill you.”

“More than every living thing in the universe?”

“Yes,” Elise and River spoke in unison.

“River, River, why do you have to be this? Melody Pond, your daughter. I hope you're both proud. And Elise! You should want to save the universe!”

“The universe is nothing without you in it!” Elise told him.

“I'm not sure I completely understand,” Rory said.

“We got married and had a kid and that's her,” Amy explained.

“Okay.”

“Amy, uncuff me now.”

Amy walked over and took the handcuffs off.

“Okay, I need a strip of cloth about a foot long. Anything will do. Never mind.” The Doctor took off his bowtie. “River, take one end of this. Wrap it around your hand, and hold it out to me.”

“What am I doing?” she asked, doing as he said.

“As you're told. Now, we're in the middle of a combat zone, so we'll have to do the quick version. Captain Williams, say I consent and gladly give.”

“To what?” Rory asked.

“Just say it! Please.”

“I consent and gladly give.”

The Doctor looked at Amy. “Need you to say it too, mother of the bride.”

Oh my god! They were getting married!

“I consent and gladly give,” Amy said.

The Doctor looked at Elise. “And now you.”

“Wait. What?” Elise asked.

The Doctor smiled softly and said, “I’ll only marry River if you want me to.”

Elise looked at River. The woman who had been influential in raising her. “I consent and gladly give,” she said.

“Now River, I'm about to whisper something in your ear, and you have to remember it very, very carefully, and tell no one what I said.” He leaned in and whispered something to her. “I just told you my name. Now, there you go, River Song. Melody Pond. You're the woman who married me. And wife, I have a request. This world is dying and it's my fault, and I can't bear it another day. Please, help me. There isn't another way.”

“Then you may kiss the bride,” River said.

“I'll make it a good one.”

“You'd better.”

The two kissed and reality changed around them.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Elise opened her eyes and she was back on the TARDIS. It was quiet.

Did it work?

Dorium’s door was shut and he was quiet. Maybe he was sleeping.

The door to the TARDIS opened and the Doctor entered.

Elise ran towards him and threw her arms around him.

He put a finger on his lips, signaling her to be quiet. He ran to the console and they took off to return Dorium’s head.

“Who's carrying me?” Dorium asked as they entered the Seventh Transept, “I demand to know. I'm a head, I have rights. I want my doors open this time. I demand that my doors are open!”

The Doctor opened his door and turned to leave.

“Is it you? It is, isn't it. It is you, I can sense it. But how did you do it? How could you possibly have escaped?”

The Doctor and Elise shed their cloaks.

“The Teselecta. A Doctor in a Doctor suit. Time said I had to be on that beach, so I dressed for the occasion. Barely got singed in that boat,” the Doctor explained.

“So you're going to do this? Let them all think you're dead?”

“It's the only way, then they can all forget me. I got too big, Dorium. Too noisy. Time to step back into the shadows.”

“And Doctor Song, in prison all her days?”

“Her days, yes. Her nights? Well, that's between her, me, and Elise, eh?”

“So many secrets, Doctor. I'll help you keep them, of course.”

“Well, you're not exactly going anywhere, are you?”

“But you're a fool nonetheless. It's all still waiting for you. The fields of Trenzalore, the fall of the Eleventh, and the question.”

“Goodbye, Dorium.”

“The first question. The question that must never be answered, hidden in plain sight. The question you've been running from all your life! Doctor who? Doctor who? Doctor Who?”

Elise and the Doctor entered the TARDIS.

“So, any questions?” he asked Elise.

“Yeah.”

“Okay. Fire away.”

“Who’s Rose Tyler? You mentioned her earlier and I just thought…” Elise asked, “Was she the blonde?”

That wasn’t the question he’d been expecting.

The Doctor pinched the bridge of his nose. “Elise, please.”

“I just want to…”

“Stop asking!” Out of the corner of his eye, the Doctor saw Elise flinch. He sighed and walked over to her. “I’m sorry for yelling. Just…I don’t like to talk about her.”

“Did…did you love her?”

The Doctor didn’t answer. He simply placed his hand on the back of her head and kissed her forehead.

#eleventh doctor #eleventh doctor fanfiction #eleventh doctor imagine #doctor who #Doctor Who fanfiction #doctor who imagine #amy pond #amy pond imagine #Rory Williams #rory williams imagine #river song #river song imagine #the littlest timelord #the littlest timelord: the death of the doctor #the wedding of river song

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ill-skillsgard · 5 years ago

Text

Sweet Peach - Henry Deaver x Mistress

Guys...

So many great ideas and asks about this little strange universe we’ve created that I can’t possibly fit them all into the timeline. But here’s just a little something to hold you over until we get into some more heavy shit. Because you know that’s how I do. Thanks for reading!

Warning: 18+ sex/mature themes/cheating/coarse language/ *this part contains ass-worship. Please read at your own discretion.

Read more Henry x Mistress here > Masterpost

You weren't you anymore. Not while he was in the same room. Voices of reason still existed, but you found them flippantly easy to quell. Especially when he clung to your body like that; so helpless and desperate. This man wanted you terribly, and it hurt in so many ways you couldn't hope to fixate on just one pang of guilt.

It shook you. The adrenaline in your body that had burst in your chest when Henry's wife came in had now gone stale, and you were slowly dropping like a half-dead fly. Of course, you didn't want to call a cab and wait in the lobby where it was cold while he blew up your phone, begging you to come back upstairs. Or worse, he could have tried following you out and it would surely cause a scene.

No, you had already had your heart set on staying and getting a good night's sleep in his wondrously soft bed.

But you were still pissed off. Pissed off at him, yes, but also with yourself. Surely, you had been taught better. A strong woman would look at Henry, appalled by his pitiful protests and whimpers for you to stay. Perhaps you weren't feeling particularly strong. Although there was a certain tilt when he begged you not to go. He was wholly yours and the morbid realization posed more than a passing thought. If you would do this, it would be the way you wanted it.

You could have the conversation another day; the inevitable ultimatum. But he had squabbled about expensive lawyers and how fast a bad divorce could drain your bank account and leave you financially debilitated. You believed him because Henry knew about money, the law and a lot of things you had little grasp of. Yet, he still submitted himself to you and that was when you had to stray away from the moral high ground. You were as much a player in the game as he was.

"Baby, please say you'll stay." Henry pulled on your work shirt.

You couldn't help but draw away from him, but he followed and tugged at the first button of your shirt until it popped out of the eyelet. He came up close again, and you had less room to move. The wall was a foot away, and he had both of his fingers working to undo the rest of the buttons of your shirt. Swallowing back all arguments of right and wrong, you pushed Henry's hands away and closed the gap between you by grabbing his belt buckle and tugging him in.

"Will I be expecting any more interruptions?" You asked calmly.

"No. The door's locked."

"Spare key?"

Henry leaned down to kiss you but you clutched his scratchy chin and kept him away. He sighed, deflating slightly. "Had them changed last week. And there's security."

"Good. Get naked and get on the bed."

"Really? You're going to stay?"

"Not if you don't start listening to me right now," you warned.

Henry's eyes widened and he began to strip off all his clothing until he reached his underwear. Looking up at you, he couldn't decide whether to proceed right there or wait until he was closer to the bed to rid himself of his last garments.

"I said get naked," one of your eyebrows popped up expectantly.

He shoved his boxers down and kicked them off before realizing his socks were still on. Hooking them off as well, he stood before you and waited with a clenched breath in his chest.

"Bed!"

"W-why. What's happening?"

You stifled the urge to shake your head and pointed a finger past him instead. "You're being taught a lesson and so far, you're failing."

"Okay, okay, I'll get on the bed!"

While his back was turned, you allowed yourself one fraction of a satisfied smirk. He climbed onto the bed and sat in the middle with his long legs crossed like a child sitting in a circle in kindergarten. You closed your eyes, bit your bottom lip, suffocated the giggles that longed to come up and then released a breath through your nose.

"Lay on your stomach," you commanded.

"Babe..."

"That's not my name."

"Come on-"

"You'll address me as Mistress tonight. Yes, mistress. No, mistress. I want to be a good boy for you, mistress. Understand?"

Henry was on his stomach by the time you explained to him the parameters of the evening but he still wasn't understanding the setting. You approached the bed, waited for him to be unaware and clapped your hand down on his ass.

"Ow! What the hell? What are you doing?" He cried out

"You've been bad," you explain plainly. "Bad boys get spankings."

"Oh..." Henry tried not to chuckle. "Okay."

You hit his ass harder this time and he tried not to flinch.

"Yes, mistress," you corrected him.

Henry twisted his upper body to the side so he could continue searching your face for signs of playfulness and when he saw none, he licked his lips and sighed.

"Yes, mistress," he relented.

"Good. Now turn around."

"Okay— yes, ma'am. Mistress," he turned away with reluctance slowing his movement.

When Henry was finally face down, you took a moment to analyze the curvature of his back. Pale skin stretched over so many supple inches, bowing down into a delicate valley before rising again. Hairless and smooth, you ran your buzzing palm down the gentle dip of his back, coasted over the left cleave and continued down until the hairs of his leg ran with the motion.

"Wow," you sighed. "Such a great body. What a gorgeous ass."

Henry wanted to make a doubtful comment but he held his tongue and let you stroke him from shoulder to ankle down his left side. You paused to pinch his ass along the way, and he wiggled from the toothless bite.

Climbing up on the bed, Henry looked at you again, but you raked your fingers up the back of his neck and shoved his face back into the pillow. He mumbled something that you chose not to listen to and straddled his thighs.

"Don't you have such a nice ass?" You asked.

Henry said nothing and that earned him another hard spank.

"Ow! Oh my god," he yelled into the pillow.

"I asked you a question."

"Yes? Yes, mistress!"

"Who has the nicest, pinkest ass?" You leaned over the great length of his body, hands pressing down below his shoulder blades so you could whisper in his ear.

"I do, mistress," Henry choked out.

"Yes. Yes, you do. So soft and juicy... Like a sweet little peach."

You watched his eye wander as his teeth cut into his bottom lip. He let out a strangled moan when you placed all ten of your fingernails on his shoulders and pulled down, leaving faint white marks that quickly turned rosy as you went. You didn't stop at his ass or even at his thighs where you were perched. You brought your fingertips back up and watched the goosebumps rise all over him.

"Who has nice, sweet bum?"

"I do."

"Yes. Who needs to be spanked because he was bad?"

Henry rolled his response on his tongue and relinquished when you squeezed him hard. "Me. I need to be spanked, mistress."

He acted shocked when you swatted his rear again yet couldn't hold a sour expression for too long after receiving a couple more good whacks. You started to giggle, and he went red in the face.

"Mistress, I'm sorry for being bad."

"Oh, I'd really love to believe you, sweet boy but... You're just not all that convincing."

"I promise," he said.

"You're just saying that because you don't want any more spanks."

"No, I don't want anymore spanks."

You cooed as you climbed off of his legs and rested a hand on the ditch of his left knee. "But I'm not finished with your ass."

"Please, mistress. I don't want anymore."

"Very well... No more spanks. But that still doesn't mean I'm finished with you."

He tried to roll over but you stayed him with a tough glare and a squeeze of his thigh. You thought it was sweet that he assumed he could turn over and that would be the end of it. A flutter of a laugh escaped you and he watched fearfully as you continued stroking your hand up and down his body.

"Get up on all fours," you told him.

Henry blatantly refused to do so at first. The look on his face was one of embarrassment that filled up your satisfaction meter to nearly bursting. He scrabbled for a response that didn't break character but didn't explicitly comply with your demand.

"Why... I thought... You said no more," he reasoned.

"Yes. No more spanks and I meant that. Mistress does what she says and says what she means."

He shifted back onto his knees, brought his arms up and lifted off the bed. You got a look at the muscles shifting under his skin and felt the back of your tongue moisten. He looked every bit as delectable as he had the first time he had strolled into the cafe. Only now he was without a stitch and waiting for your next move, ready to flinch at any sudden movement you made. The power tasted delicious.

But your attention couldn't be taken from his backside and you made it a strong point to remind him the topic at hand. You grabbed, squeezed, pinched and purred against his hip as he withdrew but kept up on his knees.

"Nice bum," you whispered.

"Mistress," Henry whined.

"God, if I had a cock... I'd fuck that beautiful ass."

"No," he murmured.

"Yes," you corrected him. "It's just so perfect. And you have no idea how much I think about it. When you come into my work dressed in your nicely tailored outfits and you have no clue how sexy you really look."

He scoffed and let his head dangle between his arms. The way his spine arched gave way to his mounting frustrations. Every time you touched him, he pulled back an inch out of fear of what might become of his exposed skin. You slid over, rose to your knees, framed his cheeks in your hands and pressed a kiss to each dimple flanking the base of his spine.

"Oh, no, no, no," Henry recoiled. "No."

"I hate it when you tell me no," you said with a smile.

Before you could venture further, Henry turned over; evidence of a leaking hard-on glaringly obvious contrasted with the worry on his face.

"P-please don't. Not yet. I'm... I don't think I'm ready for this."

"What? You don't wanna have that ass eaten?"

Henry's cheeks aglow, he sighed and looked around like somebody was watching. "I, um... It's been a long day and I don't know if I'm prepared to... I haven't ever... You know. I—"

You quieted him with a gesture of your hand. "Don't worry, sweet boy. Mistress can take no for an answer."

"Thanks. Thank you," he croaked.

His entire body relaxed now that his ass wasn't in the open air where your predatory hands could explore with too much enthusiasm.

"But you're still in trouble and you're still a bad boy."

"I know," he admitted.

"And even though I want to fuck that ass... We can wait."

"Why can't you just fuck my cock instead? That feels good."

You grimaced. "Yeah, you'd like that, wouldn't you? Selfish boy. Only ever thinking about his own pleasure and no one else's."

"That's not true," he defended weakly.

And it wasn't. Henry was wonderfully in tune with your body and capable of eliciting orgasms from you that temporarily shattered your sense of being. But tonight, you could only see him for what he was; a beautiful, lying son of a bitch.

#henry deaver x mistress #henry deaver fanfiction #bill skarsgard fanfiction #castle rock fanfiction #au fanfiction

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incomingalbatross · 5 years ago

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Fic: The Adventure of the Spontaneous Physician

I wrote this snippet of “Modern Holmes AU” a while ago, but I’m feeling the urge to post it Today Specifically (Easter euphoria? maybe), even though it’s more a first chapter than a real story. So... If you have any interest in seeing my idea their modern-day first meeting, here it is! :P Length: ~2800 words Characters/Pairings: John H. Watson MD, Sherlock Holmes, OFC. Gen. Warnings: Absolutely none Summary: The call of adventure is heeded. This leads to a meeting of friends in a Starbucks, and from there to another such meeting in St. Bart’s Hospital.

It was a fine spring day in London, and Dr. Meredith Lynn, OB/GYN, was feeling the pull of Adventure.

She wasn’t feeling it terribly strongly, mind you… But it was enough to have her get off the Tube a stop or so early, and walk the rest of the way to St. Bart’s in the fresh air. And when she passed a little hole-in-the-wall Starbucks she’d used to frequent in her student days, the urge for spontaneity was easily enough to break her routine and send her in for a drink and a pastry. In her just-over-three-decades of life, she’d learned to embrace moods like this one, and to find satisfaction in following where they led.

Having made her order, however, she paused. She had time—that same adventurous mood having sent her off with an early start—but did she want to sit here, or venture back out into the sunshine?

Brow furrowed, she scanned the tables for an empty spot. A young couple—two mums chatting—a single man on his computer—

Wait.

Something about the solitary young man caught her attention. She looked more closely. He was in a slightly ill-fitting suit, browsing the web with a condensation-coated frappucino next to him and a dark look on his face. But, expression aside, that face was familiar…

She lit up, threads all slipping into place suddenly, and hurried to his table. “John Watson!” she exclaimed, standing over him.

He looked up, startled, but quickly smiling. “Meredith?”

Meredith grinned, pleased he remembered her—it had been years, and they’d never been particularly close, but clearly the bond of a shared residency was a lasting one.

“The one and only!” she chirped. “Fancy meeting you here, Dr. Watson.”

He laughed, still a little incredulously. His look of open delight, though, proclaimed she was a pleasant surprise—he’d always worn his heart on his sleeve, Meredith remembered, and she was glad to see that that guilelessness hadn’t disappeared.

“Really!” he agreed, smiling. “I haven’t even looked for anyone from the St. Bart days since…well, since I got to town. What have you been up to?” Then he paused, expression flickering with sudden self-doubt. “Or, sorry, are you on your way to work or someplace? I wouldn’t want to keep you—”

But Meredith put an end to that by sliding into the seat opposite him. John had always been a good sort, and she was glad to catch up. And besides that…well, between his earlier gloom and his enthusiasm at seeing her, she rather thought he could use some company.

So she smiled and said truthfully, “Nothing but time. My first consultation’s not till—ooh, over an hour from now, and I’m still at Bart’s, so it's just ‘round the corner.” Setting her coffee and her scone decidedly on the table, she said, “So tell me! How’ve you been?”

He brightened, closing his laptop to give her his full attention. (Always the gentleman, John.) “I’ve been… Well.” He half-shrugged. “A mixed bag, I suppose. Not so bad now, really, but…”

He trailed off, and Meredith bit her lip in concerned attention. She’d thought, when she saw him, that he wasn’t looking well…

He shook his head, smiling at her as if in apology for his brief silence. “Well. Did you know, back in the day, that I was planning to sign up with Doctors Without Borders?”

“Hmm…” Meredith frowned. “I may have. Not sure, sorry.”

“That’s all right! Anyway, I did. Filled the qualifications, signed up, and got sent out last summer… It was pretty brilliant, actually,” he said earnestly. But then he gave a rueful grimace. “Then I got shot, sent home, and put on disability pay this winter.”

Mer’s mouth hung open. “You got shot?” she exclaimed. “Good lord, John, how bad was it? Where?”

He pulled back a little at her unthinking reaction, looking as if the attention made him uncomfortable. “Shoulder, but it’s not too bad,” he said quickly. “I mean, my leg doesn’t work properly either, just as a bonus, but neither is debilitating… I can get through daily life all right, now, and I can work as long as it doesn’t demand too much fine motor control. Doesn’t even hurt too much!”

His face had fallen, though, despite these hopeful words, and it was plain to see he was hurting on some level.

“It’s just that I can’t go back, you know?” he said after a moment. “Maybe not ever. And I know I could be much worse off, but it’s…disheartening, I guess. All that work, and I got less than a year of doing what I wanted to do with it.”

Looking at him, Meredith frowned. She could only imagine the disorienting upset of having your entire life’s plan forcibly torn apart like that… But it hurt to see a man like John H. Watson looking so adrift, so done.

“Hey,” she said, leaning forward. “Whatever…whatever you’re meant to do with yourself, you’ll find it. If not Doctors Without Borders, something better. You’ve just…” She fumbled over her words, torn between trying to say what she really felt and wanting to avoid empty-sounding platitudes. “You’ve got more ahead than behind, John,” she said finally, earnestly.

He blinked, looking unexpectedly touched. “I… Thank you,” he said, the empty look fading. “I do feel that myself, at least some of the time… It’s just frustrating, you know? I’m not terribly good at planning ahead to start with, and now my one big plan’s just…thrown out, and I’ve got to make another?” He sighed, stirring the sludge left in his cup with an idle straw. “Having something out there is all well and good, but finding it…” He snorted, one corner of his mouth curling up in a rueful smile. "Need somewhere to start, you know. Can't make bricks without clay."

Meredith blinked at the odd choice of phrase…and more, at recognizing it.

"Y'know," she said, "somebody else said that to me just yesterday? The bricks thing, I mean."

John looked up. "Oh really?"

She nodded. "He was complaining about rooming, though. Something about needing either more money or a roommate, and how impossible it would be to get either." She rolled her eyes tolerantly, thinking of her labmate's dramatics.

"Well, I can relate to that, too," John said, laughing and taking a drink. "Before anything else, I need a halfway-affordable place to stay, and that's…not easy."

"No…" Meredith trailed off halfway through her wry agreement, struck by a sudden thought.

"Why not room with him?" she said.

John blinked, startled. "I—sorry? I mean, I wouldn't mind a roommate, of course, but we don't know anything about each other—I don't even know his name!"

But Meredith just grinned, the idea having now firmly taken root in her mind. It would be good for John—he clearly needed company, and something to take him out of himself, and this set-up would certainly provide stimulation.

And as for her labmate… Well. She was sure he'd have a fit if he ever heard her say this, but occasionally he seemed lonely, too. And you couldn't find a more considerate friend than Dr. John H. Watson…

So she just said, smiling over the rim of her coffee cup, "His name is Sherlock Holmes. Now you know!"

"…Sherlock Holmes." She watched him turn the syllables over. "That's quite a name."

"He's quite a person." She took another sip of coffee. "An odd sort, definitely—very bright, and sometimes very impatient with us mere mortals who are less bright and can’t keep up, but not unfriendly. Lives in his own world, a bit, I think? Not sure what he’d be like to live with…but he’s good company when he decides to be.”

“An eccentric genius?” John suggested, smile lighting up his eyes. “Sounds interesting, at least. What is he, exactly? Another doctor?”

She laughed. “Oh, no. Truthfully, I don’t know what his thing is—he seems to be some sort of perpetual grad student, but I couldn’t tell you what in! No, we just share lab space occasionally—I’m assisting on a research project in post-natal care, did I mention?”

“No, congratulations! What’s it about?”

Meredith started to answer…then checked herself and looked at her watch.

“If I start answering that,” she said, with a grin, “we’ll be here until you’re bored stiff and I’m late for work. But here’s a thought—walk with me to Bart’s? I can talk your ear off on the way, and then maybe we can find Sherlock Holmes and I can introduce you before my first appointment.”

He grinned. “Sounds brilliant, if you don’t mind. I’d like to meet him, even if we don’t end up working as a flatshare.”

They gathered up their things and set off—the conversation, as they walked, bouncing between Meredith’s work in London and John’s experiences abroad. He had a gift for storytelling, picking out the drama or the humor or the human interest in events; but, unusually, he had an equally strong gift for listening. All in all, the rest of her commute passed far more quickly than Meredith would have expected when she got up that morning.

She paused outside the hospital. “Hang on…” She turned to John with a rueful smile. “I should’ve thought of this before—I suppose part of me was thinking you still worked here—but I think I’ll need to leave you for a bit. Sherlock Holmes is probably in the lab, and…I can’t get you in without a badge.”

John’s eyes widened. “Oh, right! I’d forgotten that too.” He frowned, lost in thought. “Where should I wait for you, then?”

“Hmm…” Meredith tilted her head. Her first thought was the lobby, but she felt there must be something better. Somewhere quiet, public, enjoyable…

Ah. Hm. “Pathology Museum?” she suggested. “Have you been lately?”

“I haven’t, actually,” John said, brightening. Ah, so she remembered correctly—he had been the one who liked the place, back in the day. He was a bit of a nerd, wasn’t he? “I heard they’d been doing more remodeling, though. How does it look now?”

“I don’t really know,” she said, smiling. While Bart’s Museum of Pathology was fascinating, she supposed, from a certain point of view—certainly the layout was nice, and they had a vast variety of artifacts from the hospital’s centuries of history—it was all a bit too odd, and sometimes morbid, for her own tastes, and she rarely visited it herself.

Still... “I’ll walk over with you,” she decided. “Then next time someone asks me that, I’ll know the answer!”

John laughed, and they made their way in and up to the museum’s third-floor location.

“Come to think of it,” she remarked, as they entered the open floor of the museum, with its multiple mezzanine levels running around the walls and its glass roof above (it really was a nice place, if you ignored some of the exhibits), “this seems like exactly the sort of place Sherlock Holmes probably hangs about in.”

And then she stopped, surprised—because there, bending over one of the glass cases in the middle of the room, was a tall figure that could only be the man himself.

He showed no sign of having noticed their arrival, so Meredith steered John over.

“Dr. Lynn, hello,” Sherlock Holmes said without turning. “Aren’t these exhibits fascinating? Look at this old doctor’s bag, here. Imagine how much it has to tell us… I wish I could open the case and take a closer look.”

Meredith looked down, seeing that the case did, indeed, hold an old-fashioned doctor’s kit, black bag and all. “I have to admit,” she said, “I don’t get much out of museums… I’d love to meet the man who owned the bag, but the bag itself doesn’t make much impression.”

“But can’t you see they’re practically the same thing?” Sherlock Holmes said enthusiastically, turning to face her. “If you could really get your hands on the bag, really examine it—oh, hello.”

He’d finally noticed her companion, she saw; his sharp gaze had locked on to this new figure, and flickered rapidly over him from head to foot before meeting John Watson’s eyes.

He blinked; and then smiled one of his genuine, spontaneous smiles, and held out a hand. “Sherlock Holmes,” he said. “A Doctors Without Borders veteran, I see? Impressive, especially when you’re also a friend of Dr. Lynn’s. I’m interested in the flatshare if you are, Doctor…?”

“John H. Watson,” John said, shaking his hand automatically. And then he blinked, eyes widening in belated, vaguely awestruck shock. “But—hang on, how did you know all that?”

Sherlock Holmes grinned. “Oh, I’m perceptive,” he said easily. “But look, you’re a doctor, and one who likes stories—what do you think of this bag?”

He turned back to the exhibit, and John followed his lead. “…It’s fascinating to think about,” he said slowly, looking down at the faded black bag. “All the things it must have been carried through, how the man first got it… All the lives that may have been saved with the tools inside it.” He sighed. “If only you could learn those stories from the bag itself.”

“You might be able to,” Sherlock Holmes said. “If you studied it well enough.” His fingers tapped out a staccato rhythm on the glass case. “But you came to talk about rooming together, yes? The rooms I’ve been looking at are on Baker Street—two-bedroom, a little out of the way but not far from the Tube, and a good building. Do you have pets, or smoke?”

John shook his head.

“Perfect!” he exclaimed, grinning again. “Fair warning before you commit, though—I have a tendency to get into odd hobbies, chemistry being my most consistent one. Would you be all right with occasional home experiments?”

John just laughed. “Yes, that’s fine.”

“Good, good. My other major drawback as a roommate—or so I’ve heard, anyway—is my moods. I have a tendency towards depressive episodes, and although they’re never major, and they only last a few days, they can be uncomfortable for those who have to share space with me.”

“I would think,” John said slowly, blinking, “that they’d be more uncomfortable for you.”

Sherlock Holmes looked startled, then laughed. “I suppose so,” he allowed, “ but I don’t have much of a choice about them—and, no, before you ask, I’ve never gotten a solid diagnosis, and yes I did try before the whole ordeal became more trouble than it was worth. But anyway, they’re not dangerous and they’re not triggered by those around me, so all I need is some space. So what do you need me to know, Doctor?”

John thought for a moment—smiling, as if amused by the other’s bluntness. “Well,” he said, “I got shot up in Afghanistan, so I’ve limitations on how I can use my arm, and I’m going to both types of therapy. I also don’t like parties, and… Ah, right. I was called a Puritan a good few times in college, so if you’re likely to have, er, anyone overnight…?” He flushed a bit.

“Good Lord, no,” Sherlock Holmes said instantly, with a snort. “And if you aren’t either, that’s an added draw—I don’t like strangers in my space much, myself. Should make life easier for both of us, yes?”

“I’d say so,” John agreed, clearly relieved. “It sounds as though we’ll have a quiet flat.”

“So it seems. Although…” For the first time, he looked concerned. “How do you feel about the violin?”

John laughed, looking surprised. “My favorite instrument, believe it or not,” he admitted. “Although it does depend on the player…”

Sherlock Holmes laughed too. “That’s fine, then,” he said assuredly. “When would you like to look at the flat, in that case? I’m free today…”

Meredith, who had ostensibly drawn back to examine an old plaque on the wall—although it was really too worn by age to read anything except the date, which commemorated something to do with “New Year’s Day 1881”—watched them both, and smiled happily to herself.

They had clicked, and even more thoroughly than she had expected them to. Both men’s postures were loosened, and they had begun talking easily and animatedly already. There was a warmth to Sherlock Holmes’s voice, and a spark in John’s eyes, that she’d rarely seen before in either.

She hummed to herself, remembering the call of Adventure she’d felt that morning. It had faded, now, leaving behind a welcome bounty of drink, food, and unexpected reunion for her, and leaving her to her life until it came again…

But as she looked at the two young men her spontaneous walk had brought together, she rather thought their Adventure had only just begun.

#Sherlock Holmes #holmes #watson #fic #my fic #watson is a sweet awkward nerd and i STAND BY THIS #also bart's pathology museum is 100 percent real #(though i threw in the doctor's bag for Appropriateness)#so how could i pass it up?#friendship #baker street

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rwbyvein · 5 years ago

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Dragonslayer: The Claim

Jaune: Option 1, flowers. Pros: Flowers. Cons: She not exactly a girly-girl.

Jaune: Option 2, booze. Pros: She loves booze. Cons: She knows a hell of a lot more than I do. I don't know anything about booze.

Jaune: Option 3, invite her out for a drink. More likely to work, but then she would see me fail at drinking.

Jaune: Option 4, just kiss her. High chance of her punching me extremely hard, but I've lived through worse.

Jaune: Option 5, seduce her with the charm I 100% do not have. I'm more likely to slip and fall then to seduce her like that.

Jaune: Option 6, slip and fall and grab onto her. Pros: High chance of slippling and falling anyways, Cons: I will probably find some way to mess this up.

Jaune: Option 7, use Ruby as an intermediary. Much more likely to work in the opposite direction. She's probably just laugh at me. I would much rather get punched.

Jaune: Option 8, grope her. Higher chance of pissing her off, but if it works, it will work.

Nora (whispering): Should we do something? Fearless leader clearly needs our help.

Pyrrha (whispering): I'll be there to help him when he falls.

Nora (whispering): Assuming he's going to fall.

Ren (whispering): This is our leader after all. Falling is what he does, he just won't be daunted by it.

Jaune: Option 4. Most likely chance of success. Least chance of debilitating injuries.

* * *

Jaune: *stands outside RWBY's door*

Jaune: Fixes his tie.

Jaune: *coughs*

NPR: *hiding around the corner*

Jaune: *knocks*

Weiss: *opens the door*

Weiss: Jaune?

Jaune: Can I speak to Yang?

Weiss: *steps aside*

Jaune: I meant alone.

Weiss: Yang?!

Yang: Yo? *walks up* What's up, Vomit Boy.

Jaune: *nods his head to the side*

Yang: I guess. *steps out of the room*

Jaune: *grabs Yang and pulls her in for a kiss, a kiss that nearly lasts a minute*

Jaune: *let's go*

Jaune: *steps back a couple feet*

Jaune: *winces*

Jaune: *slightly opens one of his eyes*

Yang: You look like you're ready for a punch. Did you really think I would punch you?

Jaune: The thought had crossed my mind, yes.

Yang: Why did you do it?

Jaune: I thought that would be obvious.

Yang: What, me?

Jaune: You are gorgeous, breathtaking. Literally... *wheezes* Literally take my breath away.

Yang: I'm the one you picked?

Jaune: So, you're not going to punch me?

Yang: Why would I punch you?

Jaune: *exhales and relaxes*

Jaune: *straightens up*

Jaune: *steps forward and grabs her by the back of her head*

Jaune: You fill my thoughts and fantasies.

Yang: Me? Not your Snow Angel?

Weiss: *scoffs*

Yang: Not?.. *sees Pyrrha shushing her*

Jaune: Yes, you. You with your firey passion, determination, arrogance in the face of adversity. You who will burn the whole world down if it crossed you.

Yang: Me? All the women you could have picked from, and you picked me?

Jaune: All the women I could have what? 100% truthful when I say I thought you were going to punch me.

Yang: And you still did it?

Jaune: Because you're worth it?

Yang: Apparently you don't know anything about girls.

Jaune: *looks at her questioningly*

Yang: You've got me by the back of the head, are you going to do anything with it?

Jaune: huh? *eyes wide with recognition*

Jaune: *kisses her deeply*

Yang: *grabs his free left hand and puts it on her ass*

Jaune: *squeezes before letting her go*

Yang: There's something you have to know about me, Vomit Boy. If you want to be my man and not just another boytoy...

Jaune: *looking at her nervously*

Yang: You have to be the one to grab my ass, slap my ass, and tell me what to do. You got that? I don't want you to be another boytoy. I want you to be the man I've been waiting for. I'll have to say, you did good for your first time, grabbing me by the back of my neck. I have high hopes for you.

Jaune: *loudly swallows*

Yang: *turns around to walk back in their room*

Jaune: *swats her on the ass*

Yang: *sticks her ass out to him*

Yang: Hit me again.

Jaune: *slaps her a lot harder on the ass*

Yang: Oh, good god that's good.

Yang: *turns around inside the room*

Yang: Unless my team needs me, you have my undivided attention, when - ever - you - want it.

Yang: *pantomimes a kiss and closes the door*

Weiss: What was that?!

Yang: Vomit Boy slapped me on the ass and made me his own. I scored myself a live one, girls.

Blake: *blushes and looks away*

Weiss: *huffs*

Ruby: I have never seen Yang so giddy with a boy. This is kind of disturbing.

Yang: Well, you better get used to it Rubes, as he's going to be slapping my ass whenever he feels like it. One day you can find a man of your own who can grab your ass when he feels like it.

Blake: *full face flush*

Weiss: *huffs* I am a Schnee!

Yang: Huff all you want, Vomit Boy is all mine.

* * *

Yang: *walks out of class, only to be grabbed by Jaune and pulled in for a powerful kiss*

* * *

Yang: *walks through the doorway into her room, only to have her ass slapped by Jaune so powerfully that the sound echoed down the hallway*

Yang: *pauses* Oooh, that's good.

Jaune: *fondles her ass*

* * *

Weiss: *confronts Jaune*

Weiss: I must ask, what is your intentions with our teammate?

Jaune: *holds his finger up to his lips*

Jaune: *whispers*

Weiss: *gasps*

Jaune: They are ridiculously expensive, though.

Weiss: *stunned silence*

Weiss: *coughs, and regains her composure*

Weiss: I guess, despite appearances, you do truly wish to honour her.

Jaune: I don't want to ever let her go.

#rwby #dragonslayer #jaune arc #yang xiao long

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anincrediblelife-blog · 5 years ago

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“Young man, you have cancer…” pt.1

Now that’s one thing that I never thought I’d hear at 24 years old...or...ever, really.

In November 2018, I traveled home to Pennsylvania to spend the Thanksgiving holiday with my family. Months previously, I had started to notice a shift in my health. I was probably at the healthiest I ever was—eating the right foods, exercising, meditating— but then I began getting tired more easily, I was coming down with a cold almost every other week, and I began to notice some lower backpain and a slight cough. Three days after Thanksgiving, I ended up in the emergency room with excruciating back pain to the point of it being debilitating. The cough seemed to be getting worse, and I began to notice blood in my mucus. My first thought was, “maybe I have kidney stones…” A CT scan was done in the ER and a couple hours later the doctor came in and told me that an “innumerable amount of lesions” were seen on the CT in my lungs and throughout my abdomen.

“We think it’s cancer—perhaps lymphoma or a rare type of testicular cancer” he said.

At this point, so many things had started running through my head. “Cancer? How? I’m too young.”

The day after going to the emergency room, I went to get an ultrasound on my testicles. Nothing came back out of the ordinary— I had no lumps, no swelling, nothing—but I was still referred to an oncologist for the following week.

I didn’t have a week. Two days after the ultrasound, I ended up back in the emergency room, this time, I had unbearable back pain and was unable to breath. I was admitted to Nittany Medical Center in State College, PA and over the next week, I would receive ample amounts of fluids, breathing treatments, bloodwork, a biopsy on my lungs, an MRI, and numerous CT scans. By this time, I was unable to breath on my own and was hooked up to an oxygen tank. After receiving some results, Mount Nittany decided that they did not have enough resources for me and so I was transferred to the ICU at Geisinger Medical Center in Danville, PA. My health had rapidly declined within a week.

After four days in the ICU and countless pricks and prods, I was diagnosed with Stage 4 (3C) testicular choriocarcinoma. The cancer had spread to the lymph nodes in my abdomen and up into about 80% my lungs. My Thanksgiving holiday had turned into a nightmare.

Now living in Baltimore, Maryland, I had to decide what to do about treatment. I knew this was life or death at this point and I didn’t have time. Do I stay in PA with my family, or go back home to Maryland and seek treatment at there? Johns Hopkins is just around the corner. To me this was a no-brainer, but my family thought otherwise. Ultimately, I decided to go back to Baltimore and try to set up an oncology appointment with their urology department.

However, once again, I ran out of time and ended up in the emergency room. Just a week after my diagnosis, I returned to the hospital with breathing problems and severe back pain—something that I thought I was able to get under control while at Geisinger. Johns Hopkins hospital admitted me the night I arrived in the emergency room.

Two days later, I started chemotherapy.

December 8, 2018: I started my cocktail of three chemo drugs, known as VIP, along with various nausea meds and painkillers. I spent ten days in the hospital, meeting with numerous doctors, specialists, nurses. The oncologists working with me went over my treatment plan and what to expect. Everything was happening so quickly, I didn’t even have time to comprehend it all. My family was back in PA, my friends here in Baltimore. I was in denial and I surely didn’t know what to do.

Over the next four months, I’d receive three more rounds of VIP chemotherapy, each lasting five days per round with a two week break in between. My hair fell out, my body began to change. I didn’t recognize myself. I was literally losing myself in the process. I tried my best to stay positive, to see the road ahead, and just enjoy life. I visited friends, went to events, and TOTALLY rocked the bald look.

Just after my first round of chemo, I went in for a right radical orchiectomy to remove the affected testicle. The doctors were able to determine that the cancer had developed in my right testicle, metastasized to my lungs and lymph nodes, and had “burned out,” leaving only but a small scarring on the tissue. This explained why I didn’t have a lump, or pain, or swelling—the cancer had literally burned out. My body fight it off, but it was too late. This was a rare occurrence, to say the least—almost as rare as even developing testicular cancer in the first place.

I finished chemotherapy at the end of February 2019. But I wasn’t out of the woods just yet. Although my bloodwork showed improvement and my CT scans were clearing up (which meant the treatment WAS working), I still was showing inflamed lymph nodes and a tumor about the size of a grapefruit in my abdomen.

April 2, 2019: RPLND. 54 lymph nodes were removed from abdomen and a teratoma about the size of a grapefruit was removed.

For the next six months, I began to bounce back. Tumor markers were still falling, lung Mets were shrinking, everything was going my way. Everything was FINALLY falling back into place. I went on a vacation to see friends who now live in Arizona. What a blast! (And it was exactly what I needed after all this).

I finally return to work after being out for almost 8 months. I started getting healthy again. My color was back, my hair was back, my confidence was finally back to life. I joined a kickboxing gym to kick my ass back into shape and really get out some stress. Everything was falling into place.

October 2019: The electric scooter...

Oh that damn electric scooter.

You know those electric scooters popping up all over cities? It became a fun hobby over the summer...so convenient and fun to ride around the town on. In October, I took a tumble one night and really banged my face and head up. I had seriously thought I broke my entire face. For a few days after I started getting really bad headaches. I was certain I had gotten a concussion. Lucky me.

I went to the doctors and a head scan was performed. No hemorrhaging or anything suspicious, just a pretty bumped up noggin. I was free to leave.

A couple days later, I got a notification on my phone that the scan results had been posted on my portal. I took a look. What the doctor didn’t mention to me in the ER that day was that a mass was noticed, most likely a cyst. This obviously caught m attention. Later that week, I had a two month follow up with the oncologist. He said he saw it noted and that we would watch it. We were all pretty certain that it was nothing to worry about.

#testicularcancer #testicularcancerawareness #fuckcancer #mystory

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pmddnutter · 5 years ago

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Running a business with PMDD

I suffer from a condition called Premenstrual Dysphoric Disorder or PMDD for short, its sometimes referred to as severe PMS although it is certainly way worse than PMS. It has only recently (May 2019) been recognised by the World Health Organisation (WHO) as a unique condition meaning that PMDD will be considered a separate condition to severe PMS, should see more funding and research and allow doctors across the world to standardise their terms. Hopefully leading to more diagnoses and better treatment and understanding.

The WHO defines PMDD as:

“a pattern of mood symptoms (depressed mood, irritability), somatic symptoms (lethargy, joint pain, overeating), or cognitive symptoms (concentration difficulties, forgetfulness) that begin several days before the onset of menses, start to improve within a few days after the onset of menses, and then become minimal or absent within approximately 1 week following the onset of menses.”[i]

PMDD is debilitating, it has caused women to commit suicide. There are no specific treatments for it; for some women hormonal contraception works well, for other antidepressants, and for a handful of women only a full hysterectomy has helped. Whatever the treatments, PMDD is different for different women – it affects us all differently.

PMDD and Me

For me PMDD is that girl in high school that was a bit two faced, smiles to your face when she needs you but when your back is turned pulled that ‘urgh’ face and rolls her eyes to her ‘real’ mates – you know the one I mean.

She is never the same though, some months she can be quite mild and meek, maybe a bit of insomnia and overeating, sometimes a bit grumpy or irritable – kinda friendly but you know that there is a storm brewing. Other months she is in full on Bitch Mode! She makes me believe my husband is having an affair, she makes me eat ALL DAY, she tells me I’m no good, she makes me want to get in my car and drive as far away as possible.

And when you have this whilst running your own one-man band business it’s really bloody hard! As a small business owner hand making you own products you already question yourself pretty much daily; is my stuff any good, why do people buy it, why aren’t people buying it, shall I just jack it in and go back to ‘real’ work full time? So, add PMDD into the mix and I feel like I’m on a rollercoaster and I bloody hate rollercoasters!

With PMDD I get these amazing times of euphoria, exciting manic times where my creativity and enthusiasm are in overdrive and OMG these times are awesome. I come up with some of my best work during this time, my marketing strategies all just seem to work, I love being around people and go out and network loads.

But then I have to crash, and I kinda know I will but I never know how hard. Sometimes I’ll just have a teary day, one where nothing goes right, I miss stamp literally everything and nothing I post on social media is interesting, so no one comments. But sometimes this just lasts 1 day and I don’t even realise until my period starts that this day happened. But other times I crash bad… I just hate everyone and everything, my customer service goes out of the window as everyone is against me. Why bother posting on social media as I can’t make it sound nice or enthusiastic. I spend pretty much all day holding back the tears and my horrible attitude, I just want to stay in bed but I can’t sleep, I eat EVERYTHING in sight and I literally have to force myself to do even the most menial of tasks.

One of the very worst things about these really deep lows is that I don’t recognise myself, I am usually (for the other 2/3 weeks of the month) a really happy and enthusiastic person which is why I sometimes don’t even realise the manic days have happened until the low starts. The lows that scare me are the ones where I don’t want to be around people, especially when you have a house to run with 2 small children and a husband and a part time job. The ones where I just can’t seem to snap out of it, I know I’m in deep, I can’t stop myself saying some nasty things and snapping at those closest to me. The lows where any orders I get don’t matter, they’ll probably just hate it when it arrives anyway so what’s the point making it at all. Any messages I get I just can’t be arsed to reply as the questions are just so inane and pointless, or they’re just moaning at me for no reason – no your order that you placed 10 mins ago won’t be with you tomorrow as I have to HAND MAKE IT! I have to stop myself replying with a message saying ‘won’t you just f*ck off already, you’ll get it when I decide you’re worthy enough to make my crappy handmade sh*t that you probably won’t like anyway and you won’t bother to leave me any feedback even if you do’ (that’s a whole other blog for another time!)

So why am I writing this blog now?

It is now December 2019 and I’ve been trying to write this since PMDD awareness month back in April 2019! At the beginning of the month I had a plan to do some awesome posts about it, create some keyrings, maybe even raise some money. Then it hits… why would anyone want to buy any of my keyrings, I’d be doing the cause a grave injustice in creating such shit products. Believe me, the irony of this is not lost! The irony of the negative thoughts is never lost once I come out the other side, and it’s this irony that delays me getting the help I need. A few days passes and you convince yourself that it wasn’t so bad, it was just you feeling a bit blue for a day. You get on with life, looking after the kids, bury yourself in work; the high is well and truly convincing you that you are absolutely fine and that next month won’t be so bad. But then you notice the date, it’s a few days before you are due to ovulate and here we go again…

I went to my GP in May 2019 as the symptoms were not getting any better and asked to have the hormonal coil fitted again as it had helped me so much before I had my second baby. It was fitted in June this year and I waited the 3 months to see if it would help, it unfortunately didn’t and in October I had one of my worst lows to date. It was horrendous and I booked a GP appointment at 2am after being awake for nearly 48hrs, having eaten god knows how much food, drunk far too much wine and cried at every little thing I watched. I saw my GP a couple of weeks later, obviously I was feeling much better but I am determined to get this thing sorted and she was amazing and we went through the options and I decided on trying oestrogen for the 2 weeks prior to my cycle. I had to giggle to myself when reading the instructions; firstly because I have to rub 1 squirt of this gel into my thigh at the same time every day, and secondly because this is effectively HRT given to older ladies at the time of the change LOL!

Unfortunately, it doesn’t look like this is working for me, I’m 4 days before I am normally due on and the symptoms are back. Definitely not as severe as the October crash but the feelings of annoyance, self-doubt and pointlessness of it all are here, my next step is perhaps anti-depressants, so I’ll book an appointment with the GP and see what the next steps are.

My battle with PMDD and keeping sane for my business continues, even as I write this I am questioning all my plans for 2020. I have/had some great ideas but that little well of anxiety is brewing up again and I’m thinking it’ll just be better/easier to scrap it all. I won’t though, I’ll step away from social media, take some time out for me (although with this comes the Mum Guilt fun) and give myself a good talking to that this will pass and next week I’ll be buzzing and posting non-stop and bugging everyone again! Until next month…

Thanks for reading,

Emma xx

For more information and guidance for PMDD please check out the MIND website here or IAPMD here, or feel free to drop me a message.

You can also download an app to track your symptoms here.

[i] https://iapmd.org/position-statements-1/2019/6/11/world-health-organization-adds-premenstrual-dysphoric-disorder-pmdd-into-the-icd-11

#living with pmdd #pmdd #running a business #mental health

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noveltwin · 5 years ago

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My Journey to a better Man

I don’t know why I’ve gotten into the mood to write about my journey these last couple years. I was sitting here thinking about girls, and that led to the realization that I haven’t been with someone in coming up on six years. That opened up a rabbit hole.

I want to say I’m not looking to be with someone, I know I’m not ready for it. I can hardly even handle creating a friendship I’m so inept. In fact I believe I’ve gotten worse ever since my break up in ‘13. She was helping me come out and be more confident and social, then it all wasted away. I, definitely don’t want to put another Woman through that bullshit unless I can find someone as equally introverted as I am, then maybe my awkward incompetence wouldn’t bother her.

Anyway, what I wanted to write about was my journey since 2013. It’s been almost six years since the decline started, but most of the struggle has happened since 2015/2016, after I was diagnosed and treated for Stage III Hodgkins Lymphoma and lost my job, (again). It was a roller coaster of early morning Chemotherapy, debilitating side effects that made me lay in bed crying for an end, and hopes and dreams to start anew if I came out still breathing.

I did, in fact, come out still breathing, obviously, but I didn’t take this second chance seriously for years. I lived life horribly depressed, believing I shouldn’t even try because life wouldn’t allow me to succeed. I had to endure Cancer, if life saw fit to throw that at me, what else would it do? Over those years I was sedentary, I pigged out on “comfort” food, Soda was my water, and by the time the Holidays of 2017 came around, I was a 340lb blubbering mess and experiencing my first Anxiety Attack behind the wheel. It wouldn’t be the last one.

My second Anxiety Attack came weeks later again in the car, but lasted much longer and was more severe. I had sweats, my heart pounded, and I was dizzy and hyperventilating. Sent to the Hospital to only eventually calm down and be told there wasn’t anything wrong with me physically, I was released home only to have more Anxiety Attacks over time that only increased in frequency and intensity. My obesity combined with the constant attacks finally thrust me into the realization that I had reached the point of no return. Was I going to continue to do nothing and let nature take its inevitable course to a grave, or was I going to start working to fix myself?

My Apartment complex has a free exercise room. I chose work.

From that moment on I used the unemployed free time I had to exercise twice a day, every single day. At first, I was a mess. Just the walk to the complex office left me short of breath, and I could only do 15 minutes of Cardio at most before going back home. I felt worthless, incapable, pathetic. But I kept going back. Once after waking up, and once before bed. And you know the damnedest thing? My Anxiety Attacks lessened. I continued the twice daily routine, I cut my daily Soda intake from an average of eight cans down to a single can as a treat, I replaced my evening meal with a daily salad and I lessened my portions. And the pounds just started sliding off, bit by chunk by bit. Even just counting all the calories I was ingesting through Sodas alone left me in shock at how bad I used to be. And now it seemed I was on a fast track to finally not being fat anymore, not being worthless.

The initial months of major loss wore off into weeks of just one or two pound differences, the loss slowed down considerably, I would miss a workout or two, then winter came along and Mother got into Holiday baking mode. The weather being too cold for me to want to walk to the gym, combined with sudden abundance of cookies and other treats made me plateau and even go back up a little, but by this time I had finally gotten my first legitimate full time job in a Warehouse, and that daily exercise was my saving grace to help combat my fall off the wagon. All I did was maintain where I was, and thankfully the winter lull didn’t last after New Years. Once Spring of this year came around I put in the effort to return to the gym, at least once every day I had off from work while my work week acted as exercise. For the most part, I’m still maintaining, but there are weeks here and there I’m still having a loss, even if it is between just one and three or four pounds. But it’s still a loss. And today, one year and five months later I have lost almost 110lbs, for a current weight of 238, down from 345. I’m still chubby, still overweight with a lot of fat in my belly and chest, but I have made a massive improvement to my well being that my mind sometimes just can’t comprehend when I really think about it. I’ve all but stopped having Anxiety, I’m incredibly active now compared to before, I’m working 12 hours shifts and for the first time, I can actually look at myself in the mirror, look at my face, and I can see the handsome Man I’ve always supposed to be. The work isn’t done, but I’ve never been so close.

At the time, I could never have imagined I could go from this;

To this.

People tell you, that the first thing you have to do in life, is to love yourself. I may not have a life outside my own walls besides my job, I may not be the most exciting person to be around, or the most interesting to talk to. I may bury myself in my screen, losing myself in my Elder Scrolls Online characters for periods of time longer than what would seem healthy. But when I come home from a particularly long 13 hours at work, or from one of my cardio sessions, and I look into the mirror, I’m starting to really like the face that looks back at me.

I hate his new chronic medical problems, I hate his never ending Doctors appointments, I hate how he can’t grow hair where it matters anymore, and I hate how lonely he still gets sitting in his room with no one wanting him in their lives. But I’m really diggin’ his face.

#personal story #journey #exercise #weight loss #transition #life

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azaisya · 6 years ago

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Simple Things or, Kima tries to heal one of the refugees in Whitestone, Cassandra tries to lead her people, and they both look out for each other

Kima was exhausted. After Vox Machina’s departure, her ability to heal was sorely needed among the refugees in Whitestone. As a paladin, she’d always preferred smiting her foes to tending to the wounded. She despised being around illness or vomit, and she didn’t have the personality for a polite bedside manner.

She was a decent wartime healer. She could pick allies up in the field of battle and send them on their way. She’d kept her party alive, when she’d been adventuring.

(Until the end, at least)

But she wasn’t a cleric. She didn’t have the deep reserves needed for working in infirmaries like this.

“Kima!”

Kima looked up from the broken arm she was inspecting, recognizing the voice. “Cassandra?”

The young lady of Whitestone rushed past the sick beds and stopped before Kima. She’d clearly been working as well. Her hair was bound back in a braid, and she was wearing an apron with a splatter of blood across the corner. “Come quickly. One of the men—Denmir, I think?—needs you.”

Kima mentally shuffled through the many people she’d treated over the last few days. “Is he the one with the twisted ankle?”

Cassandra shook her head, dark eyes grave. “No, he’s in one of the private rooms.”

Kima swore. Only very important or very injured people had been placed in private rooms. Looking around, she snapped her fingers at one of the volunteers near her. “You. Find a sling for this woman’s arm. I’ll be back in—” She waved a hand vaguely. “—I don’t know. Maybe never.”

Cassandra took off down the hall. Although she walked as silently as ever, there was an urgency to her gait. Kima, with her shorter legs, had to half-jog to keep up.

“What happened?”

“We think there might have been some internal bleeding that Pike missed,” Cassandra said. Her tone was flat, matter-of-fact in the way it was when she was distressed. “He took a turn for the worse a couple hours ago, and nobody else can figure out how to help him.”

“A couple hours ago?” Kima repeated, her tone caught somewhere between horrified and angry, “Why didn’t anyone tell me?”

“You were busy,” Cassandra said, a note of hesitance entering her voice.

Kima waved a hand, grimacing. Cassandra was right. She’d been doing nothing but dealing with emergencies all day, and she was fucking exhausted. “Sorry, sorry.” She groaned and rubbed her hands over her face. When Pike had been here, it had been easy enough to spread out her magic, giving people enough to stabilize them but not enough that she reached the point where she was completely drained if an emergency came up. Without Pike there to supplement Kima’s extremely limited healing, Kima simply didn’t have enough magic to prevent emergencies like this.

“Here,” Cassandra said, pushing open one of the doors nearby.

Kima entered, mentally tallying how many spells she’d casted today and despairing at how high the number was, and stopped short upon seeing Denmir. He was lying on his back in a bed in the center of the room, his ashen face sweat-streaked and his chest moving shallowly and erratically as he struggled to breathe.

Kima swore, again.

Immediately, one of the woman sitting at his side sprang to her feet. She was young, probably the poor kid’s fiancée or sister. “Please! You have to help him.”

Kima scanned the room. Two women, one older and one younger. An older man. Two teenagers. “Right,” she said, a little breathlessly, “Right.” Her gaze dropped to the man on the bed, and she dragged a chair over and stood on it so that she could see him better. Her mouth settled into a grim line.

He was practically dead already.

Taking a deep breath, she reached out and laid one hand on his forehead. Her touch alone was enough to close wounds, but she’d already expended too much of her magic. The man merely twitched, her power siphoning away into the black void that was a body already slipping away.

Fuck, she thought, emphatically.

“Okay,” she said, loudly, “Okay! Everybody, get out.”

The older woman protested, “But we—”

“Out!” Kima roared. This man was dying, whether or not his family was in here, and she would much rather deal with that without their watching eyes. “Now!”

Cassandra, with her eyes huge and face pale, quickly turned on the people in the room. “You can just wait in the hallway,” she said, voice level and commanding despite her shaking, “Please.” She ushered them out, acknowledging their protests with a patient smile worthy of a queen.

Fuck, Kima thought, again. She doubted she had the magic to save this man from dying, and she couldn’t bring somebody back from the dead with Cassandra in the room. “Cassie, could you—” She looked around the room and spotted a jug of water. Snatching it, she thrust it in Cassandra’s direction. “Fill this with holy water.”

Cassandra took it with trembling fingers. “O— okay.” She hesitated just a moment before dashing off.

Kima shut the door. She knew for a fact that there was no holy water in the castle. Cassandra would have to run all the way down to the city and, well. By then Kima would have finished her job, either for better or for worse.

She returned to her chair and took the man’s hand. “I’m sorry,” she said, quietly, “I wish I knew more healing spells.”

He shuddered, jaw falling slack as death finally took him. Kima’s breath caught in her chest.

She hadn’t done this in a very long time.

Grimly, she reached into the pouch at her waist and retrieved a handful of diamonds. With steady hands, she placed them on his chest, on his forehead, and in his open palms. They gleamed faintly in the wintery light that streamed through the window, a grim offering for a grim task.

Closing her eyes, Kima clutched her holy symbol in her hand and focused.

Cassandra could barely breathe against the panic that clawed desperately in her stomach. She clutched the jug to her chest, wary of spilling any of it. There were no temples in the castle, and she’d been unable to find anybody to bless the water either. By the time she got to a temple in the city and ran back to the castle, she felt sick with the fear that she was too late.

Denmir’s family remained clustered outside the door, his younger sister crying into her mother’s shoulder and his uncle pacing nervously.

“Excuse me,” she said, although it came out strangled, and pushed past them and through the door.

She stopped short. Denmir lay perfectly still in the bed, hands flat against the bedsheets. Kima sat with her back to the door, her face in her hands.

“Oh, Pelor,” Cassandra whispered, “Is he—”

“No,” Kima said, voice slightly hoarse, “He's alive.” She turned, and Cassandra quietly shut the door.

“You look terrible.”

Kima laughed, and the sound was not without mirth. “Yeah.”

Cassandra hesitantly held out the jug. Kima stared blankly at it. Cassandra felt that panic rising in her lungs again, and she hugged the jug to her chest. “I didn’t really need to go, did I.” It was a supposed to be a question. It didn't come out as one.

Kima looked up at her, pale grey eyes exhausted. “Would you have rather stayed?”

Cassandra looked down. “No.” She looked back up, eyes settling on Denmir’s face. “Did he. . . .” She trailed off, unable to finish the thought.

Kima turned back, too. At length, she said, “No. He didn’t die.” She groaned and rubbed her eyes. "He's alive, and he'll feel really shitty for at least a week, but he's stable now."

“Oh, okay.” Cassandra’s heart still felt fluttery inside, and she had to lean against the wall to keep her legs straight. The relief that coursed through her was almost as debilitating as the panic had been, and it made her want to laugh aloud. "Do you, um, still want the holy water?"

Kima held out her hands, and Cassandra passed it over. She was still too shaky to really look at Kima or Denmir. Her heart was still pounding from her run, and she had to make the effort to slow her breathing.

When Kima took the jug, she didn’t even look at it before putting it to her lips and taking a huge gulp.

Cassandra choked on her own spit.

Kima set the jug in her lap and looked up, one eyebrow raised. "What?"

Cassandra could only splutter, "Aren't you supposed to be a holy woman?"

Kima made a face. "I'm thirsty, and this is the only water here." She took another gulp. "Besides, I can always bless more for you later." She stood up and swayed dangerously. Cassandra caught her arm and took the jug from her, placing it on the bedside table. Kima amended, "Tomorrow. I can bless some more for you tomorrow."

Cassandra laughed, shakily. "Yeah, you really do look terrible."

Kima let out a loud sigh and tilted her head into Cassandra's side, which was the highest she could reach. "Yeah. I feel pretty terrible." She shook herself and stood up straight. "You can tell his family to come in. I am going to—" She grimaced. "—do something. I don't know. I need—"

"You're going to sleep," Cassandra said firmly.

"Cass—"

"Go to sleep." Cassandra gently pushed Kima towards the door. "I can deal with the emergencies for the rest of the day."

"I'm fine," Kima insisted, the effect diminished somewhat by her inability to walk straight.

Cassandra just shook her head and opened the door. "Hello," she said, softly.

Denmir's sister leaped to her feet. "Can we—"

"Yes," Cassandra said, "You can go in. He's sleeping now, so keep quiet. He's stable now?" The last part was directed at Kima, who nodded. "Right. He's stable now. If any of you need anything, feel free to ask any of the guards nearby."

As they rushed into the room, Cassandra led Kima towards the stairs that led to the bedrooms.

"I'm staying in the city," Kima protested.

"Kima, you would absolutely pass out before you made it there," Cassandra said flatly. Kima was so exhausted that she didn't even argue.

Cassandra led Kima to Vesper's old room. It was a little dusty, but it was one of the few rooms that the Briarwoods hadn't touched, simply because they hadn't needed it. Kima didn't seem to care. She fell onto the bed with a loud groan and declared, "This doesn't mean you're right."

Cassandra, no longer concerned with being ladylike now that they were alone, snorted. "Go to sleep, Kima! I'll see you tomorrow morning."

Kima stuck her hand in the air to give a listless thumbs up before falling limply onto the pillows. Cassandra slipped the door silently shut behind her and walked back towards the infirmary, shaking her head and smiling fondly.

#Cassandra de Rolo #Kima #Lady Kima of Vord #Critical Role #critical role fanfiction #@the anon who asked for a kaylie scene: i promise i got that and am working on it!!#i just had this written already #(ive actually had this written since before i got to the part where umbrasyl was killed but whatever)#im on episode 84 now!!#i have #so many thoughts #about kima and her role as a healer despite the fact that she so clearly prefers to be on the battlefield #like #she was an adventurer #she absolutely has been in a position where she made all the difference between a dead party member and a living one #but also her personality is just so not great for a healer #anyways and then ive got thoughts about cassandra and her discomfort w resurrection #as per usual #candlesfanfiction #more words #im prolly going to go back to linking the fics from ao3 soon #just bc this is really unwieldy #also my next fic is over 4k words and i am not copying and pasting that into tumblr #candleswriting #critical rolling (take one)

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