#cube parquet

[gnsparkebursa]

Cube Zarif sade, Modern Altıgen modern bir bükülme ile klasik bir parke tasarımıdır. Her panel, doğal parke nin zengin, zıt tonlarında birbirine kengelenen küpler yanılsaması yaratır. Herhangi bir ev veya ofise derinlik ve boyut eklemek için davetkar bir özellik..

#altigenlamineparke

#altigenküplamineparke

#bursaparke

#patadorparke

#küpparke

#cibeparquet

#altigenparke

[bubblegum-cherry-lips]

you kiss me, and everything just stops.

summary: a bad day, that turns into a bad week - but that's okay because you have James and that's all you need. (modern au)

pairing: james x (gender neutral) reader

cw: none

word count: 958

Now that you think about it, you definitely should have checked the weather app - you are soaked to the bone, hair plastered onto your neck and forehead, tiny shivers running through your body at any stronger gust of wind that blows, making the already miserable situation even more miserable. 

In your defense, you were stressed out - a bad day turned into a bad week and you have reached your limit at a dinner party hosted by your company; and since that wasn’t a right place for you to snap, you decided to rush out and head for the one place where you know you can be yourself without being judged. The problem is, it’s the middle of November, the rainy season started long ago, and you have forgotten your umbrella at the event. 

A car speeds by you and you have around three seconds before it goes through the puddle and splashes you to your waist, the coat now dripping and your sanity almost snapping. Thankfully, as you turn around the corner you finally see the familiar building, and you all but run towards it. If you slip a few times and almost fall on your ass, you ignore it because the salvation is right there and you’re knocking frantically, hopping from one leg to the other in hopes of warming yourself up.

Only when the door opens and you are greeted with a mop of messy hair and panicking eyes, you realize that maybe, you should have knocked less panicky, because James looks like he’s half ready to fight.

“Y/N?”

His voice is heavy with sleep, hair sticking in every direction; his glasses fog up when he opens the door and the cold air hits them, and god you’re already smiling because no matter how miserable you are, the sight of sleepy James Potter can make all your worries melt away. He tries to clean them with his shirt, the soft skin beneath it making an appearance as he lifts the hem of the shirt and rubs the lenses, his eyes finally finding yours once he’s no longer blind.

It’s adorable to watch the flash of emotions that goes on in his eyes - from happiness, to confusion, and then finally setting on panic.

“Christ, Y/N.” Fingers wrap around your wrist and you are being pulled inside, the now wet parquet floor beneath your boot slippery enough for you to stumble again, this time sure you’re about to kiss the floor. 

The chest you land on is firm and warm, and definitely not what you have expected - on instinct, since your fingers are basically frozen and you can’t feel your cheeks, you lean into the warmth and nuzzle into the soft material, and comforting smell. 

“Mhm. You’re warm.”

“And you’re like an ice cube! What happened?” 

You’re being enveloped in a gentle hug, the one only James knows  how to give. Hugging James always feels like pure sunshine - his hugs could melt the very ache in your bones, stop your mind from spiraling into the dark void and make the world seem a little bit better when you really have nothing to hold on to. He is never stingy with his hugs either - he loves giving them, loves resting his chin on the crown of your head, letting one arm rest on the lower part of your back while the other one roams over to your neck, your shoulders, caressing any patch of skin it can find. 

“Nothing happened, I just missed you.” 

“You saw me this morning.”

“And I started missing you the second we parted ways.”

Laughter rumbles out of his chest, and it’s so beautiful that you legit whine when his hands start pulling you back, away from his chest enough for him to look you in the eyes. You notice that his shirt is now completely wet, and the puddle forming where you’re standing is turning into a small lake - and you’re uncomfortable with the clothes sticking to you, you’re still cold despite being inside, and none of it matters at the moment. Not when he leans forward and his lips are on yours for a few seconds, a smile breaking on them as he proceeds to pepper your cheeks and forehead with tiny little pecks.

“You’re a dork.”

“And you love it.”

“Only God knows why, but I really do.”

In the morning, you two may end up talking - because James will not believe you when you say that everything is fine, and eventually you will break and the events of the past week will be spoken into the air between you two. He will hold your hand, and when you feel like there is no strength left in you, he’ll kiss you gently and make you breakfast, and keep you hostage for the next 24 hours. Maybe he’ll invite Sirius and Remus over, and they will bring Lily and Mary with them, with a bunch of shitty movies and even shittier food for your health (and Remus will let it slide this time, because he knows you need it). 

But all that, it’s for tomorrow - right now, he leads you to the bathroom and with careful fingers helps you undress, lending you his clothes and removing your rings and necklace with a look of pure concentration on his face (and his tongue sticking out, which you find adorable and then decide to kiss the air out of his lungs). And when you snuggle next to him, your eyes already heavy from the hot shower, you will fall asleep faster than you did any night in the past week - and some of that exhaustion will finally melt away. 

Sirius was right, when he had compared James to the summer sun. 

[louisa-gc]

black ink flowing on notebook pages, ice cubes slowly melting in a tall glass of coffee, linen against skin & a gentle wind. birdsong, peonies, sunbleached book covers & the soft creaks of a library parquet.

[morningday]

Cold Americano.

Part 2. Ice cubes in a cup.

Thomas motioned to come into the apartment. Empty, cold and lonely. The woman moved here a few months ago. The mortgage ties, the financial issues that needed to be addressed urgently. If she accumulates a lot of bills, the bank will take the apartment as payment. The man noticed it right away. If the trial starts, she won't be able to pay her debts. That's enough for the little snot-nosed girl to learn in her little brain where she shouldn't dig.

The Shelby brothers look at the interior of the room with interest. They think the woman who lives here is a creepy pedant obsessed with cleanliness and minimalism. There are no colors, no bright accents in the interior, not even pictures of the mistress. Clothes in the closet are hung by color, each jacket and sweater on its own hanger. The trash can is empty. There's only vegetables and sealed meat in the fridge.

Thomas didn't care what kind of underwear a woman wore. Its main purpose is to search for documents, checks and letters. Of course, he wants to wait for his mistress to come home and talk to her. But he also wants to walk away with physical evidence against his company. Moving from drawer to drawer, he finds nothing but shoe brushes, miscellaneous waste paper, and garbage. He frowns slightly when he comes across the trauma gun in the book. Arthur, Isaiah and John sat down on the gray sofa. Michael stared out the window for a long time, hiding in his thoughts. His lips are dry. And the eyes look lost. Thomas walks over and stands next to his nephew while he smokes a cigarette.

"Did you find anything?" the man asked. Cold blue eyes look at the young man. The boys face showed complete indifference and serenity.

"It seems that there were never any documents here and we are wasting our time", replies Michael, panting heavily. He's making eye contact with Thomas. Their silent dialogue is interrupted after a few seconds.

"Hey, Tommy, when's the mistress coming?" Arthur’s voice comes from the living room. Thomas silently pulls out his pocket watch: "There's half an hour left. I suggest you look harder. I feel the documents are in this house. Michael lights a cigarette and smiles slightly. He thinks the situation is absurd. The creepy gang from Small Heath, looking for papers in some girl's apartment. Tommy's got a plan that everyone's following, but Gray doesn't agree with it.

"Why look when you can settle everything in court?" the young man suddenly asked. Cigarette ash is falling on the gray parquet. Cigarette smoke is gonna be around for a long time. Shelby's smoking a cigarette and smoking it on a plate on the table.

"You can always make a deal, Michael." the last thing a man says before he leaves the kitchen.

The search for important documents was not successful. There were no clues as to where the papers might be. The mood of the conversation depended on the success of the mission and Thomas' mood. Around five, Michael got into his car without waiting for a negotiation.

Meanwhile, the woman was returning home. Her hands were occupied with a bag of groceries and a glass of unfinished Americano. The cool wind blew across her face, ruining her makeup. But even so, her mood was light. The guy held the door down when she walked into the apartment building. The woman politely smiled at him, ignoring the fact that she had seen him before. Michael puts his hand in the pocket of his coat, where the crushed evidence letters are.

She's climbing the stairs to the second floor. Besides her apartment, there were two other apartments next door. A married couple who fight all the time. But the one who lived in the third apartment had never seen a woman. It was strange that such a nice apartment in a quiet neighborhood disappears without a host. When the woman enters the apartment, she turns on the lights. The smell of tobacco immediately gets into your nose. She frowns as she walks into the kitchen. A cigarette was smoldering in the bowl, and her heart was beating faster. A bag and a cup of coffee fall from her hands as she collides with the male figure from behind. She a squeak before her mouth is covered with a rough palm.

"Hello, Y/N", he leans over to her ear. "I'll take my hand away, and we'll talk quietly, okay? No shouting."

[richardmagalditrichet]

“La Celle-Saint-Cloud” de  Florence Didier-Lambert (extrait d’Autoportrait d’une danseuse) aux Editions Rue Saint Ambroise

Toutes les nuits une danseuse dans mon labyrinthe onirique rencontre des problèmes de grand écart. Pas une nuit où ne surgissent les châteaux, les conservatoires, les studios, les théâtres.

Le plus familial de tous, l’Opéra, long boyau noir, est le lieu préféré de mes fantômes danseurs. Cela a commencé par deux cours par semaine, au château. Le château était un cube de quatre étages avec deux tours demi-rondes de chaque côté. Il était recouvert de grosses miettes de pierres rouges et jaunes, ni en brique ni en granit, agglomérées comme une moquette rugueuse. Il se situait sur les plateaux d’Île- de-France à l’Ouest de Paris. De là il y avait une belle vue sur les courbes de la Seine.

Ma mère garait la voiture devant le perron, je sautais avant qu’elle ne finisse. J’étais toujours trop juste à l’heure. Souvent j’enfilais mon collant dans la voiture, et la gymnastique pour ne pas montrer mes fesses aux autres conducteurs m’énervait.

L’escalier était à mes yeux splendide, large, très sombre, sans fenêtres, en chêne ciré au noir, des marches luisantes, une rampe épaisse. La salle de danse était au dernier étage. Le cours des petites n’étant pas fini, les grandes attendaient à la porte d’être cinq ou six pour traverser le studio et rejoindre le vestiaire. Le professeur arrêtait alors brièvement la classe, nous priait de passer rapidement, sans oublier de le saluer lui et la pianiste par un soubresaut de révérence. Le studio était une rotonde assez belle. Il pouvait contenir vingt ou trente élèves. Des fenêtres au niveau du parquet, un plafond à caisson, des barres en polygone le long des murs. Entre l’entrée et une cheminée monumentale, les mères s’entassaient dans un vieux canapé rouge défoncé. La cheminée servait à notre professeur, pour dans l’âtre mettre son tabouret, ses partitions, son porte-monnaie. Le piano était coincé de l’autre côté, entre la cheminée et le mur. Charline, la vieille accompagnatrice affectueuse, était la seule à se souvenir qu’elle avait été musicienne. Grasse, poudrée, tassée, presque édentée, elle zozotait en postillonnant sur son clavier. Régulièrement elle interrompait le professeur, et sachant qu’il ne le savait pas, elle criait « C’est sur deux temps ou sur trois temps ? ». Le professeur répondait : « Faites-moi une mazurka ou bien une valse. Non, faites-moi un galop. » Derrière son dos, elle marmonnait ses propres observations, encourageait ou consolait les enfants en clignant des yeux.Le professeur était le plus caricatural des professeurs de danse. Tout chez elle sentait le foyer de la danse de l’Opéra des années 30-40. Des jambes courtes mais solides, une taille cambrée comme il n’en existe plus, un cul rebondi, large, toujours très pris dans une jupe de tailleur étroite. Des seins robustes et très en avant. Lementon toujours en l’air, dédaigneux, la voix sonore, le compliment appelant l’argent et des critiques de mégère. Elle enseignait aussi à l’Opéra de Paris. C’était son grand prestige. Elle était le pape dans cette ville de banlieue. Les parents payaient tous les mois au piano. Je regardais comment ma mère lissait son chéquier sur la queue du piano. À ce moment précis le professeur prenait ses grands airs, se dressait sur ses petites jambes, les pieds ouverts, et parlait d’un ton IIIe République de ses élèves à Paris et du dernier concours d’entrée à l’Opéra. Elle feignait de ne s’adresser qu’à la pianiste. Mais toutes les mères et leurs filles écoutaient, les sourcils froncés. Ma mère était la mère chouchoute, parce qu’elle avait une position sociale en vue. Cela voulait dire qu’elle payait en premier. C’est aussi à ce moment-là qu’on recueillait les paroles d’encouragement.Un jour, le professeur prend ma mère à l’écart. « Elle est bien votre fille, on pourrait la présenter à l’examen de l’école de danse de l’Opéra. Il faudrait qu’elle prenne plus de leçons, je lui ferai une variation... Qu’elle vienne au cours des professionnelles à Paris, dans le 17e ». Dans le vestiaire pendant ce temps on s’observait. On devinait celle qui, même toute nue, était la plus riche.Dès lors le professeur m’a mise en valeur, au milieu de la grande barre centrale. Et, à chaque fois que je faisais le pied dans la main, elle forçait la jambe pour la faire toucher ma tête. Tout le monde adorait ça. Je percevais les chuchotements des parents serrés par les petits frères1213qui avaient fini le judo, à l’étage en dessous, et les papas un peu absents. À la fin de la leçon, nous faisions toutes ensemble une longue révérence : un pas à droite en ouvrant le bras, un pas à gauche, puis un penché de buste profond, en pliant les genoux sous soi.J’ai retrouvé exactement cette même révérence décrite par Pierre Rameau dans un traité de danse écrit en 1725. La salle à ce moment était pleine, les fenêtres embuées. Les parents applaudissaient. Moi je ne pensais plus à rien depuis une heure et demie. J’étais concentrée. J’écoutais la musique. Ma mère était émue. On rentrait le soir en parlant des unes et des autres, de l’examen d’entrée à l’Opéra. Elle me donnait des conseils de port de tête, de port de bras. Je la vois mimer dans la voiture les gestes naïfs en lâchant le volant. Elle m��agaçait, elle n’était jamais satisfaite.Le premier examen d’entrée à l’école de danse était médical. Il filtrait les enfants dont la morphologie était conforme aux critères de sélection, pour leur faire suivre un premier stage de trois mois, à la fin duquel aurait lieu le concours final d’admission.Les convocations se répartissent par tranches horaires. À chacune correspond un banc sur lequel il faut attendre. Le bâtiment est bien trop énorme pour que je puisse le voir en entier. Ma mémoire se cogne à des pavés gris, à une porte battante en velours marron et cuir vert clouté. À l’intérieur l’absence de lumière nous déséquilibre. Je sens ma mère très impressionnée. Nous cherchons le banc des trois heures. Nous croisons des dizaines d’enfants et leurs mères, perdus dans ces immenses couloirs en U. Sept cents filles et garçons ont été convoqués durant une semaine. Après avoir reçu un ordre rapide, nous nous asseyons au milieu d’un couloir plein d’enfants. Les murs sont jaunes et sales et le sol carrelé. Tout du long, résonnent des portes qui s’ouvrent et se ferment tout le temps. Les ampoules pendent du plafond. Pas une photo de danseur, pas un visage, pas un corps plus léger que l’autre. La banalité des gens, des voix, nous déconcerte. Je suis appelée rapidement et j’entre dans un cabinet médical assez petit, avec beaucoup de monde les yeux rivés sur moi. Ma mère est restée dehors. Je suis en culotte. D’abord la toise puis la balance, puis une doctoresse en blouse, le stéthoscope entre les seins, m’ausculte le dos. On me demande si j’ai déjà fait de la danse, le nom de mon professeur. Je mets les pieds en dehors et je plie les genoux. Très bien, merci. Je suis admise.À la suite de cette première audition, ma mère a refusé de me laisser poursuivre. Elle a eu peur et moi aussi. J’étais trop petite. Mon professeur était scandalisé. J’ai arrêté de prendre des cours pendant six mois. À ma demande, j’ai repris. J’ai repassé l’examen deux ans plus tard et j’étais de nouveau admise.

Ma vie professionnelle commence. J’ai onze ans. Pour suivre les leçons quotidiennes du stage préliminaire au concours d’entrée, j’ai l’autorisation de quitter l’école plus tôt pour être à l’Opéra à dix-sept heures heures. Un jour je m’attarde sur la rampe de l’escalier. Je descends lentement les marches en laissant traîner ma joue contre le bois. Je regarde le préau couvert, les placards de gymnastique alignés, les tapis en caoutchouc qui sentent la gomme et la poussière. C’est la première fois que je vois mon école en dehors des heures.

Je ne me rappelle plus qui me fait faire le trajet jusqu’à l’Opéra. Je réentends la cour de l’administration... Le chahut des enfants... Les voix des surveillantes... Je revois les filles en chignon... Les six étages à monter... Les couloirs jaunes très longs, les vestiaires, et la leçon.

La classe de danse est une salle rectangulaire longue et étroite, avec un toit de verre, un parquet incliné en pente vers le miroir, des murs bleu ciel très pâle, des poutres et des traverses métalliques.

Plié, dégagé, rond de jambes à terre puis en l’air, battements sur le cou-de-pied, jambe sur la barre, grands battements, relevé, jambe à la main, grand écart. Je demande à ma voisine qui a l’air satisfaite et installée pour une vie à cette barre.

– Il fallait apporter ses pointes ? – Évidemment j’en ai trois paires dans mon sac, pas toi ?

Nous sommes en juin, le soleil de cinq heures au travers d’un des versants du toit tape sur un mur. La barre en face est à l’ombre. La salle est nettement divisée en deux par la lumière.

Extrait d’Autoportrait d’une danseuse de Florence Didier-Lambert aux Editions Rue Saint Ambroise

https://www.ruesaintambroise.com/

[ikeahackers]

IVAR with beautiful Louis Cubes parquet design

[arthitecturehome]

#etsy shop: Seamless Cube Parquet Textures, square Wood textures, wood patterns, Digital Papers, Printable Scrapbook, timber Backgrounds, brown wood https://etsy.me/3ZwqcFq #brown #kidscrafts #red #architecturecityscape #seamlesspattern #seamlesstextures #woodpattern #seamlesswood #woodbackground https://www.instagram.com/p/CnVe58dofha/?igshid=NGJjMDIxMWI=

[ilpiratainnamorato]

[ravenswritingblog]

kiss it better

black slacks; polished classic varnished moccasin tapping on the parquet at the beat of the song.

white shirt; an iced whiskey glass in his left hand rotating nonchalantly the little cubes it. a pair of buttons leaving his collarbones free.

cherry lips, rosy cheeks, a grin on his face.

he looks disheveled and smug just enough to be disarmingly hot.

you, sitting on the opposite armchair, felt his gaze pierce your hot sweat gleaming skin; alcohol through your veins and dizzying your mind.

he felt the same.

the party felt unreal, like belonging to another reality while the two of you kept it up with that sort of staring contest.

annoyance on your part was clear, as other people relentlessly flirted with your man. he seemed to attract everyone, regardless of their gender.

you've been sitting there staring at each other for a while now, but none of you dared to move.

until..

kento breaks eye contact: he sighs deeply and throws his head back on the sofa, letting out a groan that sends warmth right between your legs.

motherfucker.

you've had enough; your body moves before your mind can even think about stopping.

you're walking towards him slowly, confidently, guided by a need.

mark him. let them know who he belongs to.

his blue irides search your figure as he shamelessly checks you out from head to toe just to smirk right at your face.

alcohol really shows what a bragger he can be; about you, about how good he looks, because he knows and he's proud of it. proud of you. he has eyes for you only, after all.

he spreads his legs wider to welcome you, free hand already ready to travel on your waist and not only as you sit on his lap.

the couple of girls that were trying to get into his graces - clearly in vain - move away in discomfort, feeling out of place now, but without taking their eyes off that scene.

your lips precipitate on his neck, leaving dark stains of your black lipstick, purposely sucking on his skin, causing him to make those pretty, marvelous sounds that made you so weak.

“mh..sweetheart..” he whispers, big hand pulling you closer.

the whiskey still in his left hand gets in the way, so you decide to get rid of it; you drink a couple sips and make him have the last one.

you stare back at everybody.

you tower above everybody else sitting, in your almost standing position.

you smirk. they know now.

you look back at him and pull him by the neck of his shirt, staining it with lipstick, going back on his neck and on his collarbones.

“who do you belong to, kento?” you lick right under his ear; he hums in approval, enjoying the feeling.

“mh, what? who's my baby?” you hold his jaw.

his head, like the rest of him is your prey. totally at your mercy, aside from his ring-full hand - wedding ring included - on your ass keeping you close.

“mh..'myours” he sighs deeply again. “gimme more sweetheart”

you smirk “say please baby”.

he chuckles “please?”

you nod approvingly “you're gonna get treated so good tonight. good husband behavior never goes unrewarded.”

©kentoswifewritingblog. do not use, translate or rewrite anything without permission.

taglist:

@kalineedsasupportkento

[teresa-67]

The First Time

Pairing: Virgin!Dean x Reader

Word Count: 4100 (sorry)

Summary: Dean’s charm helps him to get a lot in life, but there was always one thing he was too scared of doing to actually follow through. Will Y/N’s experience and reassurement be enough to help him overcome his fear?

Rating: 18+

Warnings: smut, grinding, hint of fingering, bit of angst, protected sex, p in v, loss of virginity, fluff, adorable Dean, insecure Dean, Dean being two years younger than reader

A/N: The absolute biggest THANK YOU to the saint and absolute darling that has way too much work with my stuff than she should @winchest09. Thank you so much babe for giving this a look. I appreciate it SO much! ❤ Still, all the mistakes are mine!

A/N: This story, and all the others that will come, wouldn’t be here without my 24/7 supporter, my cheerleader, the person who encourages me everytime I’m in doubt (which is a lot) and still hasn’t given up on me, my bunny @chocolateheart I love you so much boo ❤ Thank you for always being there for me❤

Feeling her small hands slide up his chest, Dean takes the initiative and pulls the busty blonde closer to his body. Their bodies moving together to the music blasting from the speakers as the parquet fills up with newcomers. Carding her fingers through his soft hair, she gives him a seductive smirk as she leans on her tiptoes and starts to nip at the sweaty skin of Dean’s neck. 

Dean’s hand is going to the globes of her, the tight skirt she’s wearing hugging her curves perfectly, but when he squeezes the round flesh, the blonde stops her assault on his neck and pulls away. The freshman looks at her with a frown, pulling his hand away in worry that he might have upset her or made her feel uncomfortable. But just as he is about to ask ‘what’s wrong’, the girl goes pale as a sheet and rushes to the closest bathroom. Dean follows the sight of her, watching as some other girl goes after her.

The young man looks at his best friend who is getting pretty handsy with a fine brunette and gives him a questioning look. Benny only shrugs in response and smirks down at the petite girl before leaning in to say something in her ear. Dean sighs, watching Benny walk away with the girl on his hip as the southern gives him a wink. 

Standing alone in the middle of the crowded room, Dean decides to head to the kitchen to have a one last drink before calling it a night. 

Grabbing a beer from the ice bucket, his eyes catch a girl standing by the counter making her own drink. Her hair is wildly resting against her back, her figure being hugged by a red mini dress that compliments her curves nicely and her make up is natural; not over the top and screaming like the other girls around here.

Realizing he’s staring, he clears his throat and leans against the counter top, motioning to her drink, “You have one more there for me, sweetheart?” 

Looking down at his drink, he quickly shoves it back between the ice cubes and makes his way over to the counter.

“Hey,” the freshman says with a smile dancing on his lips. His expression falters however as the girl turns her head and the brightest Y/E/C orbs make contact with his green ones. Getting the first real look at her face, Dean has to swallow. This girl is breathtaking. 

The girl frowns a little before a smirk makes its way to her plump lips, “Didn’t you just grab a beer?” She looks at the bucket and back at Dean, watching the tips of his ears redden, but he remains cool.

“Don’t know what you’re talking about. I came for a drink,” the freshman says as confidently as he can. Please, play along. 

Looking him up and down, the girl smirks knowingly again before turning her attention back to the display of alcohol in many different bottles before her. “Well, what would you like then?” she asks, looking up at him and Dean is so happy she decided to drop his obvious lie. 

“Whatever you have, sweetheart,” the young man replies, gazing into her eyes.

“Y/N. My name is Y/N.” She smiles a beautiful smile and takes a step closer, holding out her hand.

“Dean,” the freshman grins as well, taking her palm in his.

It didn’t take long for them to move to the dance floor. Their bodies moving, rubbing against each other; it felt like not an inch of space was left between them. Their hands are wandering over each other's flesh so shamelessly; Dean wasn’t afraid about upsetting her when slides his hand down her back and grabbed one of her ass cheeks, hearing her hum into his ear. Y/N’s hot breath ghosts over Dean’s ear before her lips seals around his pulse point, making him take in a shuddering breath and tighten his hold on her. When she starts to nibble at his earlobe, Dean can’t help but comb his fingers through her hair to keep her there as he moans ever so quietly.

“Wanna take this upstairs?” Dean asks breathlessly. He didn’t intend for those words to come out of his mouth, but they found their way out nothenless.

“Thought you’d never ask,” Y/N purrs as she pulls away and takes his hand to lead him up the stairs to the first floor where they find an empty bedroom and she locks the door behind them. Not waiting a second longer, Dean’s lips find hers in a hard kiss as he pins her against the wall, one hand lifting her leg up to his hip while the other grabs her waist tight. 

Y/N grips Dean by his neck and slides her tongue along his bottom lip. The freshman gives her permission without a second thought and their tongues start to slide against one another. Dean’s hand starts to graze further up her smooth thigh, he hesitates and stops when his fingers feel the satin of her panties. Dean hasn’t got this far yet, ever. He had never had the chance and when had, he lost the courage to follow through, just like now. 

Y/N is grinding against crotch and no matter how badly Dean wants to go there with her, he finds himself internally freaking out. This girl is gorgeous, clearly experienced and probably expects him to be the same, but he’s not. She must feel him tense because she stops kissing him and cups his face when he tries to chase her lips.

“What’s wrong?” Y/N asks softly, looking into his apple green eyes. 

Dean pulls away a little, trying to catch his breath while thinking about his response, “What? Nothing,” he dismisses her like it is really nothing, when in fact, it is something.

Y/N doesn’t buy it though, because she pulls away further to have a better look at his face, dropping her leg from around his hip, “Dean, there’s clearly something that’s bothering you. Do you not want this? If so, just say it and we can go downstairs and dance for the rest of the night, we’ll just have a good time that way.” 

She gives him a reassuring smile, gently caressing the apple of his cheek. Dean swallows hard. Fuck, he wants this. But he’s never done it, and what if she realizes that and laughs in his face, what if she -

“Dean?” Her soft voice pulls him out of his head and back to the girl in his arms. Searching his eyes, her face changes a little. “Are you… a virgin?” She asks, not a hint of judgement or amusement in her voice as she waits for him to answer. 

Dean doesn’t want to. He wants to get her on that bed and fuck her… but the very thought is making him shake slightly and he knows he can’t lie about that. He has to come clean, apologize and leave her to have real fun with someone else. 

When Dean doesn’t meet her eyes, she knows the answer and with her palm still stroking his cheek, she forces him to look at her. “Hey, that’s okay. It’s normal. Don’t feel ashamed or feel like you should be judged for that. You weren’t ready and that’s fine.” Y/N watches relief wash over his face and smirks as she adds, “It’s actually sweet that you haven’t fucked everything in a ten mile radius like everybody else.” 

Dean can’t help but laugh at that, instantly feeling better, “Thanks Y/N,” he smiles, leaning into her touch. “But I want to. I really want to do all kinds of things with you, I just…” the freshman sighs, licking his lips. I’m terrified.

Looking at his mouth then back into his green orbs, Y/N runs her fingers through Dean’s hair and bites her pillowy lip. 

“Tell you what,” she starts, “I would really like to have sex with you, but not here and not now.” Dean frowns and opens his mouth, but Y/N keeps going. “You’re stressed, and if you want to do this with me, I’d rather make you feel comfortable and safe and I think the best place to do that is my apartment,” she licks her lips while Dean’s confusion grows. “Why don’t you stop by tomorrow evening and we can finish what we started?” The girl smiles softly at him, her eyes gentle as Dean’s mouth opens and closes a few times as he thinks about it.

What she said is true. He is stressed and his little soldier probably wouldn’t be standing at full attention if the pressure he put upon himself got to him. This girl is older than him, probably fucked a couple guys and will know what she is doing. She said she would make him comfortable and safe and that’s how he hoped to feel on his first time. Plus, she is absolutely gorgeous and she hasn’t shown him anything but kindness and reassurement. She is gentle and soft. Dean would love for his first to be with her.

Licking his lips one more time, more from nerves than anything, the young man takes in a deep breath as he answers, “Okay.”

Hearing the knocking on your door the next night, you abandon the half done assignment on your laptop and go to open it. Adjusting your tank top from where it has slid up. Peeking through the peephole you smile to yourself, you half expected that he wouldn’t come, but opening the door you come face to face with Dean.  

“Hi.” He gives you a little wave, stepping into your apartment when you move aside to let him in, giving you his dimpled smile. He wasn’t sure he would come if he was being honest with himself. He very much wanted to call you and tell you he wouldn’t make it when he stood above the ceramic bowl of his toilet, thinking he was going to throw up from nerves. But then he remembered how good and gentle you were yesterday; and that’s how he now found himself in your apartment.

“You came,” you state as you come to a stop a few inches in front of him. You try to contain your smile when his cheeks start to go pink and his green orbs erratically search your face.

“--No, you’re good. Besides, if you didn’t come then I would have shaved for nothing and I don’t even have one hair,” you say, slowly sliding your hand from his mouth down his jaw and behind his head, playing with the short hair on the back of his scalp. “Anywhere,” you whisper the last part, watching his Adam’s apple bob as he swallows.

“You - you said that I could come if but - Y/N if you’ve changed your mind, I --”

Interrupting his cute stuttering by your hand on his mouth, you giggle.

You want to make this memorable for him. Be gentle on him, but you’re playful by nature, so you can’t help but mess with him a little. But your goal tonight is to give him a good time, make this a good experience for him to enjoy.

“Is it hard? To shave...you know?” Dean asks, partially out of curiosity, but the image of one particular smooth, soft place was better. 

He is so cute. Your hands travel down his collarbone as they start to shove Dean’s flannel down his shoulders. Your palms go up his strong arms, leaving goosebumps in its wake, making him shiver.

“It’s an art.” Joining your hands at the back of his neck, you pull him down for a slow, deep kiss. 

Dean’s arms go around you, his tongue asking permission, which you gladly grant and in a second, his tongue is dancing with yours. For someone who’s not as experienced as you originally thought when you were grinding on the parquet, he sure knows his way around when it comes to kissing. Sucking on his bottom lip, you pull out an unintentional moan from him as you start to back him up towards the couch, shoving him down and breaking your kiss before straddling him. 

Kissing him a few more times, you move your attention to his jaw, smelling his gorgeous aftershave as Dean’s big hands cautiously cup your asscheeks. A stark contrast at how he groped them yesterday. You have to smile at how sweet he is, not being that confident quite yet, but that’s what this evening is for. 

Trailing your lips up and down his throat, enjoying the shivers it is causing, you seal them around his pulse point. Throwing his head back, Dean takes a shuddering breath as his hold on your ass becomes more firm, making you sit down on his crotch and feel the forming bulge there. 

Grinding your hips down, you watch Dean’s reaction; eyes closed, lips parted with his hastened breathing. Smirking, you readjust yourself, opening your legs wider to sit on him more comfortably. The friction of your core against his hardening shaft feels amazing, and gives you a pretty good idea of what was waiting for you. Sliding your fingers between his soft hair, you start rolling your hips, silencing Dean with a kiss when he moans. Gripping your round flesh, he starts to help you move on him. Your movements are slow, you want him to enjoy it but not cum in the process. 

Steadying yourself on his shoulders, you take his hand and guide it under your top, placing his warm palm over your breast and squeeze it. He gasps into your mouth when you tug on his hair, and you take the liberty to glide your tongue along his again. 

Taking the hem of your top with one hand, you let him take it off of you, breaking the kiss once more. Stopping your motions, you watch as Dean’s eyes grow darker. He places his palms on your ribs as his thumbs trace the rounds of your breasts and over your nipples, making you shudder in his hold.

"Kiss them," you encourage him, cupping his cheek as he looks up at you. "After you take off your shirt," you smirk. 

Not wasting a moment, Dean reaches behind his back and pulls his shirt over his head. You both smile at each other as you start grinding again, slick making your shorts uncomfortable and you’re sure it does very little to protect Dean's jeans from your wetness. 

Sealing his plump, pink lips around your nipple, it is you who now takes a shuddering breath. His hands on your back are pulling you closer, closing the space between you completely as he places open mouth kisses over your chest. Kissing along his shoulder and up his neck, you suck his earlobe in, feeling him bucking his hips up and in that second, you stop. 

Parting away from him, one hand on his chest, you feel how fast his heart is beating. The both of you are panting. Dean's hands are on your thighs and his eyes are asking what was wrong. 

"Bedroom," you breathe, standing and seeing the wet spot you have left on Dean’s pants. 

Biting your lip you see his jaw clench, looking down, before he shoots up and claims your mouth again. Pulling him by his belt, you start going backwards as you work on undoing it, Dean helping you by working on the buttons. You come to a stop when you feel your bed behind you. Parting with Dean, you go to your nightstand to fish out a condom before turning back and shaking it between your fingers as you smirk devilishly.

When Dean sees it, the reality of what's about to come hits him, it really hits him, and it makes him grin like an idiot; the fear shoved to the back of his mind. Kicking off his shoes and shoving his pants down his long, thick bow legs along with his socks, he goes for his boxers next.

"Stop." You hold your hand up, stopping him in his action. Dean takes his hands away as you slowly approach him, holding eye contact with him as you hear his deep breathing. Giving him the small package, you hook your fingers behind the elastic of the black and very tight fabric. "Last chance to stop." You lick your lips, watching his face for any signs that he wants to quit, but there was no trace of that.

"If you don’t do something, I think I'm going to burst," he warns. 

Hearing the permission you wanted, you slide his boxers down his legs, palming his ass in the process and watch his cock spring free. Dear Lord. He was big and thick, definitely bigger than most older guys. You know he is gifted, you felt it, but you didn’t expect something so delicious looking. You want to wrap your lips around it, seal them around the red tip until he is coming down your throat… but you know that is not an option, not now. This is his first, and you already had foreplay; you know he wouldn’t last long. You didn’t realise you were staring until he clears his throat, making you blush and look at his face.

 "Like what you see?" His smirk grows wider as his voice drops an octave lower. He is trying to seem confident, cocky even, but you can see behind the facade. You know he is scared that you don’t like it. He is asking if it is fine.

Smiling at him, you close the space between you and gently wrap your fingers around his cock, making Dean hiss and drop his forehead onto your shoulder. 

"Do you know how sexy you are?" You whisper against his ear, feeling his chest rumble with a growl as he grabs you by your ass and pulls you flush against him, pressing his cock against your covered clit and making you gasp out a moan. 

Your shorts are soaked by now and seeing his thick fingers, a delicious idea pops in your mind. Taking his one hand, you guide it over your lower belly and into your pants, hearing Dean take a breath when his fingers meet your wet heat. Still keeping your hand over his, you slide his fingers through your folds. Biting on your lip, you tease his one digit at your opening and shove his thumb onto your clit, where Dean starts to circle gently. 

Feeling his digits sliding effortlessly through your pussy lips, you hum every time he gets close to your opening, which Dean notices. Slowly, so slowly, he starts to ease his middle finger into your tight channel. Sliding in and out a few times, you feel his second finger tease at your opening and that’s when you stop him, taking his hand away. Looking up at him a little breathless, you see the worry that he’s done something wrong etched into his beautiful features. 

Biting on his bottom lip, you groan against his mouth, “Get on the bed.”

Doing as he is told, Dean climbs on the bed and lays on his back. Getting rid of your ruined shorts, you crawl over at him and you kiss him deeply. Your tongue smothers against his as his hands travel up your back, stopping between your shoulder blades. Kissing down his throat you lick and suck at random places. Going down to his chest you gently take one of his nipples between your teeth and tug on it a little, hearing Dean taking in a sharp breath. 

Making your way lower, you kiss over his stomach, following the small patch of hair to his achingly hard cock. Looking up at him, you’re met with lust blown eyes that are following your every move. Tearing your eyes away from his apple green ones, you look down again and debate with yourself if you should take him in after all. The sight of him, ready and hard, is making your pussy clench in anticipation and your mouth water at the thought. 

Placing a little kiss at the tip, Dean’s whole body jerks, making you smile. Deciding against your little plan in the end, you climb back up and make yourself comfortable on his thighs, taking the condom he’s offering to you. Pulling the rubber out, you start to roll it down his cock, cautious not to touch him more than necessary. When you have it done, you readjust on him and, supporting on one hand, take him in your palm to rub the tip through your folds. Looking at Dean, you see him watching your actions; waiting for you to take him in. 

Rubbing him against your clit a few times, you line him with your entrance, placing both of your hands on his chest as Dean locks his eyes with yours. Swallowing hard, you slowly start to sink down on him. 

Throwing his head back, his eyes roll as a whimpering moan leaves his throat, and you swear it is the most sexy noise you’ve ever heard. You can’t help and whine yourself. His cock is stretching you to the extent no one did before him. 

You take your time to get used to the amazingly full feeling as Dean is panting underneath you; his throat red and mouth agape, trying to contain himself and not cum the next minute; it was hot. The picture before you making your pussy clench around him and causing Dean to grit his teeth with a grunt, finally looking up at you. 

Rolling your hips at first, you try and get your walls accustomed to his length as he twitches inside you. Gripping your thighs, Dean's eyes roam over  you like you were the most beautiful piece of art he’s ever seen; taking you all in. And that look only makes you want him more. 

Licking his lips, a thin layer of sweat breaks through his skin as you start lifting your hips and sinking down on him. He feels amazing inside you and you feel amazing around him. From this angle, his tip reaches your sensitive spot perfectly, encouraging you to move faster and harder, even when you try to control yourself.

Leaning down and nibbling at his neck you hear his breathing hasten and his hips start meeting your thrusts. Going up to kiss his lips, you place your forehead on his. 

“Touch my clit,” you whisper against his mouth. You see the hesitation behind his eyes again for a second, but his thumb soon starts to rub circles over the little nub. “Harder.” You close your eyes, feeling the sweat break over your body as you roll your hips some more; trying to get yourself there before Dean. 

“I’m - I’m gonna -” Dean breathes out. You whine as you sit back up, flattening your palms on his chest, you start to bounce harder, faster, riding him for what it's worth to get you both there. 

“Fuck!” Dean gasps, eyes clamping shut and his grip on you loosening as his cock twitches inside you. You shove his thumb away and start to furiously rub your clit. Knowing just the right way to do it and it doesn’t take long for your walls to crash down around him; coming on virgin cock. 

Coming down from your high, still panting hard,  you look down at Dean. He’s looking up at you, a lazy smile playing on his lips as he tries to get his breathing under control. You smile to yourself, pecking his lips before slowly lifting yourself off of him, Dean helping you, and taking the used condom to throw it to the trash can in the corner.  

Laying back down beside him, Dean covers you both with a blanket from the end of the bed and hovers over you to give you a gentle kiss. Parting away and caressing his rosy cheek, you kiss him some more. Leaning into each other's touch you thread your fingers through his damp hair as Dean sighs into your mouth, pulling away again. 

“Thank you,” he smiles a bright smile, gently bumping your nose with his, making you giggle.

 “That was awesome.” 

“Well, I’m glad you enjoyed it,” you smile at him, rubbing gently at his scalp, “It was amazing,” you confirm. It was awesome.

“We should repeat it soon.” he tries, wiggling his eyebrows.

“Definitely,” you chuckle, a stupid grin spreading on Dean’s face as he dives in and kisses you hungrily. 

Thank you for reading! I hope you liked it :) Feel free to leave a feedback. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m gonna go hide under my blanket :D

People who for some reason wanted to be tagged, here you go babes: @chocolateheart @waywardrose13 @oneofthesaviorstoo​

[fenfyre]

MelJayVik Week 2022 - Hextech

Day 1 of @meljayvikweek - Hextech

When Mel wakes from restful sleep the morning is still dark and quiet with only the barest hints of indigo creeping up across the horizon. For a moment she lies there, listens to the soft noises of Jayce's snoring, and wonders what has woken her this early. She can not quite put her finger on it until she rolls over and peers across her sleeping partner's body to find his other side suspiciously empty. 

When they settled down for the night Viktor had been curled up on Jayce's other side, boneless and so tired he had fallen asleep immediately.

Taking a slow breath Mel pushes herself up, rubs the sleep from her eyes to look around the room. No movement, no sign of Viktor. Only a faint sliver of light falling in where the door has been left ajar. Sending one last look down at Jayce, who is gracelessly drooling onto her silk pillows, Mel smiles to herself, lingers for a breath longer, and then slides out from under the covers and scoots to the edge of the bed.

The parquet is cold under her bare feet but Mel does not remember where in the house she left her slippers. If they might still be downstairs or somewhere in the bathroom. She had been too distracted last night to care much about where she lost them. Just like the rest of her clothes. But she does find a satin robe on an armchair by the balcony and slides into it, tying it shut as she slips out of the bedroom. Behind her the faint snoring continues.

Out in the hallway she finds the light coming from downstairs and follows it on bare feet, all the way through the silent house and into the sitting room. There she finds Viktor, half turned away from her on one of the couches by the dying embers of the fire. The lamp he has dragged closer to illuminate the device in his lap casts his profile into sharp relief. Except for a too big pair of sweatpants that must belong to Jayce he is bare and so lost in his work he has not noticed Mel standing by the doorway yet.

She only takes advantage of it for a few moments, watching the diligent and precise way he wields his screwdriver, how he tightens gears and secures thin, golden plates. His mouth is set into a sharp line of concentration Mel wants to kiss until it smoothes out again. She smiles to herself at the thought, then steps into the room. When she speaks it is soft as not to startle him.

"What are you working on?"

The steady motion of his hands stills as he looks up and over at her, blinking once, twice. Finding back into reality, into the current moment. Mel has seen it before, on both him and Jayce, how they need time after long stretches of intense work to settle back into reality. Sometimes she wishes she could join them, wherever it is they go together. But as long as that is not possible she will wait for them to meet her when they return. 

After all there are other places she can take them, just like she had last night. Those they can enjoy together, all three of them.

"I ... couldn't fall back asleep", he says, voice rough and halting. Mel can not help but notice that is not the answer to the question she asked but she allows it for the moment as she steps further into the room.

"So we'll have to try harder next time", she nods lets a slight smirk to sneak onto her lips. "I'll let Jayce know."

A sharp exhale that is a sign of amusement, she learned, then his eyes flick back down to the device in his hands. 

"No that ... that was fine. More than fine, really." The faintest trace of a smile that makes her heart flutter unfairly. The first time it had happened, that she had seen those little smiles coaxed out of him by Jayce or, better yet, somehow managing to do it herself, she had been irrationally confused by her own excitement. Now though she welcomes the flutter instead of pushing it away and savours the feeling. 

Only after a moment of sweet, lingering silence does she move on, steps up to and behind the couch to peer over Viktor's shoulder. The thing he is working on is some kind of cube of shimmering, gilded metal, one side barely larger than his palm. There are intricate symbols etched into the center surface of each plate with the topmost one removed for Viktor to reach the inner workings of the device.

He looks over his shoulder at her, taking in her quiet interest, before turning back to his work. That hint of a smile still lingers on his face.

Both of them stay silent as he continues, adjusts something inside the device she can not see from this angle. Then he reaches for the loosened plate and fixes it back into place, closing the cube. When he puts the screwdriver aside and rotates the cube in his palm, an opening on one of the sides comes into view, one that Viktor slots a tiny, golden key into just a moment later. He turns it a few times, as if winding up the device, and then leans forward to set the little cube down on the coffee table.

A soft clicking. Some mechanical whirring noises. Then the golden plating on top seems to shift and slide apart, revealing a blue gem slowly rising up and out. 

Intrigued Mel leans forward, places her hands on the backrest of the couch.

A flicker of light. A spark.

And then the room is dipped into soft blue as flecks of bright light rise out of the crystal and arrange themselves into shapes and constellations, slowly twirling and shifting, hovering in the air.

Mel lets out a soft, awed breath at the display that is so obviously an homage to the birth of Hextech, taking her back to that night she found the two of them floating among the magic of their creation.

Of course the scope is much smaller, instead of filling the entire room with twinkling, moving lights the device only projects into the air right above the coffee table, creating a contained, ever shifting bubble of blue. There do not seem to be any anti-gravitational properties, either. But the sight alone is enchanting enough and Mel feels herself drawn to it, to the hypnotic circles of constellations.

"It's beautiful", she breathes and the display's hold on her is only broken by the way Viktor hums and nods, his movements drawing her attention.

"What does it do?"

"Oh..." He gives a quiet, almost bashful laugh and shrugs. "Only this. It's a ... a children's toy."

The surprise on her face must be palpable when he throws another glance over his shoulder to look at her.

"Just a little, private project. It's not even a real Hexcrystal. Please don't cut our funding."

It is a joke, of course, but Mel knows Viktor enough by now to notice the honest nerves in the tilt of his head. In the way his fingers find the strings of Jayce's sweatpants to fiddle with them. But before she can answer there is another flicker, a spark, and then the blue light fades as the device shuts off. When she looks back over at it there is a faint trail of smoke rising up from the blue crystal that has gotten jammed halfway sliding back into the device.

Viktor grits out a few words in a language she recognizes but cannot understand, though by the sound of it he must be cursing as he reaches out to take the cube back into his hands.

"This keeps happening...", he mumbles, manually pushing the crystal back in and sliding the plating shut. There is an unhealthy cracking sound that makes Mel wince but that Viktor ignores in favour of turning the device in his hands a few more times.

"Something is jamming the closing sequence but I just cannot seem to find the blockage. Whenever I take it apart it looks like everything should be running smoothly..."

Before Mel knows it he has procured the screwdriver again and begins to open up another side of the cube, slowly taking out the tiny, golden screws that keep it fixed in place. He works quick, with nimble fingers and disgruntled focus and she watches for a moment or two before leaning down to wrap her arms around him from behind, nudging her cheek against his.

"You could try and find out tonight", she hums, watching as the certain motions of his fingers slow, his one fist closing more tightly around the collection of tiny golden screws he already removed.

"Or..." One of her hands slides down to his chest, fingers fanning out wide below his collarbones. She drags it lower, grazing one pale nipple as she nuzzles against his cheek. "...you put your private project on hold and come back to bed. There's always time to keep testing tomorrow. Maybe you could even ask Jayce for input if you want?"

"Input on what?", comes a rough voice from the doorway, the words slightly slurred. When they both look up they find Jayce standing there in nothing but a pair of temptingly tight underwear he had definitely not been wearing while still asleep. One of his hands cards through his hair, then drags down across his face to rub at an eye as he steps closer. "What are you even..."

He trails off as he catches sight of the golden device in Viktor's hands, blinking a few times as he seems to shake the sleep from his mind.

"What's that?", he sounds significantly more awake as he slides onto the couch next to Viktor and Mel can not decide whether to roll her eyes at their predictability or melt at her sheer endearment towards them both. She already knows the rest of the night is lost when she hugs Viktor more tightly and dips her head forward,  sighs a soft noise against his shoulder.

"Just a ... a toy projector..."

"Nice, can I see?"

The cube is already switching hands when Mel straightens to stretch her hands above her head, then unceremoniously climbs across the back of the couch to join them. Grabbing a blanket from the other side of the couch to spread across hers and Viktor's laps.

By the time Viktor hands over the screwdriver as well Mel is already dozing off on his shoulder, curled up against him with a loose arm winding around his waist, barely feeling his kiss against her temple before her eyes slide shut.

~

When Mel stirs again some time later the morning is soft pink and filled with the quiet humming of the finalized projector painting constellations into the air above the coffee table. Now and again there is the sound of a snore from Jayce, who is stretched out on Viktor's other side with his head resting in their partner's lap. There is a second blanket thrown haphazardly across his broad body and pale fingers are slack where they are winding between strands of his hair.

When she dares to move enough to look at Viktor after a few, silent moments, she finds him asleep as well, his head tipped back against the couch and lips parted slightly around deep, even breaths.

His neck will probably hurt once he wakes up, Mel muses. But she does not entertain the thought of waking him just yet. They can take care of any soreness with a nice warm compress and the oil she keeps upstairs for thorough massages. For now Viktor is finally asleep again and Mel is content to keep it that way for a while.

So she pulls the blanket up and cuddles closer to him, rests her head on his shoulder and listens to the soft breathing of her partners. Traces her fingers along a pale arm and watches the hypnotic sway of twirling stars until her eyelids grow heavy again.

~

You can find this fic and all my other MJV Week 2022 entries on ao3 as well!

~

Commissions | Kofi | AO3 | twitter | pillowfort

[a-room-of-my-own]

ENQUÊTE - En octobre 2019, une jeune fille, victime d’un viol collectif deux ans avant, a été poignardée et brûlée vive. Pour l’avocate de la famille, cet assassinat « dit beaucoup de choses sur la place des femmes et de la sexualité dans les cités ».

Trois jeunes trépignent derrière le comptoir de l’accueil du commissariat de Creil (Oise). Agités, inquiets, ils n’aiment pas la police – « on n’est pas des balances », proclame l’un d’entre eux. Mais cette fois-ci, l’affaire est plus grave que les traditionnels trafics de drogue qui agitent la cité du Plateau Rouher. Depuis deux jours déjà, une rumeur se propage : « Une fille s’est fait brûler dans le quartier, au niveau des jardins ouvriers », signalent-ils. « La rumeur précise également que le corps calciné est celui de Shaina, disparue depuis plusieurs jours, et cette dernière, toujours selon la rumeur, serait enceinte », écrit le policier, recueillant le témoignage des adolescents. Pourquoi parlent-ils ? « Nous avons tous des petites sœurs, cela nous choque. »

A 14 heures, ce dimanche 27 octobre 2019, une patrouille embarque les jeunes à son bord et s’enfonce dans les travées du Plateau. Les barres d’immeubles y sont moins imposantes et dégradées qu’en banlieue parisienne, mais le Plateau, « abcès de fixation » du ressort du procureur de Senlis, Jean-Baptiste Bladier, vit au rythme des points de deal, des meurtres et des voitures incendiées. Niché au fond du quartier, un dédale de parcelles fleuries et de cabanons en tôle rouillée, oasis de verdure en plein béton. A l’arrivée des forces de l’ordre, un groupe d’hommes semblent les attendre sur place et confirment les bruits de la cité.

Les policiers progressent dans le jardin ouvrier et tombent sur un abri carbonisé. Au sol, il y a des fioles de Poliakov et des bouteilles de Nicolas Feuillatte, marques de vodka et de champagne premier prix. Des canettes de boissons énergisantes, des emballages de jus de fruit, un couteau de cuisine. La structure métallique d’un canapé clic-clac, celle d’une banquette arrière de voiture. Le cabanon abandonné est connu pour accueillir les soirées et relations clandestines des jeunes des barres d’immeubles, privés d’autres espaces pour se fréquenter.

« Constatons la présence dans les débris calcinés d’un tronc ainsi qu’un crâne humain face contre sol », rédigent les membres de la patrouille. Le reste du corps est masqué par les stigmates de l’incendie. Quelques jours plus tard, les résultats de l’expertise génétique et de l’autopsie reviennent. Shaina Hansye, 15 ans, scolarisée en seconde au lycée Cassini de Clermont (Oise), a été poignardée à plusieurs reprises au ventre, puis embrasée vivante. Elle était vraisemblablement enceinte d’une dizaine de jours.

« Victime au moins trois fois »

A l’époque, le meurtre barbare de l’adolescente ne déclenche rien d’autre que la traditionnelle marche blanche, quelques articles de presse, et les condoléances des autorités locales. Parveen, Muhamad et Yasin Hansye, les parents et le grand frère de Shaina, tentent bien d’appeler BFM-TV pour les alerter, mais l’assassinat de la jeune fille n’obtient pas d’écho national ni de réaction politique. Pourtant, il contient les mêmes ressorts que ceux à l’œuvre dans la mort de Sohane Benziane, brûlée vive dans un local à poubelles de Vitry-sur-Seine (Val-de-Marne), en 2002, et dont le retentissement avait généré la création de l’association Ni putes ni soumises.

Le lendemain de cette découverte, la substitute du procureur de Senlis entre le nom de Shaina Hansye dans le fichier des enquêtes en cours. La lycéenne apparaît comme victime dans deux autres affaires, un viol collectif en août 2017 et des violences volontaires commises contre elle, en mai 2019. Les magistrats restent marqués par cet homicide « effrayant », tant au niveau du mode opératoire, que de cette « gamine victime au moins trois fois », retrace Jean-Baptiste Bladier.

« Shaina, c’est l’histoire d’une victime au cube », défend Me Negar Haeri, avocate de la famille. « Elle est violée dans une tournante à 13 ans, tabassée deux ans après parce qu’elle a porté plainte contre ses violeurs, et elle meurt brûlée dans un cabanon parce qu’elle est tombée enceinte. Ce n’est pas un fait divers, mais un fait de société qui dit beaucoup de choses sur la place des femmes et de la sexualité dans les cités. » Dans ces trois procédures, de nombreuses auditions d’adolescents, des extraits de messageries et des expertises psychologiques dépeignent une perception sexiste des jeunes filles, ainsi qu’un regard honteux et dégradé sur les relations sexuelles.

Dans le salon de leur pavillon à la façade en bois du Plateau, Parveen, équipière polyvalente au Quick de Saint-Maximin, parle plus que son mari Muhamad. La famille de Shaina vient de l’île Maurice, pratique un islam modéré, se décrit comme moderne et ouverte. « Moi je ne suis pas voilée, je fume, mais je suis aussi musulmane. Je ne comprends pas qu’en France, une femme puisse mourir, comme en Afghanistan, parce que c’est une femme. Shaina, elle a été sanctionnée par les garçons de la cité, elle voulait être libre, et on l’a tuée à cause de ça. C’est la loi des anciens, des grands-pères, qui veut que les femmes ne sortent pas, ne couchent pas, et se cachent », s’insurge sa mère. Yasin, son frère de 23 ans, qui s’apprête à intégrer la marine, abonde : « Shaina est morte parce qu’elle ne voulait pas se laisser faire. »

« Je ne sais pas pourquoi, je l’aimais bien »

Parveen refuse de toucher à la chambre de Shaina. L’autocollant Hello Kitty collé au mur, la poupée Reine des neiges, le maquillage, les bijoux et les strass évoquent une adolescente féminine et coquette, dont la trajectoire est une première fois brisée en 2017. Elle vient d’avoir 13 ans, et sort avec Djibril B., qui l’a abordée à la sortie du collège pour obtenir son « snap » (son identifiant sur la messagerie instantanée Snapchat). D’après elle, au début, le garçon est gentil, attentionné, puis il devient violent. Il la frappe et la force à se déshabiller pour la prendre en photo.

Pendant des semaines, il la menace de publier ces images afin d’obtenir des rapports sexuels. Shaina refuse. Jusqu’au 31 août 2017, où elle se rend avec sa meilleure amie de l’époque, Maeva C., dans l’hôpital désaffecté de Creil, une polyclinique en ruines à la lisière de la Cavée, l’autre grande cité de Creil. Le lieu a la même fonction que les cabanons des jardins ouvriers, héberger les relations interdites des mineurs, au milieu des matelas éventrés, des murs tagués et des détritus amoncelés.

Maeva C. ne comprend pas pourquoi Shaina reste avec Djibril B. : « C’est un garçon pas bien, il la prend pour une chienne. Shaina m’a dit qu’il s’en foutait d’elle, il voulait juste la baiser », dépose-t-elle au commissariat de Creil, le soir des faits, où elle est arrivée la première, inquiète de ne plus avoir de nouvelles de Shaina. Quelques heures avant, le garçon de 15 ans a emmené sa petite amie de force dans un recoin de l’hôpital. Deux de ses copains sont présents. Maeva C. n’assiste pas à la scène, n’entend que des « suce-moi » et Shaina qui se débat. Elle retrouve son amie en larmes, furieuse, le soutien-gorge apparent, le visage et le pantalon noircis. Djibril B. a voulu lui « faire une réputation ». Shaina craque, se traite de pute dans la rue. Sa copine la rassure. « Ils m’ont violée », éclate-t-elle.

La mère de Maeva C. accompagne sa fille mineure lors de son audition. Celle-ci tient à préciser sur procès-verbal que Shaina est « une gamine effrontée », surnommée « l’allumeuse », et qu’elle « a la réputation de bien aimer les garçons ». Shaina arrive enfin au commissariat. Elle est pleine de griffures et d’ecchymoses. La policière l’interroge : « Ton amie Maeva dit qu’il te traitait comme une chienne mais que tu étais comme hypnotisée par lui, es-tu d’accord ? » « Oui, je ne sais pas pourquoi, je l’aimais bien. »

Des heures dans le noir

Ensuite, l’adolescente déroule la narration sordide d’une tournante devant l’enquêtrice, laquelle mentionne en majuscules dans son compte-rendu : « DISONS QU’AU COURS DE L’AUDITION, Shaina NE MANIFESTE AUCUNE EMOTION PARTICULIERE. » Selon elle, Djibril B. et ses deux copains lui enlèvent son pantalon de force, exigent des fellations, toujours sous la menace de la diffusion d’images dénudées d’elle sur Snapchat. Elle tente de récupérer son jean et de s’enfuir. Ils le lui arrachent, la filment. Ils tiennent ensuite à vérifier sa virginité à l’aide d’un tube de Labello. Shaina crie, Djibril B. lui met la main sur la bouche pour la faire taire : « Si tu cries, je te donne un coup sur la tête. Avec les vidéos qu’on a de toi, on fait ce qu’on veut », lui aurait-il répondu, d’après sa déposition. Le jeune homme veut absolument un rapport sexuel complet avec elle, essaie, mais échoue.

Maeva C. et Shaina Hansye s’échappent de l’hôpital désaffecté, et comprennent dans la rue en croisant d’autres garçons de la cité que les images qui viennent d’être filmées ont déjà été diffusées. Ils interpellent la victime : « C’est toi la pute qui s’est fait baiser ! »

Article réservé à nos abonnés Lire aussiLe « revenge porn », pratique « banale » et hors de contrôle chez les élèves

L’affaire est prise au sérieux par le parquet de Senlis, mais les enquêteurs semblent hésiter sur le récit de Shaina. Jusqu’à ce qu’ils arrivent à restaurer une vidéo effacée du téléphone de Djibril B. qui, en garde à vue, « met en cause la crédibilité de la victime et la fait passer pour une aguicheuse alors même que l’exploitation de son téléphone portable contredit totalement ses dires, faisant réapparaître une vidéo brève montrant la victime en situation de victime de violences, partiellement dénudée, en détresse », documentent-ils. On y voit Shaina en soutien-gorge, sa culotte à côté d’elle, son pantalon sur le bassin pour essayer de cacher ses parties intimes. La bande sonore capte les protestations désespérées de l’adolescente : « casse-toi », « laisse-moi », et les insultes récurrentes de ses agresseurs, « pute », « salope », « sale pute ». Shaina se défend, tente de les repousser. La vidéo s’interrompt.

Djibril B. et ses deux camarades sont mis en examen pour « viol aggravé, enregistrement d’images à caractère pornographique et violences ». Les proches des trois garçons se plaignent de cette procédure, de Shaina qui a « fait des problèmes » alors qu’il ne se serait rien passé. Parveen, sa mère, se souvient bien de cette période post-viol. Sa fille reste des heures dans le noir, ne quitte plus sa chambre. Elle accepte d’aller consulter un psychologue, mais n’aime pas ça : « A chaque fois, elle en sortait en pleurant, ça lui rappelait ces horreurs, et je l’emmenais au restaurant ou faire les magasins pour la consoler. » Elle change de collège, recommence doucement à vivre, même si elle croise encore Djibril B. dans le bus. « Et puis cette histoire, ça l’a fait passer pour une fille facile », regrette Parveen.

Sa famille suit désormais le moindre de ses déplacements grâce à la fonction géolocalisation de Snapchat. Elle ne se rend dans la cité que sous surveillance de ses proches, car Djibril B. la menace encore sur les réseaux sociaux : « Un jour je vais te tuer. » Le 1er mai 2019, soit presque deux ans après l’ouverture de la première affaire, Shaina et sa nouvelle meilleure amie, Ilona D., révisent leur brevet. Les deux filles veulent faire une pause et aller « chercher un grec ». En chemin, elles croisent Djibril B. sur un vélo. « Sale pute, je vais te briser, t’es morte », la menace-t-il. « Laisse-la, c’est une fille, ne la touche pas », proteste leur chaperon, un ami du frère de Shaina. Djibril B. revient avec une petite dizaine de copains. Quelques-uns sont cagoulés. L’un d’entre eux frappe l’adolescente avec un grand « bâton noir », elle tombe inconsciente au sol et se réveille à l’hôpital de Creil, le visage tout bleu.

Au commissariat de Creil, Ilona D. raconte l’intervalle : les violences, les cinq personnes s’acharnant sur Shaina, le vol de son portable, Djibril B. lui décochant un coup de pied au visage alors qu’elle est à terre. Les policiers retrouvent là encore des échanges entre les différents membres du « commando », certains s’enorgueillissant de lui avoir « mis un penalty dans la bouche », un autre riant de l’agression devant le juge d’instruction, pour ensuite se ressaisir en niant et en expliquant que « c’est choquant dix garçons qui frappent une fille ». Djibril B. est à nouveau mis en examen, pour « violences en réunion, menaces de mort et vol ». Son avocat, Me Archibald Celeyron, déclare que son « client a été remis en liberté dans le cadre de ces deux dossiers, il conteste fermement les faits et s’en expliquera devant la justice ».

122 SMS en moins d’une heure

L’été 2019 s’écoule. Shaina tente encore une fois de dépasser sa peur de l’extérieur et des garçons pour rencontrer Omar O., un élève de terminale scolarisé à Creil. Elle le croise au Plateau, où le jeune homme de 17 ans va voir sa grand-mère. Il l’ajoute sur Snapchat. D’après lui, ils ont leur premier rapport sexuel au dernier étage d’une tour du Plateau, dans les parties communes. A une psychologue qui l’examine, le jeune homme reconnaît s’être rapproché d’elle à cause de sa réputation sulfureuse. Il veut avoir des relations sexuelles, et il croit savoir que dans la cité, avec elle, c’est « facile à avoir ». « Je ne suis pas fier de ça. C’est vrai que je me suis servi d’elle. Je savais dans quel but je lui parlais. »

Shaina, elle, aime beaucoup Omar O., veut souvent le revoir. Lui parfois l’ignore, parfois en profite à nouveau dans le cabanon du jardin ouvrier. Il a « honte » de devoir assumer devant ses parents d’avoir eu des rapports sexuels. « Il évoque un fort interdit culturel et religieux en lien avec la sexualité hors mariage, qui est tabou dans sa famille », développe la psychologue. Omar O. a aussi honte de Shaina devant ses copains, alors il ne va pas plus loin avec elle. A cause du viol qu’elle a subi, la cote de l’adolescente s’est effondrée sur le « marché » des filles de la cité, elle n’est plus « fréquentable ».

La dernière semaine d’octobre 2019, Shaina est vue à la pharmacie du Plateau. A la main, elle a un test de grossesse, qu’elle montre à la pharmacienne. Il est positif. « Je vais avoir de gros ennuis », redoute-t-elle. Shaina en achète un autre, pour confirmer son état. Elle prévient Omar O., qu’elle désigne comme père. Le 25 octobre en début d’après-midi, Shaina et Omar O. échangent 122 SMS en moins d’une heure. La conversation n’est pas retrouvée, mais Omar O. dit qu’elle a émis l’idée de garder l’enfant, quand lui veut la convaincre d’avorter. Douze minutes après le dernier message, entre deux vidéos pornographiques, son ordinateur consigne le visionnage de l’émission de témoignages « C’est mon choix », intitulée « Un enfant à 15 ans, je suis pour ! ».

Parveen s’en veut encore. Ses yeux s’humidifient lorsqu’elle évoque la soirée du 25 octobre 2019, cette porte qu’elle n’a pas entendu claquer vers 21 heures quand Shaina serait partie rejoindre Omar O. Shaina, amoureuse, s’est faite belle : elle s’est maquillée et habillée, mais a laissé son sac à main, dans lequel sa mère retrouve le lendemain un test de grossesse positif en cherchant sa fille disparue.

« Les gars du quartier le vannaient »

Quand le corps de l’adolescente est retrouvé dans le cabanon, deux appels « strictement anonymes pour des raisons de sécurité » arrivent au commissariat. Ils désignent Omar O. comme l’auteur du meurtre, et un mobile, celui de la grossesse non désirée de Shaina. Un avortement par la lame et le feu. Le soir des faits, le jeune homme se serait confié à un de ses copains de la cité, Sofiane M., devenu depuis témoin numéro un de l’affaire. Vers 23 heures, alors qu’une explosion retentit dans le jardin ouvrier, et qu’un incendie se déclenche, Omar O. rejoint Sofiane M., et lui aurait avoué avoir tué quelqu’un. « Je l’ai fumée. »

Les deux jeunes hommes se rendent chez la mère de Sofiane M. pour discuter tranquillement. Selon lui, Omar O. se confie. « Il m’a dit qu’il est parti voir Shaina au squat des jardins avec un couteau, une paire de gants et une bouteille d’essence. “J’y allais pour la tuer parce qu’elle était enceinte de moi”. Il a dit également qu’il ne pouvait pas garder le bébé, sa mère, tout ça. Arrivé au squat, il lui a demandé de se déshabiller comme d’habitude, ce qu’elle a fait. Une fois toute nue, il lui a mis plusieurs coups de couteaux. »

Il aurait ensuite aspergé Shaina d’essence et allumé le briquet au niveau de ses cheveux, entraînant un retour de flammes qui l’a brûlé. « Est-ce que vous savez comment Omar O. prenait la nouvelle qu’elle soit enceinte ? », demande le policier à Sofiane M. « Les gars du quartier le vannaient en lui disant qu’il avait mis une pute enceinte et ça ne lui plaisait pas du tout. » Me Adel Farès, l’avocat d’Omar O., conteste la parole d’un témoin « dont la version et la moralité sont discutables ».

Omar O. passe la nuit du 30 octobre sur Internet, à lire les articles de la presse locale sur le féminicide du jardin ouvrier, et à taper « jugement pénal », « justice pénale », « jugement cour d’assises » dans la barre de recherche de YouTube. A 6 heures du matin, la brigade de recherche et d’intervention (BRI) de la police judiciaire de Lille fait sauter la porte de son appartement et l’interpelle. Devant les policiers et le magistrat, il enchaîne les explications confuses, les dénégations, pour finalement garder le silence.

Vantardise

Mis en examen pour assassinat, le jeune homme est incarcéré dans le quartier pour mineurs du centre pénitentiaire de Liancourt (Oise). Là-bas, il semble autant s’exprimer qu’il refusait de le faire devant les enquêteurs. A peine arrivé, l’un de ses codétenus raconte l’avoir alpagué par la fenêtre sur la raison de son emprisonnement. « Il m’a répondu fièrement, avec le sourire, qu’il était là car il avait tué sa copine, qui était une pute qu’il avait mise enceinte et qu’il ne voulait pas que sa mère l’apprenne car il était musulman. »

La vantardise d’Omar O. serait telle qu’un autre camarade de prison s’en ouvre au téléphone auprès de sa petite amie – la conversation est captée par les services pénitentiaires. « C’est quoi le plus gros dossier qu’il y a là-bas ? », questionne-t-elle. « Un mec, il a tué une fille et tout, il l’a brûlée (…). V’la le clochard ! Tout ça parce qu’il l’a baisée sans capote et l’a mise enceinte. C’était une pute en plus. (…) Et il s’en vante. Quand il va prendre une peine à deux chiffres on va voir s’il va s’en vanter… » Ce même jeune confirme devant le juge d’instruction qu’Omar O. lui a exposé « préférer prendre trente ans que d’être le père d’un fils de pute ». La défense du mis en cause insiste, elle, sur des prisonniers qui pourraient avoir « témoigné pour obtenir des remises de peines », selon Me Farès.

Derrière les barreaux, Omar O. étonne jusqu’aux surveillants. Il ne montre aucun « choc carcéral » – du nom de cette agitation psychique que ressentent souvent les primo-incarcérés. Il exprime peu d’empathie, ne prononce jamais le prénom de Shaina, qu’il désigne toujours par « elle ». Il se met à rapper dans sa cellule, produisant des textes et des vidéos qu’il diffuse sur son compte Instagram. Bonnet Lacoste gris vissé sur ses cheveux frisés, sweat jaune floqué de l’insigne du FC Barcelone, il chante ses copains qui ont « bavé [dénoncé] devant l’OPJ [officier de police judiciaire] », son dossier dans lequel il n’y a pas « d’indice, que des indics en anonyme » et sa situation judiciaire : « Criminel, je risque une peine qui est égale à mon âge. »

Pour son avocat, Omar O. est victime d’« une rumeur qui l’a désigné, qui s’est propagée jusqu’à la prison. L’instruction n’a été faite qu’à charge pour solidifier cette rumeur, alors que j’ai apporté la contradiction sur tous les éléments de l’accusation. Mon client est innocent et ce dossier contient un réel risque de désastre judiciaire pour les parties civiles si la cour d’assises ne valide pas le travail de l’instruction ».

Place des femmes dans la cité

Les deux ans d’investigations sur l’assassinat de Shaina ont scindé en deux la cité du Plateau. D’un côté, ceux qui pensent qu’Omar O. est innocent, que la jeune fille avait des « vices » et une vie « trop libre ». Une autre enquête préliminaire pour subornation de témoins a été ouverte suite à des menaces et des agressions subies par Sofiane M. et sa mère, pour qu’ils « allègent » leurs témoignages. De l’autre, ceux qui s’inquiètent de la place des femmes dans le chaudron de la cité. Après le meurtre de sa sœur, Yasin a monté une association pour promouvoir l’égalité sur le Plateau. Il a essayé d’organiser un tournoi de foot constitué d’équipes mixtes. Très peu de filles sont venues.

Dans le cimetière de Creil, la tombe de Shaina attend toujours sa pierre. Ecrasées par le soleil d’août, les fleurs en plastique poussiéreuses encadrent un petit panneau de bois surmonté d’un écriteau en métal gravé « Bibi Shaina Hansye, 2004-2019 ». Sa mère Parveen n’est pas encore prête à refermer sa sépulture, tant que l’ordonnance de mise en accusation devant la cour d’assises des mineurs de l’Oise d’Omar O. n’est pas tombée, tant qu’il n’est pas condamné.

C’est chose faite : le juge d’instruction vient de le renvoyer, mais la défense d’Omar O. annonce faire appel. Les parents de Shaina aimeraient transformer le jardin ouvrier où elle a été assassinée en mémorial, y installer une jolie plaque de marbre en hommage à leur fille. Mais ils n’osent pas le réclamer à la mairie de la ville, de peur que des jeunes viennent encore la détruire, « comme ils pensent que Shaina était la pute de la cité », s’émeut Parveen

[acklesterritory]

Born to Be Yours_ch. 5

Hey guys, I know it took so damn long to update this series fix but I did my best to do it through this hard time that we all had during the pandemic. I hope you forgive me. So here it is. The new chapter. I hope you enjoy it. Happy reading.

READ CHAPTER 1 HERE

READ CHAPTER 2 HERE

READ CHAPTER 3 HERE

READ CHAPTER 4 HERE

Dean x Reader series

SPN x TVD crossover

Summary: She always wanted to be his. He always wanted to be her. But what destiny wants?

Words~3.2 k

Warning: language, smut, angst

Tag list: @jay-and-dean @missafairy @akshi8278

Feedbacks are always appreciated

Dean's POV:

"Take a sit!" The blood sucker suggested as Y/n left us alone to cook in the kitchen. I looked around, still standing about the fireplace. I have to admit, their mansion looked fancy with old-fashioned parquet, wooden walls and big oil paintings. The velvety curtains surrounded a big part of the room, building an obstacle against the sun light. A classic vampire cave, itself!

"You want too?" I heard his voice over the crackle of lively flames when he was pouring some whiskey in his glass.

"Why? Is it a vamp ritual to say goodbye before biting the dust?" I cocked my right brow at him and he just kept his death glare on me until he was done drinking the whole shot in one go.

"Well, obviously you don't know enough about my kind, Winchester. I'm not a random vampire." He was calmed and confident and it was bothering me so much.

"Oh, really? … then what are you, sick fangs?"

He chuckled, enjoying the rage he knew he had me in.

"I'm "first blood". One of the five vampires who got turned by the original one. Klaus Mikaelson."

I'd heard about him. The big bad hybrid. A nasty ancient werewolf who turned to a vampire. He must be a tale or something because there wasn't any evidence that could prove he was anything more than a fiction.

"Oh, yeah? What else?" I amusingly mocked him, not believing any of his craps.

"I know you don't believe me. Still I'll tell you anyway. The fact is that except originals, just very special vamps like me can compel humans. And that's the secret only Y/n knows about. … Of course until now that I had to tell you too."

"Compel?" I frowned in confusion, staring at the blood sucker who was done with his second shot. "What does that even mean?"

"Means this!" I heard a whoosh sound and in a heart beat he was standing in front of me, staring in my eyes.

"Sit." He said and despite my will I did!

"What the … hell?" I whispered under my breath, feeling dizzy for a moment.

"That's a compelling process. Making humans do the things you want. Of course in case they don't carry vervain around." He explained, bringing out his phone out of his pocket.

"Watch."

He threw his phone in my lap, rocking the melting ice cubes in his half empty glass. I picked up the phone and started the ready-to-play video. It was a bar. A very silent one when there was just Y/n is one of the stool, drinking something, looking sad and wasted. By judging the point of view and the video's quality I could say it was recorded by the security camera of the place. I could see the time too. 3:14 am! Then I saw the blood boy coming down the stares. Y/n' s was sitting the opposite side so she didn't notice him.

"So you're here … again."

He said, standing right behind her, hands buried in the pocket of his leather jacket. She turned around to look up at him and I noticed she was actually in a deep v t-shirt. Her skin was a little flashed, soft y/h/c locks were framing her delicate face. "It's our anniversary." She revealed, getting lost in her memories, her look fixed on an unknown point on the wall. "He was badly injured, bleeding all over his clothes. Couldn't even breathe properly. And …" she took a deep breath to swallow the lump anyone could distinguish in her tone and I blinked in confusion. What was she talking about? "… in a few minutes his pulse became so weak that I couldn't feel it anymore. I panicked, screamed … even begged but he was unresponsive. Pale like death. With blue lips. And I thought …" she took a shaky breath, closing her eyes tight like even thinking about that memory could've physically hurt her. "I really thought he was dead. So I kissed him and I let those words out … that I love him. A few minutes after that he really came back."

She smiled between her tears and I felt my heart drop in my stomach. She was talking about me, wasn't she? Watching the blood sucker's reaction to her words (whom was moving close and putting his hand protectively on her back), I decided to focus more on Y/n's voice:

"He doesn't know though. He couldn't remember so much about that night. Still thinks he's the one who made the first move."

She chuckled and I stayed Still, trying to figure out why she was sharing these secrets with him instead of me? Why she never dared to tell me? The blood sucker exhaled loudly, closing his eyes for a second to probably gather his thoughts. "Y/n …"

"I can't, Stefan. I can't forget him. I clung to our daughter. As a way out … even a remedy. For this pain. I fell in love because of him. I became a mom because of him. But now I lost … his … our child too. And I can't … You know that I can't. You have been through this with Elena. So you should know … I'm hurting. And I can't stop it!" Her small shoulders trembled when she hid her face in her hands, sobbing painfully. The blood sucker had to bend to take her (from behind) in his arms. "I'm sorry, Y/n..." She leaned back to his body, tears streaming down her cheeks. Her right hand went down to find his locked hands around her belly, the other raised up to touch the left side of his face while he was holding her from behind.

"Please … Make it stop. Make me forget about him. Put me out of this agony." She begged, sobbing."Please … please."

My tears started to whelm when the blood sucker stole the phone out of my almost loosened hands. Frowning I looked up, and he shook his head in sorry.

"She kept begging. But I always thought there has to be a better way. Until …"

He stopped and drank a big gulpe of the liquor before completing his sentence: "She tried to kill herself. Got herself overdosed on drugs. Ended up in ER with a massive heart attack. So …"

"So you compelled her to forget about me." I interrupted him, hunting his eyes with my angry ones, my hands shaped into fists where I had them on my knees.

He shook his head: "I had to."

I keep staring at his face. I couldn't understand why he was truly calm and actually honest with me. After all, I was a hunter. A skilled one. Famous enough for him to know about me. About how I could kill a vamp right away even with a clouded drunk mind and an injured leg.

"You're gonna make her remember." I stated coldly.

"Says who?" He hesitated to answer, pouring himself another shot. If I wasn't busy in my head weighting his words, I could be stunned by how much the old fangs could drink without getting even tipsy. But I was already on my feet again, hissing against the pain flashing through my injured leg.

He could take it as a threat or a command. I didn't care.

"Not possible." He blinked to tear his gaze from me.

"A rare special spell which didn't left any open chances to undo the compel." He finally said, eyes lost at the deep of his glass. "That kind which no one can break it without killing her." He tilted up his head to look at me. And that was when he finally could figure out that I was pointing a gun at him. All ready to shoot.

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

"Detonatable wooden bullets. One shot in the heart and you'll be gone for good." I let him know that I did my research already. That happened after I saw them kissing in the hospital. He raised his hands in surrender and took a few steps toward me till the tip of my gun could touch his chest.

"Then go ahead. Do it."

Those lores weren't kidding when they claimed vamps are actually some corpses who refuse to accept the death. The guy was still calm and in control while my hands were slightly shaking by the force of the rage and the aversion I was feeling with my whole existence.

"What are you waiting for?" Setting his gaze on my face, he questioned. And for the first time I realized how old he was. 120 years? More? I couldn't guess when he was looking like a freaking 32 years strong man. But at that exact moment I suddenly figured out he was much older than me. Maybe wiser too. And obviously much more experienced. He'd seen things I'd never seen. Been in different situations I've never been. So this calm attitude of his had nothing to do with anything but my childish behaviour.

"For her. To come back to her senses. so then I can kill you right away without being worried about her reaction." I clenched my teeth through a smirk. A bitter one.

"So what? You suddenly started to care about her? After all these years? After what you've put her through?"

I don't remember who grabbed the other by the collar at first. But the second we started it, I knew I couldn't win this fight. Not just because I was injured and drunk but because I knew he was right. I knew I messed Y/n up. And it was my fault and responsibility, NOT HIS. But he wasn't allowed to ask such questions that weren't his business at all.

"I will kill you." I spitted through my clenched teeth by the force I felt inside me to promise to myself and him while I had my hands clutched around his neck, blocking his air way as if it could kill him.

"You lost that chance already." He rambled in his chest, adding an ugly laugh to his bitter comment before throwing me to the wall. Bang! Something shattered behind me the moment my back hit the wall, making a bothering whistle go off in my head.

"Face it, Winchester. She will never love you again. She would never make that mistake again. And there is nothing you can do about it. Just like the feelings you have for her which you can never help."

I'm not sure what was worse? the cuts in my back, the pain in my leg or the sting I was feeling in my heart.

"You are … wrong!" I stood up again, fighting against my tears and the vertigo. Looking at his ugly exposed fangs with disgust. "I'll get her back. And you're gonna die in heartache. I'll make sure of it!"

Shaking his head, he laughed mockingly. And before he knew, I attacked him again. Breaking his neck with only my bare hands with such a satisfying crack voice.

"STEFAN!" I heard her scream before i heard the shotgun . Blood splashed and I hit the ground.

"I never thought you can be this stupid, Winchester."

As I lifted my arm to rub my neck, a hot pain flashed through my shoulder and back, making me almost jump on the bed and open my eyes immediately.

"Really, Dean?" A hand reached out to me to support my back so I couldn't stupidly hurt myself again.

"Bela?" I blinked to clear my cloudy sight.

"Can't you just stop fighting and let your body take it's time to recover before you pass out again?" She said while I was looking around, her hand still on my back.

"Is this a hospital?" I blinked once more and whispered under my breath, wondering why I was there.

"Yeah, Y/n called. Wanted me to save your ass. And as I couldn't manage to do it with simple medical supplies, we had to bring you here."

I looked up at her, first taking a glance of her lab coat that had some blood stains on it, then I saw the iv line on my elbow and found out that I was shirtless and barefoot in just a hospital trousers while there was a bandage all around my left shoulder.

"Was she upset that she missed the heart?" My voice sound hoarsed and bitter, more miserable than I expected.

"I don't know, Dean. Did you really tried to kill Stefan?" Bela questioned and straightened her back. Cocking her right brow at me, she folded her arms.

"Yeah, what's wrong with It?" I narrowed my eyes at her, already angry by just hearing that name, catching Bela off guard. But before she had the chance to say anything, a blonde nurse in scrubs knocked on the door and asked if she can enter the room.

"Come on in, Jo." Bela sighed before taking her eyes off of me. Then she moved away from the bed.

"Oh, so he's awake." The nurse said, exchanging a look with Bela. Then she turned around the bed to get closer to me.

"Feel better?" She asked, grabbing my free elbow to wrap a blood pressure cuff around my bicep. Her strength was impressive and I didn't expect such power from a delicate girl like her.

"I'm good" I said, when she brought out a stethoscope from the pocket of her scrubs and pressed the steth to the inside of my elbow just beneath the cuff. When she started to inflate it, I tried to convince her that it's not necessary but she shushed me. So I just sat there looked up at the ceiling in annoyance as she was watching the gauge.

"Yeah. you're better." Blondie smiled, removing the cuff.

"Am I free to go now?" I asked Bela and then turned my gaze on Jo's face. "Where is my clothes by the way?"

"They're torn, baby. You were bleeding like hell. I actually can't believe you can sit up and talk to us right now." She admitted, gazing at me through her lashes.

"That bad?" I frowned in wonder. As she parted her lips to state something, Bela interrupted us: "Thanks for the help, Jo. I got him now."

The blondie left as soon as she saw the look on Bella's not so happy face.

"What's up with you?" I scrutinized her.

"I have the same question about you, Dean. What were you thinking when you went there? Did you really think you can kill Stefan Salvatore and walk away that easily?" She almost hissed through her teeth as her face got flashed by anger. It was like she was trying to warn me. Or threaten … me?

I licked my lips in confusion, studying her. I understood that girls don't like when people bother their besties but why in the love of God someone like Bela would give a damn about that blood sucker? She was the one who called Sammy and me in the first place to come over and help her to save Y/n. She wanted me to give Y/n an opportunity to have a kid again. She knew about us. So why … "Oh, I see …" I looked her in the eyes eyes when finally wheels turned in my head. "You …" I hesitate, studying her body language once more. "… you have a thing for that blood sucker, don't you?"

Suddenly a heavy silence fell on the room. Her pupils got fixed on me, lashes pointed out like shafts. She was looking at me like I was a dangerous target in her radar.

"It's true. Isn't it?" I insisted, shaping a mocking smirk on my lips. "That's why you wanted to be close to Y/n in the first place! That's why you pretend like you're her bestie who cares about her. Because you wanted to remove her from the blood sucker's life!"

"Apparently you have concussion too. I'll tell the nurse to …" she tried her chance to seem reasonable. To ignore me. But no lover could fool another.

So when she took her second step toward the door, I pulled off the v-line and jumped out of the bed and managed to catch her from behind.

To my surprise, she reacted much faster. Grabbing me by the neck, she pushed me against the wall. My breath almost hitched when she slammed my injured shoulder against the wall.

"Stay away from Stefan." She warned, eyes getting red, her veins started to outstand on her skin. Soon her big secret was exposed too: her bloody vampy fangs. "Or try to hurt him again, and I'll kill your bitch in no time!" She hissed resembling a wounded wild animal. A protective tigress.

"You lay a finger on her and watch how I'll rip your fang boy's heart out of his chest with my own hands." I stated with the deadliest look I could manage, sucking in the air when she caused a new wave of hot pain by clutching at my shoulder. "However I don't believe you will hurt Y/n. You would already do that if you could. But you didn't. The thing is the blood sucker loves her and you can't risk making him hate you for good. Or for the rest of this new immortal vamp life you have now!" I mocked, watching how the realization hit her:

"Does that mean you finally figured out why I wanted to get your clumsy ass involved in this?"

- "What? The fact that you're that obsessed to get rid of Y/n that you would seek hunters help?"

- "You're the only one who wants them to break up more than me. That's what I have no doubts about."

I laughed between my coughs when she removed her fingers from around my neck, at the fact that we both were that much patethic to actually do that. Because now she knew it too. She knew that I couldn't live without Y/n. Lovers couldn't fool each others.

"I already feel sick to suggest this but we have to collaborate." She said, pinning me by the arms to the wall.

"YOU and ME? Collaborate?!" I frowned in wonder, still mocking her tone.

"Why not? You want her and I want him. You deserve her and Stefan deserves me. And we can help eachother. This is a win-win situation." She looked calm now.

"And how's that gonna happen?!" I didn't really wonder. It was just another mocking question but before she could say anything, we heard someone's footsteps, entering the room. Bela looked at me with fearful eyes for a brief moment. And just as a manly voice rambled in the room, she captured my lips in a sudden kiss.

"Hey Rose, I wanted to … oh God!"

I recognized the voice. It must be that cardiologist. Jack Sheppard. And I have to admit I was surprised by Bela's move as much as him. However I knew why she had to do that. She needed an explanation for the question that could form in anyone's head with seeing us in that specific situation:

Why was she pinning a patient against the freaking wall!?

"To be continued ..."

[upside-down-uni]

rose, violet rose, and umber 💕💕 sending u hugs mo!

I have recieved the hugs 💙

rose; what’s something really positive going on in your life right now?

the AU server! just logging into my silly little device, coming onto our silly little server and having our silly little talks randomly, hanging out is so NICE! just good feelings all around!

violet rose; what does your dream house look like?

askjfh I love that you chose this question, because I’ve been asking that all of my friends lately!

On to my dream house tho: If we’re really talking house, then it’s somewhere in the suburbs or in a smaller town close to a bigger city like the one I grew up in. Gives us the best cross of “nature is accessible” and “city conveniences are accessible”. I say “us” because I want to get a big house and just move in with all my friends like the sap that I am. Right now I’m already sharing my flat with two roommates and it’s honestly amazing! I want that with my closer friends too. I’m not too picky about what the house itself looks like although I’d probably prefer one (complicated description incoming) that’s more shaped like a cube with a pyramid on top? Houses like that are really cute and cozy! And they usually have an oriel, which are So Cool!

A big garden for our own produce and a whole room just for books would honestly be a drea, - maybe even fruit trees? (though they’re an absolute pain in the ass to take care off because you’ll have fallen apples Everywhere.) Grandfather armchairs in the living room. I want a big bed because I never had one. Like...five cats? A dog maybe? I have a bit of a problems with windows because on one hand Much Light but on the other hand someone has to clean the big windows and I hate cleaning big windows! Haven’t decided on that yet.. Oh and I want hardwood or parquet floors! so much nicer than plastic and much warmer than stone - my feet are cold all the time... And maybe no black tiling in the bathroom? Depending on how much calc is in the water that can be ugly real fast...and it’s so much scrubbing. No, thanks, comfort over overly fancy please.

umber; have you drank enough water today?

suddenly I’m Jared 19....(I’ll go fill my bottle after I send this off, I swear!)

[la-bucolie]

j’pleure sous la couette

soulever couleur mauve

couleur mauve soulevée

carapace ouverte

f. a du temps pour moi

tout son temps

ses cubes

depuis le matin les odeurs me renvoient à des âges que je n’ai plus

que je n’ai pas

futur antérieur

c’est la plus grande peur

se tasser

et attendre

et ne pas se lever

je m’habille en chantant

pour ne pas glitcher

mes motifs et couleurs

obsolescence à l’honneur

une pomme un livre

un compteur de calories

à quoi ça rime

croissance figée

cheveux épais

et mon bonnet

qui ne tient pas

sur mes pensées

un rêve horrible

agenouillée

sur le parquet

j’parle en anglais

j’me prends en main

comme une adulte

j’emporte tout

sauf mon doudou

[herringbonelaminateflooring-blog]

The Allure Of This Parquet Flooring Dublin

In the olden days times, specially during 1625-1714 or what is known as the Baroque Period in France, the parquet flooring has been seen in among the most elegant palaces and wealthy homes. It had been this time period when probably the most complex patterns and ramifications to parquet wood floors were being experimented upon.

However, in modern times, the parquet wood floor is gradually inching its way to humbler houses. It has even come to a spot that there's now perhaps not only a parquet hardwood flooring for your own kitchen, but there is also a more parquet gym floor. Such a flooring is more suited for such centers such as a gym since it may resist high targeted traffic and can be quite resistant to the regular drops of sweat onto the fitness .

The Parquet Wood Floor  

A grey herringbone floor is really made from bits of wood that has been trimmed right into square and arrive in geometric styles. You can find a significant bit of varied style alternatives as soon as it has to do with solid hardwood parquet flooring. These selections incorporate the laminate, the good parquet, the parquet walnut, both the lamparquet, both the multilayer and also the mosaic, and many others. The collection of parquet wood floors come in those which can be made from cherry trees, maple, oak, beech as well as other sorts of woods.

Its Strengths

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The Phone Call for Parquet Flooring

There's now this kind of higher requirement for semi parquet wood floors. A lot of folks look for parquet made of beech, that's typically the most widely used wood form utilized for this type of flooring and it is usually preferred over the oak. These prefab parquet hardwood flooring are now accessible with decks which can be waxed, pre-oiled or finished. That really is because flooring manufacturers are now trying to make these parquet wood floors into something that can possibly be looked after quite readily so that as resistant to scratches as can possibly be. Now, people normally opt for your own parquet laminate flooring which comes in light colors. Right now, makers advise that parquet be set up through strip flooring.

The Parquet Wooden floor of this Past

Back in years past parquet hardwood flooring was crafted from wood strips which have been attached into cubes that ended up sq in shape. Such a hardwood floors has been very moisture-sensitive and usually bulged or dropped after getting exposed to humidity. Now, parquet hardwood flooring are already made from wood or plywood and it is usually implemented with a finish that's acquired through lamination. This floor has already been noted to withstand elevated levels of corrosion. Basement degree installation of those parquet flooring may already even be carried out.

Because of the increasing concern within the environmental awareness among people, a lot of them have now given parquet hardwood flooring a chance of making a big comeback. The benefits of this kind of floors are enhanced by its easy doityourself installation supplying.