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cozyfoxy · 8 months ago

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Mystical Paths Chapter 5

Summary: The Howells have been the proud owners of a small but famous bookstore since the 1800s. They are known for being the only shop that collects original copies of magic writings. Dan works as the bookkeeper of the shop. As the busiest season approaches, one of the most renowned magic families reaches out to the shop and offers to gift them an original Spellbook of sorts. Little did Dan know that these offers would change his life forever.

Warnings: Panic attack

Read on AO3

Chapter One

Dan grimaced at the soft buzzing in his ear. No, not buzzing, humming maybe? It was soothing for the most part, but his head was hurting, a dull rumbling ache. He sighed and moved a bit in his bed, not bothering to open his eyes to find the source of the sound. Sleep was the only thing in his mind, he wanted to sleep longer. The humming paused for only a moment before picking back up again, sounding a bit louder than before. Dan’s senses seemed to become stronger as he became more conscious. There was something cool on his forehead, it felt nice against the ache in his head. He could also smell something fruity and floral, it smelled warm and made his mouth water. He licked his dry lips quickly before willing his eyes to open.

After blinking a couple of times, everything came into focus. He was in his bed, tucked underneath his duvet like a child. Dan huffed to himself and looked out his window, the sky shrouded in grey clouds. His window was cracked, letting the cool autumn air wash away the stale air in his room. He grunted in pain as he sat up, holding the back of his head in annoyance. What happened to him? “Oh, good you’re awake.” A voice said, sounding close. Dan quickly looked around himself, feeling a bit disorientated. He didn’t see anyone. Was Phil talking to him in his head again?

“What’s happening?” the brunette asked the empty room, his voice sounding strained. “You fainted. I’m assuming you dreamed of Arthur, yes?” Phil asked calmly, walking carefully into Dan’s room. Dan blinked and shivered despite not feeling cold. He bit his lip and tried to focus his eyes on where he heard Phil’s voice, but he still saw no one. “I… how did you know that?” he heard himself whisper, whimpering at the pain in his throat. It felt like he was coming down with something. Suddenly, a hot mug of tea was in his hands. The steam floated up in his nose, helping him relax. Without overthinking it, he took a careful sip of the drink, sighing happily as its warmth coated his tender throat. It tasted heavenly, like the sweetest berries and honey.

“That tea will heal your mind, body, and soul. It’s my grandmother’s recipe, it’s always been my favorite.” Phil mumbled, watching happily as Dan’s body relaxed. “But to answer your question, I had the same reaction when I first had the dream. On the seventh of October, after my twenty-second birthday, I dreamed of James from Arthur’s viewpoint. It was terrifyingly real, and when I woke up… I realized I had a birthmark that looked a little too much like a mark that Arthur gave himself in my dream.”

Dan scowled in confusion, trying to focus on the mug of tea in his hand without any luck. Phil knew what had happened to him. Phil had to have caused this, magic wielders couldn’t be trusted after all. He quickly searched his room, still seeing no one. He was alone, talking to no one tangible. His mind was a mess of what-ifs and fear. Before Dan could fully realize what was happening to him, he began gasping for breath. His vision blurred slightly as tears burned in his eyes and his body began to ache just as much as his head. His heart pounded in his chest, sending rumbling, painful pulses through his ears. Dan shook from the inside, unable to control his tears. The mug that was clamped in his hands was suddenly gone, allowing him to wrap his arms around his knees. He remembered that he had fainted right before he was going to take a shower, he had passed out without clothes on. Yet, now he was wearing his favorite pair of sweatpants and fuzzy socks. He hadn’t done that.

“You… you saw me naked. Why ar-are you he-here?” Dan stammered through the rough sobs that tremored through his body. Phil bit his lip nervously, slowly fading into Dan’s bedroom. His heart pounded in fear, but he kneeled beside Dan’s bed anyway.

“Dan I didn’t see any part of you that I can’t see right now. I dressed you, yes, but I used my magic. I didn’t want to overstep.” Phil explained gently, “I… felt that you had fainted. Your mind just went black for a bit, it scared the hell out of me.” Dan swallowed thickly, looking to where he had heard Phil’s voice. For the first time, he saw the man behind the voice; and he couldn’t look away. It felt like time had frozen, like he and Phil were the only two people in the world. When their eyes met, it was like the sun rising over the line of the ocean, something that happened daily and would happen until the end of time.

“I…” Dan didn’t even know what he was going to say, his mind wouldn’t calm. His mouth wouldn’t cooperate with him. So, he just stared, open mouthed at the man beside him. Phil tilted his head to one side, raising an eyebrow, “I know you’re a little all over the place. You can ask me anything. I’m here to answer your questions.” he explained.

Dan swallowed thickly, nodding at Phil’s words, “Um… so, why did I dream about Arthur?”

A soft chuckle left Phil’s lips, “getting right down to business I see. I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised. To put it simply, we have met before, many times before actually.” “We’ve met like twice, and both times you were a fox… I sound like an idiot saying that outloud.” Dan whispered, shaking his head himself. He still couldn’t look away from Phil, no matter how hard he tried. It was like he was under a spell.

Phil smiled sheepishly and ran his fingers through his black fringe, “Well, yeah. But I’m talking about meeting in past lives Daniel. In your dream, Arthur promised to find you in another life, yes? Well… here we are.” Dan blinked slowly, his heart sinking down into his stomach. No, that couldn’t be true, could it? Past lives weren’t real. You got one life to fuck up, not multiple.

He laughed humorlessly, shooting a glare in Phil’s direction. “I don’t know what kind of game you’re trying to play here Lester, but it’s not funny. If anything, it’s just pissing me off. I hate when people try to mess with my head, I do that enough on my own. And I fucking hate magic! It does nothing but cause issues and hurt people, especially in the wrong hands. I know your family is a big deal and all, especially in the magical world, but that gives you no right to come into my life and try to manipulate me! Just get out… leave me the fuck alone.” Dan whimpered, tears burning in his eyes.

For less than a second, Phil’s blue eyes flickered to a complete yellow. It was so quick, that Dan wasn’t sure if it had been his imagination. Instead of moving away from Dan’s bed, he lifted a shaky hand to cup the younger man’s cheek, wiping a stray tear away with his thumb. He watched Dan’s shaking form wordlessly, digging through his mind for an answer to this reaction. He hadn’t expected this. “Shhh, it’s okay little dove. Please… just…” Phil sighed, closing his eyes and pinching the tip of his nose, “you may not believe me. But it’s true. The book, my journal, it can explain it better than I can. When you work again, you can read it and see.”

Dan shook his head jerkily, falling further onto his bed as sobs clawed through his chest, “I… I don’t want to go back to work! I don’t want to deal with that stupid fucking book and all of the rude customers! They look at me like I’m a fraud, they tell me my family isn’t worthy to have such a blessing from your family! I want things to go back to how they were Phil! Back when the shop was peaceful. I hate dreading going to work, when I used to look forward to it… I don’t want to go back.”

Phil froze, the realization of Dan’s feelings sending a tremor of pain through his own heart. Even the strongest people could only hold so much pressure. Dan had been holding a boulder over his head, and his arms finally snapped. How had he not realized? He thought he had prepared to save Dan from the fear, from the worry, but he failed. He had made it worse. “Oh Danny… I’m so sorry. I should've realized, but I didn’t. Look, this is an easy fix.” He explained, waving his hand in the air and mumbling a few words.

The journal appeared onto Dan’s bedside table with a small thub, making hims jump anxiously. He quickly looked into Phil’s eyes again, confusion clear on his face. His brows twisted together in a silent question. “The book has made your family plenty of money, yes? So, now it’s yours. And don’t worry, no one will remember it besides you and myself. You don’t have to dread work anymore.” Phil whispered, biting his lip tightly, a glare on his face.

“I… what? You can do that?” Dan whispered, wiping the last of his tears with the palm of his hand, “but, why? You went through all that trouble for nothing…”

Phil hummed and shook his head, “no, no. I did what I did for you. For your family. For myself. It was the best way that I could contact you, without scaring you away immediately. I know how you feel about magic, so I couldn’t exactly just appear on your doorstep and explain things to you.”

Suddenly, Phil stood up and looked towards Dan’s bedroom door, “I have to get going. I will come back if you want me to, but I really need you to read the book. Please, I just need you to understand. I need you to believe me. I… I need you.” he whispered, unable to keep his voice from breaking. “Let me know if you want me to come back.”

Dan moved to speak, but before he could, Phil had disappeared into thin air, leaving only a folded up piece of paper behind. Dan stood up on shaky legs, his mind running a million miles a minute, and he couldn’t keep up, he felt sick. He shook his head quickly and picked up the paper, unfolding it with nervous fingers.

“Dan, I was going to ask this of you while I was with you, but I couldn’t bring myself to. Until Tuesday morning, please, do not leave your home under any circumstance. I went ahead and stocked up your kitchen, so you will not need to leave for food. If you do need to leave, please, PLEASE call me. I know you might not understand, but it is for your safety and for my sanity. I wrote my number down for you so that you can text me if need be, I know you don’t like using magic for anything. The world around you will be perilous for the next few days, so stay inside. My family is keeping a lookout on your parents, they will be safe. Oh, and if anyone knocks on your door, or calls for you from outside, stay where you are and call me. Please. If nothing else, please listen to me now. I just want to protect you. I know you don’t believe what is happening, nor do you believe who we are, who I am, but I love you and I will NOT lose you again. Not this time. Much Love, Phil.

Dan closed his eyes for a moment and took a deep breath, before adding the phone number from the paper to his phone begrudgingly. He might not trust Phil, but he didn’t trust magic even more. If Phil was warning him, then it definitely had something to do with magic. A sudden fluttering sound made Dan jump, bringing his attention to the now open journal on his bedside table. He groaned and walked over to the book weakly, looking at the title at the top of the page, “The Three Days of Darkness. Day 1, the dead come walking.”

#phan #phandom #amazingphil #dan and phil #phan fic #phanfiction #phan au #phan art #dan howell #dnpg #dnp #dnpgames #dnp art #dnp crafts #daniel howell #dip and pip #dan and phil gaming #youtuber

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thrillridesz · 4 years ago

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heart racing ▫ j.yn

in part of the adrenaline rush! collab hosted by @lucas-wongs + @ickjun

⇢ pairing: jaehyun x reader (f) (ft. other nct members + twice’s jeongyeon)

⇢ genre: fluff, angst, racer!au, best friends to lovers

⇢ warnings: swearing, mentions of cheating, mentions and consumption of alcohol, alcoholism, hitting rock bottom

⇢ synopsis: once a revered member of the racing industry, jaehyun has been living at rock bottom for the past few months following a tragic accident that effectively put him out of racing. it seems as though nothing would get through to him, not even you. will he ever break out of the constant loop of doubt and start seeing things for what they really are?

⇢ word count: 8.04k

⇢ a/n : unedited! also posted on this account because I’m considering merging my nct account with my tbz writing blog also PLEASE check out the other writers’ works ^^ we’ve all worked hard on our fics

“Jaehyun, you’re ruining yourself.”

The dim room reeked of stale alcohol and something mouldy as the empty beer bottles that littered the floor clanged noisily against the surrounding furniture, leaking golden yellow liquid all over. Old, worn clothes were draped everywhere, stained and darkened with murky stains while the battered television flickered weakly to live, showing nothing but static. The walls were streaked and striated with scratches, as if someone had just been clawing desperately at them and on the floor amidst the empty glass bottles, were pieces of scrap poster paper. Sunlight peeks in through the drawn blinds, giving a teasing glimpse to the bustling outside world from the sad, decrepit apartment Jaehyun lived in.

Sprawled on the couch with nothing on except a wrinkled pair of jeans, Jaehyun’s eyes were devoid of emotion - blank and dazelike. In his hand, his fingers held on limply to the neck of yet another bottle of beer, possibly his nth for the day. His usually shiny hazel brown hair was greasy with filth and his bare chest was sticky with sweat from being cooped up all day in this tiny, stuffy apartment of his. His jawline was starting to grow a hint of stubble given how much he’d completely let himself go and dark circles were appearing underneath those intense eyes of his.

Slowly, Jaehyun lifted his gaze from the floor to look at you, the first flicker of emotions that he’d ever displayed in the whole day. You stood before him, arms akimbo, your gaze sharp and piercing. He smiled, a smile that held no mirth or happiness.

“Oh, you’re still here.”

You shook your head, ripping the bottle of beer from his grasp. As you approached, the bottles, clothes and torn pieces of paper on the ground almost made you trip and you tutted under your breath.

“Of course I am. I’m your best friend who is somehow still here with you. Best friends help each other.”

He chuckled nonchalantly, waving his hand at the door. “Well, feel free to leave then. I don’t need your help.” His eyes held a hint of anger as he did, something that did not escape your notice.

“Jaehyun,” you said softly, placing the bottle on a nearby table as you dread what was to come next. “Please, not this again.”

Your words only served to fuel the fiery spark of anger in his eyes as he said in a barely controlled tone, the irritation radiating from him in ripples that threatened to evolve into waves, “Why not? I’m a fucking wreck and a loser anyways. Leave like everyone else did. Leave like…” His voice wobbled, “leave like Jeongyeon did.”

Your heart fell and it took almost a godlike willpower not to let your emotions show. Was he still thinking about her?

“Jaehyun-”

“What? Are you gonna say I’m not a loser like you always do? Cut the fucking lies. Everyone out there is saying the same thing, what makes you think you can convince me that you’re not thinking it either? Hm?” He spat, the drowsiness in his demeanour dissipating fast as red hot anger replaced it. There was so much internal frustration within Jaehyun that just seeing him like this was enough to break your heart. It was one thing to see him in this terrible state but it was quite another to see him directing his anger towards you.

You drew in a deep breath, trying to calm your pounding heart and to stop the tears that pricked at the corner of your eyes. Having been there with him every step of the year ever since the both of you were children playing and horsing around the neighbourhood, you found yourself desperately missing those much simpler times and wondering how things became so wrong.

For as long as you could remember, Jaehyun had always been interested and had a natural flair for racing. There always existed a competitive streak in him that thrived off a challenge. It didn’t matter what it was, as long as it was a game that could have a clear winner or incited competitiveness, he was all up for it. As kids, the two of you used to compete over everything, be it for the last popsicle in the convenience store down the street or past the gates of your school. It was as if racing was something he needed in order to live. It wasn’t until sophomore year of high school did Jaehyun decide to take his love for racing to a professional level. He began to dive deep into the motorsport industry, starting out as a mere rookie in auto racing. He never did apply to college, preferring instead to invest all his time into his newfound life career.

His rise to fame was quick, quicker than most. Within his first year, he had won a number of races, beating even some of the well known names in the sport. Every other month, he was winning trophies and exorbitant cash prizes which in return earned him the recognition of famous sponsors and racers. Bumper stickers from the various sponsors decorated the back of his ride and it was no time at all before Jaehyun began to don some of the most expensive sports gear on the tracks. With his smouldering good looks, he also appeared on the front pages of magazines and newspapers, all while attracting a loyal fanbase made up of both racing enthusiasts and adoring admirers.

To everyone else, he was the suave, handsome and effortlessly cool young racer who was practically born to race and to do it well but to you, he was your childhood friend… and your first love. In front of the flashing lights and cameras, Jaehyun knew his way around the crowd. He knew exactly when to flash one of his dazzling, dimpled smiles and how to work the crowd - it was just one of his innate charms. Yet, you knew that underneath that, that flashy, extravagant Jaehyun, was the Jaehyun you grew up with and had gradually fallen in love with.

As children, he was there for you whenever you needed him, always ready to lend a helping hand when he noticed that you were stuck in an unfavourable situation. You distinctly remember what had happened in second grade. It was a bright and warm summer’s day, the lovely scent of sweet peas floating in the air as the sun bore down on the earth. Pigeons flitted over the sidewalks, pecking at the cemented floor and the leaves of the oak trees that lined the streets rustled gently in the wind.

You fell with a loud and heavy thud on your bottom, feeling the leaves crunch noisily under your weight. Fear and trepidation coursed through your veins as you stared with eyes wide at your tormentors.

“Look at her, she looks pathetic. Do it, Johnny! Do it!”

A tall, hunkering boy flanked by his cronies stood over you, his dark, massive shadow engulfing you as you frantically scrambled backwards. Tears were beginning to stream down your face and a sharp pain shot up your spine with each move, owing to the impact of the fall. There were scratches on your hands as you dragged your palms over the rough gravel in an attempt to move away.

There was a malicious glint in Johnny’s eyes and his lips were curved into a devious smirk as he stared down at you, domineering and intimidating. The veins in his arms and hands were bulging angrily and as he clenched his fists, you felt your stomach sink. Your legs began to feel like jelly and your vision was beginning to blur from all the salty tears. You were struck with fear and the sense of helplessness you felt made you feel both ashamed and furious at yourself yet there was nothing you could do.

You held your hand up to shield yourself from the impending attack as the bully lifted up his fist.

“Hey! How about you pick on someone your own size?!”

The group of you turned to see Jaehyun, eyes blazing with anger as his chest heaved. His wind-swept hair hung over his eyes, a surefire sign that he’d run over and his cheeks were red from exertion. Even from afar, he was clearly no match to Johnny’s larger build, much less the whole lot of them.

“J-Jaehyun?” You spluttered, shocked.

“Who is this clown- Ow!” Johnny stumbled backwards as a rock pebble hit him on the head, promptly ricocheting off his forehead and bouncing onto the ground. His jaw was clenched in pain and when he removed his palm, a reddish bruise had blossomed and there was even a faint trace of blood. There was a split second of stunned silence before Johnny turned almost magenta with rage.

“GET HIM!” He roared and his cronies shook out of their daze, immediately going after Jaehyun who’d already ran a good distance before the reality of what had just happened set in. His mocking laugh rang through the afternoon amidst a cackle of profanities and threats yelled at him.

It was a laugh that remained in your memories all these years. It was a laugh that strengthened you, a laugh that spoke so much of willful courage and youthful rebellion which was everything you’d eventually come to associate with Jaehyun. That laugh was bright and so… him.

Yet now, you could see none of that playful mischief and vibrancy in those eyes. All that is left is emptiness.

“You’re not a loser, Jaehyun,” you began softly, “you never were in my eyes. You were a fighter.”

Those beautiful eyes you adored so much narrowed at you, his face twisted into a scowl.

“A fighter? Guess what, y/n?” He sneered, his voice dripping with venom. “I fought. I fought endlessly but did that work out for me? I threw in everything I could, every little thing. I worked hard and put in a hundred and one percent of my effort.”

You stared at him, your heart aching for him as a single tear began to roll down his cheek, tears of anger, indignation and pain.

“But did that work out? No, it didn’t. If anything, it left me a wreck. People out there call me a loser, a has-been and even my girlfriend has left me. It doesn’t matter how much effort I put in, how much I fought because at the end of the day, everyone is only here because of what they think I am. They saw me as a champion, an up and coming and the moment I wasn’t anymore, they all dropped me in a heartbeat. What are you waiting for, y/n? Why the hell are you even still here?”

His words echoed through the empty apartment and out loud, it sounded bleak, harsh and biting. His anguished voice tore at your heart and as each word left those lips, it felt like your heart was slowly breaking apart. Neither of you said anything for a moment, locked in a silent, unspoken fight as he held your gaze steadily. His eyes were cold and there was the look of a broken man in them.

“I am here because I love you, Jaehyun,” you said finally, your voice quivering. “I don’t care who or what you are and it pains me to see you tear yourself down like this because I know you are not the loser you believe you are. I don’t know how much of this I can take, seeing you ruin yourself.”

You can see the slight softening in his eyes and you gritted your teeth.

“I’m going to go. I don’t know when I’ll be back. I can’t see you ruin yourself and be able to do nothing about it. I’m not strong enough for that.”

With that, you left the apartment before he could see the tears in your eyes.

The miserable, empty can of beer clattered loudly against the hardwood floor, the sound echoing through the dank apartment.

Jaehyun barely lifted an eyebrow, his fingers growing slack without him even knowing. He stared up at the dark ceiling, a hooded look in those once bright eyes. The stench that hung around him was growing more intense by the day and it was reaching a point whereby he could almost smell himself but there was nothing in him that seemed to care.

Sounds of active civilisation outside drifted in through the windows and occasionally, he’d hear the honking of angry drivers on the roads or the laughter of children playing at the playground at the courtyard below. Normally, he loved waking up to these sounds or at least when he wasn’t off to the race tracks, when he was relaxing with a book in his hands. Now however, he found them irksome, irritating and he wanted nothing more but to block them out. He wanted absolutely zero reminder of the world outside.

Grunting, Jaehyun dragged himself off the couch. As he trudged heavily back to his room where his comfortable bed beckoned to him, he turned to stare at the large, imposing front door where moments ago, you’d slammed shut as you left him to his own devices.

Guilt tugged at his heart and for a split second, Jaehyun contemplated running after you. When you left, there was an indescribable sense of hollowness that engulfed him in a way that he couldn’t quite understand or explain. The apartment was filthy, dark and small but somehow with you around just a few minutes ago, it felt just a little bigger, a little warmer. As much as he hated to admit it, his heart was calling to him to reach out to you, run after you. The crumpled look on your face haunted him but he shook the thought from his mind.

It would be better if you left him. If you knew what was good for you, you would.

The anger in him was beginning to resurface at the thought of everything that had happened over the past few months. His career plummeting on a downward spiral right after his recovery, the exact opposite of what was predicted by his agent.

He was born to race, his family and his friends had always told him so. He knew it himself, he could feel it in his blood, his bones, his spirit. Ever since he was little, Jaehyun had known that his career would have something to do one way or another with racing. As a child, he loved running, competing but most of all, he loved riding in his father’s pickup truck on the way to school. He loved the way the vehicle would zoom past the streets, overtaking other vehicles and he loved the feeling of the wind against his face. He loved the speed and everything about cars or racing. It felt natural for him to pursue a career in competitive racing and a natural he was.

After getting signed with a racing company, Jaehyun quickly rose to fame with his numerous championships, bagging trophies, medals and cash prizes in almost every event he participated in. Sports magazines and reporters would clamour over each other to score an interview with him. People wanted pictures with him, wanted him to sign an autograph for them.

He was the golden boy in the racing world, an untouchable.

In the racing world, everything goes a mile a minute and nothing waits for anyone. After the morbid crash at the June Tokyo Prix, Jaehyun had sustained several fractures to his ribs and a severe concussion that left him in the hospital’s intensive care unit bedridden for several months. The pain was unlike any other and every single move hurt immensely but what suffered more damage than he did was his career and his relationships.

Within months, the racing career he had so painstakingly built up for himself collapsed before him. Due to long inactivity, brands and sponsors began to drop him, slowly at first then steadily one by one. He was also constantly under the media’s scrutiny for a period of time, their cameras and microphones thrusted in his face while he lay helpless on the hospital bed. The bright flashes blinded him and the loud noises made his head pound and even now, he still remembered how that experience was like, shuddering every time it crossed his mind. It had taken Jaehyun countless hours of physical therapy before he could even think of racing competitively again.

Yet when he did, he quickly realised he never could revert back to his old self, the one who got off on adrenaline kicks while zooming along the tracks at breakneck speed, the one who only knew what it was like to win. He was slower, less coordinated. His body could no longer take the pressure racing would subject it too, or at least not quickly enough for him to make a full, stunning comeback.

The tabloids and news had run wild with his fall from grace, writing up horrible, demeaning articles about him. His rivals had mocked him to his face and he could even sense the visible disappointment from his fans emanating from the stands whenever he’d lost yet another race. The thing that really broke the camel’s back however, was when his girlfriend Jeongyeon initiated a breakup.

Jaehyun had hoped that things would turn for the better, never one to give up. He’d trained tirelessly everyday, pushing his brittle body to the limit. He never let up on himself, gritting his teeth through all the physical and mental pressure he had imposed on himself. When the final text was sent, Jaehyun could remember distinctly how hopeless and distraught he’d felt. It felt like his world, the empire he had so painfully and relentlessly crafted for himself from scratch was breaking bit by bit. To add salt to the wound, the next time he’d seen her on television, her body was plastered against his biggest rival, Yuta. Her arms were wrapped around his and her lips pressing against his cheeks with no shame whatsoever for the interviewer interviewing him, no sign of the girl who’d once told him that she loved him with all her heart.

What was once determination and naive hopefulness soon devolved into anger and resentment. Jaehyun began to let himself go and the change was drastic. Where there once existed a time whereby he’d rise from his slumber early to visit the gym, he now regularly slept well into the late afternoon. His diet began to consist largely of takeout, junk food and alcohol and his apartment got more and more cluttered by the day. He’d stopped contacting his friends and family, ignoring their calls and texts, preferring to fester in his own solitude. It wasn’t long before an odour had started to emit from his place, a nauseating mixture of stale pizza, beer and pure filth from the lack of showers.

His appearance was also no longer polished, but rather haggard as if he’d aged five years in a matter of months. He was beginning to lose his fit stature, the healthy glow he’d once been prized on by magazines and gossip columns dimming. It got to a point whereby Jaehyun had begun to avoid looking at his hideous reflection in the mirror, his self-hatred growing with each day.

A poster of him in his racing gear and his race car was tattered and wrinkled on the floor, stained with ketchup and soda. Staring at it blankly with eyes empty of any emotions whatsoever, Jaehyun swiped it up and in a swift moment, he tore it up with a large rip before trashing it somewhere on the floor.

Flopping onto his comforter, he almost moaned in pleasure as he sunk into the soft sheets. Reaching for the air conditioning control, a loud smack on the ground roused him from his hedonistic haze. His hair was sticking up in all directions as he peered over the edge of his bed to see a picture frame that had fallen from his night stand.

Holding it in his hands, he looked at it with a nonchalant air.

It was a picture of the both of you a few years ago, back when he was just kick starting his racing career. He hadn’t yet made a name for himself then as the two of you leaned in for the picture.

You had on a bright, illuminating beam on your face, your eyes alive and glittering with happiness. Your hair was down, wisps of it framing your face as the sun brought out the colour and shine of it. Next to him, you’d completely dwarfed in comparison. He had his arm around you, bringing you to his side and from the picture, Jaehyun could feel a smile begin to crack on his face at the comical height difference.

He’d looked completely at ease here, carefree with the recklessness and restlessness of the soul beneath shining through his dark eyes. His hair was wavy, styled down in that ridiculous fashion he wanted so badly to leave back in high school. He had worn a dimpled smile on his face, the look of someone who knew he was destined for greatness and believed in it.

Jaehyun was about to put the picture down when something caught his eye. He leaned in closer.

There was something about you. At first glance, it would have been clear that you were smiling for the camera but upon closer look, it looked as if you might be smiling at him instead. Your smile was softer, eyes gentler from the first time he’d seen the picture. It was the sort of smile that struck him in his heart, the kind of smile that would make its recipient feel loved, appreciated.

“I want to be a racer when I grow up.”

You turned to Jaehyun, eyes wide as saucers as you popped the ice popsicle out of your mouth.

“Why?”

He shrugged, still struggling with the wrapper of the popsicle. The two of you sat on the wooden bench, side by side as the other kids ran around the park, playing rounds of tag while their parents or babysitters sat watching over them. The sun was glaring down on the earth and though it was a great day to go out to play and sweat it out, it was also a perfect day to find an excuse to buy popsicles with what little pocket money your parents had given to you two. It wasn’t an opportunity to be missed.

“I really like racing. I don’t know if there’s anything else I’d want to be,” he said simply, grinning as he finally succeeded in breaking open the plastic.

You tried to hide the blush that was beginning to creep up to your cheeks, looking away from him.

“My mom says being a doctor is good.”

As soon as you said it, you immediately regretted your words. Jaehyun scrunched up his nose in disgust.

“No way! It’s so boring. Do you want to be a doctor?”

Quickly, you shook your head fervently. “No!”

“Then what do you want to be?” He asks curiously, sucking on his popsicle.

You are quiet for a while as you ponder over his question. What exactly do you want to be when you grow up?

“...A writer.” You said finally and he swiveled around to look at you, clearly not expecting your answer.

“A writer? Hm, why?”

“I just really like reading. I want to write interesting stories that people will like,” you take a tentative lick of your popsicle, the icy, sweet taste of apple flavouring coating your tongue, “Like fairytales!”

Jaehyun broods over your answer, seemingly deep in thought. For a moment, neither of you say another word as you sit together under the warm, sunny day, enjoying your popsicles.

“I want people to like me too.” He says suddenly, his eyes shining. “People will like my racing! I’m going to be a racer and people will like me to win!”

He hops to his feet, his popsicle raised as he made his declaration. There is a triumphant, toothy smile on his face and he says it with so much hope and gusto that you can’t help but feel drawn to his driven spirit. For a boy of five foot, there was a lot of motivation and energy in him and there was just something about him that got you transfixed.

Under the sunlight, his smile seemed almost blindingly bright with the shadows highlighting the charming dimples on those round cheeks. The butterflies in your stomach were going crazy and your heart began to pound. Your words seemed stuck in your throat and you choked out, “I t-think you’ll make a good racer, J-Jaehyun.”

You thought your heart might burst as his smile grew wider, his dimples making deeper indentations. It felt like the sun might just be a little too hot since your face felt like it was positively flaming.

“Thank you, y/n.”

Suddenly, something caught your eye and shakily, you pointed at him.

His smile dropped as his eyebrows knitted together in confusion.

“What?”

“Y-your popsicle is m-m-melting… down your a-arm.”

The elevator button made an uncharacteristic squeaking sound as Jaehyun jabbed repeatedly at it, his jaw clenched in impatience.

“Hurry up, hurry up, hurry up,” he muttered frantically under his breath, pacing the lift lobby. The red letters above the elevator were moving at a snail’s pace and it seemed as if it’s stopped to pick up some passengers on the 5th floor. How long does it take for people to move into an elevator?

Jaehyun groaned in annoyance as he watched the number on the display crawl up slowly.

This wouldn’t do. By the time it’s here, it would be too late.

Immediately, he sprinted for the stairs instead, his heart hammering against his chest.

There was great fanfare as the rowdy crowd erupted into raucous cheers, the large, industrial sized party poppers going off with a bang, covering everyone in glitter streamers and confetti. Cameras were flashing and clicking away at every corner while throngs of sports reporters flooded the holding area, all trying to reach the champions for their coveted exclusive interviews. Agents and pit crews were all celebrating with the sound of champagne bottles popping and yells and cheers of congratulations ringing through the air.

Jaehyun stood at the top of the podium, shooting the cameras his trademark stunning grin as he posed with his golden trophy that looked to be about the size of his torso. The racing suit he was wearing was uncomfortably hot and he wanted nothing more than to strip from it but the adrenaline and euphoria he was experiencing far surpassed any feelings of discomfort.

This was it, the taste of success. It was everything he lived for, raced for. This was why he always trained so hard, from dawn to dusk. This was why he put his own body through all those hours of endurance training, gym and dieting. It was all for this single moment of true bliss enjoyed and savoured after the extreme thrill of racing. Here on the podium, towering above everyone else… He was truly where he needed to be, where he was born to be.

As he stepped off and the bodyguards swarmed in to escort him to his own holding room, Jaehyun couldn’t wipe the grin off his face. Yet another trophy for display on his shelf back in his apartment. He didn’t think he’d ever get sick of it, the feeling of winning but then again who would?

Reporters were attempting to accost him at all sides, all screaming out the same old questions he had grown tired of early on.

“How do you feel after winning the prix for the third year running?”

“You hit a record timing today! How did you train for the race?”

“What do you have to say to your rival, Nakamoto who came in second this year? By a mere few seconds at that!”

Jaehyun nodded and waved at a few of them, still wearing a smile on his face but there was no answer evoked from him. He’d kept up a calm and cool demeanour throughout but once he was in his holding room alone, the moment the door closed shut behind him, he let out a loud, jubilant howl.

“Fuck yes!” He roared out in happiness before collapsing onto the couch, laughing to himself as he held his trophy above him. He badly needed a shower but he couldn’t care less, not with the trophy in his hands. Under the light, the gold shone and even as a seasoned racer, the excitement and happiness from winning never grew old. In the empty room, the victory felt even more profound, the reality of claiming the championships for yet another year sinking in.

He was in the middle of celebrating and basking in his own victory, he received a text.

Jy: how’s my man doing? congratulations on the win honey ❤️

Jae: thanks babe, it feels fucking amazing. you have no idea… also i missed you so much

Jy: we should celebrate. together, alone. tonight at my place? ;) we haven’t done it in awhile, i miss your body, your kisses

Jaehyun stared at the text. He should be happy, excited to see Jeongyeon again after so long. He had been so preoccupied with training for the big race that he’d barely had any time for her. He had missed her yet now that they were finally exchanging texts again after so long apart, he didn’t seem to feel the same anticipation.

There was something about that text she sent that seemed weirdly… detached. He had imagined their first interaction in over a month to be one that warmed him up in the inside, brought him to a whole new level of euphoria even after winning but if anything, this reality paled in comparison to the scenario he had looked forward to in his mind.

Jae: yeah sure

After pressing send, he tossed his phone onto the coffee table and rested his head against the velvety cushion of the couch. Somehow, that very short exchange with Jeongyeon had dimmed his excitement and readiness to celebrate.

His phone suddenly rang, disrupting him from the reverie he’d found himself in.

“Must be Jeongyeon,” he thought to himself and for some reasons as he swiped to answer the call, he found himself reluctant to talk.

“Hello?”

“Jung Jaehyun! I was watching your race on television, congratulations for coming in first yet again! You were terrific out there.”

Y/n.

Jaehyun smiled, feeling his heart swell at your words.

“Thanks, y/n. I really appreciate it.”

“How about we meet for dinner tonight? I know of this amazing Italian place that serves the best lasagna, your favourite! My treat too to celebrate your win, how’s that?”

At the mention of lasagna, Jaehyun could feel his stomach rumbling and his mouth watering. The tangy tomato sauce, copious amounts of cheese and spiced minced beef with soft pasta… He would absolutely be down for some well-deserved lasagna after weeks of feasting on plain, watery salads. Dinner sounded like a great idea.

“Sure, I- Wait, I can’t,” he groaned, suddenly remembering his plans with Jeongyeon. Plans he didn’t even particularly look forward to.

“Why not?” You asked.

“I um…”

Fuck, why is it so hard to say it?

“I have plans with Jeongyeon tonight,” he said, ignoring the strange pang of guilt and indignation that hit him square in the chest.

“Oh! Oh, uh… That’s completely fine. Don’t worry about it, we can always have dinner some other day.”

“Really? That would be great! How does next week sound?”

“Sounds good to me!” Even on call, he could imagine you bobbing your head enthusiastically like you usually did and that brought a chuckle out of him.

“Alright, I’ll see you then y/n.”

“See you! Please rest well, you deserve it.”

“Thank you,” he replied before hanging up.

What is this warm feeling in him?

Jaehyun raced out of the apartment complex, his eyes searching his surroundings.

The sun was glaring and he couldn’t see straight without squinting his eyes. He must have been a weird sight to behold - scruffy, pale from the lack of the outdoors and reeking of the garbage piled up in his apartment. An elderly woman walking past him tutted disapprovingly at his disheveled appearance, holding her nose as she did but Jaehyun didn’t seem to notice her. His mind was on something else, something more important.

A boy from across the street was staring at him with his mouth agape, looking like a deer caught in headlights as he shakily fumbled in his pockets for his phone. Jaehyun let his sights linger on him, wondering if he should have at least thrown on a coat but as he turned, he caught sight of a figure hanging by the bus stop, looking miserable.

He swallowed thickly, feeling the slight clench of his heart and without hesitating a single second longer, he made his way over.

The heart monitor’s methodical beating was driving him near insanity. If not that, then certainly the suffocating atmosphere of the hospital and the bandages wrapped tightly around almost every single inch of his body would. Not to mention the occasional undercover paparazzi who would try to inch their way into his ward.

Jaehyun stared up at the white ceilings, still as a plank. Every part of his body hurt to move, he couldn’t even turn his head without feeling a painful pounding in it. Sometimes, he would get dizzy spells so intense he actually felt nauseous. His appetite for food or anything in general had since plummeted. Everything, but racing.

He yearned to go out there onto the tracks, to resume his training. The Roman Prix is coming up in a month’s time and he was so far from ready. He needed to get out of this place as soon as possible, even if it meant jeopardising his own safety. His career mattered more than anything.

Jeongyeon hadn’t called either since the day he got admitted. Jaehyun had soon grown tired of checking his messages or asking his publicist for news from her, the feeling of disappointment felt deep within him. He closed his eyes, suddenly feeling a wave of fatigue wash over him.

There was a gentle knock on the door and as the door creaked slightly open, you poked your head in. Upon seeing him, you smiled softly and made your way over to him. Jaehyun watched you approach, his eyes following you.

You had brought along a basket with you, seemingly full of items. As much as he wanted to know what you’d brought, he tried not to look overeager. “I made you something special today,” you said, settling down and practically vibrating with excitement.

“What?”

“Tomato minestrone soup!” You exclaimed, uncovering the lid as the tantalising aroma of tomatoes and a medley of vegetables drifted in the air. Jaehyun almost had to restrain himself from moving, lest he shift a bone out of place somewhere.

Somehow seeing you had sparked a certain kind of joy in him. Maybe it was a sign nobody had really forgotten about him yet. He had watched his number of visitors trickle down day by day and now that it was close to a month since he’d been hospitalised, after the tragic accident, he barely got any. Perhaps three or four a week if he was lucky.

You, however, you were different. You visited him almost every other day, no matter how busy you were. You visited his bedside even if you were worn out from a long day of work, even when you had things to attend to, even when no one else bothered to. You would bring along snacks whenever you did or homemade get-well food like fish porridge or chicken noodle soup you’d whipped up yourself, though they might be far from the usual gourmet fare he was used to back when he was still active when he would go for exquisite dinner parties. Usually, you stayed for a substantial amount of time and sometimes, you even stayed the night.

Jaehyun didn’t understand why you would do all of this for a friend, a friend who never seemed to have time to spare for you at that. More than anything, the feeling of guilt in him only grew stronger with each visit yet he was grateful, extremely grateful. Your presence was like a warm ray of sunshine in this dreary hospital ward. Whenever you visited, he couldn’t help but smile even though he could not find it in himself to smile. But when it came to you, it felt natural.

“Y/n!”

At the sound of Jaehyun’s voice, you turned and even from afar, he could see your reddened eyes - a surefire sign you’d been crying. Guilt and anger washed over him in waves and he tried not to think how many times he had been the cause of your tears. If only he could turn back time, he would have shook himself for ever dismissing you so lightly like he did, before he saw the situation for what it was.

He was blinded. Blinded by his obsession for winning, fame, glory and pleasing the wrong people. In a way, it felt like a fog had been lifted before him and now that he could see, think, feel clearly… He wasn’t going to let the right person out of his grasp. The person who loved him unconditionally, not just for his fame and achievements. The person who stuck with him through thick and thin but he was just too daft to notice it. The person who always felt like home whether he knew it or not.

You.

“Jaehyun? W-What are you…” You spluttered, desperately trying to wipe your tears from your face as you stared up at him.

It took a couple of seconds for him to regain his breath, his face turning red from embarrassment and exertion. He should really start leaving those beers and junk food alone.

“I…” He panted, both out of fatigue and relief, “We need to talk.”

“Jung is getting closer, any minute now Hendery!”

“I don’t believe this! Are we looking at a potential comeback for this prix? Push, push, push!”

“It seems like we might be! Here he comes! He is absolutely mad!”

The nascars zipped along the race tracks, smoke and some bits of burnt rubber and chipped metal trailing along its wake. They were a blur of colours to the spectators, who were practically glued to their seats as they watched the race reach its climax. A massive telescreen was displaying close ups and the ranking board with huge overhead lights that illuminated the stadium. The crowd was growing wilder by the second as the racecars zoomed past them, their attention fixed on one racer in particular.

The sleek nascar was streaked in royal blue and crimson red over a metallic black base, looking almost purple and black with how fast it was flying across the tracks. The wheels were spinning so fast that the friction between the tough rubber tire and the rough granite almost lit up the tracks. It was charging forward with a steely determination and ruthlessness, closing in rapidly on a green and white nascar ahead of it.

The adrenaline coursing Jaehyun’s veins was unlike any other. The thrill he got from racing could practically send him into an all time high and a cunning grin tugged at his lips as he stepped his foot down hard on the pedal, his hands gripping tightly onto his steering wheel. Rounding around a bend, he clenched his jaw as he pushed his body weight to the left, the muscles in his abdominals and biceps flexing and straining against his racing suit as the car drifted across the tracks in a perfect arc.

“Did you see that perfectly executed drift?! Insanity!”

“Jung is absolutely on fire!”

The thunderous cheers of the crowd and the loud hum of the race cars racing across the tracks faded into the background as he kept his eyes trained steadily forward. Any time now…

“Watch out, Nakamoto,” he whispered under his breath.

Steering his wheel sharply and accelerating much to the crowd’s excitement and trepidation, his race car was now driving side by side along Yuta’s. For a split second, the two turned to look at each other through the window and even though there was no way of seeing the other’s face through that helmet, something in Jaehyun told him that his rival was angered, shocked and… Fearful.

Jaehyun grinned beneath his helmet and without a second thought, he zipped forward, leaving Yuta behind in the smoke.

“He’s going for it, he’s going for it… Wait for it… And he crosses the line! The legend has reclaimed his spot on the top!”

“And that is how you execute one of the greatest comebacks of all time, ladies and gentlemen. Jung has done what we believed to be impossible and dominated the race! I wonder how Nakamoto feels about that?”

The other commentator chuckles into his microphone.

“Well Haechan, if I were him, I’d be pissed off for sure! But I’d also be worried… So very worried.”

The crowd was absolutely wild when he’d disembarked from the car and as he removed his helmet, he was greeted with camera flashes all around him. He shook his head, running a gloved hand over his hair and he took a deep breath. The air smelled of burnt rubber, smoke and… Success.

He had done it. He had made his comeback.

His pit crew made a beeline for him, slapping him on the back, their faces jubilant and lit with pure joy. His new manager, one that he trusted and helped him inch his way back to the top step by step, shot him a thumbs up which he nodded in acknowledgement as the crowd of sports journalists, reporters and photographers began to swarm in on him.

Yet, he paid them no attention. If this was three years ago, he would have basked in the glory, the attention but now he had greater concerns on his mind. His heart was pounding now for a different reason altogether and he could feel his hands growing clammy.

Jaehyun craned his neck and searched the rowdy media crowd. Where were you?

“Jaehyun!”

At your voice, he turned and immediately almost stumbled backwards as you crashed into him for a hug. The feelings of you against him sparked a joy in his heart, a joy almost greater than winning. He enveloped you in a hug, holding your waist as he nuzzled his face into your hair. Your scent of honey and jasmine was intoxicating, alluring and a welcomed change from the smell of smoke and rubble.

The two of you had been dating for about two years now, each day together better than the previous. After he’d caught up with you that day, it was as if you were seeing a different Jaehyun from the one you’d seen in his apartment. That Jaehyun who had caught up with you at the bus stop was the old Jaehyun you’d missed and it was as if a switch somewhere had been flipped. To this day, he had never admitted what changed while you were gone for those few minutes. He had subsequently apologised for everything he’d done, even things you didn’t see a problem with. It was shocking to say the least to see the unapologetic Jaehyun apologise for anything at all, but not more shocking than what entailed a few days later.

It started with a vase of luscious red roses being sent to your workplace followed by an invitation for dinner. Before you knew it, the boy you’d loved almost all your life was courting you with a passion. It felt like a complete dream, so much so you had been afraid to wake up suddenly and realise it was all just your imagination. He’d been more of a romantic than he’d let on and many times, you had found yourself completely smitten by his stunts that stretched from learning how to make homemade chocolates for you on Valentine’s Day knowing that you liked them, even though he was well known as a terrible cook to sending flowers up to your doorstep every other week.

Within a couple of months, the two of you were dating and deeply, wildly in love.

Amidst date nights filled with laughter and kisses, he had also been steadily climbing his way back up the ranks of the racing world. After ditching his unhealthy lifestyle he had been living for the past year, the change was apparent. He’d started hitting the gym, eating healthier and before long, he was in prime condition to start racing again. Training was long and tough but he never did give up. He was more determined and driven than you’d seen him and though the old Jaehyun would have been gutted at a loss, this new, better version of him never fussed over a loss of any kind, instead learning from his mistakes.

All of his efforts had led to this ultimate moment, the taste of victory on his lips.

You noticed he had been shifting uncomfortably and you looked up, puzzled and concerned.

“Jaehyun? You okay?”

He looked at you, his ears red, a sign that he was anxious, nervous.

“Jaehyun? What-”

Your words got stuck in your throat as he knelt down on one knee, the lights overhead bringing out the sparkle in his eyes and the shine in his hair. Those dark orbs were so full of hope, anxiety and love all intermingled in one and you found it difficult to believe that those eyes were looking at you directly, the emotions in them all for you.

Jaehyun withdrew a tiny, velvet box from his pocket and popped it open. In the box, was a tiny diamond ring, glittering and absolutely regal. The diamond itself was beautifully cut and interwoven into the metal band with microfibres of white gold and it simply shone as the camera flashes went off. The crowd was going bonkers, screaming and cheering with wolf whistles.

“Y/n,” he spoke softly, his voice gentle. “You have always been there for me, always been my better half. We have been friends for over a decade and lovers for merely two but it seemed as if we always were meant for each other. It took me so long to realise that and there is not a day I don’t regret not realising it sooner. You are my everything - my past, present and future. Falling in love with you was gradual, unconscious. I guess my heart knew you the one before I even did. It started with me being in a dark, dark place where I drowned in my own self-hatred and insecurities. I was beaten, defeated and I just gave up. Where everyone did the same, you never did. You were like a beam of shining light, shining upon me and guiding me even if I didn’t notice it at the time. But when I did, you glowed even more brightly than I’d envisioned. I’d been oblivious to your beauty both inside and outside for far too long and god knows how much I fucking regret it. I’m different now though, because of you. I am the best version of myself right now because I have you in my life. You taught me how to love, allow myself to be loved. There’s no universe whereby I’d want to be without you. I can’t see myself without you in my life. I need you, I love you.”

Tears were beginning to stream down your face and the stadium had grown quieter, all tuning into what was happening.

Jaehyun looked up at you, hopeful and so full of love that you thought your heart might burst.

“So I guess what I’m saying is, will you marry me, y/n?” He asked breathlessly.

522 notes · View notes

pinknerdpanda · 4 years ago

Text

Reunited

Word Count: 3,530

Characters: Sam x Reader

Warnings: ANGST, fluff, a curse word or two...i mean, it IS me.

A/N: This is my (extremely late) entry for @atc74’s Duets Reboot Challenge. Sorry I didn’t get it done sooner babes! Thanks for your patience! My prompt was the song “I Knew You Were Waiting” by George Michael and Aretha Franklin and I used some of the lyrics below. They are bolded. This is also the first in a long time that I have written Sam Winchester and I realized how much I missed him. This takes place between seasons 7 and 8 in a world where the awful Amelia didn’t exist. Flashback is in italics.

Beta’d by @shy-violet-soul and my twinny @hannahindie I love you dearly. Thank you for supporting me and reading my words and loving me.

gif not mine - x

Reunited

Sam Winchester knew the taste of victory; tangy and bittersweet, and somehow a bit stale. He’d fought and won so many battles he’s lost count, and even in the darkest of times, savored the flavor on his tongue like a memory. But this was not victory. This was agony.

He’d seen Dean die many times - a fact that still perplexed him after all these years. It was always the same; excruciatingly painful to watch and powerless to stop it. But even as Dean’s last breath drained from his lungs, Sam had hope. Hope that if there was something he could do - some spell or deal or alliance - Dean could come back to life again. But Dean hadn’t died - at least not that he could prove. It was like he vanished into thin air. Nothing Sam had encountered up to that point could have prepared him for the realization that he was well and truly alone.

Dean was gone.

Leviathans, Dick Roman, Crowley, Cas’ betrayal; he could have handled it all and dealt with the fallout after the dust had settled as long as Dean was by his side. But he wasn’t and Sam couldn't.

Sam felt hollow, a battered and crumbling shell of the man he’d once been. He found himself lurking in the darkness, consumed by the shadows of his old life. What the hell was he supposed to do? Go after him? All well and good if he’d had the slightest idea of where Dean had gone. Or was he supposed to continue the work his father started all those years ago? Dean or no Dean, the monsters remained. And as far as he could tell, no matter what he did - how much he sacrificed himself and his body - the monsters would always be there. So why should he try?

And so Sam stopped, allowing the numbness to overtake him instead. He was numb in a way that brought on thoughts of frigid winter evenings and toes nearly frostbitten. Numb in a way that was so much the opposite of the humid evening air that hung heavy around him. Sweat beaded against his hairline, dampened his undershirt and collected in places he’d rather not think too hard about. But the breathtaking summer heat did nothing to thaw the frozen rock inside his chest.

Long hours of aimless driving brought him to this town and when the familiarity settled on him, Sam frowned. Out of all the places in all the world how had he ended up here? There was a reason he’d planned to keep this place in the rearview mirror, but apparently his subconscious had disagreed.

Nothing had changed much in his years since high school. The same aged brick buildings loomed hauntingly around him as his feet carried him down what has once been a well-worn path. Ancient street lamps flickered helplessly above, their lights providing the bare minimum of defense against the darkness of night.

Looking up, Sam checked his bearings as he brushed the sweat from his eyes with the sleeve of his shirt. If he remembered correctly - and if nothing had changed - Sam should be coming up on the shop that…

Sam’s internal monologue came to grinding halt as his eyes roamed over the figure in the window ahead of him. Surely not. It was his mind playing another in a long line of cruel jokes on him; it must be. How else could he explain the sight of her...here?

She hadn't changed much that Sam could tell from this distance. Her hair was a little longer, but still the same shade of deep violet she had ways loved. Gauging from the fringed, lace duster, leggings, and boots, her affinity for black clothing hadn't changed either. A man approached her and Sam watched in awe as a smile bloomed on her lips; the very same one he'd fallen head over heels for long ago.

It was like the last 18 years were nothing more than a breath behind him.

Before he realized it, Sam found his long legs had carried him closer to the shop; to her. His breath hitched and his heart jumped as he opened the door.

Her lilting laugh sent chills down his spine, but the abrupt silence that followed made his hands shake. Her eyes nearly bulged from her skull and her dark purple lips parted on a bewildered gasp. The look shared between them seemed to linger for hours, both frozen in place as memories danced behind their eyes.

The man she’d been speaking with before cleared his throat and ducked his head. The sound shook Sam out of his haze enough to register the need to move from in front of the door so the man could pass. The bell tinkled as he exited, leaving them alone in a room thick with unspent tension.

“Sam,” she breathed. “Is that really you?”

Sam nodded, mesmerized by the way his name still sounded like velvet on her tongue.

Hesitant steps brought her around the counter and mere feet from him. Chipped black nails dug into the skin of her palms as she clenched her fists and released.

Sam smiled. He’d seen her face a million times in his head over their years apart, but time had slowly eroded the image he’d retained. He was suddenly overwhelmed by the realization that his own memories had betrayed him, leaving him only a poor substitute of the exquisite beauty she was.

His heart thrumming erratically, he stepped forward and wrapped his arms around her before he could even process his own actions. She hummed, her own arms snaking around his waist and her face pressed against his chest. Sam’s head dropped, his nose pressed into her hair and he inhaled.

Something inside him shifted then. Weeks spent hanging on by a thread, barely able to hold himself together enough to keep putting one foot in front of the other; pain, anger, hopelessness, exhaustion, fear - it all came crashing down on him in that moment. She held him as uncontrollable sobs shook his massive frame, her palms kneading soothing patterns against his back and soft, comforting words fell from her lips in a whisper.

Only once the tears stopped and his breathing returned to something resembling a normal cadence did he pull back. She smiled up at him with sad eyes for a moment before she untangled her fingers from the fabric of his shirt. Sam watched as she moved behind him, locking the door and flipping the “open” sign. When she finished, she grabbed his hand and he let her drag her through the shop and into the back room.

The room wasn’t large, but it fit a desk, couch, small fridge and some filing cabinets. She motioned for him to take a seat before grabbing two bottles of water from the fridge and the box of tissues from the desk. She sat next to Sam, handing him a water and placing the tissues between them.

He chuckled, the sound watery to his own ears, and thanked her.

Silence lingered, but not in an uncomfortable way. Despite having not seen each other in nearly two decades, Sam found himself at ease with her as he’d once been. He felt safe.

“What brought you to town, Sam?”

Long fingers played along the lid of his water as Sam huffed a laugh.

“I’m, uh,” he pursed his lips, eyes trained on the bottle in his hands. “I’m not exactly sure, to be honest. I just kind of started driving and ended up here.”

She hummed and Sam chanced a look at her. Her brows were drawn in up consideration and she chewed absently on her lower lip.

“Not that I’m complaining,” she mused, not looking at him. “But of all the places you could have wound up, you sure picked a pretty crap town.”

Sam laughed, the sound much closer to sincere than it had been in weeks.

“I don’t know, y/n. It’s not so bad.” He met her gaze. “Some of my favorite memories are in this place.”

Y/n smiled as she ducked her head.

“What about you? I thought you were gettin’ the hell outta Dodge as soon as graduation was over?” Sam’s voice held a hint of teasing in his genuinely curious words.

Sighing, y/n sat back and tipped her head toward the ceiling. Sam wondered if it was the question in general that made her uncomfortable or the fact that it reminded her of the promise he’d broken.

“I tried. Left for a while, but you know what they say. There’s no place like home.” Rolling her head toward him, she shrugged.

“That is what they say,” Sam echoed hollowly. He was in no position to empathize, having had no real home of his own. But he tried. “I’m sorry.”

“Oh don’t be, Sam.” She laughed, sitting back up and tucking a foot under her thigh. “I’m happy, for the most part.”

Sam nodded, unsure how to respond, but needing to address the guilt weighing heavy in his mind.

“Y/n, what happened...back then...I wish...” Sam began, but she waved him off.

“Water under the bridge.” Her smile was relaxed and warm.

“No,” Sam shook his head, his eyes scanning the carpet fibers as though his thoughts were written there. “No, you deserved so much more. I never would have stood you up at prom, if I’d had a choice. I was furious with my dad for moving us that night. I begged him to let us stay one more night, or at least call you and explain, but there was nothing I could do. My family has always been a little...uh...nomadic. We never stayed in one place for too long, but it was my senior year, and Dad said it would be different…” Sam shoved his fingers through his dark hair roughly.

“I know, Sam.”

Sam scoffed and rolled his eyes. “Not really.”

Y/n placed a hand on his forearm, drawing his attention to her. “I’m really sorry about your brother, Sam.”

Sam froze.

“What are you talking about?”

“Your brother? Dean?”

Sam nodded slowly. “Uh-huh. And?”

Narrowing her gaze, y/n bit her lip, thoughtfully. “Did you happen to notice anything different about the store when you came in?”

“Am I having a stroke or something?” Sam stared at her, his face scrunched and his eyes wide. “What does the store have to do with Dean? And what does Dean have to do with prom?”

Y/n shook her head, chuckling lightly. She stood up, hand outstretched toward Sam. He looked between her offered palm and the amused expression on her lips.

“Come on, I want to show you something.” Y/n smiled, tipping her head toward the door.

Sam took her hand and was surprised to find her actually succeeding in bringing him to his feet. He shot her a wry grin and she shrugged.

“I’m stronger than I look, Sam.” Winking at him, she pulled him back into the empty store.

He had been so intently focused on seeing y/n that evening that he really hadn’t paid any mind to the interior. Looking around now, however, he realized how much things truly had changed.

“When my dad started this shop, it was a simple used book store.”

"Yeah, it's where we met," Sam blushed.

Glancing around, he spotted a familiar brown chair and the memory of that day came flooding back.

"It is." Y/n smiled.

Sam saw the flicker of something in her eyes and he guessed she was reliving the moment in her own head as much as he was.

The first day in a new school was never easy and Sam found himself seeking the comfort in the form of paper and ink and the musty smells of adventures waiting to be had. He’d seen the bookstore on his way to school that morning, and he had a sneaking suspicion it was just the place he was needing.

The overhead bell tinkled as he walked in. The sheer number of books crammed into every inch of the shelves lining the walls was incredible. It would take him ages just to find a book in this place, and Sam couldn’t have been more excited about the prospect.

He quietly surveyed the shelves, trying to decide the best place to start his quest when his gaze fell on her.

She looked so serene with her nose buried in the yellowed pages of a worn paperback and legs sprawled sideways across an enormous, overstuffed brown chair. Sam recognized her from school earlier in the day; the shimmering violet hue of her hair, brilliant even in the dim lights of the store, was enough for her to stand out, but it was her eyes - wide and full of mischief and wonder - that he’d been drawn to first.

His first instinct was to turn around and pretend he had never been there. But before he could, those same wide eyes found his and he froze.

“Hey! You’re the new guy, right?” Her inky black lips drew up in a heart-stopping smile. "I saw you at school earlier. I think we have a class together."

Clearing his throat once, and again for good measure, he introduced himself.

“My name’s Sam,” he grimaced at the way his voice cracked slightly around the single syllable of his name. “Sam Winchester.”

“Nice to meet ya, Sam! I’m y/n.”

Y/n snapped her book closed and stood, tossing it in the now vacant seat.

“Can I help you find something? First book’s on the house,” she winked at him.

Sam opened his mouth, intending to refuse the offer when a stocky, mustached man appeared in the doorway behind the counter. The man nodded at Sam before turning his attention to y/n, a gentle chiding expression washing over his face.

“Sweet pea, you’ve gotta quit saying that,” he tsked softly. “We can’t sell any books if you give them all away!”

Y/n’s face scrunched up in guilt, but Sam noticed the playful glint in her eyes that seemed to contradict her expression.

“Sorry, Daddy. Last time, I promise.”

Sam stepped forward. “I’m sorry, Sir. I didn’t mean to...I was gonna pay for…”

The man waved him off.

“Don’t worry about it, son. Y/n’s just got a big heart and I can’t exactly fault her for that,” he huffed a laugh and shook his head lovingly. “Just like her mother.”

Y/n cleared her throat and shook her head, a smile playing at her lips.

"Anyway, a few years back, before he passed, some folks came in asking about these strange texts. Dad was never one to pass up the chance to learn something new, so he researched it a bit. It took some time, but he was able to track down a copy for them.

“A week later, a husband and wife came in saying someone had told them we might be able to help them. Jump forward six months and our little used book shop had become a hunter’s library and spell apothecary. Need a hard to come-by text? Missing that one ingredient for a binding spell? Look no further.”

Sam’s jaw went slack as she spoke, his hazel eyes growing wider and wider. Looking around now, it all made sense. Tall shelves still lined the walls, but rather than tattered paperbacks and crumbling spines, the shelves held large, leather bound books, document boxes and an assortment of glass jars lined up neatly. The space above the door was littered with faint, though recognizable protection sigils and, looking closer, he found the window sills lined with salt. Y/n gave his arm a gentle squeeze and continued.

“Imagine my surprise when I overhear a few people talking about Sam and Dean Winchester, the men the angels and demons fear,” she shrugged. “I asked around and heard all about your harrowing adventures. Starting the apocalypse, stopping the apocalypse, dying...like a lot. I kind of made it a habit to check up on you from time to time. It was strange because some days I felt just as close to you as we were in high school and others...it felt like there was this insurmountable mountain between us. Sounds kinda creepy saying it out loud, really. I can’t really explain it, but I always had this feeling that I’d see you again.”

Sam blinked, his mind desperately trying to make sense of what she’d just told him. Somehow y/n knew; about hunting, monsters, him. She knew. And at that realization Sam felt the tightness in his chest ease ever so slightly, the frost that encased his heart slowly ebbing away.

“So, all of that to say...I am really sorry about what happened to your brother.” Her brow furrowed as she met his gaze. “That Dick Roman was really aptly named, wasn’t he?”

Despite the confusion and the pain and the sheer absurdity of the whole situation, Sam laughed. Not the sad, pitiful sound he’d grown accustomed to making. No, Sam laughed. The sound rumbled through his chest and forced the dimple in his cheek to show. A small rush of warmth flooded his chest as he sucked in a breath, dabbing at the corners of his eyes.

“So you know, then? You know everything?” Sam eyed her.

“I mean obviously I don’t know everything, but thank you for assuming it’s possible that I could.” She nudged his shoulder playfully and grinned. “You flatter me, Sam Winchester.”

Sam shook his head, the gears in his brain still trying to click into place. “I can’t believe this. Any of it. I never thought I’d see you again, but now I’m here and you’re...I don’t have to make excuses or lie. You understand.” Sam frowns. “I wish I had known sooner. I have thought about you so many damn times over the years. I wanted to look you up, but I didn’t want to drag you into any of this. I wish I could go back to that day...”

Y/n stopped him.

“Listen. I don’t regret a single moment. Sure I can look back and see all those disappointments; prom, graduation. Any more, I just laugh. If any one thing had gone differently - if you’d convinced your dad to let you stay, or if you’d looked me up - I’m afraid the world would be an even darker place than it is now.”

Grabbing Sam’s hand, y/n squeezed as her eyes found his. He studied her gaze, surprised but relieved to see the mischief and wonder hadn’t waned over the years. But there was something else. Something Sam recognized, but couldn’t even begin to hope for; love.

“I believe in free will, Sam. But seeing you walk through those doors tonight? For a second it felt like we were drawn together through destiny.”

The frozen pit behind his ribs thawed - little by little - as she spoke. All this time she was just out there, waiting until they met again. Waiting for him.

Sam cupped y/n’s face, his thumb brushing lightly over her cheek. Y/n’s eyelashes fluttered at his touch and she sighed, leaning into his palm.

“Ever since Dean,” Sam paused, swallowing the lump in his throat. He closed his eyes and steeled himself before looking at her again. Her gentle gaze grounded him further and he found his voice to continue. “Ever since he disappeared, I have felt so lost. Dean was all I had left and I didn’t think I could go on without him. And then I wound up here. Finding you, knowing you understand...it’s the first time I’ve felt anywhere close to being whole.”

Y/n placed her hand over his and turned her head to kiss his palm.

“You don’t have to be lost any more, Sam. I can help you. We can find Dean together.”

Sam’s eyes burned at her words, at the promise she was offering him. “Y/n...I can’t ask you…”

Y/n cut him off with a press of her lips against his, he felt her smile into the kiss as his body went rigid. When she moved to pull away, he stopped her, his large hand cradling the back of her head and urging her closer. He kissed her back with everything he had, pouring out every emotion he’d felt in her absence from his life. She swallowed down every fear, pain, anger and frustration that Sam offered up.

When Sam broke the kiss, gasping for air, he found her smiling back up at him. Her eyes glassy and her lipstick smudged lips beautifully kiss-swollen, she traced his bottom lip with the tip of her finger.

“You’re not asking me to do anything, Sam. I’m offering.”

Sam’s shoulders sagged, this time in relief as the final dregs of ice melted away from his heart. As though she could sense his need, y/n wrapped her arms around him and held him tightly. Sam pressed a kiss against her crown before she tilted her head back to look into his eyes.

“Welcome home, Sam.”

Like what you see? Want more? My SPN Masterlist is here, and MCU is here. Thanks for reading! :)

A/N 2: I am using my new and improved taglist. If you want to be added, see this post.

Weirdos:

@hannahindie @amanda-teaches @ellen-reincarnated1967 @feelmyroarrrr @masksandtruths @princessmisery666 @jamielea81 @foxyjwls007 @becs-bunker @super100012 @shy-violet-soul @emoryhemsworth @impandagrl

Hunters:

@deanwanddamons @iwantthedean @pretty-fortune @sgarrett49 @defenderrosetyler @sandlee44 @deanwanddamons @lyarr24 @akshi8278

#Sam Winchester x Reader #Sam Winchester #sam angst #supernatural fanfiction #spn fanfic #sam winchester fanfiction #panda writes

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filthfichunter · 4 years ago

Note

Might i request underage, incredibly tight someone being trained to fuck by Vesemir/Eskel/Geralt. Maybe Vesemir training every boy in "fencing". Or Geralt and Eskel training Lambert or Jaskier. Belly bulge, cum inflation, overstim and any others you'd like. Breeding bench is hot af.

Dub-con into fuck yes more - con is good. No fully non-con tho please.

Okay okay, so we've established that I wouldn't know a short fill if it fell into my lap and introduced itself right??

CW for: I think I only managed to fit underage (Jaskier the year before he heads off the Oxenfurt, so however young you'd like, musical savant? Rebellious barely legal teen? Up to you), and training an incredibly tight hole, inflation, distended belly, punishment inflation, anal beads, coercion, dub-con and spanking... But everything else is totally in whatever imaginary coda I hope this inspires for you of what happens next!

Geralt wakes the bard by sliding his cock into Jaskier's mouth, pushing his hips forward until his white wiry pubic hair hides that cute nose. The kid is practically choking on it before he even fully wakes up and realizes what's happening. Startled sleepy cornflower blue eyes meet slitted cat eyed pupils.

There is a brief pause. Geralt hilted waiting to see if he'll need to reinforce the lessons he's been teaching the bardling the last two weeks. For Jaskier that brief moment slams forward with a burst of adrenaline as he finally wakes all the way up. A gurggle, gasping in air through his nose, as he desperately tries to get a deep enough breath, spots starting to form at the edge of his vision.

He's woken up this was every morning since the first.

The now familiar taste and smell and discomfort calms him, and he forcefully reminds himself that it's all part of the deal he struck even if he didn't know all that he had apparently agreed to.

Geralt's hips forcefully rock, disrupting his airflow, triggering the gag reflex that hasn't quite been trained out of him yet.

The young man's eyes start to tear up even as he relaxes his throat and begins sucking.

"Good, work. Your throat is golden, the perfect little fuck sleeve." Geralt chuckles at his own joke and begins fucking his bard's face, enjoying the way the kid's throat flutters, spasming around his girth. It doesn't take him long to come, it wasn't an over exaggeration, Jaskier's throat is tight and wet, tongue flicking over his length. He hauls Jaskier up out of his bed role when he's finished, kissing him filthily, licking his own cum out from between slick friction swollen lips.

Agreeing to let the bard follow him along the Path has been one of his smarter decisions of late. When the gangly youth, cocksure and so very pretty, had approached his table Geralt had decided to ruin him.

"I speak Elder, can juggle, play any instrument given to me, crowds have wept to hear a song from my golden throat, and I am willing to both sing your praises and provide entertainment on our journey, should you allow me to but follow you on your nobel path this season!"

Jaskier had taken a bit of an unauthorized gap year.

"You decide to run away from home then? Someone looking for you no doubt" the Witcher had asked for forms sake, assuaging what little moral reluctance he still held, having already decided that he'd be taking the lithe twink up in what he'd offered and also what he hadn't.

"Hmmmm"

It had been easy to see that Jaskier wasn't an actual bard or performer, not dressed in the expensive but sedate clothing, only a small rucksack and case holding his belongings, and presumably his lute.

"I didn't run away from home sir Witcher! I am merely gathering inspiration and experience before I start my formal bardic training in the Fall!"

"Which isn't to say that I am untrained now, merely in search of material to fule my enterance audition, you are the inspiration I seek!!"

Jaskier had thought it was a grand plan.

Now he found himself naked gummy eyed from a fitful uncomfortable rest, breath stale from sleep and cum, reluctant to acknowledge that this hadn't been the plan.

His cock was half hard from morning wood, jaw sore, belly still uncomfortably full from the previous evenings training, starting another morning with his Witcher.

Less time limping along after Roach was always welcome.

"Give me a show bard!" Geralt smirked, "You still haven't held up your end of the bargain and we can both agree that I have been attentive in your training, let's see if you'll disappoint again this morning"

"Thank you Geralt, for being so patient." Jaskier always tried to apologize early on, it saved him from dealing with a red bruised ass all day if he could keep from having to be corrected until at least after their lunch time stop.

Geralt smirked enjoying the insincerity. Jaskier had started out so reluctant, and confused about his role, but after that first two hard days acclimating had learned to at least give the appearance of acceptance.

He's been working on Jaskier, getting him ready to service all of the appetites of a Witcher."Hands and knees, spread your legs wide, hump the ground, let's get you spent and loose"

Already used to such instructions Jaskier dropped getting into position. Geralt enjoyed seeing that ass jiggle infront of him as the boy dropped down into position for their morning lesson.

"I've been patient, little buttercup, but maybe what you need is a push." A solid clap, more noise than real violence echoed the clearing, Jaskier's hips rolling more fluidly, the fingers of his hands dug into the sod above his head beyond the bedding as Geralt's hand fell down twice emphasizing his threat.

The lightly furred cheeks of the boys ass looked like a perfect peach, round, lightly furred with a hint of dewy sweat as Jaskier chased the coarse friction of the bedroll beneath him. His cock hung vulnerable between his thighs thrusting hard down drawing frustrated grunts.

His belly was taut and swollen beneath him, sloshing from last night's lesson training him to take more volume into his guys.

It was just plump enough that Jaskier couldn't get enough stimulation on his straining erection.

It was never enough alone to get him off. "Hm. Your little hole is winking at me again!" The pads of Geralt's finger ran over the dry dusky starburst, "feeling shy this morning?" The rim clenched tightly around the thick rope that disappeared into a swollen hole. The friction and lack of moisture after having worm the training device all night causing the whimpers and thrusting to gain a bit more desperation.

The rope ran deep into the boy's asshole, connected to a series of graduated beads. The last bead large enough to retain the heavy expanding potion Geralt had funneled into Jaskier to aid in his training the night before.

Jaskier wasn't allowed to remove them, or empty his straining belly for the day until he'd come first.

It was his own fault.

His virgin hole had been so tight that Geralt had to punish it for refusing to cooperate.

That first lesson, dispensed only an hour after they first met had done double duty.

Geralt forcing three of his fingers into Jaskier's mouth finger banging the back of his throat to help him get used to satisfying the Witcher with his mouth, and then those slopping spit slick fingers had reached back and smacked down on his hole, three quick spanks, then back into his mouth.

They had repeated the activity until Jaskier stopped thrashing and had eventually cum frosting against Geralt, held prone over the Witchers lap for the first time.

His hole had been too tight, from fear and anxiety the first time Geralt tried to fit the head of his cock inside. No amount of pressure was going to work, so instead of casting him aside Geralt let him know they'd work up to him fulfilling this role in their party through regular training.

There were only two anal beads that first night, liberally greased up with some salve from Geralt's pack. The beads had been small, easily thrust in and out of his asshole.

He had cum so hard that first night he had blacked out, waking up warm, and sated Geralt's spend coating the inside of his thighs where he'd taken his own pleasure from Jaskier's unresponsive body, pinked up thighs splashed with white seed.

Every couple of days Geralt would add more beads, bigger beads getting Jaskier ready to take his cock, making do with the boy's mouth, hands, and his thighs as they worked to stretch his hole large enough to be able to take Geralt.

Attitude just brought more discomfort so it hadn't taken long for Jaskier to give in. Geralt was very handsome, and his cock was intimidating enough that he'd been grateful not to have had to take it without all of the prep work they had done together

There are a dozen heavy carved stone beads up Jaskier's ass. They bump against each other clacking and vibrating, a property of the mineral they are made from.

With little tugs to the rope Geralt is able to peek the surface of the largest bead out of the younger man's hole. "Looks like a hungry mouth Jaskier, gobbling up almost everything, who knew my boy had TWO such hungry mouths, bear down, gape that tight little pucker"

The bead pushes further out of his hole, stretching the rim as it starts to push out. Jaskier rim looses color under the strain a white band of stretched muscle straining.

When Jaskier isn't able to push it any further himself he earns a quick series of slaps to the meat of his ass, cheeks bouncing hard and going even pinker.

They've been working at stretching Jaskier out every evening. First on Geralt's tongue, then moving on to any number of other tools that the Witcher happened to have on hand.

The night before Jaskier had been placed on his back, nearly folded in half with his knees near his ears arms wrapped around each ofnhis own thighs holding himself open and exposed. Geralt used a funnel and inflatable tubing to deposit a potion into Jaskier.

The tubbing had been made from pig bladder, and while it had only started out as thin as one of his own fingers it had expanded, filling him so deeply and fully that his own belly had soon blocked his view from his awkward position.

He'd been so relieved to have the tubing pulled free that he hadn't known to brace for the potion itself expanding. An intimidating amount of slimy lubricant had filled him.

Jaskier had passed out last night with his distended belly rocking back and forth jostled by Geralt thrusting to completion once again between his thighs.

Today's position was equally uncomfortable but at least once Jaskier came he'd be able to rest his sore belly.

Geralt rearranged the prone figure infront of him. Pushing Jaskier's legs even further apart tilting his pelvis back, putting a deep curve into the bards lower spine, everything is on display.

It only takes a little pressure before Jaskier's hole opens up and he can push his middle finger in deep, pushing the anal beads deeper. He gently pets around Jaskier's rim, barely pressing the tip of another finger in, stroking the skin around it with his other ones.

Geralt moves up to a second and third finger quickly. Picking up speed, jostling the anal beads, setting them to click against each other and vibrate up against the boy's prostate. Agitating the liquid locked behind.

As soon as it feels like Jaskier is close, walls fluttering erratically, Geralt yanks his fingers and then the beads out.

The rim of Jaskier's ass blooms and clentches rapidly as each bead is wrenched free, the thick lubricant sealed behind them exploding out.

Jaskier tripped over into a punishing climax, overwhelmed, spent and lax after all of the stimulation.

Jaskier's unconscious body twitched and his hole spasmed.

Geralt fed three of his fingers back into the unconscious body.

Even as the sound of rhythmic squelching filled the clearing the Witcher was applying the slick dripping from Jaskier to his reawakened erection.

There's enough slimy lube that the bardling feels wet inside, like a pussy but, even after their first grueling session of the day, so much tighter.

But finally not too tight.

He'll wake Jaskier up already impaled on the thick girth of his cock. Geralt can't wait to fuck the hole he's had so much fun training. He could have had the kid bouncing on his cock the first day, but after having lived as long as he has he knows the value of drawing pleasure out.

He can't wait to further bruise that peach ass by slamming into it with his hip bones, finally hilted deep all the way into the space he'd painstakingly carved out for himself.

Jaskier doesn't know that he won't be starting at Oxenfurt in the fall.

Geralt is extending his boys gap year and taking him with him back to Kaer Morhen for the winter.

He did after all promise to bring that years entertainment for his fellow Witchers.

#cw fh writing #cw fh object insertion #cw fh inflation #cw fh belly bulge #cw fh dub con #dead dove do not eat

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ohdearhiddles · 4 years ago

Text

SUMMARY: Thirteen years post-breakup and Tom still takes your breath away. You were once young and childish, and you had wanted more than he should have given. Years later, just the sight of him causes your heart to flutter, but what about him?

TITLE: To Fall in Love Again

WORD COUNT: 2837

AUTHOR NOTES/WARNINGS: Kinda angsty I guess? I tried to be vague with the ages, but it was kind of hard since the idea of the story was based off of time gap, so my apologies! There will most likely be a second part to this just because I genuinely didn’t think that the next part belonged in the same part as this so yeah :) (AO3 Link)

He was beautiful.

Some people truly aged with grace, and despite Thomas William Hiddleston being 14 years older than when you had met him that fateful afternoon, he had certainly been one of the lucky ones. His curly locks were much longer now and dyed and a gorgeous black, and his smile - oh god, his smile - was still as dazzling and absolutely breathtaking as it had been many years ago.

Of course, though, the Tom standing before you was not the same one you had known.

This Tom had become so very loved by those around him; a true gentleman among men. He was even more humble and lovely as when you had met him from all that you could tell, and for a moment you wondered if he would even recognize you. You were but an average woman among the many beautiful women that graced his presence, and suddenly, you found yourself recalling the day that you had expressed that you felt as though you would hold him back.

Back then, his career and age intimidated you greatly. So much so that you had cut him out of your life like the immature young adult you had been - a regretful mistake that you came to terms with a long while afterward.

Now, you were a dapper, older woman, calm and sophisticated as you were meant to be. The childish side of you had long been hidden away and you when you weren’t reminded of how you once were, you didn’t mind the absence of such childish bliss. You didn’t believe you had aged as well as Tom did; in fact, you were certain that you looked even closer to his age than you had before. You could definitely have passed for a woman in her late thirties.

Fans crowded around the lovely man you had once loved more than life itself, and you felt a sharp throb in your chest. You stood farther back, holding a cup of coffee that had chilled significantly since you had gotten it, but you weren’t about to throw it away just yet. It gave you something to do with your hands at least.

His smile was radiant, and you wondered what on earth he was doing in the grand old city of New York. Women and men alike flocked like birds around the newest shiny object they had found. It was then that you noticed the small booklets in their hands. Playbills. Hurriedly, you looked around the area for signs adorning the exterior of theaters for any indication on why he was there.

Spotting a poster on a nearby wall, your jaw dropped. Broadway.

A small proud, smile played at your lips as you approached the sign. Tom loved acting, you knew that very well, and you had always tried to be as supportive as can be. But back then, you were still a child - an irritable, greedy child who had no business being with such a loving and considerate man that had his eyes set on the stars.

You recalled the day you looked yourself in the mirror, suddenly hating the type of lover you had become in spite of all Tom had given you. When he gave you his time, you had begged for more, and when he gave you his heart, you asked for his soul. Nothing had been good enough for you until the day you decided that enough was enough. Love was not about taking from him, borrowing his time and spending his affections like spare change. It was about acceptance and maintaining what you had.

If only you had known that before everything turned sour.

Your heart fluttered at the reminder of the days in which your relationship was flourishing, growing like the most beautiful flower among weeds. Although you and Tom had only dated for about a year, when it was good, it was good. He had never failed to make you laugh or make you feel loved, and that was exactly the problem. However, even flowers die when the seasons change and the air grows cold. That’s exactly what had happened. Your relationship became a weed, poisoned by all that surrounded it and you had believed it was all your fault.

One crucial moment had destroyed it all. The day you had said that you wanted more, more everything, and Tom had gladly agreed to give it to you. Every second after that moment was still vivid in your mind. The feeling of pure horror that overtook you as you watched a man say that he valued you more than his career, more than anything, was something you would never forget. Who were you to ask him to do that?

Nobody, was what you had decided. You were nobody. You had to accept it.

The relationship spiraled from there. The kisses became chaste and the sex became stale - passion was mistakenly shoved away. Tom’s smiles slowly withered in time, and your soul slowly blackened, becoming a void that sucked the life from him.

It took 46 days for things to end, and it took 598 days for you to pick up all the pieces of your shattered being after it all happened. And if you were honest, no one was ever enough even after him. Even now, you had tried to be exactly what was asked of you, asking for nothing in return because of a lingering fear that you would ask for far too much.

For years, you watched Tom become the actor and man he had always dreamed of becoming. He became a face that so many could recognize, and you were now certain that if you were to approach him, you would look like nothing more than a woman seeking attention that did not belong to you.

You dragged your eyes away from the poster, looking over at the crowd of people. The thought to approach was more than just appealing. But it didn’t feel right to approach him despite it all. You were someone from his distant past; you had no claim on him, no reason to make him reminisce something you had neglected. The again, you were still very much the same as you once had been deep inside, and today you wanted to allow her to take hold.

Hesitantly making your way to the crowd, you didn’t push or shove. You hovered in the background, looking on as a fans asked him signatures and pictures. And then you heard it - the ringing laughter that melted every bit of ice that had formed around your heart. You shut your eyes briefly, cherishing the sound that you didn’t dare to admit you missed. 13 years after the break up, and he still made you feel like a teenager.

When you opened your eyes, he was standing even closer. Actually, it looked as though he was trying to go on his merry way, but with so many people, you supposed that it was probably much more difficult to leave than it seemed. Especially for him if he was any bitt as apologetic and kind as he was before.

The crowd began to disperse slowly but surely, but you lingered You stayed towards the back, keeping a distance between yourself and the man that still made your heart race. You were hoping to remain as inconspicuous as possible, but it was becoming increasingly worrisome as he slowly got closer.

People began to gather around you, indicating his approach, but you stayed where you were. It would seem terribly awkward to walk away now, so you planted your feet in the ground and took root. Tom stood approximately ten feet away, and you began to feel sick. This was a bad idea, you thought to yourself.

An unforgiving shove distracted you from your unease as your lukewarm coffee fell to the ground, splashing against the pavement. A few people turned their heads, questioning you on if you were alright, but you couldn’t find a way to respond. A familiar face stood before you, a worried look in his eyes and you stared back at him, not knowing how to make any coherent sentences.

“Are you alright?” He inquired, and you froze. You were sure he didn’t recognize you, and a feeling of relief washed over you, but it was quickly replaced with the familiar sting in your chest. His voice was like velvet, or perhaps it resembled a melodic tune that you wanted to sing constantly. You weighed your options on how to respond, but nothing came to mind.

“I’m sorry,” you blurted, ignoring the stares of those around you.

Oh, were you sorry. It wasn’t coffee that you were apologizing for, or the tiniest of splashes that made it’s way onto Tom’s pants. At that second, you were 13 years younger standing in front of a younger version of Tom, apologizing like you should have instead of running away. You were apologizing for the incessant rambling, the late phone calls that kept him up far longer than it should have, the greed you had held for his time, and the manipulation of his love.

Those two words held more meaning than anything you had ever said before, and you so desperately wanted to explain it all. You wanted to tell him that now, standing before him, you could feel yourself falling in love all over again. You wanted to tell him that you watched every movie, series, play, and poetry reading he had done. The only one you seemed to have not been aware of was his current escapade. You wanted to tell him that if you could do it all again, you would have been better. You should have been better.

Tom’s face was blank as he stared at you. You looked around you, a blush rising to your cheeks as everyone seemed to wait for your interaction to end. So, you took the first step. You lifted your hand, holding it out for him to shake. He reciprocated the action, eyes still trained intently on your face and the tears welling up in your eyes, but you hoped that it would be mistaken as tears of joy. A shaky laugh escaped your lips as you shook hands.

“It was nice meeting you,” you said, smiling up at the beautiful man as your heart plummeted to the ground. Everything was starting to feel hazy, and maybe that’s why it felt as though his grip had tightened and his touch had lingered significantly longer than it should have. Perhaps that’s why, as you turned to leave, you could have sworn that your name had slipped past his lips like a silent promise.

You weaved your way through the crowd, eyes trained on the ground as you began to regret the interaction. Your pulse was erratic as you walked away, hoping that the rest of the day would drown out this unforeseen meeting that you had voluntarily made worse for yourself. As you exited the crowd, the voices of everyone around you seemed to hush. All except one.

Tom’s voice bounced off of invisible barriers, an echo that made its way to you. It stopped you in your tracks as he called your name over and over again until a hand was grasped around your wrist. Turning quickly, you see the crowd had not followed him. They all stood in their spot, stares all directed at you.

He repeated your name once more, and you blinked in disbelief.

“Yes?” You all but squeaked. It must have been a funny sight - a woman of your age squeaking a reply like a child.

“It is you, isn’t it?” He repeated.

“It’s me,” you spoke, eyes wandering to where his fingers touched your arm.

His eyebrows furrowed as he scanned you up and down. It wasn’t an intrusive look, but it still made you uncomfortable after all these years of thinking you would never see him again. Then, out of nowhere, a wonderful thing happened. Tom pulled your arm, wrapping his own around your waist as if you had never done him wrong. He inhaled deeply before withdrawing from the embrace, a smile that you had dreamed about far too many times gracing his features.

“I didn’t recognize you at first, I apologize,” he breathed, hands still on your shoulders. “I wasn’t,” he paused. “I wasn’t expecting to run into you.”

“That makes two of us,” you mumbled under your breath, and a hearty laugh resonated within him.

“How are you?” He asked, voice filled with sincerity.

For once, you didn’t know what to say to that. How were you? You didn’t think about it all too much, and when you did, you chose not to dwell on it as much as you probably should have. The last thing on your mind was to worry about your own sanity and wellbeing.

“I’m doing good,” you said, knowing that the answer was bland and as generic as possible.

Tom seemed to not truly believe the statement, and you figured that you wouldn’t believe it either if your crazy ex started crying and pretended not to know you after over a decade of seeing one another. “How about you?”

“I’m doing well,” he replied, his smile faltering before he sighed. Liar. “Actually, if I’m being honest with you, I’m quite tired lately.”

You nodded, not knowing what to say in response as Tom’s hands dropped to his sides. The silence dragged out and you found yourself beginning to turn to leave.

“Well, it was nice seeing you,” you mumbled.

“Wait,” Tom spoke, reaching out again before pulling his hand back. “Wait.”

The next few seconds were a blur as he pulled his phone out of his pocket, typing away before holding it out for you to take. You eyed it suspiciously before taking it from his hands. “I heard you got a new number back then, but if you don’t mind,” you suppressed a gasp as you watched a small rosy tint appear on his cheeks. “I’d like to catch up sometime soon.”

It was then that you smiled, a true genuine smile, “I’d really like that.” So, you looked at the screen to type away. What you saw, though, was not what you had expected. An old picture from back when the two of you were together sat in the contact photo, and your name and old number were still typed out in their designated spots.

When you handed the phone back to the gentleman, you pulled your own phone out of your pocket and held it out for him to take. “Yours too.”

You watched in admiration as his long, nimble fingers tapped against the screen, typing his information into your contacts. After handing it back, he smiled, holding his arms out again as if he were asking for another hug. Not seeing the harm, you allowed yourself to be engulfed by his body, and right before you pulled away, Tom whispered: “I’ve missed you more than you know.”

So, when the two of you went your separate ways, you couldn’t help the heat that had risen to your face. You truly felt a decade younger as you walked away, not sure how to take that sentence. What had he missed? Did he miss you the way you missed him?

“I missed you, too,” you whispered to no one in particular, glancing back to see Tom’s eyes on your retreating form. And in that moment you wondered if it would be possible to fall in love again, and for him to fall in love with you.

After closing the door to your home, you felt a soft vibration in your pocket, and you felt as though a small sliver of hope had shone through the endless night you had grown accustomed to as you read it. It was a text that reminded you that, at one point, Tom had understood you better than you understood yourself. Even now, he still somehow understood you as if he could read your mind.

I forgot to tell you, but don’t apologize. I would do it all again in a heartbeat.

What? You typed up the response before hitting send. Within seconds, the three dots in a bubble appeared on the screen, showing that he was already typing his answer.

You said sorry when you saw me. Am I wrong?

I did.

Don’t apologize.

A second text chimed in less than a second later.

Unless you would like to make it up to me.

Your eyebrows knitted together in confusion as you read the text.

How so? You asked, nothing in particular crossing your mind when you thought about it.

Go to dinner with me tomorrow. Let’s make up for some lost time.

That was probably the last thing you had ever expected. These types of things were reserved for movies and books that you would never be a part of. But despite the thought that you were getting played, you did not have the heart to turn him down. Who were you to tell him no?

Okay.

#tom hiddleston #tom hiddleston x reader #tom hiddleston imagine #tom hiddleston imagines #tom hiddleston x female reader #tom hiddleston one shot #one shot #fanfic #reader insert #chance meeting #kinda angsty

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write-a-bad-romance · 4 years ago

Text

Two Hares Running Side by Side [Final]

Part I & Part II

Characters: Jean d’Arc, Napoleon Bonaparte, Sebastian, Comte de Saint-Germain, minor characters adapted from historical figures

Pairings: Napoleon x MC, Napoleon x Jean, Sebastian x Saint-Germain (main)

Words: 2803

Warning: Some sexual content (MxM)

Leon was soon kept busy with work. Although it didn't keep him from trying to enter the infirmary after twilight.

But he was discouraged by the suspicious looks the head nurse threw him, and Leon finally resigned to loitering in the courtyards of the infirmary.

It was a full moon outside. Leon stared at his own shadow and thought it had never looked so gaunt and pathetic.

Even the chirp of cricket failed to distract him from meandering thoughts.

The thought of killing and being killed was no stranger to seasoned officers like Leon and Sebastian. Overcoming regret and fear was natural to them. And so was the assurance that they'd always see each other after the gunshots ceased.

But, they were both human, in the end. Sebastian was made of fragile bones and flesh, and Leon wasn't free from the emotions that threatened to engulf him.

Leon sat back and let the breeze sweep through his hair. The sky was starless, a pitch-black void looming over the earth.

The grass crunched underneath the boots of an approaching figure.

"Sergeant-Major," Leon greeted. "Here on a visit? It's already late."

It didn't matter if it was d'Arc. Just like back then, all he needed was another's presence. An anchor, though he loathed marking d'Arc as such.

At least it made him less guilty than the alternative.

Leon scooted over the stone bench to give d'Arc some space. As Leon's sight adjusted better, he could see bandages crisscrossing on the right side of d'Arc's face.

"I didn't know you were injured," Leon cleared his throat. "I'm sorry. I didn't check on you immediately—"

"Don't be," d'Arc replied with a hoarse voice. "You were preoccupied with the adjutant, after all."

"How did you know?" Was d'Arc observing him as well?

"I heard it from d'Alencon, who heard it from the nurses in Gilles' ward," he explained. "Some of them... fancied him, apparently. I understand why they'd fawn over such a gentleman, but still."

D'Arc coughed. He's a dying man, d'Arc failed to say.

"I will be praying for the Second Adjutant," d'Arc breathed. "As I've been praying for Gilles, I mean de Rais."

Another gust of wind billowed, scattering dead leaves on a stone walkway not too far away.

"How is de Rais?" Leon asked, if only for the sake of politeness. "I understand how you feel, but don't forget to mind your own condition, at least for your own sake."

Or my sake. Because I'm worried about Sebastian and now won't stop worrying about everything else. Leon thought to himself.

D'Arc slowly stretched his long legs and sighed.

"They needed to remove an arm. And there were some complications during the extraction of some bullet shells."

Leon wondered if nothing could shake the man. Even his voice was calm as he described de Rais' condition. Leon couldn't expect less from the stoic man.

He gazed at d'Arc's profile.

What did it take to be the perfect soldier that d'Arc was? How does one retain such a mask, even after leaving the front lines?

Underneath all that invisible armor, was there a man as secretly vulnerable as Leon?

Dark eyes mirrored bright emerald eyes.

"Second Lieutenant," d'Arc called softly. "Would you like some time to yourself?"

Yes, please. Words resonated in Leon's head, or No, don't. This is only a momentary lapse, you see? We won't speak of this ever again, and you would forget I cried all over you.

Did he want to cry?

Leon, unknowingly, had lunged for d'Arc's static wrist. He was so thin and easy to yank forward.

Into his embrace

But it was foolish. D'Arc wasn't Sebastian. He'd only push him away if Leon insisted that the other hug him. That he wanted another warm body to ease him into containing the grief, the feeling of uselessness that was crawling from his stomach and clawing at his throat.

A cold hand rested on top of his own.

"If you want to cry," d'Arc whispered. "By all means, cry to your heart's content."

Leon loosened his grip on d'Arc's sleeve.

"Don't force yourself to keep a straight face. No need to pretend," D'Arc's murmur was distant. "Not while we're alone."

Your secret is safe with me, always.

"You're too strong for your own good," D'Arc murmured, even as Leon slotted his face into the crook of his neck. "Even when you're at your weakest, you're still a worthy officer. You always are."

A tender hand found its way to the back of Leon's head.

"No, Monsieur Bonaparte," d'Arc rumbled. "You're only human."

Leon pulled his waist closer.

"Therefore," another arm circled below Leon's shoulders. "Think of nothing, and let yourself go."

The dark fabric of d'Arc's coat masked tear tracks left behind by Leon. And like their meeting in the café, tonight, too, will just be another memory.

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"Win this war for me, Bonaparte." Sebastian clasped Leon's hands before they carried him home. "We'll meet again in Paris when this is all over."

Leon promised to write to him often. He wasn't sure about the doctor; Saint-Germain was quiet when he informed Leon of Sebastian's potential discharge.

"At least, back home, he won't have to worry about losing his life," The doctor had murmured with a thin smile.

Leon found d'Arc outside the hospital not much later, and he was holding several stalks of lilies to his chest.

"He was finally freed from this pain this morning," d'Arc stuttered. "Will you accompany me?"

Both men stepped out into the stale air of morning side by side.

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The following nights brought forth desires within Leon he’d never expected.

Long before their parting, Leon would dream of a soft mouth trailing kisses down his chest before finally enveloping his member.

Hazel eyes would gaze at him with adoration, with love. And his fingers would tangle between imaginary light brown locks as she swallows.

Such dreams were no more, as the form beneath him shifts into something else. Soft curves turned into muscles and hard planes no different than his.

He'd dream of a broad chest on his back, supporting him as lean, nimble hands (sometimes gloved) wrung him dry. He'd seize the sturdy neck to claim thin lips as he hungered for air.

And sometimes, he'd be the one taken on silk sheets, his dark, steely eyes coming to life as he rutted into Leon, hard and fast.

Leon quietly cried Jehanne's name as he finished.

Then, the next morning, he'd wake up to soaked trousers, embarrassed, before he reached down to start all over again.

He didn't mention it in his letters to Sebastian.

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The months turned to years, and the years turned into a full decade. Another two, and Leon was almost a general.

And so was d'Arc, who, by some good fortune, nearly matched him in rank.

People changed too. Leon's teenage sweetheart was now following her husband to concerts in Vienna, a proud mother of two.

Meanwhile, Sebastian and the good doctor had parted ways. He went on to Firenze with an up-and-coming painter (as Sebastian begrudgingly wrote in his letters). Sebastian remained content in Paris to continue studying History, his long-life pursuit before the draft.

Like her, Sebastian settled and soon grew a family.

Meanwhile, Leon remained faithful to the Grande Armée, politely declining marriage offers and claiming he'd sworn his heart for the service of the motherland.

It wasn't so. Leon knew it deep in his heart.

The prolonged war never took away d'Arc from his side. Even as duty beckoned them from opposite sides of the country.

But there was always time to rendezvous during the holidays. Leon loved being at home among his siblings and mother, but he had also learned to cherish the few precious moments he shared with the colonel.

And it was on this chilly January evening where they sat by a hearth in their current base. Leon had learned not to offer the other wine to avoid repeating that one night almost a dozen seasons ago.

Leon chuckled. It seemed only yesterday that d'Arc was moaning about his brother and sister-in-law. Now, it was a secret they both shared in the open.

Reminding him about the event was a joy to Leon. The colonel would cough and look away, while his ivory skin would be tinted a delicate pink.

"Your hard work will soon be rewarded, d'Arc." Leon sipped his drink. "Soon, they're going to promote your rank to general."

His companion silently pondered Leon's word as a hand covered his eyepatch. Even with a black cloth obscuring half his face, d'Arc was still as stunning as the day he rode into camp.

"I think," he finally spoke. "It's time for me to return home."

Leon jolted and nearly dropped his wine glass. Thankfully, d'Arc didn't notice, and Leon encouraged himself to ask:

"Are you sure about this?" Leon tried to mask the trembling in his voice. "There's still time to think. You don't want to regret your decision later."

Can't I convince you to stay?

But the rare gleam in d'Arc's orb was resolute.

"I'm certain," he answered. "I've been away from my family for too long."

Napoleon nodded in silence. He grasped the velvet of his coat until his knuckles turned white.

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This time, it was Sebastian who sat across him in a homely Parisian café. It wasn't too far away from the university where Sebastian studied (and now taught).

Leon had invited him out to talk, and without commenting on his sullen face, Sebastian passed him a black, palm-sized notebook.

There were names and addresses, as well as a piece of paper sticking between the pages.

Leon's hands trembled as he laid the damn thing on the table.

"But, Sebastian, this is—" He stammered. "How did you find this?"

"They kept me around for a while after they fitted my prosthetic leg," Sebastian tapped on his left knee. "Got some names and all sorts of blackmail material. That, right there, could have gotten our friend killed if I hadn't collected all those conscript letters."

Sebastian reached to pour Leon's cup more coffee as the latter flipped through the notebook.

"Unbelievable how the war made our bureaucracy so lenient," he commented, "Then again, the army has been benefitting of these loopholes,"

"Hmmm," Sebastian stirred his cup without purpose. "I don't think that's the right question to ponder at this very moment."

"What do you mean?" Leon stared at Sebastian, his thumb involuntarily brushing the page beside which he found the paper.

"Go and see D'Arc, now that you've got the address," his gaze challenged Leon. "Wouldn't you like to see for yourself?"

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Cold was the morning she rode her father's horse from the stables. The frigid air of Domremy followed her to the training camp, to the battlefield, to the cities. It stayed with her as she sat at the loom, in a lonely spot by the window.

Jeanne silently caressed the cloth she'd abandoned before donning her father's gear. Her sister had finished it for her, and all that's left was to adorn it with gold needlework.

Embroidery had been one of her stronger suits, but now her calloused fingers were struggling to reacquaint herself with the needle's flow. It frustrated her immensely how things that were once familiar to her now felt foreign.

Like the dress she had exchanged for her decorated colonel's uniform.

But shedding her uniform was easy. Returning to her old, long-retired 'self' wasn’t. Jeanne couldn't abandon the way she used to walk at camp, her stern way of talking from when she was still barking commands, and the way she loomed imposingly over nervous neighbors.

Her armor had become one with her skin.

Her family, surprisingly, was welcoming as she entered the threshold in her uniform. In the kitchen sat her father, whom she had never spoken a sentence to even through her letters.

And then he embraced her tightly, before weakly chiding her for riding to her supposed death. Then came her beloved Pierre, with his lovely children and comely wife.

Her sister noted how handsome she looked, even after she slipped into a newly bought linen gown. Her old smocks no longer fit her sinewy frame, and her new garb made Jeanne feel wrong looking at her own reflection.

These things took time to settle, as her first months in the military had taught her.

And then the shrill voice of Jeanne's sister pierced through the silence. She was tempted to rise and come out to scold her but refrained when she heard a male voice alongside Catherine's.

Jeanne recognized his voice, and her fingers curled tightly against the cloth in her lap.

It didn't take long before the footsteps reached her, and she kept herself from turning away to the window.

Still, a part of her urged Jeanne to stand and salute.

"At ease," the voice commanded. "I'm not here to arrest you."

Ah yes, she almost forgot. It was an offense that she'd done, wasn't it? The thought seeped into her dreams as she slept from inn to inn. But it disappeared the night she returned to bed, exhausted after such a long masquerade.

So, Jeanne looked at her hands, no longer looking like a woman's. She could hear Leon approaching, sensed him even as he dragged a seat to sit by her side.

Jeanne could no longer let the silence drape over them.

"I'm sorry," she breathed. "I fooled you. Have lied to you all these years...All for keeping my father and brother away from the war, if possible—"

But her general just burst laughing, alleviating and worsening her nerves at the same time.

"Sorry," he managed in between laughs. "I didn't expect it to be your natural voice."

Jeanne scowled, and for the first time, she looked at his face. Just as tired, but still very much the handsome captain who trained her years ago.

"Then again," Leon's laugh abated, and he was now looking at her properly for the first time. "You don't change much, do you?"

Jeanne hated how his eyes seemed to drill into her. She never felt this way when they were together in the army.

"I suppose not," she muttered. "I can't quite return to the girl who snuck out of the village on a mere whim."

"On a whim?"

"I had no confidence that I could survive the war," Jeanne confessed. "Let alone maintain the charade for nearly a decade. It was only by God's grace that I came along thus far."

Leon hummed.

"But you did it anyhow," he countered. "I don't think I've ever seen a braver soldier than you. You got more than you bargained for, and you breezed through it like it was nothing."

No.

There was the hollow socket where her right eye should have been and Gilles's bones, now resting in his family's mausoleum.

The medals and achievements were no compensation for the comrades she lost, for the times her courage faltered. And neither did they take away the emptiness that now settled in her heart.

Then Leon suddenly came, hopefully with answers to the questions remaining in Jeanne's mind every night before she finally dozed.

Napoleon watched as Jeanne gazed out the window. Beyond it was vast empty soil, ready to be tilled by the returning men.

They ask Daughter who's in her heart.

They ask Daughter who's in her mind.

But her mind was clean as a slate. 'Jean' was now resting, and the long slumbering 'Jeanne' was awake, taking his place. But she was the same Jehanne who wrestled with Pierre when they were little and eventually took up arms when he couldn't replace their father.

She chuckled. Perhaps for the first time in decades.

"What's so funny?" Leon asked. Oh right, he was still here.

"Ah, it's nothing. Forgive me," Jeanne turned to look back at Leon. "And you, Monsieur? You're blushing."

Jeanne only said that to get back at him and catch him off guard. But her cheeks, too, heated at the sight of him reddening. Bantering felt less...complicated when they had been brother-in-arms.

Some things did change, after all.

Leon cleared his throat. "Ah, zut." he cursed. "Sorry. This isn't going as I expected."

Jeanne smiled. So she wasn't treading into new territory alone.

"Will you accompany me, General?" She slowly moved from her seat. "We can stroll through the village as we talk."

"You don't have to call me General, uh—" he responded uneasily. "Mademoiselle d'Arc?"

"It's Jehanne," her one dark eye glinted. "Please call me Jehanne."

⚋⚋⚋⚋⚋⚋⚋⚋⚋⚋⚋⚋⚋⚋⚋⚋⚋⚋⚋⚋⚋⚋⚋⚋⚋⚋⚋⚋⚋⚋⚋⚋⚋⚋⚋⚋⚋⚋⚋

Damn, I didn’t expect to take this long to finish. Hhhh @batteryrose this is absolute pain.

#ikevam fanfic #jeanpoleon #ikemen vampire jean #ikemen vampire napoleon #ikevam jean #ikevam napoleon #riri tries ikevam

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hopelessromanticspoonie · 5 years ago

Text

Monsoon Season

Chapter: 1 of 2

Characters: James Conrad x Reader

Rating: Explicit

Summary: When a rogueish British soldier saves you from a sticky situation, you find yourself in his flat, clothes soaking wet with only one bed for the both of you.

Warnings: Brief mention of violence and blood. Smut in Chapter 2.

A/N: This is my response to @yespolkadotkitty‘s request: ‘I would adore if you had time to write a fluff one where for flimsy reasons Conrad carries reader over the threshold of somewhere with ONLY ONE BED’. I didn’t mean for it to get this long, but it all just happened! I hope that you enjoy!

Taglist for this series: @lotus-eyedindiangoddess @phoenixwench

Permanent taglist: @just-the-hiddles @vodka-and-some-sass @he-is-chaotic-she-is-psychotic @nonsensicalobsessions @myoxisbroken @blah666 @brokenthelovely @myworddump @polireader @wiczer @littleredstarfish @the-broken-angel-13

Thanks for the AWESOME banner, @yespolkadotkitty!

You were lost, at the peak of monsoon season, in a country where you didn’t speak the language, in the middle of the night.

To put it mildly, you were screwed.

You had been following the rest of your team back to your seedy motel when you were separated by a man on a motorcycle who had no regard for where the road ended and the sidewalk began. Then a mother had sprinted in front of you with her two children in tow, running from the lightning that flashed menacingly in the sky. And then a group of rowdy teenagers had crossed your path.

By the time you were free to continue on, your fellow scientists were nowhere to be found. You didn’t speak a lick of Vietnamese to ask for help, and your stumbling around the neon-lit street didn’t get you anywhere except lost. Just when you thought the situation couldn’t get worse, the heavens opened up and torrential rain poured down on you, hot and heavy through your thin summer clothing.

Every curse word under the sun fell from your lips as you ducked into the nearest open doorway. Your shoes squeaked and stuck to the sticky bar floor as you moved away from the door hesitantly, taking in the patrons milling about, illuminated by the dark red light that did nothing to hide the drugs changing hands or the glazed look in the eyes of scantily-clad women as they disappeared behind curtains with leering men.

You did not belong here.

Gulping down the fear that crawled up your throat, your hands fisted at your sides as you turned on your heel, intent upon leaving. The thunderstorm outside seemed a safer bet. But a large man stood in the doorway, his arms folded as he looked down at you with a hunger that made your skin crawl - not in a good way. You backed up, eyes wide, only to collide with another body, sticky with sweat and reeking of stale alcohol and cigarettes.

You whipped around, not understanding what he grumbled at you, but the way his eyes traveled up and down your body and the bruising grip he held on your wrist was not to be misunderstood. Panic seized your mind as you babbled incoherently at him, shaking your head back and forth, vaguely aware that your voice was rising in volume and pitch but uncaring.

A man stalked from out of the shadows, towering over all the other patrons, his light eyes hard as steel as they focused on the man holding you captive. You watched with mouth open wide in shock as his hand curled into a fist into the shirt of his target, yanking him away from you and tossing him onto the floor with as much ceremony as one would a bag of trash.

“Are you alright?” he asked, his richly accented voice sin wrapped in sandpaper, both soothing your frazzled nerves and coaxing your libido to life.

You didn’t have time to answer, as the behemoth of a man who had been guarding the door shoved you out of the way, knocking you to the ground. Danger practically radiated through his rigid frame, coiled tight as he glared daggers at the man. He moved so quickly that you couldn’t follow, only catching the whip of his fist followed by a grunt, or the twist of his torso that ended up with his opponent sprawled out on the dirty floor before him.

He approached you cautiously, hands held in palms up in front of him in a clear show of peace, kneeling beside you. “It isn’t safe for you here. More will be coming. Where are you staying?”

You had only just arrived that day, and you couldn’t remember the name of the motel for the life of you. When you stammered that out to him, his brow furrowed and he ducked his head with a sigh of exasperation. When he lifted it again, his jaw was set beneath the scruff of a beard several days overdue of a shave, his brow furrowed in determination.

More men burst into the bar, shouting furiously and pointing in your direction. Your dashing protector grasped your hands and pulled you up, ducking his head so that he could look into your eyes. “Stay close to me and do not let go of my hand. Understood?”

He didn’t wait for your frantic nod, tugging you out of the bar and into the downpour outside. Your eyes stayed on his broad shoulders as you jogged behind him, watching his back flex and shift beneath the soaked linen of his shirt. He led you down streets that only seemed to become narrower and narrower with each twist and turn. You followed him willingly deeper into the labyrinthian alleys and thoroughfares that you had no hope of escaping should he decide to leave you to fend for yourself.

But he seemed to have no intention of doing so. That was made clear when he suddenly turned to you and pressed you into the wall beneath a balcony overhang, shielding your body from view with his. His forearms caged you in and his head hung low, his forehead brushing yours as he panted lightly into the humid air between you. Water dripped down the hard planes of his face onto yours, clinging to his light eyelashes and wetting his lips set into a thin line. “We’re being followed. You seem to have piqued the interest of some unsavory characters, or they are thoroughly upset at my thrashing of their fellow ruffians. Do exactly as I do.”

With no option but to trust him, you nodded, the small motion rubbing the damp skin of your forehead against his. His eyes met yours, cool blue of the sea before a storm, steadying you with the confident assurance you found within their depths. His hand found yours, engulfing it and almost searing with its heat, and you were off once again.

You followed him as closely as a shadow, your slip-on shoes slapping out against the wet pavement lost to the thunder and rainfall that deafened you. When he stopped and flattened himself to a wall, doing the same to you with a hand splayed across your stomach, you waited for his signal with your stomach heaving beneath his staying touch. He seemed to see everything at once, his keen eyes darting around, calculating and methodical. How he could see anything at all through this rain was beyond you.

You were doing a fairly decent job at keeping up with him, until you stumbled over a bit of uneven pavement, losing your shoe in the process. It was at that moment that he silently urged you faster, leaving you no room to protest as the gritty pavement bit into the soft sole of your foot.

Only when you ducked into a stairwell and climbed three flights of stairs did he slow, turning to look at you with a brow raised in concern. “Alright there, miss?”

You released his hand to brace yourself against the rough concrete wall, lifting your bare foot to reveal the bloodied underside. Something had caught the skin of your foot along the way, and you winced as you flexed your toes experimentally. “Lost my shoe somewhere back there.”

He made a deep sound of displeasure, crouching down beside you to take in your injury, holding onto your ankle with gentle fingers. Shaking his head, he righted himself and slipped his arm around your torso, his fingers curling around your ribs. “My flat is just up ahead. If it’s agreeable, I can tend to it there?”

“That’d be nice, thanks. Who knows what’s on those streets.”

He nodded, forehead creased in thought as he cast another glance around you before briskly walking you both forward. Now that you had slowed down and you had a moment to breathe, each step felt like hot knives stabbing up your leg, and you did your best to stifle your quiet whimper behind your bottom lip caught between your teeth.

He must have heard it, because without a second thought he slipped one arm behind your knees, lifting you up into his arms with very little effort on his part. You squeaked in surprise, your hands flying around his neck for stability. Somehow he managed to walk the rest of the way to his door and open it without dropping you.

His apartment was pitch black, and he carefully sat you down on something soft just a few steps inside before covering your lips with a calloused fingertip. “Hush for one moment,” he shushed you, and you strained to pick up the quiet sound of his boots as he shifted about the apartment.

Whatever assessment that he felt necessary to conduct must have turned up favorably, because several agonizing moments later a lamp flicked on next to you, bathing the room in a pale yellow light.

It was small, the space cramped with only a coffee table and the modest chair you were seated upon taking up what could be considered the living room. A kitchenette was visible over his shoulder as he knelt before you, next to which stood a closed door. There weren’t any personal effects, nothing that suggested anyone even lived there, save for a small stack of books on the table and a plate drying over the sink. It was clean, well-kept, even the age of the items belied by the care given to them.

“May I?” he asked, pulling your focus back to him.

You blamed the humidity and oppressive heat for the difficulty you had in catching your breath, instead of the earnest concern that knitted his brow as he looked up to you, his hands held out to receive your injured foot. Flushing both from the exertion and a sudden wave of embarrassment at his scrutiny, you carefully lifted it to him, only for him to gently settle your heel on his knee, steadying you.

You watched him as he worked, an open emergency medical kit at his side, fully and thoroughly stocked with much more than what was standard issue. He was efficient, but still careful, mindful not to put too much pressure on the nasty-looking gash. He was just as soaked to the bone as you were, his blue linen shirt stuck to his skin, revealing impressive muscles for his frame that flexed pleasantly with his every movement and breath. Your eyes fell to the triangle of tanned chest revealed by his shirt, the top two buttons undone. A water droplet rolled down his neck and disappeared beneath the fabric, and you tamped down the sudden inexplicable urge to trace its journey with your tongue.

He was beautiful, in a rogueish way that made you wonder if the harsh lines around his eyes softened when he was lost to the throes of the basest pleasures.

It occurred to you, while you were tracing his cheekbones so sharp they had to cut glass with your eyes, that you didn’t even know his name.

“James Conrad,” he suddenly murmured, as if he had been reading your thoughts. He offered you a quick smile and a curt nod before lowering your foot back to the floor. He stood, his back ramrod straight, offering his large hand to you once again. “And your name, miss?”

You took his hand and gave him your name, taking his assistance gratefully to rise to your feet. The bandages he had wrapped around the injury helped lessen some of the pain, and it would do nicely to protect it from bacteria. This close to him you had to crane your neck to look up at him. The scent of him drifted to you, pine and alcohol and something inherently masculine that made your mouth water.

Your name on his lips broke through your thoughts, sounding like both a question and a curse as he stared down at you. Emotions warred in his eyes, too many to give a name to, but his thumb stroked over your knuckles lightly. He hadn’t let go of your hand. You shivered at the intimacy of the gesture, desire flashing over your skin like a cool breeze on such a balmy night.

“Oh, pardon me. You’re absolutely drenched. I must insist that you stay here for the evening, and then I can assist you in finding your lodging tomorrow morning? I can find you something dry to wear, and then you can sleep in the bedroom.” He paused, taking a step away from you. You instantly missed the closeness, and you leaned forward just a bit to seek out his touch. Your hand fell limply to your side. “The door locks from the inside.”

As if you had any other option. “Oh, thanks.”

Every movement he made was measured, sure, as if his mind was several steps ahead of his body. That combined with his sharp gaze and rigid posture spoke volumes where his words did not.

“Military?”

He paused in the doorway of the bedroom, holding a bundle of clothing in his arms. One brow ticked up on his forehead as he peered up at you from beneath long lashes. “Former British SAS.”

That would explain it - the assertiveness in his command and the knowledge that lingered in his gaze. You nodded, taking the proffered clothing with an appreciative smile. You shifted on your feet uneasily, wondering where you should change, a blush staining your cheeks as you thought of undressing before James. When nothing was offered, you spoke up. “You wanna turn around there, solider?”

“Pardon me.”

Your eyes lingered on his back for a moment longer than necessary, following the slope of his broad shoulders down the dip of his spine to a narrow waist. The situation wasn’t ideal, but you found yourself lucky for more than one reason that he had been the one to pull you out of it. Quickly, you stripped out of your sopping wet clothes, only nude for a moment slipping into the loose gray t-shirt and faded boxer shorts he offered you. There was something intimate about wearing his clothing, about smelling the faint scent of laundry detergent and pine so close to your skin, that set your nerves alight.

At your call, he took your wet clothing from you, arranging it over the coffee table so that they had the best chance of drying. You didn’t hold out much hope in the humidity, but the effort was thoughtful nonetheless. You followed him into the bedroom once he was finished, taking in the sparsely furnished room silently.

“I will take the chair out in the sitting room,” he said quietly, his hand lighting on your shoulder in parting before he moved to leave.

Your hand caught his wrist, light enough that he could break free if he wanted, but he didn’t. He turned back to you, his cool eyes staring straight through to your soul as he waited for you to speak. You had never felt so exposed and seen in your entire life.

Speaking around the sudden dryness in your throat, you released him to wave your hand toward the bed. “It’s big enough for the both of us. I would feel awful if I made you sleep in that chair when there’s plenty room here. You wouldn’t go through all this trouble just to hurt me, right?”

Fire lit in his gaze before he closed his eyes briefly. When they opened the expression was gone, replaced by a wariness that you instinctively knew went to his very core. “You would be foolish to trust a complete stranger.”

You sat down on the thin mattress, springy beneath you. “You laid out a man twice your size in the bar back there. You could break down that door if you really wanted to. At least this way I know that anyone who tries to come in has to go through you to get to me.”

You had tried for humor, but by the sternness of his expression, it hadn’t landed. He sat down on the other end of the bed, unlacing his boots. You averted your eyes when his hands went to the collar of his shirt, affording him the same privacy he had offered you. When the bed pitched beneath you, you rolled over onto your side, facing him in the room.

You were just able to make out the wild curls of his hair with the hazy red light that streamed in through the window, haloing him perfectly. The night’s events hit you suddenly, brought about by the light, and you clutched your hands tightly to your chest.

“James?”

“Yes?” his voice was just loud enough to fill the space between you, intimate and deep even as it was directed at the ceiling.

Memories of the hollow-eyed women flashed in your mind’s eye. “Thank you for saving me back there. I… I don’t know what would have happened if you hadn’t.”

He must have felt your trembling shaking the bed, as he shifted so that he was on his side, reaching out in the darkness to clasp your hands comfortingly. The backs of his knuckles brushed against your chest, making your heart stutter against your ribcage. “You’re safe now. I’ve got you.”

Maybe it was the adrenaline that had flooded and left your system, or the dim lighting playing against the line of his shoulder, or the gentle rub of his thumb over the back of your hand. But you felt emboldened, your curiosity driving you as you shifted closer to him on the bed, lining up the lean length of his body against yours. The brush of the hair on his legs, so very male, tightened the muscles of your abdomen pleasantly.

His breath hitched in his throat. “It was only polite, what was right.”

You lifted your entwined hands to your mouth, brushing his hand across your lips. He was faintly salty, but also sweet, addictive. Would his kiss taste the same?

You propped yourself up on one elbow, daring as you lifted a hand to drag across his cheekbone to brush a stray lock of hair back into place. “Are you always so polite, James?”

#captain james conrad #james conrad #kong skull island fic #james conrad fanfic #james conrad x reader #james conrad smut #yespolkadotkitty #request #monsoon season #hopelesswrites

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lesdemonium · 4 years ago

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I’d Be the Choiceless Hope Chapter 4

Ship: Geraskier Word count: 11500 (total) Chapter: 4/16

Summary:

“Such a nice, beautiful sound,” the fae crooned. “If only he were this way always.”

Julian’s mother stood up. She claimed she was prepared to stop the fae, to protect her baby, but in Julian’s darkest moments he doubted this part of the story. His mother loved him, of that he had no doubt, but she had been young and weary, and even years later, she couldn’t quite get the twinge of exhaustion out of her eyes when she recalled Julian’s infancy. Even if she had been keen on protecting him, the fae was too close, too fast, too set on his plan.

“A gift, for the new mother,” the fae continued. He leaned a hand in to stroke Julian’s cheek. “I give you the gift of obedience.”

As a baby, Jaskier was visited by a fae, who gifted Jaskier’s mother with Jaskier’s obedience. As Jaskier grew older, the “gift” became more of a curse.

Additional tags: AngstAngst with a Happy EndingHeavy AngstUnrequited LoveNot Actually Unrequited LoveAlternate Universe - Canon DivergenceCanon EraNot Canon CompliantCursed Jaskier | DandelionAlternate Universe - Ella Enchanted FusionCurse of ObedienceRape/Non-con ElementsImplied/Referenced Rape/Non-conJaskier | Dandelion Whump

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Jaskier knew they would eventually have to part. It was the nature of things, for him and Geralt. Geralt had contracts that even Jaskier had to agree were too treacherous for Jaskier to follow, and it was easier for Jaskier to find time to himself, and leave Geralt to his witchering. Geralt didn’t often pick the most populated cities, either, and if Jaskier was to set about changing his reputation, at times he had to place himself in a larger public.

He also had a feeling Geralt sometimes needed a break from Jaskier. As much as Jaskier was loath to admit it, he knew he was often too much for the witcher, and he feared the day Geralt decided to take his leave of the bard completely. It was easier, then, if he gave Geralt a break every now and again.

It became a tradition, then. After a few months of traveling together, Jaskier would find an excuse to leave. When a month or two had passed, they would meet up again, though when they parted for winter, it was for the entire season. Jaskier still spent much of his time with the witcher, and had grown quite adept at tracking him down. The one exception was after the banquet at Cintra; Jaskier did not find Geralt again for almost an entire year. Jaskier had a feeling this was by Geralt’s design. Geralt needed time to mourn, and get his head on straight, and Jaskier could accept that. When they reunited, it was like no time had passed at all, and for that, Jaskier was glad.

This time, though, as they parted, Jaskier could have sworn there was something behind Geralt’s very pointedly stoic face. Often, he imagined with his more cruel sense of humor, it was relief. This time, it was more somber, almost sad. That was a ridiculous thought, though. Geralt was as happy for the time alone as he had ever been, Jaskier was sure of it.

Still, as they parted, Jaskier found himself moving his feet slowly, turning back to watch the witcher’s retreating form over and over and over again. Once, he caught Geralt looking back, too.

It was nothing, though. Jaskier was sure of it. They hadn’t even made a plan to meet up again. Jaskier had simply allowed himself to be fooled by the affection and passion present as they laid together. He had allowed himself to be swept up in the way Geralt listened, not only to his words, but to Jaskier’s reactions, too. His care and attention during that first time wasn’t a fluke; if Jaskier seemed unhappy even slightly , Geralt did not allow Jaskier to brush it off. The inverse was true as well. Geralt acted as if studying Jaskier’s body and reactions for pleasure was his field of study, and he was quickly becoming an expert in it.

It was only sex, though. Nothing else changed. They both found other partners at times, and otherwise they were friends. No matter how many times Jaskier had daydreamed and longed to kiss Geralt without intent, or hold his hand as they walked the path, or use sweet words to convey the depths of his feelings, that wasn’t what they were to each other. Jaskier could handle that. He could love Geralt from afar.

Even with an audience as responsive as the one he had in Ellander, Jaskier was feeling lonely and melancholy. It had only been two weeks without Geralt, and already he was mooning over him like some lovesick maiden. Honestly, to compare what Jaskier was doing to them would be an insult to lovesick maidens everywhere.

He was trying to distract himself, for fear that if he didn’t, he would set about searching for his witcher again. Geralt deserved far more of a break than that, and Jaskier had no interest in embarrassing himself as far as to follow after the witcher as if Jaskier was not his own man. He was approaching thirty, it was time to grow up . Find a distraction.

The woman in the market was beautiful. She clearly had money, what with the delicate blush-colored gown draped across her lovely figure and the jewels around her neck, but that wasn’t what made Jaskier approach. Her smile was kind as she perused a stand selling bright flowers.

“Ah, I see someone as lovely as you chooses to fill her home with beauty,” Jaskier said as he approached the lady. “Might I make a suggestion?” He motioned to a bushel of daffodils. “The yellow would accentuate the rose of your cheeks divinely.”

Her smile was delighted as she held out her hand. Jaskier took it, sweeping himself into perhaps too much of a bow for the occasion, but the woman seemed pleased as he looked up and pressed a kiss to her knuckles.

“I do hope they give you a commission as you do their work for them.” She motioned for another woman, likely her lady in waiting, to take the daffodils, then turned her attention back to Jaskier. “I do, in fact, like to fill my home with beauty. I wonder if I might be able to add you to my collection.”

She was a countess. Charming and spirited and knew exactly what she wanted. Jaskier was pleased to find that he was among those she wanted, and allowed himself to be swept up in her grandeur. He had always been quite fond of pretty things and luxuries. He performed in her court and in the town, spreading word of his witcher and his own skill with his instrument. Soon, he barely had to speak a word before people were delightedly turning their chairs to face him and singing along even to his more complicated songs. At night, he warmed his Countess’s bed.

Jaskier never meant to stay long, but he found he could have loved her, truly.

For weeks, she was content to let Jaskier lead. She was warm and pliant under his touch, and her kisses were sweet and fraught with desire. Rarely did she order him about, though when she did, he couldn’t help but notice he hadn’t corrected her like he did Geralt. The Countess did not notice when Jaskier froze, only to stutter back to life a moment later. The commands were simple, he reminded himself. She didn’t know. If she had any idea Jaskier was unable to refuse, she would never order him about.

She grew bolder, though, as they always did. The Countess thought it was a game they were playing, and thought that Jaskier simply delighted in giving his partner what they wanted. He did, but not like this. Jaskier did not dare tell her. Instead, he swallowed his pride, put on a smile, and convinced himself that he was enjoying their coupling. Maybe, for his countess, the curse could be a gift.

“Stay with me, here, in Ellander. Live in my home and be mine,” the Countess said sweetly, pressing a kiss to his collarbone.

And that, well. Clever as Jaskier was, that would be a tricky command to avoid, and even tricker to obey to completion. His heart escaped to his throat in dread, and he swallowed around the lump it made.

He put on his best smile, wrapped his arms around the countess, and pressed a kiss to her hair.

“Nothing would make me happier, my muse,” Jaskier murmured back.

Jaskier could have sworn he felt her face heat up. He didn’t have to see her flush, however, to know that her cheeks had grown red.

It wasn’t a hard life. Likely, it was the best sort of life Jaskier could expect. He was free to write and sing his songs, while living in true comfort. He wanted for nothing, he was fed and bathed and had access to a warm bed whenever he wanted. The clothes he wore were beautiful, colorful, the height of fashion. He was comfortable and appeased in every sense of the word.

Jaskier hated it. His songs felt stale and trite, and there was no pleasure for him in performing for the same audiences time and time again. Adventure called to him from outside the city walls, and Jaskier longed to call back.

He thought, not infrequently, of Geralt. Jaskier wondered where he was, what creatures he had recently slain, if Geralt missed Jaskier at all. Perhaps he had finally returned to Cintra, claimed his child surprise. Or, more likely, perhaps he was avoiding the entire southwest portion of the continent, and his destiny along with it. Jaskier hoped he was finding more amiable beds to warm, and plenty of monsters to tell Jaskier about, whenever Jaskier could free himself. It didn't matter if Geralt missed Jaskier. Jaskier missed Geralt enough for both of them.

The countess grew bored of Jaskier. Jasker knew she did. Jaskier did everything within his power to make it so: he sang the same songs, he was less adventurous and excited in bed (which was less intentional than a natural side effect of the countess growing more and more directive), and without new adventures, he had no new stories to tell her. Still, it took months upon months of work for her eye to start to turn.

“I am getting older,” the Countess began, her voice neutral. Jaskier feigned indifference, only turned his head toward her to indicate he was listening, but his body tensed in anticipation. Where this was going, he had no idea. “It’s time for me to start considering the future. Marriage. Children.”

Jaskier faced her fully, his eyebrow raised. She wasn’t looking at him. Instead, she picked at her fingers. She was sitting up, her back against the wall behind her, and the blanket pooled in her lap, leaving her torso bare. The Countess was a sight, Jaskier had to admit. In another life, she would have made Jaskier an exceedingly happy man.

“I will be entertaining eligible suitors. It would be...unseemly, to have you here,” she said. She sounded regretful, but Jaskier’s heart soared. “It would never have worked between us. I have truly loved my time with you, but I must consider my options, my estate, the legitimacy of my children. You can only offer me love.”

Jaskier was prideful enough that he had to bite back his retort. He was a viscount, hardly an unseemly partner, but he didn’t want to argue against this. The Countess didn’t know, she thought he was only a bard with no titles to his name. It would be best if that was how it remained.

“I understand,” Jaskier said, taking the Countess’s hand and pressing a kiss to her knuckles. She looked at him, finally, and smiled. It still wasn’t enough, though. He couldn’t go without her word. “So, you want me to...?”

“Leave, Jaskier,” she said, nodding, and gently taking her hand back. “Leave, and remember me fondly.”

Jaskier stood, his body leading the way as his head tried to catch up. He was free to go. Jaskier could find himself anywhere now, and trail after adventure once more. He could find Geralt.

Jaskier packed his bag as he thought of all his “could” options. No longer a prisoner of the Countess’s estate, he could travel the continent again, singing his songs for Geralt and gaining more renown. His return would be triumphant, and he could find himself in another’s bed again, as he was no longer bound to the Countess. At least, until an unintentional command shackled him again. As it would. As it always had, eventually.

It felt as though his brain shuttered off for a moment on that particular thought. It could happen again. Because of the curse, Jaskier could not fall to the bed. The only actions he could take were those that helped him leave this place. The Countess wasn’t the first person to shackle him, she was just the first to do it unknowingly. All things considered, he had gotten off pretty easily. The people that trapped him wanted to use him for a particular, selfish purpose, but they didn’t seek to harm him or others. What if next time, he wasn’t so lucky?

He could find adventure again. He could find Geralt again. He could pretend that his life was easier than it was, and that he could move freely through the continent, to chase his happiness.

It was time to find Lazuli.

read chapter 5

#geraskier #geralt x jaskier #jaskier x geralt #geraskier fanfic #geraskier fanfiction #gerlion #gerlion fanfic #gerlion fanfiction #my writing

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-catelynstark · 6 years ago

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The last dream before the long night.

Hey all, so this is my first Game of Thrones fic that i’ve written in several years (I mostly write Tolkien/rdr2 stuff) but after the latest season my GoT obsession and Sandor Clegane obsession has returned and so I wrote this - the first of many Sandor-centric I’m sure!

Pairing: Sandor x fem! reader I Warnings: Smut - 18+/some aggressive/derogatory/threatening language I Word Count: 4,241

Summary: Before the white walkers reach Winterfell, the reader confronts Sandor about their feelings and confesses their deepest desire and what they ‘truly want’. It’s mostly pwp - but I tried to make it somewhat romantic and fluffy as well as smutty!

Your confidence and unwitting approach to the men that looked at you with such downcast eyes was in your stride as you marched into the hall.

You’d heard men say they could smell fear and always thought it such rubbish, how could one smell fear, fear was a feeling something maybe animals with another sense could smell but not humans. Only now you knew it was true. Fear stank of piss and shit, it stank of stale beer and mud and rotting flesh. In the midst of the fear there was only one thing you wanted.

You scanned the room and saw him sat at a table drinking wine with Beric and a few of the others.

When you sat it was without a word, the others moved up for you accordingly for you needed no introduction. In a way you hated that and envied others who had no title or name gained through fame.

The moment you sat down you heard the familiar sloshing of wine into a cup, looking up Sandor’s eyes met your own as he poured you a generous goblet.

Before you could speak Beric’s hand clapped on your shoulder, “We make a fine crew.”

“Aye is that so,” Sandor commented, returning the flagon to the table, “A crew of drunkards, whore-fuckers and women in men’s clothing.”

“I won’t object to that,” you responded as you picked up your goblet.

The three of you clinked your goblets together before downing the sweet red liquid. As it hit the back of your throat you felt the familiar warmth grow. Instinct told you not to drink too much as you would need a clear head in the morning. But the animal in you worked out the percentage likelihood of you surviving a battle against the white walkers and decided you should live tonight like it was your last.

As Beric and many of the others drifted off to bed you thought on what had been bothering you for some time. There were words that were so far unspoken, words that you felt if you were able to let them slip past your lips then maybe you’d feel better, maybe you would find peace. In the end it was the alcohol that helped make your decision to confess.

You watched almost as if during an out of body experience as your hand traveled cautiously across the table towards Sandor’s far larger hands.

You decided to test the waters slowly, your index finger lazily tracing along the top of his hands, running over his pointy, lightly-bruised knuckles.

He didn’t flinch, that was a good sign, instead he looked up slightly confused, far less a dog now and more of a lost puppy. Was that a trace of a smile on his lips? You were certain of it, no flinching, no pulling away, no anger written across his face.

Your hand now lay across his, warm and inviting. You offered a smile back to him, hoping that by reciprocating he might smile more, might say something to fill the growing awkward silence that hung in the air. You squeezed his hand, he did flinch a little then, not enough to pull back but enough to tell you he wasn’t used to touch at least not of the loving kind.

“Sandor…” you begun, unsure of what to say. In your head you’d prepared an entire speech, a declaration of love as it were, but now when faced with him you found yourself choking not he words that were desperate to escape. “I need to tell you, I…” your voice was quivering as you spoke. Sandor raised an eyebrow, “Well, spit it out girl,” he sounded almost annoyed at you.

Tears threatened to come then, this wasn’t how you’d pictured your confession of love, this wasn’t how it was supposed to be.

“I..” you were unable to do it and instead settled for a half truth, a half truth that you counted on Sandor finding more comfortable and inviting than the word ‘love.’ “I don’t want to be alone tonight.” You spat out.

It took a moment for Sandor to realise what you were getting at before he let out a low chuckle, “Many men don’t, I’m sure you’ll find a willing suitor.”

He pulled his hand from under yours and poured more wine, taking a much larger gulp than before.

You shook your head in frustration, Sandor must have understood what you meant so why did he have to be so difficult?

You laughed, annoyed and with more courage, “That isn’t what I meant and you know it.”

Sandor looked across at you, goblet in hand, wordless.

“I don’t want to be alone tonight, I want to spend it with you.”

Sandor seemed agitated and downed the rest of his drink before slamming the empty goblet on the table somewhat unceremoniously. “Aye girl is that what you want? Want an old dog to fuck you hard and break you?”

You couldn’t help the tears that filled in your eyes then, just moments ago the two of you had been happy. You were friends were you not? But now with kindness and a confession he had changed completely, become the person he said he didn’t want to be anymore.

Sandor shook his head, “Goodnight y/n,” and walked off.

You sat there for several moments, brushed the tears from under your eyes and wiped your cheeks. No, you would not let him get the better of you not like that. You finished your drink, though your cheeks stung with shame and embarrassment, you needed an answer, a proper answer.

You ran after him, “Sandor wait!”

You were sure you heard him huff in annoyance as he turned to face you.

“What d’yah want lass?”

“I….”

In your head this scenario had played out so differently and you had been far more sure of yourself.

You cupped his face, your fingers gently tracing the lines of his scars like ivy on an abandoned building. Sandor flinched but only momentarily.

“You could have any of those pretty boys in there.”

“Yes…I could, but, I don’t want them, I want you.”

Sandor’s laugh was mirthless, almost as if he believed you were winding him up.

“I mean it.”

Sandor snatched away from you and bent down, venom in his voice, “I could bend you in half, break every bone in your body you know that girl,” he sneered, “Could make a new hole to fuck you in.”

Tears stung your eyes once more, no, this wasn’t your Sandor, this was him trying to give re-birth to a dead persona. It was a defence mechanism, that was all it was.

“Why are you being like this?” You demanded.

Sandor sighed and took a step back, “Because you are good, you’re one of the only good things I have and I don’t want to ruin you.”

You shook your head and closed the gap between the two of you once more, “No, you won’t, you won’t hurt me I know you won’t.”

You watched Sandor’s fists clench, not in anger, but more anxiety, he was shaking a little, his words before though he had tried to sound harsh they were punctured with small moments of uncertainty, his voice wavering.

“Please Sandor, give me this night.”

“Never had anyone beg an old dog like me.”

You went once again to cup his face, your fingers softly dancing on his cheeks, feeling the warmth in them made you smile. He looked down at you, his eyes seemed softer now. One of his hands gently took hold of your left wrist and pulled your hand slightly towards his mouth, he kissed your fingers, turned your hand and kissed the back of it. His kisses were so soft you could barely believe this was the same man who had said those vulgar things just moments ago.

Sandor smiled at you, his hand still on yours, “You’re sure?” He asked.

You nodded, he reached down and picked you up without warning, scooping you into his arms and pulling you close to his chest. Your legs automatically wrapped round his hips and for a moment he held you steady, you felt his breath on your face.

“It’s what I want,” was all you had to say for his lips to crash onto yours. He tasted of warm wine and woodsmoke. The first few seconds were a blur of teeth against teeth, both hungry, a yearning that neither you or he had known was growing until now. But now you had the first taste of one another’s flesh you knew there was no going back.

Sandor surprised you as the kiss became more gentle as he continued, taking his time now to explore your mouth, softly moaning between your lips. A love he hadn’t believed he’d experience ever again and now that he’d garnered a first taste of it he would do anything not to let it go.

You found yourself rocking your hips into his, trusting him to hold onto you tightly and not let you fall. Though the night’s air had been bitterly cold, the warmth of Sandor’s body made you forget where you were. Your hands now slid round the back of his head, sliding through his hair and gripping tightly. His hands squeezed at the flesh he was holding onto as his tongue slid between your lips to taste more of you.

Closer, you needed to be closer to him. This wasn’t enough, and years later you would realise it never would have been enough.

When Sandor broke the kiss you feared for a moment that you had read him wrong, that he was just playing a sick joke on you, never to allow to saviour the closeness you desired.

All fear diminished when Sandor pressed his forehead to yours, his eyes looking downwards. You could see little of his face due to his hair, “Seven hell’s girl,” he said finally in between rapid breaths.

You stifled a giggle and pushed your own forehead towards him and then nuzzled into him, a part of your animalistic design.

“And this,” he begun, “This is really what you want? An old dog like me?”

Still nuzzling into the crook of his neck you answered sincerely, “More than anything.”

“I find that hard to believe.”

Sandor gently put you back down on your feet with such care that you found yourself holding your breath. An unexpected touch of kindness on his part brought tears to your eyes, when Sandor noticed he gently wiped them from your cheeks, “Now girl no use in crying, you said you wanted this.”

You stifled a laugh through your tears and on looking up at Sandor saw a trace of a smile on his face. He wasn’t being cruel, he was trying to make you laugh.

He placed one of his hands on the wall behind you, close to your head, and then put the other on the other side of you. You’d been in situations like this before, horrible, nightmarish situations where guards would try to take advantage of you and scare you in such a crass manner. This wasn’t one of those times.

Being sandwiched between Sandor’s arms, his body towering over you just inches from you made you feel safe. His presence blocked out the rest of the world and all noise and doubt with it.

“Sandor,” you’d said his name hundreds of times, but here and now, before the storm yet in the calm of his shadow it sounded whole, entirely born of love.

One of Sandor’s hands came to cup your chin, tilting it upwards to look into his sunken brown eyes. He looked tired, he always looked tired but now you saw it for what it was.

His thumb rubbed your skin, though his hands were rough his touch was soft and made you tremble with anticipation.

“You really want this?” His voice was a little darker now, tainted with hunger.

Yes, yes, you wanted this a hundred times over, hadn’t you waited long enough to be alone together?

Sandor bent down and kissed you again, allowing you to think on your answer as you kissed, when he pulled away he looked at you, anticipating your answer, “Yes.”

Without a word Sandor lifted you off your feet and threw you over his shoulder, he marched with purpose towards your quarters, holding you tightly. Helplessly you stared at the floor, feeling the blood rush to your head as he carried you off. A man so strong yet with heart, that was all you’d ever wanted.

Still the way he’d literally swept you off your feet had taken your breath away, “Sandor,” you had squeaked with surprise as he lifted you up into his arms. You heard him chuckle a little, knew you were safe with him and maybe he had been worried you’d change your mind if you were able to think on it for too long.

He opened your door and slammed it behind him, lest you be interrupted during the act.

He placed you carefully onto your bed, the fireplace at the end of your room was slowing dying, just the glowing of embers and a few candles lit the room.

Sandor slipped off his cloak and stood towering above you.

“Come, be my undoing,” you said as you reached out for him.

Sandor needed no further encouragement than that, boots removed he climbed onto you and started to kiss you once again, this time with far more hunger. His hips were already rolling, dry humping you, hands grabbing at your breasts through your shirt. You felt the growing heat in the pit of your stomach grow and knew you were getting wet for him, that you’d probably soaked through your undergarments in a matter of minutes.

“Need you naked,” he said in between kisses, his voice muffled.

“Strip me,” you said just before you caught his lower lip between your teeth.

And he did, he ripped your shirt from you and pulled down your breeches. After stripping you of all clothes, he pulled off his own shirt and stepped from his breeches. In a matter of minutes you were both fully naked, it was only then that you stopped to stare at one another and drink the other one up with your eyes.

Sandor’s body thick, muscular, with plenty of hair and scars as you had expected, but what you hadn’t expected was for him to be as handsome as you found him. When you looked between his legs for a moment you found yourself gasping at his size, unsure whether you’d be able to take it all. He was already rock hard, his cock having both great girth and length, you realised you’d need both hands to be able to wrap round him fully. The tip of his eagerly twitching member was glistening with pre-cum, clearly the sight of you naked was enough to excite him.

“Like what you see girl?” He asked slightly smugly.

You felt your cheeks go red and bit your lower lip and nodded, “I’m just a little…” you didn’t want to to say scared, you were afraid if you showed any sign of concern then Sandor may abandon your evening together. But the quiver in your voice told him what he needed to know, he walked over to you and stroked your hair.

“Shhh y/n you’ll be alright, I won’t hurt you I promise.”

Sandor climbed on top of you again, the feeling of his naked body against yours made you inhale deeply, enjoying the warmth radiating from him and the closeness.

You reached down between his legs, wanting to touch him a few times before he was inside you, desperate to show him how much you needed him and wanted him to fill you up. One of your hands wrapped around his length and squeezed tightly, Sandor grunted as you did so, his eyes closed and a hiss escaped his lips. Your hand pumped him several times, your thumb tracing circles round his head, slipping so easily due to the pre-cum you smirked feeling him twitch a little and tense up.

You hand worked his length, squeezing at the base and slowly moving up before playing with his tip before returning to the base. You could tell by the way Sandor was moaning and the way he was practically starting to fuck your hand that he was lost to you now.

“Fuckin’ hell girl where’d you learn…” Sandor didn’t finish as you squeezed a little tighter, thumb running up the vein on the underside of his cock. Instead he shuddered and bit down as if trying to stifle a moan.

“Need you before it’s too late,” he said with a sense of urgency, pulling your own hand away from him and immediately placing his cock at your entrance.

He was about to slide into you when he hesitated and pulled back a little, he’d been used to taking whores in a rough fashion. Used to the awareness that came when fucking them, that they so often prepared themselves for him, that they were used to getting wet for him, but now faced with someone new, someone he cared for, he hesitated.

He propped himself up on one elbow and traced down your thighs to your most sensitive spot, he was careful now not to go too fast for fear of frightening you. One of his fingers slid between your folds, finding the wetness that was awaiting his arrival.

He smiled and looked back up at you, “All wet for me already I see? Filthy girl,” but when he spoke there was no shame in his voice, no accusation, he wasn’t being mean just trying to make you feel comfortable.

You nodded eagerly, “Always Sandor, I’ve been wet for you so many times,” you confessed as your back arched a little as his finger gently stroked your clit.

“Is that so?”

You nodded and gripped the bedsheets as he continued to rub your clit whilst sliding a second finger down and inside of you. You gave a little yelp, his fingers were large after-all, especially as he curled his finger past the knuckle.

Only a few moments past before you could take it no more, your hips started to buck faster, “Now Sandor, I need you now…”

Sandor didn’t need any further encouragement, he removed his fingers and almost instantly replaced them with his cock. You cried out as he slid into you slowly, he was careful not to move too fast and gave you time to adjust to his size and then when he fully bottomed out he stopped for a second to look at you. That was the moment you knew for certain you’d made the right decision, the look in his eyes was momentarily of concern, he seemed to truly care.

He stayed like that for a moment, looking down at you, one hand gently brushing your cheek and as he came down to kiss you, he moved inside of you, slowly building up a gentle rhythm,

You had no doubt that at times Sandor could be rough in bed, this was not one of those times. There was love in his eyes, in the movement of his hips, the way his kisses landed on your perfectly parted mouth just waiting to taste him.

You found yourself clenching your walls around him, hips lifting from the bed to meet his every thrust and guide him towards orgasm.

You could tell from the moans and expletives that escaped his lips that he wasn’t going to last long, not that you minded, there would be more nights like this you would make sure.

Sandor begun to thrust into you faster and a little deeper, one of his hands gripping your hip and the other by the side of your head for leverage as he sheathed himself over and over again, grunting as he did so.

“Where do you want my cum girl?”

“Inside,” you panted.

You knew in times like these it was perhaps foolish not to take every precaution there was to prevent against getting pregnant but what was there to lose?

Death seemed inevitable almost, whilst you both hoped to survive the long night there were no guarantees in this world. Darkness clung to you, clung to the sky, to the god’s wood, to the walls of the castle. It penetrated even the most positive of minds and threatened to throw those usually so strong into despair.

And so you let him spill his seed deep inside you, hot, thick streams of it filling you up so completely.

As he came inside you you felt his cock twitch, his teeth bit into your shoulder so sharply that you gave a yelp. Although you couldn’t see his expression you could feel him smirk beneath you, “Good little dog.” he murmured, his lips brushing your skin as he spoke.

Sandor lay on top of you, his cock still inside you, growing softer but still he didn’t move, wanting to be as close to you as he could for as long as possible.

After a minute he kissed your shoulder where he had bitten you, several light kisses as if saying sorry but without words.

One of his hands then traveled down your leg, squeezing your thigh as he went, fingers teasing.

“I’m sorry,” he murmured into your skin, “How ungentlemanly of me, to allow myself to finish before finishing off a lady.”

You stifled a giggle, it was the most serious you thought you’d ever heard him sound, “It’s fine, I didn’t want to fuck you because I thought you were a gentleman and you certainly didn’t fuck me like a lady.”

Sandor laughed, a hearty, deep laugh. It came out as more of a growl than anything, tinted with all the sour red wine he had been drinking. His hand cupped your sex, fingers twirling space patterns in the mound of hair he found there. You moaned into him, bucking your hips involuntarily, desperate for his touch again, from only minutes ago you had experienced what it felt like to have his thick fingers slide along your slit and inside you, scissoring as they went.

You could die happy if he made you cum, even just once from that exquisite motion.

Sandor looked up to gauge your expression, seeing how blissful you were he hummed to himself, content with a job well done. Finally he slid himself out of you, leaving your cunt exposed and ready for to warm his fingers.

One finger slid between your folds, the pad of his thumb only just graced your clit making you pout with frustration, gods you needed this, needed him again and again. Oh how the night was too short! You wanted to exclaim in dismay.

But Sandor didn’t leave you disappointed, he teased only for a few moments, maybe it was that the day he had caught up with him the sleep was threatening, or perhaps it was his own guilt at spilling his seed so soon, but his fingers soon moved faster, pressure applied to your clit. He rubbed in small circles, occasionally pinching your clit and making you moan out his name.

Two thick fingers slid inside you fully and he begun to pump in and out whilst his thumb moved in circles on your clit.

“Sandor,” you cried our as your hips bucked, needy for any further friction you could garner.

Sandor chuckled, dark eyes watched you curiously as you bent to his will. It didn’t take long for the familiar feeling to build in your stomach and for you to realise that just like Sandor was unable hold back any longer, you were soon too about to come undone.

You lay steady in Sandor’s arms, sweat licked your skin like dew on morning grass, but it didn’t matter you were cosy and safe, you had no regrets about that night. Whatever came during the battle, you were glad you got to be one with the man you loved.

Sandor spooned you, his arms pulling you tight into your chest, it was faint but you were sure you could hear him humming.

“Whatever happens tomorrow, I will protect you.”

You bit your lower lip,”And I you…”

Sandor kissed your back between your shoulder blades, “And I’m sorry for earlier how I spoke to you I’m ashamed of that.” He squeezed you a little tighter and nuzzled into your hair, you were sure you he inhaled your scent deeply then.

“That wasn’t you, we’ll think no more on it.”

Sandor was silent for a moment before speaking, “You know I do have one regret about tonight…”

You tensed up for a second, but Sandor’s chuckle from behind you and the way he squeezed onto you tightly, told you it was nothing to worry about.

“What’s that?” You asked with a sense of trepidation in your voice.

Sandor shifted his weight a little so he was able to lowly growl into your ear, “That I didn’t get to taste you, not really, not properly…” He nibbled your ear lobe and sucked, eliciting a small moan from your lips and causing yourself to rub against him. Sandor gave a small laugh, “Yes, we will survive the battle, I ain’t fuckin’ dying until I’ve tasted you whole.”

#Sandor Clegane #Sandor clegane x reader #sandor x reader #The Hound #Game of Thrones #GoT #ASoIaF #The Hound x reader #fanfiction #mine #nsft #lemon

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bakudomaster · 5 years ago

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Charmed (1998 - Part 2)

[continued from Part 1]

STRUCTURE, WRITING & DEVELOPMENT

Charmed, like most of its supernatural contemporaries, mostly followed a villain of the week plot, with the sisters using their powers, spells or potions to overcome a demon or warlock. At the time, it was a very trendy theme to follow: thanks to media like The Craft, audiences were starting to shake of the moralistic panic that boomed in the 80s and explored the occult through familiar lenses, such as that of high school girls or modern working women.

The showrunners at the time (Constance M. Burge, who was the one had developed the idea and Brad Kern, who would head up the show over its 8 year run) were very aware that the supernatural theme was trendy at the time. Both Buffy and Sabrina had their premieres in 1996 and had developed a loyal following by then. The vampire slayer aimed for very dark and mature themes, whilst the teenage witch went for a lighter and airier approach. The Halliwell sisters struck it straight down the middle between the two - though the show would incorporate themes of death and frequent danger, it would also make use of heartwarming family moments and a dry sense of humor.

The writers used a very clear motto when coming up with scripts - these were sisters that happened to be witches, not the other way around, something mentioned in season 8′s bonus featurette. As important as magic was, it was not allowed to completely overshadow the various hurdles the Halliwells faced away from the cauldron - careers, boyfriends and family issues all had a significant hand in developing their characters.

Seasons 1 & 2 had a very simplistic formula, though it was a bit shaky. It can be forgiven when you consider that the show was doing trial and error in its own way, seeing what worked and what didn’t. Many of the memorable episodes come from these seasons as the writers laid down the history and mythology of the Halliwells.

Season 3 is where the real action began. Swinging in a much darker direction and taking the risk of an overarching plot, viewers were introduced to Cole Turner and his plot to kill the sisters whilst falling in love with Phoebe, Leo and Piper getting married and Prue continuing to power through life like the badass she was; all of which culminated in the season finale where the eldest witch was killed off. Many of the episodes stand out for their consistently solid writing, the outstanding acting and the dead on sarcastic humor.

After this, it was understandable that many fans and even the network was worried that the show would lose its momentum. Shannen Doherty was arguably the most famous person on the show - would the role of Prue be recast or would Phoebe and Piper carry on as a twosome? Would the show even come back?

All fears were allayed when the fourth season aired. Paige was no Prue, but her presence sent Charmed in a new, more offbeat direction. The same presence from the previous season continued, with the sisters battling the Source of All Evil for their very lives whilst having to deal with a new family members and burgeoning loves. Rose McGowan was refreshing and her being on the show caused the dynamic to change before it got too stale.

Charmed officially jumped the shark in season 5. The season long plot was eschewed in favor of episodic plots again, though they weren’t on the same level as the early seasons. The show also started to steer away from the traditional Wiccan feel. I feel the word ‘stereotype’ is inadequate here but I’m not sure of what else to use - leprechauns, genies, wood nymphs, mermaids; you name it, it was made into an episode. In essence, it became sillier and a parody of what the show had initially wanted to be.

The last three seasons were relatively mediocre. Though there are some good episodes here and there, it did not live up to the pinnacle of seasons 3 and 4. Overarching stories were back, but they didn’t mesh well with the lighter approach the show was going for. Character decay set in and ratings soon started to drop. Upon the renewal of the show for an eighth season, the lead actresses made it clear that this would be their last and did not want to continue further as the Power of Three. It was a decision that I imagine was hard, but fair. Charmed was no longer magical and in an age of rising reality TV (The Hills) and fascination with the obscenely rich (The O.C.), no spell in the Book could help.

Here are a list of episodes I recommend watching for various reasons:

The Witch Is Back - Melinda Warren, the witch who started it all, makes her first and last appearance on the show

Which Prue Is It Anyways? - watch for a different take on the Power of Three

Chick Flick - hilariously funny

Coyote Piper - a filler episode done right

Bride & Gloom - watch what happens when good girls go bad

Sin City - another filler done right

All Hell Breaks Loose - arguably, the best episode of the series & Shannen’s best performance

Hell Hath No Fury - Holly’s best performance

Charmed & Dangerous - the second best episode

Long Live The Queen - Alyssa’s best performance

Sympathy For The Demon - Rose’s best performance

The Power of Three Blondes - a very funny filler

Forever Charmed - the series finale

BULLSEYES & IMPROVEMENTS

What it got right:

The sense that no matter what you did or who you wanted to be, your family would always have your back

Darryl and his passive-aggressive snark at being dragged into the magical world time and again

The original spin on Wiccan principles & mythology in the first four seasons

The Book of Shadows & its artwork

Penny Halliwell - the grandma you always wanted

The awkward but fast connection Paige made with her sisters

Prue & Jack - proof that opposites attract

Cole’s arc during seasons 3 & 4

What it got wrong:

Wyatt - overpowered and seemingly out of nowhere, he was a bit unnecessary. Apparently, the writers made him this way to justify a baby being in the house with demons about to the network, but there are much better ways to get around this without giving him every single power

Future Chris - whiny, snotty and way too controlling. Also, Drew Perry is a very poor actor compared to the rest of the cast

Phoebe’s love life - apart from Cole, take any two of Phoebe’s love interests and tell me how they differ, I dare you

I’ve already mentioned the general silliness, but Seasons 5 & 6 takes the cake in this

Zankou - what could have been the smartest villain on the show was wasted due to too many storylines running about in season 7

Leo’s arc in season 7 - he doesn’t do brooding as well as Cole and it doesn’t make sense for his character

Darryl eventually turning against the sisters - it made no sense and it undid so many years of trust and friendship

Magic School - had this come in earlier seasons or just for an episode or two, it would have been a fun setting. The fact that it was a very focal point post season 6 made it seem like a Hogwarts knockoff

Piper & Leo post season 4 - a very strong & loving relationship was marred by unnecessary trials. Really, he was made into an Elder in season 5 and had to leave home, but in season 6, he basically stuck around anyways, so what was the point? Just leave them together FFS!

CULTURAL IMPACT

Like many shows on the WB in the 90s, Charmed was very popular with the younger demographic even though its characters were about five years older than they were. Many resonated with the messages of family and female empowerment to the point of making a show a cult classic, even though it wasn’t as critically acclaimed as Buffy or Angel. Up until

Unfortunately, the environment on set was not ideal. Rumors of feuds between Shannen and Alyssa were plenty abound, causing the gossip machine to speculate that the latter’s rise in popularity was the result of the former leaving. Recently, Brad Kern was also exposed for being responsible for a very toxic & misogynistic work atmosphere. It’s a cruel irony, given the feminist tones the show cultivated.

Up until Desperate Housewives, Charmed had the honor of being the longest running TV show with all female leads. It was a truly imaginative show that made its own identity known. I haven’t watched the remake nor do I plan to - I have nothing against the new show and I’m sure it has it’s own highlights, but there’s only one Power of Three for me...

[... and that’s why we’ve truly been Charmed]

WHERE TO WATCH IT

Charmed is available for streaming on Netflix

#charmed #prue halliwell #piper halliwell #phoebe and cole #paige matthews #literary analysis

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ceescedasticity · 6 years ago

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All right now I am going to talk about the playlist I made for 0k

BECAUSE I WANT TO THAT’S WHY

Family Ties-Parting Comrades — SubVision and Guy Gross — Farscape the Original Soundtrack: This is the approaching-the-conscription-platform song. Fear and trepidation but not overwhelmingly so; hoping for the best but preparing for the worst.

R.I.P. Everyone — JJ Demon — Funeral Disco: …Well not EVERYONE.

Even in Death — Homestuck — Homestuck Vol. 7: At the Price of Oblivion: In-comic this was a dream bubble tour; represents ghosts, basically.

Prince of Darkness — Indigo Girls — Indigo Girls: The Fleet. "Someone's on the telephone, desperate in his pain / Someone's on the bathroom floor, doin' her cocaine / Someone's got his finger on the button in some room / No one can convince me / We aren't gluttons for our doom"

Terezi's Theme — Homestuck — AlterniaBound: …Yeah this is just Terezi.

This Year — The Mountain Goats — The Sunset Tree: "I am gonna make it through this year if it kills me"

Gold Pilot — Homestuck — coloUrs and mayhem: Universe A: Sollux in particular and helmsmen in general.

Merchant of Death — Ramin Djawadi — Iron Man (Original Motion Picture Soundtrack): The Fleet.

World So Cold — 12 Stones — Anthem for the Underdog: The Fleet. "It starts with pain / Followed by hate / Fueled by the endless questions / No one can answer"

Demons — Imagine Dragons — Night Visions: The Fleet. "When your dreams all fail / and the ones we hail / are the worst of all / and the blood's run stale"

Violence and Variations — Bear McCreary — Battlestar Galactica Season 3: More Fleet.

What a Scene — The Goo Goo Dolls — Gutterflower: SURVIVING the Fleet. "How does it feel when you're out on your own / And now it's too late to come home / And it's hard to be free when you're down on your knees / Take it easy till you make it alone"

Teal Hunter — Homestuck — coloUrs and mayhem: Universe A: …You know what let's call this 'taking down Overbear'.

You're Gonna Go Far, Kid — The Offspring — Rise and Fall, Rage and Grace: Surviving the Fleet. "With a thousand lies / And a good disguise / Hit 'em right between the eyes". …This also describes taking down Overbear actually. He never knew what hit him.

Pieces — Red — End of Silence: It's easier with friends. "I come to you in pieces / So you can make me whole"

Flawed Design — Stabilo: This isn't so much our main characters, but a hell of a lot of other people surviving troll adulthood. "And I will turn off / And I will shut down / Burying the voices of my conscience hitting ground" AND also "Cause I lie / Not because I want to / But I seem to need to all the time"… among other segments.

Purple Bard — Homestuck — coloUrs and mayhem: Universe A: Not so much Gamzee in particular as the Terrifying Ghost Army in general as it progresses… but also Gamzee.

Fight Inside — Red — Innocence & Instinct: In case anyone has forgotten how awful the Fleet is. "What I fear and what I've tried / Words I say and what I hide"

Blindness — Metric — Fantasies: "Tell the survivors help is on the way" and also "What it is and where it stops nobody knows / you gave me a life I never chose"

Battle of Naraj — Brian Tyler — Children of Dune: Troll civilization sure is creepy and sad.

Indigo Heir — Homestuck — coloUrs and mayhem: Universe A: Mostly not Equius in particular…

Through It All — Spoken — Illusion: "And through it all / We've been thrown into the fire / We've been lost in the flame / But we will rise from the ashes again / All our heart's have been broken / We've been burned by the flame / But we will rise from the ashes again"

Teal Seer — Homestuck — coloUrs and mayhem: Universe A: They're really starting to get a handle on this whole thing.

Sail — AWOLNATION — Megalithin Symphony: You know I don't have any lyrics to cite for this one it's just the sound.

Even in Death (T'Morra's Belly Mix) — Homestuck — Homestuck Vol. 8: Ghosts. TERRIFYING. GHOST. ARMY.

Still Worth Fighting For — uhhh, there are several versions of this, any of them's probably fine: "Now that we know just who we are / Now that we've finally come this far / I'm ready for one more battle scar / ‘Cause this is still worth fighting for"

Virgin Orb — Toby "Radiation" Fox — Alternia: The Matriorb.

Get the Party Started — Shirley Bassey, specifically this version — Get the Party Started: This could be a necropath anthem

Parachute — Ingrid Michaelson — Parachute: "if I've got you, I don't need a parachute" …and also "I don't tell anyone about the things that we have planned"

From the Inside — Hollow Point Heroes — Hollow Point Heroes: "Times change, people change more / Know your self and we will win this war" and also "We're gunna change your mind / Look inside yourself / And find hate, find fear / Your life is over here"

Radioactive — Imagine Dragons — Night Visions: "Welcome to the new age, to the new age" Nothing's going to be the same again.

Alternia — Homestuck — AlterniaBound: Hope for the future.

#necropath au

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bubblemagician · 6 years ago

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When the days are cold And the cards all fold And the saints we see Are all made of gold

He slept fitfully in the makeshift shelter, comprised of car parts and sheet metal lying around. Roy let Miles sleep in the car, to talk to his new friends on the radio. He knew the loneliness was hitting the boy a lot harder than him or Marie. So Roy elected to stay out in the scrap yard whilst Marie kept watch tonight.

He could sense it. All day the aroma of forbidden fruit, somewhere out in the vast wasteland.

They were bring watched.

He hated to have Marie out there. It should be him standing vigil. She was just a kid. A kid. Sixteen, bright, beautiful and a treasure who should be in school cooking what she loved, spoiling everyone with her baking skills and probably kicking icy ass at hockey.

But that was a life no one could afford anymore.

Roy needed a few hours of rest of he was going to be driving, and Marie, who usually slept while he drove anyway, was tasked with keeping watch.

Hopefully… Hopefully no one would approach.

When your dreams all fail And the ones we hail Are the worst of all And the blood’s run stale

He stood up, his gold hair raised on the back of his neck. He couldn’t sleep and something… Something was NOT right.

“Marie?” He called softly out the shelter, looking for his sister.

Only silence answered.

He stepped outside the small metal enclosure and was immediately assaulted by the fresh scent of sustenance. Covering his face, trying to swallow down the panic, he looked for the familiar head of pastel colored hair.

“Marie! Marie!” He called urgently into the dark silence. His harried voice echoed over the rusted metal, trashed cars, abandoned furnishings and appliances that made up the piles of junk in this heap.

The thick smogulous clouds made it impossible to see out past a few feet. His blue eyes found the station wagon and peeked inside.

Miles was comfortably asleep, crown askew on his head and snuggled up in blankets. Roy would have smiled at the sight of “the ladies’ man” looking like the innocent child he actually was as he slept, had it not been for the fact that Marie was not in the car with him.

And his fear was suddenly magnified by the sound of screams in the distance.

“No….” Roy bolted through the mountains of scrap metal towards the unholy sounds of terror and agony.

No…no, this wasn’t how it was supposed to happen, this wasn’t the way to do it…no… no, God no, Marie…

I want to hide the truth I want to shelter you But with the beast inside There’s nowhere we can hide

Out the scrapyard, into the wasteland, he was panting from running so fast but the adrenaline kept him going. Marie had to be out here somewhere-

And another ear shattering shriek followed by a dull thud vibrates in his ears as he came upon the blood bath.

Bodies, 2, 3, of them sprawled on the ground in sickening angles. White masks half off their faces, weapons still in their dead grips, skin ashen and completely void of any visible color. Necks slashed, bitten open. Blood flowing profusely out of the deep gashes.

They were dead. Dead before properly being purged of Sin, no longer appetizing as their life force vanished. Dead and departed in the most gruesome, animalistic way.

There was only one other creature capable of this.

Hearing another howl of pain, Roy looked back towards the sound.

And standing there, inhuman, feral bloodlust glinting a gluttonous pink in her normally blue eyes, face and clothes splattered red, fangs dripping with the Crimson Sin of humankind.

His little sister Marie.

No matter what we breed We still are made of greed This is my kingdom come This is my kingdom come

“Marie…” He tried to murmur gently, trying not to shake as Gluttony gazed back at him with no recognition. “Marie… Put him down…”

“More.” Was her response. Glaring at her brother, she turned her gaze back to the victim who whimpered in helplessness.

“Marie!” His voice was firmer. “Marie, put him down.” He repeated. Now.“

She snarled, ignoring her elder and snapping her jaws wide, fangs poised to rip into the white masked minion’s throat.

In a moment Roy Moved, grabbing his sister’s arm with strength he didn’t have a minute ago. Marie screeched as she was forced away from her prey.

The White Mask dropped to the ground and fled, FLED. But Roy had no interest in pursuing the prey. Right now, he needed to calm his sister.

"More! More blood!” Marie screamed, her hands clawed at Roy, trying to shove him away as he put his weight into stopping her. “MORE!”

“MARIE!” A deep, lion’s growl emanated from his throat, his usually azure eyes now rimmed with a glowing, unnatural Prussian blue. Pride piercing through his gaze at his sister, in full, steady control of the part of him he was used to keeping suppressed.

When you feel my heat Look into my eyes It’s where my demons hide It’s where my demons hide

“Marie.” He repeated. Slowly, gradually, the pink in the girl’s eyes faded. She blinked, once, twice. In confusion The teen looked at her brother.

“Roy? Roy what happened, where-”

And confusion turned to horror as she saw the foreign blood covering her hands, her clothes, and leaking out the corners of her mouth.

“I killed them…” a mortified whisper left her bloodstained lips “I killed people….” She pushed herself out of her brothers grasp

“I killed them, I’m a monster!”

“Marie,” again in a gentle, soothing tone “No, you’re not a monster…”

“I am” she was shaking, trying to wipe away the blood “I am, I am, I’m no better than the Zombies- I…”

Roy took her shoulders. “Marie look at me. Look at me”

Trembling, she forced herself to look into her brothers eyes.

“Yes. We are monsters. We are death. We are the bane of Mankind’s Sins. Or at least we’re supposed to be.” Roy swallowed, but kept a firm hold on his sister. “You're performing your duty. The way I have. The way Dad used to. And…” He looked out to where the escaped white mask had gone “We need to complete it”

Marie trembled and followed her brothers gaze towards the man. Sharp, predatory senses resurfaced as she could see the outline of his retreating body, hear the fearful heartbeat of the white mask, smell the scent of his sinful blood.

Like fresh Strawberry Crepes.

“Let me show you how…” Roy let go of her, his own eyes glowing again as the beast emerged behind his round baby face.

“With Mercy, Kindness, and compassion.”

In a burst of enhanced speed, the blond, seasoned predator was cruising through the waste of desert and within minutes he was holding the White Mask in his unearthly strong grip.

He looked into the man’s terrified eyes

“What’s your name?” Roy asked quietly.

The man shook his head, pure terror in his eyes

“Please.” The gentle, sincere tone was imploring the man to answer.

“M-Mark Banks” He whimpered again.

“Mark Banks” Roy nodded, taking his hand “I’m sorry… I hope you find peace…”

Leaning down, the blond’s fangs carefully pricked the man’s flesh. He shrieked, but quieted as Roy soothingly stroked his hair. The man weakened, first falling to his knees, then lying flat on his back, sprawled out as he was drained of blood.

“You are released of your Sins…” Roy murmured as Crimson liquid dripped out the wound “Your Pride vanquished, your vanity deterred”

The teen’s mouth pressed to the bite and started to draw out the blood. Seconds past, minutes, the man weakening with every tug of skin and subsequent loss of sanguine. Finally his eyes closed.

Marie crouched down, watched in silence as the man expired at the hands of her brother.

Don’t get too close It’s dark inside It’s where my demons hide It’s where my demons hide

“You are purified…Mark Banks… Your afterlife is absolved of Sin.” Roy unlatched and placed a hand on the man’s forehead.

“Morietur in Castitate” he spoke in his native Latin, a small prayer for the departed soul.

He sighed and sat up, giving his victim a moment of silence out of respect before looking back at Marie.

“Is this…how you hunt?” The inexperienced predator asked her brother. Roy gave a nod.

“It’s how I try… It will take a while for you to be able to control it the way I do, your instincts only just awakened.”

Marie was trembling again but she nodded.

“There’s two more out here.” Roy stood up, offering his hand to help up his sister. “I want you to try doing it the way I did”

Marie was still shaking as she gripped her brother’s palm “Do we have to?”

Roy Answered with a soft, melancholy smile.

It’s where my demons hide It’s where my demons hide

“It’s what we are”

#Truffula Flu #askroypride #askmariepride #writes #content warning for blood/gore I guess

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binbonsadoration · 7 years ago

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Crossroads Pt. 5

A/N: I, thoroughly, apologize that it has been so long since the last update for Crossroads. I do promise that updates will be a bit more steady with this lovely piece. I do hope you loves enjoy, and again - I apologize for the lack of activity with this baby.

Warnings: language, mentions of abuse

Ryan sat among the other patrons, returning to his spot within the bar with nothing more than the memory of your figure slipping away into the darkness. The thought bothered him, though knew that you needed space. Needed some time to yourself, and while it killed him not to follow you, he honored that part of you.

Fingers danced along the glass in his grasp, ignoring any that approached with a look that spoke of the sadness that dwelled within the man. A man that held all the knowledge of the world. Seasoned, traveled man that took the time to appreciate all the cultures that he had the privilege to experience, and yet, all it took was one simple line to make him find his way away from the one person that meant the most to him.

Taking a healthy swig from glass, he licked at dry lips before he was swallowing the contents with a soft wince. It didn’t matter how long he had found himself indulging in the potent liquid, there was no preparing him for the burn that would ultimately course down his throat and settle in his stomach. All the musician wanted to do was drown in his sorrows, fighting off the urge once more to find you when he felt a hesitant hand against his shoulder.

Turning he was surprised at the face that stood behind him, a face that would usually hold a string of harsh features only to display that of fear, concern, and something lingering on sadness.

‘Are you alright?’

His words were soft, and the immediately shake of her head signaled that it was something that seemed to hold a hope that he would be able to help with the situation.

‘It’s Y/N.’

It didn’t take another word that had him finding his feet, throwing the bills from his pocket to cover the single drink that had only been enjoyed from the time that you had disappeared from sight, and the appearance of a friend that would something of a savior in the man.

‘She … you were supposed to be the one to save her.’

For the first time in his entire life, Ryan found a boiling anger begin to show its face. His steps halting, abruptly stopping and turning toward the friend. He wanted to speak his mind, to allow himself to give into the flutter of anger that found itself at home only to find himself rolling over her words once more instead. Dark eyes were narrowing in question, that lingering curiosity in his dark hues before he swallowed thickly.

‘Save her? From what?’

Steps began once more, a faster stride toward their destination as the situation had been laid out for him. The more she spoke, the faster his stride became until finally they reached a place where Ryan knew would no doubt hold trouble and chaos from nothing more than the outside.

A loud blast of music met his eardrums the moment they found themselves into the rowdy foundation, shouts and the slamming of pool balls. Though his attention was on the boisterous guy that seemed to have a fascination with you. A guy that he was sure was the ex in the conversation that happened in his faster pace that led them straight toward the door of the rowdy establishment.

Realizing that he was right in his assumption the moment he went to make a move closer, and found himself alone without the combination of matching steps. Glancing over his shoulder he noted the way your roommate fell back, lingering against the wall and fighting off the way that she wanted to run for the door for knew that she would stick by you no matter the feat.

‘Y/N..’

Your name still felt all too comfortable against the tip of his tongue, his eyes intent on watching you and nothing else. Being sure to still keep an eye on his surroundings, there was a hope that it wouldn’t come to anything that it didn’t have to as your glossed over eyes turned to his; lips falling parted.

It was the grip that immediately fell against your upper arm, yanking you out of sight and a man that saw himself as invincible sneered in his face and Ryan straightened a bit more in his stance.

Ryan wasn’t a big man by any stretch of the imagination, but what he lacked in mass, he made up for in height.

‘Y/N is quite fine where she is .. what the hell do you want, little man?’

A deeper breath was drawn into his lungs, watching over the man’s shoulder as he spotted you once more in a drunken state that had his want to push the man aside and assist you out.

‘I don’t want any trouble. Just here for Y/N.’

His voice was deeper, confident in the ways that it used to lack in certain moments, only to find his attention jarred toward the man that lacked in his own height with a humorless laugh that smelled of liquor and stale cigarettes. A smell that had Ryan wanting to step back at least a bit, though stood his ground as the man proceeded to get in his face just a bit more than before.

‘She’s not going anywhere, asshole. I suggest you turn around and walk out before I have to mess up your pretty face.’

Ryan knew these types, those that felt the need to appease to a macho side, and wanting to prove that he deserved to be considered in the race of being a man. It had Ryan standing straighter once more, dark eyes bearing into the other man’s.

‘I don’t want any trouble. Y/N … come on, lets get you home.’

And, just like that it happened. He felt the fist slamming into his face, only to find his own balance to throw his own weight into it before the chaos ensued.

A hiss of a breath surged from your lips at the rays of sunlight that danced into your room. You felt uneasy, that spiraling feeling that came with a morning that edged along a hangover. Your head felt dizzy, and immediately you were cursing yourself the moment that you attempted to pull from the bed. The comforters were a bunched up mess, your legs unsteady as you caught yourself on the wall and a hand immediately rose to support your throbbing head.

A sigh escaped your lips, your steps leading you toward the kitchen to where your salvation laid; water, aspirin, and hopefully a plate of eggs, and bacon if the smell that lingered down the hall told you anything.

‘Well, well – good afternoon, sleeping beauty.’

The greeting came with a sliding plate, a soft clinking of a fork against the plate, a tall glass of water, and a bottle of aspirin. What you hadn’t noticed was the form that was curled into the couch within the living area. A soft groan caught your attention, your eyes suddenly growing wide as you turned all too quickly and halting just as quickly.

‘....ow.’

The confession came with a soft breath, the plush flesh of your lips parting at the sight that lingered against the couch.

‘What is ...’

Before you could finish your thought, your roommate was cutting you off. Even with her back still turned she knew what you were referring to.

‘Well, he’s here because ...’

Flipping some pancakes over, she halted for a silence beat, turning to meet your eyes as she allowed a few to gather into the plate along with the fluffy eggs and flimsy bacon that decorated your brightly colored plate.

‘He was the one that saved your ass last night.’

Lips fell parted once more, the question of what the previous night entailed as you racked your brain. Nothing seemed to come to you at first, then it hit you. The lyrics that you sang into the mic, the soulful eyes that caught your attention from the stage. The way that you moved so quickly from the stage that you were sure you would trip over your own feet before you were greeted by the night air and the salty tears that streaked your cheeks.

Closing your eyes, lips pressed in a form of defeat before the questions came.

‘What in the hell were you thinking, Y/N?! Going back to Sebastian? Really?!’

You could hear the anger in your friend’s voice, realizing that she was right, but also wanted to heal a broken heart with booze and bad decisions.

‘I know.’

It was all that you could allow to escape your lips, not wanting to argue with the way your head was pounding. The pain radiating from behind your eyes, and all you wanted was to feel somewhat normal again.

‘But … why him? Why the one that tore you apart? The one that you had to take months to put yourself back together again.’

A soft breath escaped your lips, your head bowing in that moment while you opted for a deeper pull of breath.

‘Because .. nothing will ever compare to the time that I had to take to put myself back together after ..’

Your voice faltered, a gaze slipping over your shoulder to the sleeping form nestled into your couch.

The time that it took to put yourself back together when it came to Ryan was an ongoing process. Something that you didn’t want to admit, considering the amount of years it had been since your teenage self was whispering your goodbyes with a bold sadness. Sure that it would be something that would last a lifetime.

Gathering up your fork you took a bite before it came to you.

It had been your roommate to break up the fight, gaining some confidence to step in between the two before she was reaching for you.

‘She’s fucking leaving, or I will have so much shit put on you if you don’t step aside.’

Your ex wasn’t the best person, living with a criminal record as long as your arm, and yet you opted to be with him all because you didn’t want to be alone. That was before it all became too much, and he was taking his pain, irritation, and frustration out on you. That was when you had had enough.

It was the soft grasp against your arm that had you wanting to burst out into tears, and shout at the top of your lungs all at the same time. Though, you waited. Escaping the place, it was your erratic steps that had the other two falling back. A man that obviously loved you falling back in hopes of not getting the blood on the two of you that trickled down his face from the multiple collisions that he had with fists, and the way it hurt when he took a breath.

‘Why are you even here?!’

You finally slurred, ignoring the way that it was just you walking ahead.

‘I didn’t need you … ta save me! I was perfect... ly fine! At least … at least … he wouldn’t just … leave me!’

Your head fell for a moment at the low blow that you had delivered. A move that you allowed him to make, and yet, there you were throwing it back in his face without any regret.

Your ex was a monster, and there you were making a scene of telling the one person that you loved more than all those that this monster was better than him.

With a breath, you had abandoned your plate of food to step closer toward the couch.

You wanted so badly to check on him. To apologize. To make sure that he was okay, and to thank him for putting himself in danger all to make sure that you were okay.

But, you couldn’t.

You couldn’t find the strength to take those steps. There you were staring down the last five feet to find yourself turning on your heel and heading down the hall toward the bathroom.

tags: @benbarnesescape @giggleberts @cassandragardner @banditthewriter

#ben barnes #Ryan Brenner #ryan x reader #jackie and ryan #crossroads

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fanfic-from-a-67-impala · 7 years ago

Text

Foreplay

Catch up on my Boston series here.

Characters: Sam x Reader, brief Dean x Reader, Bobby

Word Count: 1876

Summary: You work the case with the boys and find it hits far too close to home. Now, you have to decide how close is too close. Again, set in early season three.

Warnings: angst, a stolen line from 6.02

A/N: Look, I'm not a huge fan of the whole Sam/Dean/Reader love triangle concept in fics, so if you aren't either, you might still like this one. Part four of Boston.

Boston – Foreplay / Long Time (YouTube) (Spotify)

After catching a few hours of sleep at Bobby’s, you and the boys pull up outside the latest victim's house in the town of Douglas, Wyoming.

“Were you…” Dean narrows his eyes at you as you step out of your car. “Were you racing me?”

“Of course not,” you shake your head, walking to meet them at the porch. “I was beating you.”

Sam leans over to kiss your cheek. “Hey.”

“Hey, yourself,” you hum, hoping the blush on your cheeks can be attributed to the mid-morning sun.

“Ugh,” Dean groans. “If I knew you two would be all clingy and gross the entire case, I would’ve driven in the other direction.”

You share a stifled chuckle with Sam as you take a step away and toward the pale green standalone house, smaller than the other houses on the block. “Speaking of which, what are we looking at here?”

Sam opens the screen door, but the wooden door’s knob only jiggles under his grasp.

“Marianne Hart. A friend reported her missing a few days ago. Apparently, she’d been acting weird all week – not showing up for work, approaching guys in bars – that kind of thing.”

He reaches into the inside pocket of his jacket and turns up a black velvet case, which he unzips to reveal an array of torsion wrenches and lock picks.

“And she’s the fifth person in town to go missing in the past couple weeks,” Dean continues. “Friends and family all say the same thing about the others.”

Sam kneels in front of the door and moves the picks around the keyhole until the lock clicks. Guns raised, the three of you move silently throughout the house. You separate from the boys to inspect the kitchen.

The sunlight streaming through the window reflects off every speck of dust floating through the air. Small potted plants rest on the windowsill, their leaves wilted and brown, as if they haven’t been watered in a while. A pile of mail sits on the counter, but none of them postmarked after two weeks ago.

You wrinkle your nose against a putrid scent, like stale garbage or rotten eggs. You peek inside the trash bin for the source only to find a few scraps of paper and an empty juice carton.

“The rest of the house is clean,” Dean says as both boys retreat to the kitchen. “Anything in here?”

“No, but…” you take another whiff of the air, “do you smell that?”

Sam crouches in the corner, where he pinches at a pile of yellow powder and inspects it. “Sulfur,” he says. “Demons.”

Demons. The words makes your skin crawl and sends a shiver down your spine.

Dean peers over his brother’s shoulder at the substance. “Oh, yeah,” he shrugs.

“Wh– uh, s-sorry, demons?” you repeat. “Well, should we call for help or something?”

Sam rises to his feet, dusting off his hands. “No, the way the cases are spaced out… I think we’re just dealing with one.”

He speaks with a confidence you wish you had, like he almost expected it. Like he’s dealt with this before.

You step backward, wary eyes still on the yellow dust. “I don’t know, guys. Maybe I should…”

Dean eyes you as you back into the counter behind you. “You ever come across a demon before?”

You swallow. “Once.”

“And?”

“It didn’t end well. Look, it’s been a good run,” you admit, “but this is out of my league. Trust me, you don’t want me on the team for this one.”

They glance at each other, holding the contact until they share a resigned shrug.

“You know what they say – second time’s the charm,” Dean says.

“Dude, that’s not–” Sam shakes his head. “What he means is, we think you can do it, and we want to help you. This is kind of a milk run for us, so there’s really no better way to learn.”

“Besides, demons are one for your resumé,” Dean adds.

You’ve been avoiding anything having to do with demons since your last encounter with one, but they seem to be unavoidable now. You heard from somewhere that someone released hundreds of them from Hell, but you never wanted to think about it.

Maybe, you think, it’s time you learned to hunt something other than ghosts.

Early the next evening, the three of you make the drive back to Bobby’s, reeling after a successful hunt.

“Next time, give us a challenge, Bobby,” Dean says, slapping him on the back.

“You guys mind if I hit the shower first?” you ask.

The boys give you a mumble of agreement, and you head across the library and up the stairs. With a jolt, you remember your bag, still resting in the passenger seat of your car, and turn back to retrieve it.

“...talk about something,” Sam’s grave voice travels through the room.

At the seriousness of his tone, you almost turn around to go out the back way before his next words stop you.

“It’s about (Y/N).”

A chair scrapes across the floor, and you take the opportunity to sneak closer to the library where they speak.

“I was thinking, maybe we could ask her to hunt with us. Now, before you say–”

“Yes.” Dean’s voice cuts him short.

Only the hissing of a beer bottle opening permeates the shocked silence hanging in the air before Sam speaks. “Just like that?”

“Just like that,” Dean replies over the clinking of the bottle cap hitting a wooden surface. “Why not?”

“Maybe because adding people to the team never works out. And she’s got no experience with demons–”

“Not to mention her questionable taste in men,” Dean remarks. “You trying to talk me into this or out?”

“In,” Sam answers, eagerly. “I’m just… surprised.”

Dean sighs. “Well, don’t be, all right? She’s got good instincts.”

“Bobby?”

“Girl’s got my vote,” his gruff voice sounds for the first time.

“Well, great,” Sam says, surprise still wavering his voice, but you hear the smile in his tone.

Your stomach turns over with dread. The ringing of a cell phone echoes against the silence.

“That’s me,” Sam alerts them, and the ringing stops. “Hello?”

His voice grows softer as footsteps depart from the room until you only hear indecipherable hums, then shifting in a seat.

“I know what you’re up to,” Bobby’s voice becomes darker as he says the words.

“What?” Dean says, defensively.

“Dean ‘Trust Issues’ Winchester agreeing to let Stevie Nicks join the band, no argument? You don’t think I see what you’re doing here?”

A glass bottle slides off a desk and Dean gulps. “Let it go, Bobby.”

The three of them sit in the library where you left them when you climb down the stairs again. You dodge Sam’s request to “talk to you for a minute” with the excuse of running into town for something, promising Dean you’ll bring back pie.

You ponder over how you’ll tell him you can’t hunt with them. After sitting in the gas-‘n-sip’s parking lot into the next morning, playing through your collection of tapes but not really listening to the music, you pull into Bobby’s driveway again.

Stars sprinkle the sky, but you expect the sun to rise in a few short hours. You wrap your arms around your chest, grateful for the warmth of the darkened house even though your stomach still feels sick.

The kitchen light clicks on as you pass by, and you feel vaguely like a teenager sneaking into the house late at night to find her parents awake and waiting for her.

Only Dean sits at the kitchen table, though, eyes wide.

“You’re up late,” you comment.

“Pie?” he says, simply.

You slide the quarter-circular container to him, which he opens wordlessly and stabs with the plastic fork.

“Everyone else asleep?” you ask.

He barely glances up from the pie as he nods. “Sammy was waiting up for you, though.”

“Yeah?” you say, as if the thought doesn’t send a wave of panic through you.

Almost halfway through the slice, he slows his bites, dropping his tone. “He wants to ask you to hunt with us.”

You consider, for a moment, playing surprised, but find you don’t have the energy, so you stay silent.

“That’s a good sign,” he says.

You sigh. “It’s been good, Dean, but I don’t make it a habit of working with people.”

“You mean, you’ve never worked with anyone?”

“Once,” you shrug. “It was an exception. It was family.”

“And?” His deep green eyes bore into you, but something about them, about him, eases your mind.

“It was a demon, before we knew they existed,” you admit. “I’ll spare you the gory details.”

“Your brother?” he asks.

You nod, and your voice drops near to a whisper as you direct all your energy into keeping a straight face.

“Six years younger than me. Six times as smart, too.”

On his face, you don’t see the empty sympathy you feared you would, or the discomforting dread of having to tiptoe around you. His brows crease in deep thought, and understanding, you think.

“I’m sorry,” he says.

“Thanks,” you nod again.

You let silence fill the air again, and so does he.

“Dean, I don’t think I need to tell you, this life… it’s a hard life to live, and it doesn’t give back what you give,” you say. “I’m not looking to lose anybody, you know?”

“I know,” he whispers. “God, I know.”

You don’t speak as you lock your eyes on him, prompting him to continue.

He clears his throat. “A few months ago, Sam was killed.”

You think you may have heard him wrong, or he may have misspoken, but he maintains a somber expression.

“So, I made a demon deal,” he mutters.

Nervousness tinges his gaze as his eyes flicker to you, with only a trace of a bleak smile because, you imagine, he knows what’s coming.

“How long do you have?”

“Six months.”

You nod, thinking back to the tail end of his conversation with Bobby, about ulterior motives for letting you join their hunting team.

“And you thought if you set him up with someone, it’d help him cope,” you guess.

His guilty eyes travels to you again. “I know it’s a lot to ask, but he’s my brother.”

“I know,” you say. “Believe me, I do.”

Only when his face relaxes and his eyes widen do you realize how close the two of you have shifted to each other. Your arms, leaning on the table, almost brush, and you swear you can feel a wisp of his breath on your cheek.

Still, you linger, allowing yourself to peer into his eyes a moment longer before pulling away.

You clear your throat, rising from your seat. “I should, um…”

“Yeah, yeah,” he shakes his head, as if to clear it. “Uh, Sammy’s upstairs.”

“Okay,” you nod. “I’ll see you in the morning.”

“Yeah. And – hey – uh, thanks.”

You turn back from your path to the stairwell. “Don’t thank me yet.”

His eyes dart to the half-empty container on the table, and back to you. “For the pie.”

“Oh! Um, y-yeah – no problem,” you stutter. “Good night, Dean.”

“’Night, (Y/N).”

Read more in the Boston series masterlist!

You can find my main masterlist here.

Boston tags: @hardworkingmidgetartist @kissofthebadwolf

#Supernatural #Supernatural x reader #Spn x reader #Spn #Sam Winchester #Dean Winchester #Sam x reader #Sam Winchester x reader #Dean x reader #Dean Winchester x reader #Bobby Singer #Boston #series #writing is hard #fluff #angst

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theresnosafeharbor4myships · 7 years ago

Text

December 10, Christmas Caryl

Daryl has a surprise gift for Carol (also on 9L)

Made For You

It’d been Maggie’s idea to sit around the tree she’d begged him to drag in and sing Christmas carols. Glenn had produced a surprise box of hot chocolate mix, and Carol and Beth were serving the sweet concoction in the sundry mugs they’d collected over the past several months while the other sat huddled in blankets and jackets, warding off the assumedly-December chill.

He’d never admit it to any of them, but this had to be one of the best moments of his life.

Christmas had always been an excuse for Daddy Dixon to drink extra hard, which had left him and Merle to hide out, far away from the reach of their father’s arm. Christmas had never been a celebration for him, never been happy or fun or something to look forward to, not like the kids in school or the girls Merle brought around. He’d always felt glad when it was over so he could at least sleep with a roof over his head, as scary as it was sometimes.

The people he’d known, the ones who’d enjoyed the Christmas season anyway, were some of the greediest he’d ever met. Always wanting more toys or games or sporting equipment or bikes. Even if he’d believed in Santa—which he hadn’t, because Merle had cured him of that fantasy the day he came running home from school with it—he never would have asked for stuff. He’d have asked for his mama back. Or a new dad. Hell, a new family. Someone to wipe away the blood his dad’s fists and belt drew out of him. To help with chores on days he could barely stand because of the broken bones, cramped muscles, or bruised he’d been dealt. Or maybe just someone to hug him on those lonely nights when tears seeped from his eyes under the weight of all the dark secrets his heart held about the truth of his family. His loneliness. His want for something more. His fear he’d never get it. And on some nights his fear for his life.

Of course, he got none of those things—the things that really mattered and would’ve changed his life—while others received toys that would lose their importance in a few weeks.

No, Christmas had never meant anything special to him until now. Until he watched a ragtag group of once-strangers gather in a prison mess hall lit with mismatched candles, sit around an undecorated and withering tree, and sing songs of hope from a world long dead. Smiles on their faces. Love for each other evident on their contented faces. Grateful for the meager meal of squirrel and opossum. Ecstatic over barely-full mugs of hot water and stale chocolate powder.

Here at the end of the world, he’d found his new family, the wish he’d wanted to make but never had for fear of disappointment.

A man he was proud to follow. Two kids and a baby he’d protect with his last breath. Men he could call brothers. Women who were stronger than anyone had ever given them credit for. A father—grandfather to some. And one special woman who made his head swim and his blood boil like lava.

His eyes left the group in front of him and settled on her. She’d given Beth her heavy coat for the night, leaving a threadbare sweater her only protection against the chill of the night. Still, she wore a smile as she handed out the mugs of hot chocolate, eyes twinkling in the faint candlelight as the other sang. She encouraged Beth to sit down as she grabbed the last two mugs.

Unfamiliar with most of the songs, he’d hung back from the others, a part of the festivities but on guard, so he was the last one to receive the cup of warmth.

He stood as she approached, holding out his cup. “Here,” he mumbled, taking his poncho off and slinging it around her shoulders.

“Oh!” he heard her gasp lightly in surprise.

“Too damn cold to be without a jacket,” he reprimanded gently, not wanting to draw everyone’s attention to them.

She turned to face him. “Thank you.”

He took the proffered cup and stared at her, longing to make a move, to pull her close and make sure she stayed warm enough. And let her continue thawing out his heart. She’d chipped away at the frost for months now, with her feathery touches and honest smiles, the flirtations that made him want things with her he’d never wanted with anyone, the trust she placed in him, the value she saw in him. The way she could make him smile and laugh. The way he caught her staring at him sometimes. The boil she set his blood to and the racing of his heart.

The look she was giving him now wasn’t helping any, a sexy mix of gratitude and compassion and—if he didn’t know any better—desire.

She scared the shit out of him.

Lifting the cup and nodding his thanks, he sat back down and watched as she pulled the poncho tighter around herself, snuggling into the fabric warm with his body heat.

She walked behind him, and he only barely refrained from following her with his eyes.

“Thanks for keeping me warm.”

Her unexpected whisper slipped into his ear on a breath, slithered its way to his heart, then lower still, sending his body on high alert, all senses attuned to her.

Her hand rested softly on his shoulder for a brief moment, then trailed across his shoulder blades as she walked away, leaving him frozen in place and wildly aflame.

Did she know what she was doing to him?

She sat between Michonne and Maggie, and they huddled close, even as the caroling continued. She joined in, and he watched her. Laughing with the others. Enthralled by the Christmas cheer. Holding Judy as she was passed around. Whispering with Michonne. And sending him a mixture of heated stares and innocent smiles.

She was driving him mad.

He debated whether to give her the gift he had for her. She’d either love it or hate it. He hoped for the former but with his luck assumed it’d be the latter. Besides, the others weren’t exchanging gifts. Well, except for Glenn and Maggie, but that was to be expected.

But he’d worked damn hard on it. And it was already wrapped and tied up with string. And that’s when he’d lost his nerve. Not while trying to think of a gift she’d like, not while making it, not while coming up empty-handed when searching for wrapping paper only to settle for a brown paper bag and string. No, it was the thought of giving it to her and watching as she unwrapped it and not being entirely sure of the outcome. It had plagued him for days.

The singing suddenly stopped, and Daryl looked up to find everyone still basking in the final notes echoing through the tombs.

“That was beautiful,” Hershel praised, a contented, peaceful expression on his face.

“It was,” Rick agreed, then patted Carl on the back. “’S time for bed now.”

Daryl watched Carol gather the cups and take them to the wash tub as the group dispersed for the night. No one offered to help her. No one thanked her, either.

He knew they appreciated her. And everyone pitched in with the sundry tasks of everyday life. Still…it irked him.

He ambled her way, grabbing for the wash tub just as she went to lift it. “I got it.”

Surprise filled her face. “It’s no problem. I can do it.”

“I know you can. Just let me. I’ll take it outside and the kids can wash ‘em tomorrow. Too cold for you to be out there tonight.”

Her face softened, and before he knew it, her hands settled on his arm, granting her leverage as she stood on tiptoe and kissed him on the cheek. With a small smile on her pixie face, she turned and walked into the cell block, leaving him alone.

He sighed, heaved the full wash bin up, and took it outside. After depositing it in their make-shift kitchen, he huffed his way to the watch tower, zipping his jacket all the way up to ward off the cold.

He whistled up to Sasha, and a few seconds later she appeared over the edge of the railing. “You warm enough up there?”

“Got the down blankets and a thermos of tea. And these.” She held up her hands to show off a pair of winter gloves. “I’ll be aright until it’s Glenn’s turn for watch.”

He nodded and waved goodnight, then retreated inside, locking the door behind him. Murmuring and movement came from a few of the cells, but when he climbed the stairs, he saw no light from behind Carol’s cell-curtain.

His heart sunk, but he figured fate had made his decision for him. No gift for Carol tonight. And there’s always tomorrow.

He shuffled to his cell and withdrew the blanket covering the entrance, only to be startled by the face staring back at him. “Shit,” he exhaled, his heart hammering wilding in his chest. “What’re you doin’ in here? Somethin’ wrong?” he asked, suddenly worried.

Carol moved aside as he stepped in, peering around the small cell.

“Nothing’s wrong,” she answered quietly.

“You okay? Why don’t you have a light?” Underneath his concern lay the questions he withheld. Why are you here? In my cell? Alone in the dark? What are you trin’ to do to me?

“I have one.” She flicked a flashlight on. “See?” In the light she offered, he lit the small lantern he kept, then turned to her, his face a question mark she was afraid to answer. “I just…thank you.” His brow furrowed in confusion. “For helping me. Taking care of me.” Though still wrapped around her, she lifted the poncho fabric in one hand to illustrate.

He nodded in response, too afraid to speak. She was ethereal, standing there before him in dim lighting, wrapped in his warmth, eyes pools of…want?

He had to be crazy.

His heart beat faster as they held each others’ gaze. For a moment, he thought he had the courage to lean toward her and touch her lips with his, to show her in a new way what she meant to him.

But fear seized him again, and he cleared his throat, breaking the spell.

“I, uh…” He cleared his throat again, forcing his heart back into place. “I got this for ya.”

He moved around her and pulled the crudely wrapped package from the foot of his bed, holding it out to her. He felt her eyes on him, but he stared at the small gift in his hand until she took it from him. Her soft fingers slid over his callused ones and sent sparks through his blood.

It was too late to take it back now, yet that’s exactly what he wanted to do. To erase the possibility of her wrath or discontentment.

He feared the worst.

“Daryl,” she breathed. “I…”

“You gonna open it?” he asked nervously.

He finally met her gaze, and this time there was no mistake. The heat was there.

A greater height to fall from if she didn’t like it.

“Yes.” She untied the string as if it were the finest ribbon, then unrolled the crinkled brown paper to find a wooden figure small enough to fit in the palm of her hand. She turned to the light and held it up to get a good look, gasping in response.

Daryl’s heart froze, and he instantly threw up the walls he kept at the ready. She hated it. Probably wouldn’t speak to him for a month. And rightly so. What’d he been thinking? It was too painful. Why would she want to keep it?

She turned slowly back to him, and he prepared for the verbal onslaught, knowing he deserved it.

“Daryl…” she whispered.

She didn’t sound mad.

“Did you make this?”

She sounded stunned. In awe. Surprised.

He shuffled where he stood. “Yeah…”

She plopped down onto his bed, eyes never leaving the figurine in her reverent palms, even as the poncho slipped askew and fell from one shoulder.

He eased down next to her, hesitant and entirely unsure of her thoughts. “If…you don’t’ like it—”

“No!” She accompanied her protest with a hand to his arm, and even through his jacket, he could feel the heat from her touch. “No. It’s stunning. It’s perfect. So much like her.”

They both stared at the pine-whittled rendering of Sophia, eternally captured in her rainbow t-shirt and pants rolled up to just under her knees, a doll tucked under her left arm. Her cherubic face peered back at them, a knowing but sweet, innocent girl-smile on her face.

“How’d you learn to do this?” Carol wondered in awe.

He couldn’t meet her eyes, instead giving a one-shouldered shrug. “My grandpa taught me a few things when I was a kid. And I spent a lotta hours out in the woods with nuthin’ to do. Got kinda good.”

“Kinda good?” she repeated. “This is…I’ve never seen anything like it. It’s amazing. And you…” Her voice cracked and she paused. “…you made this for me?”

He’d imagined this moment many times with various endings, and she hadn’t cried in a single one of those. But damn if she didn’t look sweetly kissable right now. His poncho hanging half off of her, face lit by soft lantern-light, sitting on his bed, and staring up at him with jeweled starbursts in her eyes.

He swallowed hard. “Just…wanted you to have something…and I thought…” He shrugged, at a loss for words.

The hand that’d stayed on his arm slid up over his bicep and into his frazzled hair.

She was setting him on fire. She’d been dousing him with lighter fluid for months, sparking him with flirtations and sensual glances and companionship and just…being. But now she’d thrown the lit match on the tinder of his heart. And body.

She was touching him. Her fingers easing back and forth against his scalp in a sensual rhythm he was helpless to ignore. His eyes closed, and he inadvertently leaned into her touch.

Before he knew what was happening, he felt her breath whisper across his cheek. “Thank you.”

He let out the breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding as she kissed his cheek.

So close.

She lingered, and something heady rose up in him. “You missed.”

He didn’t know he was going to speak until he heard his words with his own ears.

“I did?”

Her whisper sent shivers through him. He could only hope she was having a similar reaction or he’d never be able to face her again.

Though terrified, he made himself turn to her and was shocked to find her as mesmerized by him as he was by her.

His eyes flicked to her lips, and he inched towards her. “Yeah…you did,” he murmured just before touching her smiling lips with his trembling ones.

He’d kissed a small number of women, but not a one of them set fireworks off in his brain or his heart to beating like a bass drum. Any second now, he knew she’d shove him away and things would never be the same between them again. But for this moment, he let the tender tide of awe and wonder drag him blissfully under her spell.

She was so soft, her lips moving with his in a simple but erotic rhythm. He felt more than heard her moan, causing one to escape from him. She moved her hand to cup his head, and then her body was pressed to his side, her chest against his arm, her hip against his, her other hand flat against his chest.

Far too soon, she was withdrawing from him, but he was much too enamored to move, let alone prepare for the coming reprimand he expected.

“No one’s ever made…that was the best gift I’ve ever gotten.”

He opened his eyes and met her gaze. She wasn’t angry or disgusted or running. She was here. Thanking him.

“Me, too,” he admitted.

Though he hadn’t meant it to be funny, she dropped her head onto his shoulder, chuckling in embarrassment.

A second later, she picked up the whittled figure of Sophia from the bed where she’d laid it and raised her head.

“Thank you. For…caring. This is better than a picture.”

He cupped her face with his hand, his thumb brushing gently over her cheek. “Merry Christmas, Carol.”

With happy tears in her eyes and a loving smile on her face, she responded. “Merry Christmas, Daryl.”

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