#so anyways his name might be up next on the chopping block

[donuts4evry1]

Yamamoto Rankou- Human form and Jellyfish form!

[prince-rowan-of-the-forest]

Arctic Wolf (1/2)

Virgil had never really thought that he would end up in the Hunger Games.

When he does, he never thought he would come out of it alive.

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| Ao3 | Next ->

| Art of Virgil |

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!! Rated Mature for graphic deptictions of violence !!

Warnings: Death, Government mandated murder, Weapons, Virgil is an orphan street rat and 14 (just stating incase that bothers people), Talk about potential starvation, dehydration and animal attacks, General anxiety.

Pairings: none

Word Count: 3511

Notes:

HELLO!!

So excited to be posting the first part of this fic!! I've been working on it for a little while. I absolutely love this au I've made with @sleepy-nova-tea - it's so awesome :3

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Virgil had never really thought that he would end up in the Hunger Games. 

It’s not like he thought he was immune or above anyone or anything, but he was young - only fourteen - and his name was only in the reaping four times. With no family to provide for, he only needed the tesserae offered for himself, he was in a good position not to be picked when he knew there were others who had their names in forty-odd times. 

That’s why he thought it was just a little bit unfair when they called out his name. 

No-one volunteered, of course, he didn’t expect them to - why would they? It was a death sentence. All he got were a few sympathetic looks from the people in the crowd who knew him. 

At least there was no-one here who would really remember him. 

An orphan with no family or friends to speak of - a few people who could afford to give him food every so often knew who he was, but aside from that… Well. He was glad it was him if the alternative was someone who would leave people behind. 

—-

The female tribute from his district was someone he didn’t know, nor was she someone he was interested in knowing. He was going to be dead soon anyway, it didn’t matter if they made friends, in fact, it would only hurt more if they were. 

Their stay in the Capitol went too quickly and too slowly all at once. Living like kings before they would be sent to the slaughter. It was backhanded and cruel in Virgil’s mind, showing him everything he had ever wanted back home - a warm bed, plentiful food, clean clothes - for such a short time before shoving him into whatever cruel arena they had thought up this year. 

Training was difficult, it gave him a chance to see how the other tribute’s skills compared to his (every single one beating him out by a landslide). There was no way he would be winning this game through combat that was for sure. He saw the girl from two throw a spear with accuracy he couldn’t imagine, he saw the boy from four throwing knives. Everyone seemed to be prioritising combat. Virgil knew he would never win that way, which meant he would have to focus on something else. 

So, Virgil spent all his days training working on survival skills. Learning how to build fires, find shelter, catch food and make natural remedies he could make in his time of need. A lot of the other tributes looked at him like he was dead meat, the first up on the chopping block,  he probably was. 

Virgil was weak, malnourished, spider limbed and quiet, he hadn’t touched a single weapon the entire time they were here and he never once talked to another tribute. What he had done was memorise the plants to look out for, looked for hints in the training exercise as to what the arena might entail so he could better prepare and he had made a point to ask the capitol staff running the training for help and tips - it wasn’t something he had seen anyone else doing aside from those looking to spar, he just hoped that maybe it would be helpful. 

He didn’t talk to anyone during lunch, he didn’t talk to anyone during training, and he certainly didn’t talk to anyone any other time. If he was going to win this game, his only chance was alone. Not that he thought he would, but hey, he may as well try. Besides, that was how he had been all his life. 

During his examination, Virgil showcased his knowledge of poisonous plants and insects. Sure, it wasn’t throwing knives or spears or anything showy or impressive, but it was all he got. 

In the end, he would be going in with a score of five, which, looking on the bright side, made him far less of a target for the careers than some of the higher scoring tributes.

—-

“Virgil Helio, from district eight!” Announced Caesar after his little introduction spiel that Virgil hadn’t paid attention too, and suddenly Virgil was being pushed forward onto the stage by a peacekeeper. He almost tripped over the long cloak his stylist had dressed him in as he climbed the stairs and took his seat. The crowd was cheering - so many people were sitting here, watching, they had come to see the tributes and Virgil could already feel himself freezing up as they went quiet. 

“-Seem a little nervous?”

Virgil only caught the tail end of that statement, but he could guess what Caeser was asking, “Uh- yeah, kinda,” he admitted, “Just- give me a second.”

Taking a deep breath in to steady himself, Virgil closed his eyes and let it out slowly, “Okay, I’m ready.”

Virgil answered the questions almost in a daze. He was asked about his time in district eight, how it felt to be the youngest tribute in the arena, his strengths and weaknesses. He answered them all as though from behind a wall - he heard his own voice like it was distant, that was the only way he felt he could keep it together for the whole interview. 

“So, you’re skilled in finding shelter and catching food,” Caesar said as Virgil finished answering the last question, “So what kind of arena are you hoping for?”

“Well - I guess something with forested areas? Trees are great shelter, and there’s more places to hide,” Virgil said, he didn’t want to reveal all of his plans, “I’m not a fighter.”

—-

It was cold. 

As Virgil rose up on that podium wind whipped his face, icy air ripping into his exposed cheeks. The clothes he had been given to wear into the area were thick and thermal and now he could see why. The entire arena was covered in a blanket of snow, not a single patch of grass to be seen as Virgil looked around. 

The countdown thrummed in his ears, the loud voice counting down making his heart race quicker with every number. A glance around the circle of tributes had Virgil realising that this was about to be a bloodbath. The careers looked downright bloodthirsty, half the others looked determined, one or two looked scared like him. One of the careers glanced in his direction and Virgil could already tell he was done for. 

The cornucopia would be a bloodbath, even if there were valuable supplies, there was no need for him to go for them if he was dead. What he did see as the timer ticked down to zero was a backpack and supplies not too far from his podium. If he could grab them and run into the pines behind him he would be set - well, that did depend on what was in the bag, but at least he wouldn’t be dead. 

With the sound of the gong ringing in his ears, Virgil sprinted. 

He was one of the first of the tributes off of their podiums, and he had snatched up the bag he had seen before any of them had even reached a weapon. Running for the treeline he also paused to grab what looked like a thermal blanket before darting back past the podiums and towards the tree line - tall pines covered in snow and ice just waiting to fall. He was just glad that the weather was looking clear for now. Who knew how quickly that would change. 

Just as he reached the treeline, Virgil heard what sounded like an arrow whistle past him and ducked to the side, the metal arrow thudded into a tree trunk, and Virgil glanced back before running over and yanking it back out. It wasn’t as good as a knife or a sword, but a weapon was a weapon, at least he had one. 

Finding a cave was easy. Finding a good cave was the hard part.

It turned out that the arena was covered in holes, there were nooks and crannies and places to hide everywhere. Half of them had animals in them - he could tell by nearby damaged branches and tousled shrubbery as well as tracks in the snow. Virgil was not taking his chances with a wolf or a lynx, let alone some kind of mutt. 

He wandered for what must have been at least a few hours, only coming across one other tribute in that time. Hissing at her seemed to have scared her off though, so Virgil had been safe enough for now.

As he walked he mentally mapped out the arena. The cornucopia had been in a clearing, trees on all sides. To the north he came across a huge basin. He’d spotted a few caves in the dipping terrain, but they weren’t worth it. There was no tree cover there and besides, he’d freeze to death before the next dawn. There was a frozen river further west, behind which seemed to be more clifflike terrain. Virgil wouldn’t risk climbing it for now. In an emergency, he knew he could, but he didn’t want to risk falling and breaking his neck for potentially no reward this early on. No. Careful to pick the part of the river where the ice should be thickest, Virgil made his way across and began to search along the rocky cliffs for caves. It would make sense for caves to form along here and eventually he found the jackpot. A cave with a small entrance he had to crawl through, pretty hidden by the rocks and with a tiny freshwater stream that travelled from under the ice it seemed. It was perfect for a home base.

In the backpack he had grabbed there was some rope, a few matches, and a pouch that he could attach to his belt to hold a weapon he didn’t have. Well - he had his arrow, but that wouldn’t fit, it was meant for a knife or dagger. He was sure he could find some kind of use for it regardless. 

The biggest glaring issue Virgil faced was that he had no food. In fact, looking at it critically as he tried to fall asleep that night, wrapped up in the insulating blanket he was incredibly grateful he had grabbed, Virgil was food. Every time he risked leaving his cave he risked being attacked by some kind of predator, something that needed to eat just like him. It was highly doubtful that there would be anything to hunt out here either. Maybe there would be a few plants he could grab, worst come to worst he could eat the pine needles off of the trees, but really if he wanted to stay alive he would have to find something better. 

The only place he could get something better was the cornucopia - or the other tributes. The careers were probably guarding the cornucopia and all of its supplies. He was lucky to have a freshwater supply, but he wouldn’t last another day without something to eat. 

He fell asleep last night after listening to the cannons - seven fallen tributes on the first day. Well, at least Virgil wasn’t out last. 

The next morning he woke up to an empty stomach. With a soft groan he sat up, his blanket still wrapped snugly around him and for a few seconds was reminded of home during the winter. 

Trying so hard to think of the positives, Virgil decided that at least that meant he was familiar with this part. Being hungry, waking up from a cold night, sleeping on the ground. The thermal blanket might actually be an upgrade, but at least at home he didn’t have sixteen possibly armed teenagers after him. 

He heard a howling wolf followed by a cannon shot in the distance. Fifteen, he thought. At least his fears of the arena wildlife weren’t unfounded. 

It was still early, though, and the sun wasn’t quite up yet. Virgil was used to rising before dawn, but this seemed different. He felt like the sun should be up by now if his body clock was anything to go by. He supposed though if this arena was mimicking winter it would reflect that with longer nights and shorter days. 

Going now would make it easier to stay hidden from other tributes, but it also made him a sitting duck for any creature out there looking for a quick snack. 

He weighed up his options and eventually - arrow held tightly in hand and bag on his back - crept out of the cave. So long as he was quiet maybe he wouldn’t be noticed. 

There was little trouble as Virgil reached the clearing that housed the cornucopia. He felt lucky to have not come across any wild animals on his trek through the snow. Now he crouched behind a tree watching. The sky was starting to get lighter by now, and there was a fire crackling in the mouth of the cornucopia, around which five tributes sat. Two from district one, one from two, and two from four. Virgil took a few deep breaths to calm his nerves, he had to think rationally about this or he’d never get anything done.

Virgil could see where all the supplies were stored - behind them inside the cornucopia. He guessed it was to protect them from the worst of the cold. There’s no way he could grab it like this with them all there, they’d see him in an instant in the black clothing they’d been given for the arena, he’d stick out like a sore thumb if he left the trees. Waiting for them to leave would be his best bet, but who knows how long that would be, and he was vulnerable here - maybe he could draw them away somehow…

“Psst-” He heard behind him, causing him to whip around, clutching his arrow in his hand he scanned the area until his eyes caught on a girl with short black hair peeking out from behind a nearby tree. Vaguely he recognised her as the girl he had hissed at on the first day - he thought she might be from Three, but he hadn’t paid enough attention to the others to know her name. She made a gesture for him to come over - Virgil just frowned and gripped his arrow tighter - he couldn’t trust anyone here. The girl frowned, holding up her hands in a surrender, before gesturing with her chin behind her. She clearly wanted to talk, but they couldn’t do it here with the careers so close by. Eventually Virgil sighed and nodded, carefully making his way over to her. He was lucky, he supposed. She could have killed him easily as she led him a little further into the trees - a safe enough distance away to talk. 

“Sorry for scaring you,” she whispered once they were far enough away.

“Sorry for hissing at you,” Virgil returned with a shrug, “You’re um - you’re from Three, right?”

“Mhm - My name’s Bug Scintilla - You’re Virgil, from Eight,” she said, holding out a hand for him to shake - he did so hesitantly with a small nod, “Great - you’re looking to go after their stuff, right?”

Another nod, she smiled.

“Not the talking type?”

Virgil shrugged with a small smile, “Not really.”

“Well good, I talk a lot,” she said, “Now - guess you’re looking for food, right? That’s why I’m here too, there’s nothing good to eat in the rest of the arena unless you’re able to kill a wolf which, no offence, you look really scrawny and your only weapon is an arrow.”

He shrugged again - she was right. 

“So, d’you have a plan?”

“I was in the middle of making one,” He said, shaking his head, looking back in the direction of the clearing, she sighed. 

“Okay, I’ve got an idea,” She said, beginning to draw a map of the clearing in the snow, Virgil sat down with her and looked, “Did you see where they had everything?”

“The supplies are all piled up in the cornucopia,” Virgil added, pointing to the map, she nodded, adding a cross, “So we gotta draw them away…”

For a while, they went back and forth on the best ways to do it, lighting a fire, making a lot of noise - noise might draw some of the wild animals in the arena, and if the careers were killed by them whilst looking for the source then Virgil certainly wouldn’t be too upset. 

“Are you sure you could get away, though?” He asked, tilting his head.

“Mhm - I’m good at climbing and the trees here are pretty tightly packed, I can get away that way,” She said, “You can sneak in from behind the cornucopia - they’ll leave a lookout, but you’re small and I saw how stealthy you were back in training, I think you can do it.”

Virgil nodded slowly, “Okay, right.”

“And make sure you’re fast too, we don’t know how long they’ll be distracted for and I don’t want you to get caught.”

Virgil nodded, “You know the river on the west side?” he said, she nodded, “We can meet there afterwards - I guess if we don’t make it there by sundown we can assume…”

“The cannons will tell anyway,” she shook her head, “But good plan - let's head out - we want this done before we starve, and hey - if you see anything else useful you can grab - no harm in having more, right?”

Virgil nodded yet again. There were so many things that could go wrong with this plan, neither of them were guaranteed safety or results, but he supposed they would both die either way if they didn’t try. At least if they went for it they would have some kind of chance. 

After a moment of hesitance, Bug pulled him in for a hug. Virgil had never been a touchy person, and this certainly startled him, but he still put his arms around her in return. “In case we don’t make it back,” she says, quietly, before hurrying away into the trees. 

Taking a deep breath, Virgil made his way in the other direction, keeping his fingers crossed that he wouldn’t come across any animals or other tributes as he made his way around the treeline until he was facing the back of the cornucopia. Once he had made it, he crouched in the shrubbery to wait.

The plan had gone smoothly right up until Virgil was trying to leave the cornucopia. 

He had managed to find two bags and stuff them full of food and supplies, he’d grabbed a couple of weapons, and a flask of water for them both too. He’d stolen as much as he could fit in the two bags before hefting one onto his shoulders and making his way out only to see the careers making their way back across the clearing.

Virgil panicked, snatching a knife from a nearby pile of weapons so that he had something in his hand and attempting to slip out of the cornucopia. Yelling behind him let him know that he had been unsuccessful. He ran, but they were gaining on him. The other careers had been at the other side of the clearing, but the district four guy they had left behind - a big, muscled guy who must be on the older end of the scale - was right behind him. 

Virgil turned, and in some vain hope, threw the knife. 

It landed with a dull thud in the poor guy’s abdomen, for a moment the world slowed and Virgil just stood there as the guy stopped, blood poured from around the knife, soaking into his clothes as he reached to pull it out. Virgil almost told him not to, but then he wanted this guy to die, didn’t he? Seeing the crimson splatter into the snow beneath them seemed to trip a switch in Virgil’s mind and he scrambled to keep running. He kept running even when he reached the trees, waving a path that he hoped wouldn’t be easily followed. 

Once he was sure he had lost them, he leaned over, bracing himself on a tree, and tried not to throw up when he heard the cannon shot in the distance. He had just killed someone.

He stayed there for a long while, crouched next to a tree and heaving - doing his best to keep his insides inside of him as he attempted to calm down the raging panic inside him. He counted in his head as he took deep breaths, trying to even out his intake of air and calm his mind. He had just killed another human being, if he hadn’t killed that boy then he’d be dead himself. It’s kill or be killed in this arena. Odds had nothing to do with it. 

Virgil stood, clutching the two bags he had grabbed tightly and began making his way back to the river. It didn’t make up for taking a human life, even in this situation, Virgil couldn’t justify it, but at least he had something to show for it.

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Tags: @full-of-roman-angst-trash @your-local-random-dino @cutebisexualmess @glacierruler @roseianxiety @bella-bugatti-frogetti-baguetti @scalesfeathersnfur @oatmeal-stans-the-trash-rat @littlerat2 @goldnskyart (if anyone wants to be added, let me know!)

[the-kaedageist]

consecution lol, for the WIP asks? I think about those snippets a lot 😅

I have 67k of this fic, so it took me awhile to figure out what snippet I wanted to share! This is another slightly long one, so the rest is under the cut.

For the uninitiated, Yann Surefire is Caleb reborn and he is not aware of that fact - his memories are disjointed. Essek is going under the pseudonym of Imbros Vrinn and wears a Ring of Alter Self to maintain his disguise. Fiona is Jester's granddaughter and a lot of trouble, as any Lavorre would be. This whole futurefic is blatantly self-indulgent and I will not apologize.

This fic is approximately 45% done, and I’m attempting to finish it completely before I start posting it - but I might change my mind and start posting some of the earlier chapters like I’m doing for 2 Tusk 2 Love. I guess we’ll see!

If you want to read more snips from this, they’re all under this tag.

“Yann!” Fiona exclaimed as their visitor appeared in the doorway. “Esse—IMBROS. You didn’t tell me he was here!”

Essek shrugged. At that point, he wondered if he should just start going by his actual name, if Fiona was going to shout fragments of it every time she was caught off guard.

“Vrinn invited me for dinner,” Surefire said, glancing down at the pot in front of him. “You’re making soup? Can I help?”

Fiona’s eyes were way too amused – and way too bright – as she glanced over at Essek. “You cook?” she asked Yann delightedly. “Of course you can help!” She pulled a knife out of a block and handed it to Surefire handle-first. “Can you chop those vegetables? Imbros is just going to watch anyway.”

That was just uncalled for. “I offered to help you cook earlier,” Essek grumbled.

Fiona beamed over at him. “Do you want to help Yann chop vegetables?” she asked, batting her eyelashes. Essek realized abruptly that this had all been a plot against him, and Fiona Lavorre knew him entirely too well. “You can show him how to do it properly.”

He ignored the obvious innuendo in her statement and fetched a second knife from the block. Surefire had already produced a cutting board from somewhere – had he been in this kitchen before? – and was getting to chopping up an onion. The kitchen was not the largest, and Essek found the only remaining counter space was right next to Surefire; he gritted his teeth and searched for another board to cut on.

“This is the only one,” Surefire said apologetically, sliding the unused end of his own board towards Essek. “We can share. If you like?”

There was still something subdued about his expression; Essek didn’t like it. Perhaps that was what possessed him to accept Surefire’s offer and begin to slice a tomato on the opposite end of the board, standing so close that their arms brushed as they worked.

Surefire had a nice scent, one that Essek tried desperately not to breathe in as they quietly chopped vegetables next to one another. Even Fiona was quiet, chopping herbs on the opposite side of the stove.

“We had visitors today,” Surefire said suddenly. His voice was soft, barely loud enough to be heard by the two of them. Essek glanced to the side, but Surefire wasn’t watching him, staring instead at his own careful chopping. “Elves from Wildemount.”

Essek’s knife slipped, nicking the side of his finger. He hissed and stuck his finger in his mouth, a terrible habit he’d picked up from Caleb after years of cooking together.

Surefire finally looked over at him, concerned. “Are you okay?”

“I cut myself,” Essek said crossly, casting about for a rag – he located one hanging from a hook near the sink and wrapped it carefully around his finger, pressing on it firmly to staunch the bleeding.

“Let me see that,” said Surefire, pulling Essek to him; they would have been standing nose to nose if Essek had been Surefire’s height. Not seeming to register their closeness, Surefire gently took Essek’s hand in his own, sliding the rag away and running his fingertips along the cut on the side of Essek’s finger. His touch was soft, and warm, and Essek felt a spike of heat run through him.

Surefire whispered a vocal component of some sort and green healing magic briefly enveloped Essek’s finger. When the light faded, his altered flesh was as good as new, unmarred by any cut.

“Better?” Surefire murmured, watching Essek with the hint of a smile at the corner of his mouth. He continued to hold Essek’s hand in his own, absently running his fingers along the rings that decorated his fingers. “It can be useful, having a druid around.”

Essek’s brain was slightly addled from the combination of Surefire’s touch and his amused gaze. “Ah. Yes. Thank you?”

Behind them, Fiona poorly stifled a giggle. Surefire released Essek’s hand immediately, turning back to his chopping with a flush high on his cheeks.

Ask me about my wips! | Other responses

[fernweh-writes]

You could ask my question, if possible, of course. With the Slachers (Michael, Jason, Brahms, Vincent and Bo) with her beloved looking innocent and even angelic, but she is extremely jealous and possessive when a victim or survivor flirts with her slachers to the point of saying something in context: " he is mine !!" (while the reader embraces Slachers). What would be the reaction of the slachers, about the corpotamento of his beloved?

I don’t write for Jason, sorry but I can definitely do the rest. Since I don’t write for many slashers, with requests like this one I usually do a little snippet for all of the slashers I do write for. But I like this idea a lot so without further ado…

P.S. this took me so much longer than I expected, I definitely got a little invested in these lol. I left out Thomas and Jesse but I may go back and add them at a later time idk yet.

-Fern🌿

Slashers x Possessive S/O

Michael Meyers

Your innocent and kind nature would be one of the things that made Michael interested in you. You were the first person to take the time to actually figure him out rather than checking him off as Evil™️ and treating him as such. He also likes the fact that he can easily make you flustered, it feeds his need for control. Knowing that he can simply press himself against you and leave you blushing both pleases and amuses him.

We all know that Michael is very possessive. He often stalks you while you’re at work or out in town running errands. At this point, it’s no longer because he feels the need to be predatory, he’s just making sure that what’s his is safe from any harm.

One night you had decided to go out with a few friends, which Michael wasn’t very excited about, but eventually he allowed it. It was one of those busy clubs/bars that had opened recently, so of course the place was crowded. This left Michael with no choice but to ditch the mask while he followed you, another thing he wasn’t happy about.

He ended up sitting on the other side of the place by himself with his eyes glued to you. He didn’t like you being around so many people. Michael was so focused on watching you that he had barely even noticed the woman walk up and make herself cozy in the seat opposite of him. Now his attention was on her while she grinned at him like the Cheshire Cat, pushing her cleavage together to make it more apparent in her already low cut dress.

Michael could’ve sworn that you had teleported, after all he had only take his eyes off of you for a second. Now you had your arms wrapped around him with your head resting on his neck. “Can we help you,” you asked the girl in front of you. Michael had never heard your voice sound so cold.

The girl began to twirl her hair, not deterred by the fact that you were running your hands over Michael. “I was just wondering what such a handsome man was doing here all by himself,” she purred. She attempted to reach forward and grab his hand but you were quick to smack it away before Michael could even move.

“He’s not here by himself he’s with me. And if I were you I would keep your hands to yourself and away from what’s mine.” After you said that it didn’t take long for Michael to drag you back home. To him it was your way of saying that you were in fact a permanent part of Michaels life. Plus you threatening someone when you’re usually so polite was a change of pace that left Michael wanting. You can definitely expect the girl to turn up missing on the news soon after that night as well.

Brahms Heelshire

Brahms adored your innocence and kindness. You never hesitated to follow the rules and care for him, which is why he kept you around. After all he needs a nanny that is actually going to take care of him. Brahms also had an easy time revealing himself to you since after the initial shock of it all you were delighted to find out you weren’t being haunted and that you weren’t in a huge countryside mansion all by yourself.

Seeing as Brahms is a major introvert and goes absolutely feral if there’s someone new in his house that he hasn’t allowed you usually have nothing to worry about. However, suppose something happens where Malcolm has to leave for a few weeks, meaning that a new girl is assigned to deliver the groceries until Malcolm returns.

You were in the kitchen chopping up ingredients for lunch when she arrived for the first time. You had to admit that she was pretty, she was tall and athletic looking with perfect curls. It was hard for you to not notice that she was blonde, Brahms had a thing for blondes…

“So Malcolm told me that Brahms isn’t dead or a ghost, is that right?” You didn’t like the fact Malcolm had told this random girl about Brahms but you muttered in agreement anyways. She helped you put up the rest of the groceries in silence, not speaking again until she had opened the door to leave. “So is he hot? Usually people with this much money that aren’t old are always hot. If he is I might just have to stick around for a little while longer.”

That struck a nerve. “He’s not available,” you said sharply and she faltered. “What do you mean?” It was easy to tell she hadn’t expected that kind of answer, much less the attitude you had suddenly adopted. “He isn’t single. So although he is hot, trust me, I would know, you can’t have him. He’s mine.” She quickly apologized and left, slamming the door shut behind her. You could also hear Brahms moving around in the walls nearby, letting you know he must have heard everything.

Shortly after you found Brahms wrapped around you while you finished making lunch. “So now I’m yours hmm?” You could hear the amusement in his voice. You turned and wrapped your arms around him, pulling him in for a kiss, one hand finding it’s way into his hair. After pulling away you told him, “You’ve always been mine Brahmsy. My good boy.” He let out a small whine at your praise, pulling you back in for another kiss.

Vincent Sinclair

You were Vincent’s muse. He absolutely adored you from the way you acted to the way you looked. To him there was no aspect of you that wasn’t perfect. In other words he was absolutely obsessed with you. After all, you did take care of him and even helped Bo keep Ambrose up and running.

It’s no secret that Vincent was shy, but he was definitely intimidating as well. So you knew that the girl in front of him that was doing a terrible job of flirting was only doing so in a poor attempt to make it out alive. Still, watching her twirl her hair and smile at him made something inside of you snap.

“Come on handsome, you got to want some kind of company. I’m sure you’re so lonely here all by yourself… I could help with that.” She attempted to touch his chest but you grabbed her before she could. “Sorry,” you told her as you held both of her arms behind her back, “he already has someone keeping his bed warm. Didn’t your mother ever to tell you not to touch things that belong to other people?”

Vincent made quick work of knocking the girl out and carrying her down to the workshop. However, after dwelling on the thought he decided to just let Lester dispose of her body. He didn’t want to make you angry by turning her into a permanent wax figure for the town. Doesn’t mean that he won’t allow her to regain consciousness before killing her though, after all she needs to know her place.

Later on Vincent will make sure you never forget that he is yours the same way that you’re his. You can probably expect to have some trouble moving around the next day as well.

Bo Sinclair

Everyone knows that Bo is a major flirt. He enjoys watching the girls throw themselves at him, he just blames it on his “southern charm.” Although, he usually keeps you safely tucked up into the house whenever victims stumble into town. After all, “I can’t have my sweet angel in harms way now, can I?”

You never dwelled on how Bo dealt with victims, that was his business. Sure he had flirted with you a lot when you first showed up. Even now he was heavy on flirting and making inappropriate comments all the time. It was one of the things that made him Bo after all. So walking into his shop unaware of the newest batch of victims in town was a shock for you. Well not so much the victim part, it was finding Bo flirting with the girl leaning over the counter to display her cleavage that pissed you off.

She was smiling and blushing like she had a high school crush on the man in front of her. Not to mention Bo was unashamedly staring at everything she was flaunting. So yeah you were pissed, especially since he didn’t even seem to notice you were there. You quickly remembered the lunch you were holding in your hand, your reason for coming down here, and decided to use it to your advantage.

Instead of saying anything you just walked up behind him, setting his lunch on the counter right in front of the girl, effectively blocking his view of her boobs before wrapping your arms around him. Bo still didn’t shut up and acknowledge you so you decided to interrupt. “I brought you lunch baby.” The use of a pet name quickly made the girl Bo was flirting with falter.

“Oh, uhm, is this your girlfriend or something?” Before Bo could jump in you answered her. ��Or something, I guess you could say. After all, he is my husband.” You looked up at Bo with the most lovesick expression you could put on your face as you pulled him in for a kiss. One kiss turned to two, to three, to a whole make out session in front of the poor girl. Bo’s hands began to roam around your body as well, making sure to squeeze all of his favorite parts of you.

When the two of you broke apart the girl was gone but Bo didn’t seem to notice. He was still to busy feeling you up. “Have I ever told you how fuckin’ sexy you are when you’re jealous? I’d never have guessed you had a possessive side to you angel.” You smiled knowing you now had his full attention, “Well surprise.”

He kissed you one more time, long and hard. “I promise we’ll continue this later up at the house. But right now I gotta go find that bitch n’ kill ‘er. You better be waitin’ on me when I get home darlin’.”

Billy Loomis

Billy was highly sought after by many girls due to his bad boy reputation. He always had girls throwing themselves at him wanting to be the one to fix him. You knew you didn’t have to worry, Billy wouldn’t leave you for someone else. He made it very clear that you were permanent. But still you couldn’t help but be irritated when they would flirt with him right in front of you.

You two were planning a movie night which meant a trip down to the video store. Apparently, Randy had the night off because some new girl was behind the counter. When the two of you first arrived she had been reading a magazine, not caring about the handful of people milling about. That was until she noticed Billy, not seeming to care that you were wrapped around his arm. She was watching him like a hawk.

You shifted uncomfortably, not liking the way she was staring down your boyfriend. Billy was observant and quickly noticed your discomfort. “Don’t worry about her babe, you know you’re the only person I’m into.” He wrapped his arm around your shoulders and pulled you into him, “Now, do you want to watch Friday the 13th or Nightmare on Elm Street?” You groaned, “Billy we’ve seen both of those movies a million times.” He smiled and held up Nightmare on Elm Street, “Well now we can watch this one and make it one million and one times.”

You rolled your eyes as he drug you to the checkout counter. The employee quickly perked up when she noticed Billy. “Will this be all for you hun?” She asked completely ignoring you. She didn’t even look down at what movie Billy had set on the counter before saying, “You have good taste, this is like one of my favorite movies ever. It’s a shame your little girlfriend doesn’t seem to like it though.”

“Cool, so who’s the main character?” You knew exactly what Billy was trying to do, elbowing him lightly. “Oh, uhm,” she finally looked down at the case, eyes lighting up, “oh, yeah it’s that really scarred dude!” Billy rolled his eyes, “No shit, what’s his name though.” You decided to have pity on the girl, “Ignore him, he’s a horror movie fanatic.” The girl mumbled, “Yeah no kidding.”

You smiled at Billy, using this as your chance to brag on the fact he’s yours. You knew him like no one else did. “He’s such a dork when it comes to the cinematography of these things but he’s my dork.” Billy hugged you from behind, “Yeah, whatever, you know you love me.”

Stu Macher

Stu absolutely loved throwing huge parties at his house. He was well liked and well known so it wasn’t unusual for a lot of people to show up, many of which you didn’t even know. Because so many people knew Stu, it also meant that they knew his family was pretty wealthy. It was pretty common to find girls hitting on him and since Stu loved attention he was prone to playfully flirting back.

Usually you would hang out with your friends during these parties, not being big on socializing with new people. Most of the time you didn’t worry about Stu wandering off, he would always show up at your side again at some point. Half the time when he would reappear you would have to pry him back off of you. He could be quite handsy at times.

Now the party was winding down and mostly everyone left was on the couch getting ready to watch a movie. You excused yourself, and headed to the kitchen to get another drink. You froze when you saw a girl running her hands all over Stu, he wasn’t making any move to push her away. You decided to help him out with that.

“Do you need something,” you asked her as Stu wrapped himself around you. “Are you his girlfriend?” Stu laughed, hopping up onto the counter. He pulled you up onto his lap, “Yeah she is dude. Isn’t she hot?” The girl scoffed, “Don’t you think that she’s a little… beneath you, Stu?”

That set you off. “I think that slutty little bitches like you need to keep your dirty hands away from what’s mine.” The girl rolled her eyes before storming out of the kitchen. You hopped out of Stu’s lap and turned to face him. “If you let mother whore rub all up on you like that again so help me I will be the next one to commit a murder in this house. Understand?” Stu stopped smiling, his goofy personality faltering for a second. He then saluted, “Yes ma’am.” You nodded. “Good.”

Stu jumped down and threw you over his shoulder, causing you to yelp. “You look extra hot when you’re fighting over me babe.” He quickly climbed the stairs and you pounded against his back. “You’re going the wrong way, the movie is downstairs.” He made it quickly to the bedroom, throwing you down on the king size bed with a huge grin. “We can make our own movie babe. I don’t know about you but I’m thinking romance,” he rambled, crawling on top of you. “Rated R of course.”

[whetstonefires]

heavier than a mountain, lighter than a feather

[my take on @misskirby's not-prompt about obi-wan beating palpatine to death with an office chair]

-

Obi-Wan had once touched the cold-burning edge of the Dark Side to give himself the extra edge he needed to cut down the Sith who had cut down his Master. He had fought with rage pushing him, he had fought with all the fear that Qui-Gon lay expiring on the reactor floor, that he might yet win and find himself seconds too late to bring the emergency med-treatment necessary to survive a lightsaber to the chest.

(Not that it had mattered; all he’d gotten from his desperate, hasty win was a few seconds of farewell bereft of comfort, and the burden of Anakin hung around his neck, and oh, he wished his padawan was not a burden. There had been no option but to take him and thus taking him must have been right, but no one should take on a student they did not feel ready for, and he had.)

If he had fought that way this time, he would have lost.

The Sith Master would have done what the apprentice could not, and twisted the Dark Side within him as it rose, and snared him in it, so he could not find his way back to the Light, and used that grip to bear him down with Sidious’ greater power, because the Sith said the Force will free me but it was the way of the Dark to place one will over another by pure force, so even what narrow freedom there was on the dark path was offered to one alone. Even in the best case, he would have been overwhelmed too heavily to fight for more than long enough to finish him.

Perhaps he would not have been killed. Perhaps he would have been kept alive to be used as leverage against Anakin. But assuredly he would not have been able to win.

Obi-wan however had what he would have thought of, if he had allowed himself to think about it, a trick for using his attachments and the desire not to lose them as fuel without reaching into the destabilizing, consuming whirlwind of the Dark Side. It was a dangerous, stupid trick, really, at least the way he used it, although Obi-wan thought of that way as fundamental to being a good Jedi, which would have explained a great deal about him if anyone had known.

The trick was this: it was easy to push yourself to where your limits should have been and beyond using your attachment to a person, without falling into the hungry selfishness of the Dark Side, if you simply did not intend to survive.

When he was thirteen, he had tried to persuade Qui-Gon Jinn, who had not yet been his Master, to use the bomb in his recently fitted slave-collar to blow open a door, killing Obi-wan but allowing him complete the mission, which was not Obi-wan’s mission

It was not difficult to return to that place, that space in himself where serenity came easy because soon there would be nothing left to go wrong or to lose—Anakin had made it difficult, for a long time; Anakin he was obliged to raise and train. Anakin who needed him.

All his obligation to the war and the Council and all the men under his command had not pinned him to himself the way his duty to Anakin had, and—knighting him had been helpful. It had been a relief, to finally cast off that weight. There is no death, there is the Force was much easier to believe of oneself than of those one grieved, and some weeks Obi-wan breathed it in and out with every breath, and there was no fear.

He knew several things, as he entered the Senate through an entrance that was technically, perhaps, a window. One that did not open, at that. That the Chancellor had some kind of failsafe embedded in the GAR’s brains. That the Chancellor was a Sith Lord. That the Chancellor had been using his access to Anakin all these years to hurt his Padawan.

That if he took the time to assemble the rest of the Council and try to stage this as a proper arrest, word would have time to reach Palpatine of Obi-wan having been publicly informed, because Maul was the least subtle sentient Obi-wan had ever had the misfortune of meeting more than once, and that if Palpatine knew the jig was up he would use his fail-safe.

So Obi-wan needed to do this alone.

It was possible, of course, that it wouldn’t be difficult. Sidious was a creature of stealth and insinuation. He spent most hours of his life maintaining a posture of harmlessness. When could he have found the time to do regular lightsaber drills, let alone practice live combat?

But Maul probably feared the man for a reason. So Obi-wan was going to do this as quickly as possible, but he wasn’t going to be hasty.

Spring the trap.

He’d closed himself down in the Force before he got near the Senate building, jumping through the hole he’d sliced into the window with only his physical strength and no Jedi edge, and only when he got near the Chancellor’s office did he reopen his senses just a thread, to make sure there was no one in there meeting with Palpatine whom he needed to keep alive. The Force didn’t slam into him with a warning, which would have to be confirmation enough.

Obi-wan yanked the door open, hurled five primed thermal detonators in the direction of the great ship-like slab of an occupied desk, slammed the ornate portal shut again, and threw himself to the ground at the foot of the wall, as far away as he could get, head tucked under his arms. He was fairly sure he’d seen Mas Amedda in there, standing beside the desk as the Chancellor in his thronelike chair raised his head with a gratifyingly startled look on his face.

Pity. The Vice-Chancellor could probably have explained so much of what had been going on behind the scenes, all this time.

The blast left the office door half-shattered, belching smoke, but Obi-wan escaped with just one splinter, not terribly large, in the back of one calf. His robes and boots had absorbed the rest of the shrapnel that had made it that far. He tugged it out as he got up—no time to do anything more, it wasn’t bleeding much. He drew a deep breath of half-clean corridor air and dashed into the opaque ruin that had been the Chancellor’s office, senses fully unfurled now that the time for stealth was over. Though in the interest of not being an irresistible target, he did not ignite his lightsaber just yet.

The Force guided him through the smoke, and he brought his sword to light even as he swung it through the murk.

It stopped, humming, against a bar of red light that hissed into being at the last instant, and that felt equally inevitable.

“You.” Sheev Palpatine’s face looked like a Sith Lord’s now, twisted with hate and lit red from below. And, gratifyingly, somewhat scorched. His hair had sizzled from the heat, and his left arm seemed to have something at least mildly wrong with it. Obi-wan hoped the explosions had affected at least one of his legs, as well, since his own maneuverability was cut by the shard of door to the calf.

“Me indeed, Chancellor,” he said, taking advantage of his two-handed grip to bear down against the block with extra force. Palpatine bore up admirably, but as his snarl tightened it was clear that it was not without cost. “Or should I say, Lord Sidious?”

The smoke was starting to thin, leaking away out of the shattered room. Sidious was still behind his ruined desk with its weakly sparking console, which seemed to have taken much of the impact for him—he was standing, anyway, sadly. Mas Amedda’s corpse, on the far end of the desk from the one Obi-wan had circumnavigated, was one of the things that was still smoking. Most of the brocade and other decorative fabric in the room must have been thoroughly treated with fire-retardant, but he had not been.

“I thought you might have learned my true name,” Palpatine said, far too complacently for someone whose long deception had been uncovered and who was staving off death one-handed. “But what brought you racing here in such haste?”

“Well, you see, they used to call me Sith-killer because of Maul, and since that’s been proven regrettably in error, I thought I had better—” Sidious tried to fling him back against the opposite wall with a sharp jerk of his wounded hand, and Obi-wan had to push back with the whole of his will and stance to slide back only a few feet.

This had freed their lightsabers, though, and Sidious chopped low with a terrible speed. Obi-wan leapt clear, knowing the blood soaking into the pale fabric of his pants was betraying the weakness in his leg—Anakin had had a point, he admitted grudgingly, about black hiding all kinds of stains.

For better and for worse.

He tried to catch Sidious with an overhead slash while he was up, to keep that red lightsaber busy for the most part, and when it was intercepted used the force of that impact to somersault back in a momentary return to his master’s old Ataru style—not too far, though, at all costs he must prevent the Sith Master’s escape.

Sidious wouldn’t need to get far, just to a room with a working holo transmitter, to destroy everything.

He flung himself back in.

Palpatine sidestepped his next attack, parried another, stepped back with the third. His single arm was telling against him, and while he was regrettably fast his movements were stiff enough that he had clearly taken at least one other hurt. Probably somewhere in the right hip. Obi-wan stayed on the offensive—it was how he’d beaten Maul, after all, though he was at pains to avoid overreaching to the point of recreating Anakin’s loss to Dooku.

His attacks did more damage to the sparking desk, bisected the thronelike monstrosity of a chair, which turned out under all the gilt, padding, and chromium to be mostly of durasteel, got close enough to put additional charred rents in Palpatine’s ornate sleeves. Nearly a minute had passed since he threw those detonators, and Sidious was still alive. Too long.

“Really,” said the politician, dropping his stance to one that would allow him to parry more from the shoulder, his first hint of fatigue. His style was not quite Makashi even as he adapted to the one-handed approach that was clearly not his preference, but there were some notes to it that rang so strongly of Dooku they could come from nowhere else. “What do you hope to achieve?”

“You won’t have Anakin,” Obi-wan said, the plot that had been in retrospect laid so horribly bare with just a few sentences from Maul, supported by a few more from some of their most trusted troopers, put together with a hundred hints and oddities and he should have guessed on his own.

Sidious grinned, the amiable wrinkles of his face lying deeper and more correct, somehow, in this attitude of wild, infinite gloating. “Possessiveness, Master Jedi?”

“No,” said Obi-wan, and it was true because he had given Anakin up, given everything up before he came here. He was holding onto nothing, he was an object in free-fall but not falling, because he was at exactly the right place and momentum at the outer edge of a gravity well that would let him remain at a constant height.

Orbits degraded, given time, if not carefully maintained. And if they were disrupted sharply enough it meant a violent, flaming spiral down into explosive doom, or sometimes out into the fathomless dark. This was not a true, secure serenity like a Jedi should strive for. But it would serve. For today, it would serve.

He fell on Sidious again in a flurry of blows, pushing his physical advantage, but although the Chancellor was clearly straining to keep up this defense, his stamina continued to fail to run out or even noticeably decline, as though he had learned to subsist on some constant well of the Force alone.

Probably he had, because it was welling up out of him, filling the room, an endless pit of the Dark that had lain concealed like a trap under pinned canvas and scattered leaves all this time. He was drawing heavily upon the Dark Side now and that wasn’t precisely goodbut it was promising.

He was beginning to develop something that was not quite optimism or confidence but approached both by the time the progress of the humming, crashing process of the duel took them past the far end of the desk, back into sight of what had been Mas Amedda. Palpatine angled his next fractional retreat toward the corps, away from the cracked and blackened windows, avoiding the treacherous footing of a shattered vase that had probably been a valuable antique.

Obi-wan tried to take advantage of the change in angle in the next rapid, whirring clash of lightsabers.

Unlike every other time they had crossed blades this duel, Sidious simply—shut his off in the moment before contact.

Obi-wan had committed a little too much of his weight to the blow to abort it entirely. Sidious ducked away from the remainder with a sinuous grace even as he activated his weapon again, now on the inside of Obi-wan’s guard—trakata, executed with terrible excellence.

The need for the dodge was the trakata maneuver’s great weakness, and gave Obi-wan time to avoid the worst of the stroke, but even still the red lightsaber clipped him across the wrist—not a clean sweep slicing off the hand entire, but a glancing blow, that seared through the skin and flesh and took a significant bite out of the ulna.

Obi-wan didn’t try to repress his strangled scream, and Sidious leaned into it in the Force, pressing at the pain, stoking it and encouraging it to drag him down into the Dark, where he would be the Sith Master’s plaything. He was smirking now, more deeply and honestly than ever, a laugh rising into his mouth, for if Master Kenobi had had a slight edge in their fight with two hands to one, with the Jedi’s primary weapon-hand incapacitated, the Sith would surely dominate.

In that moment, Obi-wan moved to rebalance the odds. His blue lightsaber chopped down—not onto Sidious’ flesh, which it was clear he guarded with the preternatural awareness of a being whose own self was as valuable as all the Galaxy else, but to sheer through the emitter end of the crimson lightsaber.

It spat and burst but, unfortunately, tragically failed to explode.

As Sidious raised his eyes from the ruined weapon looking like he might explode in its place out of pure outrage, Obi-wan brought his sword back up to go for the decapitating blow now that the Sith had no weapon to block with, but in that moment Sidious’ burnt and broken hand jabbed up, and shot a gout of lightning into his face.

His back arced so violently it threw him off his feet, and it was all Obi-wan could do to keep hold of his lightsaber in his good hand and deactivate it as he went down, to avoid doing himself a worse injury than Sidious had yet managed. The lightning followed him down, scouring its way from just beside his left eye down every nerve ending he had in a screaming, jerking chorus of pain.

The deep lightsaber burn on his right wrist somehow hurt more now than it had to receive, but the force of his constant convulsions kept him from screaming again.

Then it stopped. He had no idea how long it had been, and wondered if Palpatine had become too fatigued to keep up the electrocution. There had to be a limit to how long he could maintain that kind of power output. His chest was heaving, trying with animal need to make up for lost oxygen. Smoke and the scent of dead Chagrian weighed down his sensory world, since his eyes declined to open and most of his body would only say pain.

The whisper of expensive Senate slippers crunched toward him over the rubble of the ruined office with a surefootedness that no one would have expected of the elderly Chancellor. At least he was still here; Obi-wan had angered him enough to bother sticking around to kill him rather than running off to activate the troops.

Or maybe he was confident he could spin this whole event to his benefit—Obi-wan had destroyed the security cameras that would have recorded his Sith activities, after all. Maybe he would say Master Kenobi had been tragically killed defending him from the dreadful Sith Lord. Maybe he would ask Anakin to become his constant protector in Obi-wan’s memory. Anakin would do it.

He was struggling to turn his lightsaber back on and raise it, though getting it between him and the next round of lightning seemed unlikely when he was exposed in a supine position, when Palpatine kicked it. Kicked his hand, actually, so hard at least one bone cracked and the lightsaber went flying.

This weapon is your life.

“Should I summon it back and use it to kill you?” Palpatine murmured, with a deadly, vicious good humor that suggested he knew very well Obi-wan had no backup coming, that the only interruption they could expect would be Commander Fox and his men in red, here to protect the Chancellor. “Or should I step on your throat until you breathe your last? Or should I keep you alive and put you on trial, and drag the name of the Jedi in the mud through you, so that when your Order falls it will be your name that the Galaxy uses to call the killing just?”

Horror twisted in Obi-wan’s chest and Palpatine chuckled, a whispering foul sound that still resembled his polite politician’s laughter. “Yes, very good. I’ll make young Skywalker believe you tried to kill me out of pride and greed and because you despised him, until he curses your memory. Everything that happens now will be your doing.”

The rage and the fear that he had left behind when he entered were flaming up now in Obi-wan, the orbit deteriorating, the gravitational pull of abandoning them and letting the Order down and ruining everything and too little, too proud, the same hopeless arrogant padawan and of that terrible, world-tearing no dragging him down to shatter in fire against them, like he had on Naboo all those years ago but so much more utterly and irrevocably and--this wasn’t all him.

He sucked in his breath, shaking through teeth still clenched too convulsively tight to pull apart for a witty retort to all that poison, and melted away inside himself.

Over him, Sidious frowned, feeling the Jedi escape his grip in the Force. “Are you dying already, Master Kenobi?”

He thought Sidious had mentioned summoning his lightsaber through the Force to encourage him to try it. It wouldn’t be impossible. He knew the feel of it in the Force like he did few other things in the Galaxy; he didn’t need sight to reach for it.

But it was too small, and too far away, and his senses were too scorched and blasted by that awful lightning. Long before his weapon could make it to his hand, Sidious could kill him, even with no working lightsaber of his own. He couldn’t win that way, or even (that far lesser goal) live.

Instead, Obi-wan grabbed for the closest large object he knew to look for that wasn’t a corpse: the sliced-loose upper half of that baroque monstrosity of a desk-chair, conveniently bulky and only a few long steps away, just behind the desk he’d fallen from behind.

It came, and in coming swept Palpatine’s legs from under him, knocking him not quite sprawling, and then the curve of it had smacked into Obi-wan’s outstretched left palm, jolting the broken bone which did not matter in the slightest, and he rolled up onto his knees, graceless but fast, the slab of steel and leather still moving with the momentum that had dragged it to him, and clobbered the sitting-up Sith Lord across the face with it.

One of Obi-wan’s many faults was his tendency to take a vicious glee in striking low his enemies, but he did not think he had ever taken quite the joy from any beautifully executed maneuver that he did from watching Palpatine knocked to the floor by a slab of office chair. Obi-wan lunged after him, not bothering with niceties like getting to his feet, and brought the chair-slab down on his face again, this time with the strength of both arms—his right hand was mostly numb but for hurting, only the thumb and forefinger would move at all, and it was very weak, but none of that interfered with placing his whole forearm against the upholstery and slamming the searing-hot, bare metal inner side down.

There was a crunch, probably nose, and then instead of diminishing the awful seething presence of the Dark Side rose like a hurricane, and Obi-wan felt his throat close as from a powerful phantom hand, cutting off all breathing.

This caused him not an instant’s hesitation, because he had come here fully intending to die.

He raised the sheered-off slice of chair, adjusted the angle so the sharp edge where he’d cut the durasteel was pointing down, and aimed for the throat.

The ensuing explosion threw him after his lightsaber, and he knew nothing after hitting the wall.

[young-dumb-and-vaccinated]

The Sommelier (Hannibal x Female!Reader) pt. 1

Ding dong fannibals I’m back on my bullshit :) 

I discovered that I cannot for the life of me be concise so this one might come in a couple parts. I don't anticipate it's gonna go as long as Cult Girl but we'll see. Y/n is an introverted waitress at a fancy restaurant with a crush on a mysterious regular. An encounter with a dangerous criminal pulls her into his world.

Trigger warnings: graphic descriptions of violence; implied drug use; religiously-motivated violence.

In some ways, waitressing was the perfect job for an introvert. Customers didn’t see you as a person, they saw you as an NPC. As long as that was the case, you weren’t expected to engage with them beyond the script: you take their order, bring them the food and they, hopefully, leave a tip. To ensure that, you perfected the art of fake happiness. You were there to make money, not friends. 

Well, there was an exception to every rule. Yours was the sommelier. 

The sommelier was a regular at the restaurant, but never ordered a meal. He mostly just sat at the bar, drank expensive wine, and watched the people come and go for hours at a time. Among the waitstaff, he was a bit of a local cryptid. Waitresses whispered about the handsome gentleman with an unidentifiable accent and deep pockets. About how lucky you had to be to score a bartending shift on one of the nights he showed up. It got to the point where bartending shifts were swapped like currency, because every woman on staff wanted the chance to meet the sommelier. 

One of the more religious line chefs liked to remind you all that the devil would come as everything you could ever desire. He was fully convinced that the sommelier was Satan incarnate, and he wasn’t completely off the mark. Standing at six feet tall with features sharp enough to cut diamonds, the sommelier wouldn’t look out of place in a vampire thriller. He always dressed in dark suits. Your coworkers hypothesized this was so the bloodstains wouldn’t show. Despite the chef’s well-intended (if not condescending) warnings, even the threat of eternal damnation couldn’t scare you off. 

As much as you liked to believe you were above stupid workplace gossip, you knew you weren’t. You were never the most socially adept person, but this gave you something to connect over. It’s how you discovered that you and the other waitresses were all in the same boat; broke, lonely and in desperate need of some excitement. And if that came in the form of a wine-loving vampire taking a liking to your restaurant, there were certainly worse ways to go. 

Unfortunately, not even the chance at encountering the sommelier could make you look forward to working Easter Sunday. Your manager had you working from noon to midnight that day. As employers went, he wasn’t much of a tyrant. He offered you time and a half and even let you switch from waiting tables to bartending halfway through the shift. He, too, knew how coveted the bartending shifts were. And you weren’t in any position to refuse, either. You quite enjoyed having a roof over your head and food in your stomach. 

That didn’t make up for the fact that most of the other twenty-something employees had left for the holiday, and you were one of the few stragglers left available. Easter was the most dreaded workday of the year, because the infamous after-church crowd quadrupled in size and lasted all day. They came in double-digit parties, had no concept of birth control and tipped in prayer. Too many times had you reached for what looked like a generous cash tip, only to find that it was a church pamphlet disguised as a fifty.

You clocked in at noon exactly, after waiting for the second hand to pass the twelve just to be sure. 

“[F/N]!” Your coworker, Charissa, grabbed your attention before you could walk away. “I heard you’re at the bar this evening. Congratulations.” 

“He’s not going to show up, Charissa.” You rolled your eyes. You decided to go into this shift expecting the absolute worst, that way you wouldn’t be setting yourself up for disappointment. “It’s Easter.” 

“You don’t know that.” Charissa nudged you in the side. 

You grinned. “Why would a vampire come to dinner on the one day everyone is gonna be wearing a cross?” 

“Oh, shit, I didn’t think of that.” Charissa gasped. “Well, good luck anyway.”

The first wave of customers filing through the door and filling the restaurant with noise pushed all optimism out of your head. Sighing, you approached a person that Charissa had already seated. 

“Hi, my name is [F/N], I’ll be your server today.” You greeted the first customer in your block. “Can I get you something to drink today?” 

The man couldn’t have been a day over twenty-five, if that. He was still lively in a way that meant he hadn’t experienced the drain that was a minimum wage job. He was wearing a shirt that said ‘on fire for Christ’ under a flannel with no buttons. One look and you knew he wasn’t going to tip. 

The man flashed a row of eerily white teeth. “I thought you said you would bring the wine?” 

You momentarily thought you’d already taken his drink order and shook your head. “I’m sorry, did I--”

“Ah, I see your confusion.” The man shrugged and forced a laugh. “You’re waitressing this week, you and I are going on a date next week. My mistake.” 

Great. You thought. It hasn't even been five minutes and I'm already being gaslit.

Any interaction that forced you to go off-script was bad, but this was a particularly irritating diversion. “Would you like to see a wine list?”

“I’m Chase.” He said. “It’s nice to meet you, [F/N].” 

“Have you decided on a drink?” You repeated, trying not to grit your teeth too obviously. 

"I'll have a glass of your finest coke, please." He faked an English accent, poorly.

"We only carry Pepsi products." You said, dreading how this joker would react to such a minor inconvenience.

He threw his head back and made a face like he had just taken a bullet to the chest. "No, it's gotta be coke! It's coke or nothing!"

"Did you want something else, then?" You tried to hurry him along. "The bartender makes a very nice mimosa-"

He smacked the table as if he had some urgent question. "McDonald's or Chick-Fil-A? There is a right answer, so choose wisely."

"...uh," You mumbled, just praying that he would order a drink already. There wasn't even a Chick-fil-A in the area. "I like McDonald's."

Again, he acted like he was shot in the chest. "Oh, you're down zero to two!"

"If you need a few minutes to select a drink," You said. "I can come back-"

He grabbed your arm and forced a laugh. "I'm just kidding around with you, [F/N]. Pepsi is fine."

You scribbled the order down on your notepad, mostly just to pry your wrist from his grip. You wanted to go into the bathroom and scrub yourself down, but perhaps it was just easier to chop the whole arm off. That way you could get worker's compensation, too.

The tables were filling up and you had spent far too long coaxing a drink order out of this youth pastor creep. You had actual families to wait on. The shift was off to a horrible start.

You made him wait for as long as you could get away with. You took drink orders from three full booths before returning to the youth pastor. Because you knew he was raring to corner you again.

You planted the pop in front of him, the glass already wet with condensation. "Have you decided on a meal?"

"I was just looking over this menu and something caught my eye." He began, looking at the holiday menu your manager had printed off. "This rack of lamb, it's a special, right?"

"Right." You nodded. "It's a pretty large meal, though, so I'd recommend sharing it-"

"No, y'see.." he cut you off. "Jesus was the lamb of god. He died on the cross for your sins. And, look!"

He pointed to the menu. "It says it's a 'praying hands' lamb!"

"Oh!" You forced yet another smile. "I can see the confusion. That just refers to how the rack is arranged."

"I think it's a sign from god." He said.

You demonstrated the shape of the dish with your fingers. "See, the rib bones are long and the racks are Frenched, so the dish takes the shape of a pair of, well, praying hands."

"I'll take it." He nodded furiously.

He took a sharp breath in through his nose and you started to seriously wonder if his definition of "coke or nothing" had a double meaning. It formulated in your head as a joke, but it became more and more of a serious inquiry by the minute.

You leaned in just slightly to get a closer look at his face. Some details you hadn't noticed before were beginning to come into focus. His eyes were vacant and glassy. A small but noticeable stream of blood trickled from his nostril.

"Sir?" You said in a clear, projected voice. "Is there someone I could call for you?"

He turned his head. "Jesus died for your sins."

You looked around the room for any sign of your manager, a supervisor or anyone with a shred of authority. "This man needs help!"

In your haste to call attention to the situation, you didn't see him pick up his steak knife.

"You want to know what Jesus felt when you pierced him?" He muttered, just loud enough for your ears alone.

You felt the serrated knife puncture your skin before you had time to process his words. The pain shot through your body, making you freeze in place.

A chorus of screams filled the restaurant. Blood was pouring from the open wound in a quantity you didn't think possible. Underneath, the knife went straight through your hand and into the table.

The man gripped the handle and gave it a twist, a look of horrifying pleasure on his face. At this point, several people had stepped in to restrain him. He was tall and athletic and could easily overpower many of the other customers, which he did. He found another steak knife and began to cut throats while chanting an incomprehensible prayer.

An older woman claiming to be a doctor rushed to your side. She made a makeshift tourniquet from a napkin and a butter knife. Everything after that was a blur. You struggled to stay conscious as the woman tried to guide the knife from the table while keeping it embedded in your hand.

Soon enough, police and ambulances arrived on the scene. The woman placed you in the care of one of the many EMTs, then rushed away to assist the others.

"I'm just doing what Jesus says!" The youth pastor shouted, before gouging his knife into another man's throat. "Spreading his love!"

The officers notably didn't open fire and made an attempt to de-escalate. Maybe that was how the youth pastor was able to escape. 

[cherrycocaineee]

13. Dean Winchester - Confession

    Bobby was sitting at his desk flipping through the millions of dusty, old, torn books he had collected over the years when I came down the stairs, carrying my purse along my shoulder. The sound of my small feet thumping against his creaky wooden floors caused him to look at me. He was already drinking scotch this early in the morning and the tired, purple bags under his eyes proved that he had a restless night just like usual. I smiled sympathetically at him as I approached, getting a large whiff of the liquor he was pouring down his throat. I could hardly count the number of times I’ve warned him and the boys about drinking so much, yet they never listened. Though I didn’t really expect them to, considering all of the things they’ve seen in their lifetime.

  “Where are you off to?” He asked, pouring himself another glass of scotch.

 “We’re low on groceries,” I hummed, “so I’m going down to the market to pick some stuff up. I’ll make breakfast when I come back, okay?”

   “I’ll hold ya to that. You need any money?”

 I shook my head and patted the side of my purse before leaving for the market. It wasn’t a long trip, it was literally a block from where Bobby lived. When I arrived at the small, yet vibrant place, I inhaled the sweet scent of freshly picked produce and other aromas. Inside I pushed the basket around and collected everything we needed for the house: fresh produce, meats, bread, eggs, and much more. Considering how much fast food I use while travelling with the boys, I was happy to find a place that sold freshly grown fruits and vegetables, and freshly cut chops of meat, and more. I spent an hour in total at the market before paying for my groceries and heading back to the house.

  While carrying all of the paper bags inside, I could hear talking going on inside. I shook it off as Bobby being on the phone and continued.

  “Bobby, I’m home,” I called, “I’m about to start breakfast, so why don’t you trade that scotch in for a cup of coffee.”

  The voices from the other room quieted down just as I placed the groceries on the kitchen table. I walked out of the kitchen and saw Bobby standing in the middle of the room with none other than Dean and Sam. My eyes widened at the sight of them. The last time I saw Sam was when he jumped into the cage, holding Lucifer in and knocking Michael inside too. And Dean, well, I hadn’t seen him since he went to live with Lisa and Ben. It had hurt a lot when he left too, not wanting to stay with Bobby. Not wanting to stay with me. But I didn’t make a big deal about it despite being madly in love with him. Though I’d never tell him that since he was in love with Lisa.

  “Hey, Persephone,” Sam and Dean said simultaneously, making my eyes water.

  “Hey,” I whispered, a smile forming on my face.

  I walked over to them and embraced them both, feeling their large, muscular arms wrap around my thin frame as they held me close. As I pulled away from the hug, Lisa popped her head around the corner. My chest was tightening as I saw Dean walk over to her. They went off to speak to one another, I cleared my throat and turned my attention to Sam.

  “When did you get back from hell?” I asked.

  From the look on his face and the way he was rubbing the back of his neck with his rough hands, I knew there was something he wasn’t sure he wanted to tell me. Or at least the truth anyway. But he decided that he’d tell me in the end.

 “A year, actually,” he muttered.

  My forest green eyes widened at his words. I spent the next fifteen minutes tearing a new one into both Sam and Bobby, who had been hiding this from me the entire year, then returned to the kitchen to cook breakfast. There was a mix of frustration, betrayal, and other emotions mixing up inside of me as I started scrambling the eggs and cooking the sausage and bacon. Quiet sizzling could be heard throughout the kitchen, masking the sound of my humming while I cooked. As I was moving on to the coffee, I heard footsteps coming from behind me so I swirled around to see Dean walking in. He didn’t look too happy either.

  “Did you just find out that Sam’s been back for a year too?” I questioned, throwing away the old coffee grounds into the trash.

 “Well yes,” he stated, “but that’s not while I’m upset.”

  I had started plating the food by then, starting off with Ben’s since he was here and was probably hungry.

  “What’s going on?”

  I set a cup of coffee down in front of him.

  “Sam needs my help hunting a Djinn,” he answered, “and I’m worried because the things might come after Lisa and Ben.”

  Honestly, I should have seen that coming. Sam, despite being back from hell, wouldn’t have asked Dean for help if it wasn’t life or death. It made me wonder if they’d only come to drop off Dean's family or to ask me to help. Don’t get me wrong, I wasn’t jealous of Lisa, in fact, I was happy for her and Dean. It just hurt every time I saw them together.

  “So that’s why you brought them to Bobby’s,” I whispered, buttering some fresh French bread, “so we could watch them while you guys hunted the Djinn?”

  “Well actually,” Dean said, placing his cup on the table, “just for Bobby to watch them. You’re coming with us right?”

  A small, sad smile appeared on my face as I lifted up Bobby’s plate while shaking my head.

 “I don’t hunt anymore, Dean. When Sam jumped into that cage and you left to go live with Lisa and Ben, the two of you left me behind. So I just stopped hunting. Now I just clean up and cook while studying.”

  “Studying?”

  “I started going back to school. Granted it’s online but I figured I might as well get an education.”

  It was silent between us, so I just walked away and headed towards Bobby with his breakfast. He was sitting at his desk once again when I arrived and graciously welcomed the warm food. I went back into the kitchen, where Dean was still sitting, and picked up the plate for Ben then headed upstairs to give it to him.

  Lisa was unpacking their overnight bags when I reached the room they were staying in. Ben was sitting on the bed, playing some video game on his gaming device. Tapping on the door, I caught their attention and smiled welcomingly.

  “Hey,” I said, “I’m Persephone, a friend of Sam and Dean’s. I made your son some breakfast if he’d like to eat.”

  A smile appeared on her face in return, “thank you, Persephone. I’m Lisa and this is Ben.”

  I didn’t tell her that I already knew her name, that would be rude. Instead, I shook her hand and placed Ben’s food down on one of the nightstands. He thanked me and started shoveling food inside his mouth fast. It reminded me of how Dean would eat when he was in a rush. Swallowing the forming lump inside my throat, I left the two of them to finish unpacking. Halfway down the stairs, I froze and gripped the railing tight. My heart felt like it was racing, tears were streaming down my cheek as I tried to collect myself. Wiping away the unwanted water leaks, I sighed softly and went downstairs. Sam and Dean were getting ready to leave when I made it to the main room. The two Winchester brother’s faced me when I entered.

  “You sure you don’t want to come, Perse?” Sam inquired.

 I held up my hands and giggled, “no thanks. You guys be safe.”

  I hugged them tightly, almost relaxing when I felt the safety of their embrace. They said a final goodbye to Bobby and I then left for wherever it was they were going to hunt this monster. Bobby returned to his breakfast and I went into the kitchen to pack up the leftovers and clean up. Once the kitchen was tidied up, I headed back upstairs to my room to get some reading done. I had some homework assignments that were in desperate need of doing before midnight tomorrow and I liked to stay ahead of the clock.

  Hours and hours passed before I finally passed out while reading my book. No dreams occupied my slumber while I napped, however, I was eventually awakened by the sound of someone knocking on my door. Stirring around in my covers, both eyes pried themselves open and stared at the dimly lit ceiling before looking to my right and seeing it was well past three o’clock in the morning. Another knock echoed throughout the room and I finally dragged myself out of the comforting quilt and onto the assaulting, cold floor. I rubbed my eyes to wipe the sleep away and pulled the door open. Lisa was standing on the other side, holding a plate in her hand.

  “Bobby said that you were up here studying, and you missed dinner,” she said, “did I wake you?”

 “Yeah,” I groggily whispered, “but it’s okay.”

  I took the plate from her and saw that she had cooked some chicken noodle soup. It smelled great, reminding me of my early years in life when I still lived with my mom. She followed me inside of the room as I sat criss crossed on my bed with the soup in hand, smelling the melted butter on the toast. My eyes met the clock once again and was astonished to see that I had slept and studied for such a long time. It felt like only seconds ago that it was morning and I had just finished cooking breakfast.

 “Persephone,” Lisa said while I slurped the soup up, “I’m sure you’re aware of the things Sam and Dean do, right?”

  “Of course,” I answered before scooping another spoonful of soup in my mouth.

 “How were you okay with it? I mean, don’t get me wrong, I love Dean and I understand that he’s gotta do what he has to, but sometimes I worry that he’ll come home hurt or something will follow him home.”

   Though there was a ping in my chest when she said she loved Dean, I couldn’t help but smile at how worried she was for him. It was something that he definitely needed since he was always worrying about other people. I placed the plate onto the empty nightstand and scooted closer to the edge of the bed, patting the spot next to me. When Lisa sat down, I took her hands into my own.

  “It’s a lot to process,” I whispered, “when I met Sam and Dean, I was so unsure about leaving everything I knew to travel with them and fight all of those monsters. But I know deep down in my heart that they would never let people they love get hurt and they’ll die trying to protect those they consider family. Especially Dean. What you can do for him, is just be there, even if it’s hard. Because at the end of the day, he needs that most of all.”

   The two of us shared a hug before she agreed she would do her best to make Dean feel loved and secure. After saying goodnight to me, she retreated back to her room, closing the door behind her. When she was out of sight, I grabbed my soup again and slowly started slurping it up again. It was comforting knowing that she would be taking care of Dean. Once he came back, I’d persuade him to go back with Lisa, telling him that he deserved to be with someone that made him happy.

   The next day came quickly and I hadn’t fallen back asleep after my conversation with Lisa, so I spent the rest of the entire night reading. Soft, illuminating rays of sunshine burst through the clear, white curtains in my room as I finished throwing on a short-sleeve, white, shirt that only tied close. Running my fingers through my brushed hair, I fixed up any lumps that were visible.

  Bobby was asleep at his desk when I reached downstairs, so I went over to him and wrapped a blanket around his snoring body. Picking up his almost empty bottle of scotch, I carried it back to the kitchen to put it away and make a new pot of coffee. Wanting nothing more than to sit outside with a non-school book and my delicious morning nectar, reading as the sun played against my pale skin. There was no telling when Sam and Dean would be home, along with there being no way of knowing when they would wake up. So I wanted to get in as much peace and quiet as possible before the day began.

  With the coffee cup in my right hand and a good book in the other, I sat on the back of one of Bobby’s rundown cars and started reading. Four chapters in and I was already getting up to make myself a second cup of joe. Just as I slipped off the back of the rusted car, Dean and Sam pulled up. The sun was only just inching towards the middle of the sky when they arrived. Both climbing out of their seats, I noticed that they were not only tired but relieved.

  “How’d it go?” I inquired, “seemed pretty quick.”

 “It went fine,” Sam replied, “except Dean’s got a big slash on his arm. They came right at us.”

   I went over to Dean and saw that he had wrapped his cut in a cloth but the blood was still leaking through. Clicking my tongue, I shook my head while leading the two of them inside. Sam explained on the way that they had figured that the Djinn were targeting both of them, so they went back to Dean’s home and waited there. When Dean noticed that his friends and neighbors were being killed, he ran to help and ended up almost dying. But Sam helped him. The fight raged on but in the end, the Winchester boys came out on top. Sam went to wash up while I started taking care of Dean’s wound.

  With the First Aid Kit laying beside me on the kitchen table, I unwrapped his wound and gulped at the sight of it. Dean chuckled.

  “Makes you miss the old days, huh?” He laughed.

 “Not really,” I giggled, “a lot of it may have been great but watching the two people I cared the most about get injured was never easy.”

  “It was never easy watching you get hurt either.”

 I cleaned up the wound and sprayed some of the cleaning solution on it causing Dean to wince. It made me laugh because of how soft he had become in the last year. After rewrapping the wound in a proper bandage, I threw everything else away and put the first aid kit back in its rightful spot. When I looked back at him, I saw that he was staring at his hands.

  “Are you thinking about leaving Lisa and Ben?” I asked, returning to the table.

  “I’m not sure,” he stated, “if I leave them, more monsters could show up looking for me and hurt them, but if I stay then even more monsters will show up and hurt them to get to me.”

  “But at least you’d be there to protect them.”

 His perfect, bright green eyes met my own darker, emerald ones.

  “If you left Lisa and Ben today, then you would never be able to forgive yourself if they got hurt without you being there. However, I know, and Lisa knows, that you would do anything for the people you love. So maybe you being there is what’s best right now.”

   The words seemed to sink in before he nodded in agreement.

 “Then it’s settled. I’ll be going back with Lisa and Ben when they wake up.”

   I squeezed his shoulder and sat down at the table. Running a shaking hand through my hair as a soft sigh left my lips. I don’t know what came over me, all of a sudden I felt that maybe I should say something to him if this was the last time I’d see him. I had no intention of breaking him and Lisa up but I couldn’t keep it to myself anymore. It was practically tearing me up inside.

  “Dean, there’s something I need to tell you before you go,” I whispered.

 “What is it?” He asked, his eyes never wavering away from me.

  My palms felt sweaty and my throat felt drier than I had ever felt before. Taking a deep breath, I faced him and smiled. I chickened out.

  “I’m going to miss you.”

  I went to go back to my room, but Dean grabbed my wrist stopping me from leaving. I clenched my fist tight and turned around, not ready to face him because I knew he could read my face like a book. He stood there holding my arm, not tight but not lightly so I would stay there.

  “That’s definitely not what you were going to say,” he said, “tell me.”

  With a final deep breath, I nodded my head, “I love you.”

  His eyes widened and he dropped my hand, letting it drop to my side. I felt it sway before coming to a slow stop. Then I held it to defend myself.

  “I’m not saying this to break you and Lisa up,” I said, “I want you to go with her and be there for Ben. But I also wanted to let you know, in case we never saw each other again.”

  “Why didn’t you tell me sooner?” He croaked, and I thought that I could see tears in his eyes.

 I could only shrug my shoulders, “with everything going on, it just didn’t feel right. And then you wanted to go live with Lisa after Sam was gone so I just never told you.”

   Our conversation was interrupted by Ben and Lisa running into the kitchen, Bobby walking behind them, and embracing Dean. They were happy that he had come home with hardly any injuries. Dean wrapped his arms around them both but he was staring at me. I smiled sweetly, holding my hands in front of me while watching them be reunited. Lisa and Ben were ready to go home with Dean, and even though I knew Dean wanted to stay and talk more about what I had just confessed, I helped push him out the door. If he stayed any longer, I was definitely going to want him to stay forever. But I couldn’t be selfish. Sam, Bobby, and I stood at the front door and waved as the three of them drove off. When they were out of sight, my hand dropped. I felt Bobby place his hand on my shoulder and look at me with understanding.

  I wasn’t sure when the next time I would see Dean again, but I knew that it wasn’t going to be any time soon. And if I was being honest, I didn’t want to see him again. He needed to be with Lisa.

[nagipops]

hi! i just saw your shikamaru x smart reader piece and it's so clever and sweet and cute!! can I request kakashi or shikamaru trying (poorly) to cook for a gn!reader?

IS IT COOKED?

FEATURING: shikamaru nara!

SUMMARY: in which you and your lazy, culinary-challenged boyfriend attempt to cook up an edible meal.

WARNINGS: food, profanity

A/N: thank you so much, ari :D lowkey feel like kakashi would be a god in the kitchen, so have shikamaru <3

“What a drag...” Shikamaru sighed, draping over your shoulders as you dragged his limp body into the kitchen.

“C’mon, Shika, I’m feeling lazy today.” You turned so that your chest was facing him instead of your back, so his arms slipped around your waist instead. “Plus, I wanna taste your cooking! I’m sure you’ll be great at it.”

He whined with his face buried in your chest. “Finee... but only ‘cause I like you so much.”

You giggled, ruffling his dark hair and wrapping your arms around him. “Like me? What are we, grade schoolers?”

“Like like you.” He pulled himself upright and planted a hand on your head as he entered the kitchen, pulling you in with him. “Okay boss, show me how it’s done.”

Grabbing ingredients out of the fridge and placing them on the countertop, you folded your arms in front of your chest. “Nope. You’re doing this on your own, Shika.”

His jaw crashed to the floor. “On my own?”

You nodded in satisfaction. “Yup. I told you, I’m feeling lazy today. C’mon, show me what you got.”

Shikamaru’s jaw was still on the ground as he gaped incredulously at you for a whole minute before he picked it up off the floor and stared dumbfounded at the heap of veggies and meats in front of him. “What am I… wha…”

Snickering at the fact that you finally caught your smart aleck boyfriend at a loss, you hopped up onto the opposite countertop, swinging your legs back and forth in amusement.

Your boyfriend gave you an exasperated look, slumping his shoulders. “(Y/N)…”

You flashed him a cheeky grin. “I believe in you! Whatever you make, I’m sure it’ll be delicious. I’ll help you out if you reaaaally need it.”

He trudged over and draped his arms around your shoulders, sighing heavily. “Fine… that cute face of yours is gonna be the death of me.”

A blush creeping up your neck, you smiled and hugged him back. “Mhm. Flattery’s not gonna get you out of this one, though.”

“Damn it.”

The crackle of noodles hitting the pan accompanied by the greasy aroma of cooking oil wafted through the kitchen as Shikamaru fumbled with a stir fry spatula while simultaneously attempting to halve an onion.

“Shit.” The wooden paddle clattered to the ground with a deafening crack amidst the cacophony within the kitchen. Meat was sizzling in the pan next to the noodles, the sink was running over the colander of broccoli, countless bowls, measuring cups, and ingredients were strewn about the countertops. You were running out of room to sit.

Biting back a grimace, you piped up quietly. “Shika, I think you got a little ahead of yourself…”

“I am doing perfectly fine, (Y/N).” He huffed, beads of sweat forming above his furrowed brows as he swiftly stirred the yakisoba noodles back and forth in the scalding hot pan. An earsplitting pop followed by a tall fume of smoke sounded from the pan of meat. Eyes panicked, he hollered, “Uh… your help would be greatly appreciated, though!”

Sliding off your tiny sliver of countertop in the blink of an eye, you rushed to your boyfriend’s side and clamped a lid over the pan before flipping off the burner, heaving a relieved sigh. “My god, Shika, you almost burnt our house down!”

He chuckled sheepishly, stirring the noodles more hesitantly. “Ah… sorry ‘bout that. Looks like I need your help, huh?”

You rolled your eyes, lightly flicking his temple. “Even if you burn the whole house down, you aren’t getting my help. That was a one-time save.”

The end of his mouth quirked up in a smirk. “Is it, now? Should I do it again?”

“Try me, witty boy.”

Shikamaru eyed you with a challenging stare, raising an eyebrow. “Whatever you say, boss.” He reached over to remove the lid from the previously flaming pan as you stood rooted to your spot. Clouds of smoke and the acrid fumes of burnt meat instantaneously corrupted your senses as your boyfriend grabbed a pair of tongs and flipped the bright pink slab of meat over so the impossibly charred side was upright.

The two of you stared at the pitch black block of… what could maybe— possibly— pass as meat.

“Well, it’s definitely… cooked?”

“Ugh… Choji would be utterly disappointed in me, huh?”

“Incredibly disappointed. Keep going, though. This is… still edible. I hope?”

Shikamaru heaved an exhausted sigh. “C’mon, babe, isn’t this valid proof that I’m not built for this cooking thing?”

“Careful, those noodles are going to burn too.” You guided his hands back to the non-burning pan, allowing him to stir them back and forth once again. “Timing is everything. You started the noodles too early, and now the veggies aren’t going to be chopped up in time.”

“Constructive criticism, please. Constructive.” He stirred the noodles with a bit more diligence and effort this time as they turned golden brown.

You giggled, carefully grabbing the knife and chopping the abandoned onion in half. “Look, turn off the heat. I’ll watch the noodles for you, you have to cut the vegetables. Sound good?”

Shikamaru whistled in relief as he flipped off the stove. “Music to my ears, boss.” He slyly snaked his arms around your waist as you organized the countertop for him. “Man, this is exhausting,” he whined into your ear. “How the hell do you do this three times a day?”

You smirked in satisfaction, reaching an arm behind your head to ruffle his hair. “I ask myself the very same question. I think we should cut it down to two, no?”

“Noooo… your cooking’s too damn tasty…” he pressed a soft kiss to your neck as you felt his body get limper and limper.

You clicked your tongue, slapping the side of his head. “Hey, no sleeping on the job. Get to work.”

Digging his chin into your shoulder as he unraveled his arms from your body, he sighed, “Aye aye, captain.”

After an abundance of eye watering slices, near finger amputations, and arguments over if “julienne” is a name or a knife technique, Shikamaru was finally completed with his masterpiece of a dish.

A makeshift blindfold fashioned out of a random scarf was fastened around your eyes as you awaited his creation at the dinner table as your boyfriend rustled around the kitchen.

A deafening crash sounded from a few feet away, and your heart leapt out of your chest. “Umm… Shika?”

“I’m fine!” He shouted, his voice wavering ever so slightly. “Uh, just some— shit— just some technical difficulties!”

Stifling a laugh, you eased into your seat once more. “Okay, I’m waiting!”

After a few more minutes of clattering and curses, you heard the tune of your favorite classical song whistled by none other than Shikamaru. “Welcome to the Narastaurant, (Y/N). For today, I present you with…” His fingers hastily fumbled with the knot at the back of your head. “Wait, shit…”

You heaved an amused sigh as a grin formed on your lips. “You need help there?”

“No, I— I got it…” A sharp tug pulled your head backwards as the scarf unraveled into his hands.

“Shika!”

“Shoot, sorry ‘bout that.” He pressed a soft kiss to the back of your head. “Anyways…”

Your eyes were drawn to the colorful plate in front of you. Meticulously arranged into a rainbow of nearly charred veggies perched atop a heaping pile of noodles and half-pink-half-black slices of meat was a steaming plate of yakisoba. A gasp rose in your throat. “Shika! This is incredible!” You whipped around to face him as he stood proudly over you. “How did you plate this so well?”

A smile tugged at his lips. “Growing up with that flower pig Ino taught me a few things about color theory and spacing and whatnot.” He rubbed at the back of his neck sheepishly. “As for taste…”

You raised your eyebrows, turning back to the plate in front of you. “Ah, yes, the taste…” Clasping your hands together, you gave a quick thank you for the meal before snapping your chopsticks in half and digging into the colorful dish. You raised a well-balanced bite of meat, veggies, and noodles to your lips and were instantly overwhelmed by the pungent, bitter taste of burnt oil. Pursing your lips as your lungs begged for oxygen, you forced yourself to get it down your throat. “Ahem, ahh, this is… this is something!”

Not one to get offended over his mistakes, Shikamaru only chuckled from behind you. “No kidding. Let me have a try.” Whipping out his own pair of chopsticks, he grabbed a bundle of noodles and two slices of charred meat before raising it to his lips, nearly coughing it back up as soon as he did so. “Oh— oh, god, oh god that’s bad.” Both of your hacking coughs rang throughout the dining room. “I feel like I just ate Satan’s ashes.” He whispered in between strained coughs, tears forming in his eyes.

Laughter welled up in your throat in between coughs as your eyes began to water as well. “I mean—” Cough. “I mean, Satan might like this?”

“Gee— thanks, babe. I’m sure he’d love it if we— we showed up to his annual potluck in hell with burnt pieces of who-knows-what.” Shikamaru was laughing too, gripping the edges of the table as he attempted to regain his composure.

The two of you laughed and coughed and laughed at his failed debut as a chef, teasing and poking each other at the dinner table.

Let’s just say you definitely didn’t eat Satan’s ashes for dinner that day.

if you enjoyed this post, likes and reblogs are much appreciated :) feel free to request here, and make sure to read the rules first! have a lovely day everyone <3

[katzkinder]

Little Boy Blue

Mahiru is tired.

Kuro can see it, in the way his folding isn’t as neat, in the way the vegetables in their dinner aren’t as uniformly chopped, in the way his head bobs during school lessons, his laughter isn’t as loud, how he doesn’t check half so well before he crosses the street and needs the ever watchful hand of Sakuya to drag him back from the curb, a shout on the subclass’s lips, scolding and fussing about the car that had just whizzed past their little group.

Mahiru is tired, but he refuses to rest.

And it’s driving Kuro mad.

It’s as Mahiru is jerked and prodded, worried and fussed over by his trio of school friends, that Kuro makes a decision.

His Eve will get some sleep, whether he wants to or not.

Thankfully for him, he knows Mahiru wants it. The frustrating part is that his stupid, incredible, wonderful human doesn’t think he’s earned it. Not yet. Not when there was still more to do.

Which meant, joy of joys… He needed some help.

Good thing he had three ready made volunteers right there with him on the curb.

Now to convince them.

***

The easiest part, by far, was getting them to go along with his plan. Slipping into Mahiru’s bag to use the cellphone Tooru had bought him (every time he thought about it, he still couldn’t believe it. His own phone, his own clothes, his own games, his own… Everything, really), he sent a single text to three different numbers.

Mahiru’s exhausted. Help me get him to chill out?

The hard part…

“Hey, Mahiru! It’s been a while since we all last had a sleepover, right?”

“Huh? Oh, yeah, it has…”

“Since we’re already going to be walking you home to make sure you don’t wander out into traffic…”

“It was an accident!”

“Party at Mahiru-sama’s place~!”

“Would you stop with that stupid… Fine! But Sakkun is paying for the food!”

… Wasn’t actually that hard? But, well. Leave it to the grungy joker to just… Steamroll his way into Mahiru’s place, invited or not. And become a steamed cabbage in the process.

The power of Mahiru-sama is frightening indeed…

***

The first order of business when the five of them arrive at Mahiru’s apartment is taken care of handily by, once again, Sakuya.

“Pizza time!” he crows, tapping the order into a website Kuro only vaguely recognizes the name of. It’s not a delivery app, but the website’s own page, and while he’s busy with that, Kuro hops out of Mahiru’s bag, ready to go fetch blankets and pillows from the linen closet in order to set them all up.

Except Mahiru’s two human friends beat him to it.

All the better, he thinks, as he hops up onto the couch to watch them spread things out right in front of the TV. The living room is small, the area they’ve chosen to occupy even more so, but it’s what he would have chosen for Mahiru, too, to cram them all together, to surround his Eve with the simple pressure and warmth of his loved ones crowded close.

Not for the first time, and certainly not the last, Kuro is so… Grateful for Mahiru’s friends. Before him, and even after him, they will love Mahiru like a brother, like a family, know him in ways he can’t, the same way Gear knows him in ways Mahiru never will.

And that’s fine. To be known is to be loved, and more than anyone, Mahiru deserves it.

“Mahiru, can you help Ryuu-chan? I’m gonna go make sure Sakuya doesn’t burn your kitchen down trying to make popcorn.”

“Hey! I’ll have you know, I’m always the one who makes the popcorn when Shamrock can’t!”

“And how much of it do you burn?”

“Less than you, so nyeh.”

… Maybe he should go watch them.

“Ah, Kuro, don’t get your fur on the counter!”

“Can’t deal…”

At the least, Mahiru seems to already be feeling better. It’s like magic. The best kind Kuro has ever seen.

***

Kuro spends the night as a cat, nestled in Mahiru’s lap or lying across his back, little paws kneading his Eve’s flesh and purring up a storm, extra sweet and extra soothing, while the other three pile around them. Mahiru is… Quiet. But not a bad quiet, no. A good quiet, letting the presence of the other people in their home wash over him, their bickering and their teasing, not a host but just a friend, just another kid, a kid with greasy fingers and a half drunk bottle of cola and two boxes of extra large pepperoni pizzas with cheesy bread set out before them.

“Where the heck do you find these pizza places I’ve never heard of?” Ryuusei asks after a particularly long cheese stretch has him craning his head back and holding his arms out, making the other three laugh, “This is great.”

“Vampire SNS,” Sakuya tells him proudly, and snickers once more at the tongue click it nets him.

Much to Kuro’s surprise, after building their little nest, the green haired vampire had graciously given up his preferred spot next to Mahiru without a word, instead settling himself shoulder to shoulder with the short one, Ryuusei, while he and Koyuki had pressed themselves up against Mahiru like they were trying to merge with him. It’s a tangle of arms and legs, like cats lying one on top of the other, physical closeness that speaks volumes of the emotional one they’ve cultivated with each other, and which they were slowly, Kuro felt, trying to ease him into.

It was a strange feeling. Being included.

But it wasn’t one he hated by any means.

Ryuusei flops his head against Mahiru’s arm, cheek squishing ridiculously as he squints at the screen. “Who picked this again?”

The crunching from Mahiru’s right stops, and a bowl of half eaten popcorn, buttery and with the perfect amount of salt, is nudged his Eve’s way. Wordlessly, Mahiru grabs up a big handful of it, stuffs it in his mouth with a knowing little smile, a sort of carelessness Kuro can never seem to invoke on his own.

The shuffling of fabric, and Koyuki leans onto Mahiru’s shoulder as well, the barest hint of a pout to his voice. “Does it matter? Even bad movies are fun when we’re together.”

“You’re cheesier than this pizza,” Sakuya teases, and Mahiru grins, laughs, finally says something, the exhaustion all but gone from his voice.

“That means Koyuki definitely picked it.”

“So you’re the one responsible!” Ryuusei shouts, and Koyuki flicks popcorn at him, bounces it right off his head.

“Shut up! You can change it, y’know.”

“Well, we’re already this far in,” Mahiru muses, and Sakuya quietly plucks the floor tainted popcorn up to place on a napkin, “Might as well finish it.”

Kuro is… So glad that Mahiru has friends who can do this for him. To do the things he can’t. This sense of total normalcy, of being just another teenager… It’s not really something he can help with. Not really. He knows he’s the type to overthink, to become discouraged when his efforts don’t get immediate results.

But now Mahiru is laughing again.

It’s everything he could have asked for.

***

Hours upon hours later, the only light in the room is from the flickering TV screen, and the only sounds are the soft breaths of four teenage boys, fast asleep right there on the floor.

Kuro finally rouses himself, gets up, stretches, and carefully picks his way down Mahiru’s back. Only then does he allow himself to transform back into a human, cracking his neck, his back, and sighing heavily at the relief it grants his stiff joints.

It’s time to get to work. All that effort would be meaningless if Mahiru woke to a mess, so clean up crew Kuro shall be.

First go the soda bottles. Back into the fridge, without a label or a care for who had drunk from what, because it’s not like those four cared anyway, but Mahiru hated to waste food. Honestly, Kuro was in agreement on that much, but especially when it came to his favorites. So, twisting each cap tightly back into place, he made sure to set them up in plain sight so that they’d be finished in the morning (and if not by their owners, by him), blocking the light of the fridge with his own body and the tails of his coat so as not to disturb the quartet of friends.

Next were the pizza boxes. Each one was completely empty, but that was no surprise, given that there were two shared between the five of them. Even the little banana peppers included had been devoured. If Kuro had to guess… Mahiru. For some godforsaken reason, his Eve adored things that set his mouth on fire, and no amount of “it’s not that spicy!” would change Kuro’s opinion that Mahiru, sweet faced, stubborn, wonderful Mahiru, just wanted to see what the fires of hell tasted like.

(And maybe he was a bit of a baby when it came to peppers, but clearly that wasn’t his fault)

Onto the counters the pizza boxes went.

Next came the bowl of popcorn, filled with nothing but unpopped kernels, then the plates, then the napkins, then the painstaking process of picking up every infernal piece of popped corn that had been jokingly thrown about between friends with zero thought for who would have to clean it up all up.

Considering how many Sakuya had tossed, he had a feeling the other vampire had known Kuro would take it upon himself to tidy up their garbage, and found himself cracking an annoyed, if fond, smile.

Little brat.

Mess more or less taken care of, Kuro had one last task to complete, and fetching the fluffiest quilt he could find from the closet that hadn’t already been used to pad out the hard tile in front of their TV, he carefully, carefully, spread it out over the pile of sleeping boys. Not a one stirred, not even Mahiru.

His smile turned ever so slightly bitter.

Well, that was fine. That was good, even, because it meant that, more than he’d thought, Mahiru had needed this night, this little slice of being normal, of simplicity.

Looking at each face in turn… He thought that maybe, all of them had.

Himself included.

Tucking himself into the crook of Mahiru’s neck was easy, a warm, furry weight that had his Eve curling up even more, ever so slightly, setting off a chain reaction as each teenager also shifted, one or two murmuring in their sleep, shuffling closer to each other like small birds seeking safety and comfort during a storm.

And that was fine, too. Kuro would watch over their dreams, every one.

Sleep tight, guys. Sweet dreams...

[weasleywinchester]

Begin Again

Pt. 2 | Pt. 3

Saul Silva x OC (Reader?)

Ok ya’ll I FINALLY watched the season finally on Fate: The Winx Saga and oh boy I’m excited to see what happens next season! ANYWAYS, I realize that the main cast is somewhat close to my age (Riven is actually my age IRL), but I be thirstin over my man Robert James - Collier (Loved him in Downton Abbey!)

I mean... he’s a very physically fit, grumpy, Soldier/Dad. Who else would I drool over? So here’s where my very smutty mind went after binging the whole of season one.

Warnings: Cursing, smut 

Timeline: Before Season 1, I’m thinking about the year before? 

Additional side note: Plus Size Reader/OC? (I write for me, and I do indeed posses body fat, although this particular fic doesn’t focus on that).

Summary:

Your name is Phoenix Kin, a fire fairy that graduated from Alfea a lifetime ago (or so it feels). An opportunity for an amazing job gave you two options: to stay with the two people you loved most or to serve your people. Sky was ten when you left, a growing boy with no parents and so much strength and love. But he would always have you and Saul. Saul was a mentor for your combat training when you were at Alfea, which quickly turned into something more after he asked you to help him with Sky’s training. Now you’re back and everything clicks back into place.

Additional Additional Side Note: Sky shortened your name to Phee.

“It’s wonderful to see you back in Alfea.” Farah comments as the two of you walk the grounds. You two don’t have much of a history together, but you’ve been associated with similar circles of friends. 

“It’s very nice to be back actually. I always loved school, and this place.”

“I imagine Sky will appreciate you being around again. He’s become one of the most promising specialists.” She turns onto the grass and leads you towards the fighting stages. You can’t make out the details of his face but the bright blonde head and superior fighting skills must mean it’s him. As you reach the stage as he puts his classmate on his back, winning the round.

“Nice job Sky.” You laugh. He whips around to face you, leaping off the stage and swallowing you in a hug.

“Phee when did you get here? Wait, why are you here?” He pulls back to look down at your face.

“Ms. Kin will be teaching a new art course at Alfea. I do have a meeting to get to; Sky I would like you to finish showing Ms. Kin around.” She gently squeezes your shoulder and walks back towards her office.

“Help me up?” You gesture to the stage. Sky quickly kneels so you can easily step onto the stage, his opponent offering his hand to you as well. “Ok, so to not get you assed kicked, when he throws a hook, block just the same but one hand will tug on his wrist and the other should come to hook around his neck. Leaves his middle completely open and, if you’re lucky, he’ll turn into your arm and get a nice chop to the throat.” You show him on Sky, who giggles at the serious expression of his friend.

“And you mister,” you poke Sky in the shoulder, “You need to watch those elbows. They’re a dead giveaway in your hook.”

“Told you!” His friend laughs.

“Shut up Riven.” Sky grits through his teeth.

“Alright, why are we fightin’ with words and not fists during practice?” Saul shouts. Your heart begins to race. It’s been five years since the last time you saw him, you’ve played every scenario on how all this would play out... well, all but this one.

“Silva, look.” Sky smiles, stepping aside to reveal you. Saul stops dead in his tracks. Whatever lecture he had planned has now flown right out of his brain.

“Phoenix” He whispers. His eyes focused solely on your face, as if he looked anywhere else you might disappear.

“Hi.” Is all you manage to push past your lips.

“Class dismissed for today” Someone else shouts and the kids disperse with noises of glee. You wait until the noise dies off, making sure that Saul won’t be embarrassed when you close the space in between you two and wrap your arms around his middle. You instantly feel his arms envelop you, his hot breath fanning into the crook of your neck.

“What are you doing here?” You can practically hear his brows furrowing in concern.

“Teaching apparently.” You answer into his chest.

“For fairies only?” Sky frowns. You unwillingly move your face from Saul’s chest to look at Sky.

“No, it’ll be open to all. The way fairies portray themselves here, and how they’re seen in the Otherworld should be knowledge for all. Plus you’ll get to create some art yourselves, for when everyone ends up in the history books.”

“So you’ll be staying the whole school term then?” The corner of Saul’s mouth twitches a little. You, in Alfea… with him. 

“Unless I get fired.” You smile at him, wishing you were in private instead in the middle of the fighting fields. 

“But what about your mission? Is that over? Are you allowed to talk about it?” Sky is bouncing around you and Saul like a lunatic. 

“How about we talk over dinner. My place, just the three of us.” You smile at both of them.

“Yes!” they answer in unison. 

_______ You flit around the kitchen as you prepare dinner. You set the table for three, adding a dash of salt to the soup and wash the last of the cooking mess. You managed to have Ben Harvey’s daughter make a lovely table arrangement of flowers, which you place in the middle of your little round table.

“Phee, did you ever know my father?” Sky asks as he nibbles his sandwich, his bright blue eyes following your every move.

“I only met him a few times. Nice, very good soldier. From the way Mr. Silva talks about him, he would have been a good father for you.” You give Sky a small smile, tilting his chin to look up at you. “At least you have Mr. Silva, and me. You’ll always have me, Sky.”

A knock at the door startles you from the memory, you quickly place silverware on the table and answer the door.

“Phee, you look beautiful!” Sky kisses you on the cheek handing you a small chocolate cake as he waltzes past you.

“Pour the soup into the bowls!” You shout after him. He turns, giving you two thumbs up. He automatically goes to the cabinet with the plates, remembering where you kept everything all those years ago. 

You turn back to Saul, the butterflies in your stomach stirring as his gaze works it’s way up your body. You wanted to be a bit sexy, but not overtly so, for Sky’s sake. It was a simple dark burgundy dress that accentuated all the things you wanted, with a nude colored mesh over the top, giving a very high fashion but casual look. And mesh drives Saul crazy, just the smallest barrier between his touch and your skin.

He wraps one arm around your waist, the other holds a bottle of wine.

“You do look beautiful, stunning.” He whispers, planting a gentle kiss where he knows it makes your knees buckle. You will yourself not to lose control, not to push him into the wall and attack him with your mouth.

“Ok the tables set!” Sky announces proudly. You and Saul walk to the table, and you see he actually learned how to serve food! Saul quickly pops the cork out of the bottle, pouring you and himself a large glass, and letting Sky have a sample.

“A toast, to the return of one of  Alfea’s finest students.” Saul raises his glass.

“And the confidant to both of us.” Sky adds. The three of you clink glasses and dig in. Both boys dig in like they haven’t eaten in years, the sound of slurping and satisfied mumbling making you smile.

“So, what have you been doing all this time Phee?” Sky asks in between spoonful's of soup. 

“I’ve been in a few different realms. Mainly updating the visuals for things that have been long discovered; plants, animals, humans, fairies. A lot has changed in the realms and mostly the fact that paperwork is slowly going away!”

“Then why the change? And why now?” Saul frowns.

“I’m not sure honestly. I was meant to be working in Solaria for the next few years. Myself and a few others started work but when I tried to gain access to the more ancient records Queen Luna almost had me beheaded. ”

“Queen Luna? I can’t imagine anyone that angry at you.” Sky muses.

“That’s because Phee here doesn't give up on her projects so easily. You tell her she can’t know something that is crucial to her assignment, she’ll fight tooth and nail for it.” Saul sasses. Sky raises his eyebrows at you, his mouth dramatically agape.

“Ok so I pestered her for a bit...” 

“That’s why she’s simultaneously the worst and best soldier.” Saul grins.

“ANYWAYS, after prodding everyone for access, I must have gotten too close to one of the many secrets the Queen keeps. I was removed from the project and asked to come teach here.”

“And now the three of us can have dinner every weekend. And you have to come train with the specialists. Sure Silva would love to use you as an example for something.” Sky laughs as Saul pushes his shoulder.

“Oh don’t worry, I will. But not until everyone has judged that I’m just a bat crazy art teacher. That way when I bring out the fire they’ll be dazzled!” You laugh. 

And dinner seemed to last for hours, and yet was still too short. Sky caught you up on five years of training, complaining about how much Saul said he could be a good man just like his father. Saul praised Sky for all the work he put in, which both of you knew he would only ever say within the walls of your little cottage. Sky told you many stories of pranks he and his friends would pull, which made you belly laugh and Saul would simply shake his head. This little bubble the three of you were in felt like it used to be. Everyone was just a bit older now. Feelings that you had pushed away for the last five years were resurfacing. And now you were understanding why the old job didn’t feel like the right fit: it didn’t involve the two gentlemen sitting on either side of you. 

A hand gently lays on top of yours, and you automatically threaded your fingers through his. Saul let out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding in. He spent the last five years fully involved in Sky’s training. Training Sky to be a better soldier, a better man, then Andreas or himself could ever be. And he was, which made Saul proud. But there were always moments, as he laid waiting for sleep to overtake him, that he would think of you. Think of what it would have been like if you stayed. Would he have been brave enough to ask you to marry him? Or would the two of you ended up hating each other?

“Isn’t this the part where both of you agree that I should go to bed?” Sky asks, his eyes flitting between you two.

“Oh goodness, yes! It is quite late.” You unthread your fingers and gather the plates. Sky walks to the sink, turning the tap on and splashing soap into the basin.

“Wow, a true gentleman you’ve become.” You remark as he takes the plates from your hands.

“Don’t believe the act, it’s only for you.” Saul stage whispers as he sets the empty wine glasses on the counter.

“It is not! I do have manners… if I use them or not depends entirely on the company.” He laughs.

“Well, I imagine your friends would like to hang out with you, so run along. I’ll see you tomorrow afternoon at the assembly.” You give him a squeeze.

“I can help, I promise.” Sky mumbles into your hair as he squeezes back.

“Run, before I change my mind!” You laugh, scooting him to the door. 

“Alright, alright! I’ll see you tomorrow.” Sky flashes one more brilliant smile before stepping into the night.

“I’ve missed that kid.” You murmur as you watch Sky jog back to his dorm. He’s grown at least a foot, he’s incredibly strong and disciplined. And he thankfully doesn’t seem to be carrying the weight of the world just yet.

“He’s missed you as well.” Saul comments as he washes the dishes. You close the door and walk over to the sink, picking up the clean dishes and drying them. The familiar routine is welcome after five lonely years. The two of you wash and dry in silence, the faint clinking of the dishes mixing with the crickets singing outside bringing a sense of peace. 

Saul hands you the last dish, unplugging the sink before drying his hands on the towel that you’ve thrown over your shoulder. You take no mind to his action, but the urge to be close to you outweighs the thought that he should let the past be the past. He gently pushes your hair to one side and places a gentle kiss at the base of your neck. 

You bite your lip, eager for him to continue. He gently rubs his nose along the exposed skin and whispers “I miss you.”

You set the last dish down and turn to him, your lips quickly finding his. He kisses back, hungry for something he hasn’t felt in so long. His large hands gather your dress until he feels the warmth of your skin. 

His calloused hands gently squeezing along your thighs until he’s able to seat you on the counter. Your lips part from his, your head lulling back as he attacks your neck, remembering each little patch of skin that makes you melt into him. Your legs quickly wrap around his waist, heels digging into his back so he wedges himself against your core. 

“Saul, bed!” You moan and he rolls his hips in response. Once your words compute he slides you off the counter, your feet hit the floor as he brings his mouth back to yours. He still has the map of your cottage burned into his brain, and thank the ancestors you unpacked everything just the same. 

You both stumble into your bedroom as Saul yanks off the blasted mesh dress, his hands finally in contact with more than just the heat of your skin. He moves his mouth down your body, your legs so wobbly that he pushes you onto your back with ease. You feel him slide your lace panties off, his hands massaging your legs as he throws them over his shoulders. 

Before you could tell him he doesn’t have to, he flattens his tongue, sliding it through your slick folds. You moan his name, your mind going blank with the amount of pleasure coursing through you. He laps at your clit, the gentle rock of your hips against his face sending him into overdrive. He can feel you’re close, dying for you to gush all over him. He moves his tongue to your entrance, his prominent nose rubbing your clit as he swirls his tongue inside you.

Your hands thread into his short hair, his name mixed in with noises you haven’t made in the last five years. And with a moment of piercing silence, you’re pushed over the edge. Your orgasm rips through your veins as Saul drinks you like a water fountain. You push his head back, his mouth quickly moving up your body until he’s reattached to your neck. 

“Saul, more.” You beg, reaching to feel his hard cock through his pants. He grunts, breath catching in his throat as you rub him. He quickly gets to his knees, ripping his clothes off as fast as he can. Your mouth meets his half way, the feel of his skin on yours burning you to the core. You quickly grab a condom off the bedside table, easily slipping it on him.

He gives you an open mouthed kiss before gently pushing inside you. You both moan as his slides in with no resistance, the sensation of him inside you almost too much for you both. He tries to pull himself together, no way would he ever release before feeling you cum around him. 

“Baby, I need movement” you whine, clenching him gently. He grabs your hips, pushing you a fraction away from him and pulling you back. That small movement makes you moan his name, and that’s all it takes for him to snap his hips against yours. His pace quickens the less you talk, and the less you talk the more your fingers dig into his back. 

“Let me fuck you into the mattress.” He moans when you try to flip the two of you over. You don’t want to be selfish, but when he fucks you like this. And that’s when you feel his fingers rub against you, the slow burn of your orgasm picking up speed until it crashes into the apex of your thighs. Your walls flutter around him, your hips moving in sync with his, and he opens his eyes to your blissed out face, your mouth wide open for a silent scream. 

“Saul!” You moan once more, and he spills into the condom, pumping in and out of you until he’s soft. Both of you still panting, the last bit of that high coursing through you as he gently lies next to you. 

His hand lightly traces the curves of your body, his eyes following the movement. When he reaches your jaw you stop his hand, bringing each finger tip to your lips.

“I miss you too.” You whisper.

“Can we start over?” He whispers, sadness reflected in his eyes.

“No. But we can begin again.” You smile.

[xmint-conditionx]

《the emperor’s dagger》 ch1 | myg

❦ pairing: emperor!yoongi x concubine!reader ❦ w/c: 4.5k ❦ summary: you recall the first night that you began to love your emperor more than your job required. you find yourself in a dangerous situation that surely means death if mistakes are made. being careful is your first priority, but it’s easy to forget where and who you are when you lock eyes with him. ❦ tags/cw: 18+ please, smut, the tiniest bit of fluff you ever saw, brief blood/gore descriptions, derogatory names but not in the way you think, fingering, slight begging, slight nibbling, “be quiet or people could hear” trope, a little adorable aftercare yoongi is here uwu ❦ a/n: guys get fuckin PUMPED okay. i am so so so excited to bring you this crazy story. as far as i have planned, there are 15 chapters. this has (kind of obviously) been in the works since daechwita dropped, so i’m sure you won’t have any trouble picturing our lovely king. this is a complete fantasy setting, so please do know that i am not trying to emulate any particular culture or time period. 

also, please note that this is a repost of my work from a previous blog, so if it looks familiar to you, that’s probably why lmao

anyway, thanks luv, enjoy!

- minty

Blood stains your blade, glistening bright crimson in the hot sun. You’re surrounded by anguish, pain, the sounds of final breaths and final cries. The dead soldier that lies on the dirty brick in front of you, who had been alive and trying to claim your life only moments before is staring lifelessly into the middle distance. You fight the urge to close his eyes; you two could have been friends, after all. You probably have even crossed paths before. A shudder runs through you at the thought. How many of these men that will meet their end at your sword will you have known? How many of your people will have to die? Are they still even your people? You don’t want to know the answer to these questions.

What had he called you? What had he said before his sword clashed with yours?

That’s right.

“Whore.”

You never anticipated being in this situation. You had never wanted to have to fight; you only had wanted to look as beautiful as he had wielding a sword. Fighting was always something that was necessary for your people, but it was never something you would have to be doing yourself. You’d heard palace guards talking about some distant battle and thought it might be a fun adventure-- going off to war. You were wrong. You were naive. About a lot of things, it turns out.

That was a different time, when your only adventure came in the form of a secret romance. When the riskiest thing you did was love an emperor. Your emperor. Your Yoongi.

Where is he?

You look back to where you had last seen him on the battlefield. His long blonde hair shines like gold in the midday sun, only rivaling the sheen of his trusted blade. He cuts down his opponent with a decisive swing, the sick squelching sound of innards falling onto the hot stone as the man cries out. You watch as he expertly scans his surroundings, looking for anyone else that would dare challenge his skill in the chaos. He’s missing an earring, you realize. Both of you are heaving under the stress of battle. This is more than you’d ever prepared for. You don’t know if you’ll make it. 

Your hesitant eyes meet his assured ones, and for an instant, sword in hand, it’s like the first night you’d snuck up to meet him in his chambers.

The dark wooden floorboards of the upper palace creaks, and you scold yourself for not being more quiet. Being caught will at the least result in a very long and extensive round of questioning by the royal guard. Trouble is the last thing you want to stir up. 

Emperor Min had specifically requested you come to his private room in secret tonight, and that is a little strange to you. He has the power to have any of his women whenever he wishes, and he has asked for you to come to him under the cloak of night. Why must this time be a secret? He has had you many times before, so why must this time be hidden?

In his handwritten note that he had slipped to you earlier in the day, he instructs for you to wait until all the other concubines are asleep before you leave your wing. If you are careful, you can take a shortcut through the North Wing Tearoom and pass the guards who only patrol the center hallway. So that’s what you do. 

You see that they’re far enough down the corridor that they won’t be able to detect your movements, and so you silently slip through the large ornate wooden doors. You’ve been in this room many times before, but it feels like your first time here. Everything looks so different without the familiar warm glow of lantern light. The moon’s shadows are cold and sharply cast, and a chill runs up your spine. You don’t have to even look to feel his presence. To feel his eyes on you.

He’s waiting for you, sitting at the bottom edge of his large, low bed, chin perched delicately on his folded hands. The cool metal of his many rings shine in the moonlight, and past those adorned hands, he is staring right at you. His stare is one that is unreadable to most. Nobody is ever really able to know what is going on in his head. Nobody could ever know what emotion lies behind the stare. You wonder how much time he spends in thought. 

“Come,” he says, motioning in his direction.

You obey your king, stepping forward a few paces. Something on his bed catches and glints in the moonlight. A sword? You stop, only halfway to him. You could already be in trouble. If he had heard your conversation with another concubine a few days ago, heavy questioning by the easily fooled palace guards will be the least of your worries. They won’t ask questions before they kill you.

“Your Majesty,” you say to the ground, too demure to look him in the eye as you speak, fearing what he might say and do, “why have you invited me here like this?”

Emperor Min stands and almost silently completes the distance over to where you stand. His calloused palm gently grazes your jaw, thumb on your cheekbone as his fingers wind through your hair. His touch calms your racing heart, and fills your belly with strength and boldness. You finally find the courage to look up.

“I have a surprise for you, my dove,” the emperor says, and you think you see a hint of excitement in his dark brown eyes. 

He quickly spins around and guides you over to where he had been sitting moments before. He picks up the hilt of the sword that was laying next to him and places it delicately into your palm, enclosing his hand around yours. You had expected him to pick up the sword, but to put it in your hands? Impossible.

“I heard you say you wanted to learn to sword fight,” he says, smiling gently down at you.

Your mouth drops; your worst fear has been realized. He had heard your hushed conversation. Surely, you were about to die. Maybe if you groveled and flattered him enough, he would spare you.

“Your Grace, it was only a passing comment. I was only in awe of how skillfully you were practicing out in the gardens. I did not mean for anyone to hear; I was simply awe-struck by your deftness. I do not truly wish to learn. It was a foolish slip of the tongue. Please, forgive me.”

Please, don’t kill me.

“My dear, are you worried about your life?” he asks.

“Yes, Your Majesty. I am,” you say, looking to the floor again. Hoping to pull out any sympathy he may have.

“I do not want you to lose your life. I want you to learn how to properly wield a sword,” he says so quietly it’s almost silent-- as if he’s afraid to even say it himself, “if that is what you want. And I would like to be the one to teach you.”

Women aren’t supposed to learn anything related to warfare, especially not something as dangerous as sword fighting. A single mistake could mean the loss of a limb, but being discovered in practice could mean the loss of a life. Even teaching was punishable by death, although you’re sure the Emperor himself would be able to keep his life intact if discovered. If anyone else had heard your words to another concubine, even if you were able to convince them it was an innocent mistake, you would likely be thrown out of the palace immediately. 

Concubines don’t snitch on the little things, but if any of them had reported you sneaking out tonight, your head would surely be on the chopping block first thing in the morning. You’re all allowed so much. You live in luxury, you’re able to roam most of the palace grounds as you please, you’re dressed in some of the finest fabrics, given plenty to eat, gifted spending money, and on top of it all, you get to lay with the king. Anyone fortunate enough to be chosen for this position doesn’t do anything to risk it. 

The emperor must sense your unease, because he puts his hand on your shoulder and gives it a light squeeze. 

“I won’t tell if you won’t,” he says quietly. 

What has to be hours later, you flop down on his bed; your labored breaths are the only thing that can be heard in the broad expanse of his room. You haven’t even crossed blades with him, and you’re exhausted. He only taught you how to hold it properly, how to angle a strike, and how to move, but your body pounds with soreness. Your arms and your legs are heavy with fatigue, and the cool plush comforter is a welcome sensation to your aching body. As you lay, you look up to the ornate ceiling trimmed with gold and you begin to settle your breathing. You lay the sword down between you and the side of the bed; at the beginning of your lesson it felt light as a feather, but as you were instructed to keep it up, it now feels as if it were made of lead. 

He delicately sits down by your side, barely disturbing the fabric; you lock eyes with him and have to hold back a laugh. For some reason, you feel silly. You have never truly imagined that you would be in this place or situation. A woman? Sword fighting? Not just a woman, but a concubine? And with the king himself? If you had been told as a young girl that this would happen, you’d laugh so hard that you’d wet yourself. It was simply impossible! Or so you had thought. 

You and many other concubines had watched Emperor Min practice his sword fighting out in the royal gardens countless times, and all of you were consumed with the grace and proficiency he could demonstrate. You were the only one, however, who ever wanted to be down there with him, taking part in the mysterious dance he was so fond of. You were the only one who had dared to speak your hidden desires, and it seems that you lucked out. You certainly served a gracious emperor.

His eyes turn into crescent moons as he beams down at you, showing off his gummy smile. You wonder why he rarely displays it; he’s always so serious when he’s in the public eye. The only other time you’ve seen as much as a smirk is when he bests his opponents in practice, his pretty lips curling into a snarl as he holds them at the point of his blade. You’ve only seen him smile when doing what he loves.

The way you look lying on his sheets, your heaving chest covered in little more than your underclothing and moonlight. Your hair spilling out in shining pools around your delicate face, which is flushed from exertion. The way you look up at him with pure bliss in your eyes. Perhaps he smiles because he likes what he sees, He licks his lips as he lets his hand wander across your decollete, which has collected a thin layer of sweat. 

“I hope you haven’t tired yourself out completely,” he says, leaning in closer to you, so close that you can smell his naturally musky scent, “You’re a quick learner. You are quite good with your hands, my dear.” You flush further at his words, deep with insinuation. You would be lying if you weren’t thinking of other activities you could be doing with him, too.

“I am good at a lot of things, My King,” you return, tone laced with venom as you look up at him through heavy lashes. The chemistry between you both had always been electric. What one would put down, the other would pick up. Flirty banter was as easy for you two as  breathing. Innate. Inherent. Natural. As if you were born to do it.

His hand travels down your chest and curls around your waist, giving your lax form a gentle tug upwards, so that your lips can meet his. He had only begun to kiss you recently, and as far as you can tell from the stories from the other concubines, you were the only one. You aren’t sure exactly what that means, but you also aren’t one to look a gift horse in the mouth. Or question why you’re the only one who gets to kiss the Emperor. The way he kisses you is nearly indescribable. He always starts off delicately, as if to test the waters, or as if to tease you. You haven’t decided which one it is yet, so you relish in how his lips play with yours. But you want more.

You push yourself upwards and deepen the kiss, and he responds in kind, sucking in your bottom lip to coax you into opening up for him. He has never been pushy; he has never pressured you - or any other that you knew of - into doing something you didn’t want. He has always been respectful of you and the others, which is the last thing you had expected. After all, you are just a glorified whore. And he is a king.

You part your lips and allow his tongue to dance with yours, each silently fighting for dominance. You let him win, and he takes the opportunity to climb over your frame. Noticing the sword by your side, he tosses it onto the floor. It hits the rug with a soft thud, as it has done many times that night when you had dropped it. He continues to deepen the kiss, and you can feel yourself beginning to get damp. Feeling that familiar tingling sensation run up your spine, you feel the need to reach under his silk robe and run your hands up his chest, which sends him moaning into you. He involuntarily pushes his hips against you, and you can feel how hard he is behind his night robe. It’s not like him to take his time, like this. Usually, he would have already put you in his desired position and… well, gotten on with it already. He might need some inspiration. You break the kiss by tilting your head up, and he begins kissing down your exposed neck, and fuck does that feel good. 

“Your Majesty,” you whine, fist full of his soft blonde hair, “How would you like me tonight?”

He speaks in between kisses.

“What… ever could you… mean?” he says warmly against your neck.

“Would you like me on my stomach tonight? I know you’re fond of the view,” you say, playfully wiggling your hips. He pauses for a beat, and pulls back to look at you. He chuckles a little.

“I’m quite fond of this view, too,” he says, showing off his gummy smile again and leaning in to cup your breasts as he trails kisses down into your cleavage. He begins to nibble softly at your flesh as he pulls the fabric down, exposing your nipples to the night. He pinches one roughly, making you pull on his hair a little harder, both of you having to stifle a moan. How dangerous to be doing this at the risk of guards hearing! His hand wanders down your frame and then up into your underskirts, cupping your heat gently as you open your legs for him. 

His fingers graze against your clit, and you feel the cool metal of his rings slide against your damp folds as he teases your entrance. You bite your lip and hold back a moan. You wish you could just tell him to hurry. 

As if answering a prayer, he slides his finger into your waiting slit, coaxing more of your wetness out of you. He adds another finger, curling them up gently and pushing up against that spongy spot that drives you wild. You buck up your hips in response, and you feel him smirk into your chest. He continues to gently bite around your areolas, never quite reaching your peaks as he sets an agonizingly slow pace with his fingers. The sensations that spark through your body at his ministrations are dizzying, but they’re also incredibly frustrating. He’s keeping you just on the edge of satisfaction. What does he want you to do? Beg? You’ve never felt like you could do such a thing, but this evening has made you bold. And his touch has turned you needy.

“Your Grace, pl-please,” you plead quietly into the night.

He looks up to your face scrunched in desperation. “Oh, are you suggesting your king hurry?” he asks with a smirk, “What if he wishes to take his time?”

“Hi-His Highness may have me any way he wishes, of course,” you reply, biting the inside of your cheek to distract you from the torture, “But are the tales of your generosity false? Are you a merciless ruler, set to torture those who would only want to bring you pleasure?”

His eyes on you darken, and he pokes his tongue in the side of his cheek. 

“Hm,” he considers, “I suppose I can afford to be kind tonight. After all, you’ve worked so hard already, haven’t you?”

He wastes no time in pulling his fingers out, and you clench at the loss, another groan almost leaving your lips before you’re able to swallow it. He lines his head up with your aching slit, using your wetness to coat his cock. The delicious friction against your clit makes you whine ever so gently into the space between you both, another small beg for him to fill you. He presses into you, the familiar stretch making you dizzy with lust, and buries himself in your neck once more. He quickly sets a brisk pace knowing that you both are eager, and it’s not long until you can hear how wet he makes you. The obscene wet slaps sound like bombs going off in the quiet, and your cunt drips with your slick. You briefly wonder who is the unfortunate servant who will have to clean these bed linens, because you always leave them completely ruined. The way he fucks into you makes you fall apart every time, fitting together like a lock and key.

The king’s lips find yours again, his kisses hungry and wild. You remove your hands from his hair that’s now cascading around you, falling in golden waves onto your shoulders. He’s more ferocious now, biting your bottom lip and then nibbling up your jaw where he sucks your bejeweled lobe between his lips. His hands grasp tightly around your jaw as you take him, every thrust making you more putty in his hands. His free hand curves around and cups your ass, hoisting you up and changing the angle of your hips. With every thrust, his tip grazes against your sweet spot, causing a loud moan to escape your lips, echoing in the large space. Your moan dies as soon as you register it; you shamefully tighten your mouth so that no more noise may escape, but it’s too late. You’ve already been too loud. He looks back towards his bedroom doors, and then back to you. 

Something in his expression changes, and his eyes are churning with something devilish. He swiftly covers your mouth with his palm, making sure it’s firmly fastened there before speaking. 

“Scream for me, little dove.”

You try to hold back as best as you can, but a particularly hard thrust breaks your resolve. Once you let out that little yelp, it opens the floodgates. Your voice is muffled by his hand as he fucks into you harder and harder, almost painfully. His tip is pounding against your cervix, and dark spots flash in your vision. You continue to lose yourself in him, eagerly meeting his thrusts with ones of your own. His other hand that was once cupping your ass, now finds your wrist and hoists it above your head, as he continues his unrelenting pace. You scream into his hand, and clench around him to bring you right up to the edge. 

He leans down to your freshly-nibbled ear, and in a gravelly voice says, “Come. Come around my cock.”

As soon as his hand lets go of your wrist and makes contact with your sensitive clit, you come undone. You scream completely unhinged into his palm which is placed firmly over your mouth, and he too groans as he finishes inside of you, riding through both orgasms until you’re both exhausted. And you thought you were tired before. His heavy breaths meet yours, and you float back down from your high to find yourself resting on his comforter. He gives your jaw a final nibble, and hoists himself off of you.

You hear his soft footsteps padding on the floor as you look up at the ceiling again. The beautiful gold trim you had noted before is a large dragon, spiraled around an inset in the ceiling. He brings back a damp cloth for you to clean yourself with, and he gathers your night clothes from the floor where you had discarded them some time ago. Sword fighting in a dress is not easy, and besides, you look much better in your undergarments. He starts putting your sleepwear back on you, gingerly helping your arms through the holes. He doesn’t have to be doing this. He has never helped you get dressed before; that was a task left to each woman on their own. They had a separate and luxurious bath suite dedicated to their self-care, so why would he bother?. Sometimes the concubine mother would help if things got… interesting, but you scarcely needed help with this. Tonight was surely a night of firsts.

“Uh, thank you, Your Majesty. You didn’t have to help me dress after you finish,” you say, a little flushed from how delicately he treats you after how thoroughly he had just fucked you. 

“Yes, I’m aware,” he says, hoisting you up off the bed and leading you towards his doors, “We can’t have you cleaning yourself in your wing’s washroom. You’d probably be dripping all the way back. We can’t have that now, can we?” he asks as he runs his hand down your arm, smirking lightly and raising his eyebrows, “Especially if you’d like to have another lesson.”

You gasp.

“Another? Your Highness, are you certain? Why do you risk getting caught doing this for me?” you ask, not concerned with your own safety, but of his. Even if his life isn’t at risk, the public humiliation that would surround him would be too great. Especially not now. Not in the middle of a war. The subjects of the kingdom are already on edge as it is. The trust in their Emperor cannot falter. Not now.

“Ah, come now. Don’t worry. As long as you stay light on your feet and I ensure that the worst guards in the command are at my post, we are as safe as my blade is sharp. Plus,” he adds, kissing gently against your fingers,  “getting to see your beautiful skin glisten with sweat, and then getting to have you all to myself is reward enough for me. It’s definitely worth the risk.” 

“My King, you can always have me all to yourself in whatever way you desire,” you say, “There’s no limit to what I can do for you. You know that.”

“Yes, dove,” he says, “I do know that, but there is one thing your king is not allowed. Something that nobody may know of. Your king is not allowed a favorite.”

You know this already. It is why the concubines exist, why you’re able to be here with him at all. You know that it is dangerous to have a favorite. Emperors in your kingdom are unable to wed, and it has always been that way. Spouses are a vulnerability, something an enemy can easily exploit. The concubines exist, like the guard, to protect the emperor in their own way. By allowing him freedom of sexual expression, he is less likely to feel the need to have a romantic partner. Having a person be treasured by the emperor only makes them a weakness. Especially now.

“Nobody can know that you are important to me. Nobody can know that it is you who holds the king’s favor; that is why we must meet mostly in secret going in forward. You’ll be removed from the palace if the officials get a notion of my fondness for you,” he says, holding both of your hands in his, “and I never want you to be missing from me, my dove.” 

You understand. You have to. It’s part of the job. You knew all of this going in and you were okay knowing that you would be one of many. You didn’t come to the palace with only the clothes on your back to find a chance at love. You’re smarter than that. You’d be lying if you said being treasured by the king didn’t light a small fire inside of you, though.

You nod and give his beautiful, calloused hands a squeeze. 

“I cannot keep you any longer,” he whispers, “you deserve your beauty sleep, especially after all the… exertion you’ve just done. You think you can keep quiet on your way back?”

“I think I can manage, but,” you say, “if I may be so bold, next time, I don’t want to be able to sneak back to my room. I don’t want to be able to even walk after the next time you’re done with me.”

“You’re going to be the death of me, woman,” he says, hiding a soft smile, “but even then, I would welcome it if it came from you.” 

You think of the risk you’re both taking, and the consequences of being found out.

“Let's hope it doesn’t come to that, yeah?” you delicately ask, eyes asking a question you’re afraid to give voice to.

“My dove,” he says, “as long as I can help it, no harm will ever come to you. Now, get on to bed.”

You didn’t want to leave, but you know you needed to. The emperor opens the door a crack and nods at you, a silent confirmation that the guards were at the other end of the hall. A silent nod that said it was time. 

You ease yourself through the small crack in the door and slowly pad toward your Northern Tearoom shortcut. You look back once more, and you see him mouth “goodnight” with a smirk before shutting the door.

Your return trip to your wing of the palace is much quieter than your first trip, and for that you are thankful. You sneak back into your room where the rest of the concubines lie fast asleep in their own beds, some of them quietly snoring. As you curl up into your bedsheets, you drift asleep thinking about how sweet his smile is. He never shows it to anyone, so why are you the one who gets to see it? After all, you’re just a whore. The emperor’s favorite whore.

[vs-redemption]

This is the third piece out of seven written for the one year anniversary collaboration event for the @konoblog-simps discord. I encourage everyone to check out the masterlist for today's prompt and support the other creators. The prompt for today was "smut" so please DNI with the masterlist if you are a minor.

Prompt: Free Day for SFW Blogs like myself (Hawks x GN!Reader)

Word Count: 800+ Warnings: None (Reader had a bad day and Hawks makes it better)

You were having a bad day. The kind of bad day where it seemed like the universe kept finding ways to chip away at your sanity by making every little thing go wrong. The morning had started out with you waking up fifteen minutes before your alarm had the chance to go off, which diddn’t seem so horrible by itself, but perhaps if you’d managed to get that little bit of extra sleep, the chain of events ruining you day might never have occurred at all. Maybe the lady at the coffee shop wouldn’t have messed up your order, maybe your favorite pen wouldn’t have run out of ink, or maybe you wouldn’t have hit every single red light on the drive home from work.

By the end of the day, you were at your wits end. You were tired, hungry, and just feeling more emotional than normal. After slipping into your pajamas, you head to the kitchen to make dinner. You probably should’ve known that was a poor idea, but today it seemed you were learning all your lessons the hard way. You somehow managed to cut your finger while chopping onions, and then preceded to burn your dinner after getting caught up trying to convince the salesman at your door that you weren’t interested in installing new windows at this time. It really was just one thing after another.

“I hate today,” You grumble while scraping the burnt food into the trash and throwing the pan in the sink to soak. “I give up.”

You shuffle into your room and flop down on your bed, burying yourself into the blankets and pulling out your phone. You debate on whether or not you should text your pro hero boyfriend who was likely still on patrol, but worry that it wouldn’t be nice to burden him with your problems when he was so busy. But like magic, before you can even open up a message you hear Keigo’s voice calling your name from the front door and letting himself in with the spare key you’d given him.

“Babe?” His sensitive feathers had no doubt deduced your location in an instant, but you let him know where you are anyway.

“In here!”

“Huh?” There was concern in his voice as he makes his way towards your room, “In bed already? Are you sick?”

Relief washes over you when he finally comes into view, huge red wings filling the doorway and blocking most of the light coming from the hall, and his feathery hair tousled from flying around the city all day. You hadn’t even known how badly you needed him until his golden eyes meet yours.

“M’fine,” you assure him while reaching out your arms, not caring how pitiful you looked. Now that he was here, it felt like the only thing that would make you feel better was to have him close. “Just had a bad day.”

“Aw, well I’m here now,” He assures you with a teasing smile. He shrugs out of his jacket and kicks off his boots before crawling under the covers next to you and pulling you into his arms. “You wanna talk about it?”

“No,” you respond quickly while snuggling into his chest with your head tucked under his chin. Your arm finds its way around his waist, and you sigh when his comforting scent hits your nose. He always smelled like the fresh air somehow, and it had the tension leaving your body almost immediately. You tilt your head up and press a kiss to the bottom of his jaw.

“Did you eat?” He asks, “I smelled something when I came in.”

“Nope,” you mumble. “I burned it.”

“Oh jeez,” he replies, sounding both sympathetic and amused. “You really did have a bad day, didn’t you love?”

“Mhmm,” you nod your head while trying to nuzzle even closer, intertwining your legs with his.

“You want me to order you some take out?” He asks.

“No, I’ll be okay.” You knew that if you did get hungry, you could always get a snack later. For now though, you were very content just to lay in Keigo’s arms.

“What can I do to make you feel better?” he asks while rubbing his hand soothingly up and down your back, “Tell me what you need.”

“Nothing,” you confess, “Just this. Just you.” He lets out a breathy laugh and untucks one of his wings to wrap around you both protectively.

“Well, that’s easy,” He says happily. “Next time just let me know and I’ll get here sooner, all right?”

You simply give a small grunt of understanding since the grievances of the day were starting to catch up to you in the form of exhaustion. As you drift off you realize that, although it had been one of those days that started bad and only gotten worse, there was something comforting about being able to end it on such a positive note.

[15-dogs]

new hire |n.s.|

pairing: newt scamander x apothecary!reader

summary: you’re hired as the new apothecary at newt’s favorite establishment, and he finds himself attending the store more often to buy more and more ridiculous, unneeded items (all the fluff!! coffeeshop (technically apothecary) au, pining)

warnings: none

guide: (Y/N) = your name, italics = writing

word count: 3.9K

a/n: this is my take on a coffeeshop au!! i feel like newt would be more subject to visiting apothecaries than coffeeshops so i used all the basics of a coffeeshop au and changed it to an apothecary!! i hope you like it :)

Newt was positive that his Dittany was somewhere. He shook every drawer upside down, went upstairs to check his bedroom, back downstairs to turn every stone for the second time, then back upstairs to recheck his belongings before he admitted that he was out of it. 

He huffed, rocking back and forth on the balls of his feet as he debated whether or not to pick up Dittany then. He ultimately decided that he didn’t want to risk getting into an accident where it was crucial to have on hand and come up empty so he threw on his vest and coat, making his way towards the apothecary store down the street. It was a small place disguised as a pharmacy on the outskirts of Diagon Alley. The building wouldn’t appear to muggles as it truly was, allowing for wizards to slip in and out unnoticed.

“Oliphant & Bailey’s Medicinal Supply” was painted onto a metal sign that swung outside the store, the metal sign bracket whining every time the wind would pass. Newt smiled at the familiar words before entering, being greeted with the smell of fresh herbs that were drying out on racks by the door. 

His eyes scanned the jars along the shelves, finding the Dittany hidden off to the side from everything else. He let out a content sigh as he attempted to snatch it off the shelf but it didn’t budge. Newt looked around the store with confusion and finally realized just how crowded the place was.

“Mr. Scamander!” a woman called out. Newt whipped around, finding Vancity Oliphant with a trail of boxes floating behind her, her dress robes pressed to perfection. “We haven’t seen you around here in quite some time. Where have you been?”

“Busy, mostly.” Newt shrugged, fiddling with his hands.

Vancity began to twist her wand, various potions flying onto the shelves. “Well, one thing’s for certain: we missed you. We’ve been getting an increase in business recently--” Vancity turned towards Newt, leaning in close “--the whole nonsense that that man, Lockhart, has spun has everyone panicked. He told them that if they don’t turn to holistic medicine, then there would be a greater chance that they would be attacked by a troll. Ridiculous, sure, but business has been outstanding! We even had to get a new hire!”

Newt gave her a placating nod, hoping that the conversation would be over soon. “Right, that’s fantastic-”

“Isn’t it?” Vancity rounded the counter and beckoned Newt to follow her, passing the people in the line who seemed to have been waiting for quite some time. “Anyway, how can I help you, Mr. Scamander?”

Newt nearly sighed with relief at the question finally being asked. “I tried to pick some Dittany up off the shelf, but it wouldn’t budge-”

“About that,” Vancity let out a low breath, dipping her head with disappointment. “With the uptick in sales, we’ve had an uptick in accidents. People were knocking our things off the shelves and it just took too much time to clean up and rebrew and whatnot. So we fixed everything down. Only employees can pick things off the shelf.” Vancity snatched a slip of paper, quill, and inkwell off the counter and slid them towards Newt. “We started to provide customers with these sheets so they can fill out what they need and we pick it up for them.”

Newt, knowing that the sooner it would all be over the better, simply nodded and began to fill out the form. Vancity chuckled before taking the form in her hands.

“One vial of Dittany coming right up, Mr. Scamander.” And just like that, she disappeared into the back room.

Newt glanced around the store and wondered if there was anything else he needed before he left. He spotted a few herbs off in the corner that might be of use but, as his gaze caught on the already irritated line, he decided it was in his best interest to pick them up another time.

“Mr.-...Sarmander?” a voice called out.

Newt whipped around, taken by surprise by the new face. Your face. He felt a strange sensation in his chest when he looked at you, like a sense of warmth had flooded through him. You raised an eyebrow at him, wondering why he had been staring at you for so long.

“Are you Mr. Sarmander?” you repeated, shaking the bottle of Dittany in your hand.

“Scamander,” he corrected as he approached you.

Your cheeks heated up at the mistake. “My apologies, Mr. Scamander. I just read what was off the paper but apparently I wasn’t looking closely enough.”

“I have truly terrible handwriting.” That was a lie. Newt didn’t know where it came from. “Thank you.”

“Have a lovely afternoon, Mr. Scamander!”

He would have one now.

•••

Newt was having some trouble making progress on his novel in the next few days. He had barely drafted a page of anything because he was too focused on the interaction that the two of you had only 4 days prior.

He knew you were kind. He could see it in your eyes. Even if he only spoke to you for just a moment, he knew it was true. And you had a lovely smile. One that was so lovely you must’ve flashed it at everyone and left them thinking about it as much as Newt was.

Newt shook his head, breaking himself from the trance he was in to look at his blank page. Writer’s block was not faring well with him. So he stood up and threw his jacket on, realizing he could do with the fresh air. As he was leaving his house, he stopped short in the doorway, snatching some money from his kitchen table. He might as well grab some more herbs while he was out.

No more than 15 minutes later Newt was entering Oliphant & Bailey’s. The store was empty for once, but he figured it would be for a Monday morning. Newt made his way to the counter, rocking back and forth as he awaited an attendant. To his dismay, Rita Bailey revealed herself from the back room.

“Mr. Scamander!” she cried. Rita leaned over the counter, furiously shaking his hands in hers. “How have you been?” Newt opened his mouth but she didn’t give him time to answer before she was speaking again. 

“I heard you were in here a few days ago. It’s not often that we see you in here twice a week. Are you out on something?” Rita’s eyes widened as she seemed to beat her own question in her head. She leaned unbearably close over the counter and whispered, “Is your Swooping Evil not producing? Because Vance and I have some products in the back. Stuff on the side, if you-”

Vancity, who stood in the doorway of the office, cleared her throat, calling the attention of her partner. Rita’s head whipped around, a sheepish grin plastered on her face.

“Rita,” began Vancity, her voice stern, “I need you in back to help with the budget.”

Rita stood to her full height, motioning towards Newt. “Well, who’s gonna help Scamander, then?”

Vancity leaned into her office, speaking to someone with a jerk of head towards the shop. There was a muffled reply and the sound of shoes clicking against hardwood, pacing around the back room.

Newt’s heart began to beat just a little faster. He didn’t want to get his hopes up for nothing. Then he caught himself. What was he getting his hopes up for? He wasn’t expecting anything, and he certainly didn’t care if you were there or not. It’s not like the back of his neck flushed and his cheeks started to heat up when he saw you exiting the back room.

“Mr. Scamander,” you stated. Newt let out a shaky breath; your voice was so smooth, the words sounded almost practiced as they fell from your lips. 

You brushed one hand off on the little apron that was tied around your waist and the other was used to magic a quill and inkwell onto the counter. You reached into your apron to pull out a slip of paper, dotting your quill into the ink. “How can I help you today?”

“I need some ingredients,” he shot out quickly, looking down at the counter.

You chuckled softly as you scribbled in a box, drawing his attention upwards. “What kinds of ingredients?”

Newt took in a sobering breath as you finally met his gaze. For a moment, he forgot what he came there for. “Mandrake root and Moonflower Pollen.”

You gave him a dutiful nod as you jotted the items down. You tossed the quill and paper up in the air, the quill finding its place by the inkwell and the paper rolling itself up and flying into a cupboard below your legs.

You scooted out from behind the desk, walking up past Newt towards the racks of herbs. You picked up the dried up roots of a Mandrake, holding it up at him. “This one okay, Mr. Scamander?”

“Perfect.”

You moved to another counter, freeing a small paring knife from your apron. “I have to ask you, Mr. Scamander,” you began as you chopped up the root, “you seem to be buying a lot of medicinal supplies. Are you a Healer?”

Newt chuckled under his breath, shaking his head. “No, I’m a Magizoologist.”

You halted in your motions, looking up at him. “Is that so?”

“Yes.” His response was no more than a single exhale, the words barely forming as he stared into your eyes. He finally peeled himself away from your gaze to continue. “With the creatures I work with, some healing skills are of great use.”

You hummed in response. “I can imagine.” Flicking your wand, a small mortar and pestle flew to your side. With the blade of your knife, you scooped the chopped up root into the bowl and began to grind it to a fine powder. “You know, I was always interested in Care of Magical Creatures back at Hogwarts. I was never all that good at it, though. Not like I was with Herbology.”

Newt’s eyes were trained on the root being cut up, too afraid that looking would cause him to meet your occasional glance up and make a fool of himself. “I’m actually writing a book on magical creatures at the moment.”

“Really?”

“If you’d ever like to study magical creatures again, I could give you a copy.” Newt’s heart began to flutter at the way your eyes lit up.

You stopped in your motions of preparing his Mandrake Root, meeting his gaze with a soft smile. “That would be wonderful.”

After packaging up the now-crushed root into a small, beat up tin and handing it to Newt, you paced around the counter with another tin in hand. You approached a glass jar full of yellow pollen in it, using the scoop inside to portion out a generous amount.

“How’s this, Mr. Scamander?” 

You tilted the tin towards him, Newt leaning in to examine the contents. Before he could answer, a quiet sneeze came from his coat. You pulled the container back, your brows furrowed as Newt became flushed. He hesitated to reach into his coat, turning to the side as he pulled Pickett, his Bowtruckle, out and scolding him just out of earshot.

“No, Pick, I didn’t forget about-...she didn’t know you were-...don’t blame this on her! She did nothing-”

“I’m sorry,” you interrupted. Newt froze, cocking his head to see you practically leaning over his shoulder. “I have to ask, is that a Bowtruckle?”

Newt exchanged a glance with Pickett before popping him into his pocket, Pickett’s head resting just outside of the heavy fabric to stare you down. “Yes, he is.” You fought a giggle as you leaned down to stare at Pickett in the eyes. “He has some-”

“Attachment issues?” you finished. Newt’s eyes went wide as he gave you a nod. A smile flickered onto his lips for just a moment. You looked up at Newt from your position then stood to your full height. “I’ve heard of that being the case with Bowtruckles before.”

Newt simply nodded again, too distracted by the fact that you were just inches from his face. For just a moment he could have sworn that he saw your eyes flicker down to his lips, his breath getting caught in his throat.

“I have just the thing for your Bowtruckle,” you whispered before moving away towards another shelf.

Newt shivered and let out a sigh, his chest thundering. Finally, he realized you had moved away and followed, watching with a close eye as you broke off the tiny fruit of a strange purple herb that he couldn’t place.

“What’s his name?” you asked while you pulled the fruit into halves.

“Pickett.”

You turned around, offering a half of the fruit to Pickett. Pickett perked up, looking up at Newt for permission. You chuckled at the interaction while Newt pulled Pickett out, letting him sit on his finger.

“Well then, this is for you, Pickett.”

Pickett shared one more look with Newt before taking the fruit and gnawing on it instantly. He let out a happy squeak and jumped onto your arm, crawling up to your shoulder as he continued to snack on the fruit.

Newt let out an impressed laugh at the sight. “Pick doesn’t quite like strangers,” he explained.

You turned your head to eye the happy Bowtruckle, petting him with the pad of your index finger. “Suppose we’re not strangers anymore, are we, Pick?”

“Newt,” Newt shot out quickly. He continued to stare at his fingers while he toyed with them. “You can call me Newt.”

Newt only looked up when he saw your hand come into his field of vision, all delicate and strong. He took your extended hand and shook with careful vigor, the corner of his lips quirking upwards.

“Then consider us friends, too, Newt. I’m (Y/N).”

•••

Newt began to frequent the apothecary more often than he needed to. He always seemed to be running out of something, and he always seemed to arrive just when the rush died down. His list of items he needed appeared to grow longer and longer with each visit, but you never once gave his service to another employee.

The thought of you ran tirelessly through Newt’s head at night. His heart would beat just the slightest bit faster when he thought of that gorgeous smile you would flash him when he walked through the door, almost like you were expecting him to be there. 

Oh, Merlin, and that disarming chuckle that tumbled from your lips when he would trip over his words. It instantly calmed Newt down, his stammer fading away slowly.

Distracted from his writing again, Newt decided to pay you a visit at the apothecary. He snatched the coat of the back of his chair and ran out the door, his heart getting lighter with each step towards the store. Once he arrived, he swung the door open and looked up, only to find that you weren’t there. He frowned, but approached the counter and waited.

“Mr. Scamander!” Vancity cried as she exited the backroom. “How can I help you?”

Newt leaned over slightly, checking to see if you were in the back before the door shut behind Vancity. “Is (Y/N) here?”

Vancity let out an apologetic sigh. “Sorry, Mr. Scamander, she’s out sick.” Newt opened his mouth to speak but Vancity predicted his next question, silencing him immediately. “She doesn’t know when she’ll be back, either.”

“Oh. Right.” Newt focused on the counter, trying not to meet that horribly embarrassing sympathetic look that crowded Vancity’s face. “Will she be okay?”

“She’ll be perfectly fine. Nothing she can’t handle. It is her job to supply medicinal supplements, after all. Now, is there anything I can help you with?”

“No, actually.”

Newt wasn’t sure what Vancity said left-- his mind was too full with strange thoughts about the nature of your relationship. You were friends, weren’t you? That’s what you said to him the day you met Pickett. So if you were just friends, why was he feeling so lost without you there?

Newt took his time walking back to his house, his mind off someone else. He couldn’t help but recall the way you made him feel with your kind heart and witty humor, your soft eyes and enchanting smile. Just remembering that made his cheeks heat up.

As Newt entered his home, he walked into the basement and opened a cupboard to prepare the food for his Glow Bugs when a few tins from Oliphant & Bailey’s fell onto the counter. That’s when it hit him. He didn’t need all those herbs. He never did. So why was he going?

It was so plain. It was all there, the facts laid out in front of him: Newt Scamander had feelings for you. It was so incredibly obvious that he wondered how he didn’t notice it before. And it wasn’t a normal attraction, it was a stupid schoolboy crush; the kind where he’d go through ridiculous measures just to get your attention.

He groaned and threw his head into his hands at his epiphany. What in Merlin’s name was he supposed to do?

•••

Newt revisited the apothecary day after day, awaiting your return. After about a week of the constant rejections, he decided to let it go for the time being. It was frustrating, to say the least, to not hear how you were doing. He was more concerned about you than he was about acting on his feelings, because Merlin knows when he’d do that.

As Newt ran through the possibilities of what you had come down with, a knocking came from his front that snapped his attention to the forefront of his mind. He opened the door and stared, slightly confused at the sight before him.

“Theseus?”

“Nice to see you, too, Newt,” Theseus scoffed, embracing his younger brother into a tight hug. Newt stood quite stiff in his arms until he let go.

The younger Scamander rested an arm against the doorframe, leaning against it to make himself look much taller next to his brother who just happened to tower over him. After settling into the awkward position, Newt asked, “What brings you here?”

Theseus reached into his pocket to pull out a small notice, placing it into the hands of Newt. Newt frowned before unravelling it and scanning over its contents.

“It’s a notice from the Ministry. Next date to get your international ban removed.”

“Ah.” Newt raised the note in the air, casting a silent spell to have the paper zip itself down to his basement. “I’ll see you then, I reckon.”

Newt tried to shut the door but Theseus put his foot in it, prying it open to face Newt once more. Theseus held out a hand as the other fished through his jacket pocket to pull out a few small vials of Dittany.

“Just in case,” Theseus added sheepishly. “You always used to run out of this, and I can bet you still do.”

Newt flashed a grateful smile at his brother before his eyes caught on the label of the bottle. That same label that was plastered on every herb in his basement.

“Did you get this from Oliphant & Bailey’s?”

“I did, actually.” Theseus snorted, an amused grin on his lips. “The Apothecary there, the new one, she knew you. Recognized my face and asked if I was related to you, ‘the more handsome Scamander’. Her words, not mine.”

“When did you get these?”

“Right before I came here, why?” That familiar devious smirk grew on Theseus’ lips. “Do you fancy the girl, Newt?”

Newt lit up instantly, regardless of Theseus’s teasing. He sucked in a sharp breath and turned towards his coat rack to grab his jacket, slipping it on with great haste. Newt pushed his brother aside, casting a spell to activate the wards at his house.

Newt practically ran to the apothecary, the door swinging open to find a mass of people in line. He didn’t care. He pushed to the front, resting when he got to the counter. He scanned the store, trying to find you but came up empty.

“Newt?”

The sandy haired man whipped around, finding you walking out of the backroom, boxes in hand. Newt sighed, a warmth spreading inside of him at the sight of you. He ran up to you and alleviated the weight from your hands, resting the box on the counter.

“How are you feeling?” he asked through labored breaths.

“I’m...fine. Were you just running?”

Newt was never a good liar. He always got caught one way or another. “Yes…? I desperately need some Dittany.”

A knowing smile toyed at your lips as you raised your brows at him. “Dittany? Did your brother not give you the two vials like he said he would?”

Newt Scamander: expert in magical creatures, failure in lying.

“...right. I meant that I need some of that fruit you gave Pickett a few weeks ago.”

You snorted with laughter before pulling out the form and filling it out with the items, name, and his home address. You cut through the throng of people, snatching a tin up and preparing some of the fruit for Newt.

He began to rifle through his jacket pockets in an attempt to find some money for the treats he didn’t really need.

“How much is it-”

“It’s on the house, Newt. I’m pretty sure you’re our best customer, anyway.”

Newt looked up at you for a moment, his lips curling upwards at your kindness. “I appreciate it.”

“Don’t mention it. You know,” you began as you labeled the tin, “being sick wasn’t all that bad. Kept me away from work and all. Let me take a break.” 

Newt nodded, feeling selfish for wishing you to be at work all the time just so he could see you. “Right,” was all he managed to say.

“The worst part”--you shoved the tin into Newt’s arms-- “was not seeing you.”

The tips of Newt’s ears began to heat up. He wanted to say something clever so desperately but all he managed to do was stare at you in complete shock, eyes wide and jaw slack. 

He watched as your eyes flickered down towards the tin, seemingly awaiting a reaction. Newt furrowed his brow before glancing down at the writing on there, blinking in shock. He reread it a few more times, only looking up when he heard you chuckle.

“Is this serious?” he asked.

“Why wouldn’t it be?”

“Because it’s-- well it’s-- it’s me, and you’re you. You’re just...you’re you and I’m me, and I just didn’t think that you’d feel that way-”

“Newt,” you cut off, laughter spilling from your lips, “I happen to like you being you. Funny how those things work.”

Newt couldn’t process what you had just said. It was like everything in the world had tipped in his favor all at once. Just that gorgeous, encapsulating smile on your face was proof enough for him.

“Reckon I’ll see you tomorrow night, then,” he finally managed to say, backing up the best he could towards the door.

“Tomorrow night,” confirmed. Newt was nearly at the door when you called out, “It’s a date!”

He slipped outside, getting a breath of fresh air for the first time in 15 minutes. He ran a hand through his hair, just then realizing that his heart was pounding out of his chest, his grin so wide that his cheeks began to ache. But he didn’t care. He couldn’t be bothered to. Newt looked down at the label one last time, chuckling at the note.

Thursday. 7 PM. Your place.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

general taglist: @pandaxnienke @lunalovecroft @for-bebbanburg

[ckneal]

Sometimes I need to remind myself that not everyone watched Supernatural with an ongoing gen fic happening in their head, all about the family life of the angels before Chuck’s disappearance and the rise of humanity. And as such, not everyone was constantly compiling stray details thrown out about the angel characters, clustering them together into this rubber band ball of ideas that was just so fun to play with.

I mean, for instance, not everyone took in the way the other angel characters seemed to look down their noses at the cupid characters (who, it’s worth noting, are never once referred to by their individual names, but instead by the human pet name for their category of cherub [which in Lucifer’s case, was certainly framed as an unflattering term], despite Castiel once boasting that he knew everyone in Heaven), and reason to themselves that it was surely because the other angels were jealous. Because obviously, the cupids are given classified information from God himself about what bloodlines he wants to see continued and merged for the sake of his Plan, putting these silly, non-combatant angels on par with the archangels in terms of secret knowledge about what was to come. For the first couple billions of years of existence, while the other classes of angels were sitting around with nothing to do, they all had to watch the cupids happily zipping around the earth, cooing over blue-green algae and gradually coaxing different species into existence with their magic love arrows. And every time a significant milestone was reached, they also had to watch as the insipid little harbingers of love scooped the newborn creature up and raced over to the nearest archangel to excitedly show them their progress, like a little kid with their first art project. And the archangel in question, regardless of which one, would nod encouragingly and smile as the cupid in question babbled about the tiny, tiny lungs this fish had, or the beginnings of feet at the ends of its fins. Even Lucifer, who would also add the additional suggestion to try and give the next one more teeth.

Additionally, not everyone looked at the way that Lucifer was able to just insert himself into Sam’s head from inside the cage, and considered how Azazel needed to visit a specific geographic location to communicate with Lucifer, and even then was only just barely able to do so, and thus came to the conclusion that clearly Michael and Lucifer must have come to an agreement to pool their powers to project Luci’s image into Sam’s head. Which explains why Sam’s special link disappears right after leaving the cage, and also why Michael didn’t interfere when Lucifer was freed, even though season 15 makes it clear that Luci did not sneak quietly out the backdoor. Michael was fully aware who was responsible for the jailbreak, thus leading us to consider that perhaps Lucifer was supposed to turn around and free Michael and Adam in turn, but did not. Thus leading us to imagine Michael spending roughly a year (Earth time) tapping his foot in the cage, until . . .

“He’s not coming back for us, is he?”

And Adam, cracking open a molecule-flavored soda (manifested courtesy of Michael), snickers. “Nope. Told you not to trust him.”

“Right. . .” Michael exhales, looks around for a moment, settles on side-eyeing Adam. Then, with an air of ‘fuck it’ says, “Want to make out?”

And Adam promptly chokes on his soda.

And not everyone heard Metatron specifically say that he personally tattooed the names of every prophet of the Lord ever on the inner eyelids of every angel, and immediately had the thought, “Poor Michael” spring to mind. Because of course Michael was the first one on the proverbial chopping block, trying his best not to flinch as his little brother gradually figured out how to handle the needle. (To this day, Michael is still not sure if the prophet after Chuck Shurley is named Kevin Tran or Rovim Frun). And all the while, Michael was probably also trying his best not to worry about how things were going on Earth while he was busy getting his eyes stabbed.

After all, Lucifer was God’s second eldest son, barely younger than Michael in the grand scheme of things. He could handle watching over their younger siblings for a little while. And Raphael and Gabriel were there to help. Everything would be fine.

However, Michael isn’t aware that about five minutes after being left in charge, Lucifer yelled, “HEY EVERYONE, CHECK THIS OUT!” And then promptly threw his grace into the body of a nearby pterodactyl. Possession being a new ability that Chuck had recently invented, the surrounding angels were mystified as Lucifer piloted the prehistoric reptile through a series of dizzying loop-de-loops that saw the poor creature—not suited to containing angel grace—explode midway through, leaving Lucifer gleefully giggling in the sky.

About half of the angels looking on gaped in horror.

Gabriel whispered to Raphael, “We’re still beta testing that, right?”

The other half of the gathered angels, however, like the impressionable young followers that they are, start grinning, because Lucifer is grinning, and he’s their cool older brother, and as Lucifer—relishing the attention—makes a beeline toward the earth’s one continent, Pangea, and an unsuspecting herd of ornithopods, these younger angels eagerly follow.

Soon, Earth is full of the anguished cries of cupids, watching their hard work blown to bits again and again. Swept up in the crowd, are Castiel and Balthazar. They watch Uriel and Zachariah excitedly throw their armored dinosaur bodies against one another in the moments before both vessels combust, after which Uriel and Zachariah excitedly dart off to take on new ones.

“Are we sure this is. . .okay?”

“Well, Lucifer is in charge. We’re supposed to follow his lead. . .aren’t we?”

Meanwhile, Raphael is frantically trying to stem the carnage. Several dinosaurs are levitating in mid-air, as Raphael tries to simultaneously keep them from exploding while also ordering the angels possessing them to vacate the vessels immediately. But none of them have ever taken a vessel before, and do not know how to get out of them without tearing them apart. Raphael keeps expanding their powers to more and more creatures as their young siblings continue to follow Lucifer’s example.

“GABRIEL, DO SOMETHING!”

“RIGHT!” Gabriel looks around, locates Lucifer running amuck in an apatosaurus that he’s forcing to walk on its hind legs, and fires off a lightning bolt to startle him out.

The lightning bolt misses its target in spectacular fashion, and several trees catch on fire.

Gabriel throws another lightning bolt.

“GABRIEL, THAT IS NOT HELPING!”

“RIGHT!”

Gabriel then grabs a giant meteor from outer space and begins trying to smother the flames by whacking it against the continent, to Raphael’s horror. More cupids begin to cry. Thick clouds of dust fly up, choking out natural light on the planet’s surface—now only illuminated by flames, as well as the magma that rises up out of the cracks that form in Pangea, as Gabe unintentionally creates the first tectonic plates from the sheer force of his assault on the planet.

Trees fall over. Fire continues to spread.

Lucifer is still in the apatosaurus, but he’s fallen onto his side, laughing hysterically.

“WATER, GABRIEL! USE WATER!”

“OH! RIGHT!”

Gabriel throws the meteor into a nearby sea, creating a tsunami.

It is at this point that Raphael abandons the dinosaurs to their sad fate, forgetting their solemn oath to not reveal any secrets regarding evolution and God’s plan, to broadly yell out to any and all of their angelic siblings who are listening, “QUICKLY, SAVE THE MAMMALS!”

And it is at this point, that Michael returns. Samandriel, clutching a dozen or so rodents in his wings, is the first one to spot him. All of Michael’s eyes are red and puffy from abuse. The cupids are sobbing, the Earth is battered, flooded, and scorched. Angels are getting into fist fights with reapers as they dart back and forth, trying to ferry as many warm-blooded creatures as they can find from the site of the catastrophe to the relative safety on the other side of the mountain range Gabriel accidently made when he bashed a crater into the planet—relative, as it turns out some of those new mountains are in fact volcanoes, and it took some trial and error to figure out how far away from an active volcano could be considered “safe.”

Nearby, Castiel and Balthazar are somehow both stuck inside the same mosasaur, beached from the tsunami, and loudly panicking as they struggle to de-possess it before it explodes. There’s a snapping sound, and then suddenly all of the angels still trapped (or willfully frolicking) inside vessels are ejected, at the same time that the fire goes out and the volcanoes cease erupting.

Consequently, everyone goes very still as Michael scans the damage and his bedraggled siblings. With humans not yet existing, the art of facepalming is not yet a thing. But looking at Michael, one might just expect him to invent the practice right then and there.

When Michael gets to Lucifer, he’s greeted with, “What? Pop’s 86-ing the lizard kingdom anyway!”

Michael promptly drags Lucifer off to Heaven.               

The next day, it was made an official rule, written into the very fabric of angelkind: vessels could only be taken after obtaining explicit consent.

Additionally, everyone agreed to never, ever mention the existence of the dinosaurs or how they ended ever again. And, rather than fixing the damage to the Earth’s surface, the tectonic plate situation was just sort of left to do as it would.

Many, many years later, Adam was shocked by Michael’s reaction when the cage door suddenly swung open in Hell. Adam had immediately surged to his feet in excitement, ready to leave and never come back.

Michael, however, remained stationary on the floor, squinting at the doorway, wondering what dystopian nightmare must be waiting on Earth after leaving his siblings unsupervised for a solid decade.

“Michael? You okay?”

“Adam, before we go back to Earth, I think I need to tell you a story. . .”

[writingsbychlo]

smoke and fire (03)

word count; 10,638

summary; you and thomas almost find some common ground, but clinging to petty hatred might ruin it all.

notes; making some progress, and I know y’all are going to love the tension building.

warnings; burnings buildings, minor burns, reference to injury, reference to explosions.

Humming along to the tune playing from your phone, it was plugged into the speaker atop the counter, the lowest volume you could get it as you tried to keep the volume down. You never had been one to sleep while at the Firehouse, no matter how late at night your shifts were, and while this was your team’s two weeks of night shift rotations, you’d adapted to it easily.

Maybe you’d been forced to. Maybe you’d force yourself to. You weren’t exactly comfortable with the team yet, and something about going to sleep surrounded by people you didn’t know felt uncomfortable to you. You trusted them with your life, your job required that you did, but you would only get restless sleep anyway.

Cooking, however, was something you were comfortable with. Cooking at night while the rest were asleep, the clock barely tickling past 5AM as they all slept until called to duty gave you free time to be with your own thoughts.

The smell of frying bacon was filling the room, lyrics falling quietly from your lips as your hips swung, and you heard the first of your colleagues begin to shuffle into the room. You turned to look over your shoulder, Minho being the first to wake, and you’d learned recently that he was always the first to wake. He was an early bird, someone who normally went for a jog before coming on his shifts, and he groaned, scratching at his stomach while the other arm stretched over his head, trying to wake himself up a little more.

“Smells like bacon. Did you make enough for two?”

“I made enough for about twenty.” You teased, hearing his sleepy laugh, and he came to hop up onto the island counter behind you, bypassing the chairs as he took a seat on the higher surface instead, and he rubbed at his eyes.

“You cooked for us?”

“I cooked for me, and figured I might as well make sure you all get a healthy breakfast in, too. Can’t have you slacking on the job because all you ate for breakfast was three candy bars and a skittle, can I?” You grabbed for a plate, a stack that you’d placed beside yourself, the first one being dished up to your friend. A couple of pancakes from the hot plates, sausages, bacon, eggs, and a pot of coffee, and you dished it up, sliding it towards a seat as he fetched a set of knives and forks for you both, groaning loudly at the sight of food.

“This looks amazing.”

He took a seat on the stool this time, poking at it all in the lower light as he chopped up his food, folding a piece of bacon inside a pancake, and lifting the bundle to his mouth. Serving yourself up and covering the rest, you leaned against the counter in front of him, beginning to chop at your food. As he chewed the mouthful longer, he tipped his head back, a louder and longer groan falling from his lips as he showed his appreciation for the meal, and you covered your snicker with your food, chewing a mouthful and shaking your head fondly.

“Who’s folding porn in here? It better not be Minho, again.”

“Again?” You almost choked on your food as Winston came wandering in, your brow raising as you turned to your colleague, and he sighed dramatically.

“They were filming a tour video for the Firehouse for a thing online, I don’t know.” He waved his hand, shoving another forkful into his mouth, and you realised the men here had never been raised to chew with their mouths closed, as though they were raised wild as teens. “Anyway, I was seeing this chick at the time, and y’know, she was hot. A bit too feisty even for me.”

“I somehow find that hard to believe.”

“Hey, there are things even I wouldn't do!” He objected, and behind you, as he helped himself to food, Winston snorted. “Yeah, not much, though.”

“Anyway, as I was saying, she comes to visit me at work. She’s got her hands all over, she was just dating me because I was a fireman. She drags me behind a truck and we were, well, making out pretty heavily. Like teenagers behind the science block. They caught it on the camera while touring, and had to cut it all out and refilm that section.” He shrugged, like it was no big deal, and Winston took a seat beside him, your eyes fixed on your coworkers, brows raising.

“It was more than just making out. She had her legs around your waist.”

“She did not!” Minho scoffed, crumbs of the food flying everywhere, and you couldn’t contain the laugh as he turned to punch his friend in the arm, the two setting off in a weak match of slaps and punches as they tried to keep eating.

Brenda was next through the door, already seeming to look composed and poised like she’d had hours to get ready, all but gliding through the room, and she flickered her eyes over the two tussling boys. “What’s going on in here?”

“Winston was just telling me about the time Minho got caught on camera kissing a chick behind the trucks.”

“Oh, you mean the girl with her legs around his waist?” Brenda was then immediately drawn into the argument, hissed whisper-shouts as you tried to contain your laughter, and as the hours ticked on from the discussion, your plate slipped into the dishwasher, a fresh pot of coffee being started, more and more of the team began to join the room. The next was Gally. His nose turned up at the offer of coffee, Brenda mocking him for his selective taste in teas, trying to copy his accent too, but he did help himself to a plate of food. Clint and Jeff were next, the two practically attached at the hip, moving as a unit, always one with the other. They were talking among themselves as they got their breakfasts, but took enough time free to offer their greetings to everyone, mumbling a vague ‘thank you’ to ‘whoever had cooked’, before they were sitting at the table and becoming invested in their conversation once again.

Newt came in next, bright and cheery and full of energy, as he had been for the last three days since getting the boot taken off his foot and being able to rotate his ankle and walk normally again, limp barely present now he was like a bright ray of sunshine, rising with the actual sunrise. Fry and Zart followed, passing through as the sun in the room rose, the music being drowned out by the loud chatter in the room, the clattering of cutlery and utensils, with the vague noise of the morning news being turned on for a weather update.

Taking your phone back from where it was placed on the stand, you lifted it up, barely any of the food you’d made remaining, and you felt an overwhelming sense of accomplishment at providing for your team, and never having a single complaint. It wasn’t often that you made this kind of gestures, it wasn’t often worth it, not when you were so used to take your meals and finding a quiet spot to eat alone, but more and more, you’d been finding yourself enjoying the company of the people around you, progressively feeling more included in the conversations and activities as the ripples across the water caused by your arrival began to settle.

Chuck was a late riser, still looking completely dazed as he stepped into the room, a little wobble in his step, and you took the liberty of creating a plate for him, and a large mug of coffee, taking it over to where he had slumped down at the dining table with his head rested on his hands, eyes already closing. Creeping up behind your friend, you leaned down, light snores leaving him as he began to doze off again, despite being surrounded by stimulation, noise and light.

“Boo!”

He jerked violently, almost knocking the food and mug out of your hand as he sat up, looking shocked for just a moment, before red-twinged cheeks were facing your directions, narrowed eyes in a glare, and a scowl on his face. “You suck.”

“I brought you food and coffee.”

He considered it for a moment, eyes sweeping over the plate, before sitting up a little straighter. “Okay, you suck slightly less now.”

He accepted the offerings, digging in almost instantaneously, and you took a seat beside him, sipping the hot drink in your own hands as you absorbed the environment. Making friends was hard when you skipped about so much, even making friends outside of work, as you moved from one side of the city of the other to new houses, never bothering to decorate or properly unpack because you weren’t sure how long you’d ever be in one location.

It was undeniably nice to be surrounded for once, and not be immediately looking for the next exit.

Chuck was happy to just talk, filling the space between you both as he spoke about everything he could think of. He told you about his mother, and his four older sisters, the second of whom was getting married, and the first of whom was halfway through her pregnancy, and how excited he was to become an uncle. He asked you about your bruises, and how the swelling was doing, making you demonstrate the rotations of your arm for him as the muscles no longer ached as you could lift them over your head, some discoloured splotching where the bruises were almost healed was all that was left.

As the clock ticked over, just past 8AM, the room was full. Even Vince having passed through and joined you all for a cup of coffee and a reasonably quick chat, giving into the teasing he was getting from Newt and Brenda about an update on the doctor he’d been seeing, her name revealed as Mary now things were getting serious, and you hoped to meet her one day at the hospital.

It was clear to you that the people here were a family, and despite the friction between you and some of the members, certain ones sticking strong with their guards up against you as they followed in their Lieutenant’s footsteps, you were winning some of them over. Newt had yet to bring it back up, the challenge that he’d issued you of giving it a year, and promising that this house would be different, but you knew he hadn't forgotten the conversations, because every so often, you’d catch his gaze lingering on you when you were chatting to another colleague, and reaching out a little more.

Chiming about your head signalled a call coming in, the room falling from commotion and filled with activity to dead and silent as everyone listened, and the second it was over, all of the chairs were scraping, pots and cutlery clammering as plates were stacked up haphazardly, and the room was cleared in seconds. Only you and Newt remained, being given a free minute, maybe two at the maximum, as you waited for the foremen to grab their equipment and swap out shoes for protective boots, gear in hand as they loaded the trucks.

“I’m going to go and check on Tommy, make sure he’s up.”

You nodded, realising now why the atmosphere around you was so peaceful. There was no walking on eggshells or lingering glares, nothing that might put you off about saying the wrong thing in fear of getting yelled out, or burning gals into the back of your skull, but simply the calm and quiet of being surrounded by people who were at least civil with you, instead of hating your guts.

Grabbing the trays that were barely even warm now, the food having cooled a while ago, you stacked up what was on a single plate, covering it with a quick wrap of foil, and watching as Thomas stumbled on past in a flurry of movement that made you think he might trip, grabbing his boots from the floor and his coat and helmet form the rack, not even bothering to change them before getting onto the squad truck waiting, and watching as it disappeared.

Tucking the reserved plate into the fridge, everything else was left out to be sorted later, and you grabbed the keys from the rack, meeting Newt in the doorway, the two of you jogging side by side to the vehicle. Since the period of time when you’d been driving instead of him while his boot was on, he seemed to have gained a little more trust in you, allowing you to drive the vehicle instead, every so often, despite how precious the rig maybe to him.

Doors slamming shut on either side, and as soon as the engine was on, Newt flipped on the emergency sirens, letting you strap yourself in beside him as you began to pull out of the courtyard, chasing after the red trucks ahead of you both in a rapid pursuit to your destination.

Early morning traffic cleared, the palm of your hand continually pressing down on the horn as people tried to pull back across lanes in the road as soon as the firetrucks had cleared, never having the patience to wait for the ambulances to go through to, but you battled to keep up with them, the smaller vehicle making it easier to navigate and weave through the other cars.

Smoke was already curling up into the air as you arrived, thick and dark, worrying bursts of it, and the stench of gas was filling the car as soon as you arrived on the street, pulling up to the sidewalk and throwing the van into park.

Hopping out of the vehicle, you let out a long breath, trying not to cringe at the smell on the air or the taste it was leaving in your mouth, your stomach twisting a little. You shared a look with Newt, looking around at the situation as you tried to assess it all, feet carrying you closer to the group of firefighters who were coming up with a game plan for the situation at hand. Thomas was already barking orders, hair messy from scratching at it and running his hands through with stress, a look you’d seen several of the men get when things shit the fire, pun intended, and you came to a halt.

Crossing your arms over your chest, Thomas’ eyes flicked to you and Thomas, words pausing in his mouth, snapping shut as he tried to reevaluate the plan. sniffling at the air, he groaned a little, skating his head.

“Alright, Minho’s on shutting these gas lines. Go and find an override until we can get this fixed. Take Chuck with you.” The official firefighter nodded, the unofficial firefighter perking up a little at the task, and pulling on their masks, the two of them set off. “Can I get paramedics setting up a stretcher straight away, we got reports that there’s a family inside, the house that started the fire. Mother was cooking when the main exploded, and it shot right through to her stove.”

You had your instructions, the two of you heading in a quick jog back to the van, because no matter what everyone else did, you had your instructions. The back of the van was opened, and you worked on unfastening the stretcher wheels as Newt prepped the van, a medkit laid out on the shelves and the ramp down. There were already people beginning to inch their way, undoubtedly complaining of headaches and nausea due to the exposure.

There was a breeze along the road, warm and reasonably calm, nothing intense enough to whip up smoke and dust into your eyes, and it was good at clearing away the lingering cloud of gas on the street, but it wasn’t so good for the firefighters. You couldn't help the way that your eye swerve flickering over to the house every so often, bright and roaring as you felt the heat all the way from here, warm cheeks under the burning glare, and you worried the flames would spread.

They were only raising higher, the entire downstairs of the house had taken alight, and Thomas and his team were still trying to work out how to get inside of the house without endangering themselves, and how to get the family out. Brenda was on hoses, dragging the reel down the street to the closest fire hydrant as fast as she possibly could, trying to screen the nozzle into place.

It was easy enough to access people, giving them each a small mask and an oxygen tank, sitting them down on the opposite curb of the sidewalk, and making sure to run along and check on their symptoms again every five minutes. The roads had been closed off on either side, barricaded by police cars and trucks, and Minho and Chuck were returning, helping Brenda with the hose as they went. The first member of the family was being brought out, a young girl being carried by who you assumed to be Gally, purely based on the height of hi as he came running over, the little girl in his arms out cold as she hung limply in his grip, and he rushed to lay her down against the bed.

“Newt, can I get a monitor?”

He yelled his reply, words not making much sense as he fumbled in the back of the van, grabbing at the monitor as best he could, and you began your initial assessment of her. Your suspicions were confirmed as the helmet and mask form the firefighter before you were removed, Gally staring down at you, wide eyes as your hands scanned along her. Tipping her head back, you opened her mouth, checking her throat hadn't become blocked, before using the small flashlight on your keychain to check the reaction in her pupils.

“She’s got some rapid ration to light in her pupils, no brain damage, smoke and gas inhalation isn’t too bad.” He let out a sigh of relief, lips flicking up at the sides as you confirmed her safety to him. Pressing gently along her lungs, you found no broken bones or ribs, making sure to keep her head a little tipped back so her airways were open as best they could be, and Newt rounded the table to the other side Bumping Gally out of the way slightly, the taller boy stepped back, waiting anxiously for more confirmation. It was sweet, his concern for the younger ones, and you’d noticed it over the last month and a half, watching him interact with children was always special. “You got a sister, Gally?”

“How’d you know?”

“Call it a lucky guess.” You teased, watching Newt beginning to cut away the sleeve of her shirt to hook up a child-sized heart monitor band onto her arm. Gally seemed just as panicked, and you’d be willing to bet money on his little sister being young, probably around this girl’s age, and seeing his own family in the victims. “Tell me about her? I bet she’s really cute.”

“She is, actually. She’s going through a unicorn phase, has been ever since turning seven.”

Bingo.

“She likes glitter too, and if you ask her what her favourite colour is, she’ll probably say rainbow. My parents have this neighbour, who is a couple years older than her, but they still hang out. The neighbour just got her first eyeshadow kit, you know, those ones they give away as free gifts with kids magazines and stuff? All the latest gossip on Selena Gomez or High School Musical, or whatever?”

You laughed a little bit, stepping away into the truck long enough to find another of the pre-prepared rows of oxygen tanks made up, and bringing it back with a small mask. Putting the band over her head, a soft beeping took up around you both as Newt confirmed that he couldn't find any further injuries on the girl, her stomach feeling soft and so there wasn’t much likelihood of any internal injuries, she was just unconscious. “Hey, don’t knock those magazines! That’s where I got my first lip gloss from!”

“She’s too young for makeup!” He huffed, the overprotective brother in him shining through to the foreground as he spoke. “So, uh, this little one. She’s going to be okay?”

“Of course, she is. Newt and I are a great team!” You beamed, Newt cheering from a few metres away where he’d wandered off to go and check on the other patients, check they were all still doing okay, no further symptoms arising. Turning the box with the heartbeat to him, his eyes closed in on it, looking as confused as ever. “There’s a lot of symbols and crap that looks confusing, I know, but just listen. Steady heartbeat, nice and strong.”

“That’s good.”

“Yeah, it is.” Pointing to a collection of numbers, the meaning of which was like reciting the alphabet to you but you didn’t have time to explain it to Gally right now. “See these numbers, that means her heart is staying at that strength too, she’s not fluctuating or dipping, she’s doing just fine. She’s got a mask on, and other than a killer headache when she wakes up, she’s going to be just peachy.”

“Thank you.” He finally let his shoulder’s slump, looking back towards the house, and pulling his mask back on, a nod shared between you both as his helmet followed, and with that brief break to check on the young girl he’d saved, he was returning to guide his team.

The flames in the wind were getting awfully close to the other house, despite the teams trying to put out the flames, but there were only two hoses, and they had to focus on getting the downstairs of the current house controlled first. Now that the gas was out, the flames were beginning to be tamed, no longer having an accelerant to burn on, only the fuel of the house, but it didn’t make the charred black marks along the outside of the house any less concerning.

The second patient you were receiving was the father, coughing and spluttering, conscious but in a worse state than his daughter, though he looked like he didn’t care about any of it as his eyes locked onto the little girl, and he tried to put more weight on his own two feet and less on the member of your team who was holding him up.

You didn't get to see who this was, because he was dashing away from the second that the man was showing signs of being able to support his own body, right back into the flames to become a hero once again. You rushed forward as he stumbled, hands grabbing onto him to try and keep him held up, and you walked him backwards slowly as he wheezed, sitting him down on the edge of the truck, his eye moving over to his little girl.

“My girl-”

“-is going to be just fine, sir, don’t you worry. I’ve already checked her out, and she’s doing great. She’s strong, a little fighter!” You offered him a smile, one that he weakly returned, his shoulder’s slumping as he coughed violently. “Can you tell me your name?”

“John.” He wheezed, and you nodded, grabbing a fresh set of forms from the truck and placing them down beside him. Checking his airways and his vision, you deemed him okay, asking him about his pain levels, while preparing a new mask for him, and hooking it all up, twisting the oxygen on and hearing the canister let out a little hiss as it was activated.

“Can you tell me your last name?”

“Davidson.” He muttered, accepting the mask happily from you as you held it out to him, lifting it over his head, and he was covered in soot, ash still lingering in the hair around his head, a light burn on the patches of clear skin on the top, his head ducking as you began to check them over.

“Well, Mr Davidson, I’d say you’re looking rare, maybe medium-rare, but you’ll be just fine.” His eyes creased a little at the sides, a muffled laugh from behind the mask as he tried to take deep and steadying breaths, nodding his head. “You think you can start filling out those forms for me? Get one filled out for every member of your family, and it’ll save you so much time at the hospital, and it’d really do me a solid.”

He held slightly shaking hands out to you, a collection of them all pinned on the board, beginning to write his name slowly, both of your attentions looking up at the sound of snapping wood. The porch had collapsed, the smoke in the doorway clearing a little, but just because the lower flames were beginning to give way, the upper was still burning bright, only catching more heat, and you nibbled on your lower lip.

“Everyone is alright, neighbours are doing a headcount among themselves, but there’s an elderly chap, mid-seventies, name of ‘Mr O’Hare’ seeming to be missing.”

The sound of a pain clattering onto the metal of the ambulance floor before rolling away and hitting the concrete made you jump, both of you turning with raised brows to look at the man behind you, Crouching down to get the pen again, you handed it back to him, and he raised a weak hand to pull at his mask, concern and imminent fear on his face again. “That’s our neighbour.”

“I’m sorry?”

“Mr O’Hare, that’s our neighbour. He hasn’t been doing so well, lately, my wife brings him groceries every week, his family comes to visit. He sleeps a lot, he gave us a key to get in to put the groceries away.” A wash of panic set over both you and Newt, your eyes flicking back up to the house you’d been concerned about, the black marks of charring on the walls beginning to grow as the flames curled over, and as you squinted a little, you found the edges of the rood were already beginning to powder to ash, sizzling orange as the risked igniting.

You grabbed ahold of Newt’s arm, encouraging the man in your care to go back to the sheets he should be focusing on, trying to keep him calm. “Nobody has been in that house yet, Newt. That house is full of gas, the doors and windows are closed. It’s a time bomb waiting to go off.”

“You’d better go and find a fireman, because here comes the wife, and I’m going to need to go to the hospital as soon as she’s checked out.” You only nodded your head, grabbing for your medkit, swinging the bags up onto your shoulders and setting off. The first you came across was Chuck, standing outside of the building at the back of the house, making sure no wires were becoming trapped, and just as you were about to try and get his attention, a blur of movement in your peripherals brought you to a stop.

A concerned neighbour, no idea what was about to happen but you felt like you were watching it in slow-motion as the young man made his way up toward the door, kicking at it roughly as he did, the lock popping as he tried to venture inside for his neighbour. A split second, he’d barely gotten through the doorway, before the loud explosion of a houseful of gas igniting in an instant made your eyes ring, as though your eardrums had shattered. The blast sent you down to the floor, smoke, splintered wood, shards of glass, all flying around you at the sudden implications.

You could hear muffled screaming around you, your fingers digging into the dirt beneath you as you scraped your hands back to your body, and pushed yourself up. Cuts along your skin, nothing you couldn't take care of, simply the light pieces of glass that had flown past, leaving a message in their wake, a warning not to play with anything sharp. Large hands locked onto your body, pulling you to your feet, and you blinked away the stunned feeling you had, watching as the mask was lifted.

Shaking your head little, it all suddenly came back into focus, piercing sounds, the yelling of worried neighbours, and the closer yelling of the man in front of you. Gally. “(Y/L/N), are you okay?”

“Y-Yeah. I’m good, I’m fine. A few bumps and scratches, nothing serious.” He nodded his head, eyes sweeping over you regardless, and you pushed messy hair back out of your face. “There’s someone in that building, though. I was going to suggest going through the door after leaking the gas out slowly, but it’s a bit late for that now.”

You looked around, a cord forming around the man who’d been blasted back, and it wasn’t looking good.

“We’re going to need another ambulance. Call med, get one here.”

He nodded, his head, stepping away from you for a second to bring his radio to his mouth, and your hand snagged onto Chuck’s arm, shaking him a little as he stared in abject horror at the scene before him, his age really showing on his face now. Orange flickered over his features, the presence of freckles on your friend’s face distracted by hair that almost looked red in front of flames, and you shouted his name to catch his attention, wide eyes snapping to you.

“Where’s your team?” He raised a hand, pointing to the smoke of the building, and you nodded your head. He was rattled, and you shook him a little, hands on the lapels of his fireproof jacket for leverage. “Hey, Chuck, listen up. This is no time to freeze, alright? You’re a firefighter, now get someone who can spare a hand on the radio, because there’s someone else who needs saving.”

He swallowed thickly, nodding his head, and bringing the device up, button on the side pressed to talk into, and it crackled for a minute as he put the message out there, waiting for someone to reply. Grabbing his arm, you dragged him along behind you, letting him stand behind you as you shouldered through to find the groaning man on the floor, skin raw and burned, grit stuck to him from where he’d rolled along the floor in the blow back, and you hissed a little, kneeling down.

Dropping your bag and snapping on a fresh pair of gloves, Chuck sent out another call for help, and you rolled the man onto his back carefully. There wasn’t much you could do for him here, except get him on a mask and disinfect his wounds, but it wasn't going to be a pleasant process. A canister of disinfectant was your best bet for covering raw areas this large, and you pulled it out, shaking it aw you went.

“Chuck, what’s wrong?”

You bit your tongue from groaning at who replied, glancing over your shoulder for a second, the nervous boy’s eyes meeting yours, and you gave him a nod, staying focused on your task at hand and waiting for Chuck to speak instead. “We’ve got a situation, Lieutenant. That building that just went up, (Y/N) says there’s someone trapped inside, upstairs, I think.”

“Fuck. Not exactly getting in through the bottom floor, are we?” There was a series of rattles, scuffling as you assumed them to be checking over the rooms, and you swallowed thickly, hearing the wailing sirens of another ambulance beginning to get close enough to you. The conversation around you fell away, letting Chuck and Thomas hash out a plan, before you were looking back to the man on the floor, his eyes wide and on yours, shaking with pain as he still tried to stay strong.

“Hey, that was real brave of you there. Trying to save your neighbour, huh?”

“I just wanted to help.” He mumbled, words broken and light as he tried not to cry them out, his voice strained, and you nodded your head.

“Yeah, and it was admirable. One of the bravest things I’ve ever seen, and I work with firefighters! I’m going to get you patched up, alright?” He nodded his head, gritting his teeth as you warned him that it was going to hurt, before spraying the cleaner over his skin, and a shrieking scream left his lips. It was blood-curdling, and you’d never get used to the way your stomach clenched or your teeth ground together when you knew you were causing someone that pain, even if you were trying to help. It would cool, a foam setting over his skin as it dissolved softly, and the pain faded away as the paste helped start to remove trapped heat from his skin, soothing burns and making him slump back a little. “You hear those sirens, real close now. They’re for you.”

He only nodded, before a hand was finding your shoulder, and Chuck was pulling you back a little, much to your confusion.

“What is it, Chuck? I need to get him loaded onto an ambo’.”

“No, you need to come with me.” Your brows furrowed, his hands finding your wrist, and as the ambulance pulled up, you caught sight of another paramedic, one you’d seen around the halls at the hospital, flagging them down to where the man was as they grabbed a board and set off toward him. “Lieutenant has a plan, best we got.”

“Alright, what is it?”

He stopped you before the truck, opening up one of the storage doors on the side, eyes scanning over you for a second, before he was beginning to pull out equipment. “We’re going to extend a ladder from one window to the other, crawl across, and get him. Then, come back across the ladder.”

“That’s a twenty-foot drop, you’d break bones if you fall, maybe even your neck, and the older man in that house won’t be able to balance.”

“He’s going to have to.” Chuck placed a helmet onto your head, wrapping a jacket around your arms, and you barely caught the mask he was pressing into your hands. “You’re going to have to as well, because he’s going to need a medical check.”

“A medical check? The man won’t even be conscious with the amount of gas built up in there!”

“Good thing you’re coming then. Do your job well, save his life.” The static-covered voice over the radio called out, and you glared at the device, jaw clenching at the insinuation that you ever did anything less than your best. Gally and Winston were unloading a manual ladder from the truck, setting off into the house with it, and you gulped as you felt your friend's hands move along the front of the jacket to fasten it up. Pants came next, a large pair of baggy and protective pants, stepping into them as he held them out to you, as fear filled your body at the idea of having to crawl from one burning building and into another. “Hurry up and get her kitted, Chuck, we don’t have all day! Floors getting weaker up here by the second.”

He followed with boots, a little too big for your feet but they would do, your sneakers left discarded on the floor beside you as he laced them up, and you forced yourself to be strong, just like everybody else had been today. Leaning down to take the radio and make sure it was on for you to speak into, you found yourself rearing into action. “I’m going to get a neck brace from our ambo’ and a blackboard, our best bet is to just slide him across it while he’s unconscious, like a conveyor belt, fastest way.”

“I’ll get you two men and we’ll call in for a third ambo’ to collect him.” Thomas confirmed, and you tried to get used to walking in the heavy material, feeling like your body was being weighed down by all the gear. Newt was just getting himself ready to leave for the hospital, closing up the back of the ambulance, and his eyes scanned over you before a cheeky grin was taking place.

“Wow, look at you. Hot date?”

“Yeah, real hot.” You muttered, jabbing a finger over your shoulder. “I need the backboard and the neck brace, I’ll meet you back at the station, alright?”

He only nodded his head, hanging both pieces of equipment to you and sealing up the van, but before you’d managed to catch sight of the smile that John had sent you, his wife petting their daughter’s hair as they were confirmed to all be alright.

Chuck checked your mask, turned on your tank, and a rush of pure air filled your lungs as you took a breath, before the helmet was being placed over your head, and you already felt like you were burning up from the inside out. You’d dashed into a burning building before, hopped up on adrenaline and desperation, but this somehow felt different.

Like an out of body experience as you felt the wooden flooring chip under your feet, crunching as it burned away to ash, the actors half-fallen apart, and Chuck guided you upstairs slowly the bottom of the house utterly destroyed. Brenda met you at the top, her hands held out for you to take, her fingers wrapping around your forearms as you reciprocated, and she eased you the rest of the way up.

Minho was next, visible through his mask as you got closer, and he nodded his head to you, hands holding firmly onto the hose as he tried to get control over the building once again. It felt odd, like you were walking in one of those simulation arcade attractions or playing a video game, every movement you made never feeling like your own through the layers of equipment.

The ladder was already set up, balancing precariously from one window ledge to the other.

The one opposite you seemed much more secure, not yet tarnished by flames, whereas this one was uneven, the end being held down by Gally, and all the men in the room stood a little teller, springing to action as you reserved. “About time.”

“I was doing my best.” You sneered, brown eyes rolling a little at you through the cover of the glass. Gally took the board from you, tying a piece of rope to each end of it, and checking the length, and you wandered over to the window ledge, looking out and peering down at the grass below.

“I’m going to go over fist, and secure it at the other end for you, then you come over. We get him on the board, send him back. Gally and Chuck will take him out to the ambo’. You’ll go across next, Minho will hold the ladder for you, and I’ll come last, you got it?”

You could only nod your head, feeling like the information was going in one ear and out of the other, and your head spun a little as you watched Thomas climb up and out of the window, crawling his way across the divide in a fast shuffle, no hesitation present, jumping right into the action.

He pried the window open, a precarious balancing act that made your breath hitch in your throat as the ladder-bridge wobbled, before he was slipping inside. Turning back and waving his hands out, Gally sent the board across, a piece of string pulled tighter, and now, you understood what the string had been for, the length reaching all the way from one house to the other, even when the board was taken inside and laid on the floor.

You were next, hands placed on the edge of the window, and jumping back a little as still fighting flames from the lower floors roared up at you. Your back pressed to Gally’s chest, and he placed a shoulder on your upper arm, the tank between you both that had collided with his chest making him huff, but he squeezed reassuringly and pushed your forward again.

“Any time today would be great, (Y/L/N).”

“I’m fucking scared, okay? Give me a damn minute, this isn’t what I do, I don’t go into the fires!” You yelled, hands forming fists as you tried to contain yourself, and Thomas didn’t say anything else after that. You climbed up, one knee pressed to metal that was already beginning to get warm, you could feel it through the protective pants you wore, and your hands sealed around the edges. Bringing the other own up, you found yourself kneeling over a twenty-foot drop directly into a fire from two windowsills, one of which was crumbling. “Oh, fuck, fuck, fuck..”

“You’re doing great, alright?”

His voice was much softer this time, your head snapping up, and while one hand was still holding onto the ladder, the other was reaching out, pointing a little ahead of one of your hands.

“One rung at a time, alright? You can do this, c’mon. This man needs your help.”

The brace you had clipped to your back swung a little, your body moving as your instinct to catch it kicked in, and the ladder rocked, a small shriek leaving your lips. The encouragement he gave you was a nice alternative to the constant feuding, but it was more the other words he’d said that gave you the confidence to go on. Someone’s life was in your hands, and you’d be damned if you took so long being scared that he died before you could help him. Picking up motion, you did as he said, one rung at a time as you moved out toward the middle of the ladder.

“That’s it, nice work.” He nodded, pointing at other spots to put your hands, before lifting his own, offering a thickly gloved hand to you, and you hesitated for only a moment, pausing, before reaching out to take it, and he gripped onto you tightly. “See? I got you, you’re fine.”

He tugged you closer, inching you the rest of the way forwards, and helping you down from the window at the other side, until you were balancing on your feet again. This room wasn’t yet on fire, but smoke was filling it, beginning to seep between the floorboards as an ominous and foreboding orange glow was present, the floor burning away beneath your very feet.

As told, there he was, the old man on his bed, looking as peaceful as though he were sleeping, and you made your way over to him. Smoothing along his body, you tried lifting one of his eyelids, barely being able to get a soft grip through the gloves, and struggling to hold down the tip of your keychain flashlight.

“I can’t do a damn thing with these stupid gloves on!”

“Don’t you da-” You didn’t care, stripping them off and pushing them into his hands as you hissed, not having realised just how much these clothes were shielding you from, the heat in the room almost unbearable on your flesh as your skin tingled. Checking his eyes and his pulse, you found movement of his pupils, slower than ideal but still there, and a low but prominent pulse under his skin.

“He’s okay, we’re all good here.” Thomas only nodded his head, handing the gloves back to you urgently, and moving to unclip the neck support from your pack as you worked. Sealing the plastic contraption around his neck to keep his head secure, you rolled him onto his side, the board coming next, rope beginning to pull tighter as you tried to cross the room to reach him, before finally getting him situated.

Strapped down and sealed on tight, you helped Thomas begin to place him delicately on the ladder, and once again fear was taking you over completely. There were flashing cameras, a group of people far bigger than it had been when you were on the street, and a final ambulance ready to offer assistance.

“That’s a lot of people.” You mumbled, feeling a hand on your shoulder as Thomas pulled you back and away from the window.

“Then don’t look.” He tossed you a glance, before helping Gally begin to inch the man across the bridge, rope always pulled tight to keep him secure, and it felt like lifetimes passed as you watched him go, inch by inch, until Chuck was taking a hold of the top half, pulling it further inside until Gally could take the other, and just like that, the man was safe.

Minho took their place, the man on the stretcher disappearing into the smoke with both of the taller firefighters as Thomas was stuck with you, and you shook yourself out, trying to rid yourself of tension and patting yourself down to check everything was okay.

“Don’t pay any attention to them, okay?” Hands found your arms, turning you to look at him, looking up through the glass to find his eyes. “They’re a distraction, just focus on my voice, and Minho’s voice, that’s it.”

“Okay.”

“Okay? You ready?”

You weren’t sure you’d ever really be ready to crawl over a pit of fire on an unstable bridge between two burning buildings, but you nodded anyway, and climbed up onto the frame. One inch at a time, you made your way across, whimpering a little under your breath with every shake and jolt it made as the windowsill finally started to collapse. You wanted to be fast but cautious, keeping it steady without freezing up, and there was a point in the middle where the hands Thomas had placed on your hips to keep you steady slipped away, but you were not yet in reach of Minho, and you were completely on your own.

Two feet, and then you’d be able to reach Minho, to let him pull you inside and back to reasonable safety, and you were pretty sure that after this, you were never going to be offering to go into a burning building again. One foot, and Minho was lifting his hands up to you, the gentle but firm mumblings to hurry up echoing from Thomas, and then a hand wrapped around yours, giving you the confidence and security to speed up.

When your feet finally touched the ground once again, you were letting out a happy sigh, a kind of high racing through your system at the relief of being safe once again making you feel like you could float in clouds. You turned back, watching Thomas adjust his gloves, the flames in the room behind him beginning to grow as the floorboards started to give way at the cracks, and Minho was holding the ladder secure, but the flames were growing higher, and the charred wood was beginning to give way.

“Lieutenant, you need to speed up, this window is going to give way soon.”

“My glove won’t tie.” He muttered, trying the toggle again, but the plastic clip seemed to have snapped, and as he tried to fasten it again, the creaking of the wood made his head snap up. Surveying the scene, the ladder was already sitting at a slightly uneven angle now, and you swallowed thickly at the sight, now wishing you’d had the bravery to move a little faster. “Right, well, guess we’re going as it is.”

Climbing his way up onto the bars, his body was tilted, slumping a little towards the flames as the team below moved the hose, trying to spray the flames enough to keep them down, but without creating smoke that would blind him. Stepping back, you crossed your arms over your chest, anxiety taking over, and you brought a thumb up to your mouth to chew on the nail from habit. Your thumb hit against the glass of your mask, a low curse on your lips as a single strike of pain moved along your arm.

Thomas was only halfway across, before the ladder was shaking again, a chunk of burned wood falling away as the ladder shuddered and fell, falling onto its side a little further, and Thomas had only stuck to the rung by hooking each foot into the rungs, body leaning into the flames a little more. The sirens, the ambulance pulling away and the shouts of those outside, the burning of flames, creaking of wood, spraying of water, all fell away. It was terrifying, to think that if you had just moved a little fast he could be back by now, if you’d made it to the door to leak the gas faster, or notice the neighbour a little sooner that nobody would have been on a ladder at all.

“Thomas, hurry up!”

“Yeah, thanks for that, I was thinking I’d take it even slower!” He huffed into the comm, and you weren’t sure where your own words had come from, but the desperation and fear of losing a team member had you on edge.

The window was giving easy, the closer he got and the more weight was on that spot, the more it began to crumble, and you saw it give way before it registered, Minho’s hands leaving the handles of the ladder to grab for Thomas, and you heard the grunt he let out as the side of his body collided with the building.

The ladder clattered to the ground outside, and just like that, plumes of smoke were rising as the flames were finally put out, black clouds rising up and blocking your view of the other house as an acrid smell filled the air. Minho had one hand, pulling him, up, and the other latched onto the windowsill, scrabbling. His wrist was exposed, a raw gap between the sleeve and the glove that wouldn't fasten, and you managed to find action on shaky legs, stepping forwards and wrapping your hands around his wrists, helping to pull him up and through the window, protecting the exposed patch.

He rolled over the floor, a loud banging as he collapsed down onto it, splayed out across the floor and relieved. One hand lay across his chest, and your legs felt weak and wobbly from the exertion and adrenaline of the day, and you leaned on the wall for support. Minho patted at your shoulder, a weak laugh on his lips, and the floorboards and you creaked with the weight of Thomas shifting, before you could sense eyes on you, cracking them open to see him standing before you.

“Go, c’mon. This house is still dangerous, you need to get out.”

You nodded, body trembling a little as you tried to control it, following in his steps as he led the way, thick smoke and glowing ass as the house was destroyed, melted plastic and synthetics, like some kind of horror scene, and you supposed that, in a way, it was. When your feet finally found the grass again, you stripped your helmet off from your head, mask following, a gasping breath as you felt the cool breeze sweeping over your skin, and you felt practically layered in sweat. Making your way back to where your pack and your shoes were still laying by one of the firetrucks, you leaned against it, sinking down to the floor as you finally let the tension go.

Your elbows propped up on bent knees, holding up your head as it fell forwards, and you let out a shaky breath, finding that you weren’t a fan of the fire scene. It wasn’t what you were used to, last-minute decisions in burning houses weren’t your forte. You were good with medicine, and you knew how to save lives, that was your skill. Burning buildings and heights over a sinister drop to your death, not so much.

A scuffing sounded beside you, and you looked up, frowning at Thomas as he let his jacket fall down his arms, the red and burned flesh of his wrists shown to you more obviously. He placed it back inside, before turning to you, hand held out to take your helmet and mask from you, silently as he put them back in the correct places within the van. Next up was your jacket, and you stretched your legs out before yourself to lean forwards and strip it off, handing it up to him, and shivering and the sudden cold that took you over as you were down the layer you’d grown accustomed to.

Leaning forwards to undo the boots, you pulled one foot forward, beginning to struggle with the laces that Chuck had down for you, unbelievably tight, and huffing as you finally got it untangled. “You did good in there.”

You paused from where you were loosening the laces down, turning to look up at him, and he wasn’t paying any attention to you, but he did catch your eye for a split second. “Thank you. I hated every second of it.”

His lips flicked up at the sides, and he nodded his head, moving to take a seat in front of you, and pulling your other foot to sit before him on the concrete and beginning to undo the knots. “I can tell, but you pulled through as a part of the team, it was good work.”

“I think this is the longest you’ve ever been nice to me.”

“I’m not being nice, I’m simply giving you feedback. If I wanted to be nice to you, I would be.” He muttered, pulling both boots from your feet and standing back up, leaving you to wince as your heels hit the ground, a shock running up the nerves along your legs. “Hurry up and get yourself up, Brenda is already rolling up the hose, we’re going to leave soon. You’ll have to get a lift back with us.”

“Sure thing, Lieutenant.” Your eyes rolled, standing up to push the baggy pants down your legs, leaving you once again in your paramedic trousers, and kicking them off at your ankles, leaving them in a pile at his feet, a sickly sweet smile on your lips as you bent to collect your bag and your shoes. “I’ll get a lift with Truck.”

You gave him a small salute, walking right past him as his stare flickered between you and the pile of clothing, a growl on his lips, but you were already walking away from him. Gally was more than happy to offer you a lift, holding open the back of the truck, and settled down into the leather seats, the smell of sweat and burn lingering in the cabin. Tying up one shoe, you switched feet, sorting the other out, before slumping into the chair.

Fry was the first back, up into the front seat as he restarted the vehicle, the engine under your feet chugging to life, and as the humming of the engine started up, the pounding behind your eyes becoming apparent, rubbing at your eyes as they closed. Winston was next, sliding into the seats opposite you, Clint following, and you slumped out as they began to discuss the day.

It had been exhausting, everything in you was screaming out for sleep, and with only a few hours left of your shift, you knew you would be collapsing into sleep from the moment you got home tonight. The day had been taxing both mentally, physically and emotionally, and as Chuck squeezed in beside you, your head fell to his shoulder.

“You’re all sweaty.” You grumbled, and he only laughed, the vehicle charging into motion once Gally was in the front seat and the rest of the Truck team were on board, your eyes sliding closed.

The journey seemed to slip away, the headache in your skull pounding away, and you managed to find your phone in your backpack, bringing it up at one point to text Newt and find out where he was, only to discover he'd been back at the Firehouse for almost half an hour, and was probably eating the cereal bars you’d hidden.

The time slipped away, and you felt as though you’d almost drifted off, against your own intentions, jerking up a little as the truck came to a halt.

“You’re tired, huh?”

“Yes.” You muttered, groaning as you forced yourself to your feet and stepped down from the platform of the truck, leaving the men to swap out their shoes and hang up their equipment, and Newt had his arms held out to you with a grin on his face, cooing at you as you stumbled forward. “Stop making fun of me.”

“Someone looks exhausted!” He practically sang the words, and you groaned, slumping into him as his arms wrapped around you, and he laughed in your ear while rubbing a hand up and down your back. He eased you for a second, going quiet as he held you, before pulling back, and squeezing at your arms. “How’s that headache?”

“Raging.”

“I got you some painkillers out.” He mumbled, one arm wrapping over your shoulders and guiding you over to the truck. He had a hot bucket of disinfectant and the mop, and as well as all the cleaning equipment, the smell of chemicals already present and showing off that he’d already started on the work to be done. “If you keep me company, I’ll clean the ambo’.”

“You’re a blessing.” He only nodded, handing you two tablets and a plastic cup of water, you chugged them down, all but crawling through the van to slump into the front seat, legs curled up a little as you rested against the still warm fabric.

The rhythmic motions of the mop along the floor created a soft noise, one that was steady enough to lull you into sleep, and even from in here, you could hear the loud ticking of the clock on the wall outside, every single second passing by being counted off in your head as you matched your heartbeat to it.

“Newt, I need a favour.” You groaned, keeping it internal as you bit on the inside of your cheek at the grating sound of a voice belonging to the person you arguably despised most in the world right now. “I got a little burned up, so I need some treatment.”

“I’m busy right now, Tommy. (Y/N) can do it.”

“I’m perfectly fine, I’ll just wait.” You cowered a little behind your chair as you hoped Newt would let him go, but your meddling blond friend tutted his lips, putting down the mop, and you already knew what was coming.

“Not with those burns you won’t. You don’t mind, right, love?”

“I really, really do mind.” You raised a hand over your head, flipping the pair off, but waiting only a second longer, before standing up. Making your way through the vehicle, you were at least feeling a little better, even if the weight of the equipment you’d worn, the heat and the terrifying near-death experience was still making you feel physically drained, your almost-nap and painkillers had taken care of you mentally. “Fine, but you can come here. I’m not standing up.”

You collapsed down on the edge of the van, a white vest-clad chest filling your view as he came to stand before you, and you reached for your bag, Grabbing at the medkit inside, Newt snorted, hopping down and moving away to empty the mop bucket, whistling obnoxiously. Pulling on a fresh pair of rubber gloves, you wiggled your fingers a little, latex snapping against your wrist as you let the edge go, before moving onto the job at hand.

Doing an assessment of his injuries, you sighed, letting his hand go to sit in the space between you both, to find both the types of disinfectant. Holding up one canister and one clear bottle, a coppery coloured liquid inside, he looked between them both, brows furrowed, before looking back to you. “Which do you want?”

“What’s the difference?”

“This one-” You held up the can, shaking it a little. “-is a foam, it stings a bit more, but it makes a cool covering that makes it feel better. But this one-” You shook the bottle, the liquid inside sloshing a little as a layer of bubbles built up. “-is just a liquid, doesn’t hurt as much, but won’t take the heat out.”

“I literally could not care less. I just want to get something to eat, and go back to sleep.” You shrugged, grabbing a pad of cotton and tipping some of the liquid onto it, making sure the soft bundle was soaked enough, before folding his fingers into a fist, and beginning to clean at the skin, ignoring the hiss on his lips.

“I made you a plate of food, from breakfast this morning. It’s in the fridge.”

You jumped a little as you heard the aww-ing from across the room, both of your heads turning to look at Newt as he leaned on the cabinets not far away, arms crossed over his chest as he was busy with absolutely fuck-all, and you scowled at him.

“You made me food?”

Thomas’ voice was whispered, and you only glanced up at him for a second, before dipping your head in a series of slow nods, confirming his question, and reaching for some burn cream. Smearing it on your fingers, you rubbed it against the back of your hand, warming it up until it was longer as stiff, and rubbing it onto his skin.

“Thanks, that was nice of you.”

“I’m not being nice, I’m simply doing my job.” The neutral expression on his face dropped into a scowl as you grinned, using his own words against him. Switching to a set of wrappings, you adjusted his arm in front of you, placing the edge of the gauze between his thumb and forefinger, you sealed it down over unblemished skin with bandage tape. “You know, it’s actually in my job description to keep the firefighters in peak health.”

With each layer of bandaging, you added a layer of cooling spray, and he grunted under his breath. “You couldn't just accept a compliment?”

“Well, you made it very clear that we aren’t nice to one another.”

“You’re being petty.” He grouched, snatching his hand back from you as soon as the wrapping was sealed up, one more glare at you before he was glaring at Newt, and walking back out of the room and ignoring you both, especially Newt’s laughing. He made his way over to you, still cracking up, his hand wrapped around his stomach, and you raised a brow at him as you began to pack everything away.

“What’s so funny, chuckles?”

“You and Thomas. Your bickering,” You turned to him, shaking your head as you tried to find an argument for his meddling, and pulling off the gloves from your hands. “You’re like a married couple.”

“If married couples argued like Thomas and I did, they’d be getting divorced.”

“I don’t even think you know what you’re arguing about anymore. You’re just getting at each other, now.” He shrugged, pulling you up from where you were sitting, in order to lock up the doors of the ambulance. “You just got off on the wrong foot, but mark my words, you won’t hate each other forever. I already know it.”

“Yeah, yeah. Whatever you say, Newt.”

[s0ftness]

lost and found | i

Summary: In dire need of a safe place, you stumble upon a kind stranger in the middle of the woods.

Pairing: Lumberjack!Thor x Reader, Lumberjack!Thor x Hispanic!Reader

Warnings: NSFW, 18+ ONLY.  Mild mentions of physical injury, oral sex, vaginal penetration, unprotected sex, fluffy shit.

Word Count: 5.8k+

A/N: So, this is my first time posting my work and I’m a little nervous, so any sort of feedback is greatly appreciated. Inspiration for this came directly from @imanuglywombat​‘s and @nellblazer​‘s Celebration of Lumberjack Smut Challenge. There’s a whole lot I’d like to explore with this pair, so there might be more parts in the future. Please let me know what you think!

Also, find this on AO3!

The sun was slowly making its way down the sky, eager to find rest behind the mountains, tinting the firmament indigo as stars began to blink awake. The temperature was also going down but sweat coated your skin and made your clothes stick to your body as you hiked up the mountain. Unsure of where you were even heading to, you ventured deeper into the woods in search for a safe place to spend the night. Unable to recall when your last meal was, your vision began to blur and you lost your footing for a second, slipping on a loose rock and ripping open your pants, the skin of your knee and palms scraped. Great, just what you needed. You wiped at the torn skin with the back of your sleeve, but there truly wasn’t much you could do. Darkness was creeping in closer, faster than you thought it would, and the sight of heavy clouds rolling in made your empty stomach clench with dread.

The sound was faint at first. And you stood in silence then, every muscle frozen. You hadn’t crossed paths with a bear yet or anything of the sort, but you knew there were countless dangers lurking in the shadows, and were well aware of your vulnerable state. Not tripping over your own two feet and splitting your head open so far had been a feat of its own, but an ever-present possibility nonetheless. Holding your breath for as long as you could, you trekked forward as silently as possible, slowly beginning to discern the rhythmic pattern of the sound. Not an animal, then.

Not far from where you were, the trees gave way to a clearing and you realized you were now on somebody’s private property. And that somebody was chopping wood.

You shuddered at the thought of a crazy man chasing you away with an axe, but you didn’t have many options here, not to mention you were running out of time. After drawing in one deep, fortifying breath, you cautiously made your way over. The rustling of leaves and crunching branches beneath your feet gave you away, apparently, because the figure suddenly stood still. Your fingers grazed over the rough bark of the tree in front of you, and you peeked around it.

Just a few feet away from you, stood a tall man. Huge, really. Your eyesight wasn’t your most reliable sense right then, but he looked strong. And alone. Truly, you weren’t sure either of those things were good or bad, but your body was too weak to hold you up any longer and you feared you might pass out right there on the treeline.

Holding up both hands in what you hoped was an appeasing gesture, you moved forward as slowly as you could. He remained rooted to the ground, right next to the stump he used as a chopping block, his hand wrapped loosely around his axe by the handle.

“No trouble…” you croaked out in a heavily-accented voice, as you took a trembling step forward. “Not looking for trouble,” you attempted to clarify.

That seemed to amuse him, as he snorted a bit. You didn’t look like you could cause much trouble, even if you wanted to. You looked like you’d been through hell and had barely made it out. If you felt like shit, the way his face contorted into a deep frown when you stepped into the light made it clear you looked even worse. With a soft thump, he lodged the axe on the stump and made his way over to you. You cringed instantly, stumbling back a few steps when he got too close.

“You alone?” His voice was deep and rich, but he quickly glanced around to check along the treeline for good measure. You nodded, but the motion sent your head spinning and you stumbled a bit.

“I just need somewhere to be tonight. I think a storm is coming,” you murmured, the lilt of your voice barely audible at such volume. A couple of warm hands reached forward to grab you by the upper arms, steadying you. He half expected you to bolt, but you surprised him by slumping in his grip. With a low sigh, he led one of your arms to wrap around his shoulders as he held up most of your weight while walking you up the front steps of his cabin.

Once inside, he placed you on a loveseat by the fireplace. There was no fire burning, but you felt much warmer indoors. He grabbed the blanket draped over the back of the seat and laid it over you. You frowned in confusion by his kindness, but decided it was probably in your best interest to keep your mouth shut for a while. As he stood this close, tucking the fabric around your shoulders and feet until you felt like a blanket burrito, you finally got a chance to look at him. Like, really look at him.

Boy, was he beautiful.

He looked like he’d had a long day, too. His eyes were tired, but kind, and impossibly blue. His long blond hair was messy but tied at the back of his neck in a low ponytail. You faintly wondered if he’d been sculpted by gods, because that bone structure was to die for. If you had had even one ounce of energy left in your body, you probably would’ve used it to touch his cheek to make sure he was real. His beard was thick and suited him well, and you wondered if it felt as soft as it looked. His lips were full and plump, and they were… moving?

Oh. He was speaking to you.

“... in a while. I can heat up some soup for you, if you want.”

You blinked a couple times as you forced your eyesight to focus. The man let out a quiet sigh and gave your shoulder a gentle pat.

“Stay here, I’ll be right back.”

So you did. All bundled up and warm, you battled yourself to maintain your eyes open as he headed to the kitchen. For soup, you reminded yourself. For you. That was the moment your stomach decided to growl embarrassingly loudly, and you sunk deeper into the soft, worn leather of the sofa.

A gentle shake on your shoulder awakened you, and you jolted a bit in surprise.

“Hey, it’s okay! It’s okay, you dozed off for a bit. Why don’t you eat this? It’ll make you feel better.” He then placed a large bowl of hot soup on your lap and you wrapped both hands around it. Your eyes were impossibly round and doe like, and your host had to force himself to look away.

“Thank you, er… uh…”

“Thor,” he offered as he lowered himself to sit on the edge of the coffee table across from you. “My name’s Thor.”

“Thor,” you repeated softly, savouring the foreign word in your tongue. He swallowed hard. You offered your own name in return. “Thank you, Thor.”

He hummed in response and rose to his feet to kneel in front of the fireplace to set up some wood in it and get it going. The flames took on quickly and you let out a quiet sigh of relief. Thor glanced at you over his shoulder, and found you raising the bowl to your lips to gulp down the broth eagerly. A smile tugged on the corner of his mouth, but he quickly rose to his feet and walked away.

It wasn’t often that Thor had visitors. He had never had any, to be honest. Ever since he’d come back to Earth after wandering the universe senselessly, he’d been on his own. Up there, he longed for home. But home no longer existed, not to him anyway. Everybody he had ever considered to be home was gone now, so he’d decided to build one for himself out here. It got lonely sometimes, but it was peaceful, and that was much more than he thought himself worthy of.

Inside his bedroom, he rummaged through his things to find a few pieces of clothing you could wear and set them on the foot of his bed. Next, he went into the bathroom and drew you a bath with the hottest water he could offer, and threw in some bubbles for good measure. He’d always loved a good bubble bath, and you looked like you could keep a secret.

With everything set up for you to clean up, he made his way back to the living room to find you laying on your side on the floor in front of the fire. You were curled up in a little cocoon under the blanket he’d given you, and you were lazily watching the flames dance over burning wood, your eyelids getting heavier by the second. Thor bit the inside of his cheek and went to kneel next to you, one broad hand coming to rest on your shoulder.

“I prepared a bath for you. There are also some clothes on the bed you can wear. Just leave your dirty ones in the bathroom and I’ll take care of it, yeah?”

You rolled onto your back and gazed up at him, brows knit together in confusion. “You really don’t have to do all this. I can just stay here and leave when the sun comes up.”

“Nonsense,” he replied with a shake of his head. He rose to his feet and held out a hand for you to take, hauling you up onto your feet and grimacing apologetically when you winced in pain. Your hand felt minuscule engulfed by his, but you relished the warmth as he led you through his home and to the bathroom. Against the far wall, was a beautiful wood bathtub and you gave in to the impulse to brush your fingertips along its smooth side before dipping them in the hot water. A wide smile spread on your face. It had been longer than you’d like to admit since you’d had a proper bath, even longer one with warm water. You turned to face your host to thank him, but the sheer emotion in your glazed-over eyes nearly knocked him off his feet.

Thor cleared his throat and walked over to hand you a washcloth and a bar of soap, but your free hand came up to trap both his ridiculously large hands between yours.

“You… you don’t have to go,” you whispered, gaze fixed on your joint hands.

Thor flushed red in an instant. He pulled both hands back like he’d been burned by you, and rubbed his sweaty palms on the front of his worn jeans. The hurt in your expression made him want to punch himself. He opened his mouth to speak, only to clamp it shut when he was unable to come up with a proper response.

You merely gave him a half smile and took a step back, closer to the tub. Without releasing his gaze, you toed off your boots and pulled your hoodie over your head. He swallowed tightly, and his pupils dilated. His eyes were dark now, a thin ring of stormy blue where there had been sparkling sea glass before. You weren’t sure what had come over you, you weren’t usually this bold, but the whole thing seemed surreal and it had been far too long since you’d felt warm and cared for. He was a ridiculously attractive man and you knew a longing stare when you saw one. Even if it was just for a moment, you both seemed like you could use the company.

Nimble fingers pulled your pants open before pushing them down your legs and stepping out of them. Your knee was scraped and bruised, but Thor could hardly focus on that when you were slowly exposing miles and miles of soft skin. You wore nothing under your long-sleeved shirt, and a pained sound ripped through him at the sight. Your velvet skin was littered with small cuts and bruises, some around the base of your throat and what he could’ve sworn were fingerprints around your arms, causing him to frown deeply. You were covered in grime and dry blood, and he felt his hands twitch into fists at his sides. He had no idea who you were or where you’d come from, but he’d known the second he laid eyes on you that you had nowhere else to go. It was a feeling he knew all too well by now. He didn’t have much to offer, he was merely the broken shell of the man he used to be; but somebody had hurt you, and you stumbled into his life because fate willed it so. He was no King, no god, no warrior. Not anymore. But you seeked no king, no riches… you seeked solace. And he felt you deep inside his soul.

Unaware of his own movements, Thor found himself standing right in front of you, hands hovering the curve of your hip bones. Yours lead them to touch you, the tips of his fingers hooking into the soft fabric of your undergarments before pulling them down your thighs and letting them fall to the ground by your feet. Despite his form towering over you, you did not feel intimidated. You felt confident and desirable, powerful even. You called the shots here, you had him wrapped around your finger, and he looked more than ready to drop to his knees to worship you.

Thor vaguely wondered if you were real at all, or if perhaps this was some fantasy his mind had created to chase away the coldness of solitude. He lifted one hand to ghost over the side of your face, and you leaned gratefully into the touch. The rough pad of his finger grazed over the apple of your cheek, down the slope of your nose and over the shape of your plush mouth. You puckered up your lips to press a soft kiss to his thumb, the tip of your tongue peeking out after to taste the salty skin. His jaw clenched and his grip tightened, said thumb pushing past your lips and into your scorching hot mouth. You opened wide for him, eyes fluttering closed, now standing on the tips of your bare toes and leaning into him as you swayed in your spot. His free hand came to rest on the small of your back, steadying you, pressing you forward against him while he watched, entranced, the way your warm wet tongue swirled around his finger. Thor withdrew his hand enough to make your lips release him with a soft pop, and he dragged the digit across your lips, wetting them with your saliva. You licked your lips together and leaned forward, blindly chasing after his touch, only to meet his mouth with your own.

The sound you made was angelic, and he was certain he couldn’t have made you up. Not you, not this perfect, not this warm. Both your arms slid up to drape over his broad shoulders, and he bent down to kiss you deeply, slowly, unwilling to let a single inch of you untouched. Carefully, he led you to take a couple steps backwards until the back of your knees hit the edge of the tub.

“Get in,” he commanded gruffly.

You felt his voice right in your core.

Lip caught between pearly whites, you kept your gaze trained on him as you carefully stepped inside the bathtub. A soft sigh escaped you then, and you let your head fall back, soaking your hair in the warm water. Thor quickly discarded his clothes, kicking them off to the side before climbing inside behind you. You pouted for a second, sulking for missing your chance to admire him in all his nudity for he’d moved in a blur. The sentiment was shortfelt, though, when he pulled you to lean back against him, his broad torso surrounding you as he encased you in his arms. He stretched comfortably, the entire tub clearly customized to fit his large form.

One wide palm lay flat on your belly, pressing you back against him until you sat on his thighs, and you swallowed a moan when you felt him settle comfortably between your cheeks. You rolled your hips back experimentally and his breathing hitched. A wicked smile curling your lips, you peered back at him through your lashes as you repeated the motion. Thor growled softly and pinched the inside of your thigh, making you squeal and attempt to squirm away. The palm on your stomach held you still while his mouth ran from the top of your shoulder, along the curve where it met your neck, and up to nibble at the shell of your ear. He then reached over to grab the bar of soap and lathered up the washcloth to begin washing you.

He rubbed your tender skin carefully until you were clean from head to toes. He’d even delved between your legs to wash you there, but his touch was much too gentle to appease your burning need. Soft mouth sounds came from him, soothing you into relaxation as he took care of you in ways you never dared imagine. Nobody in your life had touched you with such gentleness and patience, and when he started washing your hair, carefully running his fingers through your locks to detangle them, you lost it.

Crystal tears rolled down your flushed cheeks and you squeezed your eyes shut. Thor made no comment about it, and instead just kept on humming softly while massaging your scalp. After he rinsed your hair out, you wiped away at your face before carefully turning in his arms to straddle him, this time his length coming to nestle between your lower lips, and you couldn’t help grinding down on him, gliding your core along his shaft from root to tip. This time, he made no move to stop you, both his hands coming down to grab your backside tightly.

You nearly gave in, the blunt head of his cock resting right against your entrance, merely a hair’s breadth away from slipping inside you. But you were not done with him, not yet. So you scooted back to sit on his upper thighs again and grabbed the washcloth from the edge of the tub to lather it up with soap and begin repaying him in kind for his gentle treatment.

Thor couldn’t quite remember the last time he’d been with a woman, and he felt giddy and excited like a young lad. Not that it mattered really. No other woman mattered when he had you right there, in his arms: real, tangible, his. Perhaps only for a second, but his nonetheless. He captured your mouth in a searing kiss, and it took a ridiculous amount of sheer willpower to break apart from his scrumptious mouth.

“Don’t distract me, I’m not done,” you mumbled between stolen kisses. Thor gave your ass a rough squeeze and you yelped softly.

“Do hurry up then, little one. Water’s running cold.”

-

After turning on the heater in his room, Thor walked out to lock up for the night. Seemingly unfazed by the cold weather, he strolled around the cabin barefoot, his nudity barely concealed by the towel  perched precariously low on his hips. You followed him around like a lost puppy, wrapped up in the bathrobe he’d lent you, the length of it nearly dragging against the floor. Once he made sure all the doors and windows were locked, he approached the fireplace to put it out but you rapidly protested.

“You don’t have to do that! I- I meant what I said earlier. I can stay right here and leave first thing in the morning. You’ve already done so much for me.”

Your words put a furrow between his brows so he went to stand right in front of you. With two fingers tucked under your chin, he tilted up your head to gaze directly into your eyes. His voice was low, and you struggled not to look away, his grip on you tightening when you tried to. “Is that what you want?”

You shuffled your feet nervously and chewed on your lip, a nervous habit you hadn’t been able to quit. “You’ve been so kind to me, a total stranger, and I-'' Your mouth clamped shut when he grunted in protest, his frown deepening.

“That’s not what I asked. Tell me, is that what you’d prefer?”

Struggling to word a proper response, you merely opened and shut your mouth like a gaping fish. His gaze flickered down to your lips, but his own were set in a stern line. You shook your head no. He rose one thick eyebrow questioningly. You swallowed the lump in your throat and straightened your spine.

“No. I’d rather be with you.”

Thor hummed lowly in response, clearly pleased. Bending down slightly, he gave you a quick, chaste kiss before turning back and walking away to put out the fire. You merely stood there, waiting for him to finish while you rubbed your cold feet together and toyed with the long sleeves of the thick robe. Once he considered everything to be in order, he approached you again and took your hand in his to lead you back into his bedroom, shutting the door behind you.

“Aren’t you cold?” you asked timidly, inching closer to him to slide both arms around his tapered waist from behind. Your cold nose pressed against the space between his shoulder blades, lips ghosting over his freckled skin. He shuddered, but it wasn’t because he was cold. He was surprisingly warm, and when he slowly spun in your embrace to face you, your cheek went to rest against his broad chest, gently rubbing against the light dusting of hair there.

The air in the bedroom was thick and warm thanks to the heater, and you could feel your muscles loosen as warmth seeped into them. After shaking his head in response to your question, he brought up one of those ridiculously large hands of his to cradle the back of your head as he leaned down to brush a kiss against the crown of your head. “Come, I’m sure you’re exhausted.”

You really were, but your blood was boiling and your skin was buzzing, and sleep couldn’t be farther from your mind. You stepped back and closer to the bed, your fingertips trailing down his torso to give his towel a gentle tug. Thor merely watched you, curiosity and desire dancing in his heated gaze. Despite his body’s pleas, he didn’t budge. You huffed out a low breath and gave the fabric another tug, more insistent, and he took one step forward, the tail of the towel tucked against his skin coming loose. If you moved your hand back, it would fall to the ground, and god, you really wished he’d make this easier on you. He wanted you and you knew that. You saw it in the ferocity of his eyes, in the flaring of his nostrils, in the clench of his jaw. Hell, you could even see it through the stupid towel he made no effort to get rid of.

A smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth as he watched you grow impatient, but he’d be lying if he denied you made all his blood pool in his groin, his head dizzy and oxygen-deprived. He was dying to run his hands all over your body, over your impossibly soft skin, over every dip and curve of your silhouette, he wanted to kiss and taste you, and discover every beautiful sound he could coax out of you… But what he wanted didn’t matter now. Thor was aware you were a tough one, he’d known it the second he saw you, but you could still be fragile in many ways he didn’t quite know yet. If this was going to happen, it would have to happen on your terms. Because you willed it so. Because you wanted him.

One small fist still clutched the fabric against his body while your free hand reached out to grab his and place it over the knot keeping your robe together. He instinctively gave the small bow a single yank and both sides of the robe fell open. Thor drew in a deep breath and, unable to hold himself back any longer, he slid one hand over your bare stomach and around your circumference, fingertips digging into the small of your back to tug you forward. In that instant you let go of his towel and let it fall to the floor in a heap. A loud whine escaped you at the sight, and you fell to your knees.

He was instantly reaching to hoist you up, but you were already pressing your face against his muscled thigh, nuzzling the coarse hair coating it and inhaling deeply his scent. He smelled like musk and pine trees, like freshly turned ground and a brewing storm. You whimpered and pressed your face against the soft spot between his inner thigh and his hip before licking up a broad stripe there. Thor’s knees buckled, but his hands instinctively went to run through your soft hair and massage your scalp. His erection stood proudly, thick and hard as steel. You mouthed softly at the entire length, your pink tongue peeking out to kitten lick his soft skin. The fingers in your hair tightened their grip as you leisurely made your way to the tip, pressing a kiss to it before opening your mouth wide and welcoming him in.

It was unlike you, to drop to your knees for a man. Particularly one you virtually knew nothing about. But it was like your body acted on its own around him, abandoning all sense of shame or even self-preservation, driven by something deeper, wilder inside you that had laid dormant until now. He tasted both tart and sweet, and you let go of your inhibitions as you devoured him like a woman starved. His sighs and low grunts only fueled your desire, egging you on to bob your head and swallow around mouthfuls of him.

Too long. It truly had been way too long, and Thor was clinging to whatever remnants of his sanity were left when you worked him like you knew exactly what he needed. It was difficult enough to not let go the second you took him in your mouth and coat your throat with his hot spend. Unable to hold it together any longer, Thor carefully pulled you away despite his own protests, an obscene whine escaping him at the crude sight of his cock slipping out of your mouth, slick with spit and desire. He entertained the thought of shoving himself back down your throat for a split second, but the better part of him knew he needed to be inside you right then or else he would combust.

Somehow managing to keep his touch gentle, he all but shoved you back onto the bed while peeling the offending robe off your frame. You were truly exquisite. His lips latched onto your sensitive neck to lick and nibble its tender skin until faint bruises bloomed from within, hellbent on replacing the marks on your body with ones you wouldn’t recoil from when you looked at yourself in the mirror (he hoped so, at least). Repeating the motions, Thor slowly made his way down your body, refusing to neglect a single inch, to kiss and lick and suck, staking his claim over you.

You were a writhing mess beneath him, sweaty hands reaching out to hold onto him, caressing and clutching onto his shoulders, the blunt edges of your fingertips leaving crescent-shaped dents in the vast field of tan skin. “Kiss me, please,” you pleaded breathlessly, attempting to wiggle in his grasp enough to capture his mouth in yours.

Thor obliged happily. One warm hand cupped your cheek as he kissed you deep and slow, while the other reached to grab a pillow to place under your hips, propping you up at the right angle for him to slide right inside you. At first, you feared the intrusion to be too much to handle. Your lower half grew stiff as concrete but he laid his free hand on your belly, holding you in place when the rocking motion of his hips began. Despite the fire burning violently within him, Thor’s body moved in controlled, smooth waves, easing himself deeper into you, inch by inch. The tension in your muscles slowly evaporated as pleasure came to reign, the sounds emanating from you going from shaky intakes of breath to quiet whimpers and soft moans.

His thrusts were slow and shallow at first but your body soon grew hungry for more, aching to soothe the hollow pain of places so intimate you’d forgotten about.

“Thor,” you whispered breathlessly against his moving mouth. He hummed lowly in acknowledgement though he refused to break the deep kiss you shared. “Thor… please, más,” you pleaded.

Propping himself up on one elbow, he pulled back enough to look down at your flushed face. A small crease formed on his forehead out of confusion, unable to recall the meaning of such word. Your hands currently clawing at his hip bones were more straightforward. You were tugging on him, urging his body closer between your legs, deeper inside you. With one particularly deep thrust, he bottomed out and released a deep, animalistic growl in stark contrast to the loud cry of pleasure you let out.

“Más, más! Sigue, sigue así, por favor… oh dios, no pares – Thor! T-Thor!”

Thor’s chest swelled with pride when realization dawned on him. You were so out of your mind with pleasure, your brain had regressed into your native tongue as you begged him to keep on. Your back bowed off the bed, hips propped up by the pillow as you moved your body in tandem with his, meeting him halfway in every rock of his hips. His forearm slid under the back of your knee and lifted your leg higher, your knee brushing your side while he made the most of the new angle, shoving himself deep inside you. Your cries of pleasure were obscene, loud and shameless, and Thor relished every single one. He kissed you deep and hard, swallowing your moans and muffling his own while the slapping of skin against skin and wet squelching sound of your coupling reverberated through the room.

Unable to concentrate enough to continue kissing him, you merely lost yourself in his hot, dark gaze while both your hands clutched handfuls of his long, slightly damp hair. Your jaw quivered and your eyes rolled back in your head out of sheer pleasure, and Thor was certain he’d died and gone to Valhalla. You were definitely the most sublime creature he’d ever laid eyes upon, and to see you come undone beneath him in such fashion, nearly threw him over the edge. Strong-willed as he was, he refused to find his own release until he’d satisfied you thoroughly, so the calloused pad of his thumb travelled south to catch the bundle of nerves hidden between your slick folds. Your sex was tender and puffy, your clit swollen and firm like a pearl. He drew small circles on your skin then, despite your protests and attempts to ease on the overstimulation currently making your brain short-circuit. One after the other, Thor coaxed the most delicious, toe-curling orgasms out of you until you were weeping, hot streaks of tears running down your burning cheeks. With one final deep push, he found his own release, grunting through it against your throat.

You were a sweaty, trembling mess. Utterly exhausted as you were, you struggled to keep your eyes open despite the blissed out expression on your face. Taking pity on you, Thor carefully dislodged himself from you and rolled to the side to lay beside your frame. Your body curled against his side instinctively, seeking his warmth as you snuggled into a little ball beneath his arm. Thor was unable to suppress a smile as he watched you get comfortable.

He disliked denying you of your much needed sleep, but his need to provide for you was far greater. After soundlessly slipping out of bed for a quick trip to the kitchen, he nudged you awake as he brought a glass of water to your lips.

“Drink up, little one,” he cooed lowly. You blinked heavily up at him for a moment before gratefully gulping down the cool liquid, soothing the dry aching of your now-sore throat. Downing the rest of it himself, he reached over to set the empty glass on his bedside table and fetch a piece of sliced apple to offer you.

Thick fingers pressed the small piece of fruit to your lips, and you parted them obediently. It was crisp and juicy, and your sensitive tummy rumbled gratefully. Although confused by and unaccustomed to his caregiving, you basked in it. It was a brand new yet wholly pleasant experience, to say the least.

Once you’d finished your food, Thor pulled up his thick bedding to cover both your bodies, his wrapping protectively around yours. With his bare chest pressed to your back, he nuzzled his face into your hair and bent his legs to tuck them under your bum. After scooting back to mold your body against his and leading his muscled arms to embrace you, you both quickly fell into deep slumber.

For the first time in a long time, nightmares were nowhere to be found.

The following morning, you woke up warm and relaxed. Your body ached a bit, but each pang of pain sent an electric shock right to your core. For the first time, your aches were born out of passion and pleasure. Waking up to a heavy body draped over you and ocean-blue eyes watching you intently did catch you off guard at first, panic threatening to seep deep into your bones. Thor was quick to chase away the darkness creeping on the corners of your mind (and his) when he kissed you, and proceeded to claim your body again. It was slow and lazy, and everything you never knew you needed.

After breakfast, you sat on the loveseat by the fireplace with a steaming mug cradled between your hands, curiously studying your surroundings. The sound of the front door opening broke you out of your reverie, and you peeked from the back of the seat to watch Thor toeing off his heavy boots and hanging his coat near the entrance. The second his gaze landed on you, a heartfelt smile crept on his lips. You took a tentative sip from your beverage to conceal your own, attentive eyes following his every movement as he made his way over to pour himself a cup and join you on the sofa. Large hands crept under the blanket draped over your legs to grasp your ankles and lead them to rest over his knee while he sat back against the armrest, facing you.

“So,” he spoke calmly, piercing blue eyes boring into yours. “What’s your story?”

PART II