#t​he outfits are cool but I do not like the pale as hell skin

[pixies--dust]

Logging onto twitter and seeing another sumeru character got leaked (they are white)

[shreddedparchment]

Spa Day

03/04/2021

Pairing: Clark Kent x Reader          Word Count: 7,559

Warnings: language, depression, past abuse, emotional abuse, fluff

A/N: I wrote this because I have been feeling pretty down on myself. It’s pure self indulgence to make me feel better. I hope it will help someone else and if not, I hope you at least get a smile or some entertainment from reading it. If you happen to reblog, thanks so much for helping me spread my work! xoxo

You’re awkward, walking in. Feeling out of place.

This place was for special people. Well, people who mattered.

You’re not sure how you got the voucher. It all happened so quickly.

One minute you were sitting in Mr. Wayne’s office, twiddling your thumbs to expend some nervous energy as you awaited your firing then the next you were being shoved out his office door with a gentle but firm hand at the center of your back.

Mr. Wayne had smiled, his face relaxed and amused.

“It expires soon, so use it tomorrow,” he’d said.

“I work tomorrow,” you’d resisted, no intention of losing a full day’s paid work.

“Take the day. On me. Full pay,” As you opened your mouth to protest again, he quickly lifted his hand to silence you politely and tacked on, “There’s no use arguing with me. Now enjoy it or you’re fired.”

He’d shut the heavy wooden door in your face leaving you standing there, stunned. At a loss to think up a reason to not come here today but obviously you’ve failed seeing as you’re here.

“Good morning!” A young woman with soft to the touch looking blonde hair smiles at you from behind the modern pale wooden counter. The white marble top shines in your eyes.

“Hi. Morning,” you sputter.

“How can we help you today?”

She’s so nice. So polite. Professional. This place is super expensive looking. There’s a crystal chandelier behind you at the center of the small lobby space. Chic sofas line the wall behind you, large pots with dragon trees growing tall add a splash of color to the otherwise sterile and plain gray walls.

Despite its minimalist decor, the office exudes money.

You’re almost at the brink of following the impulse that wants to turn you towards the tinted glass door, but before you can make your escape, the receptionist’s kind voice interrupts you.

“Oh! You have one of our platinum vouchers! Lucky you,” she smiles, genuine in her glee. “Shall I take that?”

She holds out her hands, both of them and waits for you to place the thick and shiny ticket-like paper in them.

Quickly she gives it a read, turning it over and then placing it under a UV light by her computer. An image shines out from under the purple light of a shimmering diamond right at the center of the ticket.

“You’ve got the works. Was it a gift?” She looks up at you, not intending to insult you but you can’t help but feel a little stung by her assumption.

You can’t really blame her though. You reserve all of your best outfits for work. Casual yet distinguished pantsuits and skirts with matching tops or jackets.

Today you’ve chosen a simple floor length skirt. It sits snugly around your waist and hips. Your t-shirt, a simple graphic tee with the words “Touch the Radley House YOLO” printed in bold black letters.

“Uh, yeah,” you admit to the girl, wishing she’d just sign you in and let you go about your day. “My boss gave it to me.”

“Lucky, lucky. You must have a really nice boss,” she admires.

“Well, I lost his company nearly a hundred million dollars and he didn’t fire me, so…” you trail off, still lost as to why Mr. Wayne had been so adamant you take some time off and why he’d been so understanding about the Ronson account.

“Oh,” the girl says, blinking a few times as she tries to process what you just said. “A very nice boss then.”

Her conclusion brings a small smile to your lips because truthfully, Mr. Wayne is very kind. You’ve never heard him berate an employee and he’s usually only tough on his business associates. Members of his board and investors. Like Mr. Ronson.

If he wasn’t so out of your league, you’d even consider maybe letting yourself really look at him. He’s hot for sure, but he always seems so preoccupied. Like he has something he’s trying to keep buried.

Nice, but he has secrets. No one’s perfect.

“Well, we’ve got you all booked in. What you’ll want to do is head in through that door on your right, walk halfway down the hall and the lounge room should be there to your left. Someone will come and escort you to your first experience.”

You observe her vernacular. Every word she speaks is rehearsed and probably scripted to a certain point.

“Thank you,” you give her another small smile, still feeling out of place but a little more at ease.

“Enjoy!” she calls as you cross through the heavy wooden door.

It swings shut behind you silently, a soft hiss at it latches.

The hallway before you is just as simple yet chic as the lobby. The colors are less neutral, a calming turquoise with a black base and a thick silver stripe lining the center of the wall at about waist height.

The doors are pale wood, smooth to the touch. You pass several of them as you make your way to the lounge.

Inside the door to your left at the center of the hall you find the lounge room. Which actually turns out to be a locker room. Smaller than what you would have thought with only about fifteen lockers that look more like small safes. Each one has a digital keypad, a fingerprint reader, and an iris scanner.

“Sheesh…” you observe but pick one and move over to it to set up your passcode, fingerprint, and scan your eye so that you can come get your stuff when your day of relaxation is over.

Inside the locker you find a neatly folded outfit wrapped in sanitary plastic. Completely sealed.

Just in case you’re wrong about this being a spot where you can change, you look for a designated changing area but don’t find one.

With no other choice, you place your purse and keys inside the locker, then slowly begin to strip. Shoes, skirt underwear go into the locker but your nerves don’t let you remove your t-shirt just yet. Untucked from your skirt, it’s easier to tell that it’s intentionally oversized.

After another quick anxious look at the door you’d come in through, you hook your hands into the base of your shirt and pull it up...just as the door opens and a large clearly male body steps in.

You gasp, whirling around in surprise to reclothe your breasts.

Cool air blows against your bottom as your shirt also twists with your movement, but you reach back and yank it down.

“Oh, I am...uh, didn’t see anything?” The voice is deep, smooth. It puts you at ease even though you literally just exposed yourself to a complete stranger.

“No, no. It’s fine,” you tell him, voice strained with embarrassment. “It’s my fault, I didn’t know if there was a separate changing room. I just...didn’t see any.”

“Oh, um...it’s the door right across the hall. But you know what? I’ll actually just step right outside and let you finish.”

That’s so nice…”You don’t have to, I can just-”

You turn around to look at him, keeping your hands on your shirt to pull it down. One at the front. One behind.

Simultaneously, though you don’t notice, both your and his jaw drop.

It takes both of you a moment to find your voices and while he speaks, your mind is busy taking in his massive size.

He’s thick. Muscles bulking through the should-be loose wrap top he’s wearing. Like yours it’s a soft peach color, the same diamond shape you’d seen on your voucher under the UV light etched into the right breast.

With the top he wears loose pants, or somewhat loose around his knee and down to his ankles; there’s a pair of charcoal slippers on his feet. His thighs, like his arms and chest strain against the clothes he’d been given.

It’s clearly too small. You wonder if maybe this place doesn’t carry the outfit in his size. It’s very possible, considering his girth.

“Miss?”

His slightly concerned expression brings you back to yourself, now flustered because he’s caught you gawking at him.

“Sorry, I’m-you just surprised me and my brain’s a little-what did you say?”

“I’ll just step outside,” he doesn’t wait for you to respond as he backs up to the door then pulls it open and disappears through it, closing it gently behind him.

“What the hell was that?!” you gasp, angry at yourself for staring.

He’s hot! You couldn’t help it. He also looks familiar, though you can’t place the face. How you could possibly forget a face like that you have no idea.

While you change, you think about the smaller things you’d notice.

His hair is dark. Black. Curls that are carefully kept in place with hair products. His skin is a perfect pale peach. Not so pink as the clothes you’re pulling on, but it falls under the same shade. There didn’t seem to be a single blemish from what you were able to see.

A small tuft of chest hair had been peeking out of the V of the top. His face had been perfect, yes, but kind. There was a gentleness in it. The small curve of a smile had played on his rosebud pink lips. Not thin. Not thick. They were perfect.

He was perfect.

And those eyes...so blue. Like a clear spring sky. So bright and observant. There’s no way he didn’t catch you staring. Shit.

You note as you shove your underclothes into your locker out of where he might see them, that your own outfit for this spa leaves even less to the imagination than what must be the male uniforms.

Where the handsome stranger had pants, you were given very small shorts. Little more than boy short underwear in length. Parts of your bottom were threatening to overflow.

The top, while similar to the one the stranger wore, also came with a bandeau given the unique look of being wrapped around your chest when it so clearly is just one piece. You were expected to wear this underneath the looser wrap top.

Pulling it shut, you’re still tying the top closed around your waist as you hurry to the door where the stranger must still be waiting.

You open it...but he’s gone.

Disappointment floods through you. Surprising you.

You have no reason to want to see him, but you suppose you had just wanted to apologize for the awkwardness.

With a sigh you shut the door and move back to your locker to shove the rest of your belongings in just as a kind looking young woman no older than the receptionist at the front desk comes in with a smile.

“Are we ready for the diamond experience? You’re a very lucky lady!”

Even though you’re still only halfway sure you even want to go through with this whole thing, her excitement is catching and you find yourself nodding and scurrying after her as she shows you down the hall for your all expense paid spa day.

~~~~~~~~~~

You aren’t used to relaxation.

Not to this degree.

A gold facial? Full body exfoliation with sea salt and Indian kama oil? A rain massage which consisted of you being massaged with several different clays as warm water is cascaded down your body? An herbal bath with murky green water that leaves your skin feeling fresh--like mint but for your skin?

It’s too much!

You’re four hours into your spa session and you’re so sleepy you might pass out in this next one.

As you’re escorted by the same young lady who has been tending to you from the beginning, she opens the door of a long room, the outer wall of which is made up of endless glass panels that catch the rays of the sun.

As you step in, you’re assaulted by immediate drowsiness as your entire being is engulfed in slightly sticky heat.

This isn’t a sauna. It won’t make you sweat buckets. But it makes your skin dewy and your eyes droop.

“Oh, wow,” you gasp, suddenly wanting to run before you can collapse to the floor in unconsciousness.

Your escort laughs, “The hot room has that effect on all of our guests. Come, it looks like we’ve got a spot free over at the far end.”

Along this wall of glass, there are lounge chairs with soft cushions grouped in twos, separated by a lattice waterfall panel that tinkles pleasantly as it empties down into a bed of soft pebbles. On the table at the head of these seats is a pitcher of water, glasses, and a set of small handheld fans that one can use to cool off a bit in the heat. Just in case it becomes too much, you guess. Though you can’t imagine it will. The heat isn’t oppressive. Just consuming.

It’s everywhere but it’s not choking or frustrating.

“I hope you don’t mind if we put you next to one of our other single guests? Most of our diamond packages are used by couples, as you can see.”

Your escorts gestures at the chairs as you pass them and sure enough, every seat is taken with couples hiding behind large potted fan palms.

“No, I don’t mind,” you answer in single, as if you have any choice. “How long will I be in here?”

“An hour or so? If you’d like to exit early, there is a small button on the table by your lounge. Press it and I will come take you to your next experience,” she looks back and smiles at you.

You notice that you pass three spots without lounge seats and wonder silently why some of them have been removed. At the end of these empties is where the escort stops. A set of lounges in the very last spot against the wall.

“Here you are,” your escort smiles. “If you need anything, just give us a call.”

“Thank you,” you smile at her and squeeze between the potted palms.

Slightly nervous, you look for your unintended partner and gasp at the Adonis you’d thought you’d lost.

The sound draws his attention and his expression shifts from stoic concentration to soft smile, “Hey, it’s you again.”

It takes you a moment to find your voice because you’re too busy gawking again.

He’s not wearing a shirt or pants. That is, he’s wearing shorts. A lot longer than yours, reaching about the top of his thighs, but still short. Like briefs. It gives you a good view of every single muscle in his long legs and you suddenly envy anyone that’s ever had the privilege to ride that thigh.

What the fuck am I thinking?! You give our head a shake and try to focus on his face as he waits. It’s only a second too late.

“Yeah, hi. Sorry, I-” you avert your eyes and quickly take a seat in your own lounge chair to his left, keeping your eyes on anything other than the mass that is his chest.

Just as you’d thought, it’s covered in a mouthwatering line of chest hair that trailers down onto his stomach and makes an ever so subtle trail down, down, down...down...down…

He chuckles, “It’s alright. It’s only fair you get a good look too, right?”

You’re not even processing what he’s saying, unable to focus for a bit.

“You’re here alone?” It’s more an observation than a question but you answer anyway, grasping at the distraction.

“Yes,” you nod. “A gift from my boss.”

“Me too,” he turns a little in his seat so that he can look at you, but adjusting his angle so that he can still keep his legs up, one propped up as he rests his elbow on his knee. The other stretched out before him.

This draws your gaze back to him and you’re able to pay attention this time and ignore his very distracting body.

“Oh?”

“I mean, not my boss, but it was a gift from a friend. He thought I could use a nice relaxing day.”

The way he says it, sounds like you’re not the only one saddled with what you perceived was a burden or at the very least, a waste of time.

You grin, “Mine too. My boss. I saved the company I work with from a scandal and his idea of repaying me was to give me a spa day. A raise would have been more than enough.”

“Tell me about it,” the man says, smiling with stunning pearly whites.

His smile is gorgeous and you’re enamored again by how sweet he looks.

How can someone look like he can tear the head off a rhino and still look so adorable? It can’t be fair.

“Rent keeps going up and my job doesn’t pay nearly enough to keep up. At this rate I might end up having to move back to the farm.”

“Oh,” you reply lamely, piecing together where he might have grown his sculpted figure. Farm work can be grueling.

He gives you a look, assessing your response then waves his hand gently as if to swat away his complaint, “Sorry, don’t listen to me. I’ve got it better than most. You don’t need to be hearing about my problems.”

“No!” you rush to assuage his worry. “No, it’s okay. That sucks about your job. Is there no chance at a raise?”

“Not exactly, I have a uh, a hobby that keeps me from taking more work and I kind of get paid by assignment. I have a flat salary but working extra would definitely help with the bills.”

“What do you do?” you wonder, trying to picture this guy doing anything other than just looking like a God in a spa.

He could be a bodyguard? They get assignments. Construction? Personal trainer?

“I’m a journalist,” he tells you, speaking matter-of-factly as if it makes perfect sense.

You blink, then chuckle and then laugh once.

“What?” he asks, amused and smiling again as you chuckle. “What’s funny?”

“Nothing,” you shake your head. “It’s just, journalist is not where my mind went.”

He doesn’t seem surprised but he also doesn’t say anything else.

The two of you lapse into silence. It’s not uncomfortable and at least you don’t feel like you need to say anything to fill the dead air.

Twenty minutes pass and you lean back in your chair to relax, sighing lightly and smiling at the immaculate aura that this stranger seems to emanate.

It’s unlike anything you’ve ever felt before.

The longer you lay there, suddenly not sleepy at all, the more your curiosity grows. Turning towards him, you find him already looking at you.

This startles you but in a good way. You smile and the soft curve of his lips breaks into a full toothed smile.

Both of you move your lips to speak, but before you can either of you get a word in a rustle of palm leaves pulls both your attentions behind your seats.

You sit up, twisting a little to look at who’s come, expecting to see your escort or some other spa staff.

Instead you find a woman you’d spotted laying in another spot with who you’d thought was the other half of her couple. Her waist-length auburn hair clings to the skin of her bare shoulders and sides. She’s removed her top, leaving her in her bandeau.

“Hi,” she says to your stranger-wait not your stranger. Shoot.

He looks confused but not unfriendly, “Hello.”

“My friend finally talked me into coming over and talking to you,” she informs him.

“I see,” your-the stranger says.

The girl seems to be expecting something but the stranger just looks up at her expectantly. Awkwardly.

He looks at you and you quickly turn away from their conversation, pushing yourself to the end of the lounge to sit with your hands holding onto the edge, feet flat on the ground.

You try not to eavesdrop but they’re right there.

“What did you want to talk to me about?” he asks her, sounded polite but not uninterested.

You can hear the woman shifting from foot to foot, probably pushing her hips from side to side. Her figure is nice. Not like yours. She’s attractive, in a conventional way. In a magazine accepted way.

Your mood sinks the longer you ponder on this random girl and the stranger. There’s an endless string of disappointments that have built you into this person you are.

Insecurities made worse by words spoken by people that should have supported you or those you thought were on your side. Affections misplaced. Kindness taken advantage of. Betrayal. Worst of all the betrayal. Some small. Some big.

You know that you should be less shaky in your self worth. You know that you’re more than the words spoken and the actions taken that brought you to this point. But how do you turn it off? How to fight the thoughts that bring you down?

It’s not something you can do all at once. You know this. And yet feeling bad about yourself makes you feel guilty because you know it’s bad and that makes you feel worse. It’s an endless cycle.

You’re fully wallowing in your own self-pity before the girl even has a chance to answer the stranger’s question.

“Well, I noticed you came by yourself and I was wondering if maybe you wanted to have dinner sometime? Or maybe coffee?”

You don’t dare turn back, you just resign yourself to a lack of luck and stare out at nothing even though the view is really nice.

“Thank, I appreciate the offer, but I’m not looking for a date right now, I don’t really have the time,” the stranger says, giving her a diplomatic response.

Letting her down without letting her down.

“Oh, well,” there’s a beat of silence. “In case you change your mind, here’s my number. Call me, if you find some time?”

You hear her retreat and the soft shift of what must be a business card against the wood of the table behind the stranger’s chair.

Movement shifts in your periphery and you see that the stranger has moved to the end of his own lounge, mimicking your pose though he’s much bulkier and takes up much more space.

“That was weird,” he says, a small puff of air passing between his lips as he huffs a laugh.

“Why?”

“Well, she just came up to me, out of nowhere,” he clarifies.

“I’m pretty sure that’s not the first time that’s happened to you.”

The stranger seems to pick up on your mood shift, his face etched with concern as he tries to lean forward, head tilted a little as he strains for a better look at your face.

“Actually, that never happens to me,” he says. A lie?

“How about you?” he checks, probing gently to see if he can get you to talk.

“No. Never.”

“But you’re so-”

“I’m nothing,” you interrupt, the words an automatic response as if you’ve been hypnotized into saying those words exactly. A trained response.

The silence is no longer comfortable, but thick and heavy.

“Why would you say that?”

“Because it’s true. I’m nobody.”

It hurts to speak these words aloud. Words that have hurt you in the past. Words that have cut you time and again. Scars left behind by those people that should have loved you but didn’t.

“No one is nobody,” the stranger counters.

He watches you, observing.

You don’t like the front row seat he has to your wallowing. You try to pull yourself out of it but the hole just keeps getting deeper.

“I’m sorry,” you sigh, stealing a quick glance at him.

He’s still got his head tilted a little in pure concentration as he watches you, brow crinkled with focus.

It’s not judgement though, just intent. You can tell he’s really listening and it makes your heart flutter. No one has ever listened to you before. Not like this. Not with a deep desire to understand like he does.

He shakes his head, “Was it the girl coming over?”

You look away, feeling embarrassed, “She reminded me of someone I knew. Someone I dated.”

Nodding, he indicates that he’s listening.

You smile without humor, hurt by the memory, “He thought I should look like her. Or...he didn’t say exactly like her, but he said he wished I looked better.”

He frowns, his deep dislike for your story honest, “He doesn’t sound like a nice guy.”

“No, he wasn’t. He wasn’t like, evil or anything, but yeah. Not a nice guy,” you admit, accepting that in that case, it was definitely your boyfriend’s problem.

“But that’s not it?”

You look at him.

“There’s more to it?” he guesses.

You look out at the scenic view finally, not really seeing it but appreciating the colors at least.

“This spa day?” you begin, stealing another glance at him.

He turns to sit facing you, his elbows resting on his knees, hands clasped as his listening intensifies.

“The only reason I got it was because as I said before I saved the company I work for from being dragged into scandal. I also lost a bunch of money by losing the client but my boss was pretty pleased.

“But the only reason I even touched the account was because I was sorta forced to?” Is that the best way to describe what happened?

“How were you forced to deal with that account?”

“Well, I’m not exactly the best with making friends? I mean, I have had friends before. I just--I got really sick a while back and I lost most of them because I cancelled on plans a lot or I didn’t have the energy to maintain contact? Even texting felt like such a chore. Just the act of responding and-I guess they thought that I thought being friends with them was a chore, and that wasn’t it.

“I just couldn’t find the energy to try to do anything. Some days I wouldn’t even eat because I’d have to get up and make myself food and I barely got up to go to the bathroom much less make a meal.

“Anyway, I just kind of gave up and they did to and now, I don’t really have an in with people? I don’t say much and it’s not that I don’t want to talk, I just don’t have anything worth saying. Or maybe I just can’t think of anything? I don’t know. But it affects work relationships too.”

“How?” he asks.

You take a deep breath, looking down at your hands clinging to the edge of the lounge before releasing it slowly.

“It’s really just me getting in my feelings,” you shrug.

“What you feel is what you feel, even if you don’t think you should. Our pasts can affect us well into our futures.”

His encouragement helps, and you feel a little less vulnerable to share with him.

“I work in the PR department. There are six of us in total. We’re a pretty big company. Multinational big. So there’s one of us for every form of media. Since we all work for the same clients, bridging the gap, we usually spread the workload evenly.

“Or, the other five members of my team do. Sometimes they just forget that I’m there and I usually get stuck with the leftover work. I’m not one to complain, so-” you shrug. “But they forget me for other stuff too. Company dinners. Competitions for prizes in the office. Secret Santa. Stuff like that.

“It makes me feel alone.”

You chance a glance at him, and he’s still watching you but his eyes are far away for a bit as if he’s remembering something.

“I know how that feels,” he nods. “I’ve felt alone almost all my life in some ways. Luckily, I’ve made a few friends to help me see things a little differently but that loneliness will never really go away.

“I understand.”

You smile, feeling more and more at peace again with him. Calm, like he really does get it.

He responds to the shift in your expression by relaxing his own. A small crinkle forms at the corners of his eyes, a subtle curve of his lips.

Now that you’re both feeling a little better, you can admit to yourself that you were jealous. Not just because the girl was everything that you were made to think you should be, but because this stranger, gorgeous as he is, is so nice.

He’s sweet and you want that in your next partner. You want to have someone care about you genuinely. You’re a little ashamed of wanting to claim him. Do you even dare entertain the thought?

“Yeah, I think you probably do,” you smile wider, turning in your seat to face him like he’s facing you.

“Now that you know all about my depression, would you like to know my name?” you ask him, teasing a smile.

He smiles more freely, “On a first date? Isn’t that moving kinda fast?”

Your stomach tumbles, heart sprinting at his words.

“A date?”

He only smiles wider, your heart stuttering before taking off at double speed again.

You tell him your name and then bite your lip, unable to believe your good luck.

“What about that other girl? You told her you weren’t looking for a date,” you wonder.

“Well, how can I be looking for a date when I’m already on one? Besides, how many girls do you think I can come across before I find another one wearing a shirt about my favorite book again?” he asks, all sincerity.

“Your favorite book is to Kill a Mockingbird?”

His smile is blinding.

“It’s really nice to meet you,” he nods, reaching out to shake your hand. “My name is Clark. Clark Kent.”

You take it and almost faint as your head goes dizzy at the soft touch of his skin.

The veins of his forearm bulge as he squeezes gently but he doesn’t actually shake it and instead seems to just hold your hand.

“Wait, I’ve seen your editorials before. You work at the Daily Planet.”

“I do,” he nods.

Your stomach suddenly falls, jealousy raking up along your ribs to settle around your heart to make it ache.

“Aren’t you dating Lois Lane? I thought-you two went to one of my boss’s parties together.”

It had been so long ago. Months and months. You remember Mr. Wayne going on about his friends Clark and Lois. You hadn’t met them, but Mr. Wayne had left to greet them when they’d arrived.

Clark’s own face falls just a tad, a small melancholic shift but it’s not deep. He keeps his smile, though smaller, and nods.

“We broke up last year,” he confesses, still not releasing your hand.

His thumb grazes against the back of it, sending goosebumps up from that point to spread along your arms and the rest of your body.

“I’m...not sorry?” you laugh, unable to help yourself because how can you be sorry about it now?

Clark also chuckles, “You know, right now, suddenly I’m not either.”

Before you can think of something cute to say, your stomach gurgles loudly, announcing to anyone close enough to hear that you’re hungry.

“Oh,” you utter, embarrassed as you finally take your hand back to rub your belly. “Sorry, I guess I haven’t eaten in a bit.”

“They have a menu here, I’ll grab us one.”

He rises and is gone before you can stop him and holy hell does he have a nice butt.

Watching him leave, you contemplate the way he used the word “us” so casually and wiggle with the pleasure it gives you.

As quick as you can, you look for any reflective surface and settle on the window across from you on which you can barely see yourself.

It’s enough though and you quickly go about fixing your hair which is surprisingly not bad even after all the treatments you’ve undergone.

A soft voice calls your name, the young woman who’s been escorting you.

“Hi, are you ready for your next treatment?” she smiles at you politely, kindly even, her body slightly bent down so that she won’t speak too loud and disturb the other people enjoying the hot room.

“Oh, um...I’m actually super hungry and I was going to order something to eat?”

The idea of being taken away to somewhere that you can’t be around Clark devastates you. You haven’t been this into anyone in so long.

“Oh okay! What would you like to order? Did you get a menu?”

The young woman gestures over her shoulder as if asking if she should go get you one.

“Actually-” but you don’t get to explain because Clark suddenly steps up to loom over both of you.

He doesn’t mean to, you don’t think, he’s just so big and he kind of naturally just looms.

“Hi,” he greets her kindly, and she flushes.

You can’t blame her. She takes a step back to put some space between herself and Clark and she’s seriously flustered. He’s hot.

Clark squeezes back by and sits himself in his seat before opening the paper menu and leaning towards you to give you a look.

You read through the choices quickly and nothing looks too crazy.

“Ooh, this one looks good,” you tell him, pointing down at the bottom of the menu.

“Should we get that one?”

“Yeah!” you reply eagerly, excited for the food.

You’re really very hungry.

“Can we get the gourmet pizza?” Clark asks, “And an order of the mini muffins? What kind are they?”

“Blueberry today,” the girl informs him, back to her composed and professional attitude.

“Two orders of those. And…”

“You don’t offer any kind of burger?” you ask the young woman looking back at her.

She smiles kindly but shakes her head, “No, sorry. The closest would be the sandwiches. We have tuna, cucumber, egg salad, and ham.”

While they sound like normal sandwiches, you have a suspicion that they’re going to be fancy in one way or another.

“Can we have an order of the tuna?”

She nods.

“And we’ll get the chocolate fondue, for desert?” Clark adds, folding up the menu and handing it to your escort.

“Alrighty, and for drinks? We can bring just plain water or perhaps some herb infused tea?”

“Do you have any sweet tea?” you wonder.

She nods.

“Two please,” Clark smiles. “Thank you.”

“You’re very welcome,” your escort says and hurries off to put in the order.

Both of you watch her go then when you meet Clark’s eyes, he laughs, just once. Failing to keep it inside.

“Did we order too much?” you wonder.

“I’m hungry too,” Clark assures you.

“I really wanted a burger,” you lament. “I mean, this food will probably be better than some greasy burger but-”

“A burger sounds like heaven. I love greasy burgers. Double meat. Triple cheese. Lots of pickles.”

He makes a funny face, pretending to salivate over the image he’s painted and while it’s a subtle change in his expression, you can tell that he’s more prone to being serious and that makes the gesture funnier for some reason.

You laugh, shaking your head.

He laughs with you, leaning back in his lounge.

You follow his lead, then turn onto your side and shove an arm underneath your head.

He mimics your pose, drawing his long legs up a little to bend them.

“I’m sorry about earlier, with the locker room? I really didn’t know that I wasn’t supposed to change in there.”

Clark’s smiles shift to a soft curve of his lips.

“I’m the one that should be apologizing,” he counters. “I walked in on you.”

“But you had no idea I’d be in there half naked, I kinda just thrust my body at you.”

There’s a beat, he looks down at your chair instead of maintaining eye contact, then, “You say that like it’s a bad thing.”

Your neck is suddenly on fire. Cheeks, ears, the base of your belly. It all burns as your heart stutters.

As he looks up to meet your eyes again, those baby blues burning with a striking spark, something he said when you first came in here replays itself in your head.

You frown, narrowing your eyes at him, “Hey, when I came in here, I apologized for staring at your naked upper body and you said that it was only fair I get a good look too.

“Are you saying you saw me when you clearly said you didn’t in the locker room?!”

Clark averts his eyes, clearing his throat loudly before throwing himself onto his back to stare up at the ceiling.

“I’m gonna have to get my friend something really good in return for gifting me this spa day,” Clark says, pointedly changing the subject.

But he has a point. This has been the best little indulgence you’ve ever given yourself and none of it could have been possible without Mr. Wayne’s generosity.

“Me too. I’ll have to make sure my boss knows how glad I am that he forced me to come here.”

Clark smiles, “What’s your next treatment? Did you pick them before you came?”

“We could do that?” You gasp.

Clark just smiles wider.

“No, I’m just going with the flow. The girl who took our order has been suggesting stuff and I’ve just been going with it.”

“I have a fresh water soak after this. You should join me.” Clark offers.

After the hot room, a swim in some fresh water sounds like heaven. And extending your time with Clark is a definite bonus.

“Aren’t we not supposed to swim for thirty minutes after we eat?” you tease.

Clark chuckles, “It’s a soak.”

Then, his voice shifts and you’re knocked breathless as he basically pleads with you.

“Join me. Only if you want to. I don’t want you to do anything you don’t want to.”

Your brain is buzzing with that pleading voice of his. Gentle urging that betrays his want to be with you rather than wanting to control you.

“A fresh water soak sounds amazing.”

~~~~~~~~~~

Nothing could ever top today. You and Clark stuck together the rest of the day. It was fun getting to know him and exciting because the longer you two spent time together, the closer he sat to you.

As you dropped your spa outfit into a canvas souvenir bag that your attendee had given you at your last treatment--a couple’s massage that you and Clark had talked all the way through--Clark peeked around his own locker door, shutting it.

“So, I was thinking,” he began, moving to lean beside your locker as he towers over you, making you internally swoon with the curve of his lips.

“Yeah?” you urge him on, taking your other belongings and throwing them into the canvas bag along with your spa outfit which is also free for you to take.

“I have some things to do tonight but, how would you like to get some burgers tomorrow?”

“Are you asking me out on a second date, Clark?” as much as you wish you could sound like you were teasing, your excitement betrays you and Clark beams at your tone.

“Definitely,” he says low and deep.

Fuck, you’re totally screwed. You’re falling hard.

You really want to reach up and gently slide the curl falling on his forehead to the side lightly, but you resist the urge.

“I’d love to go out and get greasy burgers with you,” you bite your lip and Clark’s expression shifts a bit more serious but there’s a fire in his eyes, a darkening as his pupils dilate that makes your heart stutter.

“Come on,” Clark nods towards the door. “I’ll walk you out.”

He bumps into you, flirtatiously nudging you as he leads you out and you return his gentle push with your own.

“Had you been to a spa like this before?”

“No,” Clark shakes his head. “I actually don’t get much benefit at these places. It feels good, but it’s not really my thing. You?”

“I feel cleaner than I ever have,” you scoff. “But I could never afford it. Even the cheap places. I’d rather just take a walk around a park or something.”

“Me too,” Clark agrees, smiling.

As the two of you walk out into the parking lot, the cooler air outside feels pleasant against your treated skin.

In the setting sun light, Clark looks especially good and you can’t help yourself. You steal several glances at him with no worry as to hiding it.

You’re happy to see he’s doing it too.

“Oh good,” a familiar voice interrupts, pulling your feet to a stop as you search for your boss’s face. “You two met.”

“Wait, us two-?”

“Bruce?” Clark also stops beside you, eyes narrowed, a crinkle between his eyes.

You look between the two of them, confused but starting to put two and two together.

“Bruce? You-Mr. Wayne is your friend who gave you the voucher?” you realize.

Clark looks at you, his own realizations starting to manifest.

“Bruce is your boss?”

Mr. Wayne moves towards the two of you, hands shoved into his long charcoal gray coat. There’s a satisfied grin on his handsome face, a pride in what you realize must have been a carefully crafted maneuver.

Clark looks at you, a knowing smile on his face as if amused but maybe also a little irritated? Not with you, of course. Clearly his annoyance is with Mr. Wayne.

“You did this,” he accepts, looking back at Mr. Wayne with a tilt of his head.

“I didn’t do anything,” Mr. Wayne denies. “I just gave you two a free day at the spa. Did she tell you why I gave her the voucher?”

“She did,” Clark nods.

“Not every PR rep would overlook a five hundred million dollar investment in order to keep us clean from associating with a suspected illegal arms dealer. Most of them would just look the other way.” Mr. Wayne brags.

A look of understanding crossing Clark’s face and he looks down at you, smiling again as if he’s pieced together a puzzle.

“It was really nothing, Mr. Wayne, and thank you for today. I-I’m actually really glad I came. I would have hated it if the voucher expired.”

“Expired?” Clark asks, turning that confused look back on his friend. “They don’t expire.”

Mr. Wayne clears his throat and turns his full body away from you both, looking back at his shiny expensive sports car.

“Yeah, they do,” he says.

“Bruce,” Clark chides.

“We’re gonna be late,” Mr. Wayne says, ignoring Clark’s reprimand, then looks at you as he pretends he wasn’t just caught in a lie. “Do you have a ride home?”

“Yeah, I brought my car,” you gesture at a modest white sedan parked a few spots over.

“Good. I’ll see you on Monday. Clark?” Mr. Wayne urges him, then walks towards his car.

“I’ll be right there,” Clark tells him, then waits for you to lead the way to your car.

Your heart is still thrumming rapidly with the realization that Mr. Wayne went out of his way to make sure you and Clark met. A set up?

You stop by your car door and unlock it. Clark is quick to take the door from you as you open it and he holds it with his left arm as you turn to look up at him.

“I had a lot of fun today, despite the obvious premeditation of us meeting,” you scoff. “I’m glad I met you.”

You’re quickly becoming acquainted with the gentle curve of Clark’s lips, the peek of his pearly whites as he blushes and meets your eyes.

“I’m glad Bruce interfered,” he nods. “I’ll see you tomorrow for burgers?”

“I wouldn’t miss it,” you assure him.

After a moment of hesitation, he reaches out and places his hand on your bicep then traces the length of your arm until he can take your hand.

It sets your skin on fire. It makes you dizzy and breathless.

“You have my number,” you remind him, eager to reconnect if he has the time.

He gives you that pearly smile, blue eyes full of excitement, “I’ll call you later. Tonight?”

You nod, “Tonight.”

He waits for you to get in, shutting the door for you when you’re sitting.

You lower the window as he backs away, “Bye.”

“Bye,” he nods, then turns to meet Mr. Wayne at his car.

“What?” Bruce asks, “It’s been months. She’s perfect for you.”

“Really?!” you can hear Clark demand, more annoyed with his friend again than any consequences his actions might have brought, however positive.

“You like her, don’t you?” Mr. Wayne asks.

“That’s not the point, Bruce. Boundaries.” Clark reminds him. “Why did you lie to her?”

“I knew you were coming today, I had to get her here,” Mr. Wayne explains. “Besides, you’re-”

As their doors shut, you’re cut off from their distant conversation. You shut your window, watch them speed out, and smile to yourself at the unexpected turn your spa day took.

[bosspigeon]

if you're still bleeding

Pairing: Jax/M!Merc

Words: 2657

Summary: Jax should know better. He should know to mind his own damn business. But, unfortunately, he's well beyond "knowing better" now that he's gone and gotten tangled up with an unhinged mercenary with more knives than sense, and the scars that say the chances of him finding any sense are slim to none.

and if you're still bleeding, you're the lucky ones.

'cause most of our feelings, they are dead and they are gone.

we're setting fire to our insides for fun.

collecting pictures from a flood that wrecked our home,

it was a flood that wrecked this home.

- "Youth" by Daughter

CW for: implied/referenced sex, sexual humor/innuendos, references to blood, violence, and trauma, and implications of kink

Knox is a man with scars.

Jax has plenty of his own, of course, but Knox has a lot of scars. There's a story to most of them, too, and he's never shy about telling them. Hell, half the time he tells those stories completely unprompted, whether you want him to or not.

There's a scar on his chin from where Royal told him he couldn't knee slide the entire bar. There’s the ugly knot of scar tissue where his left arm used to be, where the port to his prosthetic is grafted on. There's the scar in his stomach from the mook Jax had to help him bury. There's a scar on his lip where he bit himself too hard with his freakishly sharp teeth trying to keep quiet while Jax bent him over the hood of his car outside Saints and Sinners in the wee hours of the morning.

He's particularly happy to blab the story about that one to anyone who'll listen.

But he doesn't talk about the scar across his throat.

As little clothing as he tends to wear on the day to day, ("As little as I can get away with," he says with a sleazy wink) his neck is always covered. High-collared shirts, a jauntily knotted scarf, decorative chokers and heavy leather collars always keep it covered. He'll flash his tits before he'll show his throat—but in all fairness, it's not really all that hard to get him to flash his tits.

Jax didn't even see the scar until the fourth or fifth inadvisable hate fuck, at which point he was beginning to think he didn't hate the merc quite as much as he thought, considering he kept letting the little bastard in when he showed up at the door out of nowhere—and didn't shoot him when he decided to forgo the door entirely and come in through the window. (Jax still can’t be sure how he even got to the window, seeing as Jax lives in an apartment well above ground level, but he figures he’s better off not asking.) He didn’t think to ask about it until he’d actually lost count of how many inadvisable hate-fucks there’d been, and when they’d progressed somehow from inadvisable hate-fucks to still pretty inadvisable but otherwise amicable casual fucks.

Knox was loose and relaxed, quiet in a way Jax didn't even think was possible when they first met. And, to think, all it took was shoving him face down into the pillows and thoroughly wearing him out. Usually, he rolled out of bed as soon as his legs could hold him again, commandeered Jax's shower, and used half a bottle of his expensive conditioner before he disappeared without so much as a thank you. This time, he stayed. He sprawled gracelessly across Jax's sweat-stained silk sheets, arms stretched over his head, eyes half-closed and his ever-smirking mouth curled into something softer... almost sweeter.

Jax doesn't know what possessed him to roll over, to reach out and touch, but he did. He started at the inner thigh, the bruises he'd left with teeth and then fingers, a rumbling of possessive pride stoking the banked coals of satisfaction in his belly. His knuckles skimmed the soft curve of the merc's belly, the angry red scar tissue of that knife wound, then higher still. Inked into his sternum is a coyote skull, surrounded by boldly outlined flowers that curve along the underside of his breasts. Jax was almost surprised by the softness of the design, especially in comparison to the rest of the merc's ink, like the crude stick-and-poke perforated line and little pair of scissors right above his prosthetic, or the dirty pinup of some generic muscled pretty boy on his bicep, or the peach on his inner thigh that bears an artful addition of a T-dick very much similar to Knox’s own.

He wondered vaguely if the flowers meant anything to Knox.

Before he could dwell on the uncomfortably tender direction his thoughts had taken, his fingers travelled upwards, flicking absently at one of the heavy, angular piercing through Knox's nipples. Knox huffed a rough laugh, watching the progress of Jax's hand through eyes narrowed to dozy, yellow slits.

He traced Knox's collarbone, and his body was all but melted into Jax's bed, soft and pliant. Like he belonged there.

And then Jax’s curiosity got the better of him. He saw the scar, a thin line, pale with age, but standing in stark relief against Knox's tanned skin. It sits at a bit of an angle, slicing across the middle of the merc's throat.

The second his fingers made contact, skimming that raised line of flesh, he knew he'd fucked up.

Knox's body went taut for a split second, and that was all the warning Jax got before Knox was twisting his wrist hard enough for the bones to grind together and snarling in his face like a wild animal. If his knives weren't two rooms away in his discarded pile of clothes, Jax knows he would have lost fingers.

For once, Knox didn't say anything. For once, he was dead silent, mouth a grim sneer, eyes flat and hard. He shoved Jax roughly off him and rolled out of bed. He didn't look back once, stalking out of Jax's bedroom naked, every inch of his compactly muscled body vibrating with tension. Jax heard the rustle of clothes, the jingle of buckles and zippers and a half dozen knives, and then the front door slamming shut.

He didn't see Knox again until Orla called them in for another job, and it was as if nothing had happened. He was his usual smug, annoying self, not a single break in his usual facade of irreverent humor and Napoleonic bravado.

And maybe some of Knox's reckless stupidity is rubbing off on him, because Jax can't shake the curiosity that grips him, even now. He shoves it down, naturally, because he doesn't want the batshit merc to get twitchy on him again when he's got enough knives on him at any given time to outfit a military squadron. Hell, for all Jax knows, that's the end of it. He's not going to go crawling back to Knox (even if the sex is really fucking good—it's always the crazy ones, isn’t it?) and he knows Knox won't come to him first.

Except he does, dragging Jax into one of the back rooms after a meeting with Orla, shoving him against the wall, and dropping to his knees. Things go right back to normal after that, or as normal as they ever are with Coyote Fucking Knox. And as normal as they can be once Orla oh-so-sweetly reminds him there are cameras in the back rooms, and if he doesn't want stills of his dick forwarded to the entire Mirage gang, he'll keep his and Knox's exhibitionism where she doesn't have to see it.

So Knox continues to invade Jax's privacy, steal petty shit from his apartment and/or pockets, and loudly demand that Jax fuck him hoarse (-er) if he wants him to shut up.

And he winds up tangled in Jax's sheets again, sprawled out on his belly with one leg tossed over Jax's thigh, his face smashed into a pillow, one smug yellow eye watching Jax try to catch his breath beside him.

He could let it be. It's not like this is anything but a convenience. Some fun between… well, they're definitely not friends. Coworkers, if anything, and even that's pushing it. For a while, Jax considered it a fair trade for dealing with Knox's bullshit constantly. Now, it's becoming a pattern, and when it comes to semi-regular sex with a stab-happy mercenary, patterns can be dangerous.

But he can't kill the curiosity.

He figures his best bet is being blunt. And maybe getting ready to dodge in the very likely event things go south. He doesn't touch this time, at least not where they aren't already, Knox’s knee between his legs, the skin feeling a bit feverish and clammy as the sweat cools. The urge to touch is still there—he left some nice bite marks on Knox's shoulders he'd like to reacquaint himself with—but he ignores it for now. He rolls onto his side, meets that one yellow eye with quiet consideration, and props his head up on his hand.

Knox must read the change in his face, because he goes from cat-got-the-cream contentment to a warily curious tension. Jax just goes right for the throat, so to speak. “Any chance of hearing the story behind that one?” he says, casual as anything, and nods in the vague direction of Knox’s neck.

There’s a growling noise building up behind Knox’s teeth, but he bites it back. He smiles, but it feels feral, like an animal baring its teeth looks like a smile, but it's really a threat. It looks brittle, like it'll shatter if he tightens his jaw any further.

Jax gives in to the urge, reaching out to touch, fingertips skimming down the mercenary's spine. A shiver ripples across the skin. He’s not sure if it’s the right move, but at this point, if you’re going to Hell...

“I don’t know,” Knox says flatly, and Jax is almost shocked he answered at all. There’s no inflection, no mirth. Just that broken-glass smile.

Jax snorts. Knox never fucking shuts up, that much is true, but Jax isn’t stupid. He knows when someone’s talking a lot and saying nothing of importance on purpose, and he also knows when Knox can’t deflect, he lies his ass off like he was born to do it. Even Orla barely knows anything about her least favorite favorite merc or where he came from, though the chances of her caring enough to even try to find out are slim to none. Still, he has no idea what the mercenary even has to gain from lying, especially here. "If you don't want to say anything, just tell me to fuck off."

The knife edge smile stretches wider. Tips closer to the breaking point. "Fuck off," he echoes like a parrot.

Something starts to uncurl in Jax's gut, something burbling and acidic, a nasty niggling feeling he can't quite name. "You're serious," he says, and he doesn't want to believe it, mostly because he can't imagine someone like Knox taking that sort of… personal unknown well. “Nothing?”

The smile cracks, and Knox lifts his head so Jax gets the full effect of it. His eyes are wide, wild, and suddenly that smile is too big for his face. Slowly, he sits up, and there's the scar. Old and faded, but splitting his throat neatly and boldly from east to west. He drags his thumb across it, digs it in hard enough the white scar tissue goes a bit pink. He laughs. He's never had a pleasant laugh, rough and raspy and mean. Somehow, this one is worse. “Not a lick,” he drawls, and the effort it takes him to sound so casual almost makes Jax cringe. “There’s a reason Orla found me in the fuckin’ bargain bin.” He taps his temple, his messily painted nail clicking against the chip in his head.

Jax’s eyes flick down to the scar, frowning deeply. It doesn’t make sense. Knox is deflecting again, he has to be, but there’s something in the way he’s holding himself, the tension radiating from him, the way he slumps against the headboard of Jax’s bed with his knees pulled up, not quite close enough to hug to his chest, but more like he’s thinking about it, resisting the urge to physically hold himself together and risk looking weak.

"I have nightmares, sometimes," he admits, so soft the syllables catch on the rough edges of his ragged voice. "They never make any fucking sense. I'm just… I'm choking. Something’s cutting into my neck, and there’s someone behind me, and I know them, but— But I'm guilty? I don't know for what." He laughs, bitterly brittle. "Could be fucking anything. Got a lot to be guilty for that I can remember, never mind what I can't."

He inhales, and it sounds like it hurts him, like his breath is made of shards of glass. He drags his hand down his face until he can curl his fingers around his throat so the scar doesn't show. "I just know there's this perfume Orla wears that makes me want to climb the fucking walls and I don't know why. I think I know how to play the piano, but I can’t even look at one without wanting to smash it to pieces. Sometimes I hear some… some fucking opera song, or some shit? And I know the words, and I want to sing along, but then my voice just—just cracks, and I feel like… like a broken fucking wind-up toy? It's like my head doesn't remember anything, but the rest of me does and it makes me so fucking angry. What am I missing? Why does it matter?” His voice hitches dangerously, and there’s a stab of panic in Jax’s belly, his hands twitching like they want to—to reach out? “Why can’t it just leave me the fuck alone?"

Knox squeezes his own throat so hard the skin dimples around his fingers and bleeds white where he’s cutting off bloodflow. His shoulders tremble. There's something in the furrow of his brow, the twist of his mouth, that says angry isn't the only thing it makes him, but he either doesn't have the words to say it, or he just won't, not even to himself.

The silence falls again. Jax always thought he preferred silence where Knox was concerned. Turns out he was wrong. This silence is brutal, heavy and choking and just… wrong. When Knox does see fit to break it, it's with a loud exhale that almost makes Jax start.

"Would you look at the time," the merc says loudly, shaking out his bare wrist and looking at it critically. Jax could almost laugh. Knox tosses his legs over the edge of the bed smiling crookedly over his shoulder. "I should really head out, huh? Don't wanna overstay my welcome."

Before he can think, Jax snaps a hand out and catches Knox’s hip, squeezing. Not enough to stop him if he really wants to go, but enough to give him pause. Once again, Jax counts himself lucky they rarely make it to the bedroom before one or both of them are naked, which means all those knives are somewhere by the door, or scattered across his coffee table, or in the leather jacket tossed over the back of his couch. Coyote turns slightly, just enough to eyeball him. Just one yellow eye.

There's a lot Jax could say, a lot he even wants to, but there's something raw in that one yellow eye, something wary and broken that just wants to hide somewhere quiet and lick its wounds. They've been at this for way too fucking long at this point, Jax should know what to do with that, shouldn't he?

Maybe he does.

He snorts. "When the fuck have you ever cared about overstaying your welcome?" He smacks Knox's hip just on the wrong side of gentle, and rolls over. "You're not leaving until you help me change these sheets. Hell, maybe if I'm feeling generous, I'll let you back in bed after we shower."

He pushes up to his feet and stretches out the kinks in his muscles, allowing himself to luxuriate in the pleasant soreness leftover from their romp. Knox is quiet behind him, and he can't really think of when he actually started to trust the crazy bastard enough to turn his back to him.

Knox makes a rough little sound, something not quite a laugh. "Is that an order, Sir?" he asks, low and raspy-sweet.

Jax glances back with a raised eyebrow. "Do I need to make it one?"

[doubleleoenergy]

IV; BLUE BAYOU SERIES

Oh that boy of mine, by my side. The silver moon and the evening tide.

Series Masterlist

Pairing: TFAWS!Sam Wilson x fem!Reader

Summary: Sam and y/n build furniture and decorate his home now that y/n has moved in.

Warnings: 18+ ONLY; oral (male receiving), face-fucking, Daddy kink, spanking, LOTS of dirty talk, basically plot at the beggining section and PORN at the end.

Word Count: 4553

Author’s Notes: This just proves that 1) Sam and Bucky are the bestest of friends, 2) Bucky has got someone on the brain, and 3) I am a whore for Daddy Sam.

Two weeks after their bedroom escapade y/n tugs nervously on the end of her cream-colored cardigan, biting her lip. She’s finally finished getting ready in Sam’s bedroom, having tried on multiple outfits for him to choose between before settling on the pale blue floral print fit and flare dress, cream cardigan, and white strappy wedges. Her curls lay tousled down her back, her face fresh with a light coating of mascara and her favorite coconut flavored Chapstick upon her lips.

Today was very important, well, at least SHE felt it was important. Sam and y/n were going out to lunch to meet Bucky, his best friend and work partner. She’d heard plenty of stories about the ‘white wolf’ as Sam teasingly referred to him, had been briefed on his vibranium arm and to not be worried if he looks like he’s constantly pissed off, it was just his RESTING face.

“You look beautiful.” Sam came up behind her as y/n put her gold hoops in her ears, wrapping his arms around her waist and kissing the exposed skin at her collarbone. “If Bucky wasn’t such a stickler on meeting at noon, I’d strip you down…do those things with my tongue that drive you WILD…” A moan slips from y/n’s lips, turning around in his grip to wrap her arms around his neck.

“Well maybe if I don’t embarrass myself in front of Bucky, we can do all of that when we get back.” She plants a quick kiss to his lips, moving over to the bed to grab her crossbody brown purse.

“You’re not going to EMBARRASS yourself. Bucky is cool, and he’ll love you.” Well, he was cool NOW. Ever since their mission in New York and the cookout back in Louisiana that Sam invited Bucky to things had been MUCH better. Sam moved to the dresser to grab his wallet and his keys, stepping back over to grab y/n’s hand with his free one.

“I mean it, don’t worry. Besides, I didn’t even particularly LIKE Bucky until a few months ago, you’ve got no need to feel any pressure to impress him.” He plants one more kiss to her lips, tugging her towards the front door to get into his truck.

When they arrived at their favorite diner Bucky was already inside, sitting down at their usual booth in the back corner. He had tossed aside his leather jacket next to him, his eyes scanning over the menu as if he didn’t already know what to order.

The door to the diner chimed as they walked through, Bucky turning around with a smile when he noticed Sam. “You’re a minute LATE.” He announced, holding up his phone to show him the time. Technology was sweet now that he had it at his fingertips. Sam rolled his eyes, walking forward and embracing Bucky in a hug, patting his back as he did so.

“A minute is NOTHING, but I guess I should know better than to keep an old man waiting.” The two laughed together, letting go of the embrace before Sam motions for y/n to move next to him. “Bucky, this is my girlfriend, y/n. Y/N this is Bucky.”

Y/N watches as Bucky sticks out his hand for her to shake, the non-vibranium hand that is. She takes it in her small one, giving it a good motion up and down. “It’s nice to meet you, Sam has told me so much about you.” She chirps, finally taking in his features. His eyes were a DAZZLING blue, his smile wide, and his brows thick. He wore a grey t-shirt that looked a little too tight, showing off his muscular frame through the thin fabric. His vibranium arm, the one that Sam mentioned, was completely exposed but seemed to fit in with the rest of his appearance.

“Likewise, sometimes I have to tell Sam to shut the HELL up so we can actually get some work done.” He teased, letting go of her hand.

Bucky motions for them to sit, sliding back into his side of the booth with Sam and y/n sliding in across from him. As soon as they did a PERKY blonde waitress walked over, flashing a bright smile at all of them before settling her gaze on Bucky. It was clear she thought he was attractive, keeping her eyes on him as she pulled out her pad of paper.

“Hello, my name is MARISSA.” She gushed, tilting forward ever so slightly to expose her chest to Bucky. He paid no attention though, his eyes typing away at his phone.

“Black coffee, short stack of pancakes, side of bacon please.” He slid his menu towards her direction and she quickly jotted it down, a blush appearing on her cheeks. Bucky kept his eyes still on his phone.

“R-right, okay and uh, and what can I get ya’ll?” She finally looks at them and y/n can see a twinge of embarrassment on her face for having been ignored by the chiseled man. 

“I’ll have the breakfast burrito with an extra side of sausage and a coffee with vanilla creamer please.” Sam responds, plopping his menu on top of Bucky’s. Y/N scans the menu once more, turning her attention to the waitress. “I’ll have the Belgian waffle with strawberries please, and a glass of water.”

Marissa finishes jotting down their order, grabbing the menus and then looking once more at Bucky, a slight frown on her face, before walking away. Bucky finishes up whatever he was doing on his phone, setting it upside down on the table and moving his attention back to the pair in front of him.

“So, y/n, I heard you moved from Colorado. How are you liking it here during the summer heat?” Y/n tucks a loose strand of hair behind her ear, placing her hands in her lap. “It’s been great so far, it’s an interesting little town. PLUS, I have this guy by my side.” She playfully nudges Sam, eliciting a laugh from his lips.

He moves his hand to hers, gripping it under the table. “Sam says you two have a lot of fun together on your missions, do you have a uniform like him?” Bucky laughs, making his nose scrunch up on his face. “No, that’s BIRD-BRAIN’S thing.” He teases. “I’m what they call a super soldier, that makes me SO much cooler than Sam.” Another joke. Y/N seems to think this is a good sign. “But yeah, we do have a lot of fun on our missions. Some are harder than others of course, but we haven’t died so far.”

Marissa comes back with the men’s coffee and y/n’s water, eyes flickering towards Bucky again. He finally acknowledges her presence, eyes finding her nametag against her shirt. “Thank you, Marissa.” He affirmed. She walked away, giddy that Bucky said her name, as both men take a sip from their mugs.

“Well, whatever you do I’m sure it’s very important. Sam sounds lucky to have you.” She quipped. They seemed like a natural pair, their personalities seemed to mesh, ESPECIALLY their sarcasm. 

“Y/N is pretty impressive too; she’s got her PhD in sociology and teaches at Northwood.” Sam adds, a proud smile on his face. Being with her made him look BETTER and FEEL better, and he loved being able to show her and all her accomplishments off. A deep blush creeps over her cheeks at his words, squeezing his hand under the table. 

“Well that IS impressive, congratulations. Sociology seems like an interesting topic to teach. Are you a harsh professor?” Bucky questioned, raising a thick eyebrow in her direction. Y/N shakes her head, she DEFINITELY wasn’t a stickler like some of her colleagues.

“No, not harsh at all. I believe it’s important to get students PASSIONATE about what they learn in order bring awareness and CHANGE. I teach three different courses: Social Inequality, Racism and Inequality, and Toolkit for Activism and Advocacy. We have our required midterm and final, but most of the time is filled with lectures, documentaries, and discussions on the topics we cover.” Her eyes light up with passion as she talks, and it makes Sam’s heart flutter. Even Bucky seems to be enthralled listening to her.

“Well, if I were a student, I’d take one of your classes for SURE.” Their conversation is interrupted briefly by Marissa dropping off their plates, trying to get Bucky to notice her again but with no success. They start to chow down on their food, the sounds of forks and knives moving, and mugs being picked up and put down being the only sounds at their table. Eventually as their stomachs start to fill the silence ends, talking about some of Sam and Bucky’s favorite missions, what y/n’s favorite books were, and even their shared connection to the armed forces.

They finally finish devouring their brunch and Bucky sits back against his booth, arms spreading out over the back of it. Marissa finally drops off their checks, trying ONE last time to get Bucky’s attention but he’s distracted in conversation with Sam about their next meeting with Torres. Sam INSISTS on paying for y/n’s meal along with his own, and y/n decides not to protest this time. She’d get the next one.

Bucky pulls a wad of bills from his wallet, setting down enough to pay for the food and a tip before he stands up, pulling his leather jacket on over his tight grey shirt. They all thank Marissa on their way passed her to move out the door, the familiar chime going off as they step outside into the bright sunshine. Sam turns to face Bucky once more to give him a final hug.

“I’ll see you next week, noon on the DOT.” Bucky mumbles, and Sam can’t help but laugh, stepping back so that y/n can say her goodbye to him as well. Before y/n can decide whether it would be awkward to shake hands again or just nod in his direction, Bucky pulls her into his side for a hug, using his vibranium arm.

“It was great to meet you, y/n. I hope that Sam doesn’t keep you to himself forever, I’d love for us all to go out to a bar or something next time.” Bucky lets go of her side and y/n takes a step back, grabbing Sam’s hand in hers. “It was GREAT to meet you too. And sounds good, first rounds on me when we do.” She agreed.

Bucky turns with a quick wave of his hand, the couple turning in the opposite direction to head to Sam’s truck. The walk is short, and Sam moves instinctively to open y/n’s door before hopping in the driver’s side and starting it up.

“Well that wasn’t so bad was it?” He asked, his hand settling to grip her thigh as he drove. 

“No, not at all. He seems like an awesome guy. I’m sure it’s nice to work with someone you’re close with.” Her eyes turn to look up at him, head resting back on her seat. God, she’s so smitten with him and it’s only been two weeks. He checked every box, even checking boxes she didn’t even know NEEDED to be checked.

He squeezes her thigh, teasing her slightly. He cannot WAIT to get home and tear off that short little dress of hers. “Yeah it is nice, although, did you notice how HARD that waitress was trying to get his attention? I mean, usually Bucky is all sorts of flirty but today there was nothing.”

They both laughed, y/n moving her hand to turn the volume up on Sam’s Marvin Gaye CD. She had taken quite a liking to his taste in music since they started seeing each other.

“It was SUPER obvious. I wonder why he didn’t flirt back.”

The past two weeks were a blur, Sam having gone on another mission and y/n finishing up with midterms for her summer classes. In their spare time, y/n INSISTED that Sam needed to make his place more of a HOME. 

When Sam decided to move back to Louisiana, he had managed to buy a small two-bedroom, two-bathroom house a few miles down the road from Sarah’s place. After years in the service and moving back to civilian life, Sam still struggled with really making his place feel like home. Now that y/n was spending the night more often, enjoying the quiet that his house brought over the loud family that lived above her apartment, they felt it was time to UPGRADE.

Last week had been spent picking between paint swatches and painting the different rooms in Sam’s house, stopping frequently for some HOT sex on the hardwood floor. Sam had his bedroom furniture but was still missing living room furniture, kitchen furniture, and décor to tie it all together. At least, that’s how y/n put it.

They had just finished up their shopping adventure at IKEA, Home Goods, and Target, truck bed loaded with STUFF. Probably more stuff than they needed but y/n would make sure to return what they didn’t want.

“You know I’ll have to put together that kitchen table, chairs, AND the coffee table when we get back right? And the couch from Home Goods won’t even be delivered until Sunday.” Y/N smiles, rolling down the window and sticking her hand out, feeling the hot sun and the cool breeze on her skin.

“That’s fine, you can put that all together while I decorate everything.” She was excited, Sam was totally fine with letting her have control of the colors and patterns, really EVERYTHING.

Within a few minutes they had pulled up to the front of the house, Sam opening the bed of the truck so he can start grabbing the items. Y/N grabs a few of the bags, Sam shaking his head at her. “I told you, you don’t need to carry anything in, I got this.” Her brows furrow, setting the bags in her hands down in the empty space of the living room and following Sam back out the door for another load. “I’m COMPLETELY capable of carrying some of these. Besides, I have to catch up to YOUR physicality still.”

Sam laughs, tugging her against his waist and kissing her passionately. “You don’t need to catch up, your body is already HEAVENLY as it is.” He should have used the word SINFUL instead, the things she did to him. He shakes his head to get the thought out of his mind, grabbing the box with the parts to the table and carrying it over his shoulder.

Once they finished unloading the truck Sam got to work putting together the coffee table while y/n emptied the items from the bags, sorting them on the floor for the areas they would go in. She took the different canvas pictures they had picked, holding them against the wall of the living room to decide where she wanted to hang them. Once deciding on the perfect spots, y/n grabbed the step stool, nails, and hammer and got to work. The canvas pictures they chose for the living room were an ombre style of blues that would pop well against the cream-colored wall.

After they were hung, she stood back, closing one eye and then the next to check on their levels. “What do you think?” She asked, turning to Sam for approval. He had made quick work of the coffee table, screwing in the last few spots and jiggling it to check its sturdiness. “The table’s done.” Sam stood up and eyed the paintings, nodding his head. “Those look PERFECT there. I’m going to move on to the kitchen table and chairs while you work in here.” He placed a quick kiss to her cheek before moving into the space of the kitchen, opening the box and laying out all his parts.

With the coffee table done, y/n moved all the items purchased to the far side of the room, giving her plenty of space to roll out the new navy colored rug for the area. She made sure it was flattened properly before dragging over the coffee table, carefully setting it on top. Once she’s finished, she fans the coasters they had purchased on the table before moving to look through the other décor pieces they’d chosen.

Y/N was having so much fun letting her creativity out. It wasn’t long before she was moving all over the rooms, placing a framed picture of his nephews here and another framed picture of him and y/n there. It was all coming together, throw pillows added to the bed with a few others set aside for when the couch would arrive, more picture frames with photos Sam had chosen of family and friends scattered throughout the house. New rugs, shower curtains, and towels in both bathrooms.

While Sam finished up the last chair for the dining set y/n put together a floor lamp for the living room, moving the other side lamp to the bedroom before walking around each space and making sure everything was in its proper place. There were a few items she had chosen for the space that didn’t quite work once she finished including another colorful canvas, a fake potted plant, and some extra throw pillows that she didn’t end up liking for the bedroom. Those were put away in a bag by the door waiting to be returned.

“Babe, what do you think?” She turns her head in Sam’s direction, calling for him to look at what she’s done while he busy was putting the furniture together. Sam brushes off his hands, standing up and walking from room to room inspecting her work. He had to admit, the place looked MUCH better. The best touch was all the framed photos y/n had printed and scattered throughout the house. With the changes she had made it really DID feel like a home.

Sam moved last into the living room where y/n stood, taking in the rest of the décor. “I…” He cleared his throat, hand nervously scratching at the back of his neck. He hadn’t felt this before, this PERMANANCE. The house was the first step, the roots that were grounding him here, and now everything seemed right. Even his old place that he’d been in when Steve and Natasha first visited him hadn’t made him feel like this, feel this HAPPY to be in his space.

“I love it, I can’t thank you enough for all of this.” She can tell he’s holding back tears as he speaks and she shushes him, wrapping her arms tightly around his neck.

“Hey, it’s OKAY. I’m just happy you like it. I know how hard it is to make a place feel like home.” Growing up after her dad passed NOTHING really felt like home. Colorado was the closest she came to that, but it still wasn’t the same feelings she had when she was little and her father was still alive.

Sam wrapped his arms around her waist, bending his head down to nuzzle against her neck. “Of course I like it, I love everything you do. I love…” He trails off, moving his head back up to meet her gaze.

“Baby I…I LOVE you. And I don’t want to be afraid to say it. I want you to know that and I want you to know that this is your space too.” Y/N’s cheeks hurt from how big she was smiling at his words. “I love you TOO. So much Sam.”

He clears his throat, a hand coming up to rest on her cheek. “Which is why I was hoping that maybe you would be interested in getting out of your lease a bit early to…move in with me?” He doesn’t know what the point would be of setting up the house to be a HOME without her in it. He wanted it to be their home, together.

“I-Of course I want to move in. I mean, yes, I will.” She laughs, pulling him in for a kiss. His hands move under her ass, scooping her up in his arms. He was so HAPPY, their lips dancing along each other’s as they continued to kiss, his teeth jutting out to bite down on her bottom lip, eliciting a moan from her.

“How about we make sure that kitchen table is STURDY?” He asks, moving his lips to pepper kisses down her neck. He walks towards the table, y/n still in his arms, setting her ass down on the top he had just built. The table stays still under here weight, her fingers moving down to the hem of his shirt to pull it off. She trails her nails down his chest, marking the skin gently and watching as the marks faded.

“Baby, you always do so much for me, want to make you feel GOOD.” She scoots back against the table, looking at him with lustful eyes. “Strip for me please.” Sam does as he’s told, tugging down his jeans and boxers and kicking them across the floor.

“You always make me feel good.” He responds, licking his lips. He watches her as she slips out of her tiny jean shorts and panties, tugging her coral tank top over her head. She slowly unhooks her bra, tossing it aside, leaving her naked on the table, THEIR table.

“I know, but I want to thank you for how well you treat me, want to show you how much I LOVE you.” It felt good to say it, as she had been wanting to since meeting Bucky two weeks ago. His eyes rake over her body as she moves her back flat against the table, her head moving to hang off the side towards. “Want you to use me, Daddy.” She purred, her voice dripping with desire saying the nickname he LOVED in bed. “Please come fuck my face Daddy.”

Sam groans, his cock twitching and erect against his chest. She was splayed out on the table, head back and ready for him to FUCK. He moves closer to her, stroking his cock until it was inches from her face. “Open your mouth baby.” She does as she’s told opening wide as she feels his cock sliding in inch by inch. Her head is throbbing a bit from hanging upside down, but she didn’t CARE. His sliding inward stops when he hears her gag around him, moving out so just the tip rested on her lips.

“Shh, baby, relax your throat, let Daddy all the way in.” Y/N takes a deep breath, opening her mouth wider for him to push inside, enveloping him with her lips. SLOWLY, continuing to breathe, she feels him bottom out at the back of her throat, a groan of approval leaving his mouth.

He picks up a slow rhythm at first, pulling back so just the tip is in her mouth before shoving his cock all the way in the back of her throat, watching how he looked all the way down her throat. “Fuck baby, that mouth is PHENOMENAL.” Sam picks up his pace again, his balls slapping on her nose as her saliva drips out of her mouth and onto the floor.

“Put your hands on your pussy baby, want you to play with yourself while I USE you.” She moans around his cock, her hand moving down to her core, rubbing her fingers against that perfect bundle of nerves. Sam watches her, slowing his motions slightly. “Fuck yourself on your fingers baby, want you to warm yourself up for Daddy’s cock.”

Her fingers move between her lips, pushing inside the wetness. She adjusts to them before pumping them in and out, continuing to lap at Sam’s cock that is now hanging above her mouth. Sam watches for a few moments, loving the way she’s splayed out for him on their new kitchen table.

“Fuck, you’re so fucking pretty, I can hear how wet you are while you’re fucking yourself.” He moves his cock straight down her throat one last time, causing her to cough before he pulls completely out and steps back. “Get up and turn AROUND, put your ass in the air on the edge of the table.”

Y/N rolls her body over, saliva dripping down her face and neck as she did. She turns around, backing up until her ass is high in the air, feet hanging just slightly over the edge. “Yes Daddy.”

Sam moves forward, gripping her ass in his hand before giving the tanned skin a spank, y/n letting out a small whine at the pain. “Look at that pussy, so wet. Do you want my COCK inside you baby?” He teases his cock against her folds, a shiver of pleasure running down her spine.

“Fuck, yes Daddy please, want you to fill me FULL of your cock.” Sam smirks, one hand resting on her back, the other guiding his cock inside of her until he bottoms out. A groan escapes his lips, pulling his cock out of her pussy before slamming back into her again.

He continues to fuck her, a slew of cuss words and thank you leaving her slips. Sam moves one hand up her back, fingers gripping a fistful of her hair and pulling her head back and her face up off the table. “Oh my god.” She cries out, eyes rolling back into her head. He’s pushing in and pulling out of her core, tugging her head back with each thrust.

“That’s it baby, you look so PRETTY on my cock, god I love you so much.” She whines again and he pulls her hair harder with another TUG. “Fucking you stupid huh? Are you becoming stupid on my cock, can’t even speak?” He pulls her head back, lips inches from her ear. “You’re Daddy’s dumb baby, aren’t you?” That familiar feeling inside her chest is building up, her breathing ragged. “Yes, Daddy, I’m your dumb baby, please let me cum. PLEASE.”

He lets go of her hair, letting her body fall back onto the table. “Yes, baby cum for me. Show Daddy HOW much you love him.” Within seconds her orgasm is ripping through her body, walls clenching tight onto his cock and she comes undone. “Yes, thank you Daddy!” He fucks her until her body calms down from her orgasm, pulling out and spanking her ass once more.

“Get down on your knees for me baby, want to cum inside that pretty MOUTH.” Y/N moves down off of the table, getting onto her knees in front of him and opening her mouth wide, sticking out her tongue. Sam moves right above her, stroking himself until he comes, coating her mouth and tongue with his stickiness. “Fuck, you can swallow baby.” She shuts her mouth, swallowing down the salty cum before he pulls on her chin, instructing her to get up.

When she does Sam immediately wraps his arms around her, pulling her into his chest. “You’re SO sexy. I love YOU.” He proclaims, fingers running through her hair. She curls into him, letting out a breathy laugh. “I love you too.” She looks back at the table then back up at him with a smile on her face.

“Guess the table’s sturdy enough.”

[judediangelo75]

Style Witch: Judith Harris

Inspired by the ask from @kc-needs-coffee to @that-scouse-wizard​  

Here’s a little story to go with this as well.

MC Friends: David Willows ( @that-scouse-wizard​ ), Katriona  Cassiopeia ( @kc-needs-coffee​ ), and Lizzie Jameson ( @lifeofkaze​ )

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

David was taking a small kip on the couch in the Hufflepuff Common Room when he was rudely awaken by the loud slam of a door. 

Slightly dazed and annoyed, he sat up to see the fuming little figure of his best mate, Judith.

“Where’s the fire, Little Tigress,” he yawned. The young witch paused upon hearing her dear friend’s voice. The fire that burned in those pale gold eyes dimmed when she looked at her friend’s sleepy face.

“Sorry, David. I didn’t mean to wake you,” she said softly. David stretched a bit.

“Don’t worry about it. Something’s bothering you, what’s wrong?” Judith crossed her arms with a huff.

“That bloody style wizard,” she grumbled. David arched a brow, waiting for her to continue. 

“He had the nerve to talk about my outfit today, saying it’s burning his eyes,” she supplied. David studied his friend from head to toe.

Her brown black hair was in twists, partially hidden under a dark blue bandanna. Her usually gold accessories were clipped onto her ears. Her face was make up free. A blue and white V-neck shirt, light gray 3/4 camo pants and white Converses clothed her body.

David didn’t see anything wrong with her look. He always thought she looked nice regardless.

“I don’t see anything wrong with it,” he mumbled. Judith walked over and sat on the couch next to him, angrily pouting.

“My point exactly. I told him that’s rich coming from a person who tried dressed me as someone’s mother for the Valentine’s Day Ball.” David snickered. 

David remembered that day clear as day. It was hard not to, seeing how peeved Judith looked when she was looking in the mirror. 

‘You lost ya damn mind if you think I’m going to the Ball like this, Egwu. I look like a mother whose in her mid thirties, demanding to speak to your manager to file a compliant.’

 David laughed to the point his sides hurt and he had tears in his eyes. 

“You’re not wrong, that pixie cut definitively wasn’t your style, Little Tigress,” David chuckled. He got a glare for the nickname but he knew there was no real hostility towards him.

“It sure as hell wasn’t. Andre had the nerve to look like I told him Pride of Portee was the worst team in the league. Then he said ‘I’d like you see you do better. Everyone knows I’m the Style Wizard around here.’ Damn title went to his head a little bit,” she grumbled. 

David looked at her curiously. One of the things he knew about his Little Tigress was being told that she couldn’t compare to someone else.

“Well, why don’t you show him? I’ll even let you use me as your little art project,” he offered. Judith gave her a glance.

“Are you sure,” she asked, slightly hesitant. She never styled another person before...

David offered her a smile.

“Positive.” Judith returned it with a shy one.

“Okay...”

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

David sat in her dorm room as Judith was taking notes.

She asked questions in regards to his shirt size, preferred jacket size, pant size, and shoe size.

“What’s a look you want to try again,” she finally asked, twirling the quill in her hand. David looked thoughtful for a moment before saying,

“I admit, I did like the Valentine’s Day look from last year. Ya know, the punk look?” Something shined in those pale gold eyes.

“Gotcha... I think I can work with that...”

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

Few days later, David was called back into Judith’s room. He spied the shopping bags that sat on her bed. He rose a brow at them.

“So I’m assuming you got something.” Judith looked up at him with a shy smile.

“Yeah... but I want it to be a surprise. So you’re gonna have to close your eyes. David shrugged.

“First off, hair,” she said. She pointed to her vanity, a chair already waiting for him.

“Sit.” Doing what he was told, he sat and allowed his friend to style his hair. His face would occasionally scrunch up when he felt the water from her spray bottle hit his face but relaxed at the feel of her fingers massage his scalp. 

After some fluffing, combing and adding gel, Judith step back to admire her handiwork.

“Perfect, now stay still. I’m gonna add a bit of color.” David nodded as Judith fetched her wand.

“Colovaria!” David felt the faint traces of magic dance over him before it fading. Judith was dancing on the balls of her feet, the biggest smile on her face. 

“I’m guessing it looks good,” he asked, ready to turn around to face her mirror. Only for Judith to take ahold of his face.

“No looking! I’m just about done... just need a few more things...” Judith grabbed something from her vanity. 

“Close your eyes,” she said. Doing so, David could feel something cold being stuck onto the skin near his right brow and right ear. 

“Open.” David’s eyes fluttered open, to find Judith’s smile. 

“It’s slowly coming together... but there’s one more thing. You’re okay with facial hair, are you?” David blinked.

“I, uh, never thought about it...” Judith giggled.

“Don’t worry, it’s only gonna be a little. I can’t see you with a full grown beard.” They both shared a laugh at that, and Judith casted another spell on her fellow Hufflepuff. David could feel the hair solely grow on his chin. 

He rubbed it, feeling the new addition of Judith’s look on his face. 

“Wow, you look older. But in a good way. Huh,” she said thoughtfully. David chuckled.

“So, are you done with my face?” Judith laughed and nodded. 

“Now clothes, but remember keep your eyes closed. I’ll hand you the clothes one by one and you can change behind the screen over there. Got it?” David gave her a mock salute.

“Yes ma’am.” The young witch rolled her eyes. 

“Hush and hurry up and strip,” she demanded, shoving him behind screen. Making quick work of his running shoes, jeans and gray V-neck, David shouted that he was done.

“Remember-”

“Yes, eyes closed, I heard ya the first time, Little Tigress,” he sassed, closing his eyes yet again. He heard her annoyed grumble as she placed each article of clothing into his outstretched hand.

He could feel the rips in the pants she gave him and the leather texture of the jacket as well. He felt more and more excited to see what he looked like.

“Step out, I’ll help you put on the shoes,” Judith said. Doing so, he could hear Judith clap rapidly.

“Holy shit! You look great David! Oooohhh, I can’t wait for you see,” she cheered, grabbing his hand to lead him to her bed. David sat down and felt Judith slip on a pair of boots to his feet. They feel a bit heavy but not in a bad way...

“And done! Come, I’ll lead you to the mirror.” Following his little friend, he heard a door opening and Judith saying,

“Okay... you can look now...” 

Brown eyes opened to stare at his reflection only to widen in surprise. He stepped closer to the mirror to take a closer look at his reflection. 

His normally neat hair was now a styled mess, red dye blending into his brown hair, flaring at the tips. Two shiny piercings sat near his brow and a bigger one of his ear. The little bit of facial hair did age him well.

His outfit consisted of a plain white T-shirt, a red leather jacket, black fingerless gloves with a red wristband, black acid washed ripped jeans and black combat boots. He turned his gaze to a suddenly shy Judith.

“Well,” she asked, rubbing the back of her neck sheepishly. She let out a squeal when she pulled off the ground and into a tight hug.

“I look badass! Thank you so much, Little Tigress,” David cheered, nuzzling her hair. Judith blushed and giggled.

“There’s one more thing, Hound...” David perked up at this, setting her down so she can retrieve it. 

Judith went over to the bags on her bed to pull out a black box the size of her hand before returning to David. Handing the box over to him, Judith bit her lip anxiously to watch her expression as he opened it.

David’s eyes widen before softening. In the box was a silver necklace. On the chain was a ram’s head, a aquamarine gem replacing its eye.

“It’s beautiful, Little Tigress,” he mumbled. Judith smiled softly at her tall friend before taking it out and putting it around his neck. Judith stepped back to admire her work.

“There, you look great...” David glanced at the mirror. The necklace definitely a nice finishing touch to his new look.

“Thanks Judith... why don’t we pay our resident Style Wizard a visit?”

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

Andre was in the Courtyard, talking to Talbott. 

“Then she said I made her look like someone’s 30 year old mother, can you believe that,” he ranted to his fellow Ravenclaw, who in turn snorted.

“Considering that she’s my girlfriend and have come backs for days, yes,” Talbott shrugged. Andre pinched the bridge of his nose.

Maybe ranting to Judith’s boyfriend wasn’t his most brightest idea...

“I’d love to see her try to do better,” he grumbled. Talbott’s red eyes trailed off him for a brief moment only to widen slightly at something behind him.

“Apparently she accepted that challenge. And it’s fair to say you lost, mate.” Andre let out a nose of confusion before turning around to see what Talbott was talking about.

Only to stiffen with wide eyes.

Approaching the two Ravenclaws was David and Judith. However, the attention was focused on David.

...At least they were pretty sure that was David.

“Cheers, Tal. Andre,” the guy greeted them as he stood before them. 

Yup, that’s definitely David Willows.

“Wha-?! How-?! Who-?!” Andre spluttered over his words as he took in David’s new look. 

“What do you think of my new look Judith created for me? Pretty badass, right,” David smirked. He glanced at his best mate to find her sharing a similar smirk on her face as they stared at the dumbfounded Style Wizard.

“Yeah, Andre? Pretty cool, right,” Judith teased. Andre shut his mouth and stared at the two Hufflepuffs with an unamused glare.

Damn it, he forgot how often they loved to push his buttons.

Talbott chuckled and walked up to his little bird to hold her hand. 

“Impressive work, little bird. If it wasn’t for the impish look in David’s eyes, I wouldn’t have recognized him,” he said, placing a quick peck on her cheek. Judith beamed up at him with a small blush on her cheeks.

“Thanks, Talbott...” Andre let out a cough, bringing attention to himself.

“I guess I know when I’m beat. Nice work, Judith,” he mumbled. Judith and David snickered at his sulking form.

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

Andre was at the pre-game party, sipping his Butterbeer when he felt a hand grasp his shoulder.

“Cheers, Andre!” He turned to greet David only to pause when he took in his outfit. 

A plain black T-shirt, a custom made letterman jacket, white and yellow track pants and tri-petal running shoes clothes the Hufflepuff Beater. 

“Wha...” David smirked.

“You like? Judith made this for me to wear at pre-game parties. Check out the back,” he said, turning around to show the Ravenclaw Quidditch player. The word ‘HOUND’ flashed at Andre before David spun back around. 

Andre narrowed his eyes.

“Yeah... pretty cool...” 

“Daaaaavvvvvviiiiiiddddddddd....” The two wizards turned to find the short figures of KC and Lizzie approaching them.

“Where is she?! I want to place a custom order of that jacket. I’ll even pay,” KC pouted. David chuckled.

“Sorry KC, Judith decided she didn’t want to show up this time,” he apologized. Lizzie groaned.

“David, you lucky bloke! You have a best mate to designs stuff for you. No fair...”

“You know you guys could ask me to make something you,” Andre quipped. Lizzie and KC looked at each other before looking at Andre.

“Did you think to make a letterman jacket before David showed up in his,” KC asked with an arched brow.

“No, but-”

“Okay, case closed,” Lizzie said. David laughed at Andre’s disgruntled expression as the girls fawned over his jacket.

[yespolkadotkitty]

Fighting Blind, pt 19

Masterlist here ~ thank you @heatherbel​ for the beta!!

Warnings: shameless angst.

I sleepwalked back to my apartment. The noises of London made me jump at first, my movements jerky. Had I locked up the storeroom? The museum staff entrance? I didn’t know.

I didn’t much care.

I had lain on the floor of the storeroom for some time, clutching the axe. Sobbing my throat raw. Willing it to send me back to before. Willing it to let me look into Pero’s eyes just one more time.

Willing whatever magic that it had before to let me hold him, just for a moment, feel his heart beat, bury my face in his neck. Hear his voice.

Just one more time.

I didn’t remember taking off my filthy robes and changing into the spare outfit I kept in my locker for nights out. The nylon fabric felt incongruous; I’d become used to thick, soft robes. My bra chafed.

I let myself into my apartment. Everything was where I’d left it. 

My phone chirped in my bag and I pulled it out to see a text from Emma: Don’t stay too late! Reality TV beckons.

It was our little joke since she had introduced me to Ru Paul’s Drag Race, six months ago.

It felt like five lifetimes ago.

I put the phone to sleep, dropped my bag in the kitchen, and dragged myself to my bed, looking ahead of me but not seeing.

I lay down, fully clothed. The date on my bedside clock showed that here, almost no time had passed. I’d been deposited back to almost the exact moment I'd left.

My gaze was unfocused as I stared at the ceiling. My eyes reported back a view of the plain plaster, but in my mind I saw Pero’s last moments. The length of thick red ribbon around my wrist felt unreasonably heavy. I twisted the fraying ends with my right thumb and forefinger.

If I could have cried some more, I would have. 

I felt wrung out, a cloth squeezed too hard and then left out on the line until it sagged, dry as bone, moving only at the whims of the wind.

Eventually, I slept, and when I did, I dreamed of my husband’s big, soulful brown eyes, his scarred hands on my skin, the whisper of his melodic Spanish accent in my ear.

*****

I woke up in the middle of the night, shaking. My arm spread out across the cool, crisp sheets, reaching for the warmth of a broad Spaniard who had been killed in battle thousands of years ago.

I clutched desperately at a pillow that did not smell of him, and I waited for dawn to come, silent and dry-eyed, a husk of myself.

The next day, I called in sick. 

Emma left me six texts and three voicemails. Marco tried to call all afternoon. I ignored them both, and I stayed curled up on the bed, staring at nothing, hardly moving except for water and bathroom trips. 

Eventually, I slept. 

No dreams came.

*****

I wasn’t sure how much time had passed when a sharp rapping on the door jerked me from my half-sleep, half-grief stricken stupor.

“Fuck off,” I moaned to the empty room, my voice paper-dry, cracking. “You’re not Pero. He’s gone.”

The clock showed a whole day had passed. It was just after ten a.m.

The pounding got louder.

I scrubbed my hands over my face, got up wearing yesterday’s clothes. Walking felt like dragging my feet through a carpet of molasses.

I yanked open the door without checking to see who it was.

Emma stood on the other side, and she took me in with wide eyes, her lips parting.

“Um, oh my God,” she breathed, taking in my wrinkled clothes. I probably stank. “What happened? Flu?”

I gazed at her, my very best friend, trying to summon joy at seeing her face again, when I never thought I would. Instead, I just shrugged.

And then she moved forward and wrapped her arms around me, and I let my face fall into the familiar feel of her shoulder, and I cried.

Two cups of tea later, I had unloaded the entire story to Emma, who had listened without interruption, various expressions parading across her elfin face, but, who now almost certainly thought I had experienced some sort of intense mental break.

I wasn’t entirely sure I hadn’t.

“Well,” she said finally, with the tone of someone speaking to a very infirm person or a  baby; “You can’t go back to work in this state, can you?”

I gaped at her. “You want me to go back to work now?”

She tugged my hand until I reluctantly stood up from the sofa. “You’ve not got a lot of choice. There’s a man in the staff waiting area and he says he won’t leave until he sees you. Came all the way from America.”

My heart sank further still. I just heard America, not Spain.

Emma herded me into the bathroom, stripped me off as I stared sightlessly at the wall, turned on the water, shoved me under it.

I watched, unfeeling, until the spray hit the red ribbon around my left wrist, and then a cry raked up my throat, and I slid down the tiled wall, curling in on myself, pressing the damp wedding bracelet to my lips, wishing myself back in China. Back in Pero’s arms.

Wishing I could hold him just one more time.

Just one more time.

*****

Emma didn’t say much on the way to the Armouries. What could she say? From her point of view, her colleague had called in sick one day and  appeared to have suffered an intense psychotic episode.

I half sleep-walked off the tube, up to the museum. People passing probably thought I was taking very strong drugs.

Emma made me a very strong cup of tea, so strong that perhaps the spoon could have stood up by itself, and steered me to my desk chair. “Sit. I’ll bring the visitor.”

I stared into the mug. “Do I have to? Please don’t make me.”

Emma set her hands on her hips, her face creased in sympathy,  brow pinched with worry. “You can go home right after. I swear. Okay? You get one more day of whatever... this is, and then I’m taking you out on the town. London at our feet. Or, you know, twelve hours on the sofa, with popcorn and Ru Paul. Okay?”

I nodded, just to get her to leave.

Time passed; I wasn’t sure how much. I stared at my PC’s Welcome to the London Armouries screensaver, and wondered how much trouble I would get in if I hurled my computer out of the window.

Then I remembered I didn’t even have a window in this office. 

I smiled without humour.

A soft knock at the door made me look up. “Come in,” I called, with zero enthusiasm.

The handle turned, and I expected to see Emma, but I didn’t. What I saw made me topple off my chair.

A man with Pero’s face stood in the open doorway. His hair was lighter, cream caramel kissed with autumn, tousled. Scruff adorned his upper lip and the same strong jaw as Pero’s.

The same soulful, deep brown eyes.

The same striking profile, same nose I’d loved the hook of.

I stared at him as all the noise was sucked from the room. My ears rang.

He hurried over to me. “What the- Are you okay?” he asked in a husky-edged, drawling baritone, California with just a lick of Texas.

I stared at him wordlessly. My mouth opened and closed, until I finally squeaked out, “is this some kind of joke?”

The man stepped back, brows furrowed. “Funny. I’m pretty sure that's my line.” He rubbed a hand over his scruffy jaw, and that was when I saw it.

The circular mark on the root of his thumb. The depiction of infinity; the spiral, the serpent eating its own tail. Not black, like ink, but the colour of melanin.

My heart lurched into my throat.

This time when he offered me his hand, I took it. 

Our palms touched, and something electric chased down my arm. The stranger jerked as if I’d struck him, slapping his hands over his face as he reeled back, hitting the wall and sliding down it. I rocked back on my heels, staying on the floor.

He held his hands over his eyes for a moment that stretched, shaking, his shoulders hunched in.

When he finally looked at me, his eyes had changed. Darker, somehow. His mouth just a little scowly.

My heart jumped like it had been supercharged, because there was my Pero. I was frozen to my spot.

“The dreams,” the man said, very slowly. “I’ve been having these crazy dreams. But they’re.. memories, aren’t they?”

Unable to speak, I nodded.

“They’re my memories. But also… not mine.” He stared into the distance for a long moment, his face pale, wonder sketched on his features. “And this.” He ran the index finger of his right hand over the birthmark on his left thumb. “You did this.” His eyes sparked hazel fire, accusing me of this insanity.

And he was right. I had done this to him.

I held his gaze, my heart in my throat, heavy. “I gave it to you. Before.”

The stranger’s hand eased over his abdomen, resting where Pero had been gored open by Tao Tei teeth. “It feels… fuck, it feels real.”

I swallowed, my eyes burning, stomach bottoming out.  Tears streaked down my face and I let them come, my stomach cramping, and for an agonising moment, it was like losing him all over again. In my mind’s eye I saw the blood pulse from him, his life slipping away and me crouched over him, helpless to stop it. “It was real.”

We sat together in silence for, I don’t know how long. I both ached to touch him and feared it. Feared the modern texture of his open-flannel shirt over a white t-shirt. Feared the rough denim of his jeans.

And how would he smell? Not of lemon oil, leathers or woodsmoke. How could he?

“I’m Zach,” he said into the dragging silence. “Zachary Pero Wellison.”

My mouth dropped open.

Zach smiled lopsidedly, pushing a hand over his face. The face that was Pero’s, and yet, not. “So… I guess with the addition of…” He waved his hand between us. “...this, I’m sort of…. Both of us? I’m Zach, but I somehow have the memories of….. Pero.” He pressed a fist to his head and then popped his fingers in a “head exploding” reference. “Is this really happening, do you think?”

I laughed, without humour. “At this point, I don’t think I know.”

Zach huffed out what might have been a laugh. “The shrink sure as hell didn’t cover this in PTSD counselling.”

His deadpan delivery made me smile for the first time since I’d woken up back in 2019.

Footsteps sounded outside, followed by voices that lingered and then, after a minute, moved on. My gaze flicked over Zach, my stomach heartsick. Pero, my Pero, was in there, and yet, he wasn’t.

This was impossible. Everything I had ever learned told me what Zach and I were experiencing just did not happen.

But.

“You’re military?”

He nodded, shrugging off the shoulder of his flannel shirt and pulling up the right sleeve of his t-shirt to show me the bottom half of an intricate tattoo on his shoulder. “Semper Fi. Marines. Buzz cut grew out.”

I ate up the extra view of his body, greedy to know where he would be the same, and where he might be different.

“Glad I never saw anything like… the Tao Tei in Afghanistan,” he said shakily, a self-deprecating laugh escaping his lips.

I held his gaze. “It was an experience. Are you.. I take it you don’t still serve?”

“Nope. Three tours and an honorable discharge, two years on the street, but for the past five I’ve had a steady job. A roof over my head.” He summed up his life so flippantly; his delivery really reminded me of Pero’s nonchalance about death.

I sell my sword for coin, I sleep when fighting has exhausted me, and one day I will die and return to the earth. Simple, don’t you think?”

“Um, so... can I get you a coffee?” I asked, swiping my hands over my eyes. It felt like a monumentally banal thing to say seeing as this man now seemed to hold every memory my dead husband had ever clocked up, but I didn’t have anything else.

“Got any whiskey?” he half-laughed.

“I wish I did.”

“I’m good. Drank about a gallon of it at the hotel. Nerves. I, um…” He lifted those cocoa eyes to mine, and for a second, a heartrending second, it was Pero looking at me. My pulse tripped. “This is... fuck, this is a lot. I really…” He clenched his hands into fists, drawing my attention to that birthmark, the same lines, lines I had drawn, only in that brown shade of skin pigment. “I wanna touch you. Or he does. I don’t know. But… can I? Is that okay? I can’t think about anything else.”

Twin zings of excitement and fear skidded up my spine. “Um… okay.”

Neither of us moved.

Zach laughed nervously, standing. He towered above me as I sat in the corner next to my computer chair. I let my gaze travel up his body, long legs in faded blue jeans, a flat stomach under that white t-shirt, the lines of his torso delineated by the open plaid shirt.

His eyes were soft as he offered his hand again, palm out flat.

This time, when I took it, no lightning. Just a warm touch. His fingers sure and confident around mine.

He tugged me gently to a standing position, until we were only a foot apart, then he let our joined hands fall to our sides. We stood together like that for goodness knew how long, looking into each other’s eyes; his so familiar and yet so new.

Zach lifted his free hand to gently skim his thumb along my jaw, and just like that, the air changed. Each breath I took seemed supercharged as I gazed into his big, soulful eyes. “Zach,” I whispered, and it didn’t feel wrong.

He slowly lowered his head to mine, his eyes constantly flicking to meet mine, checking it was okay. Checking I was okay.

And then just before our lips met, a shudder went through him, and he whispered, “Cielo,” with just a hint of Spanish melody, and there was no way in hell he could have known that word unless-

And I yanked him down to me and kissed him with all the love and yearning and grief in my heart, and he kissed me back. His hands came up to spread over my back, and the warm, solid wall of his chest felt divine. 

Perfect. 

Bliss.

I opened for him, and he licked into my mouth, his teeth scraping just a little, and I welcomed the tiny hurt, pressing closer into his body. His lips were Pero’s lips, his little shaky inhale the way Pero would sometimes suck in a breath when we kissed. I shoved my hands beneath his open plaid shirt, felt the play of muscle on his back, under the soft t-shirt, and it was like holding Pero. I sobbed into Zach’s mouth and he drew back, frowning.

“Sorry,” I choked out. “I’m sorry. I -”

“I know,” Zach whispered, stroking my hair back. “I was there. He - I - loved you … He loved you. More than anything.”

I squeezed my eyes shut, pressing my lips together to stop them from trembling. “This isn’t happening. I would give anything to have him back. Anything. But this is… it can’t be real.”

Zach cupped my cheek, his eyes dark, stormy, and for a moment it was my husband looking at me. “Ask me something only he would know.”

I opened my eyes again. This was like living in an alternate reality of the film Ghost. But real. I felt the floor under my feet. I felt Zach’s palm against my skin, gun-callused, the same way Pero’s had been sword-callused.

“What did he say to me, when we... when I…” The words dried up on my tongue. Suddenly I didn’t want to share, which made no sense. “The first time,” I finished lamely.

Zach dropped his gaze from mine, a flush stealing over his cheeks. “Cielo. Heaven. I will not last,” he murmured, that Spanish melody sneaking, incrementally, into his tone.

My pulse spiked. 

No one could know that.

He met my eyes again. “Fuck. I know. This can’t be happening. But it is. Unless we’re both suffering the same delusion.”

I half-laughed. “Unless. God, Zach. I’m sorry. I’m sorry about…. all this.”

“I’m not. I wanted answers to these insane dreams, to the burning feeling on my birthmark, and however absolutely batshit those answers are... I had so many moments over in Afghanistan, wondering what I was fighting for... where my life was going. Always thought - it’s so stupid, but always thought I was just waiting for something. And maybe that something is you.”

My stomach dropped. “Oh, Zach.”

He smiled lopsidedly. “Whatever this is, it doesn’t feel like just my twisted little secret anymore.”

“I-” My heart pounded. “Secret. Oh my God, secret. The axe.”

Zach’s gaze shot to mine, wonder sketched on his handsome features. “I know how to open it.”

*****

I’d never run so fast before. I skidded out of the office, Zach on my heels, past some very surprised visitors and down to the artefact storeroom. I could only hope that no one had been there since the day before yesterday.

Zach stood silently by, but I saw his hands clenched into fists by his side as I swiped my keycard.

It was still there.

The door slammed behind us as I lurched on to the floor, picking it up, uncaring about being without cotton gloves.

Zach held out his hands, and I passed it to him. He gazed at it in wordless awe, his eyes poring over it, fingers stroking reverently.

Then he turned it over, pressed his thumbnail into the slice representing Pero’s scar in the carving on the bottom, and the handle turned, loosening.

I gasped in shock, surprise, joy.

Zach gently pulled the haft loose to reveal a shallow compartment in the metal handle, two pieces of parchment and a loop of crimson lying inside, like the finest of treasures.

With hands that shook, I took out Pero’s handfasting bracelet. The edges were frayed, the fabric so old it had discoloured, but it was his. I lifted it to my lips, felt my heart wrench from my body.

Zach had set the axe down and held the pieces of parchment in his palms. His eyes were wide as he breathed, “I wrote this. I mean, he did. But I remember writing it.”

I paused, the dusty, faded bracelet pressed to my cheek. “What?”

He showed me the yellowed parchment, the writing faded beyond recognition. “The words are almost gone. But I was there. I - he - wrote it while you slept. On the handfasting night.”

The world spun. I braced myself up on one arm. “Would you read it? Please.”

Clearing his throat, Zach closed his eyes, and to my amazement and joy, to my sadness and gratitude, Pero’s voice left his lips.

Querida

You sleep as I write this. My wife, in our bed. Your body and soul more beautiful than I could ever have wished for, in this life certainly. I am not good with words, mi vida, but you must know that you hold my old, scarred heart in your hands.

I think perhaps, you always have. 

If you are reading this then I have gone with God, but whatever He may have planned for my old bones, I will carry you with me always.

Until we meet again,

Yours,

Pero 

When he’d finished, tears streamed unashamed down my face, wetting my jeans. I couldn’t have cared less.

Zach’s face was drawn, too. He set the two pieces of paper aside and opened his arms, and without a second thought, I crawled into them. He rocked me gently, and I pressed my face into his neck, breathing him in; he didn’t smell of Pero, he smelled of rosemary and sandalwood and coffee, but it wasn’t wrong.

“Thankyou,” I whispered into his shirt. “Thank you, for letting my hear his voice, just one more time.”

Zach said nothing, just nodded. He understood. He always would.

We sat that way for I didn’t know how long. Eventually I roused myself. “Zach?”

A soft chuckle rumbled from his chest. “It’s still me. I think,” he drawled, American again, but that husky-edged voice curled its way into my heart.

“What’s the other piece of paper?”

He lifted one arm to pluck it from the floor. “It’s… what is this language?”

I recognised the penmanship. “Oh my God, it’s Gaelic.” I scrambled off his lap, reaching for my phone. This piece of parchment had been wrapped inside the other, and the words had been mostly preserved. I took a picture of the text, uploaded it to the translation app a colleague at the British Museum had developed. While still in beta, it nevertheless contained many ancient languages.

Within a few moments, a translation appeared, and Zach and I gazed down at the screen as I read aloud:

Jade

The thought that this message may find you in a future many, thousands of years from now gives me pause, I must admit, but since fighting those… Monsters, I find nothing surprises me.

We gave your husband a warrior’s wake. That I swear to you. Lin saw to many of the details personally. After your rooms were cleared I found a note in his hand and I enclose it here.

We captured a Tao Tei in the days following Tovar’s death. We fed Ballard to it. A fitting end for such a waste of air, I think you’ll agree.

And after that, the strategists found the Queen. We think we’re halfway to learning how to be rid of them. Once and for all, I pray.

A year has passed since you and Tovar left me. As I write this, Lin sits beside me with our twins, Jade and Pero, named for the man who saved Lin’s life, and the woman he loved beyond the boundaries of time.

I don’t know what will happen when we die, but we will keep Tovar’s axe in our family as best we can. Lin says she trusts the spirits to take care of it, and after all I’ve seen here, I can’t disagree with her. 

She wouldn’t listen even if I did.

We miss you.

With love,

William Garin

*****

A/N: One more chapter to go on this journey. Thank you, thankyou, thankyou for all your love, comments, messages, reaction gifs, theories, THANKYOU x 1000000000. Thank you for indulging my insanity.

Tagging: @babybelou​ @theravenreads​ @vanillabeanlattes @alienprincesspoop​ @knittingqueen13​ @lackofhonor​ @holographic-carmen​ @thewayofthemandalorian @buckstaposition​ @thegreenkid @agirllovespasta​ @chews-erotically​ @apples-of-february​ @mstgsmy​ @songsformonkeys​ @synystersilenceinblacknwhite​ @buckysalefty​ @readsalot73​ @restingnurseface​ @opheliaelysia​ @emmy-dandiliom918​ @prdsdjarin​ @a-seeker-of-imagination​ @havenforafrazzledmind​ @badassbaker​ @thewaythisis​ @kindablackenedsuperhero @keeper0fthestars​ @starlight-starwrites​ @agentpike​ @alldatalost​ @littlemissthistle​ @cryptkeepersoul​ @stylelovechild​ @maryan028​ @seawhisperer​ @emesispo​ @beccaplaying​ @hdlynn​ @jaime1110​ @marydjarin​ @ahopelessromanticwritersworld​ @mrsparknuts​ @pinkzsugar​ @cutepurplehedgehog​ @ksgeekgirl​ @skdubbs​ @roxypeanut​ @usernameistooshort @tortles​

[house-of-playboys]

PARK CHANYEOL: Birthday Suit

𝐊𝐈𝐍𝐊𝐒 𝐈𝐍𝐕𝐎𝐋𝐕𝐄𝐃:

↳ᴍᴏᴍᴍʏ ᴋɪɴᴋ

↳ғᴏᴏᴅᴘʟᴀʏ

↳ᴀɴᴀʟ sᴇx

↳ᴇᴅɢᴇᴘʟᴀʏ

↳ʙʀᴇᴀᴛʜᴘʟᴀʏ

↳ᴘᴏᴡᴇʀᴘʟᴀʏ

↳ᴏʀɢᴀsᴍ ᴅᴇɴɪᴀʟ

□ □ □ □ □ 0%

Chanyeol flitted around your shared apartment, mentally checking and rechecking everything he had planned. Cake - check. Bedroom decorations - done. Your presents? Yup, all on the table, perfectly wrapped (with Suho's help, of course! He couldn't afford his clumsy ass messing up at the last minute. He promises he did everything else on his own though!).

It's extremely hard to avoid biting his lip in anticipation of your arrival, not wanting to mess up his perfectly glossed lips, as he glances at the clock yet again. His pale cheeks flush every once in a while as his mind wanders through the material he's wearing underneath everything, contrasting well with the crisp black suit above.

Channie always thought he was a little too masculine to be the perfect submissive; too outrageously tall, too clumsy unlike his shorter, more feminine, more fragile hyung, Minseok. He always wonders how come you chose him amidst so many different better options like Baekhyun and Jimin and even fellow rapper Yoongi, who seemed to fit the image of a submissive quite well, but then he thinks of how physicality doesn't really matter in the bedroom, it's the way you carry yourself; it's all about aura, all about preferences rather than appearances. After all, you and his Minseok hyung were both great examples of that: Minseok hyung, who was dainty, fragile yet so dominant that there was no doubt about it once you saw his nature in the bedroom. His hyung and even you had reassured him numerous times that it didn't matter, yet he couldn't help but feel insecure sometimes.

He cleared those thoughts from his head. You were right: it didn't matter.

All that mattered, all he wanted was to be good for you. A good boy, just for you. Mommy's sweet little baby boy.

■ □ □ □ □ 20%

He wipes his clammy hands as he hears the doorbell chime, grabbing the bouquet of flowers he had gotten for you before opening the door. He's... in awe. It's like the breath has been knocked out from his lungs and you're the oxygen to make him breathe again. Does eyes wide, mouth unable to close from how slack his jaw is, he looks at you, standing there in front of him in all your stunning glory.

"Cat got your tongue, Channie?" You smirk slightly. Pastel pink pumps adorn your feet, black pantyhose contrasting them so sinfully. The high collared blossom pink dress shows barely any skin except for your bare arms and yet he's so enamoured, so entranced; he'd always been a captive to your beauty. And like Stockholm Syndrome, you're his salvation, his dream, the one he'd submit so wholly to. He manages to close his mouth, stuttering out a raspy "H-happy Birthday, Mommy." , hastily handing the flowers to you before stepping aside to let you enter.

Your mouth parts in surprise as you take in the effort he put in just for you. Red and white seems to be the theme for today as you drink in the sight of your apartment. When he had sent you to the spa for a day of relaxation, you had immediately picked up on his intentions but seeing all his efforts, the decorations, the somehow perfectly cooked food (probably Kyungsoo's doing) and a pile of gifts to the side (no doubt with Suho's assistance) just felt so special. Even though you knew he would surprise you, experiencing all of it was something entirely else.

■ ■ □ □ □ 40%

After dinner, and cake!, Yeol sweeps you to the bedroom, seating on the bed as he moves to get something out of the mini fridge. Once again, your bedroom is encased in red and white, rose petals on your bed and on the ground, bed sheets neatly made yet sure to be messy later given you two's liking towards making a mess.

He turns back to you, cheeks as pink as your outfit as he approaches you with a big bowl of chocolate ice-cream; your favourite of course. Your eyes dance with excitement as you understand his motives. "Strip, babyboy."

Handing you the bowl, he shimmies out of his suit, tie long forgotten from when you had your first makeout session of the evening.

Soon, he's half naked and kneeling in front of you, breathlessly asking you if he can keep his pants on for the time being. Quirking an eyebrow, you decide to be lenient, body charged with the curiosity of what's beneath. Curling your fingers around his pale neck, you press your lips against him, pulling him up and onto you as you kiss him, fervently, like a prayer. Flipping him over, you lean his body against the headboard, kissing him once more.

"Safeword, Yeollie?"

"Red."

"Such a good boy."

He preens under the praise as you scoop up the now melty ice-cream; you'd always fantasized about licking it up those abs. Smearing it over his abs, you gauge his reaction; the soft gasp followed by a whimper leaving his swollen lips leaves you even more aroused than before, your eyes darkening as his brows furrow, back already arching as a tiny tremor goes through his body. "Oh, mommy~"

Getting down, you lower yourself towards his abs, eyes locked on him the entire time. You give a tentative kitten lick to his ice-cream-coated abs, reveling in the way his brows knit together, head thrown back, arms wide apart clutching the sheets, his body writhing at your touch. And the best part? The way he moaned out your name: "Mommy! Oh- oh mommy- mommy, more please!" Like it was a mantra, he chanted your name as you laid your tongue flat on his abs, licking up all the melty ice-cream.

Everything is so damn messy, the ice-cream mixed with your saliva sticking to his abs as you pour it over his abs even more, the coolness of the temperature riling him up as much as it did you. And God, is it messy. It's just way too messy and you're loving every single bit of it. You and Loey had never been hygiene freaks in bed (baths were a must in aftercare though!), so it was all good.

Seeing him strain against his dress pants makes you coo. "Aww, is the little baby hard? Oh honey, Mummy will make it better in no time. Let's get this off, shall we?"

His eyes widen slightly, cheeks blushing a deep pink as he squeaks out your name. It's too late though- you've already unzipped his pants in one go, sliding them down from where he kicks them off his legs. He's almost bare now save for one item of clothing, and your eyes are so unwaveringly focused on it that poor Channie gets all nervous and embarrassed, thinking you don't like it.

But your thoughts are so vehemently opposite of what he's thinking, your mouth watering at the sight of those pastel pink panties with a soft floral print right in the middle of them; God, you want to use those panties on him in every him way possible: shoving them in his mouth, pegging him while he's still wearing them, ripping them apart and then fucking him, the possibilities are endless.

"Mommy, Channie's sorry." He pouts, making you snap out of your daze and look up at him incredulously, licking your lips.

"Why on earth are you sorry, sweetie? For making Mommy dripping wet? For making her want you even more? For making her want to claim you in front of everyone?" You crawl up his body to align yourself with his eyes, loving the way his heartbeat speeds up as your voice lowers to a whisper. "For making me want to use these panties over and over again on you in every damn way possible, hmm Loey?"

"Oh. Mommy approves?" His eyes are blown wide in realization.

"Oh honey, Mummy very much approves." You send a bone-chilling smirk his way. "Hands and knees now, babyboy. Present yourself to me. You're gonna be good for Mummy won't you?"

"Yes, yes Mommy!" He's quick to comply, getting into position as he's always done. He looks so breathtakingly beautiful like this, like the most delicate flower you ever saw, bare save for those panties that were dampening now, and fast.

You grope his ass, feeling how firm he is, how soft. No longer able to hold yourself back, you tear off the wrapping paper - or should you call it a ribbon? - of your beautiful present, eliciting a soft gasp from said present. Channie's hell bent on surprising you various ways today, because peeking out his hole is a glass bead. Not even a plug, but goddamn vibrating anal beads, because your darling really wants it tonight.

Chanyeol simply pushes his forehead further into the pillows.

"I was thinking of eating you 'til you're a whining, whimpering mess, but it seems like you've already prepared for that." You raise your eyebrows. "The remote, Yeol-ah?"

He chokes out a raspy "f-first-t draw-drawer", moaning loudly when the vibrations increase suddenly when you retrieve the device. His knuckles are so pale from clutching the sheets, face scrunched up in an expression that screams ecstasy, and you can't help but raise the vibrations even more, intently listening to the rise in his pitch as he tries to keep himself from rutting into the mattress, not wanting to upset you on your special day.

You're so fixated on him that you don't even realize how you've stopped in the middle of the room just to toy with the remote's controls and see him cry out in pleasure, completely enraptured with the way his body trembles, cooing out soft words of encouragement at his whines. It continues on for a while and then you hear him.

"M-m-mommy won't you touch me? I-I- ah! a-ah! I need you to- oh, need you to fuck me. Hard, Mommy." His doe eyes are glossed over with both tears and the familiar haze of subspace as he looks up at you, cheek pressed against the mattress, hips jerking every once in a while, hands clutching the sheets in such desperation that it makes you snap out of your hungry daze, moving forward while stripping bare.

And then you're flipping him over, sliding a condom over his weeping dick, lubing it up. You align him with your equally soaked cunt, and for a moment you simply brush him against you, feeling him throb against your clit (or was it the other way around? You couldn't tell) as you throw your head, brows knitting together as your eyes squeeze shut, ragged breaths escaping your lips. Yeol watches your chest heave and mewls out softly as your folds caress his tip like a warm embrace. It's been too long.

Then you're slamming you're hips down 'til they grind against his own, loud groans being heard from both of you. Your hips rise again as you lean your head down, hair falling in a curtain around your face as you mould your lips together. One hand holds his hips down as you bounce hard on him, the other snaking up his chest, making a pitstop to tease his nipples - and God, does he whine when you do that -, moving up until you curl it around his neck.

He moans uncontrollably against your lips, writhing more and more beneath you, so much that you have to smack your hand against his hip to keep him still. Tears spill down his soft cheeks as you tighten your grip slightly, squeezing rhythmically every time your walls clench around him. And he's so gone that he can't even do more than huff and puff and mumble incoherently. You angle your hips differently in search for that special spot, a strangled groan escaping your mouth when you finally find it, hips rising and lowering even quicker, wanting nothing more than for his tip to rub against it. You're getting closer, and so is he.

"Don't even think of coming before Mommy does, Yeollie." You gasp out, making him whine only to be quietened with a sharp smack to his thigh. You slow down, dragging out both your orgasms, and he sobs in frustration and pleasure. You continue to tease both of you, bouncing slower in deeper, more calculated strokes, a collective shudder passing through you two every time his condom clad tip rubs deliciously against your sweet spot. It's sin, nothing but pure sinful pleasure, and you want to bathe in the afterglow of it. Yeol continues to huff and puff, broken whimpers leaving his mouth, an occasional cry leaving his mouth when you squeeze his throat a little too pleasurably. It's like, like he's given himself up to you: fully, completely, undeniably yours - and nothing else but that.

The thought riles you up, and you ride him harder now, speed gradually increasing to the point where your hips ache and your core throbs. He's crying out in ecstasy as your core clenches around his stiff cock, nails raking down his chest, leaving angry red welts that he would admire all morning tomorrow. "That's it, Yeollie, scream louder, honey. There we go, that's such a good boy, my loveliest baby, Yeollie. You make Mummy feel so good, my darling, so loved."

"Yeollie feels loved too, Mommy!"

Theres goes your heart (if it was even alive at this point, considering how pretty he's been tonight).

"Mummy's gonna- ah, cum now, baby- ah! Such a good boy, aren't you, honey? So good, so good, so precious. And all mine. Mine, and only mine."

You're panting, voice breathless from how perfectly he fits around you, how perfectly he rubs that spot. You reach down to rub your outer folds, breathlessly hissing out his name as you shudder, cumming over his cock.

He throws his head back, eyes squeezing shut as you clench around him, a whimper escaping his mouth. "Mommy, please? Let baby cum, please?"

His watery doe eyes make you soften, cooing at how pliant he is, how obedient and patient. The perfect little boy for you.

"Cum, Yeollie."

You swallow his deep moans with a kiss, teasingly squeezing his throat one last time.

■ ■ ■ ■ □ 90%

Aftercare with your babyboy is always so damn soft. Like, it's just so soft, there're no other words to describe it. You clean him up first because, well, baby deserves it. And then after you've cleaned yourself as well, you limp to the kitchen, while reveling in the pain because yes, get some comfort food and cuddle with your lovely boyfriend on the bed. You feed both of you guys because Channie just turns to soft, mushy, light-headed goo after sex and he can only pout and rasp out soft "Mommyyy"s, not that you mind babying your lovely baby; Channie deserves the world, after all.

"Mommy, Channie's sorry for not being there to wish you on your big day." He pouts, yet you're quick to reassure him, heart sinking to see him still apologetic like this.

"Honey, no. You were on tour, and Mommy understands. Besides, Yeollie made Mommy's day so special, you know? Do you know how happy you make me, baby? How happy you made Mommy feel today?"

"...weally?" You coo so hard at that.

"Mhmmm. Loey's my bestest boy ever. Mommy's lovely little babyboy." He beams adorably at that, and your chest swells with happiness and warmth and pride.

Being a male submissive, and especially one who would willingly bottom to a woman doesn't come with acceptance, especially when he's a tall hunk who, according to society, should be a smouldering alpha male. He could have left you, and even now, he has a hard time loving himself for who he is, but you're there, you'll always be there- and it means the world to him.

So you love him, with every fibre of your being, and he reciprocates it with his all, because you two have been through a lot since you first met; you've shared the same rejection, targeted with the same hate, and now you both just don't care nor do you want to care. You just want to love and be loved. And so you do just that, feeding him some fruit, running your hands through his tousled locks, telling him how good he's been, how lucky you are to have him, how much you love him.

And when he smiles, it's like nothing else matters. Just this smile. Just this moment. Just him, just you two, and nothing else. Because he looks so beautiful, so breathtakingly beautiful that you could gaze fondly at him 'til the end of time.

And he's worth it.

                            ■ ■ ■ ■ ■ 100%

𝑭𝒐𝒓 𝒁𝒐𝒆♡

[set-phasers-to-whump]

feel the heat

prompt: overheating

whumpee: nick burkhardt

fandom: grimm

hi! welcome to my first fic for @summer-of-whump! i’m super excited to be doing this event and finally getting back into writing lmao. shit has been crazy but now i get to relax and beat up my faves :) hope you enjoy this one!

“It’s gonna be a hot one out there today, Portland,” announces the DJ on the car radio. “Temperatures are expected to rise into the high nineties and possibly even break 100, so stay cool if you can.”

Hank casts a glance at Nick, who even today is wearing his usual long-shirt-long-pants outfit. “You’re gonna melt, man,” he warns, making the turn that’ll lead them to their latest crime scene - a body at the top of Mt. Tabor Park, stabbed to death and discovered by a jogger early that morning. 

Nick shrugs. “I’ll roll up my sleeves if it’s really that hot.” Privately, though, he has no intention of exposing his arms today. They’re covered in some fairly scary-looking and difficult-to-explain marks, courtesy of a run-in with, of all things, an unusually angry and confrontational Eisbiber. He’ll sacrifice a little discomfort in exchange for no one wondering what the hell kind of animal he’d gotten into a confrontation with.

They arrive at the park, climbing out of the car and into the sweltering midday heat. It’s a bit of a walk up the hill to their murder scene, and by the time they arrive Nick is already feeling the effects of his ill-chosen clothes. But there’s nothing that can be done about it now, so he pushes the discomfort aside and approaches the body. 

‘Stabbed to death’ seems somehow like an understatement in this particular case. The body is absolutely covered in stab wounds, each one at least two inches long and the majority of them fairly deep. Someone had certainly been angry, or had wanted to be really sure that this person was dead. 

“Damn,” Hank says, which sums up Nick’s feelings on the matter quite well. He takes a step closer to the body, then looks up suddenly as something catches his attention. It’s a person, he realizes, trying very hard to sneak away from the area unnoticed. But they must sense his attention, because all of a sudden they start running. Naturally, so does Nick.

Hank’s eye catches the movement at the same instant that Nick takes off running down the other side of the hill. Someone is racing off through the trees, dressed all in black and obviously fleeing something, presumably the police presence at the scene of the murder they committed. He starts running as well, and although Nick has a couple seconds and his Grimm-ness to his advantage, Hank catches up to him after no more than a minute, panting, with his hands braced on his knees. He’s definitely regretting his choice of clothes right now, Hank thinks, scanning the scenery around them for any signs of their possible killer. 

“Lost them,” Nick voices Hank’s thoughts as he straightens up. He gives Hank a rueful sort of half-smile and then takes a look at the hill they’ve just run down. He really wishes that they didn’t have to climb back up it. He feels sort of...odd. Weirdly dizzy, and way too tired for the fairly small amount of running he’s just done. That’s probably not good, he thinks, and then starts the unavoidable walk back up. 

Hank walks beside Nick, who is walking at a slower pace than normal. He wonders why in the hell Nick doesn’t roll up his sleeves, or at the very least undo the top button of his Henley. Hank himself is hot and more than a little uncomfortable in his t-shirt and lightweight pants, and he can only imagine how much more uncomfortable Nick must be. Maybe it’s a Grimm thing, he figures. Maybe Nick is less sensitive to extreme temperatures, or something.

Nick so desperately wishes that Grimms were resistant to the heat. But if anything, it feels like he’s more susceptible to it. The air is like a thick blanket wrapped way too tightly around his body, slowly suffocating him, cutting off the air to his lungs and making him feel like he might just collapse at any second. He imagines his choice of clothes today is also not helping, but his arms feel too weak to reach up and undo a button, and the sleeves are a non-starter regardless. At least they’re almost to the top of the hill…

Nick and Hank step back into the main part of their crime scene just as the techs are packing up. Wu waves them over from where he’s standing next to a bench, looking at something in his notebook. “We’re just about done here, unless you guys noticed anything else while you were running away?”

Hank waits for Nick to tell Wu about the person they’d seen fleeing, but after a second it becomes clear that Nick must be expecting Hank to speak, so he says, “we saw someone running off down the hill. We followed them, but they got away. I didn’t get a good look - just that they were dressed all in black. Did you get a better look?” He turns to Nick with the question. 

Nick shakes his head once, then immediately stops when the world starts spinning. He closes his eyes and takes a few deep breaths, pushing down a sudden, intense wave of dizziness and nausea. Something is wrong, he thinks, but he has no idea what it is. 

“Nick? You good?”

Nick opens his eyes at Wu’s question. “Yeah,” he manages to say. He thinks he should probably elaborate a little, but he really doesn’t have the energy. 

“O...kay,” Wu says, glancing between Nick and Hank like he’s maybe missed something. Hank, for his part, is looking at Nick, who is looking a little bit off. His face is pale, his eyes are unfocused, and he generally looks kind of miserable. But before he can ask Nick whether he’s really okay, Wu is continuing. 

“If that’s all you guys saw, I’ll let the Captain know. I don’t know how much we’ll be able to do with ‘running figure, dressed all in black,’ but it’s something.” He pauses for a second, wipes a hand across his forehead. “They must be crazy, wearing head-to-toe black in this heat. Now, I think I’m gonna retreat to the air conditioning in my patrol car, if you don’t mind.”

With that, Wu heads off, meandering down the path to where his car is parked. 

“Let’s follow him,” Hank says, starting off after Wu. “Some air conditioning sounds pretty damn good to me right now.”

Nick tries to follow him, but his legs feel like they’ve suddenly turned into lead. “Hank,” he says, reaching out a hand to try and tap Hank’s retreating shoulder. 

He misses wildly, obviously, but Hank turns around anyway. “You okay?”

Talking feels like the most difficult task in the world, but after a moment of intense concentration, Nick is able to string a few words together. “I feel…” 

How does he feel again? Oh. Right.

“Really bad.”

His knees choose that exact moment to buckle, and fortunately Hank has also chosen that moment to hurry back over to Nick. He catches him before he hits the ground, then wraps an arm around Nick to keep him standing. 

This close, he knows something isn’t right. Nick is shaking, and far sweatier than he should be, even considering his warm clothes and recent physical activity. Hank puts a hand to the side of his neck and feels Nick’s pulse, which is absolutely racing beneath his fingers. His skin is strangely cold to the touch. Heat exhaustion.

“We need to cool you down,” Hank says firmly, moving his arm to wrap around Nick’s waist as he begins walking towards the car. 

“Wha’s happening?” Nick mumbles, his feet dragging along the ground. He tries to make them move, but they refuse. He feels so bad. 

“You have heat exhaustion, and if we don’t cool you down, you’re going to have to go to the hospital. This turns into heatstroke and it can kill you,” Hank says, reaching into his pocket with the hand that’s not currently preventing Nick from faceplanting into the ground and grabbing his keys. 

Nick catches the words “exhaustion,” “cool,” and “hospital,” and immediately uses what little strength he currently possesses to try and pull away from Hank. “No hospital,” he says pleadingly. He hates the hospital.

“You won’t have to go to the hospital as long as you cool off,” Hank repeats. He pushes the unlock button on the keys. “We’re almost to the car, and then you can sit down and we’ll turn on the air conditioning and get you some water.”

“‘Kay,” Nick agrees, again having heard approximately half of Hank’s words but getting the general sense of what they mean, which essentially boils down to no hospital, which is more than good enough for him. 

They reach the car at long last, and Hank carefully leans Nick against the side of it as he opens the passenger door. He guides Nick inside and closes him in, then circles around the front of the car and gets into the driver’s seat, wincing at the stagnant heat trapped in the car. He quickly turns on the engine and cranks the air conditioning on full blast, slamming his door. That done, he leans into the backseat, searching for the water bottle that he knows he’d left in there the other day. He finds it underneath the seats and pulls it free triumphantly, then hands it to Nick. 

“It’s gonna be warm, but it’s better than nothing. Drink it all,” he instructs. 

Nick doesn’t say anything, but his shaking hands twist off the cap, and he drinks the whole bottle. It is unpleasantly warm, as Hank had warned, but it feels like the best thing in the entire world anyway. He actually starts to feel a little bit better, and cautiously opens his eyes. 

And promptly shuts them when the world starts spinning again. ‘A little bit better’ from ‘really bad’ is still pretty bad, evidently. 

“Try putting your head down,” Hank says, gently prying the empty bottle from Nick’s hands. “It might help with the dizziness.”

Nick complies, resting his head between his knees and trying to take a few deep breaths. He feels Hank reach across him and buckle his seatbelt, and then they’re moving, and he’s suddenly very glad that he’s already in the anti-dizziness position. 

“Where we going?” he asks quietly, when he feels somewhat like he can speak.

“My place,” Hank says. It had seemed like the easiest option. It’s closer to the park than Nick and Juliette’s, and certainly closer than the precinct or Monroe and Rosalee’s. He answers the question he’s sure Nick would be asking if he felt up to it. “I texted Wu and told him. He said he’d let Renard know that we’d both be taking off early today.”

Ordinarily, Nick would argue against this decision, try to insist that he is fine and fully capable of going back to work. But honestly, he feels so far from fine right now, and the thought of lying down on Hank’s couch with the fan going and a nice cold glass of water sounds like heaven. So just this once, he doesn’t fight it. He lets Hank take care of him.

thanks for reading this! i hope you enjoyed :) i did a lot of research on temperatures and heat exhaustion and whatnot for this and had a good time lol. also i feel the need to say idk if we ever know where hank lives so the part ab him living closer to the park is just made up on my part. 

[thedumbguywithaheart43]

BoomLords weird adventure

Chapter 5 reluctant companions

Rairty spoke up."excuse me darling what is the crazy stallion saying?"Twilight was spaced out for a moment trying to process what she had just done. Apon realizing Rairty was speaking she snapped back to reality."what oh Rairty. Sorry uh he was talking about me helping him to uh shit"She blinked, wincing as she couldn't get the thought of what she had just done out of her head. She didn't intend to create Rose fire in fact in that moment she had wanted to kill him to render the flesh from his bone, it was as if another creature had entered her head for a moment and fueled her rage."I think I have to go with him."before she could explain why."WHAT ARE YOU TAKING ABOUT HE JUST MESSED WITH YOU AND THE PRINCESSES HEADS!"rainbow yelled."I merely showed them what they wanted to know however to be honest I didn't expect this to happen. I had been looking for the rose fire in every world every terrifying, every cruel, and every unforgiving place in the Omniverse. But it turns out all I had to do was accidentally induced fear and rage into a horse."the pony stared at him for a moment."He's telling the truth and now that we know what's at stake we have no choice but to help."Celestia stated her tone was dark however as if she was doing something she wasn't so sure she wanted to."h-how long until it happens?"Boom and Celestia stared at each other for a moment. It was clear Boom really didn't want to answer this."could be days could be another year time works differently for me but if I had to give a rough estimate maybe a year or two or less."Celestia took a gulp of air as she looked to her fellow ponies. She looked as if she was holding back tears."my little ponies I ask no I beg you all to go with him this is no longer a matter in my control and I cannot force you to partake in this. What he is asking is dangerous beyond anything any of you have ever faced and while he may only require Twilight I would never send my student alone into what I was shown."this time no one spoke not even dash because when princess Celestia tells you shits about to go down it's going to go fuckin down. And in unison without hesitation without regret without fear all the ponies and Spike responded"were in!"boom looked at the group of ponies a look of discontent on his face."fuckin great I'm babysitting a whole party."most of the ponies ignored what he said with the exception of rainbow dash and Applejack."hey no one asked you"dash got in his face while AJ got close next to her."yeah that's right and don't think we're going to take our eyes off you for a minute partner. Not after what you just pulled.

2 spike walked over to the stallion cautiously"so how are we leaving? I mean you said we had to leave."well you see that's why I'm going to need my notepad and Pen also my satchel if you don't mind."a look of confusion re-entered the faces of everyone."oooo are you gonna draw us amagical portal to another dimension?"pinky blurted out as a few of the others started to chuckle."actually that's a pretty accurate assessment of what I'm about to do, in fact spot on."Twilights jaw nearly dropped as BoomLord began scribbling on the paper. Boomlord had drawn a nearly perfect circle on a piece of the notepads paper and in the center of it wrote the words, °home space°as he took the pen off the paper another electric golden ring started to form, the area within beginning to blacken about 10 ft away."okay everybody we're about to leave but don't worry I can send us back to this exact point in time give or take a few minutes so while we may be gone for who knows how long to the princesses it will only be a couple minutes."Boom that hope this comment would calm them however they're confusion only broaden. 'God how are they going to react when they all change'

3 boom was the first to enter the portal then Twilight followed by Pinky, rainbow,Applejack, rarity Fluttershy, and lastly young Spike. Boomlord looked down at himself. He was human again his blue jeans and thick yellow hoodie once again with him. Pulling back the sleeve he saw that the green fur that once covered his body was gone replaced with his light taned skin. Okay I hope everybody's ready for some exposition and descriptions. Boomlord looked back at the ponies first up was Twilight she had grown into a human form unsurprisingly. Her mane or I guess her hair had stayed the same she had fairly pale white skin and a few smalls freckles adorning her face she was also fairly short compared to Boom. Boom knew his height was about 5'7 give or take so Twilight had to be about 5'4 or 5'3 she wore a purple t-shirt and a darker purple skirt with pants to go with it all put together with very nice sneakers which all the girls have with the exception of rarity and Applejack. Pinky on the overhand was definitely much taller than Twilight in fact she was about the same height as boom. She wore a striped blue and pink shirt with a polka dot skirt and light pink leggings she had average white skin no major tan or anything although she did have pink nail polish on. Dash was next she still had her rainbow hair but she was on the shorter end with Twilight only being a inch or so taller along with fairly tanned skin as if she's been spending her days at the beach. She wore a plain blue sleeveless top and jean shorts her wings were also noticeably missing the same with Fluttershy. Speaking of Fluttershy her outfit was rather green she wore a green t-shirt with a yellow peace symbol on it and long jeans. Additionally in her hair she had is a flower crown witch she probably took off, besides that her skin was also fairly tanned. Applejack definitely took the show with her outfit she was wearing thick brown leather gloves and a brown leather vest with tassels on it. Underneath the vest was a plain white shirt covered in bits of brown dirt, and long stylish cowboy print jeans and good old-fashioned cowgirl boots. Applejack skin was also the most tanned being she was definitely the one who spent the most time outdoors. Also she and rainbow dash were the only ones with noticeable er muscle growth as even through their outfits they still kept their physical physique. Applejack and Fluttershy we're definitely the tallest of the group with Fluttershy being 5'8 and Applejack being at least 6'2.Lastly of the girls we have rarity wearing a clean white shirt with stylish blue diamond print in it, and a rather long dress to accompany it. Along her neck was a rather lovely diamond necklace and alot Lower down beautiful high heels. She also had the darkness pigment of her skin when compared to everyone else. Also sorry if that's not politically correct I'm not entirely sure what the correct term is now. Do feel free to let me know. As soon as the girls walk through the portal though most of them with the exception of Twilight who seemed almost familiar with the sensation of walking on two legs fell to the ground."oh no whats happing?"Pinky yelled and she started crawling on all fours along with Fluttershy. Dash and Applejack were occupied with balancing themselves on a desk next to them and rarity had somehow crawled her way to a sofa and dramatically pose."oh darling what has happened to us?"boomlord rolled his eyes as he knew he was going to have to teach them how to be human it also occurred to him where the hell was spike.

4 Then he saw it or well him. Unlike his fellow ponies Spike didn't turn into a human and no he did not turn into a dog. This isn't Equestria girls guys turning into a dog is really dumb and I already have one in the story. Spike's body had remained reptilian however he's noticeably taller now at least about Twilights size inner current form his body seemed to get longer and his claws along with it. His face has narrowed Abit becoming far more similar to his dragon freinds with the exception that he had a much longer neck which allowed him to survey his own body. Put it simply he looks more like what a small dragon would look like in our world if they existed."woah I look really cool!"spike yelled in excitement."ponies don't talk where I'm from so the portal has adjusted your body's to something a bit more familiar to me that I have set and in Spike's case I already had something in mind for dragons." Ponies now began to look around their surroundings. They notice they seemed to be in a rather decent sized living room a few desks a television ,yellow rug, a few lamps. The room seemed mostly normal only the walls and floor and ceiling all looked the same. It looks like the inside of a treehouse and where there was a window there was no... Well anything just an empty void."welcome to my home away from home a little place I made outside of the Omniverse and what I like to call free space, basically this entire place is an extension of a thought everything here with the exception of a few items were made from nothing. No magic and no magical effects can be taken here with the exception of the notepad so sorry girls but your wings and horns are temporarily unavailable don't worry when we go to other worlds you should be able to use them."Twilight rapidly blinked as she didn't expect well boom to look rather nice. He still had rather unkempt hair and the rings under the eyes but here the black in his eyes were gone however his irises remained red and gold. He had a warm smile or a warm fake smile and while definitely wasn't the biggest guy around he still had a rather fit physique. And the rarity was the first to comment on that"oh boom darling you look um..... Better than I would have thought."boom roll his eyes."well im far more comfortable like this."the girls who were having trouble standing took a few minutes to themselves to start copying the motions of Twilight who began pacing."uh hey are we safe here."like asked while moving around the girls who were rather surprised to see him as they did not expect such a change."spike looking badass today."rainbow dash teased.spike blushed slight as Boomlord spoke."well girls work going to have to set some ground rules since it looks like you'll be staying with me for a while."

(Oh one more thing because I know you're all wondering or at least some of you are wondering.

Breasts size from largest to smallest :Applejack dd followed by pinkie and Fluttershy then Rairty.twlight has the average size and rainbow dash is flat but that doesn't make her any less of a woman)

(not sure why I felt the need to put that there but I feel like some people just had to know)

[imagines-to-quench-thirst]

Dating a tattoo artist

Imagine: being a tattoo artist and your boyfriend being part of it

This was a fun idea I had. I hope you like it. Enjoy ❤️

Victor Creed

-he is here for it

-since his loooooonnnnggg life is well long he loves to tells stories of tattoo artists he met Japan, Brazil, New York, New Zeland...

-and you can bet that he will have the most elaborate tattoo you can think of since he said so

'You want a tattoo? From me?'

'Yes, I trust you.'

'That's the problem, Vic, you could end up with a dolphin tattoo on your arm.'

'.... Well... I still trust you?'

-after that, he was a little bug just to be on your good side which you took full advantage of

Being on top, commanding him? Sure

Handing you the remote even though it's next to you? Of course

Helping you choose an outfit even though you are indecisive and he has a short fuse? Hell yeah.

-when the day came you tattooed him a small quote that described him

"Tough times never last but tough people do"

(Robert H. Shuller)

'I love it. Thank you kitten.'

Loki Laufeyson

-Since he was in the cell for most of his life (in my universe that's the worst thing happening for him, he didn't die nor his mother) he doesn't know what a tattoo artist is he thinks that's an alternative art form he is supportive

-after you talk to him describing the definition of tattoos and the art behind it he is very much perplexed

'So mortals pay you to pierce their skin with black ink to paint...something????'

'Tattoo something on their skin and yes.'

'With pain in mind?????'

'Yes, and it looks awesome.'

-when he heard the story of your tattoo shop he decided to tag along to see the magic

-he saw how men and women tattooed others while they squirmed in their seats he chuckled at the sight of it

'Darling you could have told me.'

'What?'

'You torture people with the needle machines and coax them into paying you. Brilliant.'

'Suree~~~~'

-he stayed with you to help you with the pain giving without a medical license

'I'm a God. I'm above it.'

'No one is above the Inspection.'

Thor Odinson

-since his depression and weight gain he is very much informed of the world of MTV tattoo show "How far is tattoo far?"

-so he very much thinks that tattoos are a stamp of disgrace

-and keeping that in mind he is frazzled why are you doing a job like that

'You are a shame barer?'

'Shame-what...? Thor! I'm not. The show is a disgrace to the tattoo world.'

'Shame~~barer~~~'

'Just come with me and spend one day and see it for yourself.'

-Thor is reluctant much to his words but still, you sat him down in the waiting lobby he chats up the customers a.k.a big muscular dudes that are already tattooed from the neck down

'So... what is your shame? What horrible deed have you done to come here?'

'Excuse me!?'

'You must be here to condemn your shame by immortalizing it with a flesh sticker.'

-at this point, the muscle dude stood up ready to attack Thor but you intervene quickly

'Marc, stop!'

-the man turned around hiding his tight fist behind his back

'Y/n, already done? That's fast.'

'Marc, you know that you were released 7 months ago and you are still on parole. Come on. Stop it.'

'He insulted me and-and my tattoos. Your tattoos. You know how am about your work.'

-Thor hears that as stands up grabbing Marc's arm examining the tattoos in amazement

'My darling, I want that felsh sticker as he has.'

'.......... Sure........ Wait here. Let's go, Marc. I need to vent.'

Steve Rogers

-Steve knows what tattoos are since he has seen the stick and poke of his fellow soldiers but never a photorealistic tattoo in your portfolio

-he is very much intrigued how you made that look like a real person on someone's skin knowing very well there is no eraser

-loves to ask how do you achieve such colors that simply jump out or how you make a fabric that of a shirt or some patterns, he is armed with questions

-and since he is an art wizard himself he loves to have a painting duel with you, you paint on his skin with watercolors and he paints on the canvas

-that's one of his favorite moments

'What did you draw?'

'A dolphin kissing a penguin.'

'What?!'

'Just kidding I painted the building in Brooklyn where you lived.'

'Did I tell you how much I love you?'

Bucky Barnes

-this man thrives to see you fulfill your dream and passion

-especially when he picks you up, he parks the car exiting it and walking in seeing you talk to your employees and customers exchanging stories and laughs even though in the near distance is the buzzing sounds of the machine guns

-you see him and grab his hand giving him a peck on his lips as a cheeky grin is stuck on his face

-as you talk about your day he always asks the question

'Were there any wusses?'

-alluding to men who cried out form the stinging pain, eventually tapping out to take a break

'Yes, a big dude Marc. Ordered a neck tattoo with details. Tapped out in 15 minutes.'

'I knew it!'

-he enjoys in the hilarious stories you can make up... I mean tell

Bruce Wayne

-you already know the drill he has money he will give it to you but politely delined

-he tried to help with purest of heart but still, the answer was no

-he loved to see your shop filled with many customers as he walked incognito, sunglasses and a cap saying he wasn't a private appointment with the head tattooer

-Let's just say you were pretty much in tears of laughter as he reveled his face

'At least you tried, Bruce.'

-he loves to talk about tattoos and the process of healing if it's on top of a scar

-you are hooked on the conversation and even make him some sketches

'A huge dragon on your back with black and gold lining.'

'Okay but how about initials of my parents?'

'That sounds... Better much much better.'

-so the day of his tattooing comes you tattoo in his inner arm putting the letter T. & M. W.

'Thank you Princess.'

Clark Kent

-Clark loves to see the vast tattoos so much that he wants one but he knows that his body will "absorb" the tattoo too fast making it disappear in a few months maybe weeks

-but still, he loves to see how your gaze is sharp focused on the tattooing even when HE walks that is how much you are focused

'Alrighty, Marc you are done.'

'Thanks, Y/n, you are the best.'

-Clark also loves to hear the influx of comments of your artistry even if he's a little jealous

-he loves to see just how much you are happier to follow this insane passion

'You are an inspiration Y/n.'

'Why?'

'Because... You just are.'

Arthur Curry

-you already know that Fishman is tatted to perfection and he is here for a tattoo lover as well

-if you ever have someone asking for a Maori style tattoo Arthur will be a fair judge, that's what he says

Case#1

'Why do you want a Maori tattoo?'

'Um, sir beca-'

'It's Mr. Aquaman. Continue.'

'Oh, sorry. Mr. Aquaman, I want it because I find them cool.'

'Just cool? Do you think that the abundant culture of Maori people is cool? Go home boy.

Case #2

'You want a Ta Moko? Do you what that is?'

'Sur-sure, it's a tattoo of the Maori people.'

'Ufff... Do you know how much of a meaning Ta Moko carries? Why don't you go to the Yakuzas and get a tebori.'

'They would kill me.'

'Of course, and I'll whoop your uncultured ass with my two hands.'

-you turned to the now pale boy

'Run.'

-the man ran like the wind as the Aquaman caught him easily giving him a cultural lesson of Ta Moko

Orm Marius

-he kinda has a small soft spot for tattoos especially those with a loving meaning lover, family...

-and he likes to "inform himself" about it so he asks a ton of questions even asking what kind of tattoo would suit him

'I think a small red tattoo would suit your taste.'

'I like the tattoos who can hold audios.'

-with that sentence, he left you frazzled as you google and got the special ink kit gifting it to Orm as a present for being a nice guy and not killing anyone

-he immediately records his audio in secrecy and handing you the ink

-after you tattoo the ink you hand him your phone with the app to scan the audio

'Hey, Orm. I'm just reminding you that I love you. So much. It's Y/n if you forget... Somehow.'

-later that day you doused him with kisses

Joker

-that man oozes with tattoos *cough*damaged*cough*

-and you can bet that he wants more of them he brings into your home the whole tattoo parlor just so he can have a private session with sex mixed in

-you gladly tattoo him patching up some of his tattoos he has outgrown them

'Why did you tattoo Kick Me on your back?'

'I won a bet.'

'Are you sure you won?'

'For sake of this question I did.'

-you cover the kick me tattoo with a large red dragon with green eyes

-he stands up looking at the tattoo in the mirror

'Sweets, you just got a huge tip.'

Duncan Vizla

-for him, tattoo nowadays are dumb in his time tattoos were means of solidarity with people who are bounded by the same ink and gun

-but keeps his mouth shut about it not to offend your dream even if it's tattooing dancing hotdogs

-he loves to pass your parlor when he finishes grocery shopping just to see you in action

-he loves to arrive at the parlor if you are doing a night shift just to keep you safe and in good company

-he loves to bring you lunch and watch you eat it with such content and happiness

-it melts his heart and just wants to make you more food

-but as he is present for the good he is here for the bad

-if he is somewhere anywhere you just need to call him and he is there in a minute be it a drunken person not wanting to exit or an aggressive man trying to grope someone in the shop

-he is ready to kill them if you say so

'You okay sweetheart?'

'Um-yeah...Thank you Donut.'

'Nonsense. That's my duty.'

[patchdotexe]

gonna ramble abt hlvrai appearance headcanons bc im trying to figure out how to draw everybody

gordon: exhausted rectangle. bulky even w/o the hev suit. taller than coomer, shorter than bubby, usually on par w/ benrey unless theyre fucking around. honestly even tho i draw him the most i still have NO IDEA how to draw him. FUck you can never take ponytail gordon away from me. he has a short but fluffy ponytail and its cute. also has messy bangs, might bandwagon onto “gordon has a grey streak in his hair from stress” i keep waffling on his arm bc like. im v inconsistent w if he gets it back or not, or has a prosthetic, or w/e looks either tired or exasperated 75% of the time, like he Does have an emotional range but his resting face is Tired post-resonance cascade

benrey: long hair, really messy and always tangled. somehow fits it under their helmet. looks human, if rather pale. skin has a slight grey tinge to it. also looks like they havent slept in 5 years. eyes are in permanent shadow even w/o their helmet but it just makes them look More Tired. eyes always half-lidded & expression apathetic. starts looking Less human at certain parts, like having sharp teeth when being threatening or doing the Evil Cackle. has the thing where their eyes glow in the dark if you shine a flashlight at them (it scares the shit out of gordon). teeters on the edge of the uncanny valley scale relative to other people is always inconsistent, changes height when no one’s looking to mess with them and it’s always either very minimal or “something’s different about benrey but hell if i know what” or “wait since when was benrey That tall”. not really sure abt bodyshape so that also might be a bit fluid black hair, eyes are a v dark colour

tommy: very tall and lanky w/ super curly hair & freckles! might have a tooth gap idk, im kinda back-and-forth on it. been trying to draw him Actually Looking Like An Adult bc like. he’s older than gordon. i dont really have any hcs for species stuff so he’s just like. human appearing. WAIT ACTUALLY his eyes do the glow-in-the-dark thing bc i think thats cool. like, actually glowing, not like benrey’s “shine a flashlight at me and shit your pants” thing. his ability to survive despite his high caffeine&sugar intake might also be a biological perk tommy is just. long. long face, long nose, long body. tallest of the science team unless benrey cheats. brown eyes, but they glow kinda orange-yellow in the dark i kinda wanna give him like. sneakers w/ loosely tied laces but im worried abt making him Too Childlike in vibes bc of like. yeah. i just also want the 3 scientists to have Some kind of unique outfit quirk

coomer: looks soft but is actually strong as hell. he’s built like a bear. shortest member of the science team but could easily carry all of them at once (except maybe benrey, depending on benrey’s size) has no exterior signs of his cybernetic enhancements so gordon thought he was joking until the PowerLegs:tm: thing where he just. fucking launched himself like 100 feet. probably has like, synthetic skin over it or something iunno wears tacky hawaiian shirts under his labcoat and just. generally has Fun Grandpa vibes. rolls up his sleeves at some point and then they just Stopped Existing w/ the activation of superplayer very round shapes! hair is very fluffy. eyes are a dark green (same as “ominous text” colour)

bubby: second tallest behind tommy, also a bit noodley but not as exaggerated. tommy is long circle, bubby is Long Rectangle im really torn on drawing him with Sharp Teeth bc i love seeing other ppl draw him w/ that but it didnt really vibe with me when i drew it? so i dunno im workshopping it i guess. he does have eyes behind his glasses but his glasses are mostly opaque so its hard to tell sometimes. gordon isn’t sure how he sees has like.. god idk what to call them. the term coming to mind is “platform shoes” but there’s no way thats it. ACTUALLY YEA GOOGLE SAYS IT IS bubby wears platform shoes to be Even Taller but is STILL shorter than tommy

also some ocs under the cut fdhgkzjdfgh

andi: just over 5 feet tall, very chubby / potato-shaped. this man has No muscle mass. hair is Ridiculously fluffy & is dyed orange (his natural colour is brown). his right eye is a bit fucked up so he’s always squinting with it and it makes his expressions look really weird gdzhkdjghdfj he probably needs glasses but keeps leaving them at his desk which is definitely not something i do he’s the shortest & youngest member of the science team. he’s just barely shorter than coomer. coomer can also definitely throw him straight up and he’d never be seen ever again has his labcoat sleeves pushed up / rolled up (its inconsistent) to the elbow, & wears plain colour t-shirts under it. his boots help him feel taller some of our self-insert ocs have scars on their arm bc of personal shit and im still undecided on if andi has them too. if he does, he gets them during the black mesa incident

john: short kinda-curly hair, but has been considering growing it out post-game bc of like. gordon reasons. kinda scruffy-looking. less square than gordon is + different build, but theyre the same height at least. brown eyes, hair’s darker than gordon’s, skintone is lighter. doesn’t quite have the “resting tired face” p much exclusively wears beanies and hoodies, doesnt care too much abt his appearance so he looks like a Trash Man. starts rolling up his right sleeve post-act 3 to remind himself that his arm is, in fact, there (although he has difficulty using it bc his brain gives him like 500 errors)

[maddie-the-princess]

If you love me, Let me go (Part 2)

Fandom: Sanders Sides

AU: High School 

Pairing(s): LAMP

Summary: Virgil and his family are new to the neighborhood. He starts a new school where he learns to love himself, and maybe, love his new friends. 

Warnings: Virgil’s parents being jerks, some mild language

Thank you to @kuroyurishion for helping me with this chapter. Please enjoy the story. 

Chapter Two: Patton and Dee

Virgil’s POV

I was jolted awake by the blaring alarm on my phone. Groaning, I rolled over and turned it off. It was 6:45 AM, and it’s my first day at my new school. That’s just great. Reluctantly, I got out of bed and wandered into the bathroom to take a shower. A half-hour later, I got out and got dressed in whatever I can find in my dressers. I stood in front of my mirror wearing a Panic! At the Disco t-shirt, ripped black skinny jeans, black jacket and black converse. I put on my black eyeshadow, fixed my hair, and painted my nails black. I have now become fully emo. I heard my mom call me from downstairs.

“Virge, honey?” she yelled. “Breakfast ready!” I walked out of my room, bracing myself for what they’re gonna say about my outfit. ‘Please don’t tell me to change.’ I thought desperately. In the kitchen, he sees his dad reading the newspaper and his mom bustling around, putting pancakes and bacon on plates. She’s all smiles, but it vanishes when she sees me. She looks at my outfit with pursed lips. I grimace.

“Honey,” she says as politely as she can, “what are you wearing?” At her question, my dad finally looks up at his son with indifference. I grimace again.

“Isn’t that the same thing you wear everyday son?” my dad asks. My mom nods in agreement. 

“That’s right Virgil! This is your first day at a new school! You should make a nice first impression! You should wear something nice, and look presentable, and not look like,” she waved her arms, gesturing to my entire body, “that!” she concluded. Without another word, she brushed past me and went upstairs. “Hold on honey, you still have time to change. I bought you this nice shirt and sweater you can wear. And while you’re at it, take off your makeup, too. It’ll ruin your new look and-”

I heard enough. I grabbed a Tupperware from the cabinet and stored piles of bacon in it, before closing it tightly. Grabbing my bag, which contained my books, wallet, keys, and other necessities, I stormed out of the house without even a goodbye. I didn’t want to listen to my parents judge me for what I was wearing. I knew what my mom wanted me to wear, and there was no way in hell I was gonna wear that. Sighing softly, I walked to school, crunching on the bacon I stole from the kitchen table. My school wasn’t too far away, only about a ten-minute walk. 

The school wasn’t small, nor was it too big. It was perfect enough to house at most 400 students. I walked into the school cautiously. My heart was beating quickly. I pulled my hood up as I walked toward the receptionist’s desk. There was a young person sitting there with short hair colored a vibrant blue. Smiling, the receptionist beckoned me over. 

“Hello! You must be the new student!” the receptionist greeted me professionally. “My name is Talyn, they/them pronouns. And you are?” they asked. I was surprised. No one ever asked me for my pronouns before. Maybe this school will be different. I snapped out of my musings to answer them.

“My name is Virgil Sullivan. He/him pronouns.” I replied quietly. Talyn smiled and gestured down the hall to my left. 

“The principal would like to meet with you before classes start. Good thing you came early.” they said. “His office is the first door on the left.” I nodded my thanks and hurried over to the principal’s office. A man seated at a desk was talking to another man in a suit. They both looked at me when I walked in, making me nervous.

“Oh so you’re the new student!” the man in the suit exclaimed. He smiled warmly. “My name is Thomas Sanders, he/him pronouns, and I’m the principal of this school.” He gestured to the person at the desk. “And this is Joan, my secretary. They/them pronouns.” 

I smiled and repeated the greeting to Talyn. Joan nodded and typed something up on their computer. Thomas decided to make small talk with me. “Because you’re new, we’re gonna have someone with a similar schedule as yours to show you around.” he said. I nodded when I heard the printer spit out what I believed to be my schedule. I took it gratefully. Then there was a knock at the door.

A shorter boy with curly brown hair walked in. “Hello, I’m Patton Hart. Nice to meet you!” I swore there was positivity just radiating off of him and he was very, very happy. 

“H-hey.” Dang it, why did I have to sound so nervous. He's just going to show me around nothing more. 

“So can I see your schedule kiddo?” I nodded, his question bringing me out of my thoughts and back to reality. I handed the bubbly boy my schedule and he looked even more excited than before.

“We have Art together!!” he squealed. Well I guess he likes art, and that's something we have in common but why should I care? He's just going to show me around and then we will go our separate ways. I glanced back at him, he had a bright smile and looked really excited. Well maybe we’ll go our separate ways.

I followed him out into the hall and he immediately started pointing out people and saying hello. It was a little overwhelming, but I guess that's what he’s normally like. About 10 or so minutes later he had shown me where all my classes were and the bell rang. That was the five-minute warning bell. He gave me a hug before running off to his first period class. ‘Well, he was cut- nope he was nice and nothing more.’ I thought.

I turned back to my new locker and put a few of my books in, then headed off to math. Arguably the subject I detest most. It just doesn’t make any sense! Groaning when I reached my class, I walked in to find my teacher already standing in front of the class. She looked like the stereotypical no nonsense strict teacher, her hair in a bun and everything. Wordlessly, she pointed to a desk in the very back corner of class and told me to sit there. Well damn, I didn’t even get a chance to introduce myself. Silently, I sat down at my seat and took my textbook and notebook out, ready to at least try and pay attention. 

I worked for about ten minutes. I took notes on whatever she was teaching, and she handed out a worksheet for homework and let us do whatever we wanted for the rest of class. When she reached my desk, she also handed me the syllabus for the year and told me the basic rundown for her class. She asked me questions on what I learned in my previous school, what I needed help with, the usual questions. I answered whatever she was asking and she finally left me in my little corner. I sighed with relief. She didn’t seem to like me much. 

“Psst.” I heard someone whisper beside me. I looked over to see a tall boy wearing a yellow shirt with a black jacket. He had vitiligo, and honestly, he looked pretty cool. He had dark skin with paler patches, especially over the left side of his face. He grinned at me.

“‘Sup short stack.” he said teasingly. I huffed out a greeting. “You can call me Dee.” he continued. He leaned towards me. 

“What do you want?” I asked quietly. Dee hummed. 

“You look like you need a friend.” he replied. 

“Why?”

“Because, short stack, if you hadn’t noticed, all the preps in this class are looking at you like you’re fresh meat.” I was true. Looking around, people were looking at me strangely. They looked at my clothes, my makeup, my pale face. I could almost hear their whispering. My heartbeat quickened. Dee gently placed his hand on my arm. “Calm down. This is why I’ll help you. You seem cool, and I don’t want someone like you to fall victim to these guys.”

I nodded my thanks. “My name is Virgil.” I introduced myself quietly. Dee smirked. 

“I think you and I are gonna get along quite nicely.”

Anyone wanna be in my taglist? Let me know! 

Taglist: 

@sure-i-exist

[larkiwrites]

“Redemption” Chapter 15

AU: Supernatural Title: Redemption Chapter: Fifteen Characters: Dean Winchester, Sam Winchester, Reader Word Count:  2,759 Pairing: Getting There…. Warnings: Flashbacks, references to wounds from previous chapters A/N: This chapter flips between (Y/N)’s POV and more of Dean’s POV. Feel free to provide feedback / comments / suggestions / etc. Thanks for sticking around.

Chapter Fourteen  |  Chapter Sixteen   |   Masterlist

*Dean’s POV

It was pouring rain by the time Sam pulled into the parking lot of a small motel. They had three cabins, separate from the office building, and just as limited parking space. He quickly paid for one of the cabins and opened the door for his older brother. (Y/N) was still out, despite the seven-hour drive. They still had a good six or seven hours to go before they made it to Bobby’s and the brothers had agreed to pull off for the night. They were both worn out from the events that had unfolded in Ohio and it was obvious that (Y/N) needed some rest. Dean carried her safely into the cabin and sat her on the sofa. This was one of the nicest motels they had stayed in but more importantly, it was off the main stretch and out of the way a bit. The Impala wouldn’t be easily spotted from the highway and the brothers hoped they could legitimately recuperate a bit before heading back out on the road.

Sam brought in everyone’s bags as Dean found a blanket and covered (Y/N) with it. He sat in the recliner next to the couch and sighed, relieved to be out of danger and relieved to have (Y/N) back with them. Whatever she thought of them they could hash out when she woke. For now, at least, they were safe. Sam took a quick shower and claimed the bed in the loft of the cabin, falling asleep quickly. There was one bedroom just off of the kitchen but Dean didn’t want to scare (Y/N) with her waking up in a bed next to him or Sam, or to wake up alone, so the couch would suffice.    

Time passed slowly as Dean sat in the recliner, listening to the patter of rain on the roof of the cabin. He had found a fireplace in the corner and lit it up, bringing some warmth to the room. His eyes were drooping and his head began to nod until he shook himself awake. He was utterly exhausted but couldn’t let himself sleep knowing (Y/N) could wake up at any moment. The last thing he wanted was for her to try to run again, this time into a cold autumn storm and nothing around for miles. Instead he focused on the crackling flames in front of him and tried not to let his mind wander.

----

*(Y/N)’s POV

You woke to the comforting sounds of rain and fire, feeling dry and warm for the first time in what felt like ages. You allowed your eyes to flutter open despite the fear that this was a dream and that you were stuck back in that black hole. Shifting slightly, you realized you were on a cushioned surface and had several layers on you. The smell of leather and campfire surrounded you and brought flashbacks of your childhood to the forefront. The leather of a horse’s saddle, the heat of the fire when camping with your parents. The thoughts, combined with the memory of your own hands taking their lives, overwhelmed you. You gasped as you shot up to a sitting position and then cringed at the pain that blossomed from the gash in your abdomen where the tree branch had torn at you.

“(Y/N)?” Dean was by your side in an instant, concern filling his face.

“Dean?” the memories of him carrying you away from the man with black eyes surfaced and you were filled with a thousand emotions. You were beyond grateful for him and Sam getting you out of there, and hurt and confused at why they had hurt you to begin with. You were briefly scared of him, thinking back to the vague memory of being tied to a chair, but then you thought over everything the two had done for you since then and you shook it off. If they had wanted you dead, you would be dead by now.

“Yeah, (Y/N), I’m here,” his voice was soft, not something you had heard often, “What do you need? Water?”

You nodded, “Um, yeah, please,” the mention of water brought the realization that your throat was essentially sandpaper at this point. You tried to swallow but had no saliva. Dean was back with a bottle of water in the blink of an eye. You sat up fully, wrapping Dean’s oversized leather coat tightly about you. You needed a shower, some clothes, food, Tylenol, and probably more sleep- but you would settle for water.

“How are you feeling?” he asked as he sat in the recliner near you.

“Better,” you whispered; you voice raw. You sipped on the water, not wanting to over-do it and shock your system.

“You had us pretty scared,” he fidgeted with his hands, not sure what to do or say now that you were awake.

“Me too,” you paused as you took another sip of the cool liquid, “How did you find me, Dean?”

“Well, uh, (Y/N), Sam and I are hunters, for starters…” he cleared his throat and looked away, rubbing the back of his neck.

“So, you can track.” It wasn’t really a question, more of an acknowledgement.

“So, uh, are you hungry? Or do you want to shower? We really should get your side cleaned up; I just didn’t want to wake you. It was hard enough getting the damn handcuffs off of you,” he trailed off.

“Uhm, a little bit of everything. I’ll shower, first, I think you’re right, I need to get everything cleaned out and bandaged. I can eat after that.”

He nodded and stood, offering you his hand. You hesitated but accepted it and his help getting up and to the bathroom. He started the water for you as you took in your reflection. You looked like hell ran over. Dark circles lingered under your sunken eyes and your skin was pale, your hair was filthy and knotted like no other. You were tempted to shave your head before stepping into the shower but doubted the boys packed clippers. You didn’t notice Dean watching you as you took in the image within the mirror, so overwhelmed by your state.

“Here,” he helped you out of the warm embrace his coat offered and took it off your hands. “I’ll be just out here if you need anything, just yell,” his eyes glanced over you as you nodded in acknowledgement and he ducked out of the room, leaving you to yourself.

You stepped into the hot stream of water, gritting your teeth as it stung your open wounds. You let it cascade over you and coat your body, loosening your muscles as it went.

“(Y/N)?” Dean’s voice startled you out of your trance, “I thought you might need this,” his hand reached past the shower curtain, grasping a bottle of shampoo and conditioner two-in-one.

“Thank you,” you answered, taking the bottle from him. There was a bar of soap on the ledge of the tub that you used to wash your skin. It would dry it out but you honestly didn’t care at this point. The feeling of being clean would be worth it a thousand times over.

Twenty minutes later you exited the tub and wrapped a soft towel about your body. It dawned on you that you had no clothing and you began to cry. All of the pent-up stress on you physically and emotionally came to a forefront and tears broke free, streaming down your face.

“(Y/N)?” Dean’s voice came from the other side of the bathroom door. You took a deep breath, tried to wipe your cheeks of the moisture that had accumulated, and opened it to him.

“I, um,” you took another breath to steady yourself before continuing, “I have nothing to wear. It’s stupid, I know,” you trailed off, refusing to meet his eyes.

“Hey,” he pulled you into him, holding your fiercely, “It’s not stupid. You do have clothes, though,” he pulled away, gripping your upper-arms in his warm, calloused hands. You met his gaze and he smiled, “Hold on, I’ll grab your bag.”

“You brought it?” you asked, shocked that they had your pillowcase of clothes.

Dean was back within seconds, holding your things in his outstretched hand. His eyes met yours as you took it from him, your hand brushing against his. There was an emotion held in his gaze that you couldn’t quite pin-point, but between that and the recent physical contact you were a mess. God, (Y/N), get it together.

“Thank you,” your voice was small. You couldn’t bring yourself to look away from his forest-green eyes and seconds felt like hours as he stood there, his gaze locked with yours.

“Mhmm,” he hummed in answer before he cleared his throat and looked away, “I should, uh, you should,” he gestured to the bathroom behind you.

“Right,” you ducked your head and stepped backward into the room; your pillowcase clasped tightly in one hand.  

You lost the entire outfit you had worn when you were captured in the woods back in Ohio. You didn’t have much to your name before that and were left with few options now. Knowing that Dean or Sam would need easy access to your abdomen, your gash being in a spot you couldn’t quite reach yourself, you settled on a sports bra, an oversized t-shirt, and leggings.  You had washed your hair the best you could with how knotted it had become and you didn’t dare try to brush it out now. You tied it back out of your face instead, telling yourself you would deal with it after you had eaten and taken medicine for your headache. You checked the side of your head that had previously held sutures, trying to confirm it was healed over and had not become infected in the last few days, but you couldn’t quite tell with the small mirror and the low amount of light in the room. Sighing, you gave up and made your way into the sitting area.

The aroma of freshly brewed coffee filled the room, bringing you to a stop as you closed your eyes and breathed the scent in deeply. Between it and the smell of the roaring fire you had spotted in the corner of the room you were enveloped in comfort.

“Feel better?” Dean sipped at his mug before standing to get you a mug as well. He found a protein bar in his duffel bag and brought it over to you with the fresh cup of liquid ambrosia.

You hummed your affirmation and sipped the hot nectar, letting it coat your tongue and soothe your throat. You made quick work of the food and drink Dean had provided before asking for some acetaminophen, which he happily handed over.

“Do you mind if I take a look at your side?” he asked softly once you were finished. You nodded and stood from your position on the couch, lifting your shirt as you did.

Dean grabbed his first aid kit out of his duffel and came close to your side, hesitantly brushing his fingers over the undamaged skin near the wound. He was close enough for you to feel his warm breath against your flesh.

“It actually doesn’t look too bad, now that it’s all cleaned up,” he mumbled as he pulled out some antibiotic ointment and began to apply it to the cut. You closed your eyes as he worked, trying to force yourself to stop reacting to his touch the way that you did. What the hell is wrong with you?

“Can, I, uh, take a look at the rest of you?” he asked once he had finished taping the gauze in place on your side.

“What?” Your eyes widened slightly.

Dean chuckled and ducked his head before clarifying, “Wherever your hurt, (Y/N).”

“Oh, uh, yeah,” you turned away from him and lifted your shirt up, revealing the tiny scratches and rugburn that speckled your back. Dean hissed as he took in your wounds, his hand instinctually reaching up and running across your back. Goosebumps rippled over your skin at the feel, causing you to bite your bottom lip.

Dean went to work on patching up the deeper cuts on your back, making you take your shirt off entirely so that he could see your neck and move your bra straps. Thank heavens there as a fire lit and warming the room or you would have died, between the feel of his rough skin on yours and the chill you felt without a shirt.  

“Anywhere else?” He asked as you pulled your shirt back over your head. You faced him and held out your hands, showing him your wrists. The two of you sat on the couch as he worked on dressing the raw skin that met your hands.

The sound of rain began to let up as Dean wrapped gauze around each of your arms. “We’ll have to stop somewhere for more supplies tomorrow,” he mentioned absentmindedly.

“Where are we?” You asked, the question crossing your mind for the first time since you had awoken.      

“Middle of nowhere, halfway to a friend’s place in South Dakota,” he answered before he pulled one of your legs up to inspect your foot. You had somehow managed to forget about your feet.

“We’re going to visit a friend of yours?” Dean began to bandage your foot where the rocks and twigs had cut your skin.

He nodded, “His name is Bobby. He’s kind of like a dad to Sam and I.”

“What happened to your real dad,” you found yourself asking before you could think it through. Dean brough his eyes to yours and swallowed a lump in his throat before he brought your other foot up and began to work on it.

“He died,” his voice was low and you knew not to press further. You chose not to give him the same old I’m sorry for your loss crap, either. You knew Dean wouldn’t appreciate something like that. Instead, you changed the subject.

“Why did you come and find me?”

Dean paused his actions as if trying to formulate a response, “Why wouldn’t we?”

His gaze met yours once more, that same expression you couldn’t name swimming in his eyes.

“(Y/N), you’re awake,” Sam nearly shouted as he rushed down the spiral staircase that led from the loft down to the sitting room.

You and Dean both jumped, startled by the sudden noise. Sam rushed to you and pulled you into his arms, gripping you tightly as you sat on the couch and he knelt next to it. Dean packed up what was left of the first aid kit and cleaned up the garbage while Sam took his place on the couch next to you.

“I’m going to shower,” he informed you both as he headed to the bathroom. It occurred to you just then that Sam already had, and must have been sleeping this entire time, while Dean waited. He put off taking care of himself to take care of you. You were filled with confusion at the revelation.

“(Y/N), how are you feeling?” Sam’s large hand cupped your cheek as he pulled your attention to him.

“’m good, Sammy,” you smiled, “Much better than I was.”

“Thank God,” he answered, sitting back and taking in your appearance.

“I know I probably still look like shit,” you laughed as you looked down at yourself.

“No, you look alive, (Y/N),” His voice was low and his hazel eyes threatened to spill over with emotion. You hugged him fiercely, hissing slightly as he returned the embrace and grazed the cut on your side.

“Shit, I’m sorry,” he lifted your shirt briefly to see the gauze, “looks like Dean patched you up?”

You nodded, “And he even sacrificed some of his food for me,” you giggled, prompting Sam to chuckle in response.

“You still hungry?”

“A bit,” you nodded. Sam fished a protein bar out of his bag and brought it over to you.

“Sorry, it’s all we’ve got at the moment. We’ll make a supply stop tomorrow when we’re on the road. You should eat and then try to get some more rest.”

You nodded and heeded his words, letting sleep overcome you as soon as you were done with the second protein bar. Sam stoked the fire and then took a seat in the recliner next to you. He would watch over you and let his brother get some rest, they would need to hit the road soon enough.

----

-Next Chapter-

[shaydeoffical]

Bright as a Diamond. Hitoshi Shinsou x Fem Reader: Chapter Three

Summary: When (Y/N)’s co-worker decided to send a picture of her making a diamond to the paper, her life was over. Gemstone based quirks weren’t all that rare, but being able to make a diamond put a target on her back. After years of hiding in the city, it’s time to hide in the countryside with her Uncle Shota Aizawa and his more than ‘roommate’ Hizashi Yamada. With the promise of training her to be self-sufficient, she’s ready to learn.

Settled

Chapter Four: 

https://ambershaydeoffical.tumblr.com/post/611717748218904576/bright-as-a-diamond-hitoshi-shinsou-x-fem-reader

Chapter Two: 

https://ambershaydeoffical.tumblr.com/post/190831750029/bright-as-a-diamond-hitoshi-shinsou-x-fem-reader

   Just as the day before, I woke up to screams. Again I didn’t hesitate and busted out of my room, spiriting to where Hizashi was rattling the house. This time a few pictures had shattered, and I had run right through the danger zone.

   Busting open the door, I saw the spider from before, and Hizashi atop the bed. Jumping up with him, I kept my eye trained on the eight-legged eyesore. Hizashi started screaming again when it jumped on the bedpost, and I covered my ears in pain.

   “We just gotta jump again,” I reasoned, trying to speak over him. I noticed the sheets were turning red,  blood oozing from my feet. “Hizashi, stop it.” I sunk lower into the bed, grabbing a pillow to cover my ears.

   When Hizashi took a breath, I covered his mouth and stopped the racket. “We are getting out of here, no- fuck fuck-“ When Hizashi shifted, I lost balance and tumbled into the floor by the spider. A flip flop clad foot squashed it before it came any closer to Hizashi or me.

   “What are you two doing?” Shinsou was half asleep. He removed his foot, and I could see the body twitching. My vision blurred, and bile tried to crawl up my throat.

   “Shota was supposed to kill it yesterday,” Hizashi whined, then looked at his bed.

   It was then I realized I didn’t have a bra on and covered my chest with a fallen pillow.  Having a spider in the same room was bad enough without feeling so exposed. It didn’t help that Shinsou was staring down at me like I was an idiot.

   “Am I bleeding?” Hizashi looked himself over.

   “(y/n) is,” Shinsou stiffened, looking at the puddle forming at my feet. What a jerk, acting all weirded out over my blood. Like he’s never seen blood before. Pfht.

   “My baby.” Hizashi flew from the bed and kneeled on the floor. “I caused this.”  

   “No I just- I just knocked over a glass on the way to your room. It’s fine.” I comforted him, running my fingers through his hair. “It’s just a little glass.”

   “I’ll get the first aid kit.” Shinsou hurried out of the room. Good riddance.

   “Can we get out of here?” I asked, ogling the carcass beside me.

   “Sure, hold on.” Hizashi helped me up and supported me as I walked on my toes.

   Once on the sofa, I kept the pillow tight to my chest and waited for the medical kit. It was sat on the coffee table, followed by Shinsou toting a bottle of rubbing alcohol.

   “I can get it,” I took my foot in my lap, but his pale hand took it from me and stretched it out.

   “It looks deep. Just let me.” He asked me a question as he probed the area. “Do you want to remember having glass dug out of your foot?” It was an odd question.

   “Not really, I’d rather not. But I can-“

   The shock of having glass removed with a spider encounter had knocked my ass out. Not only was it midafternoon now, but I had missed breakfast. Both of my feet were wrapped in gauze and propped above my heart. A blanket had been tossed over me and tucked in, and my pillow was under my head.

   “Shota, Hizashi?” I called sitting up, head spinning. It hadn’t been a very restful nap, but it had lasted long enough for the pain to dull.

   “They went out for breakfast.” Perking up and peering over the couch, Shinsou was in black shorts and a loose t-shirt. Did he stay the night? “It’s just us. How insufferable.”  He turned back to the kitchen.

   “It’s no cakewalk for me either,” I huffed, standing abruptly and yelping. That’s right, my feet were cut to hell and back.

   “You forget already?” He peered back into the living room, spatula in his hand. That damned smirk… I’m going to get so strong he’s gonna regret ever knowing me.

   “Of course not,” I quipped, crossing my arms and using the blanket to cover my chest. “Now if you will excuse me, I’m going to make breakfast.” Turning my nose up, I tiptoed past him and saw that he was done cooking his meal.

   “Don’t let me get in the way, Kitten.” He took the chair I had sat at for dinner the night before, working on his omelets.

   Cracking my neck, I started the rice cooker, mixed a few pieces of fish in with veggies. It wasn’t a secret I couldn’t cook to save my life, but I wasn’t about to let this flop in front of Shinsou. Minutes passed, meticulously eyeing my food, and turning it every so often. It hadn’t changed color yet, but I knew it took time. Still, I kept vigilant eye over the meal.

   “This is painful to watch.” Shinsou snuck up on me and reached around my waist, turning the stove on. All the color drained from my face, and then he plugged the rice cooker into the wall.

   Words failed me. So instead, I just put my head down and kept working. I figured the prick would push on teasing me, but he went back to his meal, getting a fresh cup of coffee.

   What a prick, I could have figured that out. Maybe I wanted to coat it all with oil before starting it up. Or I was waiting till he was gone form the table? Why was he watching me anyway? God, he was so- just.    

   Burnt fish filled the air, and when I glanced back down at my meal, it was scorched. “Oh crap,” I mumbled, pulling it off the stove and pouring it onto my plate. My fish fell apart, my vegies were shriveled and charred.  I checked the rice, it was soggy.  When I looked back, Shinsou was still at the table, going through his phone.

   Glowering, I took my plate, and juggled a glace of water, sitting on the opposite end of the table. Chin held high, I sat like a lady and brought the first bite of wet rice to my lips. I was waiting for Shinsou to say something. Insults had to be rattling in his head, surely he’d say something.

   Popping a piece of fish into my mouth, I swallowed without much thought and started to choke.  Playing it cool, I scoffed. Nothing came up. I could feel the bone sliding down the back of my throat, and I coughed harder, catching the dumb assess attention.

   “You’re turning red,” Shinsou stated, jogging to my side of the table. I held my hand up to keep him away. Hacking my lungs out, I gave up on playing it cool. Napkin in hand, I finally hacked up the bone. Drool rolling down my lips. If this wasn’t embarrassing, I don’t know what would be.

   “I’m good, just a bone,” I sighed, pushing my plate aside and laying my head on the table. “What a shit morning.”

   “If you say so,” he took my plate and his to the kitchen, and I heard the tap turn on. Why would he be doing my dishes? Did he plan to brag to Shota later about how helpful he is? Or how incompetent I am?

   Setting aside my worries, I realized that I still didn’t’ have a bra on, and my blanket had fallen during my coughing fit. My face burned as I darted down the hall, ignoring his calls of curiosity as I skidded into my room. We didn’t wear shoes in the home, so I put on some thick socks, and noticed my training outfit had been washed and put back in the box. I slide it under my bed and put on a pair of yoga pants and a loose coral tee shirt. I tied the bottom of the shirt into a knot, then pulled the top part of my hair up onto my head and to the side. Rocking an 80’s vibe.  

   Deciding to work on the boxes I had to unpack. I tripped onto my bicycle. Sure, I hadn’t ridden in years, but I was going to need a way to get to work. I was lucky that the jewelry store I worked for had serval smaller branches. Of course, I wouldn’t be designing rings anymore, but acting as a retailer. It would put a little money in my pocket and give me a reason to get out of the house during the week. Plus, since I would have daytime hours, I could focus on studying at the store.

   My bike was mostly together, so I just put it aside and sat it against the wall. A sad smile graced my lips. The last time I had ridden my bike, it was with dad. He had taken me down a beautiful trail just before sunrise. He told me that one day when I was older, we would do a sunset ride. He taught me the importance of chasing after mundane but beautiful things.  

   “(y/n), the world is full of diamonds, rubies, and sapphires. People spend their entire life trying to accumulate as much as they can, but this. The sunrise is just as beautiful, free, fleeting, and accessible to all. Don’t be blinded by material things, my love. Find your own sunrise, and don’t let it go.”

   I didn’t know what he meant back then. But now that I know I have his quirk…I understand. Making a small ruby in my skin, it came out in my palm, splitting the skin before sealing it back tight. The stone was perfect in every way. Flawless. Gripping my hand around it, I crushed it to dust with my quirk and walked over to a jar that was sitting by my futon. I piled the dust in with the rest and sighed. Even if I didn’t like my quirk, I had to keep it in tip-top shape. Practice was key.    

   My stomach growled, and I felt the trauma in my throat. I didn’t have to like it, but I needed to eat something. Trudging out of my room, I had a clear path to the kitchen. Sneaking through quickly, I made it to the fruit bowl and plucked an apple from the dish. Munching happily, I made quick timing getting to the core.  Shuffling in the other room alerted me to Shinsou.

   The purple-haired ass was in a get-up similar to Shota’s hero costume. Only with his scarf, he had on a mask of some sort. It reminded me of Hizashi’s amplifier. He was by the door, doing up his shoes before heading to work, I presumed.

   He left without a word, and I scoffed. Of course, he wouldn’t announce his departure. Shinsou was a senseless scoundrel. I had no clue what Shota saw in him, hell maybe uncle Sho made him like that. But it didn’t matter, I hopefully wouldn’t be seeing him again anytime soon.

   Hizashi was the only one that returned, toting several boxes and a mattress. It was my furniture. We spent the next few hours trying to assemble all the pieces.  

   “Um, put peg C into board X, then connect to port D, making sure that the front of board X faces peg N.” I read the instructions aloud, it was the third time we had tried to put my desk together. The bed was reasonably straightforward. Just a metal sleigh bed with a decorative sticker for the top panel. The nightstand had been a pain, but after two attempts, it was sturdy enough to call done. The desk, on the other hand, was taking forever.

   “(y/n), which is piece X?” his blonde hair was dragging the floor, his head bobbing as he forced pieces together.

   “Umm, it looks like peg G but with another connector point.” I fumbled through the leaflet, finding the picture of the piece.

   “I think I used that for the drawer.” He opened the door, and even I could see the random peg hanging out the top. Hizashi held his breath, and shut the door, laying back on the ground.

   “We know what makes you go speechless.” Uncle Sho leaned against the open bedroom door, take out in hand.

   “We’ve been at this for hours. He stopped screaming after we finished the bedside table.” I reported, focusing on the diagram, trying to rework how we could change out the piece without taking it all apart.

   “Let’s eat, and I’ll help afterward.”

   “Really?” We both perked up, stars falling from our eyes.

   “Yes, the foods getting cold. Come on.” Instead of going to the kitchen, he passed our meals and sat on the floor with us. He took the manual from my hand and began to go through the steps.  

   “This has been more exhausting than my biology homework,” I grumbled, twirling noodles around my chopsticks and shoving them into my mouth.      

   “How are classes going? You’re closer to the university, now, right?” Hizashi passed me a packet of soy sauce, and I nodded.

   “Yea, I’m doing well. Nothing too crazy so far, but classes did just start back. I could take in-person classes now, but I think I’m going to play that by ear.” Shota raised his brow, then turned the page, taking a bite of his meal without looking down.

   “You’re smart. I always knew that I was going to be Hero, so I never thought about furthering my education. Now I’m teaching, I’ve earned a few certificates, but I really admire your gumption to get your hero license and your degree.”

   Forcing a bite down my dry throat, I nodded. “Yea, I got that using mom’s coal quirk. Even then, I was being secretive…” I forced a bitter smile. “But I wasn’t cut out of hero cloth. It was just an option at my school, and I got it for the experience. Mom said agencies are more likely to hire someone with a hero license for personal protection. It’s why I got a job at a jewelry store. They liked I was allowed to do security work.”

   “I never thought of it like that,” Hizashi nodded, “that’s a solid plan. Where do you get your brains from.”

   “My side clearly,” Shota hummed, sipping his tea.

   “Yea, my dad is a total airhead.” I laughed before my stomach flipped. “Or he was. But he was really creative like he created designs for watch companies and car interiors. What mom made up for in smarts, Dad made up in fun. They balanced each other out for sure.”

   “Your father was a great man.” Shota agreed with me.

   “He sounds it,” Hizashi perked up the tone. “Now, how about that desk.”

   “Yea, you got it worked out Sho?”

   Another three hours and the room was all set. Shota had figured out that we had to completely reassemble the desk, but the second time went faster.  Then we all pitched in, dusted, mopped, and organized my room. All the furniture was a peachy white, and all the bedding and curtains were a soft lavender and blue mix, with pops of pink. My clothes were tucked into the closet, and the boxes in the garage outside for when I had to move out.

   “Hey I have a little surprise,” Hizashi came in holding a stereo. “It’s my old boombox, I figure you could annoy Shota with it.”

   “Oh, thank you.” He sat it on my nightstand and patted the top.

   “This brought me a lot of joy as a child, I hope you can get some good use out of it.” Hizashi sauntered to the door. “Dinner will ready in a few. Just hang out till then. Maybe explore a bit.”  

   “Okay, I will.” I glanced outside, Hisoka the cat was bathing on my window sill. Taking this as an excellent opportunity to introduce myself, I slipped on a sweater and tiptoed to the front door.

   Once my shoes were on, my feet didn’t hurt nearly as bad, so I was able to jog to the window.  Hisoka gave me a curious glance, tucking his tail to the side to get a better look at me. His fur a beautiful grey color, nice and sleek, with big green eyes, like a wisp of smoke in the night.

   “Meow mo mow,” I mimicked a cat, closing my eyes and putting my hand out. I read once that cats saw eye contact as a direct threat. Hisoka let a long mewl, then I could grasp his slick fur. Grinning like a fool, I contently listened to his verbal displays of pleasure as my hands slide all over his little body.  

   “(y/n), dinner!” Hizashi used his quirk to catch my attention, and Hisoka ran off into the forest.

   “Next time, little buddy.” I smiled, standing up. “Coming.”

[roman-writing]

A Study in Hospitality (3/?)

Fandom: Fire Emblem Three Houses / Percy Jackson and the Olympians

Pairing: Hilda Valentine Goneril / Marianne von Edmund

Rating: T

Wordcount: 7,657

Summary: There’s a new student at camp half-blood. Hilda, daughter of Aphrodite, has been tasked with showing her around. A Percy Jackson and the Olympians AU

read it below the cut, or you can read it here on AO3

Hilda had a weird dream. Weirder than usual, that is.  

Normally, there would be flying, or all of her hair and teeth falling out, or being rushed to an event but not being able to find anything in her closet except piles upon piles of Doc Martens. You know. Nightmares. The fuzzy, barely half-remembered kind which she awoke from with a grumbled "- the hell?"

This dream had no fuzzy edges. It was crystal clear, like seeing through a fisheye lens. There was a vaulted stone crypt with an altar shaped like an empty bed, but there were no windows or doors along the walls. She stood in the middle of the room, and every breath was an icy mist, pale clouds from her mouth that faded into nothing. 

Hilda shivered. She blinked, and her mother loomed over her. Aphrodite was ten feet tall and utterly inhuman, with eyes like a meadow in spring. She was draped in a pale lilac dress that shimmered when she moved. 

"Tell me, darling," she murmured, and placed her hands upon Hilda's shoulders. Hilda had never felt so dwarfed in her entire life as she did in that moment. "How would you like to die?"

"What?" said Hilda, the single word accompanied by a plume of lung-warm mist. 

And then Aphrodite's hands were around her throat. She squeezed, and Hilda choked. Reaching up, Hilda tugged at her mother's wrists, but no amount of demigod strength could hope to contend with the real deal. 

"My little girl," Aphrodite smiled, and she sounded so soft, her hands like cold dark iron. "Off to be a big hero."

Hilda kicked her feet. She did not know when she had been lifted off the floor, until suddenly the ground was no longer beneath her, and her legs dangled. She gasped for air. Her head swam.

Her mother's voice was a whisper at her ear now. A golden curl of Aphrodite's hair brushed against Hilda's cheek. "Just remember: don't -"

Something knocked against the bed, and Hilda wrenched awake with a wheeze. Her vision still reeled. She clutched at her chest. In the middle of the night, she had tangled herself up in the blankets. Now, she kicked herself free. 

"Yo, wake up already," Sylvain said. He leaned a shoulder against one of the posts that held her bunk bed aloft. "Lorenz told me to tell you that this week's chores list are on the corkboard by the door."

Finally rid of the sheets, Hilda sank back down to her bed. Her heart was still racing. "Thank you," she gasped.

At that, Sylvain's eyebrows rose. "Thank you?" he repeated, incredulous. "Are you sure you're feeling okay there, Hilda? I think the last time you said 'thank you' to me when we traded duties for a week so you could get to second base with that blue-haired kid from Ares cabin."

Closing her eyes, Hida inhaled a deep breath. Air had never tasted so sweet. "Yeah. I'm fine. Just -" 

She waved at him to leave her alone. He shrugged, and sauntered off without another word. 

Dreams with gods weren't exactly uncommon, but Hilda was hard-pressed to remember the last time she'd had one. Most gods took a general disinterest in their half-mortal children. Aphrodite was no exception. Hell, Hida had only ever met her mother in person three times before, and that was considered a rarity even amongst this crowd. Most demigods were lucky to meet their divine parent once in their entire lives. Or unlucky, depending on the circumstances. 

Hilda had always considered herself fortunate to be so favoured. Being the favoured kid -- along with Holst -- had always been something to flaunt. After that dream however, she wasn’t sure she wanted to see dear old mom again any time soon. Even if it was just a dream. 

Which, of course it was. Just a dream. Just a really weird dream. 

With a groan, Hilda clambered out of bed. She yawned, and rubbed at her eyes as she dragged her feet over to the line of self-contained bathroom cubicles at the far end of the cabin. She shut and locked the door behind her. She already had her toothbrush in her mouth, when she caught sight of herself in the mirror, and froze. 

Her eyes widened. Toothbrush still sticking from the side of her mouth, Hilda leaned forward to more closely inspect her reflection.  

There were bruises at her throat. 

--

The bruises mostly vanished before breakfast. Being a demigod had its perks, like quick healing. But the bruises still managed to freak Hilda out in the meantime. 

Seriously. What the hell? Being a demigod was supposed to be about being near indestructible, having cool powers, and doing backflips with swords. Not whatever the fuck this was.

Before she could even reach the dining pavilion however, Hilda was assailed en route.

"Hey! Hilda! Wait up!"

She turned, irritated. The dining pavilion was close enough that she could smell breakfast. Plus, she'd had a pretty shit morning, all things considered. She wanted food.

"What now?" Hilda asked.

Claude jogged up to her. His usual bow was disguised as a garishly coloured headband. Somehow, he managed to make it work; he had enough confidence to pull off even the most outrageous outfits. If Hilda hadn’t known better, she might have thought they were partly related.

He stopped at a comfortable distance from her. "Someone got up on the wrong side of the bed this morning."

"Proving that it can even happen to the best of us." Hilda made a 'hurry up' motion with her hand. "Now, what's up? My stomach is angry today, so make it snappy."

If anything, Claude took on a more relaxed air. "Far be it from me to come between you and a meal. But I'll be quick. It's about Marianne -"

Hilda rolled her eyes. "Gods, not this again."

"Just hear me out." Claude raised his hands and then made a gesture as though parting a curtain for a grand finale. "Poseidon's daughter."

"Really?" Hilda said, her tone flat and completely unimpressed.

"Oh, c'mon! Think about it." He began to tick off items on his fingers. "Causes earthquakes. Loves horses. Suspiciously avoids going into water around others. The trident on the coin you were telling me about."

"A weird broken trident," Hilda corrected.

"Right. A trident. Also, you've got a lot of hickeys on your neck, just so you know."

Even the mention of the bruises fading at her throat made Hilda's blood run cold. She lifted the collar of her shirt, and grumbled, "Yeah. Thanks."

"I thought you weren't seeing anyone right now? The only person I ever see you hanging around with these days is -" And then Claude's eyes widened. "You're canoodling with the new girl?"

At that, Hilda let out a snort of laughter. It was so utterly ridiculous an idea, that it drove the recent memory of her nightmare right from her mind. She clapped him on the shoulder, and hung on as she continued to laugh. "Okay. Thank you. Really. I needed a good laugh."

"Well, if it's not her, then who is it?" Claude's mouth widened into a smirk. "I do see you being cornered by Seteth an awful lot. That would explain things."

Hilda shoved at his shoulder. "Ew! Gross! As if!"

He still managed to take the time to pat her on the back in a manner that was both friendly and patronising at the same time. It made her think of her brother. "It's okay. I get it. He's got the hot dad thing going for him. Some people are into that."

"Okay. I'm leaving," Hilda huffed, and -- true to her word -- spun around in her heel and marched off, nose in the air.

Claude called after her, "Just think about what I said! About Poseidon! And dad bods!!"

"No, thank you!" Hilda waved over her shoulder without looked back, then pushed past one of the draped banners that hung between the pillars of the pavilion.

The pavilion had no official entrances. Shaped like an ancient temple without walls, it could be entered on any side that had a gap between the pillars. The campers within were shielded from the elements by a mixture of magic and long lengths of cloth, each bearing the colours and emblems of the various gods and goddesses represented at the camp. When Hilda passed beneath the banner of Aphrodite, she could smell myrtle in spring, and feel the brush of dove's wings against her skin.

It was early enough in the morning that there were still quite a few people seated at their respective tables. That in and of itself earned Hilda a few curious turned heads and waves in her direction. Normally, she didn't wander into the dining pavilion until the very last second. She would laze around in bed, and then use a late breakfast as an excuse to stave off chores for as long as possible. 

Now, she waved back at one or two people. On the walk over to the Aphrodite table however, she paused. Lysithea was just finishing up scraping leftovers into the central brazier. The coals spat and popped, but nothing more. Just as Lysithea was setting down her plate and making to leave the pavilion, Hilda stepped in her path. 

"Good morning, Lysithea!" Hilda said, far more peppy than she actually felt, but needs must. "Aren't you looking scholarly today!"

Lysithea arched an eyebrow down at her. She was the youngest in their age bracket, but she was still taller than Hilda, which irritated Hilda to no end. "What do you want?"

Hilda tried for a look of wide-eyed innocence. "Do I need to want something from you? Can't a girl just be nice and say hello? And maybe flirt shamelessly a little?"

"I already have a girlfriend. So, I'm not interested. Thanks." And with that, Lysithea started walking away.

Hilda had to scamper to get back into her path and stop her from going too far. "Okay, okay!" Hilda said, her voice dropping back to its usual timbre. "I may have been hoping to ask you a few questions. But it's because you're soooo smart, and I was just wanting your opinion on something that's been bugging me lately."

Lysithea only squinted in reply.

"You don't belive me?" Hilda asked. And, okay, so maybe she added a little breathless quality to her voice. Some habits are hard to break, alright?

"No."

"Well, don't worry. You're very cute, but you and Edelgard are safe from my many charms."

Sighing, Lysithea checked her watch, which was turned inwards to her wrist. "You have three minutes. Don't waste them."

"Right. To business, then." Hilda squared her shoulders, and cleared her throat. Her voice dropped another note or two, until it more closely resembled comfortable, unaffected speaking range. Also so that other people couldn't overhear. "You know the new girl? In Demeter Cabin?"

"I know of her," Lysithea replied. She crossed her arms, already tapping her fingers. 

"Doesn't it seem strange? That she's in Demeter Cabin, I mean. She's not like any other Demeter kid I've ever met before."

"Not everything about the gods and their half-mortal children are as they seem to be," Lysithea said. "You, yourself, for instance seem the epitome of any child of Aphrodite, but people would be foolish to assume you are without cunning."

"Aww, I thought you said no flirting?" Hilda made sure her grin had a flash of dimples. 

At that, Lysithea's cheeks flushed a light shade of pink, but her glare could cut glass. "Unless you want me to hex you three ways to Sunday, I suggest you continue with your line of questioning. Promptly."

“Geesh! You’re no fun!” Hilda made a face, sticking out her tongue. “Okay. Forreal, though, after that whole earthquake thing, I saw her talking to an owl, and I thought she might be, y'know, inclined towards your family.”

“That’s it? An owl?”

“Well, she can also use weird magic, too! Like you!”

Lysithea rolled her eyes. “Yes, because there is no variation of the skills within my half-siblings, whatsoever.” 

“Listen,” Hilda used her very best brook-no-nonsense tone, which was very no-nonsense-brooking to be honest. “She was talking with an owl. And I just want some answers. Don’t you want to know, too? I know you know that something’s weird here. And I know you know that I know that you like knowing things.”

Pinching the bridge of her nose, Lysithea sighed. “Not all gods have sacred birds. Obviously some of them do. But also some of them have very similar sacred birds. Hestia and Dionysus, for example, with the turtle-dove and dove respectively.”

“Yeah. Okay. But -”

Before Hilda could continue to pepper her with questions, Lysithea interrupted, “Are you sure she was actually talking to the owl?”

Hilda bristled. “I know what I saw!”

“I’m just offering up potential solutions to your problem. Maybe she was just talking to herself, and the owl happened to be there.”

“Both times? When I saw it, and when Raphael saw it?”

“Yes.”

“Don’t you think that’s too much of a coincidence?”

“No.”

“Not even just a teensy little bit?” Hilda held up her thumb and forefinger a hair’s breadth apart.

The muscles of Lysithea’s jaw bunched up. “No. Now, unless you have anymore questions -” 

“Well actually, I’m so glad you said that, because this paper Manuela gave us on the transformation of demigods into mythological Heroes is really tough, and I was hoping you’d explain to me how the god parent in question chooses their heirs to become -”

“Great. Bye.” Lysithea turned on her heel and stalked off before Hilda could squeeze another word in edgewise. 

“Hey! Wait!! Lysithea!” Hilda let her hand drop when it became imminently clear that Lysithea was not going to turn back around under any circumstances, short of a portal to Hell rupturing the earth in twain. Which was a shame, really. Hilda was actually curious about the answer to that question.

Sighing, Hilda shoved her hands into the pockets of her shorts, and blinked in surprise. There was a piece of paper rustling against her fingertips. She pulled it out, curious as to what she had left in her pocket -- she didn't recall leaving anything in there. When she pulled it out and unfolded it however, she made a noise of exasperation. 

Claude's cramped handwriting read: 'find out more about our mystery girl. ps - give the Poseidon thing a chance. you know I'm right.'

Hilda threw the piece of paper towards the lake. It fluttered in the breeze, and landed against her shin. In a fit of frustration, she picked it up, crumpled it into a ball, and then chucked it again. This time it very satisfyingly landed into the lake, and sank beneath the surface of the water. 

When had he even managed to sneak that note into her pocket? It must've happened when they spoke this morning before breakfast. Bastard. 

Not that Claude didn't have a point. Poseidon did seem to be a good bet. Something about the idea didn't sit quite right in Hilda's mind, though. Then again, she had never met a child of one of the Big Three gods. So, maybe Claude's theory had merit. 

Midway through the week however, it became more and more evident that the last thing Marianne needed was scrutiny. She needed socialisation. At the very least she needed a hug. Though, Hilda was ninety-seven percent sure that Marianne would sooner crawl out of her own skin than let someone give her a hug. 

As usual, the two of them were forced to team together for chores throughout the week. On top of that, this week was all about paired activities. About having a buddy, and doing lessons and things with them. Things like: climbing a hundred foot wall in less than two minutes while your partner belayed for you, and canoeing in paired races across the lake, and sparring until either a) their muscles turned to mush, or b) first blood. 

You know. Good wholesome camp stuff.

The first day’s activity Hilda was sure they would win. She knew for a fact that some of the Athena and Ares kids had a deadly fear of heights, but Ingrid took the cake in that exercise, beating the rest of them by a good fifteen feet. The second day’s activity they also lost, which meant that Claude's Poseidon theory was looking thin. Hilda made silent faces at Claude across the beach until he shook his head and mimed a response at her. 

And the activity on the third day ended with Hilda moaning about being too delicate for this kind of strenuous exercise in the middle of the afternoon. It didn't matter that Marianne kept losing their sparring match on purpose, or that there was still a jagged patch of grey rock in the ground where the arena had been repaired earlier in the week. 

By the middle of the sparring lesson, Hilda leaned against her axe, and frowned. "Are you even trying?"

Marianne held her Celestial bronze sword loosely in one hand. Her form was atrocious, but in a way that belied an underlying understanding of swordsmanship itself. Only someone well-trained in the art could do something that terrible. It had to be on purpose.

"What do you mean?"

With one hand, Hilda pushed her sweaty bangs out of her face. "Well, you obviously know how to use that," she said, pointing towards the sword. "But you pretend that you don't. Are you trying to make me feel better by letting me win, or something?"

"No," Marianne mumbled.

"Because, trust me, my ego can take it. It's totally fine."

Marianne's fingers tightened into a fist around the sword hilt. "I never doubted that."

"So, what's the big deal?"

"You underestimate yourself," Marianne said. "You're very strong."

"Thanks. I know. Which is why you shouldn't feel like you need to hold back so much." Hilda lowered her voice slightly. "Didn't we talk about this in the woods the other day? I told you, I'm not made of glass. None of us here are. You're among people like you now, remember?"

Still, Marianne dropped her eyes and refused to meet Hilda's gaze. She nodded in silence, but said nothing. 

Hilda hefted her axe to her shoulder, shrugging against the weight as though the heavy Celestial bronze were as light as paper. "Well, come on, then. Hit me with your best shot." She said it in a sing-song tone, and bent her knees slightly as though in anticipation for a blow.

Marianne swallowed nervously. "I don't -" she started to say, but stopped. Her tongue darted out to wet her lower lip, before she continued, "I don't like hurting people."

"Who said I was going to get hurt, huh?"

After a long pause, Marianne lifted her sword once more. It was a half-hearted attempt at coming en garde, but at least her form was correct this time. Hilda used the flat of her axe to swat Marianne's sword aside. It did not fall from Marianne's hand, but it did leave her wide open for an attack. 

Hilda advanced a step forward, forcing Marianne to take a step back in order to keep distance. "Don't be like that. Hit me back. Make me work for it."

Rather than raise her sword, Marianne continued to retreat while Hilda walked towards her. "I thought you didn't like to work."

"Yeah, but there's something about you that makes me think putting in the effort isn't so bad."

Marianne blinked. "Why?"

"I don't know. It's weird. You’re weird. I kind of like it." Hilda shrugged, and swung her axe again. 

With movements sinuous as a shadow's Marianne slipped out of Hilda's range, easily dodging the blow. Her sword still hung at her side, held loosely in her hand. They were starting to circle around the other pairs of sparring partners now, moving to avoid anyone. Hilda darted forward, swiping at Marianne with her axe, attack after slashing attack, all of which met nothing but air. 

"You know," Hilda said, "Not all confrontation is bad. Sometimes sucking it up, and facing someone down really does make life materially better.” 

“I think you and I have had very different life experiences,” said Marianne. 

After basically chasing Marianne all the way around the area twice, Hilda could feel the sweat beginning to collect dust and grime from the arena. In stark contrast, Marianne hardly looked like she had done anything more than take a leisurely stroll. Her dark eyes were steady and unblinking, reading Hilda’s every movement with the familiarity of someone who had seen years of combat training. 

They had amassed a bit of a crowd. Some of the other campers had stopped their own sparring to watch. Hilda continued to chat casually, even as she swung her axe at Marianne, knowing that her attack would be dodged yet again.

"Have you considered a haircut?" 

Marianne stepped to the side, and circled around Hilda, forcing her to flail her axe in a broad horizontal sweep for the follow up attack. "No. Why?"

"No reason. I just think it would look good on you, is all."

"I like my hair long."

"That's fine. You can keep it long. I'm just thinking a trim. Your bangs are hiding your eyes. Bangs are supposed to be a framing device for your face! Not hide it!"

With a thoughtful hum, Marianne actually parried with her blade, but did not counter attack. "I'm not sure."

"I can show you later, if you want?" Hilda offered, while bringing her axe down so hard it buried itself into the arena floor. She had to tug it free with a grunt. "I think you'd look really cute."

"Oh. Well, I don't know about that." Marianne dodged the attempt at flattery with as much skill as she dodged everything else. 

"Do I look like I don't know what I'm talking about?"

"No. I think you look very stylish."

"Exactly. Which is why you should totally let me give you a makeover one of these days."

"Hmm," said Marianne dubiously. 

"That wasn't a 'no'," Hilda pointed out. She shortened her grip upon her axe to make smaller more controlled movements with it, none of which connected. "Tell you what. Let's play a game. If I can land a hit, then I give you a makeover. And if you disarm me, then you can -- I don't know -- push me into the lake."

"I don't want to push you into the lake."

"Then, what do you want?"

For a moment Marianne mulled that over. She tapped the flat of her sword against her thigh. "Sorbet."

Hilda grinned. "Deal!"

Marianne nodded, and agreed in a far softer tone, "Deal."

This time, when Hilda swung her axe, she feinted. She twisted her shoulders one direction, then changed her footing at the last second so she could bring her axe down to exactly where Marianne had moved. Except this time, Marianne's sword arced up in a gleam of bronze, expertly guided into the groove between axe and handle, so that when Marianne flicked her wrist with a twist, it wrenched the axe handle from Hilda's hands. 

Or at least, it would have, had Hilda not hung on to the axe for dear life. 

Eyes wide in surprise, Hilda stumbled forward. Faster than even the semi-immortal eye could follow, Marianne reached forward with her spare hand, grabbed the long-handled hilt of the axe above Hilda's own grip, and yanked. At the same time, she delicately planted her foot into the middle of Hilda's chest, and pushed. 

The next thing Hilda knew, the air had been knocked out of her, and she was flat on her back. 

A dark shape blotted out the sun, and for a moment it seemed that the shadow Marianne cast while standing over her extended across all the earth. She blocked the sun like the moon during an eclipse. It hurt to look at her. 

Then Hilda blinked, and the moment passed. 

“Sorry,” Marianne said. 

She extended her hand in a silent offer. It was the reverse of last week, when Hilda had helped her to her feet. Without thinking, Hilda reached out and grabbed hold of Marianne’s hand, allowing herself to be hauled upright. A few people were clapping and laughing on the sidelines.

“Are you alright?” asked Marianne. Her hand lingered for a second -- as frightfully cold as it had been the last time they had touched -- before she snatched it away. 

Hilda smiled. She brushed a hand down the front of her own clothes as if wicking off a bit of water, and in a flurry of magic all of the dirt and sweat melted from her, leaving her as clean and fresh as though she had stepped from a shower not five minutes ago.

"Never been better.” She bent down to pick up her axe from the ground, transforming it back into a pair of sunglasses, which she perched atop her nose to complete the look. “Looks like I owe you an ice cream. Or sorbet. Same difference. Want to leave early, and get some now?”

Marianne stared at her. "Was that -" she asked slowly, "- your plan all along? To leave early?"

"Why, are you accusing me of something, Miss Marianne?" Hilda gasped, feigning offence. Then, she lowered her sunglasses just enough to wink over them. "So. Sorbet?"

The corner of Marianne's mouth twitched, but that may have just been a trick of the light. “Yeah. Okay.”

--

If there was one single class that Hilda hated most, it was flying class. The act of flying itself wasn't a problem. In fact, she rather liked it. Especially as a means of convenient transport. Like airplanes. Or helicopters. Or maybe hot air balloons, but those were on thin fucking ice. 

Riding a pegasus, though? No thank you. She would rather wear gumboots and flannel to the Met Gala. 

When Hilda tried to slip away from the class however, she was cornered by Seteth, who was -- unfortunately -- the teacher for that day's lesson. 

"Going somewhere?" 

Hilda froze. She pretended to cough, and turned around, trying to look as haggard as possible. "Oh, Seteth. I'm so glad you asked. I just feel absolutely awful today. I really should sleep this bug off."

Seteth's ageless eyes never left her face. His expression remained fixed and stern, but in a way that somehow made it seem that he was an instant away from a knowing smirk. Like he could see right through her lies. Which, annoyingly, he probably could. 

Damn Titans. Damn pegasi. Damn flying class.

"Now, that is a shame," Seteth said. "Seeing as how, as far as we know, you are the only one Marianne is comfortable touching."

Hilda blinked. "I - uh -? I guess? And also I really don't see how that is relevant."

"Allow me to explain. We are pairing off in today's class, and training for aerial battle manoeuvres." He cocked his head to one side. "Seeing as it would be inhospitable to leave Marianne on the ground while everyone else participated, I was hoping you would do us the kindness of being her partner for this exercise."

"Oh. Well. That's - " Hilda floundered. But before she could even fumble out an excuse, Seteth continued speaking. 

"No matter. If you say you are ill, then you are ill."

Surprised and simultaneously suspicious, Hilda said slowly, "Yes."

"Which is why I must ask Mercedes to heal you. To ensure you are in top shape, of course."

At that, Hilda grimaced. Healing magic when you were actually sick or injured was all fine and dandy. But when you weren't actually sick or injured, it felt -- well, bad, to be perfectly honest. Not that it hurt, so to speak. Just that it felt like someone shoving a tube where it didn't belong in the search for whatever it was that acted as the source of your illness. 

"That won't be necessary -" Hilda tried to say, but Seteth was already turning to wave Mercedes over. In horror, she watched as Mercedes joined them with a concerned look on her face. 

"Mercedes," Seteth said. "Hilda isn't feeling so well, and I was hoping you might assist us, as I do wish for her to partake in today's activities."

"Of course!" Mercedes replied, as cheerful as ever to be helpful in any way. 

With a groan, Hilda allowed her face to be grasped between Mercedes' hands, and her vision was filled with white light. After a very uncomfortable moment, in which Hilda felt like a swarm of flies were crawling beneath her skin, Mercedes let her go. 

Smiling, Mercedes said, "There. Good as new."

"Gee. Thanks." Hilda had to swallow past the magically induced cotton-mouth. 

Mercedes turned to Seteth. "Is there anything else you need?"

"No. Thank you," Seteth said, looking every inch the smug bastard Titan that he was. He wasn't even trying to hide the little smile now. "That will be all."

Mercedes ducked her head in a nod, then trotted back over to the red-haired Athena girl, Annette, and the roan pegasus mare they were going to be riding together. Meanwhile, Seteth continued to watch Hilda. He gestured towards the line of yet unclaimed pegasi. "If you would be so kind."

Grumbling under her breath, Hilda stomped over to where he indicated. Marianne stood apart from the others. Most of the camp members had given up trying to interact with her after a few weeks of being met with awkward silences and constant apologies. When Hilda approached however, Marianne's head lifted. 

"Hi," she greeted with a little wave of her hand. "I thought you said you weren't feeling well?"

Hilda sighed, dragging a hand down her face. "Yeah. Well, Mercedes fixed me up, so now I'm back."

"Oh, good. I'm glad."

"Glad? Really?"

Marianne was wringing her hands together, and darting nervous glances at the other campers. "Well, I - one of the other campers came up to me and asked me to be his partner, and I was afraid Seteth would make me do it."

"Would that be so bad?"

Marianne refused to offer any further explanation. 

"Who asked you?" Hilda asked.

Marianne pointed, and Hilda followed where she indicated. Claude. Of course it was Claude. He saw them looking in his direction. He smiled and waved. 

"He's not so bad," Hilda assured her. 

"I'm sure he isn't. He seemed very nice, in fact."

"And?" 

"And -" Marianne continued at Hilda's urging. "- I don't like spending too much time around people."

Hilda sighed. "I see we're still not past that. Ah, well. Baby steps."

"What?"

"Nothing. Nevermind." Hilda looked down the line of pegasi, who were idly grazing while waiting to be approached by an assigned pair. "C'mon. The sooner we get this over with, the better."

"Alright."

Students were being herded towards the pegasi by Seteth and his daughter, Flayn. Pairs of campers had being to approach a pegasus, and some of the more animal-inclined members were already mounting. Hilda straightened her pink-lensed sunglasses upon her nose, and perused the quickly diminishing selection. 

Minty was unmistakable, with his ivory pale coat and black legs. Hilda made a beeline away from him. There was no way she was going to be saddled with that asshole. Before she could approach the nearest pegasus however, another pair swooped in beside it. 

"Hey!" Hilda said in outrage. "Find your own pegasus!"

Both Edelgard, the head of Athena cabin, and Lysithea gave her reproachful looks that were near identical. Followed by Lysithea saying, "I thought that was your pegasus."

She pointed at Minty. 

Hilda scrunched up her nose. "Ew! No way! What would give you that impression?"

"Because you are often seen talking to him at the stables?" Edelgard answered, as though that were obvious.

"Yeah. Sure, but that doesn't mean he's mine."

Edelgard and Lysithea shared a look, then a shrug. "If you say so," said Lysithea. 

"I just did!" 

Behind her, Marianne cleared her throat softly. "Um -? Hilda?"

Hilda turned. "What's up?"

"I think all of the other pegasi have already been taken."

Hilda looked around. Sure enough, Marianne was right. Swearing loudly, Hilda closed her eyes and tilted her head back to the sky. "Why me?" she groaned.

"I'm sorry -" 

"No, not you, Marianne." Hilda let out a long frustrated exhalation. Then, squaring her shoulders, she marched over to Minty, with Marianne drifting in her wake like a shadow. 

"Hey!" Hilda called out. "Future Glue!"

Two black-tipped ears swivelled at the sound of Hilda's voice, and Minty lifted his head. He was still chewing on a tuft of grass, when his voice filled their heads. "Well, if it isn't my old nemesis, What's-Her-Face. And -" Minty's nostrils flared. "- Carrot Girl."

Coming to a halt before him, Hilda rolled her eyes. "Yeah, yeah. We all have a mutual loathing of one another. What's new?"

"I don't hate you," Marianne said from beside Hilda. 

"That's nice," Minty replied. "But you didn't bring carrots this time."

"Uhm, no. Sorry."

He snorted, then lowered his head to keep eating, utterly disinterested in their presence. 

"Let me handle this," Hilda said to Marianne, then rounded on the pegasus. "Now, listen up. None of us want to be here. But we have to be, or else that guy -" she jerked a thumb over her shoulder towards where Seteth was helping a frantic-looking Hubert onto the back of a pegasus "- will get mad. So, unless you want to buy a one-way ticket to Horse Hell, or whatever, I suggest you cooperate for the next hour or two. Got it?"

The pegasus swished his dark glossy tail, and at the same time stomped one of his back hooves. After a long moment of grass-chewing and contemplation, Minty finally said, "Fine. Get on."

Well, that was easier than anticipated. Hilda didn't even have to wheedle, which was a shame, really. She felt like her wheedling skills were starting to get a bit rusty, and it was always good to practice on something that was immune to charmspeak. 

Hilda held out her hand in a gesture for Marianne to go first. Partly because she was trying to be nice. But mostly because she didn't want to be the one in control of a sentient magical animal. That sounded like way too much responsibility. She'd rather let someone else take the reins.

Not that there were actual reins. Pegasi didn't take very kindly to that kind of thing. They preferred their communication to come in the form of verbal or psychic. Or rude gestures. It really depended on what the situation called for. 

Hilda had expected to need to help Marianne up, but Marianne lifted herself atop the pegasus' back with a sudden surge of grace. She shifted slightly once on his back, tugging at her track pants a bit. She still wore Hilda’s ill-fitting clothes; Hilda would have to call up her brother to see what was taking him so long to send new clothes. 

At the added weight, Minty shuffled his wings, but otherwise remained still. He continued to eat. On the other hand, Hilda tried to haul herself into place twice before giving up. Being short and trying to mount a big horse creature was the bane of her existence. Marianne extended her hand, and pulled at Hilda's wrist, and Hilda nearly went careening over Minty's back onto the other side. She barely stopped herself, but only by grabbing onto Marianne's shoulders. 

Immediately, Marianne stiffened. Which meant Hilda stiffened, and jerked her hands away as if burned. "Sorry."

"It's alright," Marianne mumbled, but she kept her head ducked, and her eyes firmly fixed on the way her fists were clenched around great handfuls of Minty's dark mane.  

"Is it okay if I -?" Hilda held out her hands, but did not touch Marianne's waist. 

A moment of hesitation before Marianne nodded. Even so, Hilda did not immediately touch her. 

From the direction of the stables, Seteth's voice rang out. "Campers, you should now all have mounted your pegasi. I want you to do a lap to the dining pavilion and back, before getting into your pre-determined aerial formations over the lake."

He droned on and on with instructions. Hilda made a miming gesture with her hand that mimicked his incessant talking. Peeking over her shoulder, Marianne saw, and made a funny noise at the back of her throat, before quickly turning back around. 

"Don't fly over the forest," Seteth finished with the usual warnings. "And be back in no later than two hours. If you should need assistance, I will be riding behind you. Now, go."

The literal second he said 'go', Minty spread his wings. Previously Hilda had not properly admired the true breadth of his wingspan. He had always kept them neatly tucked up against his flank every time she had encountered him in the past. Now, seated atop his back, his wings spread a good fifteen feet in either direction, and all of a sudden Hilda felt quite small. 

When he lifted his head, and then reared up on his hind legs, Hilda wrapped her arms around Marianne's waist with a yelp. 

"Is that really necessary?" Hilda asked.

He did not answer. Instead, he charged forward to get a running start, and then his wings swept downwards. With a mighty gust, they were airborne. Air rushed past them as they gained altitude with every downward stroke of Minty's wings. 

Hilda kept her eyes squeezed shut. Her hands firmly grasped each other around Marianne's narrow waist, and she had the side of her face pressed against Marianne's back. She could feel the tense of muscle against her cheek, but Marianne did not try to shuffle away or tell her to stop. 

It wasn't until they started to travel in a horizontal line again that Hilda dared to open her eyes and lift her head. She nudged the side of her face against Marianne’s shoulder to straighten her sunglasses. They were midway along the pack of other campers, with more than enough room to spare between each pegasus. Hilda relaxed a bit, letting loose a breath she had been holding since they took off. 

"You don't like flying," Marianne commented, and it was not a question. 

"Not really, no," Hilda said. She looked down at the ground, and admired the view far below. "I mean, I like the act of flying itself. Heights aren’t a problem. If I were flying a plane, it would be totally fine. Or a creature that wasn't, you know, sentient. I just don't trust that a pegasus won't do something dumb just for the hell of it."

"Minty wouldn't do that," Marianne assured her.

"Yes, I would," said Minty. 

Hilda pointed at his tufted ears, which were angled back so he could eavesdrop. "Mind your business, asshole."

"You're on my back. You are my business."

"Whatever." 

They didn't even make it back from the pavilion for the first lap. As they flew over the lake, Minty glided downwards, drifting far below the other pegasi until they were just a meter or so above the water.

"Hey, uh -" Hilda said, peering up at the other paired groups far overhead. "Why are we flying so low all of a sudden? Not that I don't appreciate standing out from the crowd, but -"

Minty did not answer. Instead, he just kicked his back legs. Hard. Hilda, who had loosened her grip around Marianne's waist, was jostled so forcefully that she didn't have time to even scramble for a better hold. She just fell right off his back and into the water.

Hitting the lake was a cold shock. Hilda struck out at the water, and swam furiously back to the surface. She gasped for air, treading water. Her sunglasses had been dislodged, and she could see the faint glimmer of them sinking into the clear blue of the water below her.

Glowering at Minty, who was flapping his wings to hover in place over her, Hilda spat against the water lapping at her chin. "Oh, you're going to pay for that. Look at my hair! And my clothes! And you made me lose my axe! Do you know how much time I spent making -?"

Minty flapped his wings in such a way that the very tip of his longest flight feathers skimmed the surface of the water, and splashed her in the face.

"You -!" Hilda spluttered. "Asshole!"

She tried to splash him back, but missed wildly. He was too high up to reach. On the pegasus' back, Marianne was covering her mouth with one hand. She was holding back an odd, strangled noise. When it escaped from behind her hand, she quickly turned her head aside to hide her face.

She was, Hilda finally realised, laughing at her.

"Oh you think this is funny, do you?" Hilda asked.

It took Marianne a second to compose herself, and even then her answer sounded strained. "No. It's -” Marianne bit her lower lip, and her voice wobbled suspiciously. “It's terrible. What an awful thing to have happened."

"Uh-huh.” Hilda nodded at the pegasus, and said, “Minty, dump her.”

“What -?” said Marianne. 

If a pegasus could grin, then surely Minty was grinning right now. He dropped his back legs, and gave a single strong flap of his wings. Eyes wide, Marianne scrambled at his mane, but couldn’t hold on. She slowly slipped down his back, and plunged into the water a few meters away from Hilda.

Marianne’s head emerged from the water with a gasp. Her hair was plastered to the side of her face, the messy bun beginning to unfurl from its braid at the base of her neck. Hilda lifted a hand, and splashed her. Marianne sputtered. She tread water with the clumsiness of someone well and truly unaccustomed to swimming. Hilda smirked in triumph at the look of absolute shock on Marianne’s face. 

“Now who’s laughing? Huh, punk?” Hilda said.

Some indescribable expression crossed Marianne’s face. Hilda watched her go on a face journey -- bewilderment, irritation, amusement -- before landing finally on resolve. It was the most expressive Hilda had ever seen her. And it took Hilda utterly by surprise when Marianne actually splashed her back. 

“Oh, it is so on.” 

Hilda put a bit more force behind her next splash, spraying a broad stream of lake water right at Marianne’s head. Marianne’s high pitched squeak was well worth another faceful of water pushed back at her. Minty continued to hover and watch their fight until, with Marianne’s help, Hilda managed to grab hold of one hairy pastern and drag him half into the lake. He floundered like a cat in water, flapping wildly until he was in the air once more. But by that point Hilda was laughing so hard she inhaled water and started to cough, while Marianne patted her on the back. 

When they finally made it back to shore, they were panting slightly. Marianne clambered onto the beach and sprawled on her back, with Hilda doing the same beside her.  

Breathing heavily, Hilda said towards the sky, “I told you I would take you swimming in the lake.” 

Marianne laughed aloud, then quickly covered her mouth with her hands to stifle the noise. Her eyes were still crinkled at the edges. The sight hit Hilda like a blow to the chest. Or maybe that was just heat of the sun beating down on them high overhead. 

She looked away, and tried not to think about it too hard. 

The shadow of a pegasus drifted along the ground nearby, as Seteth landed on the beach. He dismounted, and walked over to them. Arms crossed, he tilted his head. “While I am glad to see you two having such a good time, I am hard pressed to condone skipping a lesson.”

Hilda pointed towards Minty, who had landed further along, and was shaking himself off like a dog. “It’s all his fault, Your Honour. I swear it.”

“Please, do not refer to me as such. That is a very particular title reserved for other deities far outside my jurisdiction.”

In response, Hilda lowered her hand so that it was a half-hearted salute by her head. “Understood, my lord.”

Marianne made that strangled sound again. Her hand was clapped over her mouth, and her shoulders were shaking. 

With a sigh, Seteth shook his head. After they received a thoroughly tepid scolding -- which was just enough time for them to start to dry off beneath the noonday sun -- Seteth urged them back into the air to finish the lesson. Before that however, he had a few whispered words with Minty, which neither of them could overhear. Whatever he said must’ve worked though, because the pegasus behaved for the remaining hour or so.

It wasn’t until they were back at the stables that Marianne’s usual sombre air returned. It was incredibly out of place with her rumpled clothes, and the coils of hair that had slipped from their trappings and curled gently at the nape of her neck. Still, her dark eyes were warm when she offered Hilda a little wave of goodbye as they parted ways for the day. 

Hilda waved back, “See you tomorrow!”

Her hand was still held halfway in the air as she watched Marianne walk off towards the cabins. 

When someone clapped Hilda on the back, she nearly leapt out of her skin. Claude came up from behind, and draped his arm around her shoulders so they could watch Marianne glide away together.

“Good trick with the water,” he said, and lowered his voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “Now, we can cross Poseidon off our list.”

“Right,” she replied without any real feeling. Not once did she take her eyes off Marianne’s retreating form. “Yeah, I totally meant to do that.”

Hilda half expected Marianne to turn back, to steal a glance over her shoulder. She didn’t. 

[2ndvice]

@heartfated​​​​​ sent:     nude / FOR THE BFS :pray: some  one  word  prompts .   (    send   one   of   the   words   for   our   muses   to   interact   based   off   that   word   )          // accepting.

     it's   hot.   it's   oh,   so,   very   HOT.

     by   now,   one   would   think   that   living   in   the   southern   hemisphere   for   over   two   years   would   prove   itself   to   be   enough   time   to   adapt   to   the   overwhelmingly   hot   weather.   unbeknownst   to   most,   that   was   a   plain,   blunt   lie.   anyone   who   has   grown   used   to   heavy   rains   during   the   winter   &   cool   breezes   during   sunny   summer    days,   couldn't   possibly   efficiently   handle   this !

     during   the   winter   season,   it   isn't   uncommon   for   Sugawara   to   find   himself   walking   outside   wearing   around   five   or   six   layers   of   clothing.   plus,   he   often   uses   gloves,   a   thick     —   yet   astonishingly   soft   at   the   touch,   since   he   only   picked   the   finest   wool   —      scarf   &   maybe   the   occasional   matching   beanie,   in   specifically   cold   mornings.   it   felt   easy   to   get   up   &   start   picking   an   outfit   that   would   imply   layers   &   layers   of   clothes;   &   even   so,   he   did   it   with   enough   satisfaction.   in   all   honesty:   he   practically   looked   forward   to   it !   winter   always   means   jackets,   parkas,   overcoats !   it   means   an   entire   collection   of   boots   ready   for   use   &   heavier   fabrics   crying   to   get   out   of   the   wardrobe.

     during   the   summer   season,   however . . .   mornings   tended   to   rise   in   difficulty   levels.   waking   up   with   sweat   at   the   nape   of   silver   locks     (   &   not   to   mention   the   gross   glow   of   other,   very   uncomfortable,   areas   of   the   human   body   )      isn't   something   pleasant   or   delightful.   neither   to   feel   nor   to   see !   irritations   atop   pale   skin   were,   usually,   what   got   him   up   to   start   the   battle   against   something   much   worse:   the   lingering   sense   of   laziness   that   remained   in   his   wake.   all   that . . .   isn't   exactly   something   to   look   at   with   excitement.   forget   the   part   of   the   day   when   he   thought   about   good,   actually   fashionable   outfits !   Buenos   Aires'   blazing   heat   was   everything   the   japanese   teacher   found   himself   hating  ��&   even   more !

     &   today   he   hated   it   even   more —

     to   think   he   woke   up   to   an   empty   bed   &   a   very   vivid   memory   of   the   previous   night.   immediately,   Sugawara   finds   himself   rolling   around   in   the   cotton   sheets   until   he’s   on   his   stomach,   crying   &   grumbling   under   a   short   breath.   did   he   seriously   let   himself   oversleep   after   all   that ?   if   the   bed’s   this   empty,   then,   that   means   Oikawa,   the   one   who   should   be   there   with   him,   has   already   left   for   his   morning   jog.    AH !     how   can   he   even   do   that ? !   it’s   so,   so   hot   outside !   slender   digits   reach   for   the   pillow   that   isn't   his,   &   pull   it   close   to   Suga’s   front;   thus,   he   rests   in   it   &   allows   himself   to   indulge   in   the   comforting,   lingering   perfume,   of   the   one   he's   missing;   for   just   a   second   while   longer.

    &    who   knows,   exactly,   for   how   long   he   stays   there ?   he   probably   drifted   to   sleep   again   in   the   meantime,   but   no   one   can   tell —   not   when   he’s   just   content   thinking   about   all   the   good   things   life   brought   to   him.   how   he's   content   being   loved   back   by   the   one   he   loved   most.

     only   when   it   feels   about   time   to   get   up      —   which   is   probably   five   minutes   later   than   usual   —,      does   he   start   to   move   away   from   the   bed   &   direct   himself   to   the   bathroom.   with   hints   of   a   slight   frown   tugging   at   delicate,   sleepy   features,   he   realises   that   the   wooden   door   is   closed.   nevertheless,   Suga   decides   to   pay   no   mind   to   it —   maybe   Oikawa   closed   it   by   accident   on   the   way   out.   it   was   too   silent   inside   for   someone   to   be   in   there !   with   an   uncomplicated   shrug,   his   right   palm   reaches   for   the   handle   &   opens   it.

     . . . 

     . . .

     ! ! !

     are   his   eyes   playing   pranks   on   him ?

     he   blinks.   o n c e . . .   t w i c e . . .     t h r i c e . . .

     ❝  Uhh . . .  ❞      &    there   he   stands,      —    utterly   frozen   at   the   entrance   of   the   bathroom    — ,      with   a   hand   on   the   doorknob,   as   he   gawks   at   the   literal   Greek   God   that   is   his   boyfriend.   yes.   the   exact   same   boyfriend,   who   he   thought   to   be   away   but   is   slightly   leaning   forward   on   the   sink   as   he   shaves.   chocolate - coloured   irises,   absentmindedly,   start   to   analyse   the   player's   tanned   silhouette:   slowly   trailing   from   the   beautiful,   flawless   features   of   his   semblance   to   the   curves   of   his   calves.   which   immediately   makes   him   swallow   loudly —    just   why   the   hell   is   he   shaving   when   absolutely   butt   naked ?

     (   Only   God   knows   how   endlessly   thankful   the   teacher   is   for   the   simple   fact   that   he   had   the   idea   to   sleep   in   his   pyjama   pants    &    not   in   his   underwear   alone.   ) 

     ❝  H - Hi . . .   morning.  ❞

     his   usually   mellow   voice   cracks,   forcing   him   to   clear   his   throat    &    move   closed   fists   to   rub   at   his   eyelids.   way   to   make   a   fool   out   of   yourself, Kōshi.,   he   scolds   at   himself.   despite   the   evident   reddening   of   his   cheeks,   the silvery - locked   man   marches   ever   closer   to   his   significant   other    &    decides   to   place   a   gentle   kiss   at   the   top   of   his   bare,   bronzed   shoulder.   only   since   kissing   him   on   the   cheek   or   the   lips   is   an   option   that   is   off   the   table   while   he’s   shaving —       ❝  I   didn’t   expect   to   find   you   in   here.   I   thought   you   were   gone   for   your   run.   Sorry   that   I . . .   uhh . . .   kinda   burst   in   on   you.  ❞   he   apologizes,   the   tone   full   of   sincerity.      ❝  Would   you   mind   if   I   take   a   shower   while   you’re   here ?   I’m   all   sticky   and   gross . . .  ❞     the   words   sound   like   a   complaint    &    they're   accompanied   by   a   pout   that   starts   forming   at   the   top   of   thin   lips.

     however,   it   soon   dies   out:     ❝  You   know   what ?   Scratch   that.    —    Can   I   interest   you,   maybe,   in   getting   all   sticky   and   gross   in   the   shower   with   me ?  ❞