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samingtonwilson · 5 years ago

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Apartment 8C - Chapter 4

The First, First Date

SERIES MASTERLIST // PREVIOUS PART

Summary: college au. you and bucky are the closest of friends, the most functional of roommates, and… exes. but just because it didn’t work out romantically doesn’t mean he has to move out! it’s not like he’s so deeply in love that he can barely breathe. totally not in love. at all. not even a little. maybe.

Pairing: bucky x reader

Warnings: LANGUAGE, the use of marijuana/pot/weed/reefer/that loud

A/N: i had a bad thought while writing this chapter and i’m not going to share it with y’all because that might put y’all off this story. actually fuck it, i’ll share the thought. isn’t it so weird how obsessed we all are with love? like these are college students with so much more happening in their lives but they’re sitting around and always talking about love. and a lot of us do that shit too. weirdos.

There’s a knock at the door and Bucky replies to it with a groan. A loud, I don’t give a fuck if the neighbors hear me kind of groan.

Slumped on the couch, phone balanced on his stomach and remote control set on his thigh, he very nearly snarls. He doesn’t bother to pick up either electronic as he stands, letting his phone fall face down on the area rug while the remote knocks against its corner with a clang.

His journey to the door is comprised less of steps and more of a slide, a glide, a bit of a skate. He’s thankful he kept his socks on and unlocks the door, eyes half-lidded and heavy head tilted back. “The delivery instructions said to text and leave the bag at the door, not to knock and make me get up.”

“That how you talk to delivery people? They should ban your sorry ass from Doordash.”

He straightens his head and glares at Steve— smirking, smug, smart ass Steve who holds a large brown paper bag in one hand and a six pack in the other. It somehow makes Bucky frown deeper. “You intercepted my delivery?”

“And brought you beer,” he holds the cardboard case up and shakes it, smiling.

That smile fades, however, when he pauses in thought for a moment. He frowns then, indignant. Pushes Bucky out of the way to cross the threshold into the apartment. “So, you know, you’re fuckin’ welcome, you ungrateful jerk.”

A sigh and Bucky shuts the door. He watches as Steve appraises the room and feels no shame at the look of disgust on Steve’s face. Instead, he rolls his eyes when Steve fully faces him. “I don’t want to hear it.”

“You clean out your fridge? It broken or something?” Steve asks. He sets the bag and beer onto the coffee table, shuts Bucky’s dead laptop that he hasn’t bothered to charge. Steve then places Bucky’s phone and the remote control on the couch and begins to gather the empty take out containers still cool from the refrigerator.

Bucky grits his teeth at the sight. “Steve, just— What the hell are you doing?”

“Picking all this shit up so we can eat and watch the game,” there’s a cheerful lilt through his words. He sends a smile Bucky’s way, humor in the blue of his eyes, as he passes to toss the containers into the trash. “Thanks for asking, Buck. What the hell are you doing?”

“I—” Bucky still stands by the door. His arms are crossed over his chest, his brow furrowed in incredulity when Steve crosses to the couch once more and falls into the cushions with a sigh of relief. “Steve, I’m not in the mood today, man.”

“In the mood for what?” The volume of the television is turned up, Steve hugs the elephant cushion to his chest. “You were gonna watch the game anyway, so was I. Might as well do that in the same place and eat a li’l somethin’ while we’re at it.”

Bucky’s sigh is one of defeat. He takes steps back to the couch rather than skating over, and sits beside Steve with a mumbled, “I didn’t order anything with your fat head in mind.”

Steve leans forward to pull the bag open, paper crinkling as he pulls a sandwich from the depths. He tosses what remains in the bag onto Bucky’s lap. “Stopped at a deli on the way here. Don’t know what the fuck you’re eating but it smelled like dog shit.”

He smiles to himself. Wryly. “What deli you stop at?”

“Shelsky's.” There’s pride in Steve’s voice. Arrogance in his posture. “I didn’t want to cheap out and settle for something worse.”

“That’s where I ordered from, you fucking snob.”

“Must’ve ordered something nasty then.”

A sarcastic hum of agreement and Bucky shakes his head. He narrows his eyes at the television as Steve flips through the channels in an attempt to find something more entertaining than the advertisements currently airing on Fox. “Why’re you really here?”

“It’s Thursday night,” he replies, using a keychain to pop the cap on a bottle of beer. “Titans are playing the Jags.”

“You don’t care about either of those teams.”

Steve drops his smile now. He scowls and settles back on Fox, unsatisfied. “Can’t a guy eat a sandwich, drink a beer, and watch a game with a friend without the third degree?”

“Couldn’t have done that with Sam?”

“I do a variation of this with Sam almost every night. Wanted to spend time with you today.”

“But—”

“Buck, for shit’s sake, let me be here for you without making us both live through me saying why.” He reaches forward to pull another beer from the carton, placing it in Bucky’s lap, and slouches back against the soft grey velvet. “And if you wanna talk about it, I’m here for that, too.”

“What’s there to talk about?” Bucky asks, more rhetorical than expecting an answer.

There’s a pause as Bucky gazes at the television with practiced focus. His arms fold over his chest again. His knee bounces.

“She’s on a date,” he continues after the lull stretches for too long. “She was going to start dating eventually. I’m okay with it. Happy for her. T’Challa’s a good dude. Good looking, good soccer player. Smart. It’s nice. Good for her. I’m happy for her. She deserves someone like him. I’m happy for her.

“He actually came to the door. Didn’t text her to meet him downstairs, didn’t show up empty-handed. We both know how uncomfortable she is with actual romantic gestures and I guess he knows, too, because he gave her a Ziploc of peaches like she had in class the day they met. It’s nice. He’s a good dude. I’m happy for her.”

Through the thick silence that falls over them, Steve blinks. “Christ, you know you just spoke for a minute straight without taking a breath? I think you said ‘I’m happy for her’ thirteen times.”

Bucky’s inhale is loud and pointed, his exhale a huff. He’s no longer interested in eating the sandwich he’d ordered, suddenly full from all the leftovers he’d tucked into just minutes ago. All he wants is for Steve to leave.

Well. That’s not all he wants.

But it trumps his other desires. Momentarily.

“I know you’re happy for her,” Steve says as Bucky parts his lips to tell the former off. Bucky shuts his mouth now, though. And just listens as Steve’s voice grows softer, eyes no longer dancing in humor. “But I know you’re fuckin’ miserable, too.”

He knows there’s no point denying it. No point denying what’s so plainly written across his face.

But he tries anyway. “M’not miserable. I’m ha—”

“You can be both.” Steve, unwrapping the parchment from his sandwich, keeps his eyes on the television. “It’s possible to be happy for her but miserable at the idea of it all deep down. S’why I thought you might wanna move out.”

“She’d still go on dates if I’d moved out.”

“You wouldn’t have to watch her going on them.”

“I’m okay with her dating.”

“I’m okay with a lotta things, too. Doesn’t mean I wanna see it all happen in front of me.”

Bucky watches as Steve takes an impossibly large bite out of the sandwich, Russian dressing smearing over his lips. “I’ve got a date, too.”

“Buck,” Steve’s mouth is full. Horribly so. And Bucky scowls at the sound of his thick voice. “This ain’t a date. Don’t know how many times I gotta tell you. I just don’t feel that way about you, man.”

A sarcastic smile and even more dry laugh. “Shut the fuck up. I’m talking about Connie.”

Steve scowls as he swallows. “That perky little brunette from the bar?”

“Perky?”

“I can just look at her and tell she was on her high school cheerleading squad.” Around another bite, he adds, “Seems nice enough, I guess.”

“She is nice.” He pauses only to mumble more to himself, “And emotionally available.”

Steve cocks an eyebrow and briefly looks at Bucky in skepticism. “What, you determined that from just a few days of talking?”

“On the second day she told me she’s liked me since freshman year orientation.” He sighs your name then. Slowly. Laboriously. “She was somethin’ else entirely. You know how long it took her to admit she liked me?”

Steve nods upwards and flips the channel when the commentators on the pregame show begin to argue.

“Took her three months after we started dating to admit she liked me. And she never said it again after that.”

Steve drags the back of his hand over his lips, wiping off a bit of stray dressing. In visible disgust, he wipes his hand on the discarded butcher paper. “Some people show their feelings rather than say them.”

Bucky seems to smile at that. Unbeknownst to himself, there’s a slow grin spreading over his lips.

He thinks of instances. Instances when silence would act as a wall but actions a wrecking ball.

The morning after your third date when you’d tried your best— despite your absolute inability to cook— to make the breakfast he always orders at the diner in Astoria.

The eggs were runny in places, burnt in others and the bacon was traumatically floppy under a layer of not-even-close-to rendered fat and added oil. You’d apologized as he scrubbed the pan and plates, bright yellow dish rag waving as you insisted repeatedly that you couldn’t live if you’d given the guy you’d only just begun to date salmonella.

Independence day when you’d Irish-goodbyed from Steve’s birthday party only twenty minutes after arriving to steal away to the rooftop of Mama Wilson’s brownstone in Harlem.

You’d said something about fireworks and pizza, a six-pack of beer already snagged off the kitchen counter. Played it off as Sam’s idea, his house keys in the pocket of the navy blue bomber jacket you’d “borrowed” from Bucky. Nothing about Bucky’s hatred of parties at the Rogers-Wilson residence, though. Not even a hint until he overheard your apologies to Sam’s mother for the intrusion— an apology you later denied, kissing him silly to make him forget any further questions.

The week before you’d broken up— a week Bucky remembers less for the distance you’d successfully created— when you sought comfort in him after a long day.

Your boots had been kicked off by the door, your bag and its contents scattered beside them. You’d tearfully slurred words together, words he barely caught, in explanation. Something about work, and school, and your mother’s unnecessary opinions about your major and future. Something which forced sobs from your chest as you set your head against his. You’d wrapped your arms around him tightly, the two of you huddled together on his worn barcalounger as he stroked your hair and pressed kisses to the crown of your head.

It’s well after the game has ended— Steve vengefully chowing down on your once-hidden stash of This is for when I have my period chocolate, Bucky barely paying attention to the episode of The Office the two had resorted to watching— when you come home.

Hair mussed, lips swollen with gloss smudged every which way, you stumble through the doorway with a laughed, “No more rule-breaking on the first date, T’Challa.”

The door is shut and locked just as T’Challa begins to respond. You spin and press your back to it, still laughing but quietly, more to yourself. You open your mouth to greet Steve and Bucky, both looking at you in either confusion or amusement, but shut it as a knock at the door cuts you off.

“I’ll call you,” T’Challa promises through the wood. There’s a chuckle laced through his words, a smile in his voice.

Exaggeratedly, you scoff. Still grinning however. “Who calls?”

“I do,” he replies without concern that your neighbors may complain about his volume. “And you’re gonna pick up.”

“Oh, am I?”

“Yeah, you are. ‘Night.”

You don’t respond beyond a hum and stand at the door until you’re sure he’s gone. A nod to yourself and you step away as you remove that navy blue bomber jacket to toss it onto the counter. You also toss a smile over your shoulder to Bucky. “You here just to eat my chocolate, Rogers?”

“No,” Steve says without a glance in your direction. “I ate your ice cream, too.”

You shut the freezer. Empty-handed. Frowning. “Your stomach’s just a bottomless pit, huh?”

“I’m a growing boy.”

“Have I told you how uncomfortable it makes me when you call your grown-ass self a boy?” you remark, settling for a bottle of water from the refrigerator. You pause before shutting the heavy steel door. “You clear out all the leftovers, too?”

Steve peers at Bucky, the latter stuck in a thoughtful, sad stare, and nods. “Yeah. We’re all out of food at my place and I don’t get paid ‘til tomorrow night.”

You’re frowning in consideration as you walk to the barcalounger and fall into it sideways, legs swung over the opposite armrest you’ve set your back against. “Fair enough. How was your day, Buck?”

The question breaks him from whatever daze he’d fallen into and he blinks. Averts a steady gaze when you shift a bit to look at him. “The Jags won.”

You smile. It’s warm, a little honeyed. “Is that good or bad?”

“Neutral.” He can’t help but smile himself. It doesn’t even falter as he asks, “How was your date?”

A shrug. Your eyes narrow at Michael Scott as he attempts to toss pizza dough. “T’Challa got a large popcorn at the movies.”

“Damn, he’s got money.”

You laugh, startled. Bucky grins when you do, too. “That’s what I said! I also beat your high score at pinball in the theater arcade.”

“Went on a date with a guy who’s got money, beat my pinball score. You’ve just had a magical day, haven’t you?”

There’s a softness and affection in the way Bucky speaks and looks at you, your responding giggles just as sweet. Steve, sitting between the two of you, almost feels as if he’s intruding on something, an empathetic ache in his chest as he watches. “Explain the pinball thing.”

“Bucky and I went to the movies last month and fucked around the arcade while waiting for our showtime. And he got so competitive.” You roll your eyes at the memory. “We ended up missing the movie because he was determined to beat the high score this poor kid had just set when we got there. Took him hours and, like, forty bucks in tokens.”

“It didn’t take me hours.”

“We got there in the afternoon and by the time we left, the employees were cleaning the popcorn machines,” your expression and tone leave no room for argument. “Only took me two hours.”

Steve looks between you two, fighting the urge to scoff at the satisfaction in your eyes and the combination of annoyance and so much adoration in Bucky’s. “Two hours? You miss the movie again?”

“No, I snuck out before the movie ended. Said I had to pee and went straight to the machine so none of the kids in our auditorium could take it before I got there.” You ignore Steve’s disappointed gaze. “T’Challa was confused and probably unhappy I made him sit there for so long while I played.”

“Probably unhappy?”

“I didn’t ask.” A nonchalant shrug and you flash them a knowing smile. “Beating Bucky’s score was my priority so I could come in here and casually mention it like I’m not bragging only to bring it up everyday for the rest of his life.”

Your eyes meet Bucky’s and, at the look you’re giving him, Bucky has to remind himself that the two of you are no longer in a relationship and he can’t just kiss the arrogance away. “Sucker.”

—

It’s a makeup caboodle.

Pale pink and lime green. A tropical flower sticker pasted to the clasp. There’s a ribbon tied to the handle— deep magenta velvet in a neat bow.

It’s unassuming. A little innocent looking. Like it should belong to a seventh grader in the nineties just learning how to use glitter eyeshadow and lip balm palettes.

It’s when you pop it open, the mirror attachment springing up only to reflect Wanda’s skeptical features, that the pungent smell permeates throughout the kitchen and small living room. Skunky, but a little floral.

A speckled glass pipe, multicolored glaze splattered over a white base, sits in the top compartment alongside a few toothpicks and a package of rolling papers. In the compartment directly below rests a round steel grinder, three-tiered and emblazoned with the engravement of a manufacturer’s name.

The biggest compartment holds many small glass jars. Tiny mason jars you’d bought at a flea market. All different colors, all labeled with white circular stickers.

Wanda sits up in her stool at the sight, pulls the caboodle toward herself and sifts through the jars. She removes three of the jars and looks at you with widened eyes. “You’re insane.”

You shrug and take the grinder when she hands it to you. “I like being organized.”

“You should see her room,” Bucky says as he shuts his bedroom door behind him, shoes in hand. He smiles at the two of you, beard freshly trimmed to just barely above stubble and eyes a bright blue. “Most organized mess I’ve ever seen.”

You nod, tearing a bit of the sour diesel bud apart to place carefully between the metal teeth in the topmost chamber. You smile at her from your spot atop the counter, legs folded and back pressed against the shelves behind you. “There’s a method to my madness, Wan. Hand me a toothpick.”

She complies and removes a blue jar without a label. “What’s in this one?”

“Blue dream. Jar’s blue and I ran out of stickers.” There’s a click as the lid is magnetically snapped back onto the grinder. You twist it to the left twice, then to the right once. “You picking her up or meeting her there?”

Bucky, leant against the wall as he slips his shoes on, looks up. “What says ‘This is a real date, not a hookup’?”

“Going to dinner and not having sex after.”

He replies with a dry laugh and narrowed eyes. “Which of the two options— picking her up or meeting there— says that?”

“Picking her up.” You tear the stem off the bottom of the bud and place it as a barrier over the hole in the pipe’s bowl. “Might be too late to tell her that now, though.”

“Already told her I’d pick her up. I was just making sure I did the right thing.” You see his lips spread into a self-satisfied smirk when you finish filling the bowl. “Looks like I did.”

You smile back, though sarcastically. “Girls like a little humility in the guys they date, you know.”

“She’s liked me for three years now,” he says. He pulls on a jacket and pats every pocket on him to make sure he’s got his wallet and keys. “She knows what she’s herself getting into.”

“Bucky, baby, I live with you and I had no idea what I was getting myself into.”

Wanda snorts a laugh at that, taking the pipe and a bright pink lighter from you.

Bucky’s eyes fall into a glare. “So normal first dates don’t end in sex?”

“No, they don’t. Most people actually wait until after the third date. It’s, like, in the dating manual for successful relationships.”

“Huh,” he breathes. He takes his phone when you remove it from the charger to pass it to him, smiling up at you. “Looks like we were doomed from the start.”

“Maybe.” You watch as Wanda exhales a steady stream of opaque smoke punctuated by a soft cough. You slide her bottle of water to her. “Or maybe we’re the exception to the rule. Apart, we should follow normal date conventions. But together, we were too hot to wait that long.”

Wanda hands you the pipe and lighter. “What happened to humility?”

Before sparking the lighter, you answer, “I’m not dating a girl.”

Your next inhale, once you’ve adequately charred the top layer of pot, burns in your throat and you hold it in your chest. You smile at Bucky when he shoots you a sly grin, lips in a cirlce as you exhale. “Have fun. Don’t order the tiramisu. They skimp on the espresso.”

He nods once and straightens his jacket. You watch as he unlocks the door, opens it, and steps through with a simple wave. Your eyes remain on the door even after it shuts.

It isn’t until Wanda’s fingers brush yours that you break your stare. “What?” the question is nearly barked when she offers you a look of something eerily similar pity.

“Nothing! You just— You look a little lovelorn.”

Your features crumple. “Ew. No, I don’t. I look amazing, you look lovelorn.”

“Okay, Queen of the land Defensiva,” she mutters once she’s exhaled. “I’m just saying. You were staring at that door like you want to take it home to meet your mother.”

“Maybe I do. It’s a nice color. I picked the yellow out myself.”

“Nat told me about that night at the bar. About how Bucky flirted with that Connie chick right in front of you.” She watches as you take a hit and your head lolls back against the shelves. “That must have sucked.”

“It did.” You trace the bumps on the ceiling and sigh. “But it’s okay. Larger picture, broad scheme of things. It’s okay.”

“What’s that mean?”

A shrug. You take a sip from your own bottle of water. “We’re both okay. We’re both moving on, we’re still able to be friends and roommates. I can sit here and watch him go on dates with her if that’s what it takes. A little pain for the larger cause.”

There’s a beat of silence as Wanda takes a long drag. You break it as you muse, “Do we talk about this shit too much?”

“Yeah, maybe. Should we order a pizza?”

CHAPTER 5: ARE YOU OVERCOMPENSATING?

#bucky #bucky barnes #bucky x reader #bucky barnes x reader #bucky x you #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes fic #a8c

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make-it-mavis · 4 years ago

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Homesick (Entry #23)

01/09/88 5:17 AM

Hey.

Hey. Hi. Hello.

I know I’ve said this dozens of times already. But Devs, I don’t want to write this. It’s just a huge, chaotic web of bad, and I just get tangled up whenever I think about it. It just pulls me into a freakin’ mind spiral again. But there are a lot of things I should have told you. There are things that part of me wanted to tell you. I wanted to trust you with this. I wanted to tell you why I shut down and wouldn’t look at you. But I didn’t have time. Or, I guess I didn’t have the guts to do it while I still had time. I was afraid of what you’d say. Of what you’d do. But you can’t say or do anything anymore, so there’s not much at stake. I might as well tell you now.

I believed you were never really supposed to care about me.

I’ve always been pretty sure no one is. It’s just felt like part of my programming. And yeah, I know I adhere to my program the least of any sprite in this Dev-forsaken arcade, but this was different. I did not screw with this. I couldn’t risk getting it wrong. I’ve always had ample reason to believe that being the sort of Easter Egg that I am… more or less means I’m not made for love. Not the real kind, anyway, the kind that actually lasts. The Devs showed me that with their sweet little gamer angels. They love me when I’m new and novel, but the second they get bored, they drop me flat. Say you love me, use me, abuse me, and you’re gone. That’s the formula. It might seem harsh, and, I mean, it is harsh. I’ve been hurt too many times to count. But I adapted. It seemed pretty simple -- don’t give anyone the chance. Don’t get attached to anyone, and never believe anyone is attached to you. They might say they are, they might think they are, but they’re not. They’ll figure it out eventually. I learned this years ago, and I never forgot it.

I begged the question of myself, then, why did my stupid, masochistic, self-sabotaging ass deliberately ignore my own rules when I met you?

My code was constantly screaming that you would leave me if I didn’t leave you first. I could have done it. There were so many opportunities for me to walk away. Maybe we both would have been better off if I did. But I didn’t. I saw it happening, I saw us becoming friends, I felt us hit unsafe territory, and I chose to stay. If what we had was going to end, I decided that you would have to be the one to end it.

You didn’t. Years went by, and you still didn’t end it.

For a long time, it really seemed like you wouldn’t leave after all. It really seemed like everything was going to be okay.

But then you cared about me.

You just had to go and actually care about me.

Look… I know a lot of this is stupid. It’s about to get even stupider. Now that I’m out of the thick of it, I can recognize a lot of my fears at the time to be ridiculous and irrational. Sometimes, it feels like I’m coming to a point where none of me believes it anymore. I know what happened to you, now. I’m starting to understand why it happened, too. But there are nights where the quiet gets to me. These thoughts come creeping back into my head, and they nibble away at my brain.

Most of the time, the pain I would feel over being abandoned felt like a sort of punishment from the Devs. Like they could see me trying to feel loved, despite being shown time and time again that I’m to stay out of that business entirely, and decided to scold me for it. I know it’s stupid. The Devs can’t see us. They can’t do anything to us. They just left me to run free with this crappy programming, and if I trip over it and bash my face in, that’s on me. I should know how to live with it. I’d like to think that I usually do.

But with you, I just… didn’t know what to do. You were different from anyone else I’d ever had to keep at arm’s length. You’d been the exception to so many rules in my life already. I wanted you to be the exception to this one, too. You know, I just… I wanted to pull you in. So badly. So, being stupid, arrogant, and reckless, I threw caution to the wind and broke the one rule I never broke.

So imagine how it must have looked on my end when, just like that, just as I let you in, you burned up.

I’ve been making my own semblance of peace with that concept, little by little. But, that night at Tapper’s, the pain felt like the Devs’ most horrific sort of punishment of all. It felt like they saw that I had the gall not to leave you, and that you weren’t going to leave me like you were supposed to, because you actually cared about me. So they intervened and ended our friendship for us. It felt like they took you away to keep me in line. It felt like you were paying for my mistake.

Just imagine, for a minute, feeling like your best friend’s death was your fault.

Maybe that will help you understand why I did what I did.

As I stood there in the bathroom stall that night, this revelation tore into my brain like a pack of hungry dogs. The muffled sounds from the bar faded, and I heard -- clear enough to make me jump -- vicious barking.

This ghost audio cut in and out, and my brain thrummed with each hit, flashes of binary cutting through my vision. I clamped my hands hard over my ears, but I couldn’t shut it out. I just heard it all again. Loud and clear, I heard what that sicko screamed as she beat me.

“You knew this would happen! You could have stopped it! But you didn’t! You let this happen! Now he’s gone! For good! Forever! And that’s on you!

It’s on you!”

I couldn’t breathe. I’d started hyperventilating. My chest heaved wildly and my intentions for a scream came as airy whimpers. All the weight, everything I’d been carrying on my shoulders, bore down and brought me to the floor. Literally. The strength went out of me and I fell back against the stall door, slipping right down onto my ass. I stared at the tile between my feet and found it moving. My vision started to darken around the edges. I knew from unfortunate experience that I’d pass out if I didn’t do something.

So I grabbed my hat and breathed into it as deeply as I could. It just barely helped. Every time I’d start to regain control, my thoughts would spiral again and I’d be gasping. I was just gripped by this feeling of impending doom.

But then someone came in.

When I heard the door swing open, I froze. I almost stopped breathing entirely. I willed my heart to stop, too -- any sign of life that could indicate my presence. But none of that would have mattered. She could see me under the stalls.

Her footsteps stopped a little ways in, and it took a minute for her to say something. I don’t really remember what her voice sounded like, but I know she asked, “Are… you okay?”

I forced myself to take a few deep, steadying breaths, and leaned over to spit in the toilet. With all the strength I could summon, I got to my feet. “Had a bit too much,” I said in a regrettably shaky voice before I flushed away my fictional puke. “Go on and take your piss, I’m fine.”

She didn’t take much convincing. Once I heard her enter a stall, I left. I walked back into the bar room, drawing the gaze of the ever-present accusing eyes all around, without breaking stride. I didn’t care what they thought anymore. I wasn’t afraid. I thought I knew the truth, and it was scarier than all the arcade’s hatred put together.

Wreck-it was back in his stool by the time I got to our spot. I didn’t stay for chit-chat. I gave Tapper his drawing, accepted my pay, and told him I’d be back with another soon. With that, I said goodbye, and was on my way. Wreck-it fell in step behind me after a second, apparently under the impression that we were a unit that evening. I don’t remember if he said anything on the way back, but I certainly didn’t. Not until we were back on that pile of bricks.

I sat in my temporary nest, and he settled in by his stump. After a minute, he prodded awkwardly, “So… how did it feel to get out there again?”

I heard his words, but they meant nothing. They were just sounds demanding more sounds from me. So, automatically, I said, “Good. Thank you.”

He paused. “Wait, wait. Did you just thank me? You?”

I barely noticed the tears spilling down my face. I was frozen.

After receiving no sass, or any response at all, he muttered, “Well… You’re welcome. I’m glad it helped.”

He fell asleep shortly after.

I didn’t sleep at all.

I sat, quivering, for Devs know how long, hands clamped over my mouth, my whole body clenched so tight I could barely breathe, just desperately trying to keep quiet. My eyes wouldn’t close, they just stared blankly off into the dark and overflowed down onto my hands. There was a battle raging in my head, a last-ditch effort to remain in control. I was losing.

It was the first of many attempts to convince myself that you didn’t, in fact, give a crit about me.

I still do this. All the time. If I can believe you never cared, it’s easier. Then it’s your fault. Then I can be angry at you, and being angry is easy. You never cared about our friendship, because you never cared about a single thing but yourself. I was a toy to you, an object, a trophy. I was fun, I was pretty, I was something you had that no one else in the arcade could even lay a finger on, and you loved that. But it wasn’t me that mattered. It was your pleasure, your pride. You trashed me without hesitation. You’re the asshole. You left me behind. You did this to me. It’s your fault. All your fault.

It didn’t work then, and it certainly doesn’t work now, knowing what I do.

I was so, so wrong to want proof that our friendship mattered to you. I have more of it now than I can handle, and I can never let it go. It’s not in a letter or a memento, something I can destroy and forget -- it’s in all my Dev-forsaken memories. I can see it in all the things we did together, the things you’d say, the way you treated me different from everyone else, in things I don’t have the heart to mention.

I won’t say that those memories aren’t important to me. I won’t say that I really want to forget them. I will say that there are still nights where I think of each one, and I wonder if they were all nails in your proverbial coffin. At the time, I certainly believed they were.

Those memories assaulted my head as I sat there, woven into horrid echoes of barking and shouting and my own screaming.

I couldn’t stand it.

I just couldn’t stand this new reality I’d pieced together where it was my fault you were gone. I couldn’t stay in it a day longer. I needed to leave. I needed buffs -- not cutesy vanilla Boosts or Heals anymore, no. I didn’t need to blur reality, I needed to change it.

I needed Game Changers.

And, thanks to Tapper, I had the credits for it.

#fanfiction #fanfic #wreck it ralph #make it mavis #turbo #original character #homesick

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mintchocohip · 5 years ago

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pegging sub!bts︱all members

▬ 𝙧𝙚𝙦𝙪𝙚𝙨𝙩𝙚𝙙 ➤ headcanons for pegging the OT7!

▬ pairing: member x reader ︱ rating: explicit ︱ genre: smut

cr▹

┃ other kinks can be found with each member, when applicable.

𝙏𝘼𝙀𝙃𝙔𝙐𝙉𝙂

▬ A double-sided strap provides the connection Taehyung craves. He wants to work up to something the size of his own cock, or bigger━occasional bouts of humble-bragging insecurity over being too big means he wants to know what it’s like for his partners. The realization that he just loves feeling full up and filled deep follows naturally.

▬ Aesthetics aren’t an afterthought. The material and colors of the harness and toys do need to suit Taehyung’s mood, and they do need to suit the aesthetics of his favorite immersive historical roleplays.

▬ Even when it’s a low-key session with a medium-sized, soft toy that can curve nice and gently, lube flows like a waterfall. The huge bottle of lube is there less because Taehyung needs it, and more because you both love the slick, crisp sounds.

▬ Taehyung’s mood is crystal-clear in how he asks for a pegging. If he’s in a good mood, it’s silent body language. When he’s in a bad mood, it’s demands of “fuck me, fuck me, please, right now, just fuck me.” When he’s in a really bad mood, bending Taehyung over the nearest flat surface gets the job done in a few knee-shaking minutes━no lube necessary. Taehyung’s romantic moods means he can’t ask for it. He wants you to know. There’s a certain soft look in his eyes, though, and a certain way he licks his lips, that makes you cusp a hand against the side of his face and ask “Is that what you want?”

▬ Experimenting with the temperature of the toy in the harness gets surprisingly exhilarated results. A warmed-up ceramic dildo is especially popular.

𝙔𝙊𝙊𝙉𝙂𝙄 other kinks: gangbang, sounding

▬ When the harness comes out, the comfort of a prostate massager or the intimacy of fingers and tongues is abandoned. The cold, calculated and invasive make Yoongi’s heart patter, and flush him into the kind of mindlessness that can only be released through trust.

▬ Big, thick, small, thin━what goes in the harness doesn’t matter, as long as it’s pushed into him rough. Yoongi’s mouth is especially eager to take the strap, but indulging his desire to get facefucked is usually reserved for a treat, or a little decompression during aftercare. Within the boundaries of a scene, not letting Yoongi get what he wants is key.

▬ When he’s getting fucked within an inch of passing out, Yoongi’s exhibitionist streak becomes a jetstream. There’s nothing intimate about these moments, so he’s not shy about sharing them. Play parties, clubs, and private shows with strangers make Yoongi woozy with pride over how well he can take it, and equally humiliate him until his cheeks are a beautiful cherry red. Sometimes you start the train; sometimes it’s a friend, and sometimes it’s whoever volunteers to buckle into the harness next to Yoongi’s bound and blindfolded body.

▬ All of Yoongi’s holes are fuckable, in one way or another. Pale legs have been frogtied up with medical tape. His knees are in his armpits. A metal rod is slowly sliding down his lube-glistening cock, and the stainless steel dildo is slowly pushing up his slicked ass. Dueling sensations streaked through Yoongi’s body by your hand and your hips mean a sensitive prostate is getting squeezed from two sides━the blanked-out expression and utter motionlessness beneath you are relying on you to listen, and watch carefully for signs of a failed attempt to mouth the safeword. Yoongi is also relying on you to understand he’s far from delicate. There’s a muscle in Yoongi’s thigh you only ever see twitching when he’s about to have a shoved-all-the-way-in-there orgasm, and right now, it’s almost vibrating.

▬ Yoongi doesn’t like the strap being treated as an extension of his partner’s self. The appeal of toys rests on their depersonalization. It’s a thing being put inside of him.

𝙅𝙐𝙉𝙂𝙆𝙊𝙊𝙆 other kinks: sub training

▬ Jungkook will try anything in the harness once. Once. The trusty masturbation egg he’s been using for years has survived thanks to regular, attentive cleaning. When it comes to dildos, though, Jungkook goes through them like tissues. Packages constantly show up in his mailbox containing the latest squishy squirting jelly dildo he saw online, or the glittery fuchsia piece shaped like a tentacle. Shyness about experimentation held Jungkook back in the past, and now, his curiosity is spilling out.

▬ Mixing up unusual, surprising colors into faux-cum creampies keeps things fresh, but, ultimately, most of Jungkook’s rainbow-colored collection fall out of rotation and end up as stress toys for him to squeeze and pick at when he’s bored.

▬ Any position that makes Jungkook uncomfortable turns gears in his brain that pool drool into his mouth. Sucking something hard and tasteless often looks like foreplay, but it feels like a main event. Getting fucked in a piledriver sets those gears into overdrive. Jungkook loves being able to see the strap push into him, and he’ll stare between his legs wide-eyed, flutter his eyelids, squeeze his eyes shut, and wheel through such a beautiful series of expressions and keening, muscle-twitching whimpers that it looks and sounds like he’s going to come untouched at any second━when a rope of come does shoot down onto his shaking chest, it always means keep going. Hands in Jungkook’s hair, fingernails clawing at his legs until they’re pink and red; streaking and pinching come over his nipples, and pushing out a few more orgasms until Junkook’s running dry━it’s the only way to make sure he emerges from the other side of aftercare satisfied.

▬ The thought of his ass and mouth being available to you 24/7 makes Jungkook shiver. Practicality and boundaries mean fantasy stays fantasy. On one special day a week, though, you both get a slice of that dream. By the time you’ve trained him to keep the buttplug in all day, Jungkook can fall asleep with your fingers playfully turning the base.

▬ Building up tiers of length and thickness means switching toys out regularly during long, long pegging sessions. Giving memorable names to the collection of toys available to Jungkook means he can ask for a specific toy simply, or beg for it with a single word.

𝙃𝙊𝙎𝙀𝙊𝙆 other kinks: roleplay, degredation, bondage, public/semi-public, filming

▬ He insists he can take more. Overwhelming Hoseok into spilling the safeword into his rolling, hiccuping moans is shockingly easy. Even if Hoseok wants to work up to bigger things, getting fucked is a precarious balance between accepting that it won’t all be luxury and trying to stop himself from teetering off a cliff he can’t climb back up on his own. For now, toys are average sized and simple shapes, and lube glistens on Hoseok’s ass like a second skin.

▬ During gentler sessions, a reach-around with a fleshlight turns Hoseok’s moans into eye-fluttering silence.

▬ Roleplay loosens up Hoseok’s internal restraints. It doesn’t matter how hard he gets fucked, and it doesn’t matter if it hurts━he wants it to hurt. Punishment play, degradation, and your self-assured dirty talk about how much he just needed to get that attitude fucked out of him erase Hoseok’s thoughts, and replace them with sparks and blobs of blissful numbness. The roles are often classics, and the positions that accompany them are classics, too. The man caught jerking off in the library; and the frustrated librarian who’s had enough of his shit━it gets replay. Doggy style and fade down, ass up means he can just shut off his brain, and take it. Other times, faux-impromptu bondage ties him up in precariously exposed positions, and leaves him there when the deed is finished. Breaking Hoseok down is easy, and he’s so cheerful once the binds come off, it almost seems like he wasn’t just shaking like a leaf.

▬ Traveling with Hoseok means racking up unique, increasingly precarious places where he’s been pegged. Bringing him back down from the urge to take the strap in the middle of a bustling plaza means exploring that craving with a camera, some mood lighting, and constant refreshes to see how many hits the video has gotten so far.

▬ The visuals of the harness and toy don’t seem too important, at first. When you introduce a strappy black leather harness and a bright red dildo, Hoseok is swallowing and flushing so much he doesn’t even want to look at it directly. Again━the classics have their appeal.

𝙅𝙄𝙈𝙄𝙉 other kinks: praise/degredation, filming

▬ Long, thick, and hard. Knowing what Jimin wants is simple.

▬ Jimin’s ass is magical, and it deserves the praise of a good fuck. Praise laced with degradation heightens that fuck into an experience stripping Jimin to his core. Soft words in his ear fill Jimin up with that heady mixture as much as the reverent, demeaning movements of hips━”Perfect. All flushed and fucked like this. Do you understand, Jimin? The way you love it so much━ you’re made for this. As soon as it’s up in there, you’re amazing. You’re glowing. This is who you are.” Dirty talk in his ear while he’s fucked from behind and hands play with his nipples and grope his chest and abs and squeeze the head of his cute little cock means Jimin can curl up in the sheets and shake and squirm as much as he needs to. Ricocheting gasps, high-pitched squeals, and random bouts of stunned laughter mean Jimin loves it.

▬ Jimin needs to love it. If he isn’t enjoying himself, he will let you know. Bitterness seeps into the vocal brattiness he shoots over his shoulder. If he can’t form those coherent sentences, you’re doing something right.

▬ Pegging Jimin often becomes an exercise in service topping. If you don’t get off, though, he takes it as a personal offense. When he’s not too blown out to need immediate aftercare, the reason Jimin prefers open-crotched harnesses becomes obvious in a flash of skilled fingers slipping into your cunt, and slicking you off the edge that’s been building since your fingers made those same motions in Jimin’s ass fifteen minutes prior.

▬ The simplistic USB necklace keys into whatever outfit you wear on dates with Jimin. If you slid out the compatible connector and pushed it into his phone, dozens of stills of Jimin getting fucked would tile up in neat rows. Some star you; some star whoever consented to recording. The reminder was your idea, but Jimin fell head over heels for it.

𝙉𝘼𝙈𝙅𝙊𝙊𝙉 other kinks: crossdressing

▬ Lacy harnesses match Namjoon’s jewel-toned lingerie. A sleek black harness compliments his mesh bodysuit, the matching black collar on his throat, and the jingling black harnesses on his wrists and ankles. You know how to choose outfits that compliment Namjoon’s tan skin and streamlined body━it always makes Namjoon almost giddy with attempts to mute his joy when you surprise him with some shopping, and choose what he’s going to wear tonight.

▬ Namjoon loves dressing up, and he loves getting fucked right. Simple, medium-sized toys or prostate massagers slot into the harness. When Namjoon takes something he can’t relax around instantly, discomfort stops him cold. Thirteen centimeters draw out nothing but delighted shivers and shakes. The gentle care and pleasure pushed in by ten centimeters make Namjoon flush into automatic gasps, and make him leak automatic drips of thick, glossy precome.

▬ One taste was all it took for Namjoon to become addicted. It means a lot to him. Feeling desirable for what his cock can do is fine, but knowing somebody wants him this way is deeply flattering, liberating, and relieving. It’s romantic.

▬ Namjoon wants to show you what his body can do. His stomach sucks in and twists; his shoulders pull back, his chest spreads out and his hips rotate and twist and press down on your lap━hard. Every time Namjoon pushes down hard, the buzz on your clit pushes down, hard. Lights tingle and sparkle over your eyes━keeping your eyes open through the stars Namjoon is putting in them means you must look in awe. You are in awe. When you can move, you’re stroking Namjoon all over, jerking him off, sucking on his chest, groping his ass, and whispering quiet words to the man giving you the best lapdance you’ve ever received━”You’re beautiful. You’re so beautiful.”

▬ Letting Namjoon lead once the pegging session starts is vital. Otherwise, he becomes a little too flustered to properly function.

𝙎𝙀𝙊𝙆𝙅𝙄𝙉 other kinks: bondage, degradation

warning: elements of rape roleplay

▬ Studded leather and an unforgiving strap make Seokjin almost sick with anticipation, on nights when a jockey whip taps against the wall on its way to his ass spread out over the spanking table. A lacy pink harness and a short, soft pastel pink cock put Seokjin at ease, on nights when he wants to be the little spoon, have one of his thighs pushed over the other, and get cuddlefucked into loving oblivion.

▬ “Please!” “No…” “please, stop, please, I can’t take anymore━” and babbling nonsense sounds are Seokjin’s leitmotifs. Getting a feel for Seokjin’s sounds means knowing what it means when the words are soft━faster, harder━and knowing what it means when there’s an edge to them━I’m serious, slow down, but… make it work in the scene. Condescend to me, make fun of me, tell me how pathetic I am for not being able to take more... A taste for hands on his throat and getting jostled around like he isn’t a tall, solid guy means Seokjin needs to trust his partner. While he can enjoy a pegging with somebody he doesn’t know very well, even a casual pegging means outlining parameters of play, and establishing his tics. The relief of a familiar pair of hips in the harness means Seokjin doesn’t have to hold back the things that flow naturally.

▬ It isn’t a disappointment if Seokjin goes soft during a pegging. His senses have flown into his ass, and the rest of his body can’t keep up. A prostate orgasm while his nipples get a tad too much attention is far more intense than anything his cock could provide, anyways.

▬ Nothing matches the kick you and Seokjin get out of eating his elaborately prepared dinner with a dildo on the table. The second Seokjin tries to start washing the dishes, you're distracting him, until he’s conceding to getting bent over the sink and fucked with tender thankfulness for an amazing meal.

#sub!bts #domme!reader #member x reader #ot7 post #sub!taehyung #sub!yoongi #sub!jungkook #sub!hoseok #sub!jimin #sub!namjoon #sub!seokjin #mch #headcanon

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gumnut-logic · 5 years ago

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Nutty Writing Thoughts

I was re-reading part of my Kermadec fic and encountered the bit where Scott comes across the hot spring and it occurred to me the difference between Scott and Virgil as to how they interpret their environment. This led me to thinking about characterisation and point of view and how you write a character to sound like themselves. Then, because I’m lying idle around the house with a mild headache and a bung foot, I pondered how each of the five brothers might interpret the same scene. I sat their idly constructing scenes in my head and how this might illustrate how a character thinks.

So, now because I’m still sitting around the house with a mild headache and a bung foot, I thought I’d give this exercise a go...cos actually writing one of my many wips would be far too logical ::headdesk::

Anyways, five brothers, same beach, same time of day. Let’s see if I can make them sound like themselves....and not end up writing another wip :D Note: these scenes are separate and unrelated to each other...just flotsam my brain threw up. Guess which brother is which?

-o-o-o-

His running shoes hit the sand hard, gouging holes in the pristine surface. The air was still and clear, the ocean quiet, his breathing drowning out the sound of the waves. This was his third lap, but his first step onto this beach. He usually avoided this patch of sand because it was Virgil’s favourite and often the place his brother came to be alone. But today was a day that wouldn’t see Virgil outside the villa. Not today, not tomorrow, not for some time at all.

His breathing lost its regular pace and he had to force himself to concentrate harder on his rhythm.

His feet hit the sand and he kept on running.

-o-o-o-

There were times being a brother of the commander of this outfit really sucked.

One foot after the other. Scott may feel exuberant at this time of the morning, but honestly, this time should not exist.

He was only awake because the smart ass had called a drill. God. He ran a hand through his hair and guzzled the coffee that was automatically poured into his face.

He swore Scott did it because of his comment about Thunderbird One’s erotic symbolism yesterday. But hey, he was the one who had compared Two to a pregnant turtle.

Turtles lay eggs, you idiot.

But that hadn’t been enough, so he’d resorted to a dick joke.

And had been dragged out of bed at 5am.

Ergh.

His staggering finally led him to the beach and the moment he stepped onto the sand, the breeze caught him and brushed away his frown.

A sigh fell from his lips and he closed his eyes.

The sounds of the ocean caressed his ears and washed away the aggravation. The calm seeped into his bones and his shoulders dropped.

But he kept his grip on his mug of coffee.

Another sip.

Another grateful sigh.

And a plan began to form.

-o-o-o-

Before he knew it the sun was peeking over the edge of the planet and the stars were fading.

His butt and back were damp from lying on the sand.

There was dry seaweed in his hair.

He reached up and untangled the mess, frowning as it caught and pulled. Ow.

It wasn’t often he used a beach for stargazing, but he hadn’t had the energy to climb the stairs to the observatory and to be honest, he wasn’t looking for a specific event, more just comfort in the familiar.

He had come out here in the early hours, his circadian rhythm still slightly off and done his best to connect with what he loved.

He had forgotten the inconveniences of sand, mosquitoes and was that a crab?

He shifted his leg out of reach and clambered to his feet.

The sun flashed everything gold, including him.

A sigh and he turned to walk back to the house.

-o-o-o-

One of the advantages of living on your own secret tropical island is that he could run around in whatever clothes he wanted and not have to worry about what the public might think.

A pair of flip flops and his swimwear, mostly because it was just after his morning laps. Specimen bags in hand, he headed down to the beach to check on the morning’s finds.

The ocean was still puking up stuff from the storm that passed to the south of the Island two weeks ago and he was making sure to check the beaches every morning to see what treasures might surface. One of the things about cyclones is that they churned the ocean as much as the land and often interesting things appeared with the tide as a result.

Fortunately the storm hadn’t actually hit the Island itself and the beach was on the protected side, otherwise there may have been no beach left to comb. This time the conditions were perfect and he wasn’t going to miss out on the opportunity.

Clambering around the Island in flip flops would probably earn him several frowns from several quarters, but to be honest he didn’t care.

From the moment his feet hit the sand, he was discovering and cataloguing. Three different types of sponge all seen before. A nasty chunk of the rare kelp from that isolated patch to the south, damn. An array of shells of which one he was unable to identify. He grabbed that one for identification purposes and one other simply because it was pretty and he knew a brother who might like it.

He found the waves tossing about a large chunk of broken coral and he swore. Damn. Cyclones were nasty to reefs and they took eons to repair.

The worst find was a relatively small mola mola. The young sunfish looked like it had been caught up in an argument between the surf and the volcanic rocks of the island.

He carefully picked it up and placed it in a bag, commemorative words for a life lost passing through his mind as he sealed it tight. Size and details would be sent to the NZ DoC south of their island for research purposes.

Reaching the end of the beach he turned back and trailed his feet in the water. A glance at the rising sun and he headed back.

-o-o-o-

He bounded onto the beach and kicked the sand with his foot. This was so unfair! Why couldn’t he do what everyone else was doing?

He stomped his feet into the sand and took some satisfaction in the deep divots his feet left behind.

The water was whispering as if to herald the rise of the sun.

He didn’t like it.

It mocked him.

Why? Why? Why?

The question bounced around his head and just fuelled his anger.

There was a roar and the island shook as behind him Thunderbird One leapt into the air. Further in the distance he heard the deeper rumble as Two ignited her rear thrusters and a moment later the great green ‘bird appeared over the palm trees and shot off into the distance, Thunderbird One darting down to escort her.

Both were lit up by the sun.

His heart was caught between pride at the sight, and the anger that he wasn’t with them.

As they disappeared in the sunrise, he glared after them.

-o-o-o-

Okay, that exercise did not go exactly the way I had planned, but I hope you enjoyed these little snippets. I hope you can tell which bro is which. I haven’t really gone to any effort to hide them and I’m kinda hoping it is obvious. Maybe take note of the bits of information that give it away?

Or which bros I’m better at writing, maybe :D

Fun to write. I hope they are fun to read.

::hugs you all::

Nutty

(Yeah, well, my brain is weird, I can’t help myself)

#thunderbirds are go #thunderbirds #virgil tracy #thunderbirds fanfiction #scott tracy #gordon tracy #john tracy #alan tracy #nutty is nuts

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enby-hawke · 5 years ago

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Summary: Hawke loves dragons and this is his very first dragon fight. I made up some magic that doesn’t exist.

Word Count: 7815

Pairing: Lots of flirting mostly between oblivious Merrill, oblivious Hawke, and super annoyed Carver.

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Bethany was still not talking to Hawke and neither was Mother. That didn’t change the fact that rent needed to be paid and Hawke had only gathered half the coin needed for the expedition. With Carver in tow, Hawke circled through his usual contacts, trying to drum up some work. After one no turned into 8, and the morning slipped to noon, Hawke decided it was time to get a drink and ask Varric for ideas before his temper made him do something stupid.

“I have the usual escort and delivery jobs, but if you’re looking for something bigger, I’ve heard of another opportunity...but the patron is….”

Varric trailed off, and Hawke sighed into his glass, the growing headache an unwelcome guest. “What, he a templar or something?”

“Orlesian.”

Even Carver joined in the groan. “Maker, we’re desperate aren’t we?”

“When are we not?” Hawke chuckled back. “What’s the job?”

“Just to check on his mine. Apparently, none of his workers have clocked out of work since Saturday, but also none of them have reported home. He won’t say what the reward is only that it will “exponentially paid,” whatever that means. Eh, maybe count me out today.” Varric knitted his eyebrows as he pressed his pen to his tablet, but with two words written, he’d erase three. There were at least three drained mugs of spiked coffee that Edwina still hadn’t bussed, but whether they were from last night or this morning Hawke couldn’t tell.

“Why not? You always come along,” Hawke grinned. If anyone could use a break from his room, it was Varric.

Hawke continued to feed scraps of his sausage and eggs to Boof under the table. The mabari had his head on Hawke’s lap, begging for more with his big brown eyes.

Varric set down his pen, rubbing his temple as he adjusted his reading glasses. “Maybe cause “The Bone Pit” is haunted with ghost slaves and spiders and Maker knows what else. You want to get cursed? Be my guest. I’m good.” Varric grabbed a not drained glass of spiked coffee and took a swig.

“Already cursed. It’s not such a big deal,” Hawke shrugged nonchalantly, but mischief crept into his eyes. “C’mon, Varric, where’s your authorial pride? Think of it as a research trip. A haunted mine could be the perfect setting for your next book.”

“I write action thrillers with a dash of political intrigue,” Varric argued. He pushed Boof away when the dog tried to push his head in his lap.

“Y’know I’m kind of with the dwarf on this one,” Carver said, picking at his stew before pushing it aside.

“Hey eat, you’ll need your strength,” Hawke pushed the bowl back in front of Carver. His brother grunted but resigned himself to shoveling the stew into his mouth. Hawke turned back to Varric. “Besides we don’t have a car. It’ll take forever to walk,” Hawke gave his biggest puppy eyes and even left his chair to kneel on the sticky floor, both hands clasped pleading. “Pleeeeeeeeeease.”

“Maker,” Varric caved. He always did. “Fine, but only because writer’s block is kicking my ass.”

Hawke jumped up, a spring suddenly in his step. “Great! But I should drive. You’ve been drinking.”

Varric barked a laugh. “So have you, genius. We’ll put Donna on autopilot.”

They picked up Isabela since they were already at the Hanged Man and Merrill just happened to already be in her room. Isabela didn’t like the idea of traipsing through a boneyard but when Merrill wanted to go, she resigned to tagging along. It was kind of like that ever since Hawke introduced the two, and that worked out since it was fun to watch Carver attempts to talk to Merrill. Though he was rooting for them, he couldn’t help but join Isabela teasing them.

Varric introduced Hawke to Hubert Bartiere in the Hightown Market where he had a store that sold everything from high-end fabric, perfumes, and of course his featured item, polished gems and jewelry mined and crafted “locally”. The man knew Hawke was Ferelden as soon as Hawke introduced his dog. He was less than impressed. Both Carver and Hawke managed not to punch him.

“You’re a mercenary, right?” Hubert glared at the odd party of humans, a dwarf, a Dalish elf and a mabari.

“I do a bit of everything,” Hawke shrugged.

“Well you’re good at killing and that’s what I need. I sent a group from the Wicked Dawn’s to take a look and they haven’t returned. I’m starting to think they made off with my coin. You, I won’t pay until the job’s done.” He continued to primp the mannequin displays, trying to end the conversation.

Hawke wasn’t satisfied with that and tapped Hubert on the shoulder. “But what is the reward? The listing isn’t clear.”

The man looked repulsed at the fact that he had been touched and took out a handkerchief, patting himself down. “I don’t know the extent of the problem so it depends on what you find there. Rest assured you will be fairly compensated. I am a reputable and fair merchant.”

Varric snorted at that, which told Hawke what he needed to know. The mage crossed his arms, planting himself in front of the mannequin in a peacock dress. “Not taking one step out of Kirkwall unless we each get 50 silvers each and then we can discuss a potential bonus-depending on what I find.”

The man looked outraged, his temple vein popping. “Where does a dog-barbarian get off making demands like that?”

“I can vouch for him,” Varric offered. “Whatever’s going on in your mine, Hawke can solve it. He comes with the Tethras guarantee.”

Hawke grinned cockily, imagining his fist was knocking out one of the Orlesian’s teeth.

The man sniffed sharply. “If it turns out my workers are just being lazy I will want my money back.”

‘And you won’t get it,’ Hawke thought, but he nodded offering the man the peace of mind he needed.

The man reached into his pocket going for plastic coin chits, but Hawke held up his hand in refusal. “I prefer coin.”

“I will need to go to the bank to convert it over. That may take some time as I can’t leave my stall. Perhaps you should go and check on my mine while you wait.”

Hawke grabbed the chits angrily. “Taking these for collateral. You can exchange them after I come back.”

The Bone Pit was only about 15 minutes away flying on Donna. You had to pass it when you left the city to get anywhere else. “Oh don’t look so grumpy, Varric,” Hawke nudged the dwarf, Donna’s wheel automatically adjusting course. “Didn’t you say hanging out with me is always an adventure?”

“Don’t butter me up, Hawke. You’re just using me for my wings.”

When they piled out of the car, Boof galloped out, dashing wildly in a wide circle causing Merrill to giggle.

“Boof!” Hawke called out. The dog bounced off a boulder and bounded back towards Hawke, and sat at attention, his feathery tail quivering as it swayed from side to side. “I’m glad you’re enjoying the fresh air, bud, but we have a job to do. Lead us to trouble.”

Boof nodded instead of barking, his puppy demeanor shifting instantly to wardog. Then he dashed away, before dashing back, then dashed away again, impatient at the humanoids much slower stride. The mine itself was strangely abandoned, pickaxes and tools and even luggage and blood were strewn about but no people. They kept their hands on their weapons as they explored, sometimes jumping at the sound of some birds scattering as they approached. The wind whistled through the mountains carrying cries of creatures that they could not place. The air was cold, the veil felt thin. You could feel the Fade weighing down from the midst of haze that hovered overhead.

Boof led them to the foot of a cave, where they saw a miner still dressed in ratty clothes. He was lying face down, several spider punctures tore through his shirt, where the man had been drained of blood. Strangely, his back was also burned, his skin had bubbled and stinking the air with singed flesh. The corpse had been scavenged, huge chunks of his torso that had been chomped out, most of his organs missing, but all the days-old blood was dry and flaking. “Poor man,” Merrill said. “It might have been a rage demon.”

“Or a dragon,” Hawke whispered, his heart suddenly in his throat. The heat that had done this was intense, but he didn’t want to get his hopes up.

Suddenly Boof crouched, growling menacingly. They all turned to hear several high-pitched screeches. Hawke recognized the cry and dashed after his dog, casting a haste spell to keep up.

“Hawke!” he heard several voices shout behind him, but he wouldn’t slow down. The bright lantern lights danced with the shadows in the cave, echoing with the pounding of his gait. He kept running until he saw a clearing where about 20 drakes of all at varying sizes huddled. At the head of the pack stood the broodfather, fully mature at about 10 feet tall, and he breathed out a territorial fire at the sight of the intrusion in his nest.

“Aaaaaww, Boof,” he groaned. “It’s not a dragon.”

The drake screeched charging, the other younger drakes following in tow. Hawke sighed, it was still a fight and he still had to take it seriously. Deciding to save bullets, he grabbed the staff from his back, unfolding the blades with a click of a button.

The mabari was eager to charge but Hawke put his hand up. “Not yet, Boof,” he said and the dog sat down, waiting.

He channeled his magic into his staff, building up energy. When he collected enough, he waved his hand, imagining where he wanted ice to form. All beneath the charging drakes, sigils of ice mines formed exploding some smaller drakes into the air. Crystal crept and spread across the dirt and stone covering the drakes path with slippery ice. The smaller drakes began to lose traction, sliding and falling, but the largest drake dug his claws into the ground, steadying himself, digging claw after claw as it pushed its way out of the ice field.

The others were just beginning to catch up when they gazed out towards the damage already done. “Boof and I got the big one if you guys want to take the smaller ones,” Hawke grinned, causing Carver to roll his eyes. Hawke then pointed at the broodfather. “Boof! Tear out his throat!”

The mabari yipped in confirmation and bolted from his seat charging for the enormous drake. It bellowed, breathing fire but the dog bounded and bounced out of the way. Hawke aimed at Boof, and cast a haste spell, speeding up the dog’s gait so the drake could not aim properly.

Bullets and magic and Bianca’s laser bolts shot past the broodfather picking off the still slipping lesser drakes. Carver had decided to opt-out of this fight. He was now turned away, the tip of his greatsword buried in some dirt. Boof was in front of the drake now, and it swiped at the mabari with its meaty claw. Boof yipped, bouncing off its arm and then back to the ground. The dog jumped back up, raking his claws into the drake’s skin and pushed himself upwards. Boof barked triumphantly, clamping down on the drake’s throat and started to shred. Blood spurted out of the wound and the dog wriggled, tearing open it’s tough leather hide.

Hawke nervously watched his dog swinging through the air, his staff following as he aimed a barrier at him. The drake was moving erratically, turning and twisting and slipping and Hawke could not get a clean shot. The drake kept swiping at its neck, and it was only a matter of time before Boof would get hit.

“Boof, return!” he ordered and the dog released his chomp and pushed off the drake. Hawke managed to cast a barrier as he landed just in time for the drake to swipe. The claw sparked against the barrier, sending the dog flying backward towards Hawke. Boof scrambled to his feet and shook his head all the way down to his feathery tail. That was close.

The drake was dying now, all the other lesser drakes almost picked off by the others. Carver was sulking. Sure Hawke was disappointed it wasn’t dragons, too, but at least they were in the same family. “You want to finish it off, little bro?”

“Go ahead,” Carver muttered, not turning towards Hawke.

Hawke shrugged. He didn’t know what he did wrong this time, but he didn’t feel like playing into Carver’s mood. The drake was approaching now, trying to breathe fire, but it could not manage it any longer and the flames only went a few inches past its mouth. Hawke chose an ice spike, aiming carefully. He shot it, the air whistling as the large chunk of crystal shot from Hawke’s hand and into the wound Boof had opened. The spike pushed through its spine and through the back of the dragon’s neck. The drake gurgled, swayed and fell with a thud.

“Is that all of them?” Merrill asked, breaking the sudden silence.

Hawke sheathed his staff onto his back. “There may be more. We should clear out the cave just in case.”

They had found the rest of the miners and the mercenaries Hubert had sent earlier. The corpses were dragged behind a knocked-down wall only days open strewn about the nest in a shallow pile. The bloody bones were in the process of being stripped clean with gnaw marks chewed in. Armor was scattered in shallow piles with a single torso still trapped stuck into its chest plate-dented from where the drakes had tried to peel it off.

Hawke and Isabela, of course, halted the group to check to see if they could find any coin or other valuables amongst the scattered body parts. Both of them dug through pockets and bags throwing whatever didn’t interest them over their shoulder which could either be a rock, a button, a shovel, or a foot. Isabela pried off a gold ring off a mercenary’s gloved finger inspecting it closely. Hawke collectively found 126 silver and split amongst the group. Isabela, like always, kept all the coin she found and the ring, but still was still happy to receive her share.

“Nice!” Hawke grinned as he divided up the piles. “It’s even.”

“I still don’t know why Boof needs money,” Isabela eyed the pile before Boof, who was busy cleaning himself.

“Oh c’mon. Boof deserves a king’s meal after taking out that drake.” He collected Boof’s share and put it on the money pouch on his armor harness. “I’m treating him to a special dinner after this,” Hawke grinned at his pup who looked up at him with his tongue still out. “Your pick.”

Isabela groaned as Hawke suddenly started baby-talking his dog showering him with kisses over his snout as Boof’s tongue would stretch trying to reach Hawke’s face. She didn’t bring up that Hawke was always treating his dog to “special dinners.” Boof’s happy booming bark bounced against the cave wall, as he rolled onto his back, demanding belly rubs.

“Quiet, Boof, we don’t want to wake the nest.” Hawke said sternly.

Boof then boofed, his throaty bark muffled in his throat as he begged still belly-up.

After a short-ish belly rub session in which Merrill joined, they spent the next few hours exploring each nook and cranny. Hawke kept hoping for a dragon. There was a whole nest here, but he knew Mothers didn’t usually stay near the brood. She might be nearby, or anywhere in the mountains, if she was there at all. They kept going when they heard the sound of a cry. It was a man’s voice, and he was terrified.

“We’ve got a survivor,” Hawke told Boof. “Find him.”

Boof nodded, dashing forward and the party followed to find a man who had climbed on top of a rock. He was surrounded by 5 lesser drakes about as big as Boof. They clicked and growled trying to climb up the rock, but the red-haired miner kept kicking them back down with his lone spare boot, his other dirty pink foot bare.

He spotted the group and shot an arm out towards them. “Help me! Please!”

Boof corralled the drakes, herding them away from the miner. Hawke was about to shoot a fireball when he remembered he didn’t know this man and waved at an overly eager Merrill to put down her staff. Carver and Isabela understood and they charged alongside Hawke with Merrill lagging behind, her staff at the ready. Varric picked off drake after drake with throat and eye shots. There were only 2 left by the time Isabela, Carver, and Hawke arrived. Isabela grabbed one biting head and shoved her dagger in its eye. The drake squealed before keeling over. Carver chopped off the other one’s head and it rolled away, it’s tongue flopping. Hawke having nothing to do started helping the man down from the rock that he was trapped on.

“Oh thank the Maker. I thought I was gonna die.”

“Yeah you got pretty lucky,” Hawke nodded, steadying the man. “How are you? Need food? Water?”

“I’m thirstier than a son of a bitch. I’ve been trapped in these caves for days now,” the man replied causing Hawke to dig through his bag and bring out a thermos and some jerky. The man took it and greedily downed the whole thermos leaving Hawke with just the backwash and then inhaled the jerky.

“Thank Mythal you’re ok,” Merrill said, leaning against her staff. “How did you survive?”

“By hiding mostly,” he replied, coughing on the meat. “I spent most of my time in a crate, with the quarry, but my thirst got the better of me. I tried to make my way to the entrance but those dragons sniffed me out.”

“Actually, those were drakes,” Hawke corrected.

“What’s the difference?”

“Drakes are primarily male with few exceptions, have no wings, and only grow a quarter of the size of-,”

The man held up his hand. “Sorry I asked. I just really want to get out of there.”

“Oh, yeah,” Hawke felt embarrassed that he had gone into lecture mode about drakonis. “Sure, the way back should be clear.”

Hawke started to move forward but the man grabbed him by the shoulder his murky brown eyes manic with fear. “You can’t go through there. There’s a huge dragon.”

“We can handle it,” Hawke shrugged. He probably meant another drake.

“No, you don’t understand it’s much bigger than the others- with the horns and huge wings. You don’t want to go out there.”

Hawke suddenly lit up. One with wings? Could he be telling the truth? “Let’s go, Boof,” Hawke dashed off, his wagging dog yipping in agreement.

He could hear the others only barely turning the corner, their footsteps echoing against the cave walls. “Will you slow down?” Carver shouted.

“She might not be there if we wait too long,” Hawke called back over his shoulder.

Hawke’s ears were pounding with the thud of his heartbeat. His breathing was erratic and only Boof seemed to be able to keep up with his hastened gait. He dashed out of the cave and onto a rocky plateau where she lay, curled up like a cat, her head tucked into her hefty claws.

He was paralyzed, his heart galloping in his chest and for a few moments, he could only stare. “Holy fuck it’s really a dragon,” Hawke whispered just as the group caught up with him.

Hawke was visibly trembling. He thought he would disintegrate at this moment. She was young, only a few heads taller than a full-grown drake and her scales were a sandy color. She had two sets of outstretched horns that ended in sharp, bony points. Her claws were like obsidian and about half the size of his mabari and they twitched as the dragon slumbered, unaware of the intrusion. For a few moments, all he could hear was the sound of his heartbeat and he breathed alongside the beast.

“This is the best day of my life!” Hawke’s voice was not quiet and there was a chorus of shushes.

The dragon stretched and moved and Carver pulled Hawke back into the cave before his brother could go charging. The Abyssal snorted, but settled back into its dream. “Elgar’nan, she’s big,” Merrill whispered, peeking around the corner.

“Don’t worry I’ll protect you,” Carver told Merrill. Then he turned to Hawke, strapping his greatsword to his back. His voice was still low and wary. “This might get messy. Mind if I borrow Dad’s gun?”

Hawke’s eyes lit up. “The Armorwing?” He was too loud again and was shushed.

“Yeah, we never had a real chance to try it out,” Carver grinned back.

Hawke waved his hand excitedly, opening a portal, and reached into the white void. He called to his mind the image of the gun, trying to ignore the sudden ache as a soft memory of daily shooting practice bubbled into his thoughts. Suddenly, he could remember the first time he held the Armorwing and quickly squashed down the flood of memories that threatened to come crashing in. A few moments later, he felt it wrapped around his fingers and he pulled out a silverite assault cannon with a barrel about 2 inches wide. 6 different colored runes were into 3 buttons on each side.

Carver slipped the strap into place adjusting it to his size and as he fiddled with some of the settings while Hawke hovered over. The rest of the party was dumbfounded.

“Now remember we’re going to want to stick to ice settings for most of the fight. She’s fire-aspected.” Hawke pointed at the snowflake rune which made Carver snort, and he pressed it before Hawke could.

“I know how to use it. Just don’t get us killed,” Carver muttered. He clicked off the safety and stared down the sight.

“How in the Maker’s name did two broke Fereldens get their hands on an Armorwing?” Varric asked.

“Didn’t I tell you? My dad helped invent them,” Hawke shrugged.

“Oh, I guess that explains everything then,” Varric replied, his tone stating the opposite.

“Don’t worry, it's got nothing on Bianca,” Hawke grinned.

Isabela followed, exchanging her knives for her handguns. “Great we found the dragon- Let’s kill it while it’s sleeping,” she began to aim but Hawke shoved his way forward bounding like the mabari that trailed his feet- in front of Isabela’s aim.

“Oh sweet Maker,” Carver groaned.

Hawke didn’t even notice his party but was addressing his dog rather seriously, his arms crossed looking into the mabari mutt’s deep brown eyes. The mabari’s long feathered tail was wagging wildly somehow understanding. “Now this is our first real dragon fight, Boof. She’s young but it’s the real deal so keep up, okay. She looks maybe 50 summers at most, but don’t underestimate her. Her flame sac is fully mature. She will be able to create a gaseous flame that burns at about 1600 degrees Celsius. Boof! That’s hotter than lava!”

“Lucky,” Carver cleared his throat. He seemed more annoyed than horrified.

“Right, right,” Hawke nodded and then nodded to his dog. “Got that? No catch. Stay behind me if it gets rough-”

The dragon was starting to awaken because Hawke wasn’t exactly being quiet. The party fidgeted, with varying degrees of anger to fear, except for Carver who was just sighing and looking up to the sky for help.

“Uh, Hawke what the fuck are you doing?” Varric whispered not that it mattered if he was quiet any longer. The dragon slowly opened one scaly red-eye, it’s gaze fixating on the bubbly mage who was enthusiastically stretching his arms and lunging.

“Looks like it’s time.” Hawke clapped his hands in glee then placed them on the ground. Pebbles trembled and sudden spikes of boulders shot up from the ground, startling the dragon. A circle of spaced jagged rocks juts out one by one making makeshift barriers on the platform, while one boulder raised right before Hawke’s feet. The dragon crouched defensively, dodging the spikes as she took to the air with several wind-inducing wing beats.

The dragon bellowed the air grew stiff and dry and flames shot down at Hawke, who pressed himself behind the center boulder. Everyone dove undercover as the flames flooded the platform melting some of the rock. “Whoooooooooooooooo!” Hawke whooped as the flames split against the boulders shooting past him and blackening the rocks in front of him. He only had a small pocket where he and Boof huddled as the flames licked past them, the heat sweltering the air, making it thin.

The dragon finally stopped inhaling and swooping far into the air beyond the reach of bullets and laser bolts.

“Maker she’s so beautiful.” Hawke was shouting now. “Alright everyone barriers will last only about 4 seconds at best under direct fire so best stay undercover and stay light on your feet.”

Merrill chirped from where she was ducked under a rock near the mouth of the cave. Carver was guarding her with his body, the Armorwing clenched in his hands. He swore under his breath as Merrill drew her staff, her eyes wide and trembling but she just said, “Let’s try not to get cooked, everyone. It’ll smell awful.” Somehow she was just able to accept that this was happening.

“She’s magnificent,” Hawke laughed maniacally. “Aw man, does anyone want to record this?”

Isabela and Varric just glanced at each other from their cover, not sure if they should gang up to kill Hawke.

“You’re mad, you know that?” Isabela cried. She fired several shots at the dragon, as it circled around them trying to make runs in the safety of the skies, but the bullets just sparked against her underbelly. Varric shot a laser from Bianca but it only scorched the scale. Carver shot one hole in the center of it’s right wing. The dragon screeched, echoing through the mountains. It breathed flames again, and everyone dove back under cover of the boulders. But though its hide was blackened it didn’t seem to do much damage.

“Her underbelly’s harder than steel,” Hawke cried. “Aim for the fleshy part of her wings to bring her down.”

Hawke aimed an ice spike at the dragon’s eye but she tilted, veering left and the spike shot past her. Isabela shot up with her handgun, the dragon flinching each time a bullet bounced off the wing but one bullet went clean through, blood spurted from the wound. Merrill flung spells and bolts up at the dragon in support but the dragon seemed to be absorbing the magic.

The dragon gurgled, it’s mouth lighting up as it swooped down for another pass. “Cover,” Hawke called out. Boof barked and they both dove behind the boulder again everyone ducking for safety. The rocks were steaming still red with flame that slowly died into embers. Their cover would melt away if they took much longer. The dragon honed in on the dog, following it with its flame. Boof galloped towards the edge of the arena bouncing against the rocks to lift him just beyond her reach. Hawke shot at the dragon's head, another ice spike grazed her eye, scraping it and it’s turned its head, the fiery stream blasting away from the plateau.

“Boof, you alright?” Hawke called out, his voice high and panicked.

The dog barked from behind a boulder.

The dragon bellowed zoning in on Hawke, circling back around. Varric was following the dragon with Bianca, Carver with the Armorwing, Isabela with her handguns. They both took turns shooting holes in her wings whenever they had an opening. Some of Varric’s laser bolts bounced off the bone and impaled themselves into the rock with glowing red spikes. Isabela aimed for parts already bleeding, but Carver’s ice absorbed into the dragon causing it to shriek every time he managed a hit. The dragon hovered above, steadily losing traction, when a huge rock flew from what seemed like nowhere and smacked the dragon on it’s nose.

“Nice one, Kitten!” Isabela grinned in approval.

“Watch out!” Merrill shouted back.

Blood spurted from it’s nostrils as the boulder continued undeterred into the sky. The dragon tumbled down, crashing into the rocks which slid away clearing half the platform.

She shook her head, her red eyes a little glazed but quickly spotted Hawke and started slinking into range.She gurgled, her teeth glowing orange as she inhaled.

“Lucky!” Carver cried out as Hawke fleeing behind the lone center boulder still steaming from being hit from all sides. He could not get too close to the melting rock and he could feel the heat on his back.

The flames wrapped around the boulder scooping out and filling the space. The dragon continued breathing fire approaching the boulder, the flames curling around the side singing Hawke as it became a hot bowl of flames. Hawke cast a barrier absorbing most of the indirect heat but the dragon was determined to burn Hawke out of existence and kept breathing out.

His barrier was cracking, the protective glow quickly fading. The heat was getting through and his skin began to blister. He called healing magic to run through him, trying to keep up with the damage.

“Hold on Hawke!” Merrill cried. A sigil formed around Hawke and lighting him up with a soft blue glow underneath before another barrier encased his body.

The dragon held out for a few more seconds before she could breathe no more, and it took a long ragged gasp. “Carver, now!” Hawke cried, but the dragon once again began to inhale.

The dragon swiped away the melting boulder, leaving Hawke completely in the open. Carver cried out dashing from the dragon’s flank and buried his greatsword deep between two scales in the dragon’s neck where it snapped off. Blood squirted from the wound and the dragon breathed out short premature flames that Hawke was able to dodge. Carver then grabbed the Armorwing, aimed it at the wound, and shot several rapid ice bullets. The ice burst through the other side of the dragon’s neck, the bullet’s sizzling against the stone as they bounced off. The dragon bellowed, stomping all across the ground, causing an earthquake and Carver struggled to maintain his footing as he dodged the dragon’s swipes.

Boof barked, charging at the dragon his hackles raised and chomped down on the wound Carver just made. The dragon flailed, trying to shake the dog off as he shredded the wound. The ground shook, knocking Carver off his feet. Hawke dove forward while the dragon was distracted and rolled under her head where the soft underside of her mouth was exposed. He drew his staff from his back, and with mana-enhanced force he jabbed the blade upwards through the soft scales into the roof of the dragon’s mouth snapping it’s maw shut and snuffing out the flames. Hawke cried out, channeling all his energy into one large lightning bolt that amplified through Hawke’s staff and sizzled the dragon, frying its brain. The dragon’s head swerved and began to fall and Hawke rolled and kept rolling until her seventy-pound head shook the ground with a thud.

The dragon twitched, flapping its wings erratically as it tried to take flight again. She attempted to open her mouth, but the slick black staff held firmly in place. Flames shot through its teeth and nostrils as it rattled its last breath. It’s great red eye slit focused on Hawke, his reflection staring back as the life seeped out of the creature until the dust settled and all was silent.

Varric stepped out from behind his melted boulder, Bianca still raised at the creature. “Andraste’s flaming tits. You idiots did it.”

Hawke threw up his arms whooping as loudly as he could. Flames shot from Hawke’s mouth, a stream of triumphant fire blasting over the dead dragon as he mimicked her breath. Carver tackled him screaming excitedly, snuffing out the flame. Both of their cries bounced off the mountains of the Bone Pit. Soon Boof was shaking himself off and joined in howling on top of a boulder, safe from the heat of the hot stone. Hawke grappled Carver, trying to corral his head into a noogie, “Fuck yeah, little bro. First fucking dragon! Who’s kick-ass now!”

“Get off me,” Carver laughed twisting out of Hawke’s grasp quite easily since he was about a whole a head taller and twice as broad. “You idiot! You almost got us all killed.”

Merrill giggled, as the brothers wrestled for dominance. The mabari stayed barking at the brother’s, demanding one of them pay attention. The brothers twisted and squirmed, until Carver slammed Hawke into the ground, forgetting the stone still glowed with heat.

“FUCK!” Hawke’s scream echoed and he jumped to his feet, the back of his arms were singed and stinging. He had already been nursing burns and this just reopened them. Embers flaked off his leather armor and faded as they fell.

“FUCK!” Carver’s hands were sweltering where he had caught himself on the hot stone. His fingers trembled in the pain, parts of his palms bubbling.

“What kind of idiot gets more hurt after the dragon battle?” Varric chuckled. He was writing something in his travel notebook.

“The kind of idiocy that’s genetic,” Isabela rolled her eyes as the brothers nursed their wounds.

“You guys should be thanking me,” Hawke called back. “That was awesome!” He was already running his hands over Carver’s so they weren’t as much of an angry brown-red. Then he ran a spell through his whole body, the stinging easing just a bit. When he was done, he finally noticed that Boof was licking his paws, also bloody with burns. “Oh Boof, I forgot your shoes.”

“Are you all alright?” Merrill called out. Speaking of shoes, Merrill’s had no soles in spite of Hawke’s and Isabela’s insistence she get a sturdy pair of boots. Even if she did, everyone’s shoes were melting into the stone. She was still at the edge of the platform, safe, but trapped.

Hawke ran up to the boulder that Boof had taken refuge on. He was laying on his side panting, but with happy eyes. Lucky dug into his blood to fuel one more regeneration spell, his hands closing the burns on Boof’s back paws. Boof licked his dark gold snout, closing his eyes as Lucky worked.

The skin was growing, but it still looked tender.

Still need to visit Anders.

“You did great, bud,” he rubbed the dog’s floppy ear affectionately then hoisted the pup up over his shoulders so he wouldn’t have to walk on the scorched ground. The dog turned his head, licking Hawke’s cheek.

Then Hawke walked over to the dragon head and put one hand on its snout, the scales still warm. The Abyssal’s head was as half as big as Hawke’s body and he felt this great sense of peace as he gazed into the dragon’s eyes. “I’ve been dreaming of getting close enough for forever and...” he couldn’t finish his thoughts and turned to Varric, odd eyes gleaming with excitement. “You think we can bring the head with us?”

“Why in the Maker’s name would you want to?” Varric snorted.

“I don’t know. It’s cool.”

“Where in Gamlen’s hovel where would we store it?” Carver said.

“Fine, then I’m at least taking a tooth or else no one at the Hanged Man will believe me. Wait! Someone take a picture!”

“I got a selfie stick,” Isabela cried out digging through her bag.

“Um, you guys go ahead,” Merrill called out at the gathering group, still stuck at the edge of the platform. “I think I might just wait until the ground cools down.”

The group exchanged glances before Hawke nudged Carver. His brother looked annoyed that he was shoved. Boof licked Carver’s head as Hawke leaned in close. “Go be a gentleman,” he whispered, winking.

Carver blushed deeply, Isabela and Varric snickering. Carver undid the strap of the Armorwing, handing it back to Hawke to put away. “Uh…Merrill?” he started out awkwardly taking only a single step forward.

“Yes, Carver?” she called back.

“If you’d like I could…carry you?” Carver looked like he might keel over.

Her green eyes lit up in relief, but her pointy ears twitched slightly. “Oh, I wouldn’t wish to be a bother.”

“Ridiculous!” Hawke cried, shoving Carver forward with his free hand,“Carver’s great a picking up beautiful girls.” Immediately Merrill went beet red all the way to the tips of her ears. Boof barked as Hawke’s grip slipped putting the Armorwing back into the portal. Quickly, he hoisted the dog back up onto his shoulders.

“Lucky,” Carver said warningly, looking nervous as he gazed back at him.

“Go get her,” Hawke whispered.

The three of them unashamedly ogled as Carver, red-eared, walked up to Merrill his feet slightly dragging. He rubbed the back of his neck avoiding her gaze. She had a habit of staring intensely and Carver couldn’t seem to stand the scrutiny. “Would you like a piggyback or would you prefer bridal style?”

“Bridal style!” Hawke hooted, causing Carver to glare at him murderously.

“Oooh, swoop her up in those big strong arms!” Isabela teased.

“That’s my vote!” piped Varric.

“It’s not a vote!” Carver bristled, his brown freckled skin deepening all the way down to his neck.

Merrill seemed to look confused, not quite understanding what Hawke, Varric, and Isabela saw as so amusing. “Um…I don’t know what either of those mean so just…whatever makes you most comfortable.” She held out her arms straight out towards Carver, unsure what was going to happen.

Carver awkwardly leaned down since he was a head and a half taller, and placed her hands on his shoulder. “Kind of link your hands so you don’t fall-”

She removed her hands from his shoulders and clasped her hands together, waiting for her next instructions. Carver, not wanting to correct her, tried to push his head through the hole in her arms but his head was so big he just pushed her arms up, confusing Merrill.

“You’re brother’s real smooth, Hawke,” Varric chuckled.

“It’s like watching a drunk monkey pet a cat,” Isabela cringed.

“Yup,” Hawke replied. This was painful.

Finally, he thought to grab her hands, unlink them, throw them around his neck and then press them back together before he finally scooped her up by the knees causing her to yelp in surprise.

He steadied himself as she flailed squeezing onto him and then carried her back to the dragon where Isabela was fixing her phone onto the stick. “Finally, lovebirds,” she teased.

Carver glared at her in an effort to shut her up but she just waggled her eyebrows as she extended the stick and then held it up in the air. They huddled around the dragon head with Hawke sitting on top, gripping each horn. His dog still draped around his shoulders licking his lips and panting heavily. Carver was carrying Merrill to his right, Merrill smiling sweetly, but Carver’s face looked uncomfortably serious. Varric and Isabela were to Hawke’s left, both linked arm in arm and grinning. Isabela was making a peace sign.

“Say “dragon!” Hawke yelled out.

“Dragon!” only Merrill and Hawke called out as they snapped the picture.

They took several more photos since Isabela didn’t like how she looked in the first one. She held up the group for 5 minutes adjusting her hair and make-up in the camera on her phone. When they finally got a picture Isabela didn’t hate, Hawke insisted he has one with his head inside the dragon’s mouth. It took a bit to pry out his staff and he also got a lot of drool in his hair for that idea. Then Hawke picked the biggest, sharpest tooth he could find took 15 minutes of digging it out with his dagger. Boof scrambled off of Hawke’s shoulders and settled himself on the dragon’s neck, watching his packleader work. Finally, when Hawke successfully pulled out the tooth and put it in his pocket, the party turned to leave. But Hawke, instead of following, turned the dragon’s head on its side started sawing at the dragon’s throat.

“Lucky,” Carver said warningly. “We’re not taking the head with us.”

“I’m not,” Hawke grunted, tearing the dragon’s throat-wound open gingerly, his hands slick with blood.

“Uh…Hawke gets a little crazy around dragons.” Varric stared at Hawke like he was completely unhinged.

“You have no idea,” Carver muttered.

“Just a sec.” Hawke couldn’t focus on talking. He set the bloody dagger down on the dragon’s head and used his hands to peel down the top of the muscles gingerly. Then when he had a big enough opening, he dug his hands into the dragon's throat. He didn’t have to go very far to find what he was looking for, the Abyssal’s flame sac. Carefully, he felt around until he could see in his mind exactly what the gland looked like. Then pulling out his right bloody forearm, he picked up the dagger again and slid it inside, carefully shearing away the tendons that held the firm sac in place.

The party watched in horror as the blood gushed onto Hawke, who seemed to not mind it one bit. The sounds of squelching and ripping filled the air and Isabela looked queasy. “Anybody bring a bucket?” she covered her mouth.

When it was free, he tucked the blood-drenched dagger back into his sheath on his belt and pulled out a small red fleshy ball that’s center glowed orange. Its thick skin was veiny, almost see-through and it beat like a heart.

“Isn’t it amazing? It’s her flame sac.” Hawke breathed excitedly. “Look her magic lives, but it’s not as warm as I thought it would be.”

“Uh…that’s great Hawke,” Varric replied. He was eyeing his friend, who was drenched with slick, steaming dragon blood from his face all the way down to his melted boots.

Isabela whistled, “Good call. An extinct dragon gland can probably fetch at least 100 sovereigns. Maybe more in the right circles.” She dared a peek just in time for it to beat. She gagged and turned away. “Glad I didn’t have to do it.”

“We can probably fund the expedition with this!” Carver said.

“I was thinking of giving it to Merrill, actually,” Hawke replied, causing the Dalish elf’s eyes to widen in surprise in Carver’s arms. “I mean we’re not too far off from funding the expedition and Abyssal flame sacs are especially potent at cleansing magics. Perhaps it will help purify your eluvian shard?”

Merrill’s green eyes were so wide Hawke thought he might fall in. “Oh, n-no, Hawke, I couldn’t. You need it more,” her face was red as she stammered.

“We can find coin anywhere,” Hawke shrugged, “but restoring an eluvian? That’s a once in a lifetime opportunity. Besides that barrier probably saved my life. I owe you,” He smiled at Merrill who was beaming back until he met Carver’s gaze. Somehow he had pissed him off.

“Um,” Hawke said awkwardly, “I’ll just put it away until we can store it properly.” He was suddenly feeling self-conscious. He waved his hand opening up an interdimensional portal and stuck the sac in the reflective portal before closing it, his brother still glaring coldly.

“Great, great,” Varric muttered. “Now can we go home. My pants are singed and I think all the rubber’s melted off my shoes.”

Hawke leaned on Varric, slicking blood onto him. “Buy me a drink, Varric. I’m a dragon-slayer now.” He waved his hand into a fist dramatically.

“It’s your turn, dragon-kook,” Varric groaned as he looked at his clothes, an impression of blood slick where Hawke had made contact.

They bantered and teased Carver all the way back to Varric’s car. At one point Isabela had to flee from one of Hawke’s blood-drenched hugs. Merrill had not noticed she was being carried the whole time until they arrived at the car which caused Isabela to hone in on Carver’s reddening face. “You didn’t realize? Really, Carver? Why don’t you just ask her out?”

“Ask me out to what? That sounds fun!” Merrill cried.

Carver looked like he would crumble under the laughter.

On the way home, Hawke had been forced to strip down to his small clothes and hose down with magic before Varric would let him into his car.

“You’re easy to get naked, Hawke. I just have to ask.”

Carver refused to look at him. Merrill was red, fidgeting with her seat belt refused to even glance at him the whole time. When Hawke tried to make conversation she would squeak and refuse to say anymore. Isabela stared in approval. “You do keep fit.”

Hawke refused to part with the dragon tooth and he refused to clean it. He wanted to remember this moment exactly as it was. Varric did made him put it in a plastic grocery bag so it wouldn’t drip and he clutched it happily. He rode home with one towel beneath him so he wouldn’t wet the seats and one towel draped over his shoulders. His curly hair was frizzing and messy. Boof’s head laid on Hawke’s lap as he sprawled across his brother and Merrill, his feathery healing paws now wrapped, and twitching in his sleep.

“You know, Hawke, I had a thought,” Merrill’s eyes were purposely averted from him, her voice high and uncomfortable.

“Yeah, Merrill,” he looked over to her and she dared a peek. His one brown eye, one blue met hers, and she gasped. Hawke’s unbridled joy was spread in the biggest grin, his brown freckled skin warm and bright, and he was of course completely nude except the tight superhero boxers that clung to his drying skin.

Her eyes went wide and stayed wide as she slowly looked away, her whole body rigid and stiff with some expression Hawke could not decipher. “Uh,” she said and gulped. “Why didn’t you just put the dragon in your portal?”

Everyone’s expressions fell dark as Hawke’s mouth fell open. For a moment he just gawked at her brilliance. “I could kiss you!” he shouted, startling the slumbering pup who barked in protest. Carver clenched his fist, ready to punch him as Merrill suddenly fell and bonked her head on the car window. Hawke obliviously shot forward, placing one hand on the dwarf’s sagging shoulders. “Varric, we need to turn back!”

#hawke #dragon age fic #lucky hawke #dragon battle #day drinking warning #hawke is an autistic nerd #and unashamed dogdad #ok now to do some art until my sister calls or 2 hours have passed #i might see my niece today #nervous and excited

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writer-dreams · 6 years ago

Text

Polyjuice Potion (End) (Draco Malfoy x Reader)

Hiii! This is the final part of Polyjuice Potion!

Part 1 / Part 2

House: Slytherin

Blood Status: You choose

Warnings: Angst? Possible swearing. A bit of an abusive relationship but its only a slap. A little bit of putting yourself down.

Note: There's a lot of switching POVs in this story. I hope its not too confusing.

Word Count: 3,595 words

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

Third Person POV

(Y/n) slowly walked down the halls, exhausted after a whole day’s worth of studying. She could barely keep her eyes open and she felt as though she would pass out at any moment. The sky outside was dark and blank, it seemed that the stars were afraid to come out tonight. She continued trudging her way to the Slytherin Common Room, wanting nothing more than to lay down on the soft mattress of her bed, with her boyfriend’s arms wrapped around her. Speaking of Draco, she wondered where he would be at this time. He was probably waiting for her again, waiting to complain to her about how much time she spent studying instead of being with him. (Y/n) smiled at the thought of her boyfriend, her friends may have hated him but they didn’t see what he was like when the two were alone.

She finally arrived at the Common Room, where she saw Draco sitting on one of the couches, watching the fireplace die out, its embers glowing softly. She grinned at the platinum-blonde male and decided to sneak up on him, creeping behind him before jumping out and wrapping her arms gently around his neck. She felt Draco stiffen up immediately, his whole body freezing up. Suddenly he ripped her arms off of him rather forcefully and turned around to look at her. (Y/n) looked at her boyfriend, expecting a different reaction. She had expected him to snuggle up in her arms and greet her as he usually did, not for him to aggressively remove her arms from him. Then she saw it. The tear-stained cheeks, those red, puffy eyes, those beautiful grey orbs full of hatred. He had clearly been crying, what could have happened to cause him to cry?

“D-Draco? Are you alright?” Y/n asked cautiously.

“Get your filthy hands off me, you disgusting blood-traitor!” He shouted.

“W-What?! Why are you saying this?!” Y/n could feel tears pooling in her eyes. Why had he called her something so hurtful? Why did he look at her like she was nothing but dirt under his shoe?

“Get away from me. I don’t understand how I could’ve ever loved a person like you. I regret it all. I regret us.” Draco spat.

Y/n physically took a step back, feeling the sting of his words. What had happened to the Draco she loved? What happened to the Draco who broke down all of her walls and loved the person he found behind them? What happened to the Draco who didn’t care about blood status and reputations? What had happened to her Draco? Salty tears fell from her eyes as she watched her boyfriend walk up to her slowly, raising his arms. Thinking, he was going to hug her, she closed her eyes and awaited for his arms.

“Draco….Please tell me this isn’t real. You don’t…really regret us, do you?” Y/n asked through closed eyes.

Suddenly, she heard a very audible smack sound and felt a stinging sensation on her cheek. She opened her eyes in shock to see Draco with an emotionless face and a hand raised. He had slapped her.

“It’s Malfoy to you. And yes, I regret us. I regret you. I regret ever loving you.” He said coldly, walking away, leaving a broken-hearted y/n in the common room, holding her red cheek.

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

Draco was angry, that much was obvious. He stomped down the halls, fury still raging through his blood. Y/n was an idiot. At first, he had been hurt that she had broken up with him, but then he grew angry that she had dumped him, The Slytherin Prince, for absolutely no reason. And then she shows up a few hours later and acts like they’re still together. However, through his anger, he felt a deep pit of guilt build up as he recalled Y/n’s shocked look when he had slapped her and said those horrible, horrible words. Truly, he had never meant to, he had simply acted out of anger. That didn’t stop the pit of guilt from growing, he knew it was wrong to hit her and say such spiteful insults. He knew that even though he was furious, that didn’t justify his actions. He knew he had deeply hurt her. ‘Good, now she knows how hurt I was’ his ego and pride were saying. His mind, however, kept flashing the haunting image of Y/n’s broken expression. He felt like crying, like running to her and comforting her as he used to so often. He wanted to shower her with endless apologies and compliments, he wanted to kiss her soft lips again, he wanted to hold her in her arms and offer his shoulder for her to cry on, but most of all, he wanted her love again. He sighed and ran his fingers through his blonde hair in frustration. Dammit, even when I’m furious with her, I still love her. I’m sorry, Y/n….

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

The next day, Y/n felt completely hollow. Her face was devoid of any emotion and her blank eyes stared up at the ceiling as she lay unmoving on her bed. She felt no motivation to get up and go to her classes today. She wanted to stay here, forever.

“Y/n! Get your ass up.” Pansy Parkinson screeched.

Still no movement came from the broken girl. Pansy sighed as she stared at her saddened friend.

“Y/n…I know it hurts but we need to go. You can’t just sit around on your ass all day just because of a boy.”

Nothing. Nothing moved nor was a sound made. Pansy knew her friend was going through a rough time but she didn’t want Y/n to miss out on classes.

“That’s it.” She grumbled. She wasn’t going to bother with this anymore. Y/n was stronger than that and she was going to get her moving, whether Y/n liked it or not. “Get out.” She said as she rolled Y/n off the bed. Y/n hit the floor gently before finally sighing and getting up.

“Alright, alright. I’ll go get ready.” Y/n groaned before heading into the bathroom.

The young Slytherin stepped into the girl’s washroom to get ready for the day, despite not planning to in the first place. Clearly, her friend had other ideas. She stared at her reflection in the mirror and saw a heartbroken girl on the glass. This girl had dark bags under her eyes, lifeless (e/c) eyes, and pale skin. It looked like a Dementor had given her their famous kiss, sucking out her soul from her body. The fading red bruise on her cheek was barely visible though it still ached if she touched it lightly. She shook her head in dejection and continued preparing herself for a whole day in Hell.

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

The golden trio sat down at the Gryffindor table, anxiously waiting for their Slytherin friend to enter the Mess Hall. They were still feeling extremely guilty but none of them wanted to tell Y/n what they had done in fear of how she would react. Draco Malfoy was already seated at the Slytherin table, looking…..off. For once, the Slytherin Prince didn’t have a stupid smirk on his face or his ridiculous friends surrounding him. There wasn’t even a swooning Pansy Parkinson next to him. Instead, Malfoy looked broken; a deep frown set on his face, eyes that stayed glued on the wood of the table, a hunched back. He was aimlessly drawing random circles on the table with his finger. The doors to the Mess Hall opened, revealing Pansy waving goodbye to Y/n as their friend made her way to the Gryffindor table. Y/n took a seat and the trio could see how hurt she was. Her once lively eyes were empty, there were dark bags under her eyes, and there were tear-stains on her cheeks. She looked pale and she didn’t bother saying a single word to them as she silently sat down.

“Hey Y/n.” Harry greeted.

“Hi.” She answered curtly.

“Is something wrong?” Hermione asked, though they all knew exactly what was wrong.

“No. I’m fine.” Y/n replied.

Her voice sounded so….lifeless. The trio frowned at her response but they couldn’t question her further as Dumbledore decided to start his morning speech.

After a boring speech, Dumbledore clapped his hands and food appeared on the table. Ron immediately started filling his plate with eggs, waffles and a wide assortment of other food. Slowly, Harry and Hermione also reached for the food. Harry was about to take a bite into some bacon when Hermione gently nudged him and tilted her head in Y/n’s direction. He looked up and noticed Y/n just staring blankly at her empty plate.

“Y/n….you gonna eat?” Harry asked.

“Not hungry.” She said.

“You should eat.” Hermione started putting some (f/f ((Favourite Food)) on Y/n’s plate/bowl.

Y/n simply pushed away the food and got up. “I’m not feeling hungry. I…I’m just gonna go.” She mumbled before exiting the Mess Hall through the doors.

Hermione looked back at Harry, fury in her eyes, “See what we’ve done?! We’ve broken her! Does it make you feel good knowing that she is like this because of something we did?! Do you feel better knowing that we are keeping her safe by torturing her?! Do you consider yourself a better friend now?!”

Harry couldn’t even answer. He did this with good intentions but seeing Y/n now….he wasn’t sure if it was because he wanted to protect Y/n or because he didn’t like the idea of one of his best friends with his worst enemy. He looked over at Malfoy, who stared off into empty space with a deep frown and dull eyes.

“Harry…we messed up, big time. We need to do something to fix this. Please. Look at how much both of them are hurting. We did this to them, now we need to do something to repair the damage.” Hermione begged.

Somewhere in his heart, Harry knew that Hermione was right. No matter how much he wanted to protect Y/n, he should never have gone through such lengths to do it.

“Fine.” He answered.

“Wait…what is that?” Hermione asked, pointing to a shiny object laying on the table.

“Looks like…Y/n’s necklace. The one Malfoy gave to her when they first started dating. She never took it off.” Harry said, “The stupid clip always fell off though. It must’ve fallen off again.”

Hermione took the necklace and put it in her pocket, an idea slowly popping into her head on how to help her friend.

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

It had been days since the breakup. Draco felt more and more miserable as the days passed. Currently, the breakup was affecting him more than the mark on his arm. He could handle the dark mark, but he couldn’t handle not having Y/n in his life. She was something he couldn’t just forget about or pretend didn’t exist like he did with the mark. He would mindlessly watch her as she would sit down at the Slytherin table during meals and stare at her plate. He desperately wanted to go over to her and wrap his arms around her, to convince her to eat. Granted, he hadn’t really eaten either however, Draco couldn’t be bothered to think about that. His mind had been too focused on Y/n. Overhead, he heard the loud screeching of owls, signaling that mail had arrived. His owl swooped down to him with a small package in its talons and a letter in its beak. He gently took the items from the bird before it took off to the owlery. He opened the letter first and read the messy handwriting on the paper;

Malfoy,

I know what happened with Y/n. I know that she broke up with you and returned hours later acting like she was still your girlfriend. Acting like…she never knew she broke up with you.

Draco was confused. How could this person have known that? He shook his head and decided to continue reading.

In anger, you insulted her and deeply hurt her. Now...she’s suffering and so are you. Don’t try to deny that you don’t miss her or don’t love her because you know that you’re only lying to yourself.

I wrote this letter because I want to help the two of you. It may seem odd that a random stranger would want to help you but I’ve seen the way you two loved each other and I don’t think something like that should be so easily extinguished. I’m not gonna say who I am nor am I going to meet you in person, I’m just here to offer some advice.

Y/n is a wonderful girl. You don’t find a lot of people like her and you managed to form a strong relationship with her. Love as strong as that shouldn’t be thrown away. Y/n loves you. I know that she was the one to break up with you but I want to say that Y/n is someone who is gentle and has a big heart. She wouldn’t just break up with someone she loves without an explanation. I’m advising that you go talk to her and find out what happened that night. Perhaps you jumped to conclusions. Also, give her the thing in the package, she’ll appreciate it.

Anonymous.

Draco raised his brows in suspicion as the letter ended. This person seemed to oddly know a lot about what happened that terrible night. Nevertheless, they had provided him with some sort of help that he could use to fix his relationship. He opened the small package to reveal the necklace he had first given Y/n when they had started dating. She never took it off, so if it’s off... He didn’t even want to think about it that way. He thought over the letter and this so-called “Anonymous’” advice. Perhaps this person was right, Y/n did seem confused when he was angry with her.

“It’s worth a shot. Not like it can get worse than this.” He told himself.

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

He had found Y/n at the Astronomy Tower. She was serenely looking at the landscape on the tower’s balcony. He coughed awkwardly and she turned around and immediately froze when she saw him.

“Y/n….” He started, “I-I’m sorry for what I said. I never meant to hurt you and…it ate me up inside. I was just angry that night and I took it out on you.” Draco decided to leave out the part where she had broken up with him, he would look into that later. “You’re not a blood-traitor, you were my girlfriend. I never regretted us but I did regret hitting you. It hurt me to see you hurt by something I did. I’ll never forgive myself for that. I love you so much. If I had a time-turner, you can bet I would be using it to change how this turned out. If you don’t forgive me, I understand. I probably wouldn’t forgive me either. I’m just so miserable without you and I don’t think I can last another day watching you and knowing I can’t hug you or kiss you anymore. I miss you. You don’t have to forgive me but I’m just asking for another chance. Please….”

Y/n averted her gaze from him, her eyes cloudy with tears. “Draco…” Hearing her voice again was oddly refreshing. “You hurt me so much that night.” He hung his head and stared at the ground, wishing he could take it all back. “I didn’t understand why you were angry or why you did those things. You told me that you regretted me. That you regretted us. You said you regretted loving me. What did I do wrong? Am I not pretty enough? Smart enough? Did you simply grow bored of me? I wouldn’t blame you though, I’m just average Y/n. Just Y/n. I don’t compare to someone like Pansy or Astoria.” Y/n cried.

Draco moved to hug Y/n but stopped when she flinched. His heart broke a little at the sight. She was afraid of him.

“Y/n…don't talk about yourself like that. You’re beautiful, clever, talented, and the only one for me. Parkinson and Greengrass don’t matter to me, nor will they ever. I could never get bored of you. I…I love you. That’s the honest truth. I said some really hurtful things that night but I swear that I never meant any of it. Please don’t go. I truly love you and I promise I’ll never do those things again.” Draco begged.

Slowly, Y/n stepped towards him, carefully inching towards him. Her mind screamed at her to not forgive him. After all, he did slap her. However, her heart cried for her to go to him. He may have done all those horrible things but for Merlin’s sake she still loved him. It’s not like she could easily forget how painful that incident was but it was also hard to let go of all the good times they had. It was one stupid mistake versus years of love and trust. She kept making her way to him until she was about an inch away from him.

“Promise?” She asked, holding out a hand for Draco. Draco looked up at her, those stormy grey eyes looking into her own (e/c) eyes.

“Promise.” He answered, cautiously wrapping his arms tightly around her and bringing her to him, holding her like she was going to slip away from him. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry.” He sobbed into her shoulder.

Y/n wrapped her arms around him as well, tears flowing down her cheeks and onto Draco’s black suit. She lightly stroked his blonde hair, comforting him and silently signaling that she forgave him.

Draco broke the hug and dug something out of his pocket. He fished out the necklace he had gotten from “Anonymous” and showed it to Y/n.

“My necklace!” Y/n gasped upon seeing it. “The cursed thing fell off again!”

She turned around and Draco helped her put it on again.

“It’s back where it belongs now.” He smiled.

He moved closer to Y/n until he was face to face with her. Merlin, he missed her. He then gently pushed his lips onto hers, feeling relieved when she kissed back. The kiss was full of passion, longing and desperation. Eventually the pair parted for oxygen.

“I love you, Y/n.” Draco said.

“I love you too, you git.” Y/n responded.

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

“So? You two are back together?” Harry asked Y/n during breakfast the next day. Y/n looked a lot better than she had been the past few days. She was smiling more and the life had returned to her eyes. She ate food and was more social.

“Yes. Wait a second…how did you know the two of us had broken up if I never told you?” Y/n asked suspiciously.

“Uh…the both of you were pretty depressed for the past week so I just assumed that happened?” Harry panicked.

“Nice try, Harry. The truth. Now.” Y/n demanded.

Harry could see Hermione and Ron give him the death glare as the trio reluctantly told their friend what they had done. By the time the story was finished, Y/n looked livid.

“Let me just…summarize this. You impersonated me and broke up with my boyfriend as me because you wanted to protect me from him all because he was a death eater?! Well guess what?! This whole time I knew he was a death eater! I KNEW THIS WHOLE TIME AND I STILL STAYED WITH HIM! I love you guys but I don’t need your protection nor do I need to be involved in your crazy schemes! Never. And I mean never. Never EVER mess around with my relationships again! I should stop being your friend right now but I’m not going to do that because I understand you had good intentions when you did this. Just never do that again. When were you going to tell me you did this?!” Y/n fumed.

The trio shook their heads, silently answering her question. Never.

“You three caused me a lot of grief. This would have never happened if it weren’t for you guys! Even worse, you were never going to tell me?! Really?!” Y/n seethed.

“Please, you have to forgive us. I promise that we felt so much guilt after what we did. We know it was wrong but we thought it was best!” Hermione begged.

Y/n understood why her friends did this. However, there had to be some consequence.

“Alright. I’ll forgive you if you promise not to do that ever again. However, for this whole month, I’m spending my time with Draco and cutting off any communication from you. Don’t try to talk to me until this whole month is over. I hope you all learned a lesson.” Y/n said, getting up from the Gryffindor table and making her way over to Slytherin table instead. Behind her, the golden trio groaned at the loss of their friend. They watched as she sat down next to Draco and kissed him.

“At least she’s happy.” Ron muttered.

“I told you it was a bad idea.” Hermione said.

“You were part of it!”

“I regretted it the most! And I was the one who wrote the Anonymous letter to Draco, remember?!”

“It doesn’t matter. What’s done is done. We can’t change anything about it now. We should just be happy that she didn’t stop being our friend and we should be glad that she’s happy now.” Harry interrupted.

“She’s happy with Malfoy. I suppose we can’t do anything to change that.”

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

That concludes Polyjuice Potion! Thank you for sticking around and reading this cringeworthy material! I am in NO way romanticising an abusive relationship. I'll leave a number to a place you can get help if you are being abused. I'm going to be moving the rest of my more popular Draco x Readers on here so prepare for more I suppose. I also want to warn that some of those happen to be angst (sorry if you don't like angst or I fail at writing the stuff). Thank you for reading and (possibly) enjoying this. If you have any requests, feel free to ask. Until next time. This post is too long so I'll add the number here; National Domestic Violence: 1−800−799−7233 (Unfortunately, this is the only one I know of. Please feel free to tell me any other ones you know of so I can add them here.)

-Jade

#draco malfoy imagine #draco fic #draco malfoy fanfiction #draco malfoy x you #draco malfoy #draco malfoy x reader #malfoy x reader #draco malfoy x reader angst #malfoy x reader angst #draco x reader angst #angst #hp preferences #hp imagine #harry potter imagine #half blood prince #harry potter #hp #draco x reader #draco x you

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minnuet-archive · 5 years ago

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I’m Sorry, Logan

(I'm not talking about Logan Sanders, but I do have a character named Logan that’s based loosely off of him. TW: Suicide)

I wake up to my alarm blaring in my ears. My eyelids refuse to lift and the world is a blurry mess. I stumbled into my uniform, the alarm still blaring. Eventually my patience ran out and I shut off the alarm. My backpack is lying in the corner and I shove it on. I grab a granola bar from the pantry and run to the school bus that’s already parked outside.

I jump into the bus. I walk down the aisle and all of the noise, ranging from random conversation to yelling and fighting, fill my ears and overwhelm my mind. I almost want to plug my ears, but someone’s bound to take offense. As I sit down in a seat next to the seemingly quietest kids, the horrible stench of 7 year old raisins with a generous side of sweaty gym socks permeates my nose. I hate the bus. I decide to try to space out.

When I arrive at the school, I went into the girl’s bathroom and wait until everyone had left the bathroom. I look really weird waiting for people to leave, and I kind of care. I kind of don’t though. Once everyone had gone, I slipped out of my catholic school uniform skirt and into pants.

My mother had refused to get me anything but the “girl’s” uniform which consisted of a tight, long skirt and a blouse. I hear the bell and run to class. I burst into the classroom and slide into my seat directly after my name is called.

“Late.” I groan and get out my homework. Why must it be me?

Vanessa and her friends snicker across the classroom. “Hey look, the plant’s here.”

My ears burned and I clenched my teeth. Those assholes. I’m not a plant. “My name’s El-” My eyes widen as I catch myself. “-Ellie.”

Vanessa gasps overdramatically and then says, “It can talk?!”

I don’t respond and give her what she wants, but it takes all of my strength not to. God, how am I so stupid? I don’t care if I’m using the Lord’s name in vain. I already let them know I was asexual! And if I let it slip? My name’s Elliott. I could just imagine the crap they’d do and say to me. What would I tell them? Oh yeah, by the way, I’m pangender. That would totally work.

I take deep breaths. I look at the teacher and zoning out is easy for me. The lunch bell rings after a while and I walk towards the courtyard, finding one of the trees in the corner that no one ever sat by. It’s kind of sad and droopy, just like me.

“Hey Elliott!” I flinch at the noise. He smiles and sits down next to me.

I relax and say, “Hey Logan. How was the class?”

“How was class? Class was bull crap,” I crack a smile and when I do, he adds “as always. I love how you did your hair today. It’s pretty.”

As I eat my brought-from-home lunch, I look at him and blush. He’s way too cute. I now turn even redder and look away as I shove my sandwich farther into my mouth. Too far. The lunch bell rings after a few minutes. “Well, I’ll see you tomorrow Logan. Bye!”

He high fives me and starts walking towards his classroom. I walk towards mine. After Mr. Simon takes role call and I answer one question, I figure I’m safe and promptly space out for the rest of the day.

The bell rings and right as I’m about to walk out of the door, I heard Mr. Simon say, “Eleanor, may I speak to you?” A collective ‘oooh, you’re in trouble’ type sound comes from what’s remaining of the class as I walk up to his desk.

“Can I help you Mr. Simon?”

“Do you remember the dress code guidelines we went over at the beginning of the year?”

I start to panic. “Uh, yeah.”

“Then you remember that girls are to wear skirts and a blouse and that boys are to wear a button down and pants.”

I mutter that I might remember something like that. “Why can’t I wear pants? I’m not wearing anything completely out of school uniform.”

“Yes, but we have a strict dress code and you, as a girl,” I flinch at the word girl. Of course, I can’t correct him. “are to wear a skirt. If you come to school tomorrow wearing pants, I’ll have you change back into a skirt, confiscate the pants, and then call your parents.”

I nodded my head as if I understand, which I don’t, and then walk out of the classroom. I know he hates me, but I had no clue he would go to these lengths to get me in trouble. I really don’t want to wear a skirt and that was only the first time I wore pants. On the other hand, I don’t want them to get taken away because I had to save up for months to get them and I don’t want to have to deal with my parents.

As I walk home, I approach the entrance to the Golden Gate Bridge and smile. It’s so beautiful. Late afternoon fog is quite unusual this time of year and most people don’t like it, but I’m secretly happy about it. Walking the bridge is a really nice way to clear your mind in the morning. The breeze makes my clothes flow in the wind. The smell of salt water in the air fills my nose as I approach one end of the bridge.

I start to cross the bridge and into the fog. It’s peaceful and the moist air feels cool and nice against my skin.

After around 45 minutes, I come out on the other side of the bridge. I continue to walk towards my house.

I can’t wait to lay down on the couch and not worry about homework. Not because I finished it, but because I’m a procrastinator.

I turn down my street and see my house. As I approach it, I realize that my house has been egged. I see a note on the door and run up and grab it. Leave our school, you faggot. You don’t belong here.

Vanessa, her boyfriend, and their asshole friends were right about the last part. I don’t belong here. I wish I could leave, but it isn’t exactly possible. I rip up the note and look up at the eggs that are covering my home.

Ugh, I don’t want to clean this up… but my parents will ask why it happened if I don’t. Plus, they’ll make me do it anyway. I sigh as I slowly walk inside to grab a mop and some other cleaning supplies.

I open the closet door and grab everything I think I might need. I’ve never cleaned up eggs, so I’m just guessing.

I walk back outside and start to wipe the door with a random rag that I found. Once I finish cleaning everything that I can reach from the ground, I place all my supplies on the roof overhang. I awkwardly climb onto the overhang. P

I got on my knees shakily and started to clean the roof. Damn, could these kids throw. It takes what seems like years, but was really a couple hours to finish cleaning the house.

I take a risk and jump from the overhang. I didn’t break any bones! Yay! I grab all the cleaning supplies and shove them in a closet as I walk to my room. I get changed into some paint stained jeans and a band t-shirt that my parents begrudgingly bought me for Christmas.

I walk back out and throw myself on the couch. I log into an app that’s similar to tumblr except not as widely known. It has less asshole-ish people. I open a chat with one of my best friends, AchillesWasTheOriginalGay™ also known as Bentley or Ben. Sometimes I call him Benjamin because he hates when people assume his name.

Me: What’s up, Benjamin?

He responds almost immediately.

Ben: You’re an ass. But not much. You?

Me: House got egged. Assholes at school.

Ben: Oof that sucks, dude.

Ben: Hey I gtg do homework. Talk later?

Me: Sure.

I turn off my phone and put it down. I hear my mom pull up so I sit up and take out my school binder. I place my homework from yesterday in front of me so I look like I’ve been doing homework since the second I got home.

Directly after I finished setting up my fake homework station, she walked in. “Hey, mom!” No, too cheery. Calm down.

She smiles happily, “Hi, Ellie!” I cringe at my old name, but she didn’t seem to notice my overly excited greeting. “How was your day?” My little sister, Adia follows her in and then runs to our room.

I consider telling her that it wasn’t great for a second but decide against it, because she’d just ask questions. “It was good. Yours?”

“It was fine. Busy as always.” I give her a knowing nod and then I see her smile slowly fade. I tilt my head in confusion. “What did I tell you about those jeans? You can only wear them when you’re painting. They’re disgusting and baggy. Wear some nice tights next time.”

I roll my eyes and she scoffs as she walks into the kitchen. She puts her bags down. Adia runs back out of our room with a stuffed animal in her hands and she sits down next to me.

“Hi Adia. Did you have fun at school today?”

”Yeah!! I played with Sammy.”

“That’s fun.” She smiles proudly as if having a friend was something to be proud of, which in my case, is true, but in her case, not so much. She has lots of friends.

I’m contemplating this when I hear my mom start to reheat leftovers from last night. She slaps all of the food on three plates and we trudge over to the table and sit down.

My mom turns on the T.V. and we watch a sitcom as we shovel food into our faces. Eventually, the episode ends. We're too lazy to change the channel, so we leave it.

My mom is seated facing the screen and I watch her chuckle. I turn to the T.V. and freeze. It's a pride parade. All of a sudden I hear Adia’s excited voice.

“Ooooh! Rainbows!” I look at her and smile a little bit. She doesn’t even know. Sometimes I wish I don’t know about LGBTQ+.

“Those rainbows are for gay people.” My mom says gay as if it’s the worst thing you can be.

Mom continues, “You don’t want to be gay. Being gay is bad. You’ll go to hell if you’re gay.”

Now she just looked confused. “Why is it bad?”

“Because a man is supposed to be with a woman. That’s how God created us.” Mom says.

I finish eating my food as fast as I can to escape this horrible conversation and then interrupt. “Can I be excused? I’m getting tired.”

Before my mom can respond, my father swings open the front door.

This time, it’s not just me who’s frozen. He’s holding a beer bottle. His tie is loose. The top button of his shirt is unbuttoned and it’s stained.

What makes it most obvious that it’s happened again is his eyes. They’re huge. And not in the caring way.

He smiles goofily and stares at Adia and I. “No hug? No ‘Hi daddy!’ or ‘Thanks for working your ASS off every day to provide for us’ ?”

My first instinct is to pull Adia closer to me and step one foot in front of her. My second instinct is to throw something at him so we can all run.

I hold back. Mom’s too close to dad. She would never be able to run away in time. He could hit her. Even break a bottle over her head and kill her. She’s not a good person, but she doesn’t deserve that.

“Go. To your rooms. Now.” I turn to my mom in utter surprise.

“But mom-“

“GO. NOW.”

I grab Adia and make sure she’s safe and locked in her room before running to mine. I press my ear against the door because I might be able to get an idea of what’s happening. I can’t hear anything.

I slump down and hang my head in my hands. Holy christ, what is wrong with my family?? Why doesn’t she just kick him out when he’s hungover? Why don’t WE leave?

I can't deal with this.

I'm sobbing now. I clench my teeth to trap the noise in my mouth.

Over the course of a few minutes, I draw myself up onto my knees and then stand up, walking over to sit down at my desk and start to scribble words that seem right on a paper. After a minute of writing, I reread it. It's not good enough. I crumple up the piece of paper and throw it in the trash.

I hug my knees tightly, trying not to make any form of sound. My breathing slows back to normal the longer to sit there and I grab another piece of paper. I start to write once again, this time neater.

I wake up the same way as yesterday. I put on my pants and blouse. I don’t care if Mr. Simon tries to force me to wear a skirt. I’m not taking any bullcrap on my last day of school. And life.

I walk onto the bus and don’t even pay any attention to the kids that are already on it. I hear a kid yell “Get off, dyke!” and I resist flipping him off… well, I try to resist flipping him off.

I take my time walking into the classroom and I sit next to Logan. A kid comes up to me.

“You’re sitting in my seat.”

“Yeah. I know. My seat’s over there. Feel free to take it.” He looks as if he’s about to say something more, but he turns to walk towards my actual seat.

Logan looks at me. I wonder if he knows something off. That taking some other kid’s seat isn’t something I’d normally do.

If he notices, he doesn’t mention it. “Hey. How was your day?” He laughs and then adds, “Holy crap that was such a mom question.”

I snort and answer, “Oh my god, you’re right. But it was good. I’m tired as heck though.”

“No kidding.” I grin at him as Mr. Simon looks at us again. I don’t really pay attention in math. I just talk to Logan. It’s relaxing to not have to care. To not have to worry about the consequences to my actions.

When we walk to lunch, I start complaining to Logan about how much of the day we have left.

“Uhh, you know that we have an early day, right?”

“Oh! I do now.” He chuckles and smiles. I feel my cheeks get a little bit warm. He starts to talk about some fandom of his and I try my hardest to pay attention.

I don’t really know what triggers this, although I have an idea, but I realize something. I’ve never kissed someone. Ok, this needs to change. Dying a virgin is one thing, but never having kissed someone? That’s a whole other level of sad. I feel weird thinking this, but I know exactly who I want to be my first and last kiss.

He’s about to start another thought, but I interrupt him. I don’t care. “You’re amazing.”

He looks at me as if I said the strangest thing that could possible said. “I mean it. You’re always there for me and you talk to me about things we like. I feel I don’t thank you enough for that.”

He still looks weirded out but smiles warmly. “Right back at you,” he responds as he fidgets with his hands and looks down at his shoes. I gesture for him to continue and, without hesitation, he does.

Logan sighs and packs up his lunch as the bell rings.

“Hey, will you walk home with me? I know you normally hang out here for a while but I want to talk to you.” I know this is a risk.

Just like before, he doesn’t say anything, but now I’m sure that we both know something’s wrong. “Yeah, of course.”

We grab our stuff and we start walking. He starts walking faster and gets ahead. This is not acceptable.

I break into a full sprint and he starts to chase me. We’re laughing so hard we can barely breathe. When we reach the bridge, were both out of breath. We bend over and start panting like dogs on a hot day.

I break into a full sprint and he starts to chase me. We're laughing so hard we can barely breathe. When we reach the bridge, were both out of breath. We bend over and start panting like dogs on a hot day.

I stand up straight again and look at him. His face is glowing and his brown eyes are big and happy. He runs his hand through his slicked back (with both gel and sweat) hair and adjusts his glasses. He even tightens his tie. What a dork.

I know this is the moment. I move closer to him and pull his tie towards me with one arm and put the other around him as I kiss him.

The salty air blows through my hair and I feel on top of the world. After a couple of seconds, I step away. He looks confused. He wasn't ok with it. Oh god, what have I done? I'm about to keep running down the bridge when he hugs me.

This time, I'm the unprepared one. After a minute, he lets go and slides his hand into mine. We continue walking across the bridge. There's nothing we need to say and it feels amazing.

We don't have to explain ourselves. We can just walk quietly together. And it's not awkward.

My happiness fades away as I realize this is the first and last time I’ll be able to do this. I couldn’t change my mind if I wanted to. I already taped the note on to his backpack when he hugged me. This has to be the last time. Nothing good can last forever. Nothing can last forever.

We reach the other side. “Goodbye, Logan.”

He laughs. “You say it like this is the last time I’ll ever see you. This is just goodbye for now. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

I feel my heart shatter a little bit more than it already had but I cover it up with a soft smile. “Yeah. It’s just goodbye for now.” He leans in and kisses my cheek and then whirls around.

He starts to walk towards his house. I turn towards the water.

Tears spill silently down my face. I put my hand over my mouth to muffle my sobs. I want to run to Logan and scream his name, but I can’t. This has to be done alone.

I lift one foot onto the railing and then the other. This is it.

One last tear slips down my face as I whisper raspily, “I’m sorry, Logan.” I know it will be peaceful. A quiet ending. Not that I deserve one, but I guess it’s a favor to myself. I let go of the pole that I had been holding onto.

And then I’m falling.

Falling.

Gone.

#love #suicide awareness #tw suicude #suicide #loveislove #asexual #ace #pangender #genderqueer #nonbinary #queerandimmortal

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evilprincesskeri · 6 years ago

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Old Married Couple Fluff

Dean felt himself becoming Murtaugh; he was getting too old for this shit. Being thrown, bodily across the room by the variety of telekinetic beings he had to deal with on the regular - everything from ghosts and witches to angels and demons seemed to have the ability to just flick a wrist and send him flying into a wall. He was going to turn 40 this year - F O U R T Y - and after a lifetime of getting his ass kicked, he ached.

Things just … hurt… when he woke up. His knees creaked so loud he was sure it was audible, his back was always stiff in the morning, and today he woke up and his shoulder felt like it had been dislocated yesterday. And it hadn’t. He just freakin slept wrong. And he was cranky about it.

He didn’t bother to get dressed, just shrugged on the grey robe over his boxers and slipped his feet into a pair of slippers to shuffle down the hall to the showers. He paused on his way, and inhaled the scent of strong black coffee from the kitchens. He glowered down the hall for a moment before he shuffled into the kitchen to grab a mug.

Cas sat at the table with a newspaper and a stack of books. There was toast. There were eggs. There was bacon. Dean stood in the doorway and glared at Cas who appeared oblivious. He grabbed a mug off the shelf and filled his cup and piled food on a plate. “Did you cook?” Dean asked suspiciously

Cas peered over the top of the newspaper and intoned in his usual deadpan “Sam did. Then he went for a run.”

Dean took a second helping of eggs and dropped into a chair across from Cas. He was too grumpy to even bother with conversation so he just dug into the food. When the caffeine finally hit his system and the cloud of sleep-grump started to clear he looked up and noticed that Cas had put aside his newspaper and was simply watching him eat.

“Dude.” Dean said simply.

Cas leaned forward in his chair; his expression earnest and his eyes laser focused on Dean’s own. After all these years it still stopped his heart for half a second when Cas focused his whole attention on him like that; like there was no one else in the whole world. “Are you well?”

Dean scowled at Cas. “Am I… what?”

“You have been unreasonably grumpy this past week. Even for you.” Cas said with sincere concern. “I am… concerned.”

Dean huffed and dropped his fork. Scooping up his coffee he stood, groaned audibly due to the pain in his shoulder and headed back down the hall to the shower. He shut and locked the door in hopes that Cas would take a hint and stripped out of his clothes.

Just as he was stepping into the shower he heard the telltale flutter of wings. He growled in frustration. They had done this dance before, on the many occasions he tried to hide the effects of injuries. One of the drawbacks of being married to an angel was that you couldn’t just slam a door and storm out. “I’m fine. I just slept wrong.”

Cas stood at the far end of the tub, his head tilted quizzically to the side. “I wasn’t aware there was a wrong way to do that.”

“Can we not, Cas? My shoulder is sore. I slept ON it wrong, and explaining it to you is not helping.” He yanked the curtain shut and winced in pain.

Steaming hot water poured down over his neck and shoulders and the room was quiet. Dean hadn’t heard Cas leave, but, perhaps he had. There was a part of him that was disappointed; though he wasn’t up for raucous shower sex the world was always a little better when Cas was in the room. He figured he should soap up, but the scalding water felt nice on his shoulder and back.

The curtain slid back quietly and Dean felt Cas’ arms slide around his waist. Cas dropped his forehead gently to rest between Dean’s shoulder blades and said in overly serious tones “I am concerned.”

Dean turned around to cup Cas’ face in his hands. He pressed a short kiss to Cas’ lips in apology. He knew he had been sharp before, but, this was a little much. “I’m fine. I’m just…’ he sighed deeply. “... old.”

Cas’ brows drew together in confusion “You’re barely… “ he started

Dean cut him off with another kiss, before dropping his forehead to rest on Cas’. “I *feel* old, Cas. My shoulder hurts, my back aches, I have scar tissue and old injuries and…” “Let me help.” Cas said simply.

“There’s nothing to heal, Cas. I’m not injured, I’m just… sore.”

Dean felt Cas’s deft hand slide up his back and down again, and then again with slightly more pressure. His hands moved around his waist and up over his chest to his shoulders and neck, where his strong fingers dug gently into the triangular muscle connecting his shoulder to his neck, and Dean groaned in pleasure. As Castiel’s fingers continued to gently knead the muscle Dean felt his knees go a little weak and he clutched at Cas’ waist. Cas leaned close and whispered in his ear “Let me help.”

Dean could only mummer assent “Mmmm, yeah… ok.”

Castiel dropped a feather light kiss on the curve of Dean’s neck before his hands dropped back to his side. “Finish your shower. I’ll wait in your room.”

Dean choked on a hoarse little laugh. Sometimes Cas was oblivious to the double entendre in his words, but Dean felt sure that one was on purpose. Dean tried to grab hold of his angel, but, he was a little slippery. He snorted at his own pun and grabbed up the bar of soap.

After a short shower, Dean padded down the hall wearing his towel and carrying the robe and boxers he’d started in. On his way back to the room he heard Sam open the bunker door and come back in from his morning run. He felt better, less cranky, less sore and was looking forward to finding Cas waiting for him in his room so he ignored his brother’s entrance and slipped down the hall a little faster.

When he stepped into his room he tossed his clothes into the hamper in the corner and the towel along with it. Cas sat at the foot of his bed, disappointingly fully clothed. Dean scoffed, “Man, come on.”

“I do not need to be naked in order to help you, Dean.”

Dean smirked, and swaggered toward the bed. “Well, I guess that’s true.”

Castiel raked his blue eyes over Dean from head to toe as he stood up to meet him at the foot of the bed. Dean felt the surge of pride in seeing how hungry those eyes looked as they took him in. They kissed, passionately at first - it always seemed like they had lost time to make up for, but to Dean’s continuing frustration Castiel pulled away. “This isn’t what I meant, Dean.” “No?” Dean brushed his fingertips along Cas’ jaw and into the little curls of hair behind his ear. “It would help, though.”

“Only temporarily Dean. The oxytocin and dopamine produced in lovemaking would help to relax your muscles for a time, but when they fade so, too, would the relief. Please. Lay down and let me help you in another way.”

Dean flopped onto the bed, stretching out on his back with his head pillowed on his hands. Cas was laying the double entendre on pretty thick today, but it was kind of cute so what the hell. He waggled his eyebrows. “Okay, Cas. Help me out in ‘another way’ then.”

Now Cas was annoyed, “Roll over, Dean.”

Dean had to bite down on a laugh as he rolled over. “I’m not going to need a pillow to… “ he gasped at the sudden sensation of cold and liquid in the middle of his back. “What the hell, Cas!?” He started to roll back over but Castiel’s hands firmly held his shoulders in place. “That was… my mistake. I should have put the lotion into my hands to warm it, I will do that in the future.”

Using the ball of one hand Cas smoothed the lotion up along the muscle that sat parallel to Dean’s spine while the other pushed down along the same muscle towards his buttocks. Dean gasped at the sensation of that muscle being stretched. “Too much pressure?” Cas asked quietly?

Dean nodded. “Yeah, man. Slow down a little.”

Cas continued to work the knots out of the muscles in Dean’s low and mid back, concentrating on each muscle group until they began to slacken. He worked slowly up to Dean’s shoulders, finding knots from use and stress there. As he finished working on each group there he dropped soft kisses on the now warm, red skin. Castiel’s strong, capable hands, moved up to the shoulder joint that was giving Dean so much trouble and he worked on the muscles surrounding it, pulled the outer ones down to stretch them over the bicep and down further, all the way down to the palm of his hand, rubbing soft little circles right in the center of his hand.

Dean made soft murmurs of pleasure throughout the process, at first erotic and then simple enjoyment. By the time Castiel had gotten through the process with his left hand, Dean was snoring. Cas settled on the bed stroking his fingers through Dean’s hair. Even at the worst of times Dean looked so peaceful in sleep, and Castiel loved to see his face without the lines of worry and stress etched into it.

After a time he got up and went back into the kitchen, where he picked up the paper again.

Sam came bounding back in, freshly showered after his run. “Is Dean still asleep?”

Castiel smiled to himself, behind the paper, “Yes. Dean is sleeping.”

#dean is bi #dean winchester #castiel #destiel #dean is turning 40 this year #too old for this shit #massage #fluff #cute #sweet #adorable #baby in a trench coat #sam is a puppy dog

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howsmyhairlook · 3 years ago

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Texts From Last Night Writing Prompt:

•Brand hosted events. When a baby influencer gets the invite to their first ever event, with all the swag and monogrammed gifts, that was when you knew your clout was climbing in the right direction. All those over-staged flat lays and maintaining the grid aesthetic had finally proven worth the effort.

My first brand hosted event was in NYC. I’d been invited to a few, but I still had some dignity, and took my desire to be a well respected influencer seriously, and so I had declined the ones that simply didn’t make sense for what I was trying to accomplish with my account. I was no sell out, Mr. Mhmm was not an easy buy bitch willing to promote shit I didn’t actually like. Flat tummy tea? Pfft. Hair gummies? Please. My locks were natural and salon maintained like they should be. I didn’t mess with the work of my stylist. He’d cut my ears off if I did.

I knew holding out on accepting events that didn’t necessarily match my vibe would delay the instant gratification everyone craved, but I actually wanted to stay true to what I had been building. It was a slow process and one that wasn’t without blood, sweat (ew) and a few tears. So when an up and coming clothing brand, owned by someone who was out and proudly queer invited me to a fashion show during Pride, I RSVP’d faster than I could deny the squeal of delight upon reading their email.

Attending an event like this was not just a fun weekend away, it was also work. Having my flight, hotel and of course all the food and drinks when I attended their events paid for wasn’t exactly “free”, I was expected to in return post no less than twenty stories highlighting the goings on through the weekend. At the time, I thought it was an easy price to pay. My insta was going to be a three day weekend promo. I had it all planned out, I’d be the best attendee they had ever extended an invite to.

The night was going perfectly. The food was delicious, drinks were flowing, and the first of three fashion shows scheduled for the weekend had me doing multiple double takes in the best possible way. I made sure to snap a photo of each piece I loved and gushed appropriately about it on my feed. My followers were loving it, and the brand had shared my stories on their stories. It felt like the perfect execution of how an influencer and a brand could collaborate together.

The second night was an early evening show that delved into menswear and BOY was I feeling it. This particular fashion show had the models mingling among the crowd allowing everyone to get a more up close look at the clothing. Let’s be honest, though, the man candy was where my eyes were landing. And, because I’m me, I dressed to impress.

Once or twice I was confused for being part of the show. It was quite the ego boost. Not to mention a compliment to the designer that my vintage Gucci suit jacket fit into the vibe well enough to have me being confused for a model. The only difference was that instead of wearing any kind of slacks like the models had on, I was wearing tailored shorts to show off my argyle socks which were being held up by leather garters. I never skipped an opportunity to show off such an underrated accessory.

I also didn’t skip an opportunity to enjoy the free drinks each time one of the waitstaff would pass by with a tray. Selfies were being taken, numbers were given out. People were telling others to slide into their DMs. I’d given my number to more than a handful of people I’d had conversations with. It was exactly as you’d imagine a gathering of tipsy people might progress.

When the evening seemed to be winding down and the room had thinned out, I decided it was time to head back to my suite for the night, grateful the fashion show had been held in the same hotel the brand had booked my room. As I waited for the elevator to arrive, my phone, which had been buzzing most of the night buzzed again, only this time, it vibrated in my pocket to indicate I’d received a text from an unknown number.

Swiping it open with my thumb I smiled upon reading the words.•

(870) It was great chatting with you tonight. Too bad you decided to leave…

•I’d spoken with so many people this evening, and given my number out to the majority of them, I had no idea who was on the other side. My response was a polite thank you before asking who it was. The speech bubble popped up, then disappeared for a couple of seconds before another text came through.•

(870) Also, wanted to tell you, I really liked those socks you were wearing.

•An odd compliment but I was happy to take it because I loved my socks. Then, another text came before I could reply to the still nameless person.•

(870) There’s something sensual about taking off a pair of socks.

•Um.

What?

The elevator had arrived but I ignored it, instead turning around and looking throughout the lobby to see if anyone had followed me. I wasn’t lucky enough to find my mystery texter giving me the obvious sock lover vibes so I replied again to ask who it was. Instead of an answer, another text came through.•

(870) A bunch of us have headed to the club down the road, you should join. I’ll tell you who I am if you show.

•I hesitated, but not for very long. The mystery was too much, I HAD to know. My reply was quick, telling them I was on my way. I kept my eyes on my phone as I made my way through the hotel lobby, but my unnamed texter left me on read. Tempting me even further to get there as quickly as I could. I didn’t even know the gender of the person I was going to meet, not that it mattered to me.

Maybe I was being foolish going out on my own to meet some person at a club in a city I didn’t really know that well, but my fearlessness was fuelled by alcohol and I’d most likely realize the error in judgement in the morning. For now, I was hailing a cab to take me a mere couple of blocks just so I could meet this person sooner, walking would only delay the reveal of what I was anticipating to be an Ah Ha moment. Any amount of patience I normally possessed had vacated my faculties quicker than my followers had liked my posts from the show earlier in the evening.

My arrival at the club was anti-climatic.

Nobody was waiting outside for me. Rude. Then again, I wasn’t some Pretty in Pink girl who was coming of age, I was a grown ass man following the request of a semi-weird text just to learn who the sender was. For the record, though, I could totally rock the colour pink, if I wanted. I wasn’t biased when it came to colours I’d wear.

By some kind of luck. No, actually, it was by the grace of New York clubbing standards, it was still early despite the actual time, and there was no line to get in. I found myself taking in the atmosphere and sounds while eyeballing every group of people I passed on my way to the bar, staring a little too hard at their faces, hoping one might strike as familiar. They didn’t.

I placed my request for a drink with the bartender, my buzz was fading and with it, my gusto to see this through. His smile was easy and friendly as he spoke.• “One Last Word for the dapper dresser.”

•He winked and I slid him some cash with one hand while the other lifted the glass so I could down the entire drink in a couple of gulps. The gin flowed effortlessly down my throat, and I tapped my fingers on the bartop, trying to decide if I wanted a second. As I was deciding, a deep raspy voice sounded from behind me.• “I’ll take a Pussyfoot, please and another here for Mr. Mhmm.”

•I froze. His voice. Oh my Gucci. My body had a visceral reaction to it as I felt the rumble along with the sound of it. I wanted to hear more, I didn’t even care that he had ordered the strangest sounding drink I’d ever heard. He moved to stand next to me, and I turned to get a look at who I assumed was my mystery texter.

He had been at the event earlier in the night, and we had spoken, though I didn’t recall giving him my number. My eyes scanned over his body and I could feel them growing wider the further they travelled. Long gone was his suit and tie. He’d made a costume change, and was now in full leather gear. Where his hair had been artfully tousled, it was now slicked back. More than all of that, which was QUITE the sight to behold on its own, from the lines at the corners of his eyes and between his brows, I realized he was at least twenty-five years older than me. He chuckled deeply at my reaction and didn’t that sound just hit me right in the groin. I shifted from foot to foot, trying to shake off the reaction my body was having. It didn’t work.

I was TRULY speechless and this leather daddy was letting me suffer. He said nothing until our drinks had been made and delivered. I wanted to ask what was in his, but I was pretty sure I’d caught a glimpse of an egg yolk being dropped into his glass so I took my own and swallowed half before I could get my tongue to form proper words.•

I don’t remember giving you my number. Also, thank you for the drink. How did you get it?

•He grinned at my jumbled thoughts but seemed to make perfect sense of what I was trying to say. He took his time sipping at his drink before speaking, and I got the distinct impression he enjoyed making others squirm. The silence was killer but I resisted the urge to fill the space, willing to wait to hear his voice again. He didn’t disappoint.• “You’re welcome. A friend of mine passed your number on to me after I wouldn’t shut up about your garters.”

•The reminder of my beloved accessory had me looking down at them, and I laughed as I realized they were leather, no wonder he liked them so much.• Oh yes. Nobody likes slouchy socks, right?

•I snapped my mouth closed when his grin turned slow and lecherous. I’d said his magic words, apparently, and most likely reminded him of his text about how sensual sock removal could be. I held my breath waiting again for him to deem enough time had passed before he was ready to speak some more.• “I prefer them to be pulled as high as they can go so I can take my time removing them.”

•Yep. Definitely my mystery texter. But now what?!• What do you want with me? What’s your name? Do you have some kind of sock fetish? I’m not judging if you do, honest. I just can’t seem to shut my mouth up, this kind of thing has never happened to me.

•Instead of answering my twenty questions, he nudged my drink closer to me, picking up his own and then stepped away from the bar. When I grabbed the glass, he nodded his head for me to follow. OF COURSE, I was hot on his heels. I wanted all the answers. For how much he had no problem doing all the speaking during the text exchange, he was unsettlingly silent.

And yet, I followed him all the way to a curtained off area that was entirely private. There was a small table that sat low to the floor in front of a leather sofa. He sat down first, the leather of his pants creaking against the sofa. Then, he placed his drink on the table before tapping the spot beside him. I moved to sit, leaving some space between us. He grinned, not seeming to mind that I hadn’t landed my ass right where his hand had indicated I should be. Once I was seated did he decide to speak, answering only the questions he wanted to.•

“My name is Charles. You can call me Charlie. Or Daddy if you prefer.” •He winked at me before allowing his eyes to sweep over my body the way I had done to him at the bar. His eyes stayed on my socks as he continued.• “I really do love your socks. Can I see them closer?”

•My head tilted in confusion, first because I was not the type of person to call anyone daddy regardless of my wide open sexuality. Second because I was not really sure how much closer he wanted my socks to get when we were already only a couple of feet apart. He took my silence as hesitation and reached down to grab one of my feet, putting it in his lap and holding it there until he was certain I wasn’t going to pull my foot away.

Charlie began to run his hand up my shin, his fingers were light and gentle, tracing over the different coloured shapes. When he got to the top of the sock, his index finger dipped below the elastic, pulling it away from my skin and allowing it to lightly snap against my leg. Such an innocent act felt obscene and dirty.

I didn’t know whether or not I was turned on or off. I did know I wanted to see where he was going with this. Next his fingers moved to the garter at the top of my calf, he traced over it the same way he did my sock. Taking his time, studying the details. I took his low grunt as approval. I knew the leather was soft and supple, not to mention high quality and by the sound he had made, he knew it, too.

His other hand had moved to the lace on my shoe, pulling the bow loose and grabbing ahold of the heel to slip my shoe off completely. I thought maybe I might be getting lucky with a foot rub...

I was wrong.

SO very, very wrong.

I found myself full of shock when he leaned forward and put his mouth on my foot. Not a kiss, or anything sweet and simple, but completely wrapped his lips around my toes and filled his mouth with my foot. I felt his tongue through my sock trying to push between my toes, the fabric growing wet with his efforts. He moaned around my foot and I felt the vibrations all the way across my sole.

That was the moment I decided any chances of being turned on were long gone. Not even alcohol could help me be okay with this. I was not into this the way Charlie very clearly was. I pulled my foot back and sputtered as I shook my head.• Nope. No way. No. I’m sorry but no matter how hot you are, and how much my dick loves the sound of your voice, can I get on board with toe sucking.

•I stood, and stepped backward, abandoning my unfinished drink. He seemed to be expecting my reaction and I watched in horror as he grabbed my shoe and began to smell the inside of it. That definitively answered the fetish question he had ignored.

If anyone noticed I was all but running to the exit, they didn’t say anything, thankfully. I probably could have walked at a normal speed but I was not looking to find myself a new hook up or have any more drinks, and I certainly was not going to wait around for Charlie to finish enjoying himself with my shoe. Absolutely not.

As I settled into the cab, and gave the name of my hotel to the driver, I decided the separation of such an amazing pair of shoes was worth the loss just to bring the entire foot blowjob experience to an end. This was what I deserved for attempting to mix a working weekend with someone else’s pleasure. With a relieved sigh, I resigned myself that next time I received a mystery text, I was going to ignore it the way I had ignored all the signs Charlie had been giving me to indicate he had a foot fetish.•

0 notes

sacredandstrange · 5 years ago

Audio

Dark love is a stranger waving hello

A woman in ermine braving the snow

A crystal ball teardrop on a trembling lash

A tendril of incense smelling of ash

Forest gangbang Cernunnos thistle sun thistle moon

Piss whispers at midnight attic rat tricks at noon

Darkness creeps while you’re sleeping, seeping into your mask

It poses the questions your mirror can’t ask

Dark love is a tongue stretching out of the void

New stars are born, dead suns are destroyed

Its tip finds your pussy in Modesto, CA

Teaching you more than frail words can convey

The night licks your shadow, time dines on your pride

Pulls on your who-ness and pulls you inside out

Like the lining of a pink velvet glove

Mannequins cry as your eyes fill with love

Dark love is a hand turning over an ace

A crackerjack halo, planets grinding in space

A splash of black blood on white porcelain tiles

The shimmering skin of newborn reptiles

Ram’s horns are crushed as they rush in to kiss

The hem of an angel half hidden in mist

When you stroke your dark love your soul starts to shine

With a glow that is greater than God’s holy mind

Dark love is the song of a panther at night

The flap of a bat wing disappearing in light

The blasphemous panic of a back alley crone

Who lurks on your doorstep and chews on your bone

Her sudden appearance supplies quite a shock

Serving to unnerve like a Halloween knock

When you dive into darkness your lust is reborn

It drips from the tip of a unicorn’s horn

Dark love is the hole that gives birth to the ghost

The raging tsunami that erases the coast

A firefly glimpsed by a girl from the West

A tiny white hand in a doll maker’s chest

A dangling scarecrow in love with the moon

A wispy white sun that rises too soon

When you listen to darkness your soul starts to dance

It raves in the graveyard in a hollow eyed trance

Dark love is a footprint left draped on the stairs

A glassy eyed goon who mumbles and stares

The widening crack in a mockingbird’s egg

The shameful trickle that runs down your leg

The syncopated switch of a minotaur’s tail

The succulent ruckus when wizards prevail

When you clutch at dark love you touch the divine

Or wallow in filth like the Devil’s own swine

Dark love is the mole on a celluloid face

A mechanized dancer with music box grace

A golden key turns a pedestrian’s head

As you strut down the street decorated in red

Big icy goo burn flaming ravens below

Beyond blood beyond disco I am Satan hello

When you get lost in darkness, you find your true name

And savor the flavor of the ebony flame

Dark love is a scarab that clicks as it crawls

Through the sanctified stillness that breathes between walls

A prism speaks forth its eternal black prayer

A dragon drags daylight back to its lair

Phlegm evil Jesus dark love eat a cunt edelweiss

Razzmatazz ransom black avalanches black ice

When you fall prey to dark love you give vent to a sigh

And let warm hands caress you on the day that you die

Dark love is a doorway as slim as a slit

A Janus-faced actor reading from a ripped script

The curtain comes down at twilight’s last glow

A killer is laughing in the next to last row

Dark love sleazy blow kiss rubber raindrop at night

Kojak’s new hairdo what’s wrong is what’s right

You dream of darkness as day starts to fade

And replaces your face with a ubiquitous shade

Dark love is a magnet that pulls down the sky

Bends rainbows to snapping and blinds the mind’s eye

It twists in its grip the albino’s pale tail

Leaving welts on its pelt that can be read in Braille

Cunt swollen dark love stretches bets on a horn

Fly maggot pilots for freedom phantom steel in a storm

When you dine on dark love your fangs start to grow

With each flash of your teeth the blood starts to flow

Dark love has no edges, it won’t be tied down

It drifts past your window, a starry-eyed clown

With lips the color of love and teeth made of glass

It chews on your shoes, leaves a crack in your ass

Bend over forever with your feet tied with twine

Chisel grease faster than the apostle of wine

When you smell dark love your nose starts to twitch

And you yearn for the burn of your Master’s quick switch

Dark love is a wire spitting out sparks

A whipping desire that leaves you covered in marks

Bleeding and pleading, not for mercy, but more

Your insatiable craving leaves a stain on the floor

You moon bathing worm, pucker your lips

Make your mouth as round as a solar eclipse

Keep your eyes peeled to behold the black sun

The Devil is clever but God won’t be outdone

Dark love is a wheel that sings as it turns

A black ray of sunshine that soothes as it burns

A slap on the ass, a flash in the pan

Red tape in the shape of the Boogie Man’s hand

When dark love decays its fruit grows more sweet

Its pure gold to behold and sheer heaven to eat

It drips from your lips and runs down your jaw

Filling your hollows with swallows and your dog bowl with awe

Dark love is the gap in a carnival tent

You wanted a ticket but your money was spent

On filth and chaos and darkness and lust

You ate so much pudding your belly might bust

And give birth to a brightly painted pinata

A statue of Pan that sings like Sinatra

With flames jumping out of his eyes, ears, and nose

As for what the Devil he’s up to, God only knows

Dark love is an expert at evoking your screams

Evoking strange scents from your brown tinted dreams

That fly hurry scurry into my beckoning nose

It’s a gift from the Devil as sweet as a rose

Vibe visor mud porpoise behind wide smiles

Scratch matches skin blister torn rectum profiles

You’re a slave to dark love until your skull turns to dust

And all of God’s angels hang their heads in disgust

Dark love turns you sideways, hides you in air

A stratum of atoms lifts up your hair

Lifts up your spirits, pulls down your skirt

Puts your curls in a whirl, puts your face in the dirt

Somewhere your tombstone is uprooted by rain

Your eyes float in a forest, your pain stains the grain

When you peer into darkness, you confront your worst fears

And shake hands with the man who manufactures your tears

0 notes

oddnub-eye · 5 years ago

Text

Our Own Chapter 3

Chapter 3 is here! This is a long one, so there’ll be a read more for this one!

The trio continued their trek through the woods. The sun had gone down a few hours ago, and Rena felt like her legs were about to fall off.

“You’re slowing down.” Bell said, quickening her pace to catch up to her.

“I’m a little tired. We’ve been walking awhile.” Rena sighed.

“You want me to carry you?”

“No thanks. I don’t wanna be a bother.”

“You won’t be, you’re not used to this kind of stuff yet,” Bell assured, stepping in front of Rena and crouching, “Hop on.”

Rena tentatively climbed up and Belle jogged in front of Artemis, saying, “You guard the flank, I’ve got the squirt.”

While she couldn’t turn her head far enough, Rena could feel Artemis’ eyes narrow.

“You’re training starts tomorrow.” Artemis said sternly.

Rena nodded.

About an hour passed, when the trio stepped into a clearing. Rena peeked her head over Belle’s shoulder and what she saw caused her jaw to drop. A large grey castle stood in the clearing. A dark blue moat, ominous, yet beautiful, guarded the fortress.

Belle set Rena down and the trio approached the moat. They came to a stop in front of the drawbridge. They stood there silently for at least a minute.

“You, uh, gonna ask her to let us in?” Rena asked to either of her companions.

Suddenly, the drawbridge feel with a heavy thunk. Standing in the gateway was a woman of average height with a mane of unkempt black hair. She wore an open vest that trailed to her ankles, and black pants. A gray crop top exposed her torso.

“Artemis the huntress…” She drawled, “To what do I owe the pleasure.”

“Morgan.” Artemis greeted sternly, before gesturing to Rena, “This is Little Red.”

Morgan’s eyes widened, and said quickly, “Come in. The summons will prepare your rooms.”

“Summons?” Rena asked as the trio crossed the drawbridge.

“Magic.” Belle explained, “Arty will probably explain it to you better when you start training, but long story short, Morgan’s main magic is conjuration, so she summons shit.”

Rena nodded, even though she was confused. Morgan lead them into the castle, where several ghostly black and white entities scurrying around, some shuffling, some floating, some bounding about on all fours.

Morgan lead the group up the stairs and into a hall, which lead to several rooms.

“This is where you’ll be staying for the night.” Morgan said, “I’m sure you’re all tired, so get a good night’s rest. Be ready for the best goddamn breakfast you’ll have in the morning.”

“Weird display of hubris, but go off.” Belle laughed.

“Hey I pride myself on being able to cook worth a piss alright.”

“Goodnight.” Artemis said curtly, before storming into her room.

“Goodnight squirt.” Belle said, patting Rena’s head before jogging to her room and slamming the door behind her. Rena turned to look at Morgan, who waved her in the direction of a room.

Rena stumbled into her room, and her jaw continued to drop at the sheer luxury of Morgan’s castle. The bed wasn’t to big, but just looking at it made its clear it was comfortable. The room had an ambiance to it, and it was warmed by a gentle fire in the corner. A pair of pajamas rested on the bed.

Rena quickly changed, the pajamas being a little to big, but still comfortable. The girl crawled under the sheets and instantly fell asleep.

The sunlight peaked through the window as Belle slowly cracked open her eyes. The 20-year-old was normally a late-riser, but something compelled her to wake up. Pushing herself up, and pushing some hair out of her face, Belle quickly discovered what had compelled her to wake.

The smell of food cooking.

Belle climbed out of her bed and dressed quickly, pulling on her hoodie and strapping her tonfa to her thighs. Quietly exiting her room and making her way to the dining room, Belle quirked an eyebrow to see the shadowy creatures setting the table. Following the smell of food, Belle marched into the kitchen, catching Morgan flipping a pancake into the air.

“Didn’t take you for a chef type.” Belle joked, leaning against the door frame, “But hey, being able to cook is always a nice quality.”

Morgan laughed and turned to face Belle, “If that was your attempt at flirting, I can understand why you’re single.”

Belle’s face flushed red and she shot back, “I wasn’t flirting!”

Morgan snorted and said, “Sure you weren’t. How do you like your eggs?”

“Don’t eat eggs often.”

“Not my question.”

“Over-easy on toast.”

Belle stood in the door frame awkwardly in silence, before saying, “Alright, if my flirting is so bad, how do I not suck.”

“Don’t be so obvious?” Morgan said it like it was common sense, “It just comes naturally for me, if you want an actual teacher, I know a guy.”

“Is he cute?”

“To some,” Morgan smiled, “Depends on how he shows himself to you.”

Before Belle could respond, Morgan shoved a plate of food into her hands and gestured for her to go to the table.

Belle sighed and made her way to the table, eating in silence. Morgan joined her a pile of pancakes on her plate. They ate in silence for a while, until Belle asked.

“Where are Arty and Rena?”

“Arty dragged her out for training at 4AM, barely convinced her to let the poor girl eat breakfast first.”

Belle’s eyes narrowed, but before she could say anything, a boisterous voice greeted, “Hey Sis!”

Belle snapped her head up, seeing a tall man with feathery blond hair and sky blue eyes. He wore a golden vest with metallic shoulder pads and a matching cape. Hanging at his waist was a sword with a golden handle. He also wore glasses, not fancy ones, but surprisingly normal and almost geeky square glasses.

“Arthur?” Morgan gasped, “I wasn’t expecting you.”

“King Arthur?” Belle gasped. Arthur turned his attention to her and gasped.

“BELLE!?” Arthur practically squeaked before running over, taking out a sheet of paper and a pen, “I loved your movie! Can I have your autograph!?”

Morgan smacked her head into her palm, “Arthur, just cause she’s Belle doesn’t mean she was the one from the Disney movie. You once ranted to me for 5 hours about how inaccurate The Sword in the Stone was, so I highly doubt that movie was accurate.”

Arthur’s face fell, “Oh.”

“No, no,” Belle interrupted, chuckling, “It’s okay! I’m honored, I’ve just never autographed anything before.”

Belle signed the paper and handed it back to Arthur, whose face lit up in joy.

“Thank you!” He smiled, “I’m in your debt!”

“It’s fine.” Belle laughed, slightly taken aback by Arthur’s childlike behavior. Morgan, on the other hand, noticed something peeking out from Arthur’s vest.

“Arthur, did you get a tattoo?” Morgan asked, gesturing to a jagged black line just barely visible from the knight’s vest.

“No.” Arthur explained, “A couple months back I found that Charming bastard and fought him, he landed one blow, but he had to retreat. It hasn’t healed over yet, but it hasn’t caused any problems so…”

“Brother.” Morgan said, now deadly serious, “What did the sword look like?”

Arthur furrowed his brow, before slowly describing, “The blade was glassy, with a curved black hilt and a...golden pommel…”

Arthur’s eyes widened as a realization seemed to dawn on him. Arthur scrambled away from Belle, attempting to bolt for the doorway, but suddenly froze. The blond turned and his sky blue eyes had been replaced with a different shade of blue, one that felt artificial.

Belle had seen those eyes before. Those were Charming’s eyes.

“Ah Arthur.” Charming’s voice laughed from Arthur’s body, “A valorous, noble fool, emphasis on fool. Didn’t notice for months that he’d been my puppet. Now he’s led me right to who I need.”

“Give me my brother back.” Morgan’s voice turned hard and the room turned heavy with the sheer amount of magic power she excluded.

Charming snickered through Arthur as he drew Arthur’s sword, the blade of which had a core of golden metal.

“Excalibur,” Belle breathed.

“Drop your weapon.” Artemis’ voice ordered, the goddess stepping out from behind a wall, bow drawn.

Charming smirked, and whirled around, swinging Excalibur. Artemis loosed her arrow, but as it approched Arthur, it turned into golden light and was absorbed into Excalibur.

“The sword of Rulers.” Morgan cursed, “Absorbs all projectiles or magic thrown at it.”

“So we just have to beat him into submission!” Belle roared, drawing her tonfa, and using a blast of fire to shoot herself at the king. Arthur brought his sword up to expertly block the blow, whipping his blade upward to send Belle flying backwards.

Arthur whirled back around to face Artemis, swing his sword. Artemis brought up her bow to block but was still sent sprawling to the ground.

“You didn’t think this through Goddess.” Charming mocked, “You came too close to one of the greatest swordsman of the world with a bow. Even if I was complete ass with a sword, Arthur’s muscle memory would be more than enough to kill everyone in this room with all the mistakes you made!”

Artemis snarled, but everyone’s attention was drawn to a sudden burst of golden light. Morgan stood in a circle of bright golden light, chanting something in a language Belle vaguely recognized as Chinese.

The light faded, and Charming spat, “What was that supposed to summon? A dragon? A devil? Conjuration is about strength in numbers, bitch, no summon is worth that much.”

Morgan smirked, “Don’t tell me how to use my own magic, bitch. And I was summoning an old friend.”

“Huh?”

The golden light erupted again, this time behind Morgan, whose smirk was still visible despite the blinding light.

The light faded and standing behind Morgan was… a monkey. He stood at barely 4 feet tall, dressed in a sleeveless martial arts Gi with an orange and black hoodie tired around his waist. His tail was lashing behind him. Fluffy brown fur covered his body, a golden circlet keeping it from his face.

His face broke into a smirk, sharp fangs glimmering, eyes opening to reveal fiery red eyes with golden pupils.

“Allow me to introduce you all to my friend.” Morgan laughed, “Sun Wukong, the Handsome Monkey King. And I know he has a bone to pick with you, Charming.”

Constructive Criticism is always welcome!

#Our Own #Original Story #mythology #fairy tales #Rena Geong #Sun Wukong #Morgan Le Fae #Artemis #Belle Friolic #Prince Charming #Arthur Pendragon #Modern Fantasy

0 notes

mama-ghostie-61542 · 7 years ago

Text

The Hamato Chronicles--Ch. 2

Rated M for Mature

If ya recognize it, it ain't mine.

Chapter Two

Leo’s POV

It was about 6a.m. when my nose woke me up. ‘Mikey must be trying to make biscuits again’, I thought.

I stumbled to the bathroom. I did my morning routine and hit the shower. Normally, at this time of day, there was a ton of hot water, but there were spots where it went ice cold.

About the time I turned the water off, there was a big bang on the door.

“Dude! Hurry up, I need to pee!”

“You have external plumbing and we live in a sewer,” I stated.

“Like hell I do, maggot! Move!”

It was then that I realized it was a girl. I seriously thought about beating Raph for bringing a girl here, but I wrapped my towel around my hips and opened the door.

“Marlowe,” I shrieked, reaching for my sister.

“No time, Leo, gotta pee,” she said as she pushed me out of the bathroom and locked the door. A second later I heard her contented sigh, a moment after that came the flush. Then there was the momentary sound of water being turned on, then back off. Next, my sister unlocked the door and opened it.

Smiling, she said, “Ya know, Leo, I about jimmied the lock.”

“But Lowe,” I blushed, thoroughly embarrassed that my sister would have caught me in my birthday suit.

“Oh, come on, Leo; I diapered you boys and I have been married twice. A penis doesn’t scare me. And I have seen some pretty scary stuff in the Corps. Now, finish up. Breakfast should be about ready when you get there. Just keep it quiet.”

I smiled and nodded, then padded down the hall to my old room and started to get clothes on. As I pulled up my boxer briefs a sudden thought hit me. If she diapered all four of us, then she had seen the weird freckle on my ass. That was a mortifying thought. Was she there when we were baptized and Raph pissed on Father Corelli?

I finished dressing and tried to use my ninja skills to surprise my big sister, but just as I stepped into the kitchen, she turned and handed me the silverware.

“Set the table,” she said as she turned to me. “Good try though, KaBong.”

I smiled at a childhood nickname, “Thanks, Lowe.” Then I grabbed her arm as she walked past me and pulled my tiny, little, big sister into a huge hug. I love Marlowe’s hugs. She is the only girl I have ever met who tries to get her arms all the way around my shell but generally settles for gripping on at least one of my coastal scutes.

“I’m glad you are home and safe, Sis,” I whispered against the top of her head. “I missed you.”

She chuckled and buried her face in my chest and said, “I missed you too, little brother.”

About that time, we heard the boys waking up.

Don’s POV

I padded out of my old lab and saw Leo standing in the kitchen. That in itself was terrifying. But, what set me on edge was knowing that he was hugging someone. As I walked closer to them, I caught sight of DCU pants and sock feet; human sock feet. However, the pants are what gave it away. I only knew of one person who would wear those. I jumped into a group hug that pinned my big sister between my older brother and me.

Hugging my sister, I kissed the top of her head and teared up a bit. The day I had prayed for had finally come. My sister was home.

Next, we heard the water come on in the bathroom. Then, Marlowe smiled softly and dislodged us from her person and went back to fixing breakfast. I knew then we were in for a treat. As much as I love Italian food, I LOVE my sister’s cooking.

Raph’s POV

I smelled homemade biscuits. That is what woke me up. I showered quickly, imagining the buttery goodness with what smelled like sausage gravy, eggs, and hash browns. Someone else had to be cooking, Mikey can’t make gravy to save his life. Meeting my baby bro at the bathroom door though, let me know it wasn’t him.

“Dude, do you smell that,” Mikey asked, his eyes wide.

“Yep, can’t be Leo.”

“No, Don banned him from helping. Could it be Donnie?”

“Nah, D would have turned it into research and burned it. So that leaves Dad,” I whispered.

Mikey shook his head, “No, Dad won’t make gravy and hash browns at the same time. Bro, let me pee and we will both go see.”

Mere minutes later, Mikey and I were silently padding through the old place on our way to the kitchen. Mikey stopped me suddenly and placed a finger over his mouth in the sign to hush, then wiggled his fingers by his ear slit.

We heard a woman’s voice, “Java’s ready, Donnie.”

But Don’s reply blew us away.

“Thanks, Lowe.”

Our eyes lit up! Our big sister was home! We were asses and elbows running for the kitchen. I turned the corner and there, in her sock feet and DCU pants with a tan colored A-shirt on, and buzz cut, black hair was Marlowe, my human big sister.

“Marlowe,” I somehow managed to choke out around the lump in my throat and the growing tightness in my chest.

Marlowe’s POV

I had just taken the last of the hash browns out of the grease when something large hit me in the back. I turned to see my baby brother, Angel; a name only I was allowed to call him, hopping from one foot to the other with a look of intense joy on his face. He reminded me of a little boy who thought Christmas had come early.

I swear that kid grows an extra set of arms and legs every single time I come home, even if I’m just on leave. My news is gonna explode this one.

I heard my name, near sobbed from the doorway and saw Raph, fighting to keep his tough guy persona going. Don’t tell anyone, but it is close between him and Donnie as to who is my favorite. I know, I’m not supposed to have a favorite, but I do. In fact, I have two.

As I started toward my hot-headed little brother, his knees gave out.

Raph’s POV

My knees went weak and gave out as my big sister wrapped her arms around me.

I sobbed on her as she kissed my dome and whispered, “I’m home, Squeaks; for good this time.”

I looked up at her from where my arms were locked around her middle and my head was buried in her chest, “Really,” I whispered.

“Really, really,” she smiled as she wiped away the tears leaking out of my bronze eyes.

Suddenly, my brothers and dad all joined us in a ginormous group hug.

Leo POV

When we all separated for breakfast, I asked, “So, when did you get in, Lowe?”

“04:00,” she answered. “I sparred with Pop until about 05:00. Showered; then came down to start breakfast. It is something that my squad loved, but I just couldn’t hack. These are called ‘Heralds’. They are a biscuit, two sausage patties, 2 fried eggs, hash browns, gravy, and cheese,” she said as she made one for Mikey and one for Raph. Don and I were cool without the gravy. Dad had his somewhat like ours, but with ketchup and his biscuit on the side. Lowe just had a biscuit.

After breakfast, we all went to the dojo for training. I admit, I got a little jealous when she used a move I had never seen before to put Dad on his rear. I had never seen my father go down so fast or with such a huge smile on his face. A part of me worried that she would take over my spot as leader. As soon as she smiled at him, with a look of accomplishment on her face, that feeling faded slightly. I got to see a glimpse of the teenaged girl who beamed with accomplishment and pride at any praise. I missed seeing her in my Marine sister.

As we left training, the timer on her watch went off. Marlowe excused herself to go take her meds. We didn’t think anything of it; if we had only known about the storm that was brewing.

A/N--Same version is on ffn

#tmnt leonardo #tmnt raphael #tmnt donatello #tmnt michelangelo #tmnt splinter #tmnt leo #tmnt raph #tmnt donnie #tmnt mikey #tmnt 2016 #tmnt bayverse #tmnt 2k16 #don't kill me #the hamato chronicles

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shardclan · 7 years ago

Photo

In the Summerlands, the first creeping light of dawn turned the sloping horizon to a faded chrome of pale blue and bronze.

In the Bramble Step Entertainment district, the light only managed to add a feeble gray ambiance to the near-solid haze. One that only became obvious as the neon lights went off, snatching back the saturated glow they cast into the gloom. The streets were empty at this hour. The working girls and boys would be curled up in their beds, the cleaners were already in their assigned buildings–washing away blood and spilled liquor and polishing the bars until they were like new for the coming business day. A few piles of ash settled at the ends of dark alleys, already cool and damp with morning mist. No one would miss whoever they used to be.

Well, they might, but the first rain or stiff breeze would assure there’d be nothing left of them to find on Caress’ turf.

This morning found the Bramble Step’s proprietress in a thoughtful but pleased mood. She was not an especially devout dragon, but her family had deep roots in the Tangled Wood. So it had not especially impressed her when her obscuring goblin had suddenly emitted a stream of ichor from its mouth and eyes and spoke in a voice like a thousand whispers behind a thousand closed doors:

You will care for this.

An egg had rolled out of the inky pool, and now it sat on a pedestal in her entertaining room. As far as Caress was concerned she’d never gotten any direction to hatch it so it would stay like that until further notice. The Shadowbinder’s ‘gifts’ always had another side to them, so she treated it more like an unexploded bomb than a gift from her deity. Still, the client she had seen last night was quite impressed by the story–eager, even, to network with her if she was so clearly trusted by their deity. A hasty man (in business and in pleasure) but useful at least.

Astrit lay sprawled on her favorite chaise lounge looking at it, nude as the day he was born save an admittedly flattering brandy-wine shawl and his coveted gold jewels. She couldn’t remember any VIP appointments on his calendar, which meant he’d likely spent another night sating Achilles’s nigh-unquenchable thirst.

“You know I hate when you sit naked on that,” she said with a lazy sort of reproach. “It’s a very hard to come by type of suede.”

“What is the worth of a lounge that can’t be lounged on?”

“The same as an assistant who can’t see the value of proper use and care. I haven’t become rich buying expensive things and then carelessly soiling them.” She shooed him. “Have the decency to at least freshen up before you slide your unwashed ass all over it. Or buy your own.”

He grinned and relaxed onto a slightly less luxurious pile of pillows. Part of him considered teasing that she never said anything to Dalma when he came and sat on it, but he knew his limits. Caress loved her husband immensely and while she tolerated Astrit with grace, charm, and his due respect as a denizen of the Tangled Wood for openly hoping to usurp her, they were absolutely not on close enough personal terms for him to say anything about Dalma. Not if he didn’t want her to crush him beneath her heel.

“Seems like everyone who intends to move into the new House has,” he said instead.

“Anyone of interest?”

“To you? Probably not.” He drummed his fingers along one thigh. “If anything you might be interested in who isn’t there. Hart isn’t going.”

Caress sat across the room in a plush chair that she all but melted into. Astrit was new enough to know the political bits of Hart not going, but even with the Starlight Museum up and running, he likely didn’t really understand how odd it was. Hart’s true name might be dead, but he was still the most Arcane dragon in the lair. He didn’t have magical pursuits, he wasn’t a mage or a scholar. But he was worldly and observing. His Arcane nature was innate and deft, like a farmer so long at their craft they no longer needed an almanac to know the coming seasons. If it came out that his bones were made of crystalspine, Caress would have believed it. He had charm, he had cheer, and Caress knew well that he knew how to treat a lady both in bed and out of it, but there was something vast and timeless about him.

His not going, even for political reasons, was keenly against his nature as far as Caress was concerned.

A knock interrupted her thoughts, and a young woman coated in dark lace and silk accented by silver finery entered without waiting. Despite her golden eyes, a shadow emblem glowed faintly above her head and she had the playful but sneaky expression typical of young shadowlings.

“Labrusca,” Caress said with warmth she would not have spared for anyone else who intruded at this hour. “Is something wrong?”

“Just the opposite; I have an idea that may interest you.” She sprawled herself across the chaise lounge, but immediately her nose wrinkled and she looked distastefully at Astrit. “Still no regard for nice things, I see.”

Astrit stretched himself out languidly and folded his arms behind the sprawl of her dark red hair with a grin. “I’m regarding you, am I not?”

She gave him a sneer so withering it could have stripped the paint from the walls. Labrusca was not unlike Stellaria–not quite an adult, but by no means some young fool. Sincere flattery hardly ever worked on her, much less when it was so flagrantly empty.

“I’m a lady,” she spat. “And don’t you forget it you cheap wanna-be.”

Caress sucked in her lips to keep from laughing. Astrit liked to tease, but Labrusca was impenetrable and she liked to hit back where she knew it would hurt. Caress could already see Astrit’s usually smug expression souring.

“Alright, alright,” she wheezed. “What idea did you want to propose?”

“I want to undergo a breed change to a pearlcatcher.”

The mirth left Caress as quickly as it had come. “What? Darling, why? Neither your father nor I are pearlcatchers. Did you want to leave the Step and go live in Aphaster proper? They would take you without the breed change.”

“No, I want to stay here, but I think it will be good for the district if it comes out that the next proprietress is a light dragon. Quiet down all those noisy light courts insisting to Lady Telos that she should reign us in, that it’s disgraceful to let a Shadow hub exist on Light territory, blah blah blah…”

“Next…” A smirk tickled the corner of Caress’ mouth. “Next proprietress? That’s quite presumptuous. You do know you’re not my heir, right?”

“Indeed I’m not.” Labrusca grinned, and the twinkle in her eye was not of Lightweaver. “I’ve no intention of you handing it over to me just because I’m your daughter. You’ll give it to me because I’m the best choice.” She held her hands up peaceably. “Of course, that’s a long way off. I have a lot to learn and I know you have no intention of stepping down any time soon.”

“And you have to contend with me,” Astrit growled.

“He’s right,” Caress warned. “I would never let him lay a finger on you if it was anything else, but if you choose direct competition with him–”

“It would tarnish your name and mine to be protected by you, yes. I’m aware. But I don’t intend to lose to an usurper who doesn’t even have the grace to wash his balls and put on a robe for a meeting with his manager. Winning by Shadow rules is part of my proving.”

Caress looked between her daughter and Astrit. The gap between them was wide. In many ways. But her daughter had been the one to throw down the gauntlet. It would be eons–maybe even a full age before she was ready to be a proprietress. But Astrit probably wasn’t going to wait around until she was a legitimate contender. Caress didn’t have to be worried about him because she was very much above his level. Labrusca was brassy, keen, and had the knowledge to pursue this path. But she was still young and without experience.

She leaned back in her chair, and twirled her thumbs. “…Were you intending to also become a courtesan?”

Only that gave Labrusca any kind of pause. Finally, she admitted: “I don’t know.”

Astrit snorted. “So this is nothing but a child’s dream. You have no plan!”

“I’ve already stated my plan, more or less.”

“How are you supposed to become proprietress if you aren’t a courtesan?”

“There’s nothing that says I have to.”

Astrit rolled his eyes and looked beseechingly at Caress, but she merely shrugged. “She’s right. You don’t need to be a courtesan to manage money, property, or workers. Successful networking is also a skill plenty of dragons have without being in the business.”

She rose from her chair and sat by Labrusca’s side on the lounge. Tenderly, she leaned down and kissed her forehead. “I only wanted to know you wouldn’t force yourself just for the position’s sake. The only reason you should make sex work a part of your plan is if you want to.”

Labrusca’s smile was soft and winning and filled with filial pride. “I know, mama. I promise I will be my own kind of proprietress. And whether I do or don’t become a courtesan, I’ll listen to the workers and make sure they continue to be cared for the way I would want to be.”

“Make me those promises later, once you’ve proved yourself. I’ll put out a procurement request for your breed change scroll.”

Labrusca excused herself, and Astrit rose to go after her. His expression betrayed little. He even looked slightly amused in a sort of exasperated way. Like he was about to deal with some minor annoyance that simply couldn’t be helped. But there was a gleam in those eyes visible even in the near black of the room, and Caress felt a little reality check was due.

“Astrit,” she said just forcefully enough to make him stop. “Labrusca is on the edge of adulthood, but she is still considered juvenile–not even allowed in the district after sundown yet. I hope you’ll remember that and not get carried away. If you do…”

Her eyes took a distinct glow, small and sharp as the light of a cigarette appearing in a pool of shadow that didn’t seem to contain anyone before. A sharp and meaningful aura of animosity gripped Astrit, like a guillotine waiting above his neck on a tense string.

“Not even ash will be left of you.”

#Flight Rising #New Days Dawn #Aphaster Stories #Bramble Step #C: Caress #C: Labrusca #C: Astrit

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holey-ghost · 7 years ago

Text

Creep Part 4

Author: @surpeme-bean

Summary:y/n and dylan get some *surprising news*

Pairing: Y/n + Dylan

Words: 4,320

Warnings: cursing?? Alcohol, Throwing up, passing out, a hospital

A/N: I really enjoyed writing this part mostly because it’s not creepy, but it’s still dramatic and really cute. I really wanted to take a break from creepy ass shit, but I’m not taking a break from drama and unnecessary twists. If you’re into the creepy shit, don’t worry, because it’ll be DOUBLE (wink wink) the amount in part 5 or 6 (idk i haven’t written it yet but itll be soon), so gET READY. Also, thank you everyone for reading and following this series, it warms my heart. I love you all so so so much even if we don’t know each other. also you might wanna read the character background bc a lot of new people are introduced *whispers* its in my masterlist

Y/N

Dylan pulled the car into my parents’ driveway. He looked at me with his tired eyes and flashed a weak smile. My parents lived in a decent sized house, the lawn was always neat with a flower bed by the front window. I grabbed my phone and got out of the car. I walked up to the door and I could already hear my mom’s dog barking. I rang the doorbell.

My mom answered the door with a smile. We hugged and her dog, stella ran out to greet Dylan. I turned around to see Dylan holding the small dog in one arm, the old backpack in the other.

“Do you need help carrying stuff in? I’ll go get dad-” she started

“Oh it’s no problem, this all we brought” dylan said with a smile “thanks though”

Dylan handed the dog back to my mom and we entered the house. My nose was overwhelmed with the smell of breakfast.

“Mom, did you make us breakfast?” I asked in awe of my mother’s incredible hospitality

“Well, I thought you’d both be so exhausted and hungry, so yes I made breakfast” she said with pride, turning to me and dylan with pride

“I don’t know about you, but I am starving” dylan looked at me, his eyes weren’t so tired anymore.

“I’m not too hungry, but I’ll eat” I gave in, just wanting to be with my family.

“Alright, I’ll go get dad. You know where the plates are. Don’t forget to take your shoes off!” she went in the basement, presumably where my dad was.

Dylan and I took off our shoes, ready to eat what my mom had made. Dylan grabbed plates from the cabinet as I pulled the warm pancakes from the oven. Bacon, eggs and hashbrowns were on the stove, all of it smelled amazing.

“How hungry are you? We ate like 2 hours ago.” I asked, a laugh escaping my lips as dylan loaded his plate with food

“I am so hungry. I didn’t eat that much and you know how much I love breakfast food” He said with a grin, “Is there juice in the fridge?” his eyes lit up at the thought

“I don’t know, i’ll check” I set my plate on the dining table and went to the fridge. Sure enough, there was juice. “Do you want apple or orange?” I asked from behind the fridge

“Mmmm, I’ll take apple” his voice seemingly lighter

I turned to get a cup, apple juice in hand. I grabbed two cups, realizing that I also wanted some apple juice. I sat down next to him and set the two cups down. We started eating, but I quickly felt sick.

“Hey is everything alright y/n?” dylan said with a look of concern spreading across his face

“Yeah, I just don’t feel good, I think I’m gonna go lay down” I stood up slowly leaving my plate and everything else on the table

“Y/n! Where are you going? The party just getting started” My dad entered the kitchen, his arms opened for a hug

“Dad!” I weakly exclaimed, I really started to not feel good and I just wanted to lay down, but I hugged him anyways “I’m not feeling good, I was gonna go lay down, and a party this early? No thanks”

My dad smiled at me, “Oh, alright, you both should get some rest” he gave me and Dylan a look.

I headed towards the basement stairs where the guest room was

“I’ll be there is second, y/n” dylan yelled over his breakfast

I mumbled to myself and headed to the basement.

The bedroom door was already open and I could see my mom getting everything ready.

“Hey mom” I weakly said, leaning my body against the door frame.

“Oh, y/n, are you alright?” she stopped fluffing the pillows and looked at me, the same look of concern plastered on her face

“Yeah, I’m fine. I’m just really tired.” I said, “don’t worry about me mom.”

“Okay, you know how the tv works right? The remote is on the nightstand. If you want more blankets there’s some in the closet” she walked up to me, squeezing my arms, a warm smile on her face. “I hope you feel better” she hugged me and went back upstairs.

I shut the door behind her and removed my pants and left them on the floor. I pulled myself onto the bed, wrapping myself the blankets. I closed my eyes and fell asleep.

DYLAN

“Thank you for the breakfast,” I stood up with my plate and y/n’s plate in hand, “And thank you for your wonderful hospitality on such short notice”

“Oh dylan, it’s not a problem. You’re always welcome here.” She was putting away food and smiling, her daughter had chosen such an amazing man to have in her life.

“Do you need help with anything?” I asked, praying she’d say no, I was so tired and I just wanted to sleep.

“I don’t think so, you need to rest anyways. If I need help, I’ll get Steve. Thank you for offering though.”

“Yeah, I’m gonna go to bed” I mumbled, heading downstairs. We had stayed here so many times, I knew where everything was in the house. Y/n’s family was my family, they were always so nice.

“Sleep well!” Y/n’s mom shouted from the kitchen

I didn’t have it in me to respond, all my energy was gone. I walked into the guest room where y/n was sleeping. She was curled up in a ball under a comforter in the middle just her head poking out. Her mouth slightly open, a small pool of drool collected on the pillow. Her hair was pulled back into a bun, but large chunks of hair managed to free themselves from the elastic prison and she was absolutely beautiful.

I took my clothes off, leaving my boxers and laid next to y/n as my arm found its way around her waist. I felt my breaths fall in sync with hers, and fell asleep.

(several hours later)

Y/N

I woke up to Dylan laying next to me. His hair much more messy than it was before, he let out quiet snores with his face pressed against the pillow. The room had filled with darkness since we’d been asleep but I could still make out his features. He looked calm and peaceful, his eyes rested shut. I smiled at the sight of him before I felt a pounding in my head. I stood up to go use the bathroom and everything faded into one image. I leaned on the wall, trying to prevent myself from throwing up. I managed to stumble my way to the bathroom. I turned the light on and felt my body heave everything in my stomach back up. I collapsed at the toilet and let my body cleanse itself.

I needed to take a shower, but I couldn’t bring myself to get up.

This is it. This is where I die. Dylan’s gonna find my dead body over a toilet and I’m gonna smell disgusting.

I rested my arm on the toilet and my head on my hand. I was sweating profusely and I legitimately felt like I was dying. I kept my eyes closed, fearing that if I opened them that I would throw up again. I didn’t want to move for the same reason.

Why is this happening?

I tried remembering a time I felt this horrible and I couldn’t. It felt like someone was repeatedly bashing my head in and kicking me in the stomach. My entire body ached.

I felt like I was dying.

I tried calling for Dylan, but a whisper barely escaped my lips. I tried lifting my body up with my arms and I quickly fell back down. I felt so weak, I couldn’t even stand up. I couldn’t call for help and no one knew I was here. My hearing was static, everything felt so far away. My vision faded to black.

DYLAN

I woke up to an empty bed. I wondered where y/n went, but I figured she was upstairs with her parents. I got up and put my clothes from earlier back on. I left the room and glanced down the hall.

That’s weird.

The bathroom door was open, the lights were on. I went to turn off the lights but saw y/n laying on floor by the toilet. Her skin was almost translucent, purple and red surrounded her closed eyes.

“y/n?” I shook her shoulder and her body stayed.

My heart started racing, the only thing I could focus on was my unconscious girlfriend laying in front of me.

I picked her up, and headed upstairs. I was yelling for her parents help. I was so scared.

“Dylan? What’s going on?” Her mom came out of their bedroom, her dad just behind her.

Her eyes widened, seeing y/n’s limp body in my arms “ Steve go start the car, we need to go to the hospital.”

Everything was a blur until we got to the hospital. I walked in, y/n in my arms. The nurse behind the counter saw and turned around, yelling something I couldn’t understand. More nurses entered the room, rolling a bed in front of me. I set her body on the bed. I couldn’t believe what was happening, it felt like my whole world was collapsing. The only thing I could do was hope she was okay. I sat in one of the chairs in the empty waiting room. Her parents waited with me, no one spoke.

(2 or 3 hours pass)

Y/N

I woke up to white. I was in a white hospital gown, in a white bed, in a room with white walls. It took me a second to register where I was, and when I did, I felt fear cover my entire being like a blanket. I frantically looked around for something familiar, but I found nothing. Two nurses rushed into my room.

“Miss, is everything okay?” one of them asked, her eyes were gentle and warm. She came towards me how my mom used to when I would get sick.

“No, where am I? What happened to me?” my words were rushed

“You’re at the hospital, and you passed out” she explained with the same gentle eyes, her voice was calming, almost like Dylan’s.

Where is he?

“Passed out? What? Why?” I tried to remember the events leading to me waking up in a hospital but questions pushed their way out before I could even think about what happened.

“We don’t know why yet, we haven’t gotten your results back. We’d like to keep you here until then. But your boyfriend, Dylan right?”

I nodded

“He said he found you laying on the bathroom floor at your parents house. Do you remember that?”

“No, I just remember waking up from a nap at my parents house, and i had this horrible headache. But when I got up i felt like I needed to throw up, so I went to the bathroom.” I left out how it felt like I was dying

“Okay. I’ll go get your family and let them know that you’re awake” she got up from the chair she was sitting in and left the room with the door open

I rested my head on the back of the bed, I closed my eyes. My eyes welled up with tears and I tried to hold them back, knowing Dylan and my parents would be entering my room soon. I tried focusing on the small tv mounted in the corner of my room. The news was on and as much as I tried focusing on it, I couldn’t pay attention. My thoughts took over as I stared blankly at the TV. I was so deep in my own thoughts I didn’t hear Dylan and my parents come in.

DYLAN

I was anxious to see y/n but I was relieved to know she was awake.

“Can we see her?” I looked up at the nurse, my voice was scratchy

“Yes, of course. Let me show you to her room�� she motioned for us to follow her, and we did.

As we walked down the sterile hallway, she explained what happened and that they didn't know everything yet, also that y/n would probably be held here for a couple of days. She also told us that y/n might not be fully coherent because of the pain medication they put her on.

It felt like I was being stabbed through my chest, just hearing the words. I knew she was okay and that she'd be okay, but it was still bad. Right now, it was bad and it absolutely broke my heart that y/n was enduring something so painful.

The nurse stopped outside the room, signaling for us to enter.

I felt my heartbeat pick up and my hands suddenly were sweaty. I fought back tears as I entered the room.

“Hey, y/n” I rasped, my voice was rough but it still worked to my surprise.

She looked at me with a smile. It wasn't her signature smile, all teeth and full of life. This was her smile when she wanted to be full of life, when she wanted to be strong. It was a smile nonetheless and it made me feel significantly better than before.

“Dylan” she mumbled my name and I could feel myself healing from the horror and trauma that had been our weekend.

Her eyes were glossed over. It wasn't a lot, but just enough to accentuate her eyes. Her hair was messy and strands of hair clung to her forehead in a bond only sweat could hold. I sat down in a chair and rested my hands on the mattress. Her hand reached for mine and I felt the coolness of her touch as her fingers laced through mine. I noticed her nail polish, something that looked so perfect only a few days earlier was now chipped. She looked at me with warmth. Like she wanted to tell me everything would be okay but she couldn't because she didn't believe it. Her eyes were my home, they were my calm, my happy place. Even if she had almost died, having her hand in mine felt like nothing bad had happened. I watched the news with her, but soon my thoughts had wandered to the night we first met.

I was at a friend Andrew's party. He was moving out of his house, a house where so many parties had been thrown. It was at this house, I had my first drink, my first kiss, my first anything that my parents would disapprove of. It was sad to see him go. I had known Andrew since we were 15 and now we were 21. Actual adults. I was talking to someone about something I couldn't remember because that's when I saw her. I looked up from my red solo cup, towards the main door and she walked in. She greeted Andrew and his girlfriend, Meghan, with a smile and a hug. Her hair fell past her shoulders in loose curls and her makeup was minimal. I wanted to know who she was, I needed to know even if I'd only seen her from across the room at a crowded party. I excused myself from the one sided conversation I was having and looked for Andrew. I knew I couldn't just talk to this girl with absolutely no idea of who she was. When I found him, he had a huge smile across his face.

“DYLAN, MY MAN, IS THIS PARTY AWESOME OR WHAT?” he was clearly drunk, yelling over the music and into my face.

“Yeah it's pretty awesome.” I mumbled, clinging to my cup “who was that girl who just came in?”

“OH YOU MEAN ,Y/N?” he shouted again

“If she was just the girl who came in and hugged you guys, yeah” I felt myself get more and more anxious as I kept talking to him

“YEAH THATS Y/N. SHE'S A FRIEND OF MEGHAN'S. THEY'RE SUPER CLOSE” he looked up from our conversation, scanning the room full of people “WHY DO YOU ASK?”

I felt my face warm up and I looked down at my drink. I'd always been awkward around girls, they were never interested in me unless they were drunk. Andrew's face dropped with anticipation, knowing that I wanted to meet her, his eyes widened and his mouth gaping open.

“You like her don't you?” His voice dropped to loud a whisper, I could smell the alcohol coming off his breath. I regretted my decision more and more as I realized Andrew wouldn't remember this conversation.

“Yeah except I can't really say that yet. I don't know her and I was hoping you could tell me something about her?” I asked, my voice way to polite.

“I'm gonna be honest with you man, I'm drunk as hell and I don't really know her that well. She comes over to hang out with Meghan sometimes and that's it.” As he spoke, I could see an idea brewing in his eyes “lemme go get Meghan and she can hook you guys up. Y/n's pretty chill, she is only 19 though”

There was a brief pause as I thought about y/n. I didn't know her but I wanted to. I wanted to know everything about her.

“HEY MEGHAN CAN YOU COME OVER HERE?” Andrew broke the silence between us, yelling into the abyss of partiers. I turned my head and saw Meghan squeezing her way through the grope fest in the main room.

“Hey, what's up?” She looked up at Andrew and then looked at me

“Dylan, here, has a crush” he smirked and roughly set his hand on my shoulder. Meghan's eyes lit up at him and she looked at me, her eyes now wild with questions

“OHHHH who is it?” She was excited, I was never vocal about liking anyone because people always wanted to set me up, something I never enjoyed.

“Y/n.” Andrew stated, the same smirk on his face

“Y/N???” She yelled, grinning “she’s amazing, oh my god, you'll love her. You guys will get along so well.” She grabbed my arm forcefully, and led me to the kitchen.

She was sitting on the kitchen counter a cup matching mine in hand as she talked with another girl about something. She saw Meghan, my arm in her hand.

“Y/n, I'd like you to meet Dylan.” Meghan's voice was proud, like she'd just accomplished something big

I noticed y/n eyes narrow on to me, I couldn't tell if her eyes were lustful or interested. I held her gaze for what felt like an eternity before looking at the ground.

“Dylan, this is y/n” Meghan gently pushed me forward

She pushed herself off the counter and approached me. She introduced herself and we started talking. She was wearing a loose v neck styled shirt with jeans that made her legs look like the hottest pair of legs I'd ever seen. I felt myself falling for her and I didn’t even know her.

We talked all night, never running out of things to talk about. She payed attention to me when I talked, she made me feel like I was important, not just some drunken encounter. We left the party, and just walked around the neighborhood. We ended our walk at a park. We sat down on a bench overlooking an empty field. We didn't say anything, we just existed together on that bench.

She turned to look to at me. The only light source was a street light a couple hundred feet away from where we were. I noticed all her features, the first of many times.

“I really like you” she said, her face was serious, her voice full of conviction.

I remember the gut feeling I had, when she said those words. I didn't think, I just grabbed her face and we kissed. For a while. So much so, my entire face ached. I didn't know what I was doing, but it felt right, and I didn't want to stop. She was the first to pull away, and looked at her phone. It was almost 5am. I remember the look of horror on her face when she realized she'd have to be home soon before her parents woke up. I walked her back to her house, and we held hands the entire time. The whole time, my heart was racing. I was anxious but having her with me, even if we'd only know each other for a few hours, melted away all my problems.

Neither of us anticipated getting to the point we were at. Sitting there next to y/n, I realized how much we'd been through in all 4 years of our relationship. It gave me hope that we'd make it through this, no matter how terrible it got.

I was so lost in thought of y/n and everything we'd been through. I'd forgotten her parents were in the room too. They were sitting against the wall facing y/n, their heads resting together and their eyes closed. I was thankful they respected our relationship enough to let me be with her, and I was thankful they stayed. I sat with y/n and we watched the news silently, just enjoying each other's company, existing together just as we did on the park bench, 4 years ago.

Y/N

We watched the news in silence. I wanted to talk to him but I didn’t have the energy to say anything. It felt like we’d been there for hours.

The nurse from earlier came in the room except this time she had a clipboard and a pen.

“Y/n,” she started, her eyes focused on me “We got your blood test results back” Her voice was excited, but somehow I wasn’t.

Everyone in the room was looking at her, wondering what news she was withholding from us.

She looked down at her clipboard, and looked back up at us. “Y/n, are you aware of your pregnancy?”

Dylan’s head jerked towards me, but my eyes were still on the nurse.

“I’m pregnant?” I asked, my heart dropped to my stomach and it felt like I couldn’t breathe.

The nurse just looked at me, “Yes. Your blood test came back positive for pregnant” she started “We think this is why you threw up so much, and passed out. You’re not eating enough and you’re putting your body under too much stress.” She looked at Dylan and I as her smile grew “Congratulations you two”

“Yeah, uh thanks.” I mumbled, looking towards Dylan. I looked to him to calm myself, but found he was just as terrified as I was.

“You’re going to visit with Dr. Sapperstein in a couple of hours, he’ll evaluate your pregnancy, you know, where you’re at, if the baby is healthy” she explained. “We’ll come back in and walk you to the maternity ward where is, your husband can come with”

“Oh we’re not mar-” Dylan started

“Yes, great, thank you so much” I said with a smile, Dylan just looked at me confused.

The nurse left, leaving me with my parents who were now adorning the biggest smiles I’d ever seen.

“Oh this is so exciting, steve, we’re gonna be grandparents!” my mom exclaimed

My dad just laughed, “I think they need talk” he stood up, offering a hand to my mom who gladly took it.

I heard my mom whisper, “we’re gonna be grandparents!” as they left.

I repositioned myself so my legs were crossed. I motioned for dylan to sit on the bed with me, and he did. He mirrored my position, and we stared into each other's eyes. We stayed silent, neither of us knowing what to say.

DYLAN

“Dylan, I'm so sorry” y/n said, tears formed in her eyes, “I don't know how this happened”

I took her hands in mine. “This is going to be okay. It wasn't planned and god knows the timing is terrible, but we'll make it.” I wasn't sure if I was saying those words for her or for me. I was absolutely terrified of being a dad. It was something I always wanted but now? Now it was actually happening and I'd never felt so unsure of something in my life.

“I'm so scared” she confessed, more tears running down her cheeks

I wrapped my hands around her face, wiping her tears with my thumbs. “I am too.” I kissed her for the first time in what felt like weeks. I felt her face relax under mine and a sigh escaped her lips. Our foreheads rested together as a I rested one of my hands on her cheek and my other was being held by both of hers.

Her breaths were broken, and soon mine were too. I wanted to be strong for y/n, but I couldn't keep myself together. We both were so scared of what would happen to us and our future. We weren't financially ready for a child and we were barely mature for our ages.

“How are we gonna do this?” I managed to pull myself together enough to ask the question we were both thinking

“I have no idea.” She looked at me, and laughed.

“Why are you laughing, this is serious” I retorted, feeling my mouth curve into a smile

“I have no idea” she just laughed harder.

I was still terrified of being a dad, but part of me was ready for it. I wanted this and I could do it as long as I had y/n.

#dylan o'brien #dylan o'brien fic #creep #part 4

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