#to be fair I do call the song ‘Pants Magic Pants’ | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

bigmouthlass · 4 months ago

Text

Title: Slow and Sultry Beats

Series: Supernatural B-Sides

Author: BJ

Fandom: Supernatural

Rating: Explicit

Pairing: Dean Winchester/You, Dean Winchester/Reader

Synopsis: Dean loses a bet. The things we do for our calling.

Tags: Dean Winchester, Female Reader Character, Female You, Sam Winchester, Tasha Banes, Witch Reader, Goth Dean Winchester, Canon Divergence, Songfic, Surprise Character, If I Told You It Wouldn't Be A Surprise Would It?

AN: Song is Nine Inch Nails, "Get Down Make Love" (with a seasoning of Combichrist, Poe, Michael Jackson, and anything else you might've heard at the Lizard Lounge on a Church night). Oh come on, tell me Dean wouldn’t look fucking delicious in Goth. Blame @thoughtslikeaminefield for digging it out of my head, for better or worse. All recognizable intellectual properties are owned by their respective creators and holders of any copyrights or trademarks. This is a not-for-profit work of fan art and protected by Fair Use.

---

“I hate you.”

“Heard you the first time,” you say absently as you work the pestle. “And the second time. And the third time. And all of the times after that. Give it a rest, why don’t’cha?"

Dean scowls at you. “This isn’t fair.”

“Heard you the first time on that subject too.” You sigh at Dean’s scowl. “Look, I need backup and you’re it. So suck it up Winchester. This damn thing needs to get locked down and pronto otherwise we might lose something important. Like Dallas.” You turn your attention to Sam as Dean upends the plastic shopping bag and dumps the contents on the motel room bed. “In my bag there’s a brown glass bottle--"

“Oh hell no.” Dean’s holding up the shirt and pants you’d bought. The shirt’s just a racerback tank top and not in the least bit risqué. The pants-- “Leather pants?!? Really?”

“What?” you ask. “You’ll be decent. It’s not like tonight’s the Fetish Ball or anything.”

“Excuse me?” Dean demands as Sam tries and fails to keep from laughing.

You sigh. “Just . . . go in and take a quick shower. I gotta finish putting the puzzle box together. Sam would you do me a favor and do a perimeter of the place? Make sure this damn thing doesn’t have minions or acolytes hanging around?”

Pouting a little because what baby brother wouldn’t want a front seat to his older brother’s embarrassment, Sam grabs the car keys and leaves. The shower starts up. The ground mixture in the grinding bowl goes in a small vial, along with a measure of lavender oil. Muttering the first of the incantations, you start assembling the box. The binding magic completes just as the shower cuts off and Dean walks out to see you hunched over and gasping, braced on the table by your elbows. “Hey-- you okay?”

“I’m all right. Just gotta catch my breath.” You glance over and do a double-take. Dean’s got a towel wrapped around his waist, and your eye level is right where it needs to be to see that’s all he’s wearing.

Maybe he didn’t notice--

Dean snickers.

He noticed.

“Just get dressed, asshole,” you say.

“’Dressed,’ she says,” Dean snorts, picking up the pants. “Don’t you mean poured? Seriously, how am I even supposed to get these on?”

You’re a little worried about that yourself. You’d had to guess on the size. “Just do the best you can,” you say as you walk to the bathroom, grabbing your bag.

You walk out a few minutes later with your hair braided into twin plaits trailing down your back, dressed in a black cotton underliner and black leggings. Dean’s got the pants on and he’s stretching to try and get the material moving with him. They fit, just, sheathing his thigh muscles and cupping his ass with a lover’s touch. Close enough for you to see he’s either wearing an athletic supporter or going commando. Either thought makes you warm all through.

Enough already, you tell yourself, stepping into your stomping boots and zipping. When you look up, Dean’s pulling on the tank top. The racerback showcases about two yards worth of shoulders. You lick your lips. Dean’s a lot more toned than you’d expected. It’s doing things to you. Easy to see why he hardly has to work to get people to stare at him. Including you, you think as you snap yourself out of it and stand. Your top goes over the cotton underliner and you fasten the busk.

Dean tucks in, zips, and buckles the built-in belt. “Shit,” he says as he paws at his back, “how the hell am I supposed to carry my pistol in this?”

“You’re not. The bouncer won’t let us in if you're packing, and a gun won’t do shit against this thing anyway." You turn around. “Can you tie me?”

“Uh,” there's a mirror hung over the sink, lined with bright white light bulbs. You chuckle at Dean's mirror image, staring at your back with a gawp of utter confusion. "Sure.”

“Just like you tie shoelaces.” You grab onto the bathroom door frame and brace yourself. “Not too tight."

Dean’s tugs are surprisingly gentle. The corset strings must look like thread between his fingers. “This okay?”

Taking a deep breath, you tell him it’s good. “Just tie them in a bow.” A grope at your back confirms you can pull the laces. You reach down your front to put your tits where they’re supposed to be and shimmy everything into place. This one’s your favorite, deepest blue satin brocade hugging your waist and holding your tits just so. You look good in it and you know it.

Dean’s studying you as you turn around. “What?”

“How can you move in that thing?” he demands.

Not the first time you’ve heard that question. “Dean people were wearing these for centuries until some schmuck invented bras. It just takes a little practice." You buckle on your belt of stuff, pouches full of the things you'll need for the spell. "Now come on, have a seat. Makeup time.”

“What-- what-- excuse me,” Dean stammers, “what?!?”

You put your hands on your hips and glare. Sometimes perfect eloquence is mute.

“Okay,” Dean gets all up in your face, “I agreed to be your backup on this because I lost fair and square but I will not turn myself into some . . . knockoff Twilight twinkly freak show--"

“Are you finished?” you cut him off. “Nobody is going to buy you as part of the usual crowd if you go in dressed like Roger The Redneck with that I Hate Everything look on your face.”

“I’m out of here,” Dean declares, storming for the door.

“For fuck’s sake is the thought of putting a little goop on your face really that scary?” you demand. “Your balls are not going to drop off just because you’re wearing eyeliner!”

Dean puts his toe on the ground and does a point-perfect about face. “I am not scared of wearing makeup,” he says. “I am not scared of a few hours of mingling with the freaks and weirdos. I am worried about what might happen if this deal blows up in our faces.”

Dean’s a Hunter and his mistrust is nothing to take personally. Most Hunters have had bad experiences with magic practitioners. Witches especially. “I asked you and your brother -- several times -- if either of you had any better ideas.” This thing’s not a ghost, it’s not a demon, and it’s not anything else that can be banished by a ritual or a spell. Containing it is the best solution available.

And you’re going to be at ground zero, bait and trap all in one. Backup is not optional.

Backup is in a snit over a little face paint and snug pants.

You park it and continue. “Did I hear any better ideas on how to get this fucker gone before it follows anyone else home? No I did not. So sit down and shut up.”

“Do I really--"

“Yes,” you say. “And hold still.”

“This never happened,” Dean says as he pulls up a chair and you fetch the bag with your makeup.

“Shut your eyes.”

Twenty minutes later, the two of you study your handiwork in the mirror.

Gulp.

Eyeliner and a touch of color turns his eyes into big green gemstones. Gloss makes his lips into something you want to spend a night nibbling. He’s one of the most purely attractive men you’ve ever seen, and with these little accentuations he turns into something sublime, something to turn heads and make hearts pound.

In other words, perfect.

“God I look stupid,” Dean says, examining himself in the mirror and blinking at the unfamiliar feel of pigment around his eyes.

“Knock it off, the liner’s not quite dry yet. You’re lucky you got those thick eyelashes, you don’t need mascara. Now move, I gotta do mine. And put on those cuffs.”

“Yes ma’am,” Dean says.

"Salute me when you say that."

As he buckles the leather arm bracers onto his wrists, Dean gives you The Finger.

You let that slide. You asked for it.

You’re putting on the finishing touches when Sam gets back. You can see him blinking at the two of you in the mirror as you finish putting on your lipstick. Black liner shading to deep purple within. Your dog tags go around your neck with a jingle.

“Laugh and I will break your arm,” Dean says as Sam opens his mouth.

---

Tomorrow’s not a work day so the place is overflowing with a waiting line outside. Big John's on door duty and Courtney’s at the register, both greeting you cordially. “What’re you having?” you ask Dean once you’re inside and headed for the bar.

“Whiskey. All of the whiskey,” Dean says, looking like he’s chewing on a lemon.

“Shawn?” The bartender cocks an eyebrow at you. “Vodka sour and a straight Scotch. And two cups of ice water.” He gives you a thumbs up and moments later you hand him some cash.

Dean bolts the whiskey and frowns at the ice water. “What am I a fish?”

“Drink it,” you tell him. “I need you relatively sober.”

“This’d be easier drunk. I can’t hear myself think.”

What a wimp.

As you’re thinking that, though, Dean’s head perks up. A reluctant smile curves his mouth. “Oh my God, are you kidding--" you almost fall out of your boots as he takes your wrist and pulls you to the main dance floor.

Laughing, Dean hops down two feet into the lowest part of the dance floor. The club’s had a lot of purposes since it was built; the main dance floor is a stage with a shallow orchestra pit flanked by two gogo dancer platforms. An upper floor balcony overlooks the whole thing. The sound system is whining, gearing up for something. The whole thing is packed with people flying their freak flags at full staff, leather and vinyl and chrome and neon and steel and bare skin.

You’re opening your mouth to cuss Dean out for forgetting himself until you recognize the song.

“It’s close to midnight,” he stalks around you as much as he can without bumping into anyone, “something evil’s lurking in the dark.”

Thriller zombie dancing in a crowd of drunk Goths isn’t how you expected to get Dean on board but you’ll take it. The surly bastard you’ve been dragging around is gone. Now Dean looks like he’s having the time of his life, menace-marching, wiggling his hips, howling the chorus at the top of his lungs.

It ends with Dean miming Vincent Price’s evil laugh as you wheeze with giggles. "Always wanted to do that," he says, grinning big and bright.

---

"Hey pretty," you see a girl with her hair dressed in bright florescent ponyfalls with furry boot cozies to match touches Dean's arm as he finishes his whiskey, "don't'cha wanna take a ride with me, through my world?" A bolt of raw red jealousy makes you grind your teeth as she turns her back and arches up against his chest. Black-nailed fingers trace up the column of Dean's neck.

Dean's hand touches her waist. And pushes her gently away. The girl takes the hint and leaves, throwing a pout over her shoulder as she heads for the video bar.

Feeling stupidly happy, you climb out of the dance pit to where Dean's been standing and watching. "Dance with me," you tell him.

“Honey I don’t dance,” Dean snorts.

“You will now,” you tell him. “I’m bait, remember?”

Scowling, Dean follows you back down into the dance pit. His arm goes around your back and he pulls you close. A thigh goes in between your legs. You bite your lip at the pressure right where you’re tender. Your knees go weak and Dean’s arm flexes to keep you upright, grinding your bodies together.

"I feel like a moron," Dean says against your ear.

"You're doing fine," you reassure him, settling more firmly against his body. He balances you with ease, a solid block of warm skin and muscle. The big fans aren’t quite equal to the sheer mass of bodies in motion; it's meltingly warm in here and dark. A place of power, the mundane and very real magic of people coming together, uniting--

"Dean," you say, realization breaking your warm daze. "It's here."

He blinks, like he's been dazed too. "Yeah. Next move?"

You peel yourself out of his arms and climb out of the pit, Dean on your heels. But as you pass the huge nest of speakers on the way to the ladies' room he grabs your arm. "What?" you yell.

"I can't go in there!" he yells back.

"Yes you can!" You grab his hand and pull him through the door. Full light dazzles your eyes a moment, then you're inside. You glance back and see Dean with his free hand out and his eyes closed. "Oh grow up," you snort, taking him to the other side of the wall through a gathering of half a dozen people primping in the mirror or relaxing on the couch, chattering and socializing.

The ladies' room is split in two, and the lack of places to sit makes the offside quieter. Fishing in your belt pouches you produce a bottle full of inky dark fluid and a brush. Out of another pouch you pull a piece of paper. You've sketched a rough outline of your upper back, with the incantation written across your shoulders. "Copy that."

"Hold still."

You brace your hands on the counter and try not to flinch at the tickle of the brush. You have to bite your lips to keep from telling him to hurry it up already; precision is important. Looking up through your eyelashes you catch sight of Dean's face as he works, eyes focused on your back and his lower lip clenched in his teeth in concentration. He's breathtaking, you think, a perfect balance of delicacy and strength. The Gods were taking pride in their duties the day they made him.

Dean finishes, and you recite the incantation. A brief flare of heat traces the lettering, making you hiss. "Is it supposed to disappear?" he asks after a moment.

"Yeah." Your inner eyes open, and witch sight overlays your vision. Power surrounds you. You can feel it, see it. Energy laces the air with a faint gleaming mist, threads and rivers flowing, twisting together, splitting apart. "The Force is with me, young Winchester."

And then some. This building's been a gathering place for people to meet, revel, drink, dance, fuck, live for decades. It's soaked into the bricks. You're open to it in a way you haven't been before. It's dazzling, disorienting.

And Dean . . . to your witch sight, he blazes. You're a little scared to touch him. He's been touched by power, used as an instrument of destiny. He's marked by it, like someone exposed to radiation.

You blink, try and focus. Dean's asking you something. You try and shake the giddiness out of your head. "What?"

"Now what?" Dean repeats.

Good, a question you can answer. "Now we wait. And we dance."

"First," Dean says, "we drink."

---

Dancing to Combichrist is a fairly zero skill activity, just moving as the music takes you. One enormously fat dancer's doing nothing but whipping her long hair in a furious headbang, pausing to shriek with everyone else, THIS SHIT WILL FUCK YOU UP!!! You're weaving through fine, nacreous mist. The motion of life and fate and magic is mesmerizing. Your hands itch to reach out and take it in hand, knit and tie it all together into something beautiful. You keep your hands to yourself and your Craft still. Apart from the drain on one’s strength, a true witch knows better than to try and manipulate these forces by the power of their own will. The balance of reality is delicate, and the counteractions needed to maintain it are extremely dangerous.

Mindful of your instructions from earlier, Dean sticks close. You're close enough to kiss when a wicked urge seizes you. The fabric of Dean's tank is hot and sweat drenched as you take two handfuls and pull upwards. With a surprised little yipe Dean raises his arms and the shirt leaves your lives forever as you toss it towards a corner out of the way.

Shower fresh he was beautiful. Here, in the dim light and wreathed with the stuff of magic, he . . . . shines. Incandescent. Terrifying. Light gleams over and within. All on its own your hand moves to a bright smudge on one shoulder, a shape almost like a scar.

Dean snatches your wrist. "What are you doing?"

"Something's had ahold of you here," is the best you can explain it. "Something powerful."

"Long story," Dean deflects. He doesn't give your hand back, guiding up and around his neck instead. You comb your fingers into his hair, fine and soft. The music's changed to something sultry, with a rhythm like a slow hard fuck and shot through with little electric zaps. A voice is questioning and you mouth the questions along with it -- how old you when you first let a man make love to you? next who was he? next how did you feel at the time? -- the voice rises as the clinical distance fades and it breaks with the sound of pleasured moans punctuated by yes!

You stretch to match Dean's height as best you can, press into him full-length. Trent Reznor growls at ear-shredding volume, about heat and hunger and what people charged with longing can do for one another. Dean doesn't need instruction, you think as his body picks up the beat. He was made for many things, and pleasure is not the least of them.

You throw a leg over his hip. Dean's strong, he balances the two of you easily. A big hand slips down from your back to clutch your ass, pulling your centers flush. God, your blood feels molten. All of you burns. You need fire to match, and here's Dean, strong arms and big hands and jeweled eyes looking down at you with heat and hunger--

Your reasoning self shouts loud enough to make itself heard, and you blink. A small knot of substance is hopping around the magical threads and currents, a frog one moment and a spider the next. It's not sentient, you can see that. It's just an awareness. It's hungry, and it's hunting.

And here you are. Bait.

It pauses in its stalking, and you can feel it when it sizes you up. Open and hot and charged with power. It pauses, like a cat wiggling into a pounce. "Dean--" you try and warn him.

Whatever he says back gets lost. The thing strikes. Brilliant hot energy stabs through you. You gasp, your muscles clamping you hard against Dean's body. Simple desire surges into something more primal. You turn Dean's head and take his mouth in a hard kiss. He opens to you, hot and wet. His mouth tastes like whiskey, with a faint suggestion of spice. Your heart flutters in your chest, so hard you can see sparkles across your vision.

Cussing, Dean pulls you up off your feet, wrapping both your legs around his waist. You curl yourself around him, holding on tight as he carries you out of the pit like you weigh nothing. The power of his body, muscles working under hot skin. You want it, you want him. The thing that's got you in its grip, you know it now and it wants sex. Not just sex, it wants everything physical and spiritual that goes with it. It will drive you, feed of you, and leave you dead on the floor like it's done with four other people so far. Bodies on slabs with blood weeping from their eyes.

"Take it easy!" Dean grunts into your ear. The leather pants aren't doing a damn thing to hide his body's interest. You hope like hell you were right about the thing being trapped. If it's not it'll jump into Dean and it'll be his body on a slab, blood weeping out of his beautiful eyes.

No sooner do you complete the thought than the warm feeling of lust goes hot and wrathful. The thing pulls on you and can't get away. The special ink Dean had painted on you has written itself into your being. Now it's holding the thing trapped, like the wires in a snare.

It hurts. You bite into Dean’s shoulder to keep from screaming.

"OW! Hey," Dean says, stopping just outside the club’s front door. "Just hang on, we're gonna go find Sam."

"Hey!" It's Jojo, chief of security. "What's going on?"

"Little too much to drink," Dean says. "I'm taking her home."

"Don't think so pal, she needs a hospital." Oh shit. You've got maybe twenty minutes before the spell keeping the thing snared to you fails and it rips you to pieces as it fights free. You can already feel it happening and you clench your teeth on a cry.

"Look, she just needs to get somewhere with a shower and a puke pail and have her hangover in peace," Dean wheedles. "If she starts having trouble breathing, I promise I'll call 911."

"I don't think so," Jojo says, and you blink at him. There's something in the aura around his head, something about the spark in his eyes--

It's the thing. Somehow he's in its thrall. It's using him to get you.

"Dean! Run!"

Holding you tight to him as best he can Dean pivots and dashes. The early spring night air is cool on your skin, making you shudder. It's like all-over pins'n'needles plus the worst muscle cramps ever. You can feel Dean stumble as Jojo catches him and almost yanks him off his feet. But Sam -- wonderful, heroic, glorious Sam, wreathed in an corona of brilliance all his own -- pulls Jojo back and puts him down with a fist driven into the solar plexus.

"Come on!" Dean says, jerking his head around the side of the building. There's a sliver of shadow where the parking lot lights don't reach; Dean carries you there. Sinking carefully to his knees, he lays you on the ground. You convulse, not so much breathing as gulping air. "The box. Gimme the box."

Sam digs it out of his knapsack and hands it to Dean. Dean puts it on your chest and cusses when it rolls right off the front of your corset. "Knife," he says to Sam as he turns you over. The pressure around your ribs disappears as the corset strings pop apart. Dean flips you over again and, swearing, yanks down your underliner to bare your chest. Ignoring the way your bare tits flop unsupported away from your breastbone, he places the box over your heart. Sam reads the final part of the incantation from a crumpled piece of paper.

The thing uses your throat to shriek as the box activates. The snare holding the thing trapped breaks, and the box sucks its essence free of your body and into itself like a tiny black hole. The mechanism whirls and the locks engage with a clack, sealing it away.

You lie there for a long moment, split down the middle between pain and relief that your body's your own again. The witch sight fades as you stare at the sky, the beautiful madness of the moon slipping away from your vision. The box on your chest goes cool, just a funky looking knickknack.

Sam plucks a hankie out of his pocket and uses it to pick up the box and stuff it into his knapsack. Sensible. He's also trying very hard not to look at your undressed self.

So is Dean. His eyes keep darting between you and the parking lot. "Fuck," he says, coming to a decision. Picking you up into his arms, he tells Sam, "Grab that thing and let's get the hell out of here before that asshole bouncer calls the cops."

---

Everything hurts.

Bones, muscles, skin. Even your hair and your nails hurt. Not just in your body. The thing in your blood and your soul that makes you witch hurts, overloaded with spellworks and violated by the thing you'd snared. "Oh leave it," you snarl as Sam lays your dirty corset out flat on the motel room's table. "It just needs cleaned and new strings."

"Y-you said to put the box over your heart," Sam stammers.

"Shut up Sammy," Dean growls as he sits you in the room's single armchair. Very aware that you're locking the barn after the livestock's been stolen, you pull your underliner back into place and tuck your tits out of sight. "Get me the first aid kit."

"Don't bother," you wave him off impatiently. "Nothing's broken and drugs won't help. I'll be all right." Overextending your magic creates a pain that drugs won't touch.

Giving you a dirty look, Dean taps the bite mark in his shoulder. You cringe. That’s gotta hurt like shit.

You ache with more than just pain, you realize as you watch Dean examine your bite mark in the vanity mirror. Magic aside, it'd been nice to live in Dean's arms for a while. A dangerous man, a deadly Hunter, a notorious witch-killer-- you've never felt safer in a man's arms.

"Take that box,” you tell Sam, “put it in a cursebox or a warded vault, and leave it there."

"Got it," Sam says. "What was it? The monster?"

"I didn't get a species," you say. "I know what it was after though."

"Sex," Dean says, patting his neck to check for blood.

"Yeah. It lived off erotic energy. Track down someone about to leave for a little alone time, jump her, ride her home, and," you don't blush normally but the profoundly awkward look Sam's giving you is making you cringe with reflected mortification, "feed on the energy that comes off some really good sex and don't you dare make a come and go joke Winchester," you growl at Dean.

"Wasn't gonna," he says absently, hissing as he uses a piece of gauze soaked in rubbing alcohol to clean out the teeth marks.

"Are you okay?" you ask. "The thing didn't touch you did it?"

"I don't think so," he says. He blinks and shakes his head, like he's clearing cobwebs. "Just a headache." Dean spies the box, sitting on the motel room table. He shudders. "Get that thing outta here Sam. Dad's drop stash in--"

"Wait!" you snap your hand up. "Do not tell me. Ever. In fact, don't put it there. Put it somewhere else I've never heard of." You take a deep breath. Even that hurts. "Whatever this thing is, it had the bouncer in thrall. It might have others." You look Dean square in the eye as you say, "I can't spill what I don't know."

He nods. "Yeah, ten-four. Sam, do we got a backup place?"

Sam thinks a second and nods. "Yeah. Keys?" Dean grabs the keys off the nightstand and tosses; Sam plucks them out of the air and stuffs them in his pocket. He mutters to himself, looking around the room, then lets out a little ah-HA and shucks the pillowcase off one of the pillows.

Now why didn't you think of that?

Never mind, you're just relieved the damn thing's going away.

You're shivering.

Just a little tremble in your middle, so slight you hope it'll go away. Instead it deepens, intensifies, spreads. Your whole body clenches and convulses, making you curl over yourself in your chair. Dean consults with his brother by the door and Sam leaves with the box swinging inside the bleached white pillowcase. The door closes and Dean locks it and sets the chain. He turns to look at you, shirtless and beautiful with the touches of color around his eyes. "Hey, you okay?"

"Shock," you manage between chattering teeth.

Dean's worried frown deepens. "Do I need to call an ambulance?"

You shake your head. "It'll pass." And it will, you tell yourself. The only things that fix spell shock are time, warmth, and rest. All a hospital would do is pump you full of drugs and insist on putting you in an ICU. And it's not like you could explain what happened anyway. 'I turned my body into a trap for an incorporeal concentration of erotic energy,' will get you tossed into a locked ward.

"Here," Dean takes one of your hands and starts chafing it between his. "Shit, your fingers are freezing."

"It'll pass," you repeat. The shock will. The feeling of filth won't, not for a while. Something evil's been inside you, touched you where your soul is. That will take longer to go away. It might never, not completely. You'd known that when you'd suggested the plan. You'd volunteered, you remind yourself as you shiver. That should make it bearable. It will, given time. It will.

You hope.

"Easy," he says after a particularly fierce quake. "Easy. It's okay. It's over. It's over," he repeats as you shake your head. "It's gone."

With a shaking hand, you touch Dean's shoulder. That bright blot of energy there, like a scar on his spirit. "Did whatever do that go away?"

You don't expect an answer, but Dean speaks after a long pause. "Yes. And no. It's complicated."

Moving's not going to be easy. "Help me up."

"I got you," Dean says. He grips you behind each elbow and helps you to your feet. "What a night," he groans.

"Tell me about it," you groan back. You try and take a step and Dean catches you as your legs buckle. "Just help me to the bathroom. I can manage from there." You'd better. You gotta piss like nobody's business.

"Yeah yeah, I gotcha," Dean grunts, giving you an arm to brace yourself and helping you walk the ten feet to the bathroom. "Uh . . . do you need--"

You chuckle. "I can piss unassisted, promise." You reach for your belt buckle. Dean brushes your shaking fingers aside and undoes the fastening, taking the heavy pouches away. "Thank you."

With the wall to lean on, you make it to the toity and take care of that. Shower's out until your legs are steadier. Washing your hands in the vanity sink, you get a look at yourself in the mirror. My God you’re a fright, loose hairs sticking out of your braids, makeup smeared everywhere . . . and just over your shoulder there's Mister Sunshine sitting on the bed, untying his boots and green eyes bright with suppressed hilarity. "Shut up."

"Didn't say a word," he defends himself, holding up his empty hands.

You'd retort but you're too busy trying to get your face wash out of your makeup bag. A violent tremble loosens your fingers. The bottle drops from your hand and bounces off the edge of the counter, hitting the floor with a clatter. "God dammit!"

"Here." Standing in his sock feet, Dean picks the bottle up off the floor. "Seriously, are you okay?"

Looking up into his concerned face, you say, "Would it further damage your man-cred if you helped me take my makeup off?"

"I'm wearing leather pants and eyeliner," Dean reminds you with a snort.

"Those aren't damaging your man-cred, at all," you tell him quietly.

Dean blinks down at you, looking into your eyes like he's reading secret messages written across your irises. "Here," he says, setting your face wash aside and clearing a space on the counter. Putting his hands on your waist, he says, "Up," and boosts you to sit next to the sink.

A cotton pad soaked with a little olive oil and your eye makeup wipes away, and a gentle scrub takes care of the rest. Warm water and Dean's gentle touch, you can feel your wounded spirit starting to pull itself back together. Sitting up on the counter puts the two of you at eye level, and the harsh white lights lining the vanity mirror don't detract from Dean's comeliness at all, you think as he works.

"How does this work?" he asks, holding the eyedropper bottle of oil. "I want to get this crap off my face."

"Here," you say, taking the bottle away from him and soaking another cotton pad. "Shut your eyes." When you get done wiping away the liner, you give his face a wash. The barest whisper of whiskers make the washcloth rasp over his skin. Dean keeps his eyes closed against the bright lights, his breath warm on your cheek through parted lips. Softly, you brush the pad of your thumb across them, watch them move with the pressure. They're lips that know a lot about kissing. Your own lips burn with the memory.

Dean grabs your hand. "What are you doing?" he asks.

"I'm sorry," you apologize, dropping your gaze to rest on the tattoo under his collarbone. "I don't want to make you uncomfortable."

"It's not that, I just-- are you okay? I mean, to be getting up to anything?"

You switch grip so you're holding his hand, and bring it to your lips. Dean pulls in a quiet breath as you give his fingertips a soft suckling kiss, tasting a hint of soap under his nails. "No demands," you tell him, quietly, not looking up from his fingers. "I know you don't like witches. I just--"

Dean takes his hand back and uses the crook of his finger to lift your face. "Just what?"

Your lip wobbles. "I feel dirty," you admit, feeling tears threaten. There's no judgement in his face, no mockery. If anything, he looks understanding. "I just want to feel like a person again. You know?"

"Yeah. I do," Dean says, and he presses his lips to yours.

In the club, his kisses had been hot and hard, fiery with the heat of the moment. This is different, slow and careful. He stands between your spread knees and pulls you close, the thin material of your underliner the only barrier between you. You put your arms around his neck, feeling the shaking under your skin ease a little as his heat seeps into you.

"You need me to make it better?" Dean asks, as his kiss becomes many small kisses, all over your face.

"Yes," you tell him quietly. It's disgusting, how childish you feel . . . but that's what you want, exactly. "Please. Please. Make it better."

Nodding, Dean kisses you again, deep and warm. It's like back in the club; Dean locks his arms around your back and pulls you off the counter, walking with you clamped to his body. He sits on the edge of the bed. For a long moment he just holds you, rubbing a hand down your back like he's soothing some trembling animal. From anyone else it would feel condescending. From him, it's caring.

You're laying back on the bed, braided together and making out nice and slow. It feels wonderful, delicious tension coiling in your center and slow heat melting the ice in your blood. Dean's not just a great kisser, you think as your brain dissolves into goo-- he's a fucking black belt in making out.

The heat in your core feels nice. You want more. Pushing Dean back a little, you take the bottom of your underliner and peel it up and off your body. Dean stares down at your bare tits like they're a revelation, not something he's seen already. His next kiss is hotter. You tip your head back and he slides his mouth down your neck. A gentle bite over the pulse point makes you whine.

"Relax," Dean whispers against your skin. His hands slide down your body, petting your skin and making it warm. He cups a breast in his big hand, the nipple clamped gently between two fingers. The sensation goes straight to your pussy, making you throb. Wet heat's gathering there, you can feel it soaking into your underwear. "It's okay, I got you. Lie back."

When you're stretched out, he unzips you out of your boots and peels off your leggings, baring all of you. You shiver with more than shock at the heat in his eyes, as he takes you all in.

You part your knees to give him space, but instead of opening his pants and lowering himself over you, he pushes your thighs further apart. Chuckling, he runs his fingers through the thick heart-shaped patch of curls above where your pussy lips split. "This is cute. I like it." Cool air rushes over your sensitive parts as he uses his thumbs to open you up. "Points me right where I need to go."

"Oh," you whine as he lowers his head. Rough and wet strokes across the very tip of your clit, a faint promise of a touch. "What are you doing?"

Sliding down to lay on his belly, your legs hooked over his arms and his hands crossed below your bellybutton, Dean says, "Making it better." He licks and you gasp. "Is this okay?" Chuckling low and wicked at your shaky nod, Dean lowers his head.

How someone kisses doesn't necessarily mean they're any good applying their mouths anywhere else, you think to yourself in a haze. In his case-- Dean's using those soft lips and that broad tongue in ways you're sure aren't legal in this area. Using the first two fingers of one hand, he holds your cunt lips apart and uses his tongue on every little bit, inner petals and outer folds, bottom to top and back down, closed lips caressing and pointed tongue probing, the nubbly flat rubbing softly across your clit. Shaking from the spell shock's giving way to an entirely different sort of trembling. The heat building in your blood chasing away the cold chills.

"How do you want to come?" Dean asks in that low voice. "Fingers?" He dips two fingers inside, just to the first knuckle. Your hips sway, seeking more, but Dean withdraws, making you clench on empty. "Tongue?" You cry out as he plunges his tongue into your pussy, so deep you can feel his nose and teeth snug against you. "Or do you want to wait for my cock?" He licks a quick puppy lap, making your hips jump. God you're close. You're all sex and heat and need. "If I'm allowed a vote?" he says, spacing his words with more licks, little shocks of pleasure keeping you right on the edge. "I want my cock in you."

"Yes," you whine. "Cock, please. Want it. Want you inside me. All the way."

Dean crawls up your body and kisses you, his lips wet with your nectar. He gets to his feet, and you sit up with him, working open his belt. You were right, he's buck beneath. His dick's getting fat as you watch. Dean grunts as you grace it with a soft lick, as you peel the leather pants slowly down his legs. He stinks of sweat and leather and sex, alive and human.

Leaning down and giving you a kiss, Dean says, "Play with your titties for me."

Your nipples are hard and tight between your fingers. Manipulating them feels delicious, delightful sparks snapping down between your legs. You reach down between your legs, try and relieve a little of the ache. "Ow!" you cry as Dean slaps the back of your hand.

"You said cock so that's what you're getting. No cheating," he scolds.

You blow out an exasperated breath. "Thought you wanted to make it better," you whine.

"I will, just cool your jets." Dean's rooting in his bag. "Ah-hah! Knew I had spares," he says, holding up a little foil slip. You pout. Of course. You hadn't given protection a thought.

Dean takes care of himself and kneels between your legs. "You sure about this?" he asks, framing your face with a hand. "I can get you off--" Dean's eyes roll back and his eyelids flutter as you reach down and cup his sac, run your hand up and gently squeeze. He’s hot, hard, fits perfectly there in your hand.

You notch him in place and Dean lets his weight sink. Oh wow, he's thicker than he looks. You bite your lip against the stretch. It's been a while, and he feels so good. Warm and alive, pressing you into the bed. You arch into him, feeling him reaching deeper. Dean just holds still, living inside you for a long moment and looking you deep in the eyes. The feeling of filth, of defilement, they're fading at the heat and concern there. There's nothing dirty about this.

With a soft kiss, Dean asks, "You okay baby?" You nod, reaching around his back and capping his shoulders with your palms. Settling against you, Dean moves long and slow. So slow and so good. Tension knits his brow and pulls his body taught. He's going at exactly the right pace to build you high and hot.

Your eyes are closed when the world spins and Dean's under you. "Get your knees-- there," he pants, balancing you as you put your knees on either side of his hips. "Grab onto the headboard." You lean forward and grab on, painted veneer smooth under your hands. Lips and tongue wrap around your nipple and latch, sucking hard and making you cry out. "Perfect," Dean pants with his mouth full of your tits. "Get down," he murmurs around your nipple, adding a mild sting of teeth. "Get down, get down make love."

The shakes are gone, the sense of violation gone. Your whole being is alive and hot. You look down into Dean's face, and see the same thing there-- life and heat. You pull your pussy tight around him. He sucks in a moan as you move your hips in quick, hard pulls.

Your orgasm hits like a cleansing fire, burning across your skin and lighting your nerves like fuses. Dean grabs you tight and rolls you over, driving into you hard and making the fire spark again, burn hotter. You shriek his name as Dean's body seizes up tight and he collapses on top of you.

---

Sam's waiting outside as you and Dean finish dressing. "You wanna hang onto these?" you tease, holding up the leather pants.

"Hell no," Dean says. "Hay-ell no."

You grin. "Just asking. They made your ass look amazing."

He stands hipshot and looks over his shoulder at you. "Don't think I need any help in that department," he says, waggling his eyebrows.

Laughing, you step around him and stretch up to give him a kiss. You feel wonderful. Whole and energized, glad to be alive. "Thank you," you say. "Watch yourselves. Things are scary out there right now."

Dean hugs you close. "You too." Another soft kiss, and he's gone.

---

A long time later . . .

“Why didn’t you tell me?!?”

“I tried. At first you were underground. Then I heard you were dead.” When you’d learned otherwise, the news you’d gotten of him had all been bad. Falling off the radar over and over, only to resurface when something terrible was happening. The vibe was clear; stay away from that one, he’s dangerous.

“How-- how did it happen?”

“I don’t know. God’s honest, I don’t know. I wasn’t trying to make anything happen.”

Not consciously. But the basic fact of the matter is, you’d been open and vulnerable and Dean had been there with a healer’s touch on your wounded spirit. A life-affirming act of caring, performed as the calendar changed to May Day. Beltane-- the flowering of the earth, the promise of abundance . . . a night of fertility.

“So why now?”

“You’ve met the Banes twins? At Asa Fox’s funeral? Asa never knew. Tasha never told him.” Deep breath. “Asa never got to choose whether or not to have a relationship with them. I don’t think it was right for her to take that decision away from him.”

So here you are. At the park, in an empty field like combatants facing off for a duel. You even have seconds-- Sam standing by Dean’s big Chevy on one side, Tasha Banes leaned up against your Jeep on the other.

He’s aged since you saw him last. More lines around the eyes, more shadows within them. He’s still one of the most beautiful men you’ve ever seen, everything about him fashioned to draw the eye and break the heart.

Right now though, he’s ignoring you completely. Every bit of his focus is down towards where your hands rest on his daughter's shoulders.

“Hi,” Diana breaks the ice.

“Hi,” Dean manages.

Diana shifts in your arms, craning her neck to look into Dean's face. "Why are you crying?"

Dean chuckles, tears falling from his eyes and the biggest grin you've ever seen beaming from his face. "I'm just happy, honey. Big happy."

You let go and Diana steps forward, green eyes looking square and brave into her father’s green eyes. “Is it okay if I give you a hug?” She lifts her arms. “Mommy said I should always ask first.”

“God yes,” Dean sighs and falls to his knees. Diana throws her little arms around his neck. Dean wraps his arms around her, tight, careful not to crush. “I’ll always have hugs for you sweetheart,” he whispers. He cups a hand around her head, kisses her cheek. Diana says something you don't catch and a sob breaks through Dean's throat. "You can call me anything you want to," he says, and tears fall from your eyes when you remember Diana asking can I call him Daddy?

"Hey," Dean says, pulling back a little. "Hey, don't do that," he says softly, using his thumb to wipe tears from Diana's cheeks. He shifts to the side and points to where his brother's watching. "See that big guy by the awesome car?"

"Uh-huh," Diana says.

"That's your Uncle Sammy. You wanna go meet him?"

"Yes please," your courteous baby girl says. She makes a little surprised squeak when Dean locks an arm around her rear end and stands.

"Is this okay?" Dean asks. She nods, a big up-down.

"I'll be right over here with Tasha," you say. "Later we'll go and get some lunch."

Tasha's waiting with a handkerchief and a flask. You take a knock of whiskey and blow your nose. "Everything okay?"

You look over to where Dean and Sam are playing Pass The Baby, hear Diana laughing when Dean says something funny. "Yeah." Sam's grinning too. He gently winds one of Diana's pigtails around his finger. Dean says something snarky and Diana sticks her tongue out at him, making all three of them crack up. "Yeah, I think so."

---

AN2: Don't ask me where that ending came from. I have no idea. The Lizard Lounge is a damn tragic casualty of the epidemic. These days, The Church howls from the It'll Do Club. Check this out if you're curious about the soundscape.

#Dean Winchester/You #Dean Winchester/Reader #Dean Winchester #Female Reader Character #Female You #Sam Winchester #Tasha Banes #Witch Reader #Goth Dean Winchester #Canon Divergence #Songfic #Surprise Character #If I Told You It Wouldn't Be A Surprise Would It?#supernatural #supernatural b-sides series #bj's fic library

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bidisasterevankinard · 1 year ago

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Fuck it friday

tagged by @bekkachaos @thewolvesof1998 @spotsandsocks @heartbeatdiaz @wikiangela @ebdaydreamer @honestlydarkprincess @transbuck @panbuckley

Thank you all loves 💙💙💙💙 And as many of my friens put f in fif I decdided to join too

Street dancer Eddie au got more and more spicy. Here more Buck in his wet for Eddie stage (I mean we all are horny for Eddie Diaz, aren't we?)

Song for mood

“Hi, everyone. I’ve just been challenged to show how I can dance, so If you don't mind, I'll put on a little show,” Eddie gives the microphone to someone in the crowd, after which he nods to the girl and “Beautiful liars” by Shakira and Beyonce starts to play.

The whole bar shouts something encouraging and many whom Buck recognized by the call from the rehearsal are wolf-whistling from the side of Eddie, who as soon as the first chords of the song start, began to move his hips so that Buck swears all the blood in his body begins its way down.

Because if Eddie's walk was inappropriate for the audience, then it's, it's just sex on stage.

Eddie's body methodically moves to the music, so that all the muscles in his body magnificently shimmer from one movement to another. Buck is fascinated by how beautifully and aesthetically and so easily Eddie can move his body creating intricate movements, so that his waist attracts the eye, just asking to put hands on it, and his hips demand to grab them and leave marks.

In the second verse, Eddie, like a real stripper, charmingly takes off his top, pretending that he got hot, but it’s who Buck gets hot. The guy doesn't even have six, but a whole eight pack. Buck has only seen this in porn.

Eddie continues to dance clearly perfectly following the rhythm, but all Buck hears is the accelerated beating of his heart from the picture of strong tanned muscular shoulders turning into strong arms and a narrow waist, an eight that requires Buck's tongue to move so beautifully on it when Eddie makes turns. And oh this V-line that leads to Eddie's pants.

Buck never thought he could get so turned on by just a picture of someone dancing, but his jeans have become a little too tight, so he is grateful to his sister for choosing the white T-shirt that hides his bulge enough so that no one can notice how interested he is in dancing. Not that anyone was looking at him right now. All eyes in the bar are on Eddie.

Buck’s lips are dry and he swears there is a real desert in his mouth now, so he takes a sip of beer but regrets it when Eddie starts dancing the last chorus with a dance from the clip. Buck chokes a little.

Eddie’s strong hands move so elegantly, and his waist stands out even more and Buck seriously wonders if a person can come from the way he watches another dance without touching himself at all. Because it seems to him that he can do it now.

But the worst thing, Eddie keeps his gaze on him clearly seeing how Buck can't maintain eye contact for more than two seconds, constantly lowering it, not wanting to miss even one magical movement of sexy hips.

But for his luck the song ends and Eddie puts on the tank top back and comes back to him. He holds Buck in his hand.

“C’mon, time for your first lesson,” Eddie's breathing hasn’t almost shortened at all and Buck wonders how strong Eddie's endurance is.

“I-i don’t think I can move like you,” Buck will just stumble over his feet and make a laughing stock of himself. “I'm really bad.”

“Did you dance in clubs?”

“Yes.”

“Then you can do it. Just trust me. I promise we will not do something too complicated. Just moving to the rhythm of the music. And I still need to see how you move your hips. It's not fair you've already seen how I can, but I haven't,” Eddie looks around his whole body with a hot gaze, and Buck surrenders to hot brown eyes.

Maybe he'll regret it, but right now all he wants is to snuggle up to Eddie, and then drag him away from the crowd and fulfill his dreams of his hands on his gorgeous body. Unfortunately, only his hands, because he needs his voice and ass tomorrow in the afternoon, replacing a guy from another shift. But maybe Eddie will want to do it again. Buck will try very very hard.

Tagging if they want to share : @911onabc @alyxmastershipper @cowboy-buddie @lover-of-mine @heartshapedvows @rogerzsteven @the-likesofus @shortsighted-owl @barbiediaz @buddierights @spaceprincessem @housewifebuck @wildlife4life @hippolotamus @transboybuckley @devirnis @monsterrae1 @buckitup @mandzuking17 and anyone who wants to share

#Spotify #fic: dance my way to your heart #street dancer eddie and firefighter buck #fuck it friday #buddie #eddie diaz #evan buckley #evan buck buckley #911

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tonightillbeonthathill · 1 year ago

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Springsteen wanted to operate in the manner of John Ford: images that were dropped casually into a frame years before suddenly appear again, seen in a different light

“Drive All Night” strips the situation back down again: the hero and his girl again, like a reprise of the “Born To Run” experience. But this time, they’re not bursting free, but cuddling, looking for some warmth in the face of the chill outside.

"At the end of “Jungleland,” as that girl switches off her bedroom light, she is totally unknowing about the world beyond her walls. Her lover lies bleeding in the street, but she remains innocent. The image recurs at the end of “Drive All Night,” but this time, the couple together know everything that’s out there, and they’re quite deliberately protecting each other from it—for a time. Springsteen wanted to operate in the manner of John Ford: images that were dropped casually into a frame years before suddenly appear again, seen in a different light. “Drive All Night” is the song in which he reaches that goal."

Dave Marsh

youtube

Jungleland (London Calling: Live In Hyde Park, 2009)

The Rangers had a homecoming In Harlem late last night And the Magic Rat drove his sleek machine Over the Jersey state line Barefoot girl sitting on the hood of a Dodge Drinking warm beer in the soft summer rain The Rat pulls into town, rolls up his pants Together they take a stab at romance And disappear down Flamingo Lane Well the Maximum Lawmen run down Flamingo Chasing the Rat and the barefoot girl And the kids round here look just like shadows Always quiet, holding hands From the churches to the jails Tonight all is silence in the world As we take our stand Down in Jungleland The midnight gang's assembled And picked a rendezvous for the night They'll meet 'neath that giant Exxon sign That brings this fair city light Man, there's an opera out on the Turnpike There's a ballet being fought out in the alley Until the local cops Cherry Tops Rips this holy night The street's alive As secret debts are paid Contacts made, they vanish unseen Kids flash guitars just like switchblades Hustling for the record machine The hungry and the hunted Explode into rock 'n' roll bands That face off against each other out in the street Down in Jungleland In the parking lot the visionaries Dress in the latest rage Inside the backstreet girls are dancing To the records that the DJ plays Lonely-hearted lovers Struggle in dark corners Desperate as the night moves on Just one look And a whisper, and they're gone Beneath the city two hearts beat Soul engines running through a night so tender In a bedroom locked In whispers of soft refusal And then surrender In the tunnels uptown The Rat's own dream guns him down As shots echo down them hallways in the night No one watches when the ambulance pulls away Or as the girl shuts out the bedroom light Outside the street's on fire In a real death waltz Between what's flesh and what's fantasy And the poets down here Don't write nothing at all They just stand back and let it all be And in the quick of the night They reach for their moment And try to make an honest stand But they wind up wounded Not even dead Tonight in Jungleland

youtube

Bruce Springsteen - Drive All Night

When I lost you honey Sometimes I think I lost my guts too And I wish God would send me a word Send me something I'm afraid to lose Lying in the heat of the night Like prisoners all our lives And I get shivers down my spine girl And all I wanna do is hold you tight Baby, baby, baby I swear I'd drive all night again just to buy you some shoes And to taste your tender charms And I just wanna sleep tonight again in your arms Oh yeah, oh yeah Tonight there's fallen angels And they're waiting for us down in the street And tonight there's calling strangers Hear them crying in defeat Let them go, let them go, let them go Do their dances of the dead Let 'em go right ahead girl You just dry your eyes And c'mon, c'mon, c'mon, c'mon, let's go to bed Baby, baby, baby I swear I'd drive all night again just to buy you some shoes And to taste your tender charms And I just wanna sleep tonight again in your arms Oh yeah, oh yeah There's machines and there's fire Baby waiting on the edge of town They're out there for hire But baby they can't hurt us now Cause you've got You've got, you've got my My love girl You've got my love girl Through the wind, through the rain The snow, the wind, the rain You've got, you've got my my love Oh girl you've got my love You've got, you've got my love Oh girl you've got my love You've got, you've got my love Oh girl you've got my love You've got, you've got my love Oh girl you've got my love Heart and soul Heart and soul Heart and soul Heart Don't worry darlin', tonight And don't cry now Baby, don't cry now Oh don't cry now Oh don't cry now Just dry your eyes, little baby Hey, dry your eyes Baby, I'd drive all night I swear I'd drive all night Through the wind, through the rain Through the snow, through the rain Through the wind, through the snow, through the rain I swear I'd drive all night I swear I'll drive all night Through the wind, through the rain Through the snow, through the rain Through the wind, through the rain

#bruce springsteen #springsteen #songwriting #cinema #story #john ford #love #love song #jungleland #fallen angels #Youtube

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519magazine · 1 year ago

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anemia-rp · 1 year ago

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"Not really a singer, but a song composer and DJ!", he explained proudly. "Nono, it's more than just a hobby, it's my profession and my everything. My purpose. Without my band I'd lay somewhere in the gutter probably." To be fair, he never had have a plan b, not even when they had started activities quite a long time ago. Teru wasn't the kind of type to work in an office or a shop. The stage, to live out his creativity - he needed it like the air to breathe. "Then I hope Master's ears can deal with some heavy tunes!", he winked cockily. "We don't really have a piano ballad, but I've made some touching instrumentals though, with synths and keyboard." In fact he looked forward to introduce Xuan to his music, and he was aware that he would live up to his expectations. Just like he would in every aspect. And just like Xuan impressed Teru vice versa. Quite a lot so.

"A mafia boss?" Both of his eyebrows lifted as he learned about this. "Holy fuck. Now that's fucking sexy. The Japanese cops suspect me of belonging to mafia anyway quite often because of my tats, so now that somehow became true, huh?" No, he wasn't afraid or even worried in any way. Teru was pretty much fearless and attracted to everything that seemed thrilling. "You're a dangerous man then, huh? You carry a weapon? Or let others do the dirty work? I bet there's dirty work!" He felt like having fallen down the rabbit hole more and more. Being a little Alice in wonderland.

When Xuan suspected him of not being a pure angel but rather a fallen one he had to sneer in fact in a somewhat mysterious looking way so he indeed looked a lot like a devil. "Angel, devil, it's the same", he whispered then, leaning forward to the other's ears as if he entrusted Xuan with a secret, and in a way it was one. "A devil is just an angel who got in touch with sin. In my case this had been already before my birth. So I carry both within me. The heavenly energy and the hellish." He rolled his sleeve up and showed Xuan the tattoo of a face on his lower arm, one side of it being the face of an angel, the other the one of a devil. 'Duality' was written above it. If you knew Teru you would recognize how well this described him. He was an astonishing embodiment of all kinds of contradictions. "Heck yeah. A cupid should look like me. With a gun or arrow and bow." He formed a pistol with his thumb and index finger. "Could be I lured you in with my magic. I don't even need a weapon. My body and my mind are my weapons." His seductive smile returned while his eyes glinted red.

But when he marvelled about the building he looked like a little boy and behaved like one - if little boys cursed in awe that is. Rounds eyes however rivetted onto Xuan then again when he presented him his offer of a bath - that would be more than just a simple bath but an experience for all senses, just like Teru loved it. "Atmosphere is important to me, so damn…you really make me feel like a fucking princess. I'll relax, and then I'm gonna be fully ready for all the things you wanna have me entertain you with." His hoarse voice had become soft and gentle. Teru was used to people only seeing one of his sides: The passionate musician, the drunkard or the sex symbol. But tonight his romantic side even got minded, by a man who seemed to have palate for it just as well. And this was rare.

When Xuan's servant eyed him and called him a vagabond it was about Teru to make a cocky grimace with a wry smirk; usually he would have shown his middle finger even, but instead he put his hands into the pockets of his pants. In the right clothes no one would have confused him for a vagabond because his style could be described as classy at times, apart from the stage. Classy yet flamboyant thanks to the bold patterns on his shirts. But tonight he looked like a dirty punk and revelled in the disgusted look he received, lifting his chin in defiance before he turned back to Xuan with a triumphant grin that softened right away however. "Can't wait", he said, excitedly so, as he followed the other, looking at the interior as he walked by, whistling appreciatively every now and then.

@phoenix-of-jade

Continued from here [X]

Xuan wasn't the type to be easily intimidated or frightened by anyone. In fact, seeing how people tried their very best at inducing fear into those they thought as weak and submissive, kind of amused him. It just showed how weak the human character could actually be at times, since more often than not the very same people who sought to impose their strength and power over others through sheer brute force were, in fact, just some scarred little souls hidden underneath shallow husks.

That's why when Teru attacked him, pinning him to the wall, Xuan didn't sketch the slightest of reactions. He could see right through this feisty man's front and he could tell from the very first glance he threw at him that night that Teru was the submissive type, someone who will appear as stubborn and tough, but will kneel and crumble easily under his boot. Their positions of power were soon going to switch drastically, it was just a matter of time and Xuan didn't feel like rushing this little 'game' of cat and mouse he'd set for himself, at least for a while.

With a slight snort, the raven haired gave the younger another defiant look, before speaking in the calmest of tones, sure of the fact this will piss him off even further. "I think the only wasted one here is you, since you're literally chasing after someone who made a fool out of you in front of your entire group. Shouldn't you be trying to save face and find some drunken idiot to smash on the pool table instead? Or could it be that you actually have a degradation kink and all that humiliation actually turned you on?" Another jeering grin. "Sorry, but I don't mingle with pathetic little hoes. You'll have to do much better than this to impress me."

As an emphasis on how 'unimpressed' he was, Xuan then feigned a yawn and leant back against the wall, feeling the pressure applied by the other's arm onto his chest tighten. "Bold of you to assume I wouldn't be able to handle you, princess! Also, I am curious as to what do you mean by my kind? Do you, perhaps, dare compare me to those lousy fucks inside the bar, who spend their days pimping bitches and ordering idiots around to do their biddings, while they sip on cheap wine and sit all day with a cane stuck up their asses?" Raising an eyebrow, Xuan then tilted his head to the side. "I'm sorry, but in this case, your assumption is wrong. I might be of the refined kind, but trust me, unlike those idiots who try pretending they are something they are not, I actually live up to my status as leader of my organization."

In just a split second, without much of a struggle, the man then used his foot to kick the succubu's legs in one swift motion before he'd even be able to react, just enough that he could make the man lose his balance, before freeing himself and applying three more sturdy hits with his hand and elbow to Teru's side, back and neck, only to finish by grabbing the younger's hand and painfully twisting it to his back, pushing him face first into the wall. The green eyed bastard was soo quick that there was barely even time for an outsider to register when and what happened. "Who's all lame now, hmm?" Back to his conceited cocky tone, Xuan then leant against him to whisper in the younger's ear. "Here's a pro tip: never judge a book by its cover. Your little show of bravery was fun to watch, but unfortunately, you still have room for lots of improvement."

[@anemia-rp]

#phoenix-of-jade

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bethanysnow · 2 years ago

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Crying on Prom Night prt 3.

@eddieswifu @little-moonbeam-666 @depressedstressedlemonzest

Walking in the door was a portly man that the two women upstairs would identify as the man of the house. Y/n’s dad. He worked at some higher up company that handled local government so the house they could afford was one of the nicer ones in Hawkins. Nothing like the Harringtons, but it was nice.

“M/n?? Where are you? I forgot my tie for the meeting this afternoon- “Y/ns Dad walked up the stairs to see her door open. Stepping into view seeing his daughter and wife curled up on the bed his instant reaction was to reach out and help. Not wanting to invade his daughter’s privacy he leaned outside the door. “What’s wrong?”

Mom brushed some hair out of Y/n’s face looking to see if she could tell him or if she wanted someone to say it.

“Oh, that Munson boy, she asked him to Prom and he said I think some not so nice things. So, we are thinking maybe tonight after pictures we go get something out for dinner?” Looking at her husband with that mom expression of ‘we are doing this even if it’s posed as a question’. Her father nods and clears his throat.

“Sounds good- “And that was that. Her dad walking to the bedroom to find his tie. Y/n untangling herself from her mom’s arms stands up. Wiping her face putting her hands on her hips and takes a breath.

“I’m good- I’m good…” Her mom satisfied with this answer stands up and gives her arm a squeeze on the way out. The rest of the day was spent in her room, listening to her 8 tracks and Walkman. Playing Juke Box Hero on loop, it’s the song that made her feel powerful. Her Dad showed it to her one day driving to school while mom was on a women’s retreat with the church. One of the only real good memories she has with her father. He isn’t a bad dad, just very closed off. Dancing around her room when the music just became too much. Feeling each drum beat, guitar riff, and God bless Lou Gramm.

Y/n wasn’t super confident in most things, in fact it took a lot just to look in the mirror some days. The world was a big harsh place and it didn’t like people who looked different. Who were different, she was a closeted queer kid from Indiana who had a crush on the metal head. What did she think was going to happen? But standing in her room listening to Foreigner it was like she had magic powers. Blasting away all the people who were dicks, who said awful things. A certain boy who rejected her maybe.

Till the phone rang.

A couple rings go by. “Y/n its that Munson boy! Want me to hang up?” Her dad calls through the hallway.

Poking her head out of the door she takes the phone.

“Eddie- “

“Y/n! Hey! Listen, I am a dick. If you want to make me wear the zebra pants to school one day, I’ll do it. Let you steal my Black Sabbath tapes- what do I gotta do. I-I can’t have you mad at me. You’re my best friend I- no”

“Stop talking!”

“Oh- okay…”

Hearing the panic in his voice she sighs “Eddie…what you did was a real dick move and I- I don’t know man. You could fuckin apologize for one- “

Her dad from the master bedroom pipes in “LANGUAGE YOUNG LADY!”

“-Sorry dad…”

Eddie snickers into the phone. Leaning on the phone booth wall with the phone to his ear. “Okay- that’s fair. Y/n I apologize, I’m sorry for what I said…”

“Good and two- you can take me to prom.” Y/n sounding very accomplished over the phone.

Eddie groaned very loudly with a roll of his eyes “You sure I can’t just wear the pants?”

Y/n smiled and twirled the phone cord around her finger “No Munson, what did you call it? ‘Dress in a monkey suit’ and buy me a corsage and either Wayne or my dad can take you to get a suit- and you will show up at my house on prom night. We will go out to dinner, and then go to the dance and you will dance with me on the slow song. If you don’t, I will happily share the photos of you in middle school as the cowardly lion in the spring musical.”

“AH! Blackmail and guilt tripping me??? You’re starting to sound like a bad influence L/n” He chuckles putting in some more quarters “Listen- fine I’ll take you to prom, but if I look like a normie or a prep or whatever I will seek my revenge Y/n. Got it?”

She grinned “Yes Eddie, now stop spending your laundry money on a call- I’ll see you tomorrow, ok?”

Hanging up the phone the hallway was silent for a minute.

A hand found Y/n’s shoulder, looking up to see her dad’s eyes. A thin almost unrecognizable smile on his face as he stands beside her. His eyes sparkled a little, looking down at his little girl. He nods and goes down yelling for his wife to help him with his tie. That small interaction was one of many that led to the resemblance of a Mr. L/n’s version of I love you.

Going to her room Y/n took the dress of the back of her door and pressed it against her body looking in the full-length mirror. She was going to Prom with Eddie Munson!

Would he like her dress?? He better she spent a lot of time on it…should she wear heels??? She didn’t have a lot of female friends, the closest was Erica Sinclair who she babysat for a while in the summer. There wasn’t a lot of options here. Her mom was loving and a beautiful lady, just…like most women in her 30s was obsessed with being thin. There wasn’t a fat girl friendly magazine she could pick up.

But no matter! She was going to prom and she was going with a boy! Not just any boy a boy she liked! Laying on her bed with a happy sigh she was content. Putting back on her Walkman’s headphones.

“-Just one guitar, slung way down low Was a one way ticket, only one way to go So he started rockin', ain't never gonna stop Gotta keep on rockin', someday gonna make it to the top

And be a juke box hero, got stars in his eyes He's a juke box hero He took one guitar (juke box hero, stars in his eyes) Juke box hero, (stars in his eyes) he'll come alive tonight”

#eddie munson x plus size reader #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson #stranger things #stranger things season 4 #sts4

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phoebe-delia · 3 years ago

Note

Hello!! I am such a fan of your writing and of Taylor swift lol I don’t know whether you take requests and if you don’t no worries feel free to ignore this!! Would you consider writing something inspired by dress? Hope you have a lovely day! 😊

Anon, thank you for the prompt, and for reading my work! I always take requests—of many kinds of prompts, really—but it's always thrilling for someone to request a TS songfic!

And what a song to request! "Dress" is truly an underrated gem on reputation. Great choice.

This is a little bit short, and for that I'm sorry, but Harry had no patience. In fairness to him, he held out as long as he could, but as you'll see in this fic, he's in a bit of a hurry.

Also PSA: I am playing fast and loose with rules of side-along Apparition here. This isn't, like, 'magically accurate,' if that's A Thing.

Hope you enjoy! This is rated M for non-explicit sex because I was requested to write "dress" and it is 100% Taylor's h0rniest song what do you want from meeee

I can't decide what's more distracting: the way your robes cling to your arse, that insouciant way you're leaning against the wall, those two blond strands of hair that artfully hang just above your eyes that I want to brush aside with my fingers, or the way I can feel your eyes on me, as if you can brand me as yours all the way from across the room.

"They don't get to see this," you'd whispered against the marks settled into my skin; the love bites hidden beneath the robes they don't know you carefully dressed me in earlier this afternoon, fastening the buttons with promises of undoing them "one by one tonight, Potter, if you're good for me."

I'd expected us to be in opposite positions: you charming the Ministry officials and dignitaries and donors while I lurked in the corner, bored and hiding from anyone who calls me "Sir." Instead, I'm the one shaking hands and faking smiles while your gaze follows me from your secluded spot near the door, like you're seconds away from making a polite, stealthy exit.

We both know you won't, not until you've won. This game we play, where you stare at me, unabashed, and I blush and try to avoid the reward of your eyes for as long as I can stand it.

I don't look at you, I don't dare. Until finally, I can't take it any longer.

I let my eyes meet yours. You smirk, the lift of your lips smooth like drawing a wand from its holster. You hold my gaze, open your mouth ever so slightly, and I can almost hear the barely breathed "Legilimens" that must pass your lips before I'm immediately immersed in—

Hands tied to the bedpost, panted breaths, sweat-slick skin, the slap of our thrusts—

With your eyes on mine and the strength of my magic, I need only force the image of our living room into your mind before I feel the pull of Apparition take us away with a crack that I hope reverberates throughout the Ministry ballroom.

You won our game, tonight, but I think the headlines tomorrow will call it a tie.

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luimagines · 4 years ago

Text

He reacts to seeing you Sick/Wounded Part 2

Masterlist

Part 1 Part 3

Scenario under the cut! Blood ahead so be warned.

Twilight

Twilight looked around the group for what had to be the umpteenth time, searching for you.

You had left awhile ago and had yet to return.

If it was Wild or Hyrule he wouldn’t have put much thought into it. The two of them were notorious for wandering off if something shiny caught their eye and they could be gone for hours.

Not you though.

If anything, you were the one to insist on keeping the group together and to avoid “splitting the party”. as you’d say. You even had a song to go with it, a catchy little tune from your world and he caught himself humming under his breath more than once when he realize someone was gone.

But you were gone long enough now that you even missed a meal.

Twilight started bouncing his knee in anticipation, the worse scenarios coming to mind at what could be happening to you.

“I’m going to find them.” He said, standing up and walking away from the group.

He waits until he’s far enough away to take out the necklace he’s been carrying around since the start of this adventure.

Twilight activates the charm and feels the magic wash over him, his vision and senses sharpening as the worlds color fade and his perspective changes.

There’s always a little discomfort as the beginning of each transformation so he takes a second to compose himself.

Twilight then starts sniffing the air and catches your scent, following where it leads. The path is pretty straight forward and he can almost reconstruct how long it took for you to reach the destination. Twilight travels a little farther than he was expecting, it’s way farther than hearing range, even with his advanced ears.

It’s a little concerning because even if you were to scream for help, there’s no way any of them would have known.

He’s trying to be optimistic. Twilight has seen you fight. He has seen you treat your own wounds. He was personally seen your resourcefulness in tricky situations. There’s little, he thinks, that can actually keep you down.

But then his worst nightmare comes to his nose and he takes off in a sprint.

It’s blood.

It’s yours.

And there’s a lot of it.

He follows it as far as he can until he hears a pained whimper.

Twilight then follows the sound and comes to a stop, shocked at the sight before him.

You’re sitting up against a tree, the top half of you looks fine if only a little ragged and there’s tear streaks down both your cheeks. Twilight follows the line of your body and sees that there’s no injuries on your arms or torso even if your hands are covered in blood.

But at sight of your leg, he knows what’s happened.

There has to be people nearby, that’s the only explanation.

It’s metal trap with sharp jagged teeth that penetrate the skin and muscle in order to keep the prey from escaping, and they’re incredibly hard to break out of if you don’t have the right equipment. They’re also known for breaking bones if they hit in the right places.

It’s also clamed just above your ankle, blood weeps through still and has travels through the fabric of your pants un to your knee, pronouncing the injury even more.

“Wolfie...” You whimper and try to smile at seeing him. “Yay, you found me. I knew you’d come get me at some point. I tried calling but I think I’m too far away.”

Twilight’s heart bleeds for you and how scared you must have been before he showed up. And he wishes he would have gone looking for you sooner.

You sniffle and whip your face and nose with your sleeve, avoiding the mess on your hands. “I can’t get out. I tried but it’s stuck.”

Twilight pads closer and sticks his nose by your hands but you pull them back. “I know it looks bad but my hands aren’t hurt...It’s all from my leg. I don’t want to get blood on your pretty fur.”

Twilight doesn’t take time to process the compliment and instead is focused on the choice he has in front of him.

Transform and reveal his secret to you, enabling him to help you here and now or go back and get help, leaving you to the mercy of whatever finds you in your vulnerable state.

It’s a pretty easy choice actually.

Twilight calls off the magic and lets the transformation wash over him. As per usual, the change is disorienting and it’s always hurt more to turn back human than it did to change into a wolf, so he takes a moment to breath before he looks at your ankle.

“Tw-Twilight? You’re Wolfie?” You splutter and try to wrap your head around what you just saw. “It’s been you this whole time?!”

But he’s ignoring you.

He takes a good look at where the trap is and begins to prod ever so slightly.

“H-HEY!” You cry and try to reach for him. “Don’t! It hurts!”

He doesn’t have the key to unlock it and he doesn’t have the right tools at his disposal to try and pick the lock.

“Twilight please say something.”

“I’m going to get you out. Just hold on a little longer.” He glares at the metal for a moment before placing both his hands around it.

If there’s one thing he’s always been confident in, it’s his strength.

With both hands secured on the device he forces all of his weight to pry it open. He ignores how you continue to make sounds of pain, how his finger tips immediately become moist with your blood and how difficult moving this stupid thing to get you free actually turns out to be.

After a battle of wills between man and the artificial, it moves and he tilts his hands to keep the momentum going until he’s moved enough of it for you to pull your leg out.

“Go. Get out.” He says with the strain in his voice.

You push away with your hands and your good leg to the best of your ability and slowly (well slower than Twilight would have preferred) to move your leg out of the trap and far enough away where he can simply let it clamp on itself again without fear of losing any fingers or hurting you again.

You gulp and try to move your pant leg to see the damage but it’s clear that doing that hurts you as well.

Twilight it quick to cut off the fabric with his trusted pocket knife and he peels it away.

Bones have definitely been broken.

And there’s certainly a lot of blood to deal with.

He twists the fabric slightly and wraps it above and around your injury to try and stop the flow of blood. Twilight can feel the glare he’s giving to your wound and refuses to look you in face so you can see it.

“Twilight?” You call to him. Your voice is small, weak, tired and afraid.

He can’t leave you to your own thoughts like he wants to so he takes a breath to calm himself and looks at you with as much gentleness and care as he can currently muster.

“You’re going to be just fine, ok?” He says with a small smile. “You’re actually pretty far from the others so it’ll be a bit of a trip but then we’ll get Hyrule to look at you, clean you up... find you some new clothes... You’ll be back to where you were in no time.”

Twilight’s not sure who he’s trying to convinced. It looks deep.

He hopes your foot won’t need to be cut off and that infection hasn’t already set in.

He moves towards you and stops on your good side, wrapping his arm around your shoulders. In one swift movement he hooks his other arm under your knees and picks you up bridal style and begin to walk away from the mess.

You sniffle again and wipe your bloodied hands on your shirt. “Thank you Twilight.” You say. “I won’t tell anyone, I promise.”

“Well you’re going to have to tell one of us what happened.” He responds. “The other are going to ask what on earth happened to you.”

“I meant about you being Wolfie.” You smile. “I’m fully prepared to explain my stupid decisions.”

The easy way you make that claim nearly makes him skip a step and send you both to the ground but Twilight is quick to readjust himself so that it never happens.

He had actually forgotten about that.

“I’d appreciate that.” He nervously chuckles.

“Don’t worry. I’ll cover you when you’re gone. I was starting to suspect something was related because your stories never matched up but I had no proof and no idea where to start. You’re... really not the best at it.” You say and pat his head. “So you save me, I save you. Sound fair?”

“That works for me.”

Time

Time had let Warrior lead the group because he seemed to be the most familiar with the terrain, even if he claims that this isn’t his Hyrule.

With someone capable taking the point, he hung back and let the other walk before him.

He had noticed that you were... weren’t yourself. Like you were hiding something.

You weren’t really interacting with anyone, and you kept your head down, something he hasn’t really known you to do. On another note, you were actually at the back of the group where he was currently stationed.

You always liked to be in the upper middle, talking and entertaining the younger ones and keeping up the group’s moral.

So the fact that you quiet and trying to go unnoticed, arms crossed and head down, worried him.

“Rupee for your thoughts?” He asked you as you walked.

You glanced up at him but you didn’t meet his eyes.

Something was wrong.

“I’m not really thinking about much of anything.” You admitted and shrugged. “I’m just a bit under the weather. I’ll be fine in a bit.”

“You don’t feel good?” Time frowns and stops the both of you with a hand on your shoulder. “Why didn’t you say something?”

“And slow down literally everyone.” You raise an eyebrow at him and he takes a quick second to catalogue your pink cheeks and red rimmed eyes.

Something is wrong.

“It’s just a headache.” You insist. “We’re already behind by how knows how long and it’ll go away on its own. I appreciate the concern but I don’t want to be a hinderance more than anything think I am.”

“For one thing, no one thinks you’re a hinderance.” Time says, taking off his gauntlet and he presses the back of his hand against your forehead, then your cheeks and the back of your neck. “If any one of those boys has told you that, you tell me and I’ll set them straight.”

He doesn’t miss the way you lean and hum in relief from his touch.

Truthfully, you’re actually burning up more than your skin seems to show and his concern sky rockets beyond the moon and back of this proverbial saying.

“I appreciate the thought but it’s not that important.” You say and he catches the way you frown in displeasure when he pulls away.

“Who told you that?” He asks in lieu of bringing your illness to light.

“No one.”

Time frowns some more and says your name in his stern commander voice that he knows you hate.

“No one.” You insist. “No one here anyway.”

From your previous adventure perhaps? Time puts the information away in the back of his mind and vows to vanquish the thoughts from your head when he can, but your health takes precedence right now.

“I think it’s about time to take a break anyway.” Time puts his gauntlet back on and begins to walk forward, leading you with a hand on the small of your back. “Maybe the Champion would be willing to make something for lunch.”

“Think he can cook something up for my headache?” You sigh and massage your temples in a way that seems reminiscent.

“That and more, if you ask him.” He replies easily and lets out a loud whistle that has become their cue to set up for the midday break.

It takes a while for your duo to make it to the others but at least you weren’t so far gone that no one would have heard Time’s signal.

You instantly take a step down and sit on the ground, cradling your head in a way that looks more like you’re crying than merely resting.

Time feels his heart clench at the sight and makes his way over to Wild. He tells them what he found out and asks if he can make something special for you. Something to keep you going.

Because as much as he wants to, this is not the place to stop for the night and with your pride on the line, he doesn’t want the others to crowd and bring more attention than you’d be comfortable with to your predicament.

“There’s a town about three hours from here.” Warrior’s speaks up, having eavesdropped on the conversation Time was trying to have on the down low. “We can hit it before night fall and let them rest in an actual bed for the night.”

Time nods and agree with the notion.

The others seem to catch on that you’re not feeling well and Time discourages them from getting closer than they should, less they get sick as well.

The break is quiet and uneventful for a change and Time is quick to get the group up and moving again when it’s over, choosing to keep you company on the way to the town and trying to make it as painless and comfortable for you as he can.

A part of him thinks that he should just swallow his pride and yours and carry you to the town as you deteriorate on the walk, but it’s not like you’d let him.

He’d just have to satisfy his concern when he eventually takes watch over your bed side, just to make sure you wake up feeling better.

Wind

Wind was sure that you’re hiding something.

You’ve been shifty eyed and nervous, jittery and uncollected.

So unlike the you that he’s come to know, rely on and appreciate.

It scares him a little, to see you so unlike yourself.

Wind makes a calculated guess on why you’re so weird after walking by your side for most of the journey.

You’re hurt and trying to not let anyone else know.

He can tell by how you’re trying to curl in yourself and fold over but have to keep righting your position. You’re having to walk with one foot on your toes because if you tried any more normally, you’d be limping. You’re a bit slower than your usual walking pace but you’ve been arcing your stride a little to the side so that it matches in length what you wouldn’t be able to make up for in number of steps.

He’s almost impressed by how well you’ve been hiding it.

But it’s drowned out by the irritation of your stubbornness. You could have just told someone, anyone, and they’d help you in seconds. You wouldn’t have to be in pain or having to stop every other second to hide a wince or a grunt or-

Wind is this close to just stopping everything to scream in your face.

He takes a small glance over to you as you walk, and sighs. He knows you won’t listen to him if he tries to say something. And you’d probably be irritated at him instead for trying to make a fuss about it.

Wind doesn’t know what to do, or how to help you, without being pushed away.

You trip.

Wind is too shocked by the outcome to even try to stop you from falling face first into the ground.

Ok, not face first. You manage to twist yourself just in time to avoid a face on collision, but you land on your side in the process.

Your bad side.

You yell in pain which alerts the whole group ahead and behind you. But you don’t seem to care about that anymore. You finally give into the urge and curl in on yourself, rolling over so that the ground is against your good side and nothing is irritating whatever hit you’ve been hiding.

Wind has to nearly smack himself out of it before he makes it to your side. He can hear the other catching up, their footsteps thundering mutely on the dirt but he’s more focused on you and where your hand seems to be cradling your side.

He’s quick to peel your hand off and lift your shirt.

You’re too shocked and stunned from the pain to stop him. Enough so that you’re brain doesn’t even register it, so you don’t fight back.

He gasps at the the sight and his stomach turns ever so slightly.

It’s a massive bruise, from up to your ribs that are highlighted in a toxic green, down to your hip and it’s not even black and blue. It’s so bad there’s more red on the surface than purple and it makes it look like you’re covered in blood even if the skin hasn’t been breached.

He knows what caused this.

Two days ago the group had found themselves in the middle of a fight with not one, but three infected monsters and one of them had a nasty looking club. You were fighting with him and on one of them and had taken a hit directly to your side. It was strong enough that it sent you spinning through the air and right into a tree. He didn’t think much of it since you simply bounced back like nothing happened and proceeded to stab the thing through the skull, but if he tries hard enough, he think you hit the same side on the tree as well.

But you didn’t drink a potion, he doesn’t think he even saw you being healed by Hyrule. Which means that you just had this on you for so long and you just- weren’t going to tell anyone?!

Wind can feel his heart clench in tandem with his first, your shirt nearly ripping since it was trapped in between his fingers. “HYRULE!”

“What happened?” Warrior makes it to his side first and stops mid-step when he catches sight of it. “I’ll... go get the Traveler.”

There’s a few seconds in between before you shake off the pain and rip your clothes out of his grip, forcing yourself to get to your feet again.

Everyone is too shocked by what they’ve seen verses how you’ve acting that they almost let you but Wind has been next to you, watching you, and he still is. He catches that your arms are shaking as you put your weight on it, and when you try and compensate for your bad side, you nearly throw yourself over again from your bad balance.

Wind pushes you back down and keeps his hands on your shoulders so keep you from trying that again.

Hyrule takes his cue and slides on his knees until he reaches your side, his healing spell fluttering around his fingers and into the nasty bruise.

“Guys, I’m fine.”

“Cut the bullcrap.” Wind says, knowing that Twilight and Time are behind him with Sky not too far behind. He hopes they let that one slide at least. “It’s looks like you were stabbed fifty seven times and poisoned to top of it all.”

You look up at him then and sigh, the fight leaving instantaneously. “Whatever.”

“It’s not whatever!” He argues but you cut him off.

“It’s just a bruise. It’ll heal in a few days and nothing is broken. But because it’s you holding me down, I’ll let you heal me.” You try for a half smile but Wind thinks it falls flat. “I’m not even going to try and fight a pirate in my state. Take your victory for now.”

“You didn’t have to let it get so bad.” Hyrule scolds you and you don’t even have the decency of at least looking apologetic.

“It was the fall that really made it hurt.” You clench your jaw when your shirt gets lifted higher for Hyrule to heal the bruise on your ribs. “It was just awkward before that.”

“No it wasn’t” Wind frowns even harder. “You were walking funny. It hurt like hell back there too and for a while as well. Why didn’t you get treatment with the others? Why didn’t you say anything?”

“Wind.” You say with as much patience you can muster. Your face begins to relax as the pain fades and the bruise changes to a more normal shade of purple with black spots. “We have no potions left. And Hyrule can only do so much healing in one go.”

“Speaking of...” Legend steps in and yanks Hyrule back by the shoulder, stopping the healing process.

Hyrule takes a minute to reorient himself and he steps away from a minute to catch his breath.

Wind takes another look at your injury and winces. While it looks significantly better than it did seconds prior, it’s not completely healed and would likely have to take more magic to heal on its own. They could just leave it there for the days it’ll take for it to heal naturally but Wind doesn’t like the idea of leaving you hurt for more than necessary.

“How were none of your bones broken?” Twilight asks in a quiet shocked voice.

“Oh no, there were many fractures, believe me.” Hyrule shakes his head. “Mostly minor but it’s crazy how they were able to still be standing, let alone walking. Didn’t any of that hurt?”

Wind takes a sharp breath and has to look away from you.

You were really good at hiding it then.

He misses the pained look on your face as he turns away and can’t see the hand you reach out to him. “Wind?”

“No.” He gulps and stand up. “This isn’t ok. You can’t do this. Say something next time, or I’ll never speak to you again.”

The second he says it, he feel childish for coming up with that threat in particular and while he wishes that there’ll never be a next time, he knows better.

Occupational hazard and all that jazz.

Your face morphs into one of sadness and you take your hand back. “Ok. Ok. I’ll be better next time.”

He supposes the threat worked after all.

#linked universe #linkeduniverse #linked universe x reader #hoo boy!#Twilight's might be the longest one yet #YET #is the key word #With Wind right up against him #I'm a roll today!#three more to go WOOOO!!

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smilesvt · 4 years ago

Text

honey muffins | pt.2

pairing: cheol x reader

warning: NONE, just cheol being a big simp. and a slight innuendo if you look closely...

The familiar chime of the bakery doorbell sounded as you rushed out from the back kitchen, brushing your floury hands against your apron.

Joy seemed to appear in the form of Choi Seungcheol.

‘Morning muffin.’ He spoke with his deep, just-woken-up voice. You wondered how he managed to make it sound like he was singing the sweetest song in the world.

‘Your here early, I’ve only just finished up the second batch.’ You giggled, walking to the front of the counter to stand in front of him.

‘Well, a certain someone promised me cupcakes soooo here I am.’

‘I don’t recall promising anything...’

‘You could never say no to me.’ He smiled, running a hand through his dark hair. The morning sunlight glistened in his eyes, the ones that you could seemingly get lost in forever.

‘Don’t get too used to that.’ You replied, warranting a laugh from the man as you spun around, hiding your small smile.

‘They’ll be done soon, give it a few minutes.’

He groaned dramatically, and leant his body across the counter, staring up at you with those puppy eyes. ‘Giving me that look won’t make the cupcakes bake any faster you know.’ You giggled, rolling your eyes at the sight of the man.

'I wish-'

A loud ping from your phone interrupted the man mid sentence, and you walked over to your tote bag laying crumpled on your stool beside the window.

'Boyfriend?' Cheol teased.

'As if.' You retorted. 'You think too highly of me.'

His eyebrows furrowed ever so slightly. What did you mean by that? When he thought about it, reminiscing all the late night talks he’s had with you, the topic of love had never come up much.

It wasn’t that you avoided the topic but more like... it was an unspoken rule to not bring it up. There wasn’t really a reason why, not one Seungcheol could think of anyway.

Unless...

A loud gasp from the corner of the shop broke him out of his thoughts.

'mom: im just round the block, be there in 5 x'

You turned to the man with a sense of urgency, mouth agape.

'You have to go like, NOW.'

'Wait wha-'

'Fuck you can’t go through the front cause she'll see you leave-'

Cheol watched as you paced around behind the counter, chewing mindlessly on your lips, trying to think of something. Suddenly, you grabbed the mans hand and sprinted off to the back of the shop, dragging him behind you.

'Where-'

You suddenly pushed him into a dark, confined space. The smell of vanilla was overwhelming, and he figured this was the storage room. You suddenly took the mans hands into yours and looked at his-barely visible-face.

'My mom’s coming. If she sees you, we're dead meat. Stay put in here till she leaves, please? For me?'

Your voice sounded so desperate, and you knew he wasn’t going to refuse.

'How can I resist that pretty face of yours?' He replied, earning a hard smack in the chest from you.

'You can’t even see me right now.' You scoffed, turning around. 'But seriously, thank you. I owe you one for putting up with this.' And you smiled his favourite smile, and shut the door, bathing the man in darkness.

Would he really be hiding in a tiny storage cupboard, with only a table and shelves stacked with various baking ingredients for anyone else? He figured not. But something about the whole situation made him smile to himself in the dark. He felt like a teenager hiding under someone's bed, trying not to get caught by their parents. He was very much NOT a teenager, yet being with you made him feel like he was experiencing those years again. He could act like a complete fool, and you wouldn’t judge him like everyone else would. He could do something stupid, and you wouldn’t scold him like others do.

He suddenly became very aware of the stupid grin on his face.

Yet he did nothing to stop it.

----

A few moments later, and the door opened with a squeak.

'She's gone.' You sighed in relief, leaning against the door frame.

'Close call.' The man chuckled, sliding off the table and walking towards you. 'Now about those cupcakes...'

As if by magic, the oven timer sounded with a 'ping'. 'Great timing.' You laughed, however Cheol noticed the mischievous glint in your eye. 'Last one in the kitchen has to wash up?' You proposed, a smile like innocent poison. 'Bet.'

-----

Panting like madmen, the pair of you burst through the kitchen doors, a simultaneous 'I win!' jumping from your mouths.

‘We can't both be winners.' 'I don't count playing dirty as a fair win, Seungcheol.' You jutted your bottom lip out, puffing the hair out of your face. ‘You don't usually mind me playing dirty.' He smirked, a depth of gruffness in his voice.

'Not when I'm working Cheol.' You rolled your eyes, although a small smile crept onto your mouth as you opened the oven.

A smell of strawberries and cream enveloped the space, and Seungcheol smelt a sense of familiarity as he breathed in. It smelt like you: homely, and sweet.

'Taste test?'

'You know it.'

------

Since he felt bad making you panic in the morning, Cheol offered to help you out in the shop that day. Of course, you refused, but there was no point arguing with him when he had already thrown a much too small apron onto himself.

The bakery was a much different atmosphere to the patisserie Seungcheol had gotten used to. There, rich business men and women clad in office attire would come in: grumbling about their 'awful' days, sipping on much too sweet, too overpriced tea.

Here, people of every creed and colour, every background would find themselves hopping in for a breakfast baguette, or a dessert brownie, or simply, just to speak to you. For as Cheol perched on your stool in the corner behind the counter, he noticed how everyone seemed so keen to talk to you. You knew the regulars as though they were close friends, sometimes stopping to speak about a relative, their cousins birthday party, if their job application had gone through.

Although you always told him you loved your job, he seemed puzzled as to how selling bread could ever be so interesting. You had laughed, telling him he wouldn't understand. Yet now, watching the radiant smile on your face as you spoke, the swiftness of your moves as you danced around trying to find a pretzel, he understood.

-----

You yawned, flipping the sign on the door to 'Closed!', as the sunset shone through the bakery windows.

'You didn't have to stay the whole time you know.' You spoke, beginning to lock the cupboards and doors of the store.

'I know. But I wanted to.'

'I mean...I'm glad you did. It's always nice having an extra pair of hands on deck. But I wish you'd spend your days off, well.... off.' You walked over to the man stood by the coat hooks, as he handed you your bag.

'Trust me, I'd rather be here than stuck in my own home. Now... would thou wish one to guide her to her humble abode?'

'Why yes, one would most certainly appreciate that.' You both laughed, the melodies of your voices melting into one, as you left into the breezy evening air.

----

'And then, the man had the cheek to ask for my number! Like excuse me sir, you are at least twice my age!' You exclaimed, relaying the days events to Cheol as you walked home.

'Was it the biker guy with the long beard and knuckle tats?'

'YES- wait how do you know that?' You questioned, staring up at the man as he looked straight ahead.

'Well I guess you could say I did some 'people watching' as you like to call it.'

'Ahhh, I seem to be rubbing off on you Choi Seungcheol.' You giggled, lightly bumping into his side.

'Apparently so, next I'll be baking bread in my apartment and singing to sad songs in the shower-'

'HEY I thought we agreed to not talk about that.' You fake pouted, and bumped into the man again, harder this time.

'I'm sorry I'm sorry, I had to.' The man laughed. 'Anyways, what did you say to this guy?'

'Oh yes so-' and you babbled on and on, your hands frantically gesturing as they always did when you were ranting, sometimes accidentally tugging onto Cheol's arm that you were linking.

But he didn't mind. Actually, he found it rather adorable.

-----

a/n: AHHHH sorry for the long wait on this one, i had school and- WELL anyways i am now on summer break so i can write more frequently! i hope this suffices,,, pt 3 in the works rn ;))

#seungcheol #seventeen #svt #scoups #scoups imagines #scoups fluff #svt x reader #scoups svt #seventeen imagines #svt imagines #svt fluff #seventeen seungcheol

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wistfulcynic · 4 years ago

Text

that song only you can hear

So I think we’ve all seen this prompt making the rounds. It couldn’t be more Lieutenant Duckling if it had been designed with them in mind.

Here’s my take on it.

AO3

The two men met in the middle of the council chamber with a matched pair of elegant bows and a solemn exchange of Your Majesties. Formalities thus observed and ceremonially dispatched, they broke into jovial smiles, gripping each other’s forearms and clapping one another on the back. They were far more similar than different, these men—roughly of a height and with the same breadth to their shoulders, the same twinkle of humour in their eyes and the lines on their faces fallen in the same warm places. One had far more of those lines, being a good brace of decades older—as attested as well by the grey in his hair—but were it not for that they may have been brothers.

“How is your wife?” inquired the younger of the two. “And your, er”—the hesitation was brief, barely noticeable—“your daughter?” He regarded his companion intently. “I trust she is eager to see this negotiation concluded?”

“Ah,” replied the elder man, his smile faltering only slightly. “She is indeed, as is her mother. They are in the princess’s chambers even now, preparing.”

“No,” Emma hissed, wrenching herself free from her mother’s grip and ripping the delicate pale-pink dress from her hands. “I will not participate in this farce and you cannot make me!” She flung the dress to the floor and barely restrained herself from jumping up and down upon it like a child.

“I am your mother,” Snow replied coolly, “and your queen, and so by the power of two separate authorities I can, in fact, make you.”

Emma’s fists clenched and her nostrils flared. “You’ll have to drug me then,” she snarled, “or tie me up or compel me with magic because there is no way in any of the seven hells that I will accept this willingly.”

Snow folded her arms across her chest. “We’ll see about that.”

“And your brother?” asked the elder man. “Is he is as keen to be wed as my daughter?”

“Oh, indeed he is,” said the younger man with a bright smile that hardly appeared false at all. “Rarely has he anticipated anything more eagerly.”

In a single, slick move Killian snatched the dagger from Smee’s belt, spun around and pressed its tip beneath the chin of his erstwhile companion and friend. “How dare you, Smee?” he demanded in a silky hiss. “You know how I feel about this farce of an arrangement. You are the only one who knew, the only one I told of where I meant to go. You betrayed me, and I will see that you suffer for it!”

“Killian!” Both he and Smee turned to see Nemo in the doorway, scowling at the scene before him. “No murder on your wedding day,” he admonished. “And you might also want to consider wearing pants.” Nemo raised an eyebrow as he surveyed the prince’s naked form. “Best not to put the cart before the horse, as it were, and I imagine the chapel gets rather chilly at this time of year.”

“Excellent, excellent.” The elder man clapped his hands together. “So when can we, er, expect the prince to arrive?”

“I’m sure he’ll be here any moment,” replied the younger as his eyes darted to the southern doors. “And the princess?”

“Oh yes.” The elder man’s eyes returned to his companion after glancing, ever so briefly, at the eastern doors. “Any moment.”

“Mother, please,” Emma begged. Defiance was getting her nowhere, it was time to employ pathos. She folded her hands together and looked imploringly at Snow. “Would you truly force me into marriage? With a man I’ve never met? Some useless, limp-dicked—”

“Emma!”

“—lump of a prince who will hate that I can best him at swordplay and that I ride astride—” pathos, Emma, pathos! “—and who doesn’t love me!” She widened her eyes and allowed them to fill with tears. “You always said I could marry the man I loved, Mama. You promised.”

They exchanged wide and confident smiles and held eye contact perhaps a heartbeat too long before looking away to focus on their respective doorways.

“Nemo, I’m surprised at you.” Killian resisted the urge to cover himself and instead puffed out his chest. “Smee has always been a snivelling rat of a man, but I never would have imagined you might turn on me like this.”

Nemo fixed him with a deadly I’m-not-mad-just-disappointed look. “It’s not turning on you to want to see you married, lad.”

“Happily married, perhaps,” retorted Killian. “Otherwise it’s just shackles by another name. You really want to see me chained for life to some faint-hearted, twee little princess, who will while away her time in needlework and—and flower arranging, and never utter a word worth hearing in all her days?”

“Rather harsh, Killian, when you’ve not even met the girl.”

“I’ve met more than enough of her type,” Killian sneered. “And I’m not having it. I’m not marrying someone I don’t love.”

Doorways that remained resolutely shut, obliging the men to meet each other’s eyes again. They exchanged another set of smiles, the elder drumming his fingers on the sleeve of his doublet while the younger tapped a rhythmless beat with his toe on the floor.

Minutes passed, marked by the resonant tick of the grandfather clock set back against the wall.

The elder man cleared his throat. “Lovely weather we’ve been having,” he remarked.

“Oh yes,” the younger agreed, relieved to have the silence broken. “So sunny.”

“Emma, of course I want to see you wed to someone who loves you!” Snow exclaimed. “And whom you love in return.” She approached her daughter and gently brushed a lock of hair back from her face. “But sweetie, we have introduced you to every eligible man within a hundred miles and you’ve shown no inclination for any of them. And we need this alliance with Windhaven, as you well know.”

Emma huffed and pulled away, turning her back and closing her eyes, wishing she could close her ears as well. Blue eyes gazed at her from behind her eyelids, warm and admiring, and a cocky grin flashed.

“But that doesn’t mean you won’t find love!” persisted Snow. “I have heard nothing but exemplary reports about Prince Killian. He is said to be intelligent and good humoured. And handsome.”

“Pah,” scoffed Emma. Blue eyes, roguish smile. Hair that fell across his forehead just so…

“Perhaps, in time, love between you two may grow.”

Emma shook her head, willing the memories away. “It won’t.”

“But how can you know, my darling, unless you try?”

“Bright sunshine,” expounded the elder man. “Good for, er, the flowers!”

“Killian, love is not always some grand, romantic adventure.” Nemo plucked the silk dressing gown from Smee’s grasp and handed it to Killian, who grudgingly slipped it on, then placed his hand on the younger man’s shoulder and gave it a squeeze. “Sometimes it’s a slow, sweet thing that grows between life companions. Princess Emma is said to be beautiful and kind, and sharp-witted enough to challenge even you. Surely you could at least give her a chance?”

Killian swallowed hard and shook his head. Bright laughter rang through his memory and his hand flexed in response, closing on empty air and not the soft gold hair it longed to touch again. “I couldn’t,” he croaked. “It wouldn’t be fair.” To her. Or to her.

Nemo’s expression hardened. “Well life, as the philosophers say, is rarely fair. You’ll just have to learn to deal with that. And to trust that your brother and I know rather more than you do both of fairness and of love.”

“Oh yes, flowers love the sunshine.” The younger man groped about for something more to say, anything he could think of with a horticultural gist. “They love the rain, too, I’m told. Both are good for, er, growing things.”

“How do I know I can’t love him?” Emma choked, turning round again. The tears in her eyes were real now, and threatening to fall. “Because I’ve already met the only man I could possibly love!”

“They call me Hook,” he said, with far too confident a smirk for a man with a dagger at his throat.

“Oh?” she inquired sweetly. “And why do they call you that?”

“I don’t know, lass. Perhaps because I can do this.”

“What?” gasped Snow. “Who?”

“Oh, don’t look at me like that!” Emma dashed the tears from her eyes and stomped to her window, glaring out at the thick forest below. “He’s no one you would consider suitable! He’s a bandit I met in the forest.”

In a flash of movement he spun on his heel, hooking his leg around hers as he did and knocking her off-balance. The dagger fell from her grasp as she stumbled and he snatched it from the air, spinning it round to hold it against her throat as his arm caught her firmly round her waist and his eyes met hers.

“One of that group of men you were travelling with?” cried Snow.

“Yes.”

“But you were only with them a few weeks!”

“It was long enough. Longer than you knew Father before you were wed.”

“That was diff—”

“Don’t tell me it was different!” Emma snapped. “I know it was different! But it hardly matters now.” She braced her hands against the windowsill as memories of Hook’s touch ghosted across her skin. “When the palace guards found me they captured him as well and—” her voice broke “—he’s in the dungeons even as we speak, even as you’re forcing me marry someone else when all I want to do is run to him!”

“Emma, he’s not in the dungeons,” said Snow carefully, coming up behind her daughter to place a hand upon her arm. “All the men who were with you when you were discovered—they all escaped.”

“Very true,” agreed the elder man, solemnly. “Very true. Sunshine and rain both is what you need.”

The clock ticked.

“Do you get rain?” asked the elder man. “In, er, Windhaven?”

“Erm. We do, yes,” the younger man replied. “Some.”

“You think because you’re older, because Liam is older, that you know more of love than I?” Killian scoffed. “When have you been in love? When has he?”

“When have you?” retorted Nemo.

Her eyes were moss green, sharp and defiant. She glared at him, unflinching, and he found he could not look away.

“What’s your name, lass?” he murmured.

For the space of a heartbeat he thought she wouldn’t reply, but then she breathed, “Swan. You can call me Swan.”

“Now,” snapped Killian. “Right now, at this very moment, I am in love with the most extraordinary woman I’ve ever known. No princess could hold a bloody candle to her, and—make no mistake on this point, Nemo—I will marry no one else.”

“Indeed? And where did you meet this paragon of femininity, if I may inquire?”

“She was among the men I joined up with in the forest.”

“Ah!” cried the elder man, his smile widening as the eastern doors swung open. “Here she—oh.” His face fell when a page entered the room, an embarrassed flush in his cheeks. He passed a scroll to the elder man just as, from the southern entrance, another page appeared to hand one to the younger man as well.

Emma spun round to face her mother, eyes glistening with tears but wide with hope. “He’s free?” she whispered. “He got away!”

“Is this why you’ve been trying to sneak into the dungeons?” asked Snow, with a hint of reluctant amusement in her voice. “Lancelot’s had to triple the guard down there.”

Emma tossed her head but not before her mother caught the pleased hint of a smile. “I told you,” she said. “The man I love. The only one I’ll marry.”

They met in secret, or tried to—Emma was certain Robin at least must know about their trysts. Mulan surely did, but despite her friend’s frowning stares and thinly-veiled remarks about the foolishness of forming attachments that went beyond those of warm companionship, Emma could not help herself. Hook’s touch lit a fire in her and she craved the flames; every moment she wasn’t with him felt wasted. He seemed to feel the same for he was always snatching her away to steal a kiss behind a tree, always angling to sit beside her around the fire so their fingers might brush, innocently of course, as they passed around the wineskin.

Snow’s eyes were full of sympathy. “I’m sorry, Emma, truly,” she said. “If we had known earlier, then perhaps… but your father has already made the arrangements with Windhaven—”

“He can un-make them then!”

“—to break his promise now would be an act of war.”

“Arghhh!” Emma shrieked. “Men and their wars!”

Fair, thought Snow. Aloud she said, “At least your love is free. Take what comfort you can from that.” Cold comfort she knew, but her hands, at present, were tied.

Emma sniffed, then nodded. “He’s free,” she repeated. “That does actually help. I—I suppose I always knew there was no hope of a future for us.”

The elder man read his missive with a scowl then looked up to find the younger one still reading his, with a similar expression. Each made an effort to smooth the temper from his features, but the elder man’s voice still held an edge when he remarked “It seems she’ll be another few minutes.”

“He as well,” replied the younger man.

A beat of uncomfortable silence passed, marked by three ticks of the clock, then the younger man remarked, “We do get rain in Windhaven but of course the most common weather feature is the, well, the wind.”

“Of course,” said the elder man.

“She was living among a band of brigands in the forest?” said Nemo. “A woman?”

“She wasn’t the only one,” protested Killian, thinking of Mulan. There had been something different about Swan, though—for all her courage and daring and skill with a sword, there had been hints that she was unaccustomed to such a rough and ready lifestyle.

“What are those?” she demanded, wrinkling her nose. Killian laughed, wishing he could kiss it. Her nose was adorable when she laughed, even more so when she scowled.

“Squirrels,” replied Robin, as though it were obvious. “Their meat is tough but flavoursome. We’ll stew them for a few hours and they’ll be grand. But first”—he held out the squirrels, dangling by their tails—“someone needs to skin and gut them.”

“Skin and—” Swan gulped, her skin gone faintly green. Killian gave her arm a pat, though he’d far rather hug her.

“Come along, Swan, we’ll do it together,” he said. He’d been on enough camping trips with Liam to know how to prepare a squirrel. She flashed him a grateful smile, missing the knowing smirk on Robin’s face. Killian returned a scowl.

“Just remember they need to stew for several hours,” Robin said. “And we will be wanting to eat sometime tonight.”

“Nevertheless,” said Nemo, “not exactly a suitable wife for a prince. You have your duty as the heir to consider.”

“If Liam would do his bloody duty I wouldn’t be the heir,” grumbled Killian. “If he likes this princess so much he should marry her.”

“The king is in negotiations with the Queen of Arendelle, as you know perfectly well,” replied Nemo mildly. “A union between them would secure the border between our countries for the first time in two centuries. That is his duty, and his priority. What is yours?”

“Likewise, I would assume,” said the younger man, “that in Misthaven you get quite a lot of, ah, mist?”

“We do,” agreed the elder man. “From the mountains and from the sea.”

“A double misting, you might say,” blurted the younger man, who then caught himself in horror. “That is, I meant—”

The elder man held tight to his composure. “It is quite a lot of mist,” he remarked gruffly.

The younger man released a slow breath. “It is at that,” he replied.

“Will you come, then, and meet Prince Killian?” asked Snow. “I promise you that if you truly cannot see a chance at happiness with him then I will find a way to have the marriage annulled. But you must promise to give him a genuine chance, Emma.”

Emma took her mother’s hands and looked in her eyes. “You swear to me that if I truly do not wish to stay married to him I won’t have to?”

“If you swear to me that you will genuinely try.”

It wasn’t long before they abandoned the pretence. It was too difficult to maintain amongst such a small group, and the pleasure of being able to touch each other openly, sit snuggled up before the fire and curl together as they slept—this was far greater than the thrill of secrecy. Each night they would bed down as far from the others as they dared and spend long hours exchanging confidences and gentle touches, long, lingering kisses that set the fire raging within Emma and left Hook panting, forehead pressed to hers and eyes squeezed shut as he struggled to contain himself.

She didn’t want his restraint, all but begged him to abandon it, but he would not be moved.

“Not on a forest floor,” he murmured, with a dozen men and bloody Mulan ten feet away. One day we will have a bed, love, a large, soft, private one, and all the time in the world to enjoy it together.” His eyes were so soft, his smile tremulous, his chivalry so unexpected from a bandit such as he. “I promise you, my Swan.”

Her false name in his beloved voice made her heart ache, but she forced herself to return his smile. “Promise?”

“On my life,” he breathed, pulling her close. “On my life.”

Emma squeezed her mother’s hands to quell the aching in her chest. Had he known then, as she had, how impossible that promise was? Even as he made it, had he known it could never be kept?

Somehow she felt certain he had, and that the knowledge had broken his heart.

She released Snow’s hands and pressed her own against her heart. “All right,” she said. “I swear it.”

“Mist is, I imagine, also good for flowers?” the younger man ventured. “Rather like rain only less, er… rainy.”

“I don’t believe I ever thought of it like that before,” the elder man remarked. “We do have a lot of flowers in Misthaven but it doesn’t necessarily follow that those two things are related.”

“It might be an interesting field of, um, scientific inquiry,” said the younger man, looking as though he wished he could stop talking but wasn’t certain how to go about it. “For your… university? You have a university, I believe?”

“We do,” confirmed the elder man. “I will be sure to inquire about the relationship between mist and flowers when next I meet with its Chancellor. Perhaps you would care to be informed of his conclusions?”

“Oh, yes,” said the younger man weakly. “That would be fascinating.”

“I’ll be sure to send his report on to you,” said the elder man.

“Obviously,” Killian growled, “my priority is Windhaven. As it has to be.”

“As it has to be,” Nemo agreed.

“But I cannot—there is only so much I have to give, Nemo. My heart is taken; all I can offer a wife is my respect and my honour, and I cannot pretend to more than that.”

“I greatly doubt any pretence will be necessary,” Nemo observed. “The princess is doing this for duty as well. But I’m confident that you, as many, many others before you, will manage to come to a satisfactory arrangement. You’re both reasonable people, on the whole.”

Killian held Swan as she slept, his own eyes heavy but unwilling to shut them and sleep away even a moment of his precious time with her. She was tucked against his chest, snoring gently, a bubble of drool just at the corner of her mouth.

She was beautiful.

He stroked her cheek with the tips of his fingers, tracing the outline of the bone then down her jaw and to the enchanting divot in her chin that he never passed up an opportunity to kiss. He kissed it now and she mumbled something in her sleep, shifting to press closer to him. He tightened his arms.

“I love you,” he whispered.

He hadn’t meant to say it, knew he shouldn’t say it, wasn’t free to say it. He wasn’t free to feel it either, though, and yet he did. Oh, how he did.

Her eyes blinked open and she smiled a sleepy smile. “I love you too,” she whispered.

“Have you been—were you just pretending to be asleep!” he accused, teasing to conceal his aching joy at her confession.

“Sometimes I pretend,” she said softly, “so that you’ll hold me the way you only do when you think I won’t remember it.”

He kissed her then, and held her so tightly he feared he might crush her but she merely squeezed him back, her kiss as desperate as his own. He wished he’d never have to let her go.

But he knew, even then, that he did.

“And what if we can’t?”

“Can’t what?” Nemo frowned.

“Come to a satisfactory arrangement. What if after a certain time has passed we find that we despise each other and a life spent together could only bring misery to us both? What then?”

Nemo sighed. “In that, I must say highly unlikely event, the king and I would find a way to annul the marriage and cancel the contract.”

Killian looked at him sharply. “You would?”

“If you were truly miserable then yes, of course we would.” Nemo’s expression softened, into a fondness he rarely allowed himself to show. “Above all else, we love you.”

Killian drew a deep breath and released it slowly. “Very well then,” he said. “Let’s go meet this princess.”

The eastern doors opened again and both men’s heads swivelled hopefully to face it. Two pairs of broad shoulders slumped in relief and two grateful sighs were exhaled as Princess Emma came through them on her mother’s arm, trailed closely by the sturdy and inescapable figure of Lancelot. The princess took her place behind her father, head held high, though no one observing her could fail to notice her red-rimmed eyes, or the white-knuckled grip of the queen’s hand on her arm.

Moments later the southern doors swung open to admit Prince Killian, flanked by his brother’s most trusted adviser Captain Nemo and the royal valet William Smee. He stalked into the chamber with no expression on his face but eyes that flashed with frustrated anger—that is until they fell upon the princess.

Killian froze, and Nemo and Smee stumbled as he came to a dead halt several steps away from where he was meant to go. All eyes in the room turned to him with varying expressions of surprise and annoyance—including Emma’s. Hers blinked and then widened and her lips fell open in a tiny gasp. Blue clashed with green and a silent conversation was held, communicating more in that split second than the two men had in their twenty minutes of stilted discourse.

The clock ticked once, then Killian squared his shoulders and began to walk again, as though he’d never stopped. He took his place behind his brother with eyes still flashing, though with a rather different emotion now. As she observed him, the corners of Emma’s lips twitched.

No one noticed.

The raid came so quickly even the Merry Men were taken by surprise. One moment they were asleep and the next the Royal Guard were there, dragging them from their bedrolls and disarming them before they had even come fully awake. Rough hands tore a shrieking Swan from Killian’s arms and two more held him fast; though he fought with all his might he could not break free of their grasp. Frantically he kicked at the legs of the man who held him, a stout brute of a fellow who refused to topple but finally loosed his grip enough for Killian to wrench himself free and dart away. The camp was in chaos and he spun round madly in search of Swan, calling for her, and then he heard a sound that turned his blood to ice.

Swan’s voice, crying his name.

“Hook!” she screamed and he followed the sound to see her fighting like a hellcat against the clutches of a man with night-dark skin and muscles that themselves had muscles. Desperate fear gripped him and he fought like a feral thing, charging blindly through the melee in pursuit of her.

“Swan!” he bellowed, but he was too late. The man swung onto a horse with her flung over his shoulder and galloped off, leaving Killian in despair and too distraught to notice as another group of men descended and different hands grabbed hold of him and he was bundled away—too distraught to even feel surprise when he found himself in Windhaven’s royal carriage with Nemo there to greet him wearing a stern frown that masked, for the first time in Killian’s memory, reluctant admiration.

“All right, let’s get this o—er, let us conclude the negotiations,” said the elder man. “Now that we are all, finally, present.” He cast his gaze about the room, making eye contact with all those present, then nodded at the court scribe.

“We are met here today to conclude negotiations and solemnise the contract of marriage between Princess Emma of Misthaven and Prince Killian of Windhaven,” the scribe intoned, indicating the scroll that lay unrolled upon the council table. “Terms of said contract have been agreed by Their Majesties King David of Misthaven and King Liam of Windhaven.”

The elder and younger man acknowledged one another with a nod.

“Said contract has been read,” the scribe continued, “and the terms agreed by both relevant parties and given that there are no objections—”

“Wait!�� interrupted a voice. “I have an objection.”

All eyes turned to Princess Emma—including Prince Killian’s, his wide with surprise.

“Emma,” muttered Snow under her breath.

“I would like the contract to be amended,” declared Emma, ignoring her mother, “to prohibit Prince Killian from eating hedge-onions with every meal.”

“Hedge-onions?” her father choked.

Emma batted her eyelashes. “I could not dream of entering into a marriage with a man who insisted on constantly eating hedge-onions.”

Prince Killian blinked, then his lip twitched as he replied. “Hedge-onions are very healthful, as everyone knows.”

“They smell hideous.”

“The smell is easily neutralised by chewing parsley.”

“Hmph,” said Emma, tossing her hair. “That’s what someone who eats hedge-onions would think.”

The rapt attention of the room focused again on Killian. The moment stretched (tick, tick) and then he gave a nod. “Very well,” he conceded. “No hedge-onions.”

“Erm, good,” said King David, as the scribe hastily amended the contract. “Now, if we might—”

“Provided, that is, that Princess Emma agrees that should her feet ever become cold in the night she will put on a pair of bloody socks or warm them by the fire, and not on another person’s bare skin.”

“What?” bellowed David as Liam shot his brother a dagger glare.

“What?” echoed Killian, blinking innocently. “I’m sensitive to cold, you see, and I don’t think I could stand to be married to someone who insisted on using me as her own personal stove.”

Princess Emma muttered something under her breath. It was hard to make out the words, but they sounded very much like sensitive to cold, my ass.

Aloud she said, “Fine. I’ll wear socks. To bed, because that’s so sex—”

“Emma!” Snow hissed, and across the room Killian’s eyes danced with mirth.

“If there are no further objections,” huffed David, as the scribe frantically attempted to translate ‘no cold feet in bed’ into proper royal legalese, “perhaps we might sign this damn—er this contract.”

“No objections,” said Killian.

“No objections,” echoed Emma.

David gave them each a stern look then accepted a pen from the scribe and signed his name at the bottom of the contract with a flourish. The scribe passed the pen to Liam, who then did the same.

“The contract of marriage is now official,” intoned the scribe, “and the nuptials may proceed as planned. I believe the wedding is to be held in the palace chapel in, er, ten minutes’ time.”

“That’s correct,” David confirmed, but before he could suggest they all adjourn thereto and take their places, Killian’s voice piped up again.

“There’s just one thing I’d like to do before the wedding, if I may,” he said. David turned and regarded his future son-in-law with trepidation. He dearly hoped there would be no more talk of nighttime activities or bare skin.

“What is it?” he asked warily.

“Only this.”

Killian shrugged Nemo’s hand from where it rested on his shoulder and strode across the room. Emma pulled free from her mother’s grip and darted forward to meet him halfway. They near-collided in a tangle of limbs as he caught her up tight in his arms and she clutched at the lapels of his coat to pull his lips to hers.

Varying degrees of concern, confusion, alarm and amusement played across the faces of those who observed as the affianced couple shared a fiery kiss that lasted for many, many ticks of the grandfather clock. When at last they broke apart it was only to rest their foreheads together and exchange wide and glorious smiles.

“Hook,” Emma breathed.

Killian brushed her nose with his. “Swan.”

“How could it be you?” she demanded.

“How could it be you?” he countered.

“I don’t know,” she laughed. “I don’t care. Let’s get married. Now, before they change their minds.”

The elder man and the younger exchanged identical pained expressions.

“Aye, lass,” murmured Killian in his bride’s ear. “Good call.”

“Mmm,” replied Emma. “And then once that is done, I do believe someone owes me all the time in the world with him and a large, soft, private bed.”

Killian laughed and kissed her again, then offered her his arm. “Lead the way, my love,” he said.

—

@thisonesatellite @ohmightydevviepuu @katie-dub @kmomof4 @mariakov81 @stahlop @courtorderedcake @captain-emmajones @shireness-says @killianjones-twopointoh @optomisticgirl @spartanguard @teamhook

#cs ff #cs ff au #cs fic #captain swan #lieutenant duckling #princess Emma #prince killian #royalty au #prompt fic #arranged marriage #and yet #non-linear narrative #that song only you can hear #profdanglaisstuff

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bikerjongho · 4 years ago

Text

thaumaturge | ateez ot8

genre: supernatural, fantasy, action, horror

characters: occult!ateez ot8

description: Eight evil and magically supernatural beings have their fair share of fun and violence as they travel through a witchy black market.

word count: 6.6k

warnings: swearing, murder, violence, decapitation, death

author’s note: thanks to ateez’s new song the real, this was created. this is genuinely one my favorite pieces that I’ve ever written, so I hope you all enjoy, even if it’s a bit a lot... dark. extra kudos if you can figure out why hongjoong has a flute...

taglist: @itsapapisongo @mangomingki @irehlevant @blueprint-han

The airy noise of a flute from far off in the distance met the ears of people in the black market. The sound whispered around suspicious potions, illegal trinkets, and unsavory objects, giving the market a blanketing noise that masked the chattering of the merchants and customers. Although it was nothing more than a musical note, the noise was unknowingly synonymous with trouble and evil.

The flute belonged to Hongjoong, a man with frightening amounts of power and evil in his systems. The flute not only announced his arrival before his physical appearance, but it also announced his seven other teammates that were equally as dangerous and versed in unconstrained destruction as him.

On the outskirts of the black market, a small and dirty child played with a pile of rocks in front of his mother's tent. His mother, a woman greased with sweat and exhaustion, shuffled around her tent of potions and gathered what she could of food. She pulled out a small piece of chicken from a bag at her feet and carefully cut it into two unequally sized pieces.

She hastily shoved the smaller piece onto a graying plate near her before placing the larger one onto another plate and pushing it towards her son. But the son was still too busy with rocks to be bothered with eating, so the woman began placing more onto her son's plate - bits of lettuce that were more than a few days old and lumpy potatoes that looked undercooked, overcooked, and expired all at once. The meat was good enough and the potatoes were fine, but the withering lettuce was more than enough for Seonghwa.

Being the only folioric, a controller of plants and vegetation, on a team of mostly corpics made Seonghwa's power unique and highly valuable. While the others made blood boil and toes curl, Seonghwa had the proprietary job of dealing with plants, and more importantly, the poisons and trouble he could cause with them.

Magical black markets were incredibly engaging and amusing to him, so he enjoyed whenever his team made a detour through one. Seonghwa had studied and mulled over the existence plants and toxins for ages. He knew every potion that had plants in it and had even created his own. He was the root that connected botany and humanity. So, strolling through a black market that had false plant advertising, horribly made potions that even a beginner folioric could make to perfection, and toxins that were wildly inappropriate for their listed job, he couldn't help but chuckle at their inferiority. They were pathetic.

He was dressed like he was a regular customer at the black market, something that Hongjoong had strictly enforced whenever they wanted to cause a little bit of fun trouble. "The best place to hide is in plain sight," he'd always say. So, Seonghwa wore a green robe that went down to his knees. The end of the sleeves were embroidered with gold and black thread. A simple brown belt was tied around his midsection, and he wore black pants underneath the robe. His black buckled boots hugged and climbed up his legs.

This entire green ensemble was meant to show off his knowledge and abilities in botany, though in crowds like these, he doubted anyone would notice or realize the significance behind the clothing. Yet, the confidence the clothing gave him because on-goers did ogle the fine fabrics was more than enough to satisfy his hubris. It wasn't unusual to see someone of higher wealth in a slum-like market such as this one. In fact, it was usually good to see someone of that caliber - it meant there was likely something sold that was of worth, hidden between the utter filth that most sold. But Seonghwa wasn't there for buying.

Seonghwa shifted and narrowly avoided a dust cloud from a grimy child playing with rocks on the ground. There were numerous amounts of children like that around the black market. Families stricken with poverty had nowhere to turn except for illegal business, and even then money was tight and squandered. Seonghwa glanced at the boy's mother who ran her stand of sub-par potions, filling a plate of greens and meat for her son. He frowned at the lettuce.

Lettuce was one of the first plants he had to deal with at botany school - back when he was still enrolled and still had a cent of good in his blood. The professors would purposely let the lettuce wilt in the greenhouses and it was up to Seonghwa and the other foliorics to restore them. The memory made him cringe. The school, in his opinion, had suppressed his great powers and used them solely for mundane tasks. He had found it deeply insulting and was still insulted by it today. He had left the school and learned on his own how to harness his plant abilities to the fullest. In school, it had been a challenge to revive the lettuce that the teachers set out in the greenhouse. Now, he could be yards away and completely change the chemical biology of the lettuce with a lazy wave of his hand.

Seonghwa flicked his hand, and the lettuce winked at him.

"Lunch," the mother said to her son and pulled him to his feet, picking the rocks out of his hands and throwing them to the ground. She tried her best to dust him off and wash his hands with water, but most of the grime wouldn't come off. Seonghwa walked away as the mother handed the plate to her son, who began eating like he had never seen food before.

Seonghwa put his hands in his pockets. A glimmer of a smirk appeared on his face when he heard the child thud to the ground behind him, and the mother's subsequent scream.

Wooyoung trailed in behind Seonghwa, but the two acted like they didn't know each other, not sparing any glances or gestures at each other. He slid by the child that Seonghwa had killed while the mother's broken sobs rattled his eardrums. This team of evils, the eight of them, were journeying to a different city to buy rare botanical and medical supplies, the reason why they were cutting through this market.

"Instead of going around, we can cut though this black market," Hongjoong had announced only hours before and was met with joyous hoots and hollers. "Black market" was synonymous with fun - it allowed for the boys to cause behind the scenes trouble to people that they didn't care about or would ever meet again. Jongho had called it a warm-up for their powers and was met with agreement and laughter.

Wooyoung went in a different direction than Seonghwa, who was still strolling through stands of botany and stacks of medical potions. While Seonghwa was a folioric, Wooyoung was a corpic. Corpics, the broad term used to describe people that could manipulate the human body, were by far the most common variety of occult people. No one was truly sure why - but it showed in the fact that six out of eight members of the team were of this variety. Further categorized, Wooyoung, and also Hongjoong, Jongho, Mingi, and San, were spirabics, a subset of corpics that specifically dealt with living human bodies and feelings.

Wooyoung dealt with bones. Bending, breaking, and general manipulation of bones was his talent that had been bestowed to him at birth. Similar to Seonghwa, Wooyoung had been taught at school how to use his power for good, such as repairing fractured bones, but had quickly lost interest and dropped out when he realized his true potential.

Though, dropped out wasn't the correct word. This occult school did everything in their power to keep students from dropping out - they knew the merit and the sheer responsibility of the powers their students had. Using it for unrestrained evil was their worst fear. Wooyoung had deserted the school after two months of enrollment and then broke the spines of the teachers and guards that had gone to retrieve him when they realized he had deserted.

Wooyoung took a different route than Seonghwa not just because they wanted to be separated, but also because he was bored to death with plants. The area he strolled by was far more interesting - a small woman with a tight face manned a stand that claimed to sell human hearts and organs. On the stand next to her, full fingers, hands, and skeletons were on display like jewelry would be in a jewelry store.

He stared at the skeletons with his hands behind his back. He was aware of the stares because like Seonghwa, he was dressed in fine fabrics - blue instead of green - but he elected to ignore them. The stares also could have been for his peculiar interest in the skeletons.

"They're real," the shopkeeper told him flatly, and Wooyoung had to keep a straight face. None of the bones were real.

"They're gorgeous," he said, and then realized how odd that sounded. "For bones, I mean. You keep them cleaned and polished." But Wooyoung knew well that real bones could never be as white as the ones in front of him. He showed off a smile and nodded his head.

"Have a nice day," he said, and as the shopkeeper turned away, Wooyoung clenched his hand and snapped the shopkeeper's tibia. He strolled away with a smile as the man howled with pain, and the customers that were eyeing Wooyoung's clothes dove like hungry piranhas to steal the worthless and fake bones off of the stand. There wasn't any real reason why Wooyoung had broken his bone - it was just a fun activity to do in a market of strangers that had no impact on his life.

The flautist and San entered the black market as a pair soon after. Hongjoong, dressed in a shade of blue similar to Wooyoung's and flute strapped onto his side, strode by the mess of a mother Seonghwa had made and what was left of the bone stand. "I see they've done their job," Hongjoong yawned to his dark-haired friend. San grinned.

"No bones about it," he said, and Hongjoong gave him a look that could cut steel. San was dressed similarly to Hongjoong - a darker blue color, but the same fitted robe and high black boots. Hongjoong and San, like Wooyoung, were spirabics. Many thought that Hongjoong's flute that never left his side was a part of his magical ensemble, but that wasn't the truth. Hongjoong could raise levels of pain so that a paper cut felt like a heart attack. Sometimes his flute was a part of his sorcery - blowing a high note next to someone's ear and raising the pain was fun - but in truth, the flute was an elegant accessory given to him by his mentor before he passed away years ago.

San, in his smoldering and smirking glory, manipulated blood inside of humans. He could make blood clot or stop flowing or flow out of a body like a raging waterfall. He could make it boil like he was preparing a delicious vat of spaghetti. In many ways, he was one of Hongjoong's most coveted teammates, not only for his incredible power, but because of how useful he was when partnered with Hongjoong. So when San proposed the idea of working together to spread trouble throughout the market, Hongjoong couldn't refuse his offer.

"Who should we do?" San asked, hands behind his back and eyes flickering around the market and its sellers. San had been one of the first to accept Hongjoong's offer of making a team, and was therefore one of the most experienced and capable of their group. But he was also one of the most angry and dastardly ones. Hongjoong had seen the full extent of what San could do with years of being around him. Hongjoong knew better than to make him upset and laughed at those that did.

Hongjoong also eyed up some of their potential victims. Many of the sellers looked the same - sunken eyes, old and dirty clothing, and even dirtier intentions hidden in their hands and goods - but one stood out to him. Hongjoong nodded his head to a man that was a few stands down from where they were. "Him."

The man was considerably a different variety than most other sellers in the market. Besides wearing clothing that was close to the pricing of Hongjoong's and San's outfits, he sold considerable botany that even Seonghwa would look at and fine jewelry that both of them knew better than to touch. He was a gem in the midst of trash, and Hongjoong knew nothing would make him happier than to knock him down a few pegs.

San smiled at Hongjoong's choice. "A rich boy," he said, quirking his eyebrows. "Why?"

"I don't like how he carries himself, thinking that he's better than everyone else in this market," Hongjoong said flatly, eyeing him with suspicion. "He reminds me of me."

San chuckled. "Then, let's not hold back." He sauntered over to the seller with alluring eyes and struck up a conversation. Hongjoong couldn't hear exactly of what words were being exchanged, but it was clearly an engaging talk with how the seller's stance turned from tense and alert to relaxed and easy-going. He must have thought San was going to rob him as he approached. He should have been more wise. San was a vampire of the worst kind.

"The king just simply cannot have all of this stuff lying around," the merchant was laughing to San while Hongjoong slid up next to him. "Oh? A friend of yours?" He asked, looking at Hongjoong up and down.

"A friend indeed," Hongjoong said to him. He struggled to read San's face, because now it had changed. San had been engaged in the conversation, Hongjoong could tell even from far away, but now his demeanor had fallen. There was a hint of rage hidden behind his eyes, and Hongjoong knew exactly why.

San had once been a healer of sorts for a royal family. Almost every member, from the queen to her youngest son, were anemic, and it was up to San to regulate their blood at all times. But he quarreled with the king frequently, who thought San was doing a less-than-ideal job at helping his family with their condition. It wasn't until the youngest son died because of his anemia did the king react violently to San and threatened to fire him. But San had reacted back equally as violent - stopping blood flow to his heart and giving the king a heart attack as they fought in the throne room. The palace had revived him with another spirabic, but the damage was done and San's reputation was ruined. San fled the castle before the king could awaken and accuse him of an attempted assassination.

Hongjoong knew of his backstory and had spared no time in recruiting him. After all, the news of a defective royal spirabic spread like fire, and the flames had interested him.

But standing with this merchant, he had to applaud San for his restraint to not blow the head off of the royal merchant. Perhaps the prospect of blowing it off later with Hongjoong is what kept him only simmering. It was another mystery as to how the merchant didn't even recognize San. Hongjoong decided to not complain about the luck they had.

"Ah, the blessed kingdom?" San said, putting on a shining smile that Hongjoong almost believed. "Why must the king go here to sell things? Is he not content with the riches he has?" The merchant was shocked at San's boldness, but San's laugh that came after was so hearty that he joined in.

"I'm not sure why he wants to sell these trinkets here," the merchant said. "But it's what His Highness requests, so I oblige." San nodded his head and gave a soft smile. Hongjoong wasn't sure what rage or anger he had boiling his blood, but he was sure that San was done with being nice to a royal family kiss-ass. He gave a look to San, who was glad to reciprocate it.

Hongjoong shoved the merchant's table forward. All of the contents on the table shuddered and remained on the table, but the table hit the merchant's leg. "Oops," Hongjoong shrugged while the merchant furrowed his brow and rubbed his leg. "You're okay, right?"

"Yes, I'm fine," the merchant said, ruffled, and Hongjoong clenched his fist from inside his pocket. He could immediately see the pain rise like an enormous wave behind the merchant's eyes. He cringed with pain but still managed to stand. It wasn't in Hongjoong's interest to make him scream - he gave that privilege and right to San.

And San was more than ready. San's hand moved and the merchant furrowed his eyebrows even more. "Is everything okay?" San asked with a smile as the merchant's eyes began to twitch. He looked back and forth between Hongjoong and San like they had something to do with his pain, but ultimately focused back to his leg. Hongjoong wasn't sure what San had done, but it seemed slow and painful.

"Not really," the merchant said, wincing. "Excuse me, gentlemen," he said before limping into his stand's back area. San flicked his hand again and the merchant whimpered from behind the stand's back curtain. Almost immediately, a band of small children rushed in front of them and stole the rare plants off of the merchant's now vacant table.

"What did you do?" Hongjoong asked as he helped put the botany into the children's bags.

"I cut off blood flow in his left leg only," San said simply. His mouth quirked upward. "Or you could say, I blocked an artery. If he's fast enough, he might be able to have surgery to fix it. If he doesn't..."

"Death," Hongjoong finished, and San could only nod.

"Or amputation. I'm not sure how good the court spirabics are anymore. I don't care, either way." San gave a smile and waved for Hongjoong to follow him further into the market, his anger now behind him. A third party was hurt, and only half of the team was present in the market.

Another blue-robed man strolled into the market, but he was flanked by a man in grey. Mingi and Yeosang were the next of their group to enter the black market. Yeosang, the one clothed in grey, was a corpic like many of the others on their team. But he wasn't a spirabic, he was a cerebric, a special classification for corpics that dealt with the mind rather than the body. He could manipulate and damage the minds of anyone so long as he touched them. Yeosang's eyes, which had anything but mindlessness in them, flickered back and forth at different merchants in the black market like he was sizing up his victims.

Mingi, the taller and blue-robed one, was a spirabic. But in many ways, he was closer to Yeosang's power than any of the other spirabics in his team. Mingi could manipulate feelings and spike hormones on a switch. And while he didn't directly deal with the mind, he could still make anyone lose their mind if he added enough adrenaline to their body.

But while the two of them had powers that were very similar, they had drastically different backgrounds. Yeosang was a rarer breed of occult that was classified as dangerous by most schools that taught occult students. Hence, he was barred from most schools and didn't bother trying to convince them otherwise. There wasn't a good bone in his body and fellow occultists had made sure of that.

While Mingi, like many of the other spirabics on the team, had tried occult school. Mingi had learned how to lower adrenaline and calm anxiety. He had been the cure for marital problems and the savior for depression. But he had quickly learned it was infinitely more rewarding to cause pain and chaos rather than healing.

"This place is a dump," Yeosang scoffed as they weaved through the endless paths of the market. "Truly, people have lost their minds even without our help. Their products are shit."

"Less of a market and more of a dump," Mingi replied and walked by a little girl standing near a stand. She burst into tears. Yeosang was mildly amused.

Just as Yeosang was about to glance at a stand's contents, a running customer rammed into Yeosang's shoulder without warning. Neither Mingi nor Yeosang seemed too worried - in fact, a smile grew on Yeosang's face. He turned around stared at the customer while he kept running.

Almost immediately, the man stopped running and began screaming, hopping and clutching his feet like he had stepped on a thousand spikes barefoot. "Lava!" He howled before diving directly into a nearby stand, and Yeosang had to bite his lip to not burst into laughter as the stand's owner began yelling and swearing at the man who was saving himself from lava.

"Don't bump into me, next time," Yeosang murmured under his breath as a group of young men started a fist fight as Mingi strolled by them. Mingi held up his hands by his face and circled around the fight like he was surprised by this sudden confrontation.

"I'll say it again, this has got to be one of the most disgusting markets I've ever walked in," Mingi muttered when he and Yeosang were clear of the fight he had evoked. "But I guess that makes things more fun."

Yeosang nodded, side-stepping a man who was moaning for medical help and clutching his ankle. "Who should we really have fun with?"

The two surveyed the crowd of people around them, from dirty merchants to buyers with large inheritances to families with six children. There was a large variety to pick from, and Mingi was going to suggest doing a usual mind warp of a random merchant when Yeosang nudged him and nodded towards a young girl standing by a stand, paying no attention to the objects sold at the stand.

Her focus was only on the boy selling the items at the stand. Any blind person could see that she was madly in love. With how her body was only moments away from turning into a pile of mush and her eyes were physically in the shape of hearts, Yeosang and Mingi almost felt pity for her - the guy that she was in love with gave her no attention. His attention switched from a small amount of cash in his hands to the strange purple and green bottles on the table in front of him, like the girl wasn't even there.

"Playing matchmaker, are we?" Yeosang smirked at Mingi.

"Perhaps at first," Mingi murmured, walking closer to them so he could see his handiwork more clearly. "But you'll make sure that's not the end result." He pulled his hand from his pocket and waved it, a gesture seemingly innocent and regular.

The boy dropped the money in his hands and looked at the girl with a new appreciation, and the girl was startled by the sudden interest. Yeosang had to stifle a laugh as he nudged by the boy and got his own magic to work.

"... you're so beautiful," the guy was saying like he and the girl were alone in the market. "Truly a sight. Forgive my forwardness, but I have a small sum of money. Could I go to dinner with you and spend it all?"

The girl was a frantic and blushing mess. "Of course," she hummed, grabbing his hands and holding them close to her chest.

"They're gonna kiss," Mingi said and hastily put on a pair of sunglasses.

"And those sunglasses will save your sight?" Yeosang murmured as the two lovers locked lips right in front of them. Mingi's eyes weren't visible anymore, but his mouth was in a prominent frown. Public affection was apparently the price to pay for evil deeds.

"What exactly did you do?" Mingi muttered again, only seeing his own magic working. "We're playing Cupid rather than mind-fucking magicians."

"Watch," Yeosang said, and Mingi closed his mouth.

The new couple was now enwrapped in each other's arms like they were puzzle pieces that fit together perfectly. The boy stroked the girl's hair while he stared at her face and a few passerbys gagged and swooned.

"I love you," he said, not wasting his time in the relationship. The girl sighed and began pulling her hair tie out of her ponytail.

"Yeosang," Mingi hissed. "I do not want to watch a few teenagers rail-"

But he was cut off by a shriek from the girl. She was clutching the boy's small necklace around his neck with rage in her eyes. Yeosang glimmered.

"You have someone already," she growled and shook the necklace in front of the boy's face. It was just a normal necklace and the boy was sputtering out of genuine confusion. And it was a normal necklace. But Yeosang had made the girl think that there was a couple ring strung onto the chain.

"You're a genius," Mingi said, he himself not entirely sure of what exactly Yeosang had done. He flicked his hand again.

"You asshole!" The girl screamed, flames in her eyes. Mingi raised his eyebrows and admired his handiwork of adrenaline. She yanked the boy's necklace backward so that the chain clung tightly to the boy's neck. "You fucking cunt," she bellowed and pulled the chain as hard as she could. Mingi saw an opportunity and took it. He wasted no time to flick his hand again and the boy's head came off of his shoulders with a superhuman yank of the necklace from the girl.

Shocked bystanders began rushing towards the girl and pulling her away as she began to stomp on his decapitated head and scream swears at his corpse. Some were holding her back and others were trying to soothe her, but Mingi wasn't sure that was possible anymore. He smiled.

"Nice job," Yeosang and Mingi murmured to each other, amused at the scene they had created. Mingi had taken off his sunglasses. This was infinitely more entertaining to pay attention to.

"It'll go into the books," Yeosang said casually and began to walk away from the scene. The girl's yelling and screaming was a noise to behold. He was sure Hongjoong would want to know about it once they were all through the market.

"Decapitated by Cupid's machete," Mingi said, and followed him away from the lovestruck wreckage and further into the black market's depths.

The final pair of occults from the team entered the market. Again, there was another member with a blue robe and big eyes that showed his youth. They sparkled with a child-like glamor, but the glamor was of malice rather than wonder. The tall one beside him was in all black.

Jongho was a spirabic like most of the rest of the team and was their newest recruit. Only two months ago he had been at school and had genuinely enjoyed school, unlike the rest of them that had attempted academia. His power was something Hongjoong had never seen, so he had made it his priority to claim Jongho for his own when he first heard about his power and potential. When part of the team had arrived to meet him disguised as scouters for a more specialized school for talented spirabics, he was lowering the heart rate of a sleeping patient in the school's infirmary.

He had greeted them with bright eyes and a smile that could melt anyone. "You're the recruitment school, are you not?" He said politely, his dark hair fluttering as he nodded his head in greeting.

"Jongho, have you ever killed anyone?" Hongjoong said without preamble. The rest of the spirabics that were with Hongjoong - Mingi, Wooyoung, and San - shuffled in surprise to hear how upfront he was.

Jongho's eyes widened like he had been slapped in the face. "No!" He cried, putting a hand over his mouth. But Hongjoong watched as his eyes began to flicker around the infirmary. They were the only ones there. Incrementally, his body began to lose tension and he stepped backward to feel the consciousness of the sleeping patient.

"No," he had repeated, his eyes darkening. "But I want to."

And now Jongho had killed dozens already as a new member of the team with his power of manipulating bodily vitals. Lowering heart rate for restful sleep had turned into stopping hearts. Healing lungs had turned into snatching the air from them for a quick death. Even when Jongho had just joined their team to make them eight, Yunho had still seen bits of humanity in his eyes. It had made his eyes bright and gave illumination to their group of darkness and treachery. There was no light in them as he twitched his fingers and a nearby merchant was dead before he hit the floor.

"Nice," Yunho murmured.

"He had a bad heart anyway," Jongho said idly, shoving one hand in his long coat pocket and slipping a silver chain from the dead man's stand into another pocket.

Yunho reveled in the sight of dead bodies. His interest in them was not only because he relished in killing, but because he himself was a manipulator of the dead. Being a mortuumic, Yunho was even more rare than Yeosang's brand of corpic. He was also much more feared and despised by other occults of any kind. He had been an obvious choice for Hongjoong's team - no school wanted a boy that could animate their dead loved ones like a mad puppeteer. Hongjoong had looked in his general direction and Yunho was more than happy to be of use and join him.

"I know what we can do," Jongho muttered to Yunho as they slithered through the packed crowds. "I know what would be fun." He nodded to what Yunho thought was the dirtiest and most disheveled homeless man he'd ever seen in his life.

"Him?" Yunho said, raising his eyebrows. The usual plan when Jongho and Yunho were together was to murder and then reanimate a person. They had done it a few times already with success, such as robbing a villager's shop with his deceased brother's body a month back. Yunho didn't need to wonder if that was their plan for this homeless man - it was a given. But he was shocked when Jongho quickened his pace towards the homeless man and knelt down before him in a kind gesture.

"You're probably hungry," he said in a soft voice that was unlike him and took out a piece of bread from his pockets. He held it out to the homeless man and gave him a sweet look. The man's face broke into a smile so large that it cracked the dry skin around his mouth - he had not smiled in a long time. His graying hands stole the bread from Jongho's hands and he was eating it not even a second later. Yunho was surprised to see that the bread wasn't laced with poison and he hadn't dropped dead immediately.

"Why?" The homeless man croaked after he had finished his meal, looking at Jongho with wide eyes. "You are a man of silk and wealth. Are you a God come to aid me?"

Jongho's eyes shimmered, and Yunho wasn't sure with what. "Yes," he said softly, then pulled out the silver chain he had stolen only minutes ago. "Take this, sir. I only wish to see you happy for the rest of your life."

The man burst into tears as his calloused fingers rubbed the fine chains. He couldn't speak, but his body shaking with sobs and how he held the chain was telling of how much he appreciated the gesture. Jongho stood up and dusted off his blue robe, the man sobbing at his feet like he was Jesus. And he almost did look like him; in that moment, his soft and regal eyes reflected the good deed he had just done and his robe yielded a commanding yet gentle presence that did make him seem kingly. But Yunho knew better than to think that this was all Jongho had planned. Yet, he was still confused by his teammate's actions.

Yunho opened his mouth to ask Jongho what his plan was exactly when the sobbing suddenly stopped. Yunho's eyes darted to Jongho's hands immediately and saw they were in a fist shape. The homeless man was writhing on the ground, clutching his chest like his heart was about to burst from his body. Then he was motionless, his eyes devoid of the light that had been brought into them by Jongho's kindness. Jongho's eyes glimmered again, then he locked eyes with Yunho, a smirk dancing across his lips.

"Now, I pass the torch to you," he said softly.

And it now clicked as to why Jongho had done what he had done. Yunho had a fear that even during those first few seconds of the homeless man's death, someone in the busy market would have noticed. But Jongho had turned the focus to himself by being a samaritan for the man, and unless closely inspected, it appeared that the man was too happy over his recent fortune to be able to stand up. His delirious smile was still etched onto his face, commanded by Jongho's statement that he would be happy for the rest of his life.

But it was now Yunho's turn to show off. While Jongho could manipulate the living, Yunho commanded the dead. His eyes flickered with rapture and he lifted his hands in a gesture he had done a thousand times. He acknowledged the presence of the man's still heart, and then, carefully, let it beat.

It was a soft and slow beat, not a rhythm that any human could live by. But it was enough to flood bits of pink to his cheeks, hands, and neck to make him appear a little more alive. Yunho felt the man's legs, arms, and chest, then willed him to rise in a flourish of necromancy. The man stood, his smile now relaxed and natural. He swung his newly acquired silver chain in his hands and gave a wild grin to Jongho like he had just said a humorous joke.

Yunho wasted no more time on showing off his talent of necromancy. He flicked his arms and the homeless man took off running through the market with that joyous grin on his face that Jongho had given him, attracting attention from everyone who passed him. "Stole it!" He proclaimed, lassoing the chain around his head. Yunho whirled his finger and the man did a flying leap before snagging a bottled glass potion from a nearby table and nearly running over a toddler toddling in the street. The salesman shrieked, and soon the homeless man was being chased by multiple shopkeepers as he kept stealing trinkets and trophies off of stands and tables.

Jongho watched the entire spectacle with a bored expression. "Cheer up," Yunho whispered to him and flicked his arm. The man did a pirouette. "I haven't even gotten to the fun part yet."

The scene of the homeless man running gleefully with an armful of black market treasures while a stampede of angry shoplifters on his heels was a sight to behold. A shopkeeper was approaching him rapidly though, so Yunho decreased the homeless man's speed so that he could catch up.

"You thieving fuck," the shopkeeper growled before grabbing a hold of the man's shirt collar. On cue, Yunho dropped his hands and the homeless man dropped to the ground with them, dead as he was when Jongho had first halted his heart.

The shock on the shopkeeper's face was indescribable. "He's dead," he cried, but his voice was swallowed up by the squabbling shopkeepers that had raced close behind him, now circling the dead man to reclaim their belongings. It didn't seem to matter that their thief was a corpse on the ground, not when there were still living customers to be served.

Yunho grinned with pleasure. Jongho nodded to him. "Nice," he said, giving a small clap. "What a scene. A true spectacle. I would have paid money to see that."

"Then what a treat that it was free," Yunho smirked. He straightened himself and yawned. "And now, we can get ourselves out of here."

Yunho and Jongho walked out of the black market and found Hongjoong first, San mulling around behind him with a glimmer of triumph in his eyes. "We had a fun time," Yunho shared, and Jongho nodded his head in agreement.

"I was called a God by a homeless man," Jongho bragged. "Before I killed him, of course."

"We also had our fair share of fun," Hongjoong grinned and looked at San. "We met a royal merchant. San gave him some painful blood clots."

"Sounds absolutely riveting," Yunho smiled.

Seonghwa came up from behind them with a smug look plastered across his face. "I mostly strolled around, but I killed a boy with lettuce," he said casually.

Wooyoung was carving intricate patterns into a suspiciously shiny bone using his fingers. "And I broke someone's leg."

Yeosang and Mingi emerged from the market, smiling like they had just won the lottery. "And we decapitated a guy," Mingi said with cheer, giving a thumbs up to his team.

The eight of them looked at each other for a moment and then burst into laughter, Seonghwa holding onto his stomach and Wooyoung bent over while he howled.

"That was fun," Wooyoung exclaimed. "The most fun at a black market that I've ever had."

"If only causing trouble was ever that easy or entertaining," Yeosang mused. "It's hard to conceal what you're doing to someone out in the open. The crowds made it so easy to go unnoticed."

The eight of them chatted about their experience in the market, from the nonexistent cleanliness to the terrible and fake items being sold. Seonghwa was ready to go onto a long tangent about the utter disrespect he witnessed for many different types of plants when Hongjoong held up his hand and silenced him.

"I must remind you all that our journey isn't over just yet," he said, his eyes hovering over all of them with a look that only leaders possessed. "We're not yet in possession of our medical supplies."

"Or the botany," Seonghwa reminded him.

"Or the botany," Hongjoong added. "And it may sell fast. Therefore, we cannot waste any more time on trivial talks. At least, not just standing here." His hands went to the flute on his side and he slid it out of its case. "You all go forward. I will be right there."

The others knew what Hongjoong was going to do. They parted from him, and Hongjoong put the flute to his lips. He then blew, and a soft, airy note rose out of the instrument, not unlike the one he had played when they had first arrived on the other side of the market. The note was the team's farewell to the market. But it was also a haunting reminder that they would be back at the market on their return trip, obsessed with the science of pain like moths to a flame.

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jimlingss · 4 years ago

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Hi hi. Just a random idea I thought I would share in the case it might interest you. But sort of like a parallel universe or time travel thing. There's a forest/meadow on earth that is suspended in another time or world. You happened upon it by chance and meet someone there not realising that your lives can only cross in this one place.

inch-resting.....

↳ Snow White and the Park Ranger

2.4k || 100% Light Fluff || Kim Seokjin

Once upon a time—

“Please, let me go!”

—you were birthed as Princess of a marvelous kingdom, as fair as your mother and beloved by all who breathes. But tragedy appeared when your mother passed. Your father remarried a woman and after he, too, passed, your step-mother became Queen.

She was consumed by her jealousy and banished you from the castle.

And now, you were fleeing.

“I beg of you!”

The leaves of the Enchanted Forest crunch beneath your quick steps. A twig snaps as a cry befalls your trembling lips. You continue running, grasping fistfuls of the yellow shirt of your dress as you weave between the grandiose trees cloaking the sky with their canopy. The darkness is thick, shadows that whisper with beasts lurking amongst the wooded thicket.

But you are far more fearful of the Huntsman trailing after you.

He brandishes a sharp knife, gripping it at his shoulder. You turn at your shoulder to find him close and you shut your eyes as you brush past another tree. Someone save me! Please!

Bring me away from this!

As if the magic of the Enchanted Forest answers your desperate pleas — suddenly there is a man standing in front of you.

You are unable to slow your steps and you run into his firm chest. Yet, luckily, his strong arms reach out and he grasps at your shoulders, so that the two of you don’t collide or fall.

“Woah, woah, woah! Are you alright?”

You look up at your saviour. The person who has rescued you.

And your breath is stolen away from your lips. You wonder if this is what your mother always described to you when she used to read those bedtime stories back when the castle was still your home. You wonder if this is it: love at first sight.

The man has plump, pink lips, sheepish eyes and a sharp nose. He is without a sword, white horse or silver armor. Rather, a flat hat the colour of sand on top of his dark hair. His clothing is strange as well, a shirt of the same shade with an emblem on the sleeve — perhaps his kingdom’s crest — and his long pants are much darker.

But still, he is your prince.

“Are you alright?”

“There is a Huntsman chasing after me!” You turn around, still within his embrace. But as your breath catches up, there is no Huntsman. Have you lost him in the forest?

“I don’t see anyone,” your prince says.

“He must’ve gone when he saw you here.”

You turn back to your prince as he steps away from you, gazing down at your dress.

You feel shy. Your red cape is torn from being twisted by branches and your yellow skirt is dirtied from the mud. You never expected to encounter your prince in the Enchanted Forest. You always thought you’d meet him at a ball. But this dress, although dirtied and not as beautiful as the ballgowns the Evil Queen has, it was sewn by your mother. You cherish it deeply.

“Are you cosplaying?” he asks. “Or filming something?”

“Pardon me?” Your brows lift, unable to understand him.

Your Prince frowns. “Are you here alone?”

“Why, of course, I am. I was trying to get away.”

“You said someone was chasing you? Who?”

“I already said, it was the Huntsman.” You sigh. “Oh, goodness, I do not know why he would do such a thing, but it was quite frightening. I had no choice but to flee as quickly as possible!”

“Al-….right then.” He takes a black rectangle from his pants and you watch inquisitively as he squeezes the side. You’re startled when a noise comes from it. Yet the prince speaks into the rectangle. “Hello? Can we get a medic? We have a lost and distressed...unstable female down just off of the granular trail by the Marshall Springs, west of the river. Hello?”

You’re startled once more when he suddenly hits the rectangle with his hand. “Hello? Can anyone hear? Goddammit, why is it not working?”

You wonder if this is a magical contacting device from his kingdom. Perhaps he’s calling his knights. “Is everything alright, my prince?”

He looks up at you. “Huh?”

“I’m quite alright,” you reassure your handsome prince as a bashful smile comes across your features. “Now that you’re here.”

He’s silent for a few beats and then he sighs, placing the rectangle to hang off the top of his pants again. “Do you know what your name is?”

“It’s Y/N.” Your lashes flutter. “May I know yours?”

“I’m Seokjin, Park Ranger of Wood Buffalo National Park.” He points to the emblem on his sleeve. You’ve never heard of such a kingdom before, but it sounds absolutely splendid.

“Seokjin,” you murmur the name of your prince to seal it into memory.

“I’ll be able to help you. You don’t need to be scared,” he promises and you’re sure you must be dreaming. He is perfect. “Do you know how long you’ve been out here for?”

“Half a day, perhaps? I’ve been wandering the forest for quite some time.”

“What was your last memory?”

“Well, I was picking flowers and singing to the birds, but then I heard footsteps and I turned around and saw the Huntsman and started to flee. It was such a shame as I had to leave my daisies behind.”

You sigh softly, not noticing his incredulous expression and how he takes another step away from you. “Why won’t you take a seat, Miss Y/N. I’ll try my best to contact some help for you and get an assessment done.”

You’re not sure what he means but you nod, deciding to rest at a tree stump. Prince Seokjin tries to speak into his rectangle again, but there is little answer. It goes quiet as the beautiful forest sings, birds twiddling their song and the leaves rustle.

Your prince breathes out and then he looks at you, mustering a smile.

“You must really like Snow White,” he comments passingly.

But you gasp. How does he know the nickname of what the Evil Queen calls you?

No one else knows. Could it be that he’s working for her?

You stand, careening back from him. Seokjin’s eyes widen. “Are you alright?”

“Stay back!” you shout. You can’t believe you were almost tricked!

“Miss—!”

You flee from him.

“Wait!”

You turn around, tears welling into your eyes as you look at him. You don’t notice the rippling effect in front of you, like an invisible wall only visible to the eye if close attention is paid. You don’t notice it until you step past the boundary line and Seokjin suddenly vanishes from sight.

You slow to a stop. What.

You step back and as if the world ripples, he appears again. Right on the spot you last saw him.

You step forward and he disappears. You step back and he reappears.

Seokjin’s mouth has drawn open. He’s as bewildered as you are.

The magic of the Enchanted Forest is wondrous in ways you cannot and will not ever understand. Your mother once told you tales on how the trees are more ancient than mankind. That the fairies and elves, creatures and beasts, living inside have added to its mystic magic that have both answered pleas and punished wrongdoers when harm is done to the forest.

You are sure this is part of the Enchanted Forest’s magic too.

When you cross a certain point of the area, Seokjin vanishes from your sight and you do from his and when he crosses, you vanish from his sight and you no longer see him as well. It’s as if it’s a doorway and this place crosses between both of your paths.

You quickly learn that Seokjin is no prince of any kingdom. He belongs to a different world entirely.

“...and they lived happily ever after. The end.” You close the storybook he’s given to you, stunned at how your entire life has been simplified in these measly drawings and short sentences. “I...have to live in a small cottage with seven small men?”

“They’re dwarves,” he says.

You look up at him. “And I’m given a poison apple by the Queen?”

“Well, you’re saved by a handsome prince who gives you true love’s kiss…?”

“This is awful!” You sob out and the book falls to the ground. “I don’t want to return!”

Seokjin is wide-eyed, not sure what to say.

“I don’t want to live in a house with, with, with—”

“Dwarves,” he finishes.

“—or be poisoned and brought to an endless sleep, waiting until a prince’s lips touches mine, so I can wake up and live in his kingdom as his!” Hopelessness makes tears well in your eyes.

You were waiting for someone to rescue you — your prince and one true love. But now that you know what will eventually happen, you’re heartbroken. You thought once you were banished from the castle, you could live a peaceful and happy life. But there was still so much waiting for you.

You never return home. Yes, you meet your true love and the Evil Queen dies. But all that misery for a happy ending? The end doesn’t justify the means. It was still frightening. You’ve been chased by the Huntsman already and that fear is enough to make you tremble now. You can’t imagine living with seven small strangers, being poisoned, and brought to a deep sleep while not knowing when you will wake up again.

“I won’t leave,” you decide, placing your foot down.

It seemed like no one could enter this place except for you and Seokjin. The Huntsman couldn’t come when he was right behind you, so you’ll be safe from the Evil Queen and her henchmen.

“What?” Seokjin looks at you, blinking.

“I’ll stay here.”

He looks around the empty forest, appearing at a loss. His mouth opens, closes and then opens again. “I can’t in my good conscience leave a young woman to fend for herself.”

“Why not?” You tilt your head, unable to understand his concern. “I may not be able to defeat my evil step-mother and her magic, but I know the forest well enough and can still fend for myself.”

To prove it, your lips part and you start to sing.

At once, the birds hop from their branches and fly over to your feet. The squirrels emerge from their homes, rabbits from their burrows and a doe peeks out from the thicket. Seokjin is startled, taking a step back at all the animals and forest creatures emerging. Perhaps if he did not truly believe you were Y/N, Princess of your kingdom, and also Snow White from his storybook, he does now.

The creatures scurry away in disappointment when you stop singing.

Seokjin appears surprised. “Your voice is lovely— but I know this place might be your….your…”

“Enchanted Forest.”

“It might be your Enchanted Forest, but it’s also the Wood Buffalo National Park. It could have bears, wolves and bison. It’s dangerous. Especially at night.”

You look at Seokjin. Seokjin looks at you.

He ultimately sighs.

Throughout the next few days, Seokjin brings you supplies. He teaches you how to set something up called a tent and it’s absolutely wonderful to sleep in with the makeshift bed he calls a sleeping bag. He teaches you how to start a fire, brings you a chair that you can easily open up and a lantern for the night.

It starts to become a wonderful place, filled with knick-knacks such as the box that makes a fantastic drink called coffee to a bigger box that’s cold and holds in snacks he brings to you. He tells you these things can run on ‘solar power’ which is power from the sunshine. It’s magic.

Seokjin might not be a prince, but he is a kind man.

You also learn his job is a noble one. He walks through the forest and protects the creatures and heroes that wander in it. And while you may be from vastly different worlds, if there’s one thing you both have in common, it’s how much you cherish and love nature.

“I would like it if you could possibly bring me a shield or perhaps tools of some sort. Any scrap materials that you have no need for.”

Seokjin frowns, seated next to you on the log as he roasts the sweet treat called a marshmallow. His face is warm and glowing by the light of the fire. The forest is quiet but it feels peaceful. You find it’s always peaceful when he’s by your side. “What are you going to do with it?”

“I think I’m going to train and defeat the queen.”

“What?”

You roast the white puff until it’s golden on all sides. “I’ve been thinking that while I want to stay here, I don’t know if it can hide forever. I am not truly free until the Evil Queen has been defeated and I do not want to wait until she poisons me.” Your gaze meets his. “I want to protect myself.”

For the weeks that follow, you fashion sheets of metal into shields and weapons. Seokjin brings you a bow and arrows, and shows you how to shoot. You practice without rest on apples that you collect from the tree by the boundary line. That fruit has become your one true nemesis.

The arrow spirals out and thunks straight into the middle of the apple. It smacks into the trunk of the tree.

“Nice shot!”

You set your bow down, smiling widely at Seokjin who’s been watching you fondly.

“What are you going to do after you defeat the queen?” he asks in a murmur later that evening whilst helping you prepare dinner. He’s been coming to visit you every day now, after his work he says. You’re thankful for it — his company is something you’ve grown to yearn for.

You hum pleasantly. “I don’t know. Perhaps I will return. Don’t you think a cottage would be pleasant here?”

Your face lifts to find his softened gaze. He looks away just as quickly, yet he still murmurs, “Maybe I could bring you supplies.”

The two of you shyly smile to yourselves.

Seokjin may not be a prince, but he might just be the one you love.

#bts fanfic #bts scenario #jin fanfic #jin scenario #jin fluff #seokjin fanfic #jin reader insert #seokjin scenario #randomness4u #Jimlings

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daydream-believin · 4 years ago

Text

What About the Smaller Picture (3)

Summary: Merlin knows best. And what he feels is best for you and Douxie right now is to sit around and wait for him to come back from New Jersey, Merlin-knows-when. (3) You’ve adjusted to Arcadian life pretty well. (1) or (4)

Warnings: Swearing, sleep problems?

Word count: 2474

A/n: sorry this wasnt out sooner I’ve had a week

The curtains were blue. They had a little pattern of navy and white flowers and curvy lines like pottery painted with indigo. You had moved one of Doux’s bookshelves to be the second wall to allow the curtain rod to even be in place. This layout effectively created a nook of sorts around your little bed. To be frank the curtains weren’t absolutely necessary. The space kinda gave you university dorm vibes with the two twin beds across from each other. But there was no way you were letting this guy you barely knew watch you sleep. Even if you were good friends, you wouldn’t let him watch you sleep. That kind of vulnerability was special, reserved for only those closest to you.

Speaking of closeness, Douxie had been very adamant about you not calling him by his full name anymore. Made him feel like you were reprimanding him, he said. You could relate to the feeling, and so you were now being careful to replace all ‘Hisirdoux’s with ‘Douxie’s in your head. Or at least a ‘Doux’. Not ‘Babe’. Who told you that. You definitely never referred to him as Babe in your mind. Nope. That Is Not Something Friends Do.

“And,” Douxie rubbed the back of his neck, “Normally when people call me Hisirdoux nowadays it’s because they want to kill me. Only strangers and enemies call me that. Or Zoe when she’s pissed. So yeah, just Douxie is fine.”

“Just Douxie?”

He chuckled, “Yeah.” You looked up at him with a smile.

“Douxie.” He flushed, nodding. “Well, Douxie, what do you want for dinner tonight.”

That little nook you’d built hadn’t stopped Douxie from trying to talk to you all night, however. You’d think the curtains would be a clear message of don’t talk to me I want to be left alone but Doux hadn’t really taken that hint. You tried your best to brush him off the first few nights, even pretending to fall asleep. It didn’t stop him. By the fourth night you spent in Arcadia, you gave in. You had trouble sleeping anyways, as it was apparent so did your roommate, so might as well indulge him. It’s not like ignoring him did any good. Instead of staring at a blue-light screen that messed with your circadian rhythm, you talked about nonsense with Doux. And it was good nonsense. He was way too funny. Or maybe it’s that thing where if you’re into someone then everything they say is hilarious. You’ll never know. But it was nice, either way.

The funny thing was that not only did you actually start to like this, but now it was becoming hard to sleep without it. He helped. Your whole life you stayed up late, and then tossed and turned all night anyways. Now your bedtime routine was talk to Douxie for a few hours, slowly falling asleep, and then you’d sleep the whole night through like a baby. No more restlessness. No more waking up over and over again. Even if you did, you could just listen to him snore for a bit and fall right back to sleep. You guessed it was the feeling of safety he provided. Like someone was watching over you, even when you were at your most vulnerable. You’d never really had that luxury before.

You had started noticing the trouble coming back when he would stay out late sometimes. And Douxie was gone one night and you suddenly couldn’t sleep at all. This was bad. A problem, if you will. But no matter. There were more pressing things to worry about.

Like the fact that all week, Douxie had been hinting that he had something you two were going to do soon. He would not tell you what it was. In fact he was taking quite a bit of joy in dangling this “surprise” in front of your face but not telling you anything about it. It was driving you a little crazy. You hoped what he had planned was nothing too wild, though. It’s not that you weren’t down, you were just tired. But you could use a little shaking up. This bookshop existence was boring. You weren’t boring. You had enough crazy stories to last an immortal lifetime from growing up in New Jersey. Not just modern-day Urban New Jersey. Early colonial Quaker-dominated New Jersey was wild too. Especially as one of those infamous New England witches. Maybe Douxie was taking you on some magic errand. That would be great, you were dying to do something actually in your job description ever since you got here. Not that working in the bookshop wasn’t nice, it just wasn’t magic. You were craving magic.

But alas, as the sun was setting and the last patrons left the store, life moved on as mundanely usual. You flipped over the sign, scratched a sunbeam bathing Archie behind the ears, and started the process of re-shelving all the damn books that customers left strown about. The sunset turned the bookshop pink. There were fewer cars rushing by. Now that there were no customers, it was very peaceful. Just you, Archie’s snoring, and the soft lute music playing. The music was lute covers of popular songs, and at this point you were pretty sure it was Douxie himself who recorded this shit.

Speaking of Douxie, you hadn’t seen him all day. It had made working the bookshop extra extra boring. Like if he wanted you to be free labor, he could at least give you the decency of his lovely presence. But no, it was just you, all day long. All by your lonesome, with nary a cute theater-kid adjacent wizard to keep you entertained with his company. It was a travesty really. But anyways, where was he. Better not be having fun without you.

You like to think your thoughts summoned him. He came in through the back door, panting, disheveled. Singed? He frantically looked out the door’s window into the alleyway from which he had just came from, looking for something. Whatever it was, he must have seen it, since he looked panic-stricken. In a painfully obvious attempt to swallow the fear, he turned to you, trying his best to sound nonchalant.

“SO. You know that thing? The surprise? Well. It is here a little sooner than I expected it to bE—” A loud crashing noise came from the alleyway. “Oh, fuzzbuckets.”

You dropped the book in your hand. “WHAT DID YOU DO.”

There was another very loud crash, this time closer. Douxie glanced back for less than a moment before rushing over to you, taking you hand.

“I’ll just have to tell you on the way love, come on!”

You two fled out the front door of the shop like your tails were on fire. Speaking of tails on fire, once you rounded the shop to the alleyway, you found out just what Douxie had been running from that was making such loud noises. Hellheetis. Five large hellheetis. Blazing bright in the Arcadian dusk. How the neighbors haven’t already called the cops or the fire department was a mystery. The large lion-like creatures growled, stalking down the alley. It was only a matter of seconds before they smelled and or spotted you and went back into the chase. You had to make a plan and fast. Distracting you from your thoughts, Douxie nervously laughed beside you.

“hehe, uh, could you believe there was only one of these at the start?”

You slowly turned to the wizard, “Did you,, hit them, Hisirdoux?” You could call him that now because you were in fact pissed off at the moment.

“Only twice.”

“Only twice… Okay”

“I may not be the best at monster identification. Or remembering which tactic to use for which.”

“I can see that.” You tried to keep your voice as calm as you could, which got a little easier to do as the hellheetis turned down a different alleyway, putting some more distance between them and you. They were still searching though, that was apparent. Thankfully the stench of the alley trash was keeping you covered.

“Believe me, Archie gets onto me about this all the time.”

“It’s okay… just. I think I have a plan. But one of us has to be bait. And it’s going to be you.”

“That’s fair.”

You sprinted up the stairs of the bookstore and up through the ceiling hatch onto the rooftop. You first instinct was to get them to the center of the square, where you could use the fountain as a water source. The alley they had started going down opened up to the square anyhow. It would have been a straight shot. But dear Mr. Casperan made a fuss about that being too out in the open or whatever.

Next solution. The bookstore’s rooftop had a facet, Douxie told you. You’d like to imagine it was put there so some nice old lady could have had a sweet rooftop garden without too much hassle. Maybe you should start a sweet rooftop garden. You and Douxie could have a little oasis in the city up here. You could grow veggies and flowers for your table. Maybe make a cute little picnic area. Stargaze at night. The facet. You quickly found it and made work of turning it on. Or at least you tried your best. You could hear roaring, getting louder, getting closer. The scary growls and roars were punctuated by Douxie’s frantic footsteps, grunts, and gasps. Please don’t get eaten, Douxie.

The facet was so rusty, it took all of your strength to get it to budge. And then nothing came out really, the hose attached to it lifeless without so much as a trickle. You tried to unscrew it from the facet to see if there was a problem and the metal part of the hose disintegrated in your hand. Okay. No water was in fact coming out of that facet.

Imaginary sirens rang in your ears. You had to get water, fast, or your partner was gonna be kit & kadouxle. Hellheeti chow. Growl mix. Douxies. Fiery feast. The big cats were gonna eat him okay. After managing to get the facet turned as fast as you could, fueled on pure adrenaline, and still getting little to no water, you made a judgement call of fuck that. Magic time. To be completely frank here that should have been what you had done in the fucking first place, but hey, fear dulls the mind.

Gathering up as much water as you could, like, metaphorically feel in the pipe, you pulled that shit out with all your might. Aaaannddd because of this you may have not actually remembered that you would need to catch said water in order to, you know, use it. Instead of a nice bubble to be used at your discretion, a magic roof-water tidal wave washed over you and over the side of the building into the alley below. Thank your lucky fucking stars that Douxie just so happened to have gotten the fire felines to the right spot in time. The uncontrollable rain rushed down, dissipating the hellheetis, soaking Douxie darling, and flooding not only your alley but all the alleys connected to it. Holy shit, stop it! STOP IT! It took a second, but you did finally get the river to stop pouring out of your rooftop. Fingers crossed there were no basement windows open and all your neighbors had flood insurance. And that no one saw. Can’t be connected to you if no one saw right. Shhhhhh.

You peered over the ledge to see if Douxie was alright down below. He looked like a cat caught in the rain himself. You probably did too. Douxie’s soaked bangs covered his eyes. Nevertheless, he was able to see you up on the ledge and gave you a thumbs up. You awkwardly returned it.

Toweling off your hair, and now in nice dry pajamas, you walked out of the bathroom to join Douxie on the couch. His own hair towel hung around his shoulders. You took a moment to enjoy how cute he looked all ready for bed, cozy in the blankets on the couch. And that semi-wet hair was looking pretty nice too. You only allowed yourself to linger on this for that moment however, as you remembered you were supposed to be mad at him right now. You crossed your arms as you approached the wizard.

“SO, dearest Hisirdoux, may I have the decency of getting to ask the question, WHY.”

“Funny story really.”

“Really?” You raised a brow

“Really.”

Douxie fidgeted with his hands. You watched this little nervous gesture intently as you sat down next to him. He took a deep breath before beginning,

“First thing. You’ve been here for some time now, and I thought it was enough time for me to start sharing my little, er, excursions with you,” Douxie’s face flushed a little, “I like monster hunting, and now that I know that I like you, I thought I’d like it more if I brought you along with me?”

Your face was flushed a little too now. “Hey, stop it, I need to be mad at you.” Yeah well the smile you wore gave up any pretense of that. Sorry.

“I didn’t know how familiar you were with monsters or how skilled at fighting you were, so I decided to go get some test monsters from Mervin the Monster Dealer, just to make sure our first time would be safe. FIRST TIME MONSTER HUNTING TOGETHER.”

You stifled a chuckle. “And you didn’t just ask me?”

“It was supposed to be a cool surprise okay.” He buried his face in his hands.

“… Hellheetis?” Safe monster your ass.

“Yes, I mean no, I- Mervin sold me the wrong thing alright. I thought I was buying those cute little fire sprite things you can easily just put out with your boot.”

This time you did not hold back that laughter. And you laughed, and Douxie laughed, and soon both of you were uncontrollably cackling until you were out of breath. Archie came in to see what the commotion was about and then promptly turned back around to go back to his spot in the window. You clutched your chest, still cracking up despite the lack of oxygen. Douxie wiped some tears from his eyes you were sure hoping were just from laughing too hard. You rubbed a hand on his back.

“So, I think I’ve had enough excitement for one day. How bout movie night?”

Douxie’s tired eyes smiled at you, “Yeah, I think that would be lovely.”

“Hey, I had a good first monster hunt, Douxie. Thank you,” You pulled your cold feet up under your legs, “But could you stop hogging the blankets!”

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