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crystalflygeo · 18 days

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Last of her kind Emperor!Alpha!Zhongli + Omega!Dragoness!Reader

cw/tags: Your usual mentions of slavery and sexual themes, A/B/O dynamics and heat mentions. Also allusions to depression and mentions of death.

notes: Aahahaha this took forever..... allow me top explain: first of all my new job is killing me and second of all I'm going through a hard period where I don't really like anything I write anymore. This work in particularly I kept struggling with the pacing, the dialogues, the way I wanted feelings to come across or scenes to flow it's just hhhnnnggg. I told a couple of friends that I set the bar so high with the first part I feel like nothing else I write will be that good. Then the second part was "ok" but cut off in a cliffhanger and has been there for SO LONG that now I feel this will be underwhelming after all the buildup//hit

I hope it's not. I hope it's good.

Anyway this part is in Zhongli's pov and contains flashbacks which will be fully in italics! Enjoy! and thanks for caring so much about this story ;w; ILU all <3

<- Part 2.

Your instincts mess up with your head.

Your crying and anxiety have simmered to a cold numbness.

Hours blur together, time loses meaning.

The doctor comes by sometimes. The maids bring you food. But everything feels… off, distant.

This doesn’t feel… like your usual heats.

You curl up and sob, a choked soft noise.

You don’t feel hot, but rather cold. Limbs weak. Dizzy.

Your heart aches.

You’re so tired.

And so sleepy…

Zhongli puts down the seal stamp and deflates back into his chair with a sigh, he must have read the same line at least five times already. He cannot concentrate at all. It’s not even been three days and each hour, each minute, feels eternal.

He’s already gotten so used to your presence, so smitten with you and your little quirks, your rare smiles, the way your ears and tail flicker, your pretty eyes…

And he remembers those same eyes begging for him, teary. Your pitiful cry. Your distressed scent.

Guilt eats at him. As well as something else…

He’s been restless, barely slept. Your scent is a siren’s song on the blankets, tart and fresh and tantalizing, but you are not with him. Anxious energy flows in his veins. This emotion, this thing that is like regret and sorrow and fear all tangled together, cleaves him through. His instincts are screaming at him, rattling inside a cage of his own making. His mate, his precious Omega is in heat, you’re scared and lonely and need him. Zhongli has to suppress a growl and feel the shudder of his scales at the fact that he’s not with you. In your nest. Taking care of you.

It’s agonizing.

"How is she?"

The same question, over and over, at any chance he gets.

"She refuses to eat, your majesty." Xiao tells him, and he can feel the concern in the younger Alpha’s voice. “According to the maids she only took a few bites of the ajilenak nuts, the rest of the food was left untouched.”

…

"She's um... she's always sleeping when I go check up on her." Ganyu explains a little crestfallen. She too is worried. “A-at least I think she’s in no pain… she was clinging to one of your hanfus.”

…

"You should go see her, Zhongli." Ping states, a rare serious expression on her usual gentle factions. “Baizhu says she’s going through the worst case of separation sickness he’s ever seen. Is that really what you want your poor Yin to go through?”

He lets out a frustrated rumble.

“Of course not. But it’s for the best, I don’t want to… take advantage of her, or force her to anything.” Zhongli frowns, trying to focus on the papers in front of him again, in an attempt to ignore her piercing gaze.

“Is it really any of that if she wants her mate?” Ping retorts. “She was begging you.”

I know.

He growls this time, and shakes his head at his memory of you. It haunts him.

“She doesn’t know what she wants.”

“So, you’re deciding for her then? Is that it? Honestly, are you listening to yourse-”

“She’s been conditioned to serve.” He cuts her off, voice grave and somber. “Trained to be submissive and please. She likes me simply because I’m kind to her, she wants me because she thinks it’s her obligation as my mate. I feel the pull of the bond too, the need, the yearning. But I also know she is afraid of Alphas and she thinks… she thinks she has to obey me. That she owes me something or that own her.” His eyes narrow. “I didn’t need to bond her. I shouldn’t have bonded her. I just… wanted her to be free and instead I chained her to me. And now she’s in heat…”

And it drives him insane.

“Listen to me, we’ve both spent time with her, enough to know she’s opening up and learning to voice her feelings…” Ping reasons gently. “It’s a slow process, don’t hurt her this way. At the very least… go see her.”

“I lost control once with just one kiss from her. I will not do it again. I will not harm her any further.”

The elderly woman keeps silent for a few moments. Zhongli sighs and rests his forehead in his palm in defeat.

And then Ganyu approaches, a little tense, a stack of papers in her hands.

“Your majesty, the Qixing are starting to arrive, council meeting will begin soon.”

“Very well. Thank you Ganyu.” He stands up and nods at her, then turns to Ping and his demeanor softens a little. “You know I just want to correct my mistakes, and give her the life she deserves. At least a fraction of it, of happiness.”

It wasn’t supposed to go this way… Zhongli sighed as he walked up to the room where the “reunion” with the sumerian would take place. It was long overdue seeing as he had spent the night by your side, refusing to leave after you had cried and begged so desperately…

After he had bonded you.

He had initially taken the eremite’s claims with a grain of salt, but naturally he had to make sure. The last dragonblood had supposedly died decades ago, so how…?

And yet when he saw you for the first time in that room, he knew.

You were real, you were beautiful. Suddenly he felt a million things at once: He wanted to get to know you, stay close to you, protect you. Old draconic instinct vibrating excitedly on his soul. You smelled vaguely familiar, your tail was gorgeous, your ears adorable. What if you didn’t like him though? What if he harmed you? Scared you? Suddenly he was nervous, nervous of ruining this, nervous in a way he hadn’t been in so long, like when he’d been young and Liyue had been at war and he had lost everything to fire and smoke and dust and he had to make difficult decisions and-

He had always calculated his moves. No room for risks. Too much at stake.

But you, you disarmed him. Completely.

You, with your polite gentleness despite the obvious cracks beneath the surface.

You, with your beautiful looks and enormous potential, even if you didn’t see it yourself.

You, with that look of yearning and hope, with your soft lips and sweet moans, with your warm body fitting perfectly against his.

For once, he allowed himself to make a decision with his heart, not logic, not politics. Just instincts.

And he claimed you…

…

He enters the room. A couple Millelith soldiers stationed by the door, Xiao standing by his side loyally as he sits at his place of honor as the emperor. Your ‘master’, an Alpha eremite named Zaheer, kneels respectfully a little below.

“I see you liked her, your majesty” He offers a sly smirk. “Did she satisfy you properly? She’s been trained on her gag reflexes to-”

Zhongli -Morax- resists the urge to growl. “We are not here to discuss that.”

“Ah, of course, business!”

Business.

“Since she’s such an exotic and well-trained slave I suppose we could agree on…”

“Do you think of me an idiot, Zaheer?” Morax’s eyes narrow.

“P-Pardon me?”

“She is a pureblood xiānshòu. I want to know exactly how she ended up being enslaved by you and your people.”

Cold and calculating golden eyes stare down at the eremite.

“W-What… she’s desert-born!” Zaheer retorts back angrily “She was born at a heat house. Maybe she has traits from your people because one of them decided to get a cheap fuck while traveling.”

“You expect me to believe that?” Morax asks unfazed “Liyue has records of the last of her kind disappearing and presumably being murdered when a village near Sumeru borders was razed to the ground. Do you have a disclosure?”

Zaheer stands up and growls, clearly an Alpha not used to having to bow his head and accept things not going his way.

Clearly an Alpha used to intimidating and attacking others.

Xiao wields his spear and changes his stance to an offensive one. The Millelith guards also tense.

Zaheer gets even more irritated, feeling like a caged animal. Backed into a corner. “Emperor or not” He starts through gritted teeth. “If you’re not going to pay me then I’ll take my merchandise back and do business elsewhere where I’m not being accused of ridiculous claims.”

“You’re right that I won’t be doing any business with you, but we’ll see how ridiculous those claims truly are. Zaheer, by my word as the emperor you will now remain detained in Liyue.” Morax sentences.

The eremite’s red eyes widen in shock and rage and the desert-dweller shoots up to attack Morax, getting easily overpowered and neutralized by Xiao’s quick moves. In seconds his weapon drops to the floor as the Yaksha general points his spear at the unconscious man. The Millelith quickly retrieve him and the blade before Morax simply nods at them.

Months. It had been months since then and he had to begrudgingly release the man as no accusation connected him to anything. They were essentially out of leads. There did appear to be documentation of your birth at a desert village but Zhongli would be hard pressed to believe the half-assed story you’ve been told…

And since you are pureblood, then both of your parents, and most importantly your dam, was also a dragonblood. That’s at the very least one Liyue citizen enslaved in a foreign nation.

He would get to the bottom of this.

For now, however, he had to cast those worries aside.

The Seven members of the council sit around the large table, the Liyue Qixing, leaders of all the commerce and trade sectors of the nation.

Zhongli takes his place at the head of the table. Ganyu does so as well by the sideline.

“Very well, what’s our first topic today?”

“Did Master just… leave?”

There was silence at the table, Zhongli and Ping sit frozen and you get just a bit nervous.

It’d been a few days since you started your new life, and though Zhongli was sure you were warming up to it he knew you still had a long way to go. It was probably still a little surreal for you… such a big change from everything you knew.

The tension on his shoulders quickly drops again. He continues eating. “Yes.” He says simply. Ping follows his lead, saying nothing.

The faster you forget about that eremite, the better.

“Hm…” You continue eating as well. Your expression is a little conflicted…

You inhale.

“Was he… happy… that I finally found a mate?”

Zhongli turns to you sharply and tenses again like a cat bristling. He holds back his tongue so as to not say something he’d regret. Why do you still care about that despicable man’s opinion? Why do you still seek his approval? Did you really think he cared about you? Zhongli desperately wants to make you understand how that slave-owner only saw you as an object, how he fed you lies, how his mistreatment is inexcusable…

But he can only imagine how deep your scars run, and how that toxic mindset has settled and accompanied you for years. He cannot judge you for caring about someone who doesn’t deserve it.

“Why do you ask, dear?” Ping asks instead.

“I don’t know…” You mumble, poking at the congee with your spoon. “I always wanted to make him proud.”

Proud.

Him?

“I think what matters most is how you feel.” Zhongli says, his hand reaching out for yours invitingly and you place your fingers on his palm, getting a soft reassuring squeeze. “You don’t need to rely on how others view you or think about you.”

You seem thoughtful for a second, your ears flickering back insecure but then standing up alert again. “I am happy” You admit. “Very happy. I have the best mate in the world.” You smile brightly.

Zhongli’s heart does a flip.

“With the excessive rains in the northern villages, there have been many floods and a lot of crops have been severely damaged or lost. Our previous contingency plan is in action already and donations are being sent to help the affected families. However, we must prepare for a decline in the harvest of certain grains and vegetables this season, as well as an increase in prices for a few months due to the shift in demand and supply.” Keqing explains expertly, the young alpha’s expression is serious and solemn.

“It’s an opportunity to strengthen commerce with Mondstadt and Sumeru.” Ningguang chimes in, leaning back on her chair, arms crossed. “The value of jade and other crystals is on the rise as well.”

“Not to mention, we’ll be employing several architects from the Akademiya to help with the rebuilding.” Keqing adds, turning to Ganyu, who nods.

“Greater lord Rukkhadevata and lesser Lord Kusanali have agreed on a certain exchange program with Liyue. I started drafting up some proposals already if you’d like to see.” The blue-haired secretary passes along some documents.

Ningguang’s eyes skim along the page. “It’s almost like our new Sumeru-born empress was a sign.” She smirks. “By the way, where is she?” She turns to Zhongli, curious about her fellow Omega.

“She’s rather indisposed at the moment.” The emperor replies dryly, not wanting to delve much onto the touchy subject. “Ganyu this looks good, however we need to think about-”

There is a knock that quickly surprises everyone. Who could interrupt a council meeting and why?

Baizhu peeks in with Changsheng curled around his neck, a frown on his usually gentle features. “Your majesty, a word. It’s an emergency.”

All the members at the table stare silently as Zhongli stands and follows the doctor.

Ganyu has a bad feeling…

“We have no time, follow me.” The green-haired doctor walks briskly along the wooden corridors, he looks… frustrated, dejected.

“What’s wrong?”

He doesn’t want to panic. He never panics. But something inside him does. It’s obvious that this has to do with you.

“I apologize, your majesty. I thought it was just a case of separation sickness but… the empress is showing signs of widow’s wasting.”

Zhongli stops.

His heart skips a beat. His skin prickles with dread.

“She’s… dying?”

Baizhu shakes his head. “It hasn’t reached that point yet, but… she’s deteriorating.”

The guilt is back. The fear.

“Given what happened, I’m pretty certain the shock of your rejection was the trigger. Still, it is highly unusual for a Yin to suffer from widow’s wasting without their partner actually dying, even more so for it to settle so quickly. Her reaction is akin to someone who had never left their mate’s side for years.” Baizhu explains.

You trusted him.

And he turned his back on you.

What have I done?

“In any casssse, it’ssss not too late.” Changsheng’s little voice pipes in. Baizhu keeps leading the way and Zhongli follows, though he obviously knows the entire palace like the palm of his hand, at the moment his thoughts are scattered and far far away.

“She needs her mate’s reassurance. I have done what I can with medicine but this is a bonded pair matter.” Finally, he stops at a juncture and turns to Zhongli. “Please, your majesty, only you can save her. I will tell Ganyu, Xiao and Ping of the situation, and if you need anything, just ask.”

Zhongli nods, mute.

The snake narrows her eyes. “Don’t leave her sssside.”

“Changsheng.” Baizhu shushes.

She is right to chastise him. He deserves that and more.

“I won’t.” Zhongli nods and heads down the hall.

Widow’s wasting.

The words echo in his head. He’s seen the damage it can do. How a broken bond, the loss of the most important person, can destroy someone inside. Did you really care that much about him? Did he really hurt you that badly?

“Please…”

He didn’t mean to.

“I have the best mate in the world.”

He feels like a monster.

“I want to stay with you. Sleep together. Like mates.”

He needs to see you. He needs to make sure you’re ok…

He stands in front of the nest room. The same one where he first met you.

Opening the doors only slightly to slip inside, Zhongli's eyes widen and a hand flies to cover his nose and mouth when a strong smell shakes him to his very core.

The room he expected to be completely saturated with intense heat pheromones… instead bears the acrid scent of despair.

This isn’t the lustful call to breed and have children that made an omega vulnerable and pliant. No. It is a desperate cry from a heartbroken omega for their mate to come back, to stay with them, to love and protect them. It is grief.

You are suffering because of him.

To think all this time… he was afraid he'd make you uncomfortable. That he’d scare you, hurt you, ruin the bond you’ve carefully built. Instead, he is overcome by an all-consuming terror. Every part of him screaming at his mate's weak essence.

And there you are, his precious treasure, his sweet dragoness.

You lay curling in on yourself letting out small muffled sobs.

“Y/n…”

No reaction.

“Darling, my dear dragoness…” He rushes up to you immediately, grabs your hand and pets your hair. You look so weak, your skin is feverish, how has it only been three days? It feels like a lifetime…

You shift a little and your eyes blink open, staring at him dazed, red and puffy and your expression defeated. You let out a pitiful whine and more of that bitter sad scent is released.

“No my dear, don’t cry, I’m here. I’m sorry, I’m so sorry.” Zhongli coos as he curls up to you, frantically starting to scent and nip at your neck and shoulders affectionately. His horns manifest and his tail follows through, lashing about a little restless. The bond… feels wrong, broken. He should be able to intimately feel you this close and yet…

He tries to reposition you a little so you can lie on top of him, rest on his chest. It’s concerning how easily he can do so, you’re like a ragdoll in his arms, unresponsive and unmoving. His hands cup your face, thumbs rubbing at the traces of tears in your cheeks. You let out a frustrated whimper. “Shhhh shh it’s okay. I’m so sorry.”

Even if he says it a million times, it won’t feel enough.

Zhongli nuzzles at your neck and proceeds to do something he hasn’t done since he was practically a teen. He purrs. It’s a little rusty, comes off more as a grumbling but it seems to work as he feels you relax just slightly in his arms.

“I’m right here” Zhongli’s deep voice assures you, tugging you closer, mouthing at the soft skin along your collarbone. “I’m not going anywhere and I’m all yours, I promise, I promise. I won’t leave you alone, not ever.” He soothes.

He lowers a bit of your clothes at the shoulder and grazes his fangs along your faded mark, you tense and let out a long shaky breath.

“Everything will be ok.” He kisses the spot. “I’m sorry.”

And then he sinks his fangs in to reestablish the claim.

You cry out in pain and squirm, clawing at his clothes, but he holds you, his hand rubbing circles at your back, his tail intertwining with yours.

...

.....

...

At first nothing changes, but after a few moments… a low strained purr bubbles up from within you again.

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nordarknessdimsthesky · 9 months

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A linguistic analysis of tumblr hyperbole in the tags

This post expands my previous analysis of hyperbolic reactions to cluster tags by themes. There were too many themes, some of them overlapping, to create a cohesive graph. Instead, I present several overarching themes from a data set of 50 tags observed and documented in various corners of tumblr.

1. Feeling Normal™️

Tags within this cluster profess Normal feelings (read: extreme excitement, enthusiasm, obsession, derangement, etc.).

#mmmmrrrghuhhhhghhh #I'm so normal about it teehee #absolutely not rending my clothing #feeling very normal and not feral at all #i will simply never recover #gif sets sent to personally destroy me #i can't cope #the eyes #i'm a puddle #i am INCONSOLABLE #i am DISTRAUGHT #IM NOT OKKAAAAAAYYYYYY #FEELING TOTALLY ONE HUNDRED PERCENT NORMAL

2. Feralness

The following data points conjure animalistic behavior. There’s a non-zero amount of biting and chewing involved.

#chomping biting barking #biting my arms off #rattling my cage #[incoherent biting noises] #chewing glass #chewing through wood #*shaking the bars of my enclosure* HELLO!!!!!!!! #climbing the walls #biting gnawing chewing #im gonna rip off my front door and eat it

3. Noisy Emotional Outbursts

These tags encompass crying, screaming, yelling, and other loud reactions.

# shaking sobbing crying #SCREAMIIIING BANGING MY HEAD ON THE WALL #*no thoughts only wailing* #i am SOBBING #IM CRYING LIKE A BITCH #*just fucking yelling* #S C R E A M #screeching into a pillow #brb sobbing for 5-7 business years

4. Throwing

All of these tags except the last one involve being thrown instead of throwing things. I, personally, am entertained by the range of places/situations people are throwing themselves into.

#i am going to THROW MYSELF into the SEA #hurl me into the sea #hurl me into the sun #trebuchet me into the sun #hurl me straight at europa #vent me out of an airlock #slam me against a wall #put me in a box and throw me down the stairs #throwing myself into traffic you know? #just defenestrate me already #defenestrate me #absolutely hurl me through plate glass #i'm going to start tossing furniture

5. Bodily Harm

There’s a good deal of overlap with the previous theme. Nearly all of the tags involving throwing would result in varying degrees of bodily harm. Here are the tags outside of the Throwing subgroup.

#im going to throw upppppp #tearing my hair out #banging my head against the wall #SCREAMIIIING BANGING MY HEAD ON THE WALL #biting my arms off #microwaving myself #crumple me up and microwave me

6. Absurdism

My personal favorite cluster. The imagery conjured and resulting comedic hyperbole is just [chef’s kiss].

#im gonna rip off my front door and eat it #crumple me up and microwave me #put me in a box and throw me down the stairs #defenestrate me #absolutely hurl me through plate glass

7. Keysmashes

These tags center less around meaning and more around style, so they form the last group. A handful of these could fall under Noisy Emotional Outbursts because they represent reaction noises. In my linguistic judgment, keysmashing increases the hyperbole – consider augh versus aughfhghghghhh – the latter reads as prolonged and more intense emotionally.

#aghdjakgsjadhjaka * #hrhrhrhgnnnghhhhh #aughfhghghghhh #mmmmrrrghuhhhhghhh #I'm so normal about it teehee #waughfhghghh #oughhhhghghhh

*one digression in a friend discord server was how people interpret keysmashes in their minds. Some hear the first couple letters and then some sputtering, others hear static. It’s a common joke that you need a minor in linguistics to understand conversations in this friend group. Such is the nature of things when the chaos linguist energy is strong.

#internet linguistics #tumblr linguistics #tumblr dialect #hyperbole #linguistics #tumblr #speaking and musing #the chaos linguist speaks

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edgebug · 6 months

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ariana-winchester95 · 3 years

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The Hard Way (Smut)

Pairing: Park Jimin x Reader

Warnings: sub!Jimin, ruined orgasm, begging, use of handcuffs, use of a vibrator, male chastity

Once inside the door to our shared apartment, I slammed Jimin against the wall. Sliding down the wall he spread his legs letting me stand between them, allowing us to be eye to eye. His hands gripped my waist as I started trailing wet kisses up and down his neck, leaving tiny bruises in my wake.

“You’re in trouble, baby boy.” I whispered in his ear, relishing in the way his body shuddered in anticipation.

I started sucking his sweet spot just under his ear, causing his body to roll against mine and the smallest of gasps to fall from him parted lips. His eyes fluttering shut as his head fell back against the wall. My hands wandered into Jimin’s hair, pulling on the soft strands as I trailed my lips along his jaw. I pushed my thigh right next to his caged cock, letting him feel only the slightest of sensations, causing a breathy gasp to tumble through the air. Acting quick, I pressed my lips firmly to his, not giving him any time to kiss back before I pulled away. Chuckling as I shook my head, hearing Jimin whine as he chased after my lips. Placing his arms around my neck, I moved my hands down to the backs of his thighs. Jimin only had to jump a fraction, before I carefully held him up in my arms, his legs locking behind my back.

“My strong noona.” Jimin beamed, taking his opportunity to run a hand over my arm, admiring the small back strong muscle on my bicep as I walked us towards our bedroom.

“Flattery is going to get you nowhere tonight, Minie,” I warned, placing a firm smack to his arse, causing his body to falter his head falling to my shoulder.

I placed Jimin down on to the floor, detangling his legs from my waist, his arms moving to circle me. My own hands moving to his cheeks, bringing his face down to meet my lips in a soft kiss.

“Strip for me,” I ordered softly, my lips brushing over his, before withdrawing myself from his grasp and sitting on the edge of the bed.

He started pulling off his shirt, slowly, his gaze never wavering from mine. His shirt now discarded somewhere behind him, he started on his belt buckle. He was taking his sweet time pulling the leather through the belt loops, I almost ordered him to move faster, if I wasn’t drinking in his naked torso. He then tugged the leather harshly pulling it straight out and out of sight, causing my jaw to drop slightly. I pulled my bottom lip watching him now make a show of this, running his down his chest to the top of his jeans, swaying his hips as he slowly undid the button and zipper.

Turning to his side, he started pushing the denim down his strong legs. Bending at the hips to push the fabric down to his ankles, showcasing his flexibility. Slowly rising to an upright position he kicked his jeans off his feet and kicking them elsewhere. Turning his back to me, he pushed his thumbs into the waistband of his briefs, he turned back to look at me over his shoulder before doing the same thing as he did with the jeans. My eyes followed his every move, took in every bit of skin revealed to me. Standing back up, he turned around.

“Good boy. Come here and lay on the bed.” I instructed, patting the mattress. With a small smile at my praise, he followed my order situating himself comfortably on the mattress.

I got up from the bed and walked to the chest of drawers. Opening the bottom drawer, I pulled out his favourite bondage toy; fluffy, pink handcuffs. I could see the excitement flicker in his eyes when I turned around, the pink handcuffs dangling off my finger.

“Are you ready, baby boy?” I asked softly, dragging the handcuffs lightly over his skin as I walked towards the top of the bed, watching the goosebumps rise on his skin as he wriggled from the tickling sensation.

“Yes, noona.” His voice was breathless like he’d ran a marathon before falling on the bed to catch his breath. “I’m ready.”

“Arms up,” I spoke, and no sooner did he place his arms, stretched above his head. “Good boy.” I praised.

I secured a cuff around one wrist before lopping the other end around a bar and securing the last cuff onto the other wrist. He tugged firmly on them as a test before I could even ask the question.

“Such a good boy, baby.” I cooed, running a finger lightly over his jaw, leaning in close. “Now, be an extra good boy and rest here a bit.”

Not giving him a second glance, I left his side, hearing the frustrate whine fill the bedroom as I moved out of his eyesight. I took my time walking into the living room, tidying up our long-forgotten shoes before making my way into the kitchen. Having a glass of water and biscuit, I then opened a drawer and pulled out a candy cane. Closing the drawer, I slowly made my way back into the bedroom. Jimin’s whines got louder, seeing my body now ridden of everything but my panties and bra. I paid him no mind, grabbing my phone and then sitting on the bed next to him, close but not close enough to touch. I started scrolling through Facebook, looking but not paying attention to anything and chewing on the candy cane.

“Please, noona.” He soft, broken voice rasped, as he watched me suck on the now straight candy cane. Pulling on the handcuffs to steal my attention from the tiny screen. He let out a strangled groan when I didn’t give what he wanted. He’d been wanting attention the whole night and he wasn’t going to get it easily.

His whines and groans got progressively frequent, the rattling of the handcuffs annoyingly loud. His whole body writhed and wiggled, I can hear him turning his from side to side and every so often his leg would hit my foot.

“What’s wrong, Minie?” I asked, my voice muffled by the last bit of the candy cane completely in my mouth, and not bothering to look away from the tiny screen in my hand, only making him groan louder.

“Want you to touch me, noona,” he begged, pulling on the handcuffs in frustration. “Please.” He added, voice barely above a whisper.

“Give me a reason why.” I quipped, hearing a squeaky whine of defeat. Still not taking my eyes off the post I’ve read 4 times now.

“I’ve been a good boy.” He stated, catching my attention. I snapped my gaze to his and clicked my tongue.

“That’s where you’re wrong,” I stated, turning my phone off and placing it on the bedside table, “If you were a good boy, you wouldn’t have gone looking for attention by strangers at the bar now would you?”

I rolled to my side, using my hand as support my eyes took in his already fucked out stated. Looking so pretty laying there, stripped down to nothing, hands restrained to the bed frame. His chest rising with quick, shallow breaths, small whines muffled by biting his plush bottom lip. His cock red and angry, within the cage he’s been in nearing 2 weeks, with plenty up frustrations of not being able to cum. My eyes followed the path of my fingertips, lightly tracing up and down the length of his torso.

“Please noona, I didn’t mean too.” Jimin pleads, trying to shift his body away from me, as I ran my nails over his soft skin. “I want you” he added softly, breathlessly.

“You want me?” I paused, letting him nod. His eyes full of desperation, plush lip caught between his teeth. “If you wanted me, you could have come straight to me and we wouldn’t have to go through this. Instead, you paraded yourself around the bar.” I continued, leaning in closer, taking my wandering hand to his cheek.

“I’m sorry, noona, I made a mistake.” He declared, his hooded eyes never wavering away from my stern gaze.

“You did, baby boy, and now you’re going to cum” Swinging a leg over his stomach, back facing him, I looked over my shoulder to his surprised gaze. “On my terms, as punishment.”

Running my fingertips lightly over his firm thighs, I watched as they quivered. He sucked in a breath as my fingers got closer to his aching dick, and then let out a helpless cry as my fingers moved further away.

“Please just touch me, noona!” He cried, pulling fiercely on the handcuffs. I was sure that if I was to look behind me, he would look so pretty; eyes screwed shut, whines and moans slipping from his plush lips and hair everywhere. I smoothed my hands over his thighs, massaging the muscles, the clammy skin pulling witty my movements.

“I am touching you baby.” I sang, bringing my hands incredibly close to his cock, but not giving him the satisfaction of being touched just yet.

“Touch me more. It hurts!” Jimin almost screamed, kicking his legs and trying to raise his hips but I held them down with my weight.

“What hurts, Minie?” I asked, running my hands down to his shins slowly.

“My dick, please noona.” His voice came out croaky, all the groaning gasps, now showing their mark on his throat.

“You have such a pretty cock, Minie.” I teased sweetly, tracing feather-light lines over him. He groaned trying to raise his hips, searching for more friction. “So red and angry, all caged up. Just begging to be touched. Begging for a release.”

“Do you want me to make it better, baby?” I asked softly, taking my hands off him and placing them back on his thighs.

“Yes, please!” He sobbed, kicking his legs again, making me giggle a bit. “Please, make it better, noona!”

“Such a pity it won’t happen soon.” I taunted, leaning over to open a drawer of a bedside table, pulling out a bullet vibrator. A small, strangled whine sounded behind me letting me know he saw what I had.

Putting the vibrator in my mouth, I swirled my younger around it a few times, coating it in my saliva. I turned it on once I released it from my mouth, and brought the small bullet to Jimin’s caged cock. Running it up and down over his length, and balls. Jimin’s cry’s came out loud and frequent, hips bobbing up and down. I brought the bullet to the head of his cock, staying there until his moans turned to screams. He let out a grunt as I took the vibrator away, letting him catch his breath before repeating the same action a few more times.

“Close, noona.” He whispered between small gasps, “Please, may I cum?”

“No.” Jimin squealed like he was a little boy, getting told to do their homework. His body thrashed, rattles of the handcuffs

“You just couldn’t wait a few more hours, could you. You would have been out of this cage and came by now.” I reminded, bringing the small bullet to the head of his cock again, “But you chose the wrong way out, baby boy.”

“I-I’m sorry, noona.” He gasped, his whole body seemed to then shut down, completely spent, yet nearing his release. “P-please can I cum, n-noona?” Jimin stuttered.

“How bad do you want it, baby boy?” I questioned, circling the bullet around his caged tip.

“So bad, noona. I’m your good boy, please let me cum.” Using what was left of his energy, his body started writhing again.

“You may cum, baby” I granted, taking the bullet away, turning it off, as soon as his orgasm hit. Jimin released a strangled cry, as his back arched up, I watched as he expelled ropes of cum onto his thighs.

I rolled off Jimin, placing the little vibrator back in its place, listening to his heavy breaths as he came down from his high. I got up from the bed, retreating the bathroom to grab a damp washcloth. Returning, I ran the cloth over his thighs ridding him of his cum before I placed myself on Jimin’s thighs, leaning over him to remove the handcuffs. I softly placed kisses upon his red-banded wrist and placed a soft kiss upon hips parted lips before sitting back up. I made quick but careful work of removing the cage from his cock, Jimin hissing every so often from the over-stimulation and then releasing a relieved sigh, once freed from the cage.

“Feel better?” I asked, putting the chastity cage away, Jimin could only nod, his energy drained.

“You did so well, Bub.” I praised, running a clean area of the cloth over Jimin’s forehead, as he smiled.

Discharging the cloth on the bedside table, I laid down next to Jimin, resting my head on his chest, and wrapping an arm around his waist. Jimin’s arm sluggishly wrapped itself around my waist, slowly rubbing up and down. We rested like that for what felt like minutes, but it was only second before Jimin’s voice filled our silence.

“Noona?”

“Yes, baby.” I replied, looking up at his concerned gaze.

“You didn’t cum.” He stated.

“I don’t need too.” I protested, shaking my head. “Save that for the morning, when you’re well rested, Minie.” I added sweetly.

“Okay, noona.” He agreed. “Goodnight.” Jimin added, voice muffled as he pressed his lips to my cheek.

“Night,” I whispered, cuddling into his chest, “love you baby.”

“Love you too, noona.”

Taglist: @alternateafterthought | @haven-raven012591 | @mitzwinchester

#bts #bts smut #bts jimin #park jimin #bts imagines #bts scenarios #sub!jimin

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platypanthewriter · 3 years

Text

Fuck the Afterlife

Don’t worry, nobody’s dead...that we know. Harringrove April Prompt Day 24: Afterlife! A misunderstanding leads to everybody appreciating Billy a whole lot.

Billy couldn’t stop snickering under the sheet, even with Steve’s arms around him, and his face sniffling against Billy’s side, so Max stalked over to the bed and kicked Billy’s leg. “Shut up,” she slurred, at five in the morning, her hand locked with Lucas’. Their wedding rings gleamed. “You’re dead, remember,” she told Billy, “—so shut the hell up.” Will giggled from over by the window, wiping his eyes, but El still looked solemn.

“You shut up,” Billy hissed back. “Stop drinking, everybody, jesus, how come I’m the only sober person here.”

“You think I’m gonna turn down free liquor,” Erica Sinclair said, sitting against the windowsill, and playing with the little umbrella in her glass. Robin laughed, leaning against the window, tears streaking down her face.

“Because…’cause we all thought. Thought you were dead,” Nancy muttered, staggering into the foot of the bed, and leaning her elbows on the footboard. “Steve here was drunk before he even called us.”

“I’m just saying, if I have to lie here like a corpse with a sheet over my face—” Billy started, but Max cut him off.

“Dead men don’t get cocktails,” she said, waving something blue, and taking a swig. “We gather here to celebrate the life of one Billy Hargrove,” she intoned, to general sniffles and giggles. “So shut up and listen, dead man, you brought this on yourself. Billy Hargrove,” she sighed, “—a man I definitely did not know and had no relation to, who died due to gross sex crimes.”

Everyone laughed harder, and Billy threw the sheet back, propping himself up on his elbow to glare around at the Sinclairs, and Robin Buckley, and what seemed like half the town. His face was flaming. “Hang on now,” he said, waving his splinted finger. “I’m not gonna sit here—”

“Lie here,” Dustin put in, from where he sat by Steve’s feet, and Billy flipped him off.

“I’m not gonna lie here and get accused of gross sex crimes when that’s not even what happened—”

“Don’t you look me in the eyes and tell me you’ve never committed any gross sex crimes, you fucking liar,” Max growled, and Billy stared around at the faces gathered around his bed, opened his mouth, cocked his head, and closed his mouth again. “And I can’t hear you anyway, you’re fucking dead, shut up.”

“I’m so glad you’re not really dead,” Steve sniffled into Billy’s chest, reeking of tequila. He rolled to flop an arm over Billy’s stomach and elbowed him in the gut, and Billy oof’d, and then put his splinted hand around his boyfriend, and leaned to kiss his hair. “Love you,” Steve mumbled, into Billy’s chest. “Don’t be dead. I miss you,” he gulped. “I miss you so much.”

“I’m not dead,” Billy said, for like the nine-hundredth time.

“Look at him,” Max pointed to Steve. “Look what you did.”

Billy laughed harder, grimacing. “I just jammed my finger! I didn’t die! I definitely didn’t die of any gross sex crimes without you, babe,” he whispered into Steve’s hair, and Steve harrumphed.

“Damn straight,” he mumbled. “No sex crimes without me. Love you.”

“Gross, this is a sex crime, my eyes are suffering, oh my god,” Max groaned.

“We’re all suffering, Billy,” Nancy said, finally, putting her hands on her hips. “How dare you drive yourself to the hospital with a broken finger and not call anyone for nine hours and then drive yourself home—”

“It’s not my fault they got the records mixed up!” Billy yelled again, laughing, and squeezing Steve gently. “I thought Steve was asleep! Look, I just jammed my finger and it swelled up, I didn’t wanna wake anybody—” Billy grimaced.

“How’d that happen,” El asked, frowning at his splinted hand, and Billy groaned.

“I...uh,” he grimaced, reluctant to admit he’d nearly died of what Max would definitely consider a gross sex crime—showering the jizz off himself after Steve fell asleep, he’d had a little jerk-off session remembering how good the night had been, gotten lightheaded as the blood rushed to his dick, and fallen in the shower. He cleared his throat, grimacing, and felt his face redden further. “I fell in the shower,” he said, sniffing as though Robin’s snickering was unfounded.

“You gross sex criminal,” Max hissed. “How dare you almost die of sex crimes—”

“You have people who care,” Nancy yelled, wiping her eyes. They’d all been crying, Billy registered, again. It didn’t seem any more believable than an hour ago, when he’d gotten home from the hospital, crept in from the garage so as not to wake Steve, and everyone had screamed, running towards him. Lucas Sinclair and Max had shaken him until his teeth rattled, both crying, and Nancy Wheeler had hugged him until his back cracked, taking ragged breaths into his shoulder. Steve hadn’t let go of him since.

Erica had tried to get Billy to lie down with his arms crossed on the coffee table, like a vampire, but he’d rolled his eyes and hauled Steve—and the crowd of crying drunks—upstairs.

Billy was pretty sure he was having a really weird dream.

“You can ask for help next time,” Nancy said, pointing at him, and rubbing her runny nose. She flailed a hand behind her, and Robin handed her a kleenex. “Wake your boyfriend up! Call me!”

“Yeah, shut up and take your punishment,” Erica Sinclair sighed. “You turned them into this, now lie the fuck down, you stupid corpse.”

Billy did so, sighing, but he left his arm sticking out to stroke Steve’s hair. “‘M not dead,” he muttered.

“We gather here to celebrate the life of one Billy Hargrove,” Max said again, “—my brother, who is annoying as shit, and I’m really pissed at him,” she said, her voice shaking, “—b-because I thought he died tonight.”

“Guys,” Billy mumbled, his eyes stinging, now, and she kicked his thigh.

“Shut up. I had to make Lucas drive me over here,” she said, sniffling, and clearing her throat, “—because I kept letting the clutch out and killing the engine, and all I could think was my brother’s goddamn ghost voice saying ‘—clutch, Max. Don’t murder my car, Max,’ and then I thought I-I’ll never have to take his shit again—” she covered her mouth, shutting her eyes tight on a strangled noise, and Billy peered wide-eyed at her over the edge of the sheet. “—and I missed you,” she choked out, and Billy tried to scramble up, but she kicked him in the leg again, bruising, by now, he was fairly sure.

“Stay there,” she hissed. “I pulled a sweatshirt of yours on on the way and smelled your stank and I thought—I thought I’ll never smell it again, I’ll have to just—just curl up in this, it’s the last time I’ll smell your shitty cologne—”

“It’s nice cologne,” Steve mumbled.

She stomped forward to kick Billy again, choking back a sob, and Lucas grabbed her around the waist, holding her back.

“Glad you’re okay, man,” he said, and Billy nodded, relieved, but Erica raised her hand.

“Foul,” she said. “This is a wake.”

“Okay, okay,” Lucas said, obviously thinking. “Thanks for...getting better,” he said, grimacing. “You...you went from just being Max’s scary brother to saving one of my best friends,” he said, then paused, biting his lips together. “I’m glad you’re my brother too,” he said, shrugging a shoulder, and Billy groaned and made a face at him, knowing Lucas Sinclair was probably the only person as embarrassed by this situation as he was. Lucas grimaced back over Max’s head, but grinned.

After a long pause next to the bed, Will said “I’m so glad you’re not dead,” so shakily even Erica didn’t try and make him keep talking, and then El broke the rules of the fake funeral, and just hugged Billy.

Billy tried not to die of embarrassment as Nancy talked, long and sincerely, about how happy he made Steve, and Steve nodded against his side, occasionally raising his arm with a thumb up.

“S’all true,” he mumbled.

Robin waved Max and Erica off when they tried to get her to talk, smiling. She wiped her eyes too. “I’m just glad I don’t have to call everyone and tell them another gay dude died,” she said, a little bitterly. “Everybody asks about you.” Her eyes filled with tears, though, and Billy felt a pang of guilt for scaring her.

Dustin hauled off with a whole best man speech at that point, all about how annoying Steve was when they’d first started fucking, and Billy thought he might melt away at the news Steve had liked him so soon. Dustin, the little shit, knew exactly what he was doing. “He kept saying ‘I never want him to leave’,” Dustin said, just dropping that bomb with a sly grin. “Like, ‘Is that weird? Am I crazy? I never want him to leave.’”

“Oh my god,” Billy mumbled.

“S’true,” Steve sighed.

“I am conditionally glad you’re alive,” Erica said, and Dustin started cackling, “—because of the way the hospital told Steve you died. I was really looking forward to telling everybody,” she said, sighing.

“Wait, what the fuck did they tell you,” Billy asked, yanking the sheet off his face again.

“And then I remembered I’d lose my quiz night teammate,” Erica said, crossing her arms.

“Said I c’d do it,” Steve slurred. “Said—”

“Fucking hell fucking no, Steve,” Erica said calmly. “Billy told me about when you got the ‘who was president during the first gay marriage’ question—”

“ABE LINCOLN!” Steve yelled, again, and Billy groaned, cackling, as Max snorted loudly.

“...hun,” Billy said, and Steve shook his head, pushing himself up to frown back woozily.

“All...men...created...equal,” he enunciated carefully. “Abe Lincoln.”

“I mean, to be fair, that shoulda handled it,” Robin pointed out, and Steve gave her two fingerguns.

“I’ll stay alive and be your bar quiz partner,” Billy told Erica, crossing his heart, and she narrowed her eyes.

“Good, because your man there doesn’t believe in narwhals,” she said, and Steve groaned.

“Stop lying to me about narwhals,” he mumbled. “I’ve been to the zoo. Din’t see any...unicorn...whales.”

“They don’t keep them in cages, babe, they’re still whales,” Billy told him, and got a hard prod.

“He’s a conspiracy theorist,” Steve mumbled sadly. “Came back from the dead to lie to me about narwhals.”

“I didn’t die, babe,” Billy told him, leaning in for a tequila-flavored kiss.

“I couldn’t wait to tell the whole dorm a guy I knew shoved a lightbulb up his ass and electrocuted himself over Spring Break,” Erica said, sighing wistfully, and Nancy and Robin started laughing so hard they leaned in to each other. Billy shot upright in bed, dumping Steve off his shoulder, and nearly clonking skulls with El.

“I’m sorry, they said what,” he said flatly. “You guys really believed I stuck a lightbulb up my ass and electrocuted myself? How fucking stupid do you think I am?!”

“You have me,” Steve mumbled, sniffling and reaching for the Tequila, and Dustin snatched it away.

“Oh, no, buddy, you don’t need any more of that,” he said, and Billy nodded.

“You don’t need to put a lamp up your ass,” Steve mumbled into Billy’s thigh, sniffling, as Billy laughed helplessly. “You have me, babe—don’t cheat with a lamp.”

“Yeah, sweetie,” Billy said, yanking him into a tight hug. “Fuck heaven, right? Never gonna leave.”

Here are my other Harringrove April prompts!

#Harringrove #Harringrove April #Billy's not dead #I promise #He's getting kinda mad about it actually #GUYS I AM NOT DEAD

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yandere-daydreams · 4 years

Text

Title: Valued Possessions

Word Count: 1.9k

Pairing: Trainer!Izuku/Dragon-Shifter!Reader

Synopsis: Izuku’s rather fond of his newest find, an exotic Dragon-Shifter set to join his ever-growing collection of beasts and monsters. It’s a shame he has to break you in before he can expect you to fall in line.

TW: Violence, Abuse of Power, Kidnapping, Dehumanization, and Captivity.

“It’s been a while since I’ve had a dragon.”

His voice is smooth, unaffected, an ongoing drawl as practiced as the nonchalant smile that tugs at the corners of his lips. It’s been there since you arrived, since his obnoxious, noisy lackeys pulled you out of a cage with iron bars, a muzzle locked over your mouth and shackles around your wrists and ankles, the broken remains of four identical restraints laid at your feet. Izuku, as he insists you call him, saw fit to do away with the muzzle, but you couldn’t be thankful, not when he makes it so clear he’d prefer you keep quiet. You’d already had to endure his humming while he wound your chains around the stone pillar you were currently kneeling in front of, a solitary structure in the center of the cavernous tent he seemed to call home. If an off-tune melody is your reward for cooperation, you have no desire to find out what misbehavior will earn.

Silently, you make plans to tear out his tongue, then his vocal cords, and if you’re feeling generous, his lungs. Anything he could use to get on your nerves.

“Dragons are such wondrous creatures.” He’s behind you, now, his light footsteps only made softer by the bare earth that makes up his floor. It’s just soil and grass, but it’s biting into your knees nonetheless, wedging itself between your scales and doing nothing to aid the steady, pulsing ache in your calves, tight knots of pressure and tension you couldn’t shake out. You need to stand, to stretch, and while you’re all-but sure Izuku can sense your discomfort, you know you won’t be permitted to move until you’re ready to beg for it. Needless cruelty is a staple of humanity, and he’s given you no reason to think him any better than than the rest of his kin. “I used to have a few friends like you - halfbreeds. Half human, half reptile.” Izuku pauses, letting out a disgruntled huff. His own, personal, unpleasant joke. “Although, Kacchan could hardly be called anything but a nuisance.”

You narrow your eyes, speaking under your breath. “You’re one to talk.”

If he hears you, he doesn’t deem the comment worthy of indulgence. Rather, Izuku takes the opportunity to edge closer, the fabric of his thick gloves rustling before falling away completely, his bare fingertips soon brushing against the unprotected, fleshy skin of your shoulder-blade, just above the base of your wing. Automatically, you jerk away, balling your hands into fists and curling into yourself, but Izuku only laughs, the sound breathy and arrogant. The laugh of a man watching his skittish pet shy away from his touch, too simple-minded to realize that it can only run to the end of its leash. “You’re prettier than Kacchan. Fewer scars, duller talons... your scales are a nice color, too,” He says. Then, as if you don’t already know, he adds “They match your eyes.”

You don’t respond, biting the edge of your tongue, but Izuku is already preoccupied. Idly, his attention shifts towards the nape of your neck, his fingers dancing over the patch of scales that protect the top of your spine. He follows the shape, where it narrows and dips, guarding only what’s necessary before trickling to a stop completely, only to pick up again below your knees. With a discontented, throaty noise, he stabs his thumb violently into small of your back, his unoccupied hand clamping around your shoulder as you cry out, more out of shock than pain. Whatever he’s searching for, he doesn’t find, something he makes apparent with an unsatisfied purse of his lips. “No tail.”

You grit your teeth, but it fails to quell your anger. “Oh, really? I hadn’t noticed,” You spit, raising your voice before you can make yourself regret the action. “I thought you had eyes--”

Izuku doesn’t care for that. Before you can find a proper end to your insult, something flat and sharp bites into your skin, the vulnerable tissue of the back of your thigh. There’s an eruption of flame beneath your skin, but it fades quickly, leaving a scalding, lasting pain in its wake. One that burnt more than it should’ve. One that hurt more than you’d care to admit. A whip, you realize, just in time for the second blow. You don’t remember when he picked it up, but you don’t particularly care, either. A weapon is a weapon, and the fact that he has the gull to turn one against you at all is enough to make your broiling hate boil over.

“That’s not the kind of language you’re going to use with me,” He coos, his voice nothing short of benign, as if he hadn’t just struck you for no other reason than his own perceived superiority. “We’re friends, are we not? There’s no reason to take that tone with me, not when you and I want the same thing.” Slow, deep circles are pushed into the dip of your shoulder, Izuku’s half-hearted attempt to comfort you. It does little to erase the furious red streaks now decorating your skin. “You want to survive, and I want to see you flourish. If I have to hurt you, it’s only because you’ve done something to warrant discipline.”

“It’s because you’re a sadist,” You grunt, flexing your claws, testing the strength of your chains. They hold true, rattling under their own weight at the slightest shift, reassuring you that you wouldn’t be able to escape them, not without giving Izuku time to do something much worse than inflict a momentary pain. “If you didn’t enjoy this, you wouldn’t--”

Another strike forces your breath to hitch, colliding with your shoulder and seeping onto your chest. Your scales distance the pain, but that only means it lingers, carving out a place in your memory before it began to fade. You don’t cry out, for fear that any sound of displeasure will earn another blow.

Izuku doesn’t bother with a warning when he takes up one of your wings, instead, tearing it away from your back until the appendage is stretched to its full length. It flutters, attempting to tuck back into a position more in tune with its twin, but Izuku’s grip is firm, keeping it in place as he idly runs a finger down a prominent ridge, following the shape from the bend of your wing until it disappears into leathery sinew. You shudder, and Izuku pretends not to notice. “Beautiful wings,” He notes. “It’s a good pair. If I cut them off and sell them to the highest bidder, I’d make a small fortune. Enough to fund your upkeep, and a little extra... It’d only be fair, wouldn’t it?”

It’s involuntary. You don’t say anything, you’re smart enough to bite your tongue and keep quiet, but there’s a twitch, a delayed effort to keep yourself docile, and that’s enough for Izuku. With a light chuckle and a step back, his foot implants itself in your spine, knocking you forward, your chest crashing haphazardly into the stone pillar. The edge collides with your chest, slotting itself between your ribs and refusing to move until a bruise is blooming across your diaphragm. You scream, the noise high-pitched and cut short by your own pride, but Izuku doesn’t pull back. If anything, more of his weight comes to rest on you, the sole of his boot making itself at home on your skin. Taking pleasure in doing so, at that.

“You’re mine,” He growls, the declaration a ridicule in itself. “I paid for you, I brought you here, and now, you belong to me. You’re a monster, and I am the loving, caring hand that’s going to make sure you don’t stumble into another trap or get skinned for your hide. I’m doing you a favor, and you will be thankful for it.” He grinds his heel down, driving a small, pathetic whine from somewhere deep in your throat. Tiny, insignificant, and exactly what Izuku’s looking for. “You’re going to be happy, and I’m going to take very, very good care of you. We’ll work hand in hand as master and pet, and you’ll enjoy every minute of it.”

“I’m not an animal.” It takes more restraint that it should not to hiss the words, not to make a fact into a warning. If you hadn’t been captured, restrained and collared like an unruly mutt, you would’ve strung him to the nearest tree branch with his own intestines hours ago, and you would’ve done so with joy. It’s a difficult feat not to let that impact the way you speak. “I’m not human, but I’m not a monster, either. I’m not mindless.” You swallow dryly, remaining quiet for a moment, but Izuku fails to cut in. It’s a relief, and yet, his silence is enough to make you shrink into yourself, your confidence unshaken but suppressed. “You can’t treat me as if I am, not if you expect me to be grateful.”

A second passes, and you begin to hold your breath. But, Izuku’s eventual response comes without malice. “Yes, I can.”

It’s all you can do to remember how to talk. “What?”

“I can.” He pulls away, the pressure falling away from your back, but you don’t move, staying slouched over the pillar as if it was a lifeline, rather than a hindrance. Slowly, he circles to face you, and for the first time, you can see him clearly. His attire, all well-worn tunics and clothes made to guard against creatures much more imposing than yourself, his pale skin, littered with scars from his neckline to his wrists, and his eyes, dark and foreboding and so terrible, focused on you and unwilling to center on everything else, even when you manage to rip yourself away. Your head bows before you can summon your courage, but Izuku’s quick to correct your posture, his fingers soon rooted in your hair, wrenching you upward and forcing you to meet his gaze. He’s done giving you a choice, if he was ever willing to. “And I will. You might’ve been something before, but now, you’re one of my beasts, and I intend to train you appropriately. You’ll be grateful for my generosity, or I’ll make you act like you are. Regardless of how much I have to shave away to reach the golden, obedient core I know you have.”

Instinctually, you bare your teeth, but the gesture is feeble, much too little and far too late. Izuku only smiles as he leans forward, pushing a quick, chaste kiss into your forehead. You’d say it seems apologetic, but his broad, remorseless grin crushes your hope before it can start to take shape. “Be thankful,” He says, standing to his full height.

Somehow, he seems so much taller than he was, seconds ago.

“I might be the only person who sees you as human enough to warrant such thorough efforts.”

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maggielindemanns · 4 years

Text

all mixed up - an elu social media au

summary: it’s simple really - eliott meets a guy at the bar, that guy gives him a fake number, and that fake number just so happens to belong to lucas. the rest is history.

[NINETEEN PART TWO]

[note: i’m putting my note here at the top this time but here is nineteen part two aka how the date went! i’m like . Scared to put my writing up but you know what, fear is my enemy and i’m posting to spite her so ! here is 3k words of elu date in the amu-verse i love you guys giving you all smooches on your foreheads <3 was gonna post this yesterday but i was attacked by the river i went tubing at so here she is rn instead <3]

Thoughts of nerves and excitement were crashing into each other and around the walls of Eliott’s head space at a million miles a second as he made his way to Lucas’ dorm. His heart didn’t even feel like it was beating at this rate, more like slamming against his rib cage and rattling up the butterflies existing in his stomach. He made sure to send Lucas a warning text once he was down the hall — “countdown from 30 & i’ll be there”. Lucas, 'ever the charmer having such a way with words, simply loved the text in lieu of an actual response.

Once in front of Lucas’ door, he took a deep breath before knocking gently, stepping back after to await an answer. Every second felt like forever to him, especially when he could hear Lucas shuffling around on the other side of the door. He just couldn’t wait to do this, he couldn’t wait to actually have Lucas to himself for real.

Lucas opening the door suddenly pulled Eliott from his thoughts, overwriting the mess in his head with thoughts of Lucas instead. He looked at Eliott, seeming pleasantly surprised, and smiled brightly at him. Eliott wanted to give him the world and then some.

“Demaury,” he greeted, “hey.”

“Hey yourself. Ready to go?”

“Of course. You look so good, I’m kinda jealous. Am I under dressed?”

“No, you’re perfect.”

“Oh stop,” Lucas scoffed, starting to lead the way out already, “let’s go before you hit me with any more corny lines.”

Eliott just smiled, following Lucas close behind. He got the door for Lucas going out of his building, grabbing his hand before he could walk too far ahead. Lucas didn’t let go, though, actually giving his hand a squeeze and smiling at him. The silence as they walked to Eliott’s car hand in hand was comfortable and familiar, and Lucas loved it.

When they both got into the car, Eliott went to start it, but hummed as if remembering something. Lucas watched Eliott reach into the back seat as he put his seat belt on, his brows furrowed.

“What are you doing?” Lucas asked, and Eliott wordlessly presented a lavender rose, seeming proud of himself. He looked between the rose and Eliott a few times before dumbly asking, “Is that for me?” and Eliott nodded, handing it to him. He turned it over in his hands before looking at Eliott again, his chest tight with the slight urge to cry. Yes, he was emotional over a single flower, sue him.

“I didn’t take you as the type for grand gestures,” Eliott explained, “but... something small to remember tonight is nice, right? Even if everything goes to shit and you hate me after this, at least we started on the right foot.”

“I could never hate you, this is so sweet, Eliott. Thank you.”

“You don’t need to thank me. You deserve nice things. Always.”

Lucas just smiled slightly and watched Eliott start his car, starting to tell a story about a basil plant he accidentally killed. Lucas found himself oddly endeared by that, as well as his story about how he Jackson Pollock-ed his way through an entire semester. That led Lucas to tell him stories of how he tried multiple times to get out of gym back in high school with absurd ailments, one time even trying to use appendicitis as an excuse. That cracked Eliott right up, and Lucas was proud of that. He loved making Eliott laugh, it was his favorite thing.

They eventually were pulling into the parking lot of a very cozy looking building. “Len’s Den” was lit up brightly across the top of the building on a sign, and vased plants marked the entrance, along with a glowing, red open sign. Eliott shut the engine off after putting the car in park and looked at Lucas.

“I told him about you,” is what came out of Eliott’s mouth. Lucas must’ve made a face of confusion because Eliott laughed a bit before elaborating. “Len, I told Len.”

“Like...owner, Len?”

“Yeah. It sounds so random, but he’s been looking out for me since high school. I’ve done it all in here — cried, yelled, laughed, all three at the same time maybe?” Lucas chuckled at that, and Eliott smiled a little. “Point is, Len’s taken care of me in ways I don’t have words good enough to thank him for. He’s important to me, and so are you. I hope it was okay that I did.”

I told him about you. He’s important to me, and so are you. Those words were echoing in Lucas’ brain, doing a number on his emotions. It was heady to think that he was important to Eliott, so much so that he wanted to tell people about him.

“Yeah, that’s—I’m honored. That’s always okay, really.”

There was a beat of silence between them, the two of them just smiling and looking at each other for a moment. Eliott broke their gaze by starting to get out and Lucas followed suit, his nerves creeping back up on him suddenly.

How he was supposed to last an entire night of Eliott being Eliott was something he wasn’t sure of. Maybe if he didn’t think about it too much, the obvious would become clear - that being with each other was easy. They’ve done this before. Easy.

Upon entering, a few things caught Lucas’ eye - the photo booth in a far corner surrounded by countless strips of pictures, a piano set in the corner across, art littering the walls that resembled things he’s seen in Eliott’s apartment. Other pictures and band posters covered the walls, too, but nothing Lucas was familiar with. Eliott grabbing one of his hands and gently pulling him along shifted his focus back to him.

“You’ve got your thinky face on,” Eliott told him, “what’s on your mind?”

“Nothing, I just...like how you this place is.”

“Just screams art-kid-trying-to-find-a-place-in-the-world, huh?” he asked with a crinkle of his nose. Lucas smiled and nodded.

“Oh, a hundred percent, yes. Now let’s get some mac and cheese bites in our system, they are what brought us here after all.”

Eliott brought them over to the bar space where they sat close to each other, Eliott noting Lucas’ slight struggle to get onto the tall chair. He laughed a little on accident, and Lucas kicked his chair, mumbling for him to shut up.

Lucas let Eliott kind of take the lead here, ordering for the both of them with confidence that Lucas admired. Eliott in his element was always lovely to witness, no matter what. Conversation points never ran out as they sat and chatted (even when the heavenly bites did, Lucas ate two rounds of them), and Eliott even got him to take photo booth pictures with him at one point. Lucas being fussy about how the pictures were coming out made Eliott laugh so, so much. Lucas was shocked no one came over and was concerned with what was happening in this booth.

“To have not wanted to take these to begin with, you sure have a lot of opinions,” Eliott teased, and Lucas rolled his eyes, pushing his head gently and telling him to focus. Being in close proximity like this with a beautiful boy like Lucas was not helping him in the crush department, not by any means.

To only be date number one, Lucas felt like he had known Eliott forever, and the idea scared him a little bit. To know someone for only a handful of weeks and feel like everything is new and yet so familiar and safe between them already was a lot for him. He didn’t usually do this, he didn’t usually allow himself to get to this point. Infatuation with no return. But he kind of liked it. A lot.

Soon enough, it was just the two of them left as patrons, the only other person in the store being Len himself, waiting to lock up. He didn’t even make an attempt to kick them out, though, and Lucas had a feeling Eliott had something to do with that. Rather than dwell on that thought, however, Lucas found himself wandering over to the piano, Eliott following close behind.

“Piano’s lovely,” he commented, taking a seat. Lucas took note of all the etching done into the piano, making him wonder if one day he would get to add to them. There were people's initials inside hearts, stickers scattered on it, and messy scrawl in sharpie of people who came here before him. He pat the seat next to him to get Eliott to sit beside him and he did, their knees touching and arms brushing against each other.

“It’s old as shit, honestly. In tune, though. I tagged it somewhere way back when, actually.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. Somewhere here...” His voice trailed off as he scanned the surface of the piano with his eyes, eventually humming in recognition and pointing for Lucas to see. Lucas smiled, realizing it was a raccoon, and nudged his arm gently. “What?”

“You and these raccoons, Demaury.”

“Spirit animal, what can I say.”

“Oh man, you’re a trip,” he sighed, plucking a few random keys of the piano. Eliott started laughing and Lucas gave him a look. “What?”

“Nothing. Just wanna say Len’s got a triangle if you wanna mess with that instead.”

“Oh, shut up, as if you play.”

“I’ll have you know I can play the Star Wars theme,” he scoffed, starting to pluck out the first few keys. “Mmh, and I do a mean Für Elise cover.”

“Cover? What the hell?”

Eliott simply started playing the first few notes slowly but surely. It sounded familiar to Lucas’ ears, at least until Eliott started playing a bunch of meaningless mess. Lucas laughed at that genuinely, like, belly aching laughter. Eliott stopped playing and looked at him, something warm erupting in his chest resembling love, but not quite there yet. Adoration, maybe, but strong. So strong, Eliott had to refrain from just grabbing his face and kissing him right then and there. He almost couldn’t think of anything else as he sat there, smiling fondly at the boy beside him.

Lucas wiped at his eyes, calming down after a minute or so and looked at Eliott, clearly amused. He cleared his throat and tried to be serious, nodding once. Eliott tried to stop smiling too, but he knew he was failing greatly.

“Mister Demaury, I have to say,” Lucas spoke, “I think you have a fine career as a pianist in the near future.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“Why thank you. Means a lot from you, you know, since you’re an expert and all.” Lucas got the sense that Eliott was teasing him a little, and he looked at him, squinting a bit. “What? I was being genuine.”

“No, you weren’t, you’re an asshole.”

“Well. Prove me wrong, c’mon.”

“Let me think,” Lucas told him, sitting up properly and getting his hands on the keys. He decided to play one of the only songs that came to mind right now, one of the first songs he ever learned - I Love You by RIOPY.

He plucked out the opening keys slowly, feeling Eliott’s eyes on him, watching intently. Once he got a good feel for the piano, he played with more confidence and ease, not missing a beat. He surprised himself, granted he hadn’t played much in a while with school and everything, but he was glad he still had it in him. As focused as he was, he felt Eliott’s eyes shift to his face, and that made him glance over at him mid-playing, taking note of the glint of wonder in his eyes. He looked away before he could start to think about it too much, but what he wasn’t aware of was how Eliott decided that in this moment, he liked surprising people. And Lucas was surprising.

When Lucas plucked out the final notes, he took his hands off and slowly looked at Eliott, who was smiling brightly. Lucas suddenly felt shy under his gaze - he’d never actually played anything for someone before, at least not a piece in seriousness like this. Silence hung between them for a moment before Eliott spoke.

“Way to show me up, Lallemant,” he said, and Lucas smiled back at him.

“It’s no Star Wars theme, but...” Lucas shrugged, non-verbally finishing the thought. Eliott kept looking at him and seemed to be thinking about what he was going to say next.

“Lucas, can I be honest with you?”

The question caught Lucas off guard, his heart hoping for the best but his brain thinking of worst case scenarios. He pushed those to the back of his mind, though, and nodded instead.

“I...am in so deep with you. The way I feel with you is unlike anything I’ve ever felt before.”

“Eliott—“

“Forgive me if that’s super forward but...I have to tell you, I’d go nuts if I didn’t.”

“Can I be honest, too?”

“Sure.”

Lucas felt his heart beating in his ears, his nerves creeping up on him. Being with Eliott was the easy part. Having feelings for Eliott and sharing said feelings was the hard part.

“I really, really like you too,” he said finally, “more than anyone I’ve ever met. Ever.”

Several more beats passed between them, the silence becoming the loudest thing in the room. The tension was suddenly palpable, too, at least to Lucas, and every thought that passed through his brain became nothing but please kiss me, please kiss me, please kiss me.

As if able to hear Lucas’ thoughts, Eliott took hold of his face in his hands before leaning in, just close enough for Lucas to close his eyes for a moment. He opened them enough to look at him when nothing happened, and Eliott smiled just a little.

“Is it okay? To kiss you, is that okay?” he asked. Lucas scoffed, making Eliott laugh.

“Yes, obviously, please do,” he told him quietly, and in that moment, their lips met and Lucas felt whole.

It felt like Lucas had waited his whole life for this moment - the kiss that all the books he’s read and movies he’s seen in his life talked about. The kiss that had your skin thrumming with desire for more, that made life feel like a movie, like sparks were flying. That’s what it was like to kiss Eliott. It was better than he could ever imagine it being, and he wished he could bottle this feeling up and carry it with him everywhere at all times.

When Eliott pulled away, Lucas felt dizzy with it, slowly opening his eyes and his brain feeling like a bunch of exclamation points were going through it. Eliott started to smile, but Lucas leaned back in, kissing him one last time to make sure it was real.

“Fuck, I’m so in love with you,” Eliott whispered, and Lucas wanted to scream from the rooftops about this moment. He wanted to live in this moment and with this feeling for all time.

•••••••

Lucas woke up comfortably warm, almost too comfortably, swimming in clothes that were definitely not his own. The only sound in the room was the gentle hum of a fan and traffic passing outside, letting Lucas know he was not at his dorm. That, and the fact that the room was too big anyway. The bed was also dipping beside him and he turned his head to find a very sleep ridden Eliott laying beside him. Eliott looked like an angel, the sunlight hitting him in the most beautiful of ways. If Lucas was a photographer at all, he’d be trying to capture this moment.

“Time?” Lucas mumbled, and Eliott blindly grabbed his phone to look, squinting at how bright it was.

“9:17.”

“Jeez...”

“Good morning to you too,” Eliott laughed, and Lucas breathed deeply, snuggling closer to him. Eliott wrapped an arm around him and pressed a kiss to his forehead, not saying anything else.

“You’re thinking so loudly right now.”

“Yeah?”

“Mhm. What?”

“Well...I’m lucky you’re here. Happy.”

“And?”

“I...have a proposition.”

“It’s 9:17 in the morning and you’re already using words like proposition? You’re unreal, Demaury.”

“Not the fact that I have one, just the word itself. You’re funny.”

“What’s your proposition?” he asked, looking up at him. Eliott continued to look up at his ceiling.

“My final. I want you in it. I want us to be in it.” Lucas made a curious noise, and Eliott continued. “I’ve struggled with a concept for months, like, since this course started, and I thought I had one. I really did. But I’m stuck with that and re-inspired, and...I want to do it on intimacy and human connection. I have to write a paper with it, so I wanna do that.”

Lucas sat up and looked at him, understanding what it had to do with him suddenly. Eliott looked at him, as if waiting for some kind of reaction.

“You hate it,” Eliott decided, and Lucas shook his head, running his hands through Eliott’s hair and smiling a little.

“No, just...intrigued, I guess. You’re makin’ a model out of me, Demaury, please just say you’re not putting us on a billboard.”

“No, no billboards,” he laughed, “just my professor. And the art panel at our school because they’re choosing one project to go in a gallery walk at the end of the semester.”

“Can we eat first? So I can think about it?”

“Of course. Please don’t be scared to tell me no, too, it’s okay,” Eliott insisted, grabbing one of his hands and pressing a kiss to the back of it. “It’s just a thought right now.”

“Okay.”

“Is now the time to tell you I’m the worst chef on planet Earth? Or should I have kept that in the vault?”

“In the vault, I’m out of here now,” he teased, and Eliott pulled the pillow from under his head and hit Lucas with it, making him laugh out loud.

taglist: @that-one-meh @a-french-disaster @fallout-of-my-chair @menamesniall @iamshannonmcfarland @yesyoutubeisruiningmylife @yackgrace @choupiauriant @xomywonderwallox @jacwena @awake-dreamer18 @noorakviigmohn @lost-inside-fantasy @myverybigmoodboard @ariavds @didntgowithgrace @laurenkmyers @sunshineyou27 @nanidice @orangefizz4 @blanxkey @bodizzy @q-branchminion-nr43 @nova-on-standbi @boysrunaway @anothergayhpblog @mlhalbertt @valenschmidt @skamchokehold @mostlysh1tposting @lucassdemaury @oceanicinception @yellowballoon @fallinglikeafoolforyou @bluronyourradar @painfully-oblivious @alwayskissmeatnight @katzen-kinder @howlingsaturn @luxandobscurus @anotherplaceintheuniverse @aly-kazam @quint-cssential

[archive link <3]

[PART ONE || TWENTY]

#skam france #elu #elu social media au #elu au #elu fic #lucas x eliott #my fic #skamfr #skamfr fic #skamfrfic #amu

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endless-whump · 3 years

Text

Kefi: Favorites

Universe belongs to @wildfaewhump <3

CW: violence, implied nightmare, captivity, torture, fantasy racism, very brief implied/threatened mouth (tongue) whump, conditioning, self deprecation, creepy whumper, extremely panicked/frantic whumpee, references to fantasy trafficking/selling parts of a fae, referenced wing whump (specifically the breaking of wing bones)

Masterlist

believe it or not there’s fluff in this XD

---

“Get in.”

Kefi shrank back, chains scraping loudly against the floor. They shook their head, chest heaving with the attempts to breathe. They couldn’t go in there, they knew those bars would be iron and they couldn’t take any more burns and they just couldn’t.

“Was, was good- was good, I was, no no please-”

A sharp cry echoed in the room as the man grabbed Kefi by the hair, the fae kicking weakly as they were dragged across the floor. Their head exploded in pain, sobs wracking their body as they pawed uselessly at the hands in their hair.

“None of that faespeak, else I’ll brand your tongue, too.”

The cage rattled violently as the fae’s small body was tossed in, a shrill scream tearing from them. Everything burned,the bars on their legs and arms and feet and back impossible to escape from as they scrambled for relief. The door slammed shut, the almost cage shaking with the force of the panicked fae’s struggling. Their feet scraped against the bottom of the cage to try and scramble back, only hitting more bars, the bottoms of their feet burning on the metal.

“N,No no please, h,help help,” They couldn’t breathe, no matter how much they moved something was touching the bars, something was burning and something was hurting and they couldn’t bear it.

“I said stop!”

Kefi cried as the man hit the cage, scratching at their ringing ears.

“You’ll stay like that until you can learn to shut up and let yourself be useful.” A hand shot out to grab the collar of the fae’s tattered shirt, yanking them up against the iron bars. They just kept crying, trying to pull away from the grip keeping them up against the cage. “You stay still, you stay quiet, and you stay useful, and in return I’ll keep you alive enough to.”

“Will, I will, please, please-”

Their vision went white as their head was slammed against the cage, agony racing through their body as they were shaken. It smelled like blood, small hands clawing at the collar too tight around their throat, pressed up against the bars.

“Shut up!”

Still

They tried to drop their hands, closing their eyes as they shivered violently, skin burning at the contact they tried not to cringe away from. The harsh grip stayed, fingers moving with deceiving gentleness through the fae’s hair

“Good fae.”

Quiet

Pained trills died in their throat, breaths thin and ragged. They tried to relax against the touch even as it burned.

Useful

A ragged gasp caught in their throat as Kefi jerked awake, scrabbling at the blankets wrapped around them. There was iron, they couldn’t breathe, they were trapped and they needed to get out.

They were warm, which was strange. It was always cold in the chains.

“Kefi?”

A loud, scared trill tore from the fae’s throat as they buried themself against Metilia’s chest. Warm arms wrapped around them, warm warm warm, it wasn’t cold anymore. They never wanted to be cold again.

“Bad...bad memory,” They whispered, voice breaking. They felt safe under the weight of the blankets, the crackling fire behind them a comforting sound. It felt like home here.

“Kefi...did they use you? Did they sell you? I know down north they have markets-”

“Yes,” They whispered, hiding against Metilia. “They...they took my feathers, and, um, they’d break off parts of..of my wing. T,The bone,”

The arms tightened, hands rubbing up and down their back soothingly.

“God..that should never have happened, Kef.”

“So..so much blood, they took.” The fae kept going, voice shaking as they clung to her. “They took it. They, They just k,kept passing me around and so many cages, there were, and they all took it.”

Metilia didn’t say anything to that.

“Talking again, Metilia, was I? In sleep?”

“Yea.”

“I’m sorry.”

Kefi was pulled to a sitting position, trilling tiredly as the blankets slipped off their head, squinting against the sudden light. Yellow eyes blinked to focus on Metilia’s brown ones, hands ruffling their hair.

“Don’t be silly, you have nothing to be sorry for. You want some food?”

They perked up, letting their trills die in their throat, still eagerness slipping into their demeanor. Their wings dropped, relaxed, behind them. They looked meek. Compliant.

“Yes please, will be good, may I-”

Metilia pressed her finger to their lips, stopping them with a frown.

“None of that,” She murmured sadly, and pushed a bowl into their hands. “Made this while you were asleep...you don’t have to ask for things like that anymore.”

Kefi looked down at the bowl, blinking dumbly.

“Chicken pot pie.”

Metilia tilted her head, watching them carefully. They seemed cautious...sad, almost. Did she get it wrong? Did seeing it remind them of something, make them sad? Did she just make things worse?

“I’m sorry, you always seemed to like it and I know you’ve been having trouble with food, I can make you something else if-”

“It’s my favorite.”

She closed her mouth, staring at the small fae in front of her. She wasn’t sure how to respond to that.

“Yea, I used to make it every week, Kef.”

Kefi took a bite, and she didn’t miss the way their hands trembled just slightly. Small, bony wrists were visible from the cuffs of their large sweater as they fell down a bit. They smiled, rocking side to side, taking another bite, closing their eyes.

“Have been gone for long time, did not expect you to remember.”

She put a hand over theirs, stopping them for a moment. They refused to look up at her, but also didn’t draw away. The firelight cast against their back shadowed their face.

“Kefi, why would I forget that.”

They paused, glancing up at her nervously. “They told me you forgot. That I was not remembered.” They took another bite when Metilia removed her hand, smile faded a bit, now. “That I became nothing.”

She let them eat in quiet. As soon as the bowl was set aside she bundled them up in her arms, setting her chin on the top of their head as she stared into the fire. They were so strong to even make it back here, to her, but she couldn’t help but see how they had broken.

“Kefi, you are everything. I see the stars in you every time I lay eyes on you, even if you can’t see it in yourself anymore. They will never take that away from you, not truly.”

She hoped they could heal, with time. She hoped she could make up for how she’d let them be hurt, be torn apart, be manipulated into believing the piles of lies that made them seem to carry a disturbing indifference about themself. She wished...god, she wished she could take it all away.

“Metilia?”

“Yea, Kef?”

“Forgot bread rolls, you did.”

---

taglist

@simplygrimly @cinnamonflavoredhugs @finder-of-rings @castielamigos-whump-side-blog @insanitywishes @just-a-whumping-racoon-with-wifi

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sunnyie-eve · 3 years

Text

7 | Tired Of Him

Series: Misunderstood

Word count: 2k

Warnings: None

Let's just say when I got back to the Weasley's house Ron went off on me for letting Draco drag me off with him. Which I ended up having to explain that over the summer when my father went to the Malfoy Manor I had to spend time with Draco. The train ride to Hogwarts I sat with Evelyn, Ava, and Wendy with all the other Slytherin's. We talked about our summer and let the other two girls know about Snape being my father. "That explains why he's only nice to you." Evelyn laughs.

The next morning the first class we had was Greenhouse. "Welcome to Greenhouse Three, Second Years. Today, we will be repotting Mandrakes. Now, who here can tell me the properties of the Mandrake?" Professor Sprout asks and I raise my hand faster that Hermione. "Yes, Miss Lewis or do you want me to use Snape now?" All the students stare at me, "Lewis is still fine. I don't want to confuse you. Also Mandrake, or Mandragora, is used to return those who have been transfigured to their original state. It's also quite dangerous. The Mandrake's cry is fatal to anyone who hears it." I tell her. "Excellent. Ten points to Slytherin. As our Mandrakes are only seedlings, their cries won't kill yet. However, they will knock you out for several hours. That is why I have provided each of you with a pair of earmuffs. If you would then..."

When the class is ready, Professor Sprout leads us to the grasping one of the tufty plants before she pulls. Instead of roots, a small, muddy, extremely ugly baby pops out of the, leaves growing right out of its head. Neville's eyes roll back and he faints. "Hm. Looks as though Mr. Longbottom neglected his muffs." She says. "No, ma'am. He's just fainted." Seamus tells her. "Very well. We'll just leave him then. Come now, plenty of pots to go round. Now grasp your Mandrake and pull it up." She tells us and we all do filling the sound with cries. I see Draco put his finger in it's mouth and it bites down making me laugh.

For Defense Against The Dark Arts with Lockhart, he wants to start of with a little quiz first. Lockhart begins to circulate papers and I see there all questions about him. "Are you kidding me?" I say making Ava slap me because like every other girl she likes him. "Psst, Madeline. You know the answers?" Draco calls me so I look back at him. "Are you kidding me? Of course I don't." I turn back around filling in the stupidest answers I could think of. "Now... be warned! It is my job to arm you against the foulest creatures known to wizardkind! You may find yourself facing your own worst fears in this room. Know only that no harm can befall you whilst I am here." With a showman's flair, Lockhart turns slowly to the cage. "I must ask you not to scream. It might provoke them." Inside the cage are several electric blue creatures that were about eight inches tall, with pointed faces and wings, they rattle the bars and pull bizarre faces. "Cornish pixies?" Seamus laughs. "Freshly caught Cornish pixies." Unable to control himself, Seamus snorts with laughter. "Laugh if you will, Mr. Finnegan, but pixies can be devilishly tricky little blighters. Let's see what you make of them now!" Lockhart flings open the cage.

Instantly, the pixies rocket about, spraying the students with ink bottles, breaking beakers and shredding books. Two seize Neville by the ears, lift him into the air, and begin to circle the ceiling. As students run out of the room Lockhart speaks up, "Come on now, round them up, round them up. They're only pixies. Peskipiksi Pesternomi!" The spell has absolutely no effect. A particularly obnoxious pixie makes a face, seizes Lockhart's wand and tosses it out the window. Lockhart joins the stampede to the door. "I'll ask you four to just nip the rest of them back into their cage." He slams the door. Harry, Ron, Hermione, and me stand blinking. Ron swats a pixie gnawing his ear, "What do we do now?" I stand up raising my wand, "Immobilus!" The pixies freeze in midair. "Why is it always me?" Neville asks looking down at us as we figure out how to help him down.

"Uh-oh. I smell trouble." Ron says as him, Hermione and me look up to see the Slytherins with the Gryffindors. "You've got a new Seeker? Who?" Wood asks and Draco walks forward. "That's right. And that's not all that's new this year." Everyone looks at their brooms. "Those are Nimbus Two Thousand Ones." Ron says. "A generous gift from Draco's father." Flint tells him. "That's right, Weasley. You unlike some, my father can afford to buy the best." Draco tells Ron. "At least no one on the Gryffindor team had to buy their way in. They got in on pure talent." She adds. "No one asked your opinion, you filthy little Mudblood." Draco spits making everyone gasps.

"You'll pay for that one, Malfoy!" Ron whips out his wand, "Eat slugs!" Ron points his cracked wand at Malfoy and green light scissors out the wrong end, hitting Ron himself in the stomach. As he drops to the grass, Hermione and the team run to him. "Ron! Say something!" Ron opens his mouth and slugs dribble out his mouth. The Slytherins laughs as Hermione and Harry walk him to Hagrid's. "How do you even act like you like him?" Fred bends down to my level. "How do you share a Common room with him?" George bends down too. "I have no clue." I say glaring at Draco who eyes me.

When it was time for dinner I kept quiet playing with my food because I wasn't hungry. "Maddy, I think you should eat." Wendy says making me look up at her. "I'm not really hungry." I look back down at my food. "It's probably because she's still picturing Weasley throwing up slugs." Draco looks down my way. "Shut up Malfoy." I get up from the table heading to the common room. I laid on the couch staring up at the glass ceiling looking into the lake deep in my own thoughts. I didn't even notice when everyone came back to the common room talking about what happened in the hall. "Madeline, hello! Did you die?" I didn't pay attention as Ava taps the top of my head. "I'll be there in a minute." I say not paying attention to her or the other girls.

"Are you just going to lay there all night?" Draco asks standing next to me. "Am I bothering you that much? I'm just laying here Malfoy." I move my eyes to look at him. "No, I just want to know why you're laying down on the couch spaced out." I sit up staring at him, "Look, I get it. We got along this summer when I came over because of your mother. But we're not alike at all. You are a low life rich brat that thinks he's better than everyone else in this world. You're not special Malfoy so shut up." I snap at him getting off the couch going to bed.

I arrive in transformations McGonagall's classroom first out of all the students. Soon I hear Draco and his two minions walk in talking crap about other students. Crabbe takes the empty seat next to me while Draco and Goyle sit in front of us. "Today, we will be turning animals into water goblets." She taps the bird in front of her, three times, with the tip of her wand. It transfigures into a beautiful crystal water goblet. "Now, who would like to go first... Mr. Weasley?" Ron nods and taps his rat, Scabbers, who turns into a goblet with a tail. "You must replace that wand, Mr. Weasley." Ron nods sheepishly, looks at his broken wand.

"Yes, Miss Granger?" Hermione's hand was up. "Professor, I was wondering if you could tell us about the Chamber of Secrets?" A hush falls over the class. "My subject is Transfiguration, Miss Granger." She tells her. "Yes, Professor. But there seems to be very little written about the Chamber of Secrets. For those of us with a personal interest in the subject, that is... disturbing." Malfoy regards Hermione with chilly amusement. McGonagall considers Hermione's question for a long moment, then nods. "Very well. You all know, of course, that Hogwarts was founded over a thousand years ago by the four greatest witches and wizards of the age: Godric Gryffindor, Helga Hufflepuff, Rowena Ravenclaw, and Salazar Slytherin. Three of the founders co-existed quite harmoniously. One did not. Salazar Slytherin wished to be more selective about the students admitted to Hogwarts. He believed that magical learning should be kept within all-magic families. In other words, purebloods. Unable to sway the others, he decided to leave the school."

"Muggle borns." Hermione says after McGonagall explains that he saw purebloods better and the monster killed those not. "Yes. Naturally, the school has been searched many times for such a chamber. It has never been found" McGonagall tells her. "Professor, what exactly does legend tell us lies within the Chamber?" I ask her. "The Chamber is said to be home to something which the heir of Slytherin alone can control. It is said to be home... to a monster."

During the Quidditch match, Slytherin's were at 90 points while Gryffindor was as 30. "Harry's got himself a Rogue Bludger." I tell the girls as we watch him try to get away from the ball. As Harry chases the plummeting Snitch, Malfoy follows in hot pursuit. They race downward deep into the trench with the Rogue Bludger following. "One of them is going to get hurt. I just hope it's Harry and not Draco." Wendy says making the three of us look at her. "What? I find him cuter." She says before cheering. Draco spirals out of the trench and thwomps flat on his back in the middle of the pitch. Wendy covers her mouth making me laugh rolling my eyes. Harry ends up catching the snitch and Lockhart makes Harry's broken arm worse than it was.

"You know, what's the point of Quidditch having points when you make a goal when it really just comes down to catching the snitch?" Wendy asks as we all sit around in the common room. "I don't know, Wendy. Quidditch isn't something I really care about." I say making her glare at me then rolling her eyes. While Ava, Evelyn, and me worked on class work, Wendy kept going on about if we think Draco is okay. "When did you suddenly start crushing on Malfoy?" I look up from my book. "Over the Summer." She smiles. "What do you even see in him other than you think he's cute?" I close my book. "Well, he's smart, rich, popular, bad boy," I cut her off, "He's not smart at all. Have you seen his marks in classes?" She crosses her arms, "And you have?"

"Yes, I have. And he's father gets on him for that." She eyes me. "How do you know that? If I recall, you hate Draco." I sigh, "Because I spent time with the Malfoy's over the summer." I smile making her roll her eyes but she smiles as Draco comes in. "How is your arm Draco?" She asks him and he ignores her. "Madeline, do my paper for potions. I can't use my arm." He takes a seat on the couch. "You landed on your back Malfoy. You didn't break anything so do it yourself. Plus I don't think my father or your father would like to hear me tell them you are trying to cheat." I smile standing up from the table heading towards the door to leave. "Where are you going?" He asks watching me walk. "To my father." I stop to give him a smile. I wait till I step outside the wall, "Don't worry Malfoy, it's not about you. Like I said your not special."

#harry potter #draco malfoy #hermione granger #ron weasley #neville longbottom #minerva mcgonagall #hogwarts #wizarding world

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whatawhumper · 4 years

Text

Family Dinner

2109 words

CW: electrocution, pet whump? (kinda)

The shipment arrived on a Monday, when Master Welhouse was at home. Haiyan wasn’t surprised by the arrival, Master had told them what was happening a few weeks prior.

What surprised Haiyan was the contents of the cage.

They had been expecting someone like them, quiet and well trained and easy to care for.

This, this raging ball of tawny feathers spewing vitriol and a slew of curses from behind the bars was about as far from expected as it could possibly be.

Haiyan didn’t even get a good look at them for a long time. They couldn’t approach to get a closer look, Master Welhouse hadn’t said they could move from their perch in the entry hall, and from where they sat the solid wall of the man-sized cage blocked their view. They could hear perfectly fine, though, and the curses Haiyan heard that day were more vicious than any they had heard in a long while; probably not since Master Arthur had died.

They heard Master Welhouse talking about the newcomer over the sounds of rattling metal and beating wings. “A very fine specimen,” he called the caged beast, and “a wonderful addition to the family.”

A shudder passed through Haiyan, which they quickly suppressed before Master could see. They had come to hate that word, especially when he said it.

Haiyan couldn’t imagine any situation in which that thing was going to fit here. They figured it was only a matter of time before Master resold that avian and found one better suited to this ornamental life.

“I’m finding a playmate for you, dear. Won’t that be exciting?” Master had asked Haiyan a few weeks back. “I’ve wanted a new pet for a while now, you know.” A jolt of fear passed through Haiyan, their entire body tensing up and their breaths hitching. Why was that? Hadn’t they been good enough? Were they being replaced or sold or worse?

“Oh don’t look so worried, dear. You won’t be replaced.” No matter how well Haiyan thought they concealed their emotions, Master Welhouse could always figure out what they were thinking. Never forget that. “I just want a new project. My father trained you so very well,” He ran his fingers through Haiyan’s curly hair, toying idly with the black strands and eliciting a shudder that Haiyan hoped they could disguise for pleasure, “but there are some things I want to do differently with the new pet.”

Because Haiyan was too quiet. Because they were never good enough, because Master had to punish them too often to be convenient-

“And of course, you need someone to keep you company when I’m away, don’t you?”

No, no no. Haiyan treasured the days when Master Welhouse left on trips, even if they didn’t get any food while he was gone. Those days were the only times they had any agency, the only times they could drop their facade and be genuine, if only to themself.

“Don’t you?” Master asked again, a hard edge creeping into his voice. Haiyan tried not to let themself panic. He had seen their doubts, he knew.

“Of course, sir.”

Numbly, Haiyan heard Master introduce himself to the unfamiliar avian. “I am Matthew Welhouse, and you belong to me.”

A maddening screech rent the air in the marble entry hall, startling Haiyan out of their daze. Great, the newcomer was a screamer. Haiyan tucked their wings primly against their back, snowy and sooty feathers laying flat in opposition to the flashes of ruffled, flared wings that they saw between the cage’s bars. Maybe this was a good thing, maybe Master Welhouse would be so disgusted by this new avian’s behavior that he would realize Haiyan was good enough. Or maybe- Haiyan tried not to get their hopes up- the new avian would be the new outlet for when Master had his bad days.

Just then, the master of the house went off to bring the new avian into the manor, and Haiyan was left alone in the hall, unable to move until they had been given permission.

It wasn’t until dinner that Haiyan finally saw the beast up close. He was a startling thing, all muscle and scars and piercing eyes that locked onto Haiyan the moment he entered the dining room. He was wearing only loose fitting pants, leaving his scarred chest visible. Haiyan couldn’t help but stare at the marks that marred his freckled skin. So far, those were the only things Haiyan could see that they had in common: the scars, and the fact that the larger avian was adorned in metal, as Haiyan had been for so long. Clamps held shut his speckled wings, and cuffs locked around his biceps, pinning his upper arms in place but leaving his hands free. A collar wrapped around his neck, a blocky, two-pronged node pressing uncomfortably into the side of his neck. Master Welhouse walked in with him, a remote clasped in his hand.

“Haiyan, this is the new member of the family, Carus. Say hello.”

Haiyan dipped their head obediently and muttered out an almost silent greeting, their hair falling into their eyes as they did so.

“He used to be a fighter, isn’t that exciting, dear?”

“Yes, sir.” Not at all. This avian is a threat, Haiyan thought, he’s dangerous and now you’ve let him into the house. They didn’t miss the expression of revulsion on Carus’ face, that curled lip and wrinkled nose and dangerously flashing eye. Off to a great start already, they thought ruefully.

“Take your seats.” Master Welhouse said. Haiyan obeyed. Carus didn’t take his eyes off of Haiyan as they sat at the table, posture straight, wings tucked, and hands folded in their lap. The larger avian didn't move.

“Take your seat, Carus. Just there, across from Haiyan.” That hard edge returned to Master’s voice. Haiyan shuddered and peeked at Carus from the corner of their eye.

“No.” Carus’ voice was strong and assertive. Haiyan flinched, a person with that kind of tone was never a good sign in their world. They couldn’t help it, Haiyan peeked at Master to gauge his reaction.

That cold, calculating look was on his face, the one that spoke of torment and pain and neglect and the dark. He stared at Carus, examining him like he examined everyone else in his life. Then, suddenly, that murderous look was gone, replaced by a nonchalant, charismatic mask.

“Very well, you may stand if you like.” Master waved his hand, signaling for the staff to bring in dinner. “But you won’t get food until you sit like a somewhat civilized creature.”

An enticing aroma filled the room as dinner was brought in, as usual. A plate was set in front of Haiyan, but they didn’t dare move, waiting as they always did for Master Welhouse to eat first. While they waited, they watched Carus.

His dark eyes followed the servers like they were an all new danger. He watched every movement, kept tabs on every figure, and remained tense as the trio of servers laid plates at the three set places on the ornate dining table.

Master had already dug in. “Carus, the carriers told me you hadn’t been given food during your trip here, is that true?”

Carus didn’t reply.

“Eat, dear.” Master gestured to Haiyan, and the small-statured avian jumped to follow the order. They laid out a napkin on their lap and picked up their fork, every movement measured and regulated, just like they had been taught.

“Is that true, Carus?” There was that aggression in Master’s voice again, making Haiyan tremble like it always did. They lowered their fork and desperately wished Carus would just cooperate so they didn’t have to hear Master speak like that again. Master’s hand was hovering over the remote, his index finger tracing the button on top idly. Haiyan saw it, and but the looks of it, so did Carus.

“Yes,” Carus said through gritted teeth, his eyes trained on the food placed on the table before him. He looked like he was fighting every instinct in him that told him to run to the table and eat; his jaw was rigid and he worked it, clenching his teeth in an effort to resist temptation. As if to punctuate the statement, the scarred avian’s stomach grumbled plaintively.

Master’s sardonic smile grew. “Then you must be hungry, after all it took almost four days for you to get here. Please, take a seat and have something to eat.” He took another bite of his steak.

As though floodgates had opened, Carus surged forwards and thumped into the high-backed chair in front of him, immediately descending onto the plate like a bird of prey. Haiyan reeled backwards, flinching away from the ravenous avian in front of them and shocked by his actions.

“Now, Carus, where are you manners? Use your utensils and sit up straight.” Master Welhouse scolded.

Carus only glared with his dark eyes, hunching over his food like an animal and inhaling as much as he could all at once. His bound wings flexed, as though he wanted to shield his plate with them as well as his own body.

“I said sit up.” Master commanded, rising slightly from his chair. Carus’ wings fluffed up and he tensed, but continued eating anyway.

Haiyan felt the electricity before it even came. Carus’ choked scream filled the dining room, making Haiyan flinch violently and cover their ears to try and block out the noise. Their feathers fluffed out from fright involuntarily, and they curled inwards, trying to escape the noice of crackling electricity and the avian crying out from across the table.

It stopped suddenly, and Carus slouched forward, bracing himself against the table’s edge with a closed fist. His breaths were short, he panted and growled like some kind of animal.

“I told you to sit up and use your utensils.” Master’s voice was dark and cold, it sent goosebumps rippling across Haiyan’s skin. They had heard that tone of voice before, often directed at them. Fear caught their breath and hollowed out their lungs. “Now Carus, if you’re going to be a part of this family you need to-”

“Go to Hell!” Carus spat, earning him another surge of electricity. Carus almost fell out of his chair, crying out and straining against the cuffs that hold his arms and wings in place.

“Disrespect isn’t tolerated here.” Master coos, as though he’s teaching a toddler not to stick out their tongue. “You’ll have to learn that. But I’m willing to give you the benefit of the doubt and wager a guess that those arena junkies never taught you any sort of obedience. Perhaps you need an example.”

A quick snap of his fingers made Haiyan shoot upright. “Haiyan, come here.” They scrambled to their feet ungracefully before recovering. Their bare feet padded softly on the carpet until they reached where Master sat calmly.

He pointed at the floor beside him. Haiyan knelt obediently at his knee.

Master Welhouse patted his thigh, and seconds later Haiyan’s head was resting in his lap, just like a good pet. Master smiled and ran his fingers through Haiyan’s hair, tousling their curls gently.

“This is what you are meant to be, and this is what you will become.” The tone of his voice made Haiyan shudder. They played it off smoothly by nuzzling against Master’s thigh, pressing against him just like he taught them to.

“Fat fucking chance.”

Master’s hand tightened, grabbing Haiyan’s hair and tugging it suddenly. They held back a whimper, but couldn’t stop the fearful shudder that racked their body.

“You’ll see, in time, that everything is better this way. Everyone gets exactly what they want.” He insisted, his grip on Haiyan’s hair never loosening.

“And what about him? He looks fucking terrified right now.” Carus gestured with his restrained hands to Haiyan, his dark eyes flashing with disdain. For Haiyan or Master Welhouse, no-one could be sure.

The well-dressed man scoffs in disbelief, looking down at the avian at his side. He cradles their face in his hands, hands that had hurt them and maimed them so many times before. But right now, his touch is deceptively gentle, as though he would never imagine hurting anyone, especially not his beloved pet. “My dear Haiyan, are you really terrified? You can tell me. Please, tell me if you’re terrified.”

Haiyan glanced at Carus, at his tense posture and hard demeanor and the sweat slicking his skin from the electricity he had endured. Haiyan didn’t want to end up like that again.

So they lied.

“Of course not, sir.”

#does this qualify as a meet cute?#this is really just introductions #the whump will really start later #Haiyan #Carus #winged whumpee #tw electrocution #shock collar

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kakitysax · 4 years

Text

Halloween Artistic Challenge Day 2: Zombie

My gun is out of bullets. I pull the trigger a few furious times just to make sure, but it clicks hollow in my hand.

With a raw scream of rage and fear I throw it at the zombie. It hits it on the rib cage so hard that it stumbles back a step, but doesn’t significantly delay it.

Behind me, my friends are trying to break down the door. It rattles in its frame, but holds. We made it to hold, after all - never considered that we would need to be the ones getting in, that one of us could get trapped inside. Ironic that that is what will end up killing me.

Michael breaks the glass on the door. It’s useless. One of the first things we did was put bars on it. Still he reaches through, hand bleeding from the broken glass, face smushed against the bars. “Alex!” he screams, and I realize he’s crying.

The zombie is on top of me now and something feral is swelling in my brain, some desperate, human need to stay alive, some apeshit instinct that fills me with an emotion that can closest be compared to rage.

So, it’s going to bite me, huh? How does the saying go? An eye for an eye?

I grab its arm as it reaches out and hold it in front of me like corn on the cob. “See you in hell, motherfucker,” I say.

And I bite.

This zombie is still relatively warm. He might still have a heartbeat, sluggish and weak, pounding away in his rib cage. But it doesn’t matter. His eyes are glazed over; drool is coming from his mouth. It’s only a matter of time before he deteriorates into one of those nasty green fuckers that I’ve laid out on the floor. His skin yields far too easily under my teeth, cold and waxy, coming off in a clean chunk. No blood fills my mouth. It’s disturbing as hell, but I don’t flinch. I’m not about to give this bastard the satisfaction.

But surprisingly enough, it flinches. It tears its arm out of my grasp, leaving a hank of its flesh in my teeth, and stumbles back with what can only be described as a cry of pain.

I spit out the zombie meat and watch my assailant with wary confusion.

As I stare, the glazed green look leaves his eyes and color returns to his cheeks. Blood starts to flow from the wound - slowly at first, as if remembering how, but then faster, streaming from the bite mark to form a small pool on the ground.

No way.

The young man looks at me, struggling to focus his eyes. “What...” he croaks, then faints.

I stare at the human man bleeding on the ground.

“Michael, out of the way!” someone snaps. A key jangles in the lock and the door swings open.

Benson is holding the key. He and the others crowd around the doorway, questions dying on their tongues as they see the ex-zombie.

Benson speaks up. “Yo, what the fuck?”

#halloween artistic challenge #werewolfhome #day 2 #zombie #this is based on something I saw a while ago #thought it was funny #anyway I’m pretty burnt out by this point #my writing

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wordsablaze · 5 years

Text

13~ Adrenaline

Magic and Misery Merlin might use magic to help Arthur but he rarely uses it to help himself, which leads to an awful lot of misery… written for whumptober, enjoy!

A/N: okay, this seriously got away from me and ended up double the intended length but here’s a hopefully satisfying continuation of my last piece x

Merlin rarely screams.

He’s so used to being quiet and hiding his pain to maintain his reputation as a bubbly manservant who always smiles at everything and cracks endless jokes. Even in front of Gaius.

The last couple of days have made up for all of that.

He easily loses count of how many times he’s screamed in pain during his sentence with the witchfinder, both due to internal agony related to the magic-suppressing shackles and the inflicted external wounds.

And the third day’s morning sees him screaming yet again, albeit weakly this time, as freezing water is unkindly poured over him; it’s a shock and a half.

“I thought you might be dehydrated,” the witchfinder explains, even though it’s more of a taunt.

Merlin just glares up at him, not even bothering to try and straighten his posture from where he’s awkwardly slumped against the wall because his limbs feel like the mud he usually has to clean off the horses after it’s been raining.

“What? No thanks?” Aredian’s son crouches down and lifts Merlin’s chin with his hand, smirking. “Do you need more incentive to show your gratitude?”

Naturally, Merlin doesn’t reply.

He’s too busy trying to figure out if he’s now freezing because of the unwanted shower or if the burning in every atom of his magical being is just so intense that it only feels as though his soul has frozen over and is now shattering into tiny fragments, fragments that are slowly piercing his organs.

Within seconds, the witchfinder’s other hand presses down onto the stitched wound on his arm, eliciting a sharp, broken whimper from Merlin, who can’t help but also flinch away from the pain.

“Much better!” Aredian’s son beams brightly, as if he were a child getting his way.

A lack of sleep means Merlin doesn’t even have the energy to mentally form a comeback to that, never mind actually say one out loud. He just waits until Aredian’s son is satisfied and lets go of him again so he can exhale softly, pulling his arm closer to his chest protectively.

“I had so many fun things planned for today but I might have to change them if you’re so unwilling to talk,” Aredian’s son announces.

Merlin just waits, blinking water out of his eyes.

“I think we’ll go for a ride,” he announces eventually, making Merlin groan.

He knows what’s coming but it still hurts - it hurts so, so much - when Aredian’s son unfastens the chain and yanks him to his unsteady feet, not bothering to let him steady himself before starting to march towards the door.

Merlin almost falls over in his haste to stumble after Aredian’s son, his numb feet just about managing not to let him fall until they arrive back at the cart. Only then does he stumble and end up on the ground, groaning softly as the witchfinder grins down at him.

“Pathetic,” he comments gleefully.

Merlin flinches from the word, using his less injured arm - that is, the one without the stitches - to push himself upright as he bites down on his lip to stop himself crying out.

Aredian’s son just grabs his ruined t-shirt and hauls him up, practically tossing him back into the cage before securing the chains to the cart once more. He’d lost his jacket and necktie at some point, probably when all those blades had gotten involved, so he can’t stop himself from shivering when his skin touches the cold metal of the cage.

“Comfortable?”

Merlin lets his eyes shut and refuses to acknowledge the question, but regrets that when Aredian’s son bangs on the cage, the reverberation echoing through his bones and drawing out yet another whimper.

He feels himself slide down until he’s not touching the bars anymore, curling into himself to make himself smaller, less noticeable, less of a target.

Aredian’s son just angrily grumbles something about a confession and, soon enough, the cart starts moving. Hitting as many rocks and bumps in the road as possible, it seems.

When they stop, Merlin doesn’t notice.

What he does notice, however, is the chains rattling and the shackles rubbing against his bruised wrists, where the skin is raw from when he’d found the energy to struggle.

He hisses softly, his eyes blearily blinking themselves open.

“Merlin?”

Arthur.

Merlin gasps, pulling himself upright with newfound strength, carelessly lifting a hand to rub his eyes, ignoring the pain that shoots down his arm.

“I can’t- Merlin, stop moving!”

Definitely Arthur.

But Merlin obeys anyway, his gaze finally focusing on a familiar face as Arthur draws out his sword. Despite the familiar face, however, Merlin flinches as light glints of the sword, pulling himself into the opposite corner.

“No, Merlin, I wasn’t-” Arthur cuts himself off, sighing sadly, and swallows before sheathing his sword almost guiltily and turning to the menacing chains once more.

Merlin lets his eyes fall shut again regardless of how much he wants to see Arthur, how much he wants to see if Arthur will stay.

He’s missed Arthur.

There’s about a minute’s silence before an almighty, metallic noise rings out and Merlin abruptly feels alive.

He gasps, ducking his head to hide his eyes as they widen because he can feel, actually feel the powerful golden glow that radiates from them. He covers his head with his arms as his heart blooms again, as his soul finally starts to thaw and comfort him again, as his magic roams free under his skin again.

He breathes.

Inhales.

Exhales.

Simply breathing.

He’d forgotten how liberating it feels to be able to breathe normally.

He waits until he feels his magic settle, nestle inside him where it can’t be found, before looking up.

Arthur’s tears greet him.

He frowns but no, he’s not hallucinating, Arthur Pendragon is in front of him, is crying in front of him.

“Arthur…” Merlin breathes, a small smile blooming on his face.

Arthur looks conflicted but he beams as Merlin smiles, letting them share their relief for a moment before clambering onto the cart and unfastening the bolt on the cage, practically throwing the door open.

“Come on, Merlin, I have to get you out of here,” he says quickly, hushed.

Merlin nods, pushing himself towards Arthur and letting himself be swiftly but kindly guided off the cart.

Instantly, there are arms around him.

Merlin’s smile only lasts a second before Arthur’s hand brushes the stitched wound on his shoulder and he cries out, wincing enough for Arthur to pull back in concern. “Merlin?”

“S- sorry,” he manages, unable to stop smiling despite the pain.

“Oh, Merlin. I’m so sorry,” Arthur tells him sincerely.

Someone starts yelling somewhere behind them - apparently, Aredian’s son hadn’t missed the commotion - and Arthur’s eyes widen, glancing around frantically before settling back on Merlin. “I’m sorry if this hurts,” he whispers.

Then Merlin’s feet are leaving the ground and his head is suddenly on Arthur’s shoulder.

He whimpers but clings to Arthur as he bites down on his lip, forcing himself to stay quiet, focusing on his magic, trying to see how much of it he can use to help them escape, to help prevent Arthur having to face the witchfinder too.

Not much, apparently.

But just enough.

With the help of Arthur’s strength and a sprinkling of Merlin’s magic, they manage to make it far away enough that they can’t even hear whoever it was chasing them anymore. Only then does Arthur stop and let Merlin down, making sure there’s a tree behind him that he can lean on.

“I’m so glad you’re alive.” Arthur smiles.

When he doesn’t continue with how he’d be losing someone to use as target practice or something of the like, Merlin lets himself smile properly for the first time in days.

“Why… I mean, how did you…?” Merlin stops suddenly, unsure of what exactly he should be asking.

Arthur understands anyway.

He shrugs. “I persuaded my father that three nights was far too long to result in a genuine confession and then I simply followed the tracks to find you.”

“You followed the tracks?” Merlin echoes, unsure where his energy is coming from but unable to resist an opportunity to tease Arthur.

Arthur clears his throat pointedly. “I may have, uhm, asked… everyone… if they’d seen a witchfinder.”

Something soft, something like happiness, spreads through Merlin as he imagines Arthur questioning so many people just to look for him. It means more to him than he can care to admit and it makes his suffering at the hands of the witchfinder just a little more tolerable.

“Arthur, we can’t stay here,” Merlin finds himself saying, despite his heart wanting to do just that.

Arthur nods solemnly. “I know, we have to get you back home- Uh, that is, to Gaius. So he can heal you. Because you don’t look good at all.”

Merlin has questions but he makes a note of and saves them for another time.

When Arthur moves to pick him up again, Merlin holds up a hand and steps back just enough to prove a point. He ignores the way Arthur looks horrified at the bruising on his wrist and swallows. “I can walk.”

“Merlin…”

“We’ll be faster this way,” Merlin argues.

Arthur takes a moment but nods once more, pausing briefly before grabbing Merlin’s hand and starting to run.

“I only said I could walk, Arthur!” Merlin yells as they start moving.

“You also said you wanted to go faster!” Arthur yells back, his voice laced with equal amounts of amusement and concern.

Merlin had anticipated himself falling but he does nothing of the sort, a strange sort of strength pushing him forward, allowing him to keep up with Arthur as they sprint their way towards Camelot.

They don’t speak but they don’t need to.

If Arthur’s hand wasn’t firmly gripping Merlin’s as they ran, Merlin would have thought he was imagining this as some kind of fever dream. It just seems unreal that Arthur would search so desperately for him but he’s not complaining; if this is the reward for maintaining his end of destiny’s bargain, he’ll gladly accept it.

“Are you okay?” Arthur asks breathlessly at one point, glancing sideways.

Merlin nods, not even lying when he manages to reply, “Never been better!”

They carry on, through the forests and over the mostly deserted roads, stopping for nothing and no-one as they move, their fingers firmly intertwined as if their lives depend on it.

Eventually, the castle comes into view and the two of them share a slightly exhausted but still exhilarated grin as they somewhat carelessly navigate their way through the streets until they burst into the courtyard.

Coming to a stop, Arthur looks over to Merlin, pure relief in his expression.

Merlin sends him a lopsided grin in return.

But then the blistering pain of the last few days catches up to him and he whimpers again, his hand falling from Arthur’s as he doubles over, his body aching all over.

Agony burns and dances across his skin, creating nonsensical patterns between his wounds and connecting the dots of all his bruises. It hurts and although it's slightly better than before because his magic is trying its best to help dull his pain, it still hurts a little too much for him to bear.

“Merlin!”

He can hear Arthur’s concern but it seems that his adrenaline could only last so long.

Satisfied that he’s back in Camelot, back where he’s safe, back home, Merlin offers Arthur a soft smile before letting the soothing comfort of darkness take over, take away his pain.

He just about registers himself collapsing before he sinks into unconsciousness.

At least Arthur's there to catch him this time.

I legitimately haven't read this through properly so my bad if it read a bit strangely! I hope it was okay though :)

like/reblog but please don’t repost, thanks! masterlist

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lizzylunawizardessfanfics · 5 years

Text

Yandere Joel

Summary: What was a nice romantic date ended up turning into a horrifying nightmare as Lizzy finally sees the reality of her boyfriend’s true twisted nature.

Warning: Violence

It started out as a romantic picnic date in the woods with Joel as the sun was slowly setting. We had eaten our full as we talked and laughing together enjoying each other’s company. “Oh I almost forgot,” Joel said as he turned a bit as he went into the bag he brought along as he pulled out a small white box and shifted back to sitting normally before holding the box out to me with a gentle smile as I tilted my head to the side curiously.

“I almost forgot to give this to you, though you’re a lot better than I am I thought it’d be a nice surprise that I try baking a cupcake for you my blue jay,” he said causing me to smile as I took the box and opened it to see a chocolate cupcake as it had royal blue frosting though it didn’t look the neatest along with some edible glitter on top as just looking at it made me excited to try it. “Thank you so much, I can’t wait to try it,” I said happily as I carefully picked it up while setting the box down and then carefully peeling the wrapper away. Joel seemed to watch me carefully as I brought the treat to my mouth as I took a bite into it as it wasn’t too see but sweet enough as I happily took another bite.

“Do you like it,” Joel asked as he had a small nervous look with a tint of pink in his cheeks as he added “I tried to use your recipe since I’ve watched you bake them so many times.” I nodded my head as I was chewing on the bite that was in my mouth as even the frosting had tasted a little like cotton candy. I swallowed as I leaned over and gave him a kiss on the cheek as it made me happy that he baked for me. “For your first cupcake on your own it’s really good and I really enjoy the frosting,” I said as before I could take another bite I suddenly felt really tired as I let out a small yawn. “Hey are you feeling okay,” he asked however it sounded distant as I struggled to stay awake until the next thing I knew everything went black.

~~~ Time Skip ~~~

I felt myself starting to wake up as I let out a tired groan as I had no idea for how long I was asleep for or even why I fell asleep like that. After taking a few minutes to wake myself up as I sat up there was something very wrong with my surroundings; for some reason I was inside what looked to be a human sized bird cage. Panicking I scramble up and look around as all I see are cave walls as there was a fire going in the distance as it looked like someone lived here. “H-Hello?! Someone help me! Joel where are you,” I shouted as what if someone attacked us after I passed out and he got hurt or worse. No matter how hard I tried none of my magical spells weren’t working. “HELLO?! JOEL,” I shouted while trying to shake the bars as it barely made a rattling sound.

What seemed like forever because the lack of light and the silence, I suddenly heard footsteps running as I looked out as I held my breath as I felt slightly scared of who was going to appear until I heard a familiar voice call out my name as soon enough I say a head of red hair as I let out my breath. “Lizzy are you alright,” Vincent said as he made his way over to the cage as I nodded. “Y-yeah but have you seen Joel? We were out having a picnic and then the next I suddenly passed out,” I said as I watch him start break the lock of the cage. “I haven’t but let's get you out first and then-” Vincent was saying until I watch him collapse after he got bashed in the back of the with a big branch as I let out a startled scream and when I saw who the culprit was my eyes widened in disbelief..

“I guess I wasn’t careful enough when I was carrying my beloved here; honestly you should of just minded your own business,” Joel said as the usual sweet and gentle look in his mismatched eyes were replaced with a look full of malice and coldness. “J-Joel what are you doing stop! Vincent’s our friend,” I shouted as I shook the bars though they wouldn’t budge. Joel continued to hit and beat Vincent up with the bulky branch not giving him the chance to defend himself as I continued to try and talk Joel out of it.

Shortly after I watched in horror as Joel dragged Vincent’s unconscious body away as I fell to my knees taking in everything that’s happened as this couldn’t be real, it had to be some sort of nightmare in which I pinched myself only resulting in my flinching from the pain. Time passed until I saw Joel walking back as there was no Vincent with him as I could only fear the worst happened. “What did you do to Vincent?! What’s gotten into,” I shouted as I stood up once again as Joel chuckled while walking until he was in front of me. “Shh everything is alright my blue jay,” he said reaching his hand through the bars and gently caressing the side of my face. “He’s not dead, as he won’t remember anything when he wakes up. One less man I have to worry about trying to steal you away from me as what better way than to wipe their memory of you,” he said with a twisted smile as I felt myself starting to cry.

“Don’t cry everything is alright, I’m here for you my dear,” he said wiping away the tears as I shook my head in a no manner. “Just please let me out! W-Why am I even in here,” I shouted as he just continued to try and comfort me. “I’m sorry my blue jay but I can’t do that; it’s not your fault, it’s just those other guys that I can’t trust letting them get too close, as this is the safest way for all of us to live happily. I love you,” he said before placing a kiss on my forehead before pulling away and starting to leave again.

#yander joel crawford #joel crawford #yandere fic #wizardess heart #wizardess heart fanfics #lizzy luna #vincent knight

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bcdrawsandwrites · 5 years

Photo

I’ve been sick for an entire week so I haven’t gotten much writing/art done. But for whatever reason tonight my brain dove into the depths of my memory to bring back a scene from a childhood show that has forever haunted my nightmares, and I decided to paint it from memory.

There was a Christian kids show from the 80s involving puppet animals called Color Me a Rainbow. It was pretty tame, kid-friendly stuff--just animals talking about whatever the lesson was, kids demonstrating how to make different crafts, etc.

Except in one episode there was a completely out-of-nowhere scene where we find one of the puppets, a crow, sitting in a cage in a pitch dark room. She’s screaming and crying for help, and an unseen man off to the side yells in a scary, echoing voice, “Quit your screaming!” All we can see of this man is his hands, which are busy preparing a stew. He talks about how he’s going to eat the crow (in rhyme, IIRC, though this doesn’t dampen the terror much).

The crow switches between insisting she wouldn’t make good food, quoting scripture about God being a protector, and just... biting the bars of the cage and rattling them. At one point the man is just silently sharpening his knife while the crow frantically quotes scripture.

Suddenly the man hears a knock at his door, and leaves to investigate. While he’s gone, the crow knocks her beak into the door of her cage, and is shocked to find it open, and manages to fly away.

It’s a weirdly terrifying scene (or at least, it was to kid!me) in an otherwise very tame show. There’s little else I recall from the show (just bits and pieces from the first and last episodes)--this scene is the one I always remember, and the one that’s haunted my nightmares, particularly the man’s voice yelling “QUIT YOUR SCREAMING!” Though it could just be scarier in my memory than it actually is, who knows--been a while since I’ve seen it.

I probably still have the tapes of the thing somewhere. I actually recorded this scene at one point, but deleted the recording for reasons I don’t remember (maybe just feeling weird about having it sitting on my Youtube? I don’t know). Maybe I’ll dig up the tape again tomorrow, I dunno.

#color me a rainbow #my art

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impala-dreamer · 7 years

Text

Escape - Chapter Thirteen

SPN FanFic

~Y/N and Dean are abducted after a night at the bar and thrown into a maze of horrors. Can Sam track down his brother and girlfriend in time? Can they even hold on that long?~

Dean, Reader; Sam

3,848 Words

Series Warnings: Angst. Show level violence. Graphic gore and blood. Extreme situations that may cause anxiety and fear. Character injury and trauma. (Extra Warnings in the tags)

A/N: Thank you to everyone for joining me for this story. I have seen and loved all your comments and feedback and I truly appreciate each and every one of you taking the time to read. <3 I hope you enjoyed. Please let me know what you think...

~Feedback is the crack that keeps the Writing coming back~

ESCAPE Masterlist ~ My Masterlist

Chapter Thirteen: Stairway to Heaven -

Dean gripped Y/N’s hand tightly as they walked to the door. Their bodies were sore and near to breaking; their minds and spirits not far behind. But they had one thing, one thing that was pushing them onward… that luminescent red sign.

This was it, this was the end; their horrid ordeal was coming to a close, and soon they would be back home where they belonged. In the end it didn’t matter what had led them there, the hows and whys didn’t even ring in their thoughts any longer; they just wanted the fresh air, the sun, and the safety of their beds.

Dean gave Y/N a quick smile, and together they placed their hands on the push bar. The door gave instantly, drenching them in glowing white light; the sun come to meet them finally. With hopeful eyes closed tight, they stepped out of the basement and into the light.

Dean let the door close behind them, and as it did, the world flipped on end in a gut-wrenching spin. The exit door slammed closed and a hydraulic lock engaged, echoing loudly as it sealed them inside their final room. Y/N grabbed Dean's arm and pulled him towards her, moving him away from danger just as a wall of steel bars descended from the brightly lit ceiling and connected with the floor. They were blocked from the door, from the walls, from the ceiling, by thick metal rods on all sides; a true cage, with space between only wide enough for an arm to pass.

Y/N spun in place, her mind reeling as hope was dashed away. They were trapped like mice, like prisoners, in a cage made just for them.

Dean wasn't spinning. He was still, but not calm, staring hard at the far wall beyond the cage, upon which hung a message: a hand stitched salutation framed behind delicate glass.

Home Sweet Home

“No.” It was a whisper that sounded on the end of his breath.

“No.” His fists balled at his sides as his voice grew in volume.

“No!” It was rage against the world, the stars, and all for locking them up once more.

“No.” It was a cry; defeated and hopeless as he fell to his knees on the cold cement. “No.” He breathed the word, letting it become part of him; feeling it soak into his bones like the cold from below that seeped upwards through his hands and knees. Dean fell forward, giving up. He let the tears fall freely, silently onto the floor. He let his breath expel in heavy sobs that shook his chest and rattled his heart. He beat his fists against the stone until his hands were aching and bruised black.

Y/N stood behind him, slowly collapsing in on herself. She watched Dean break, watched him claw at the ground, soaking it in blood and tears. She held back, her mind too tired to fully process the finality of their situation. This wasn’t it; there had to be a way.

The cage was fairly large; a good ten feet long on each side, and the ceiling was higher than any room they’d been in before. The bars were thick and strong, and Y/N tugged on them with all the strength left in her, but they did not move. Beyond the cage were cinderblock walls, some four feet away, and out of arm’s reach. The framed tapestry was all that decorated the gray stones, but it was enough to chill her bones each time her eyes passed over it.

Inside the cage was set up like a bedroom, she noticed now, with a mattress on the floor in the bottom right corner, and a chair in the left. On the floor facing their cross-stitched death sentence was a brown wicker picnic basket. Y/N cocked her head as she stared at it curiously. In hopes of finding a hacksaw or a grenade launcher, she carefully stepped around the crumbled pile of rags that was Dean and fell to her knees next to the basket.

Y/N wiped her soiled hands on her thighs and opened the lid. A wretched laugh tickled her chest as it worked its way up through her; stopping to shake her shoulders as it pushed out from her lips in a dry, crazed chuckle. Inside the basket was a bottle of champagne, two plastic flutes, and a carefully folded notecard. Y/N steadied herself enough to reach in and retrieve the note, but the laugh returned when she read the words, perfectly written in heavy calligraphy,

‘Welcome home.’

Her lips twitched, laughter replaced with rage as she read the note over and over again. Her fingers tore at the fancy paper, and a scream ripped through the quiet as Y/N snapped. She shredded the paper and rose to her feet, kicking at the basket and then at the bars, throwing herself repeatedly into the cage wall, desperate to shake them loose, to move them an inch, to affect any change in their predicament. Again and again she slammed her shoulders into the bars, but nothing moved. Her screams echoed off the cinder blocks and shook Dean from his stupor. He climbed to his feet and stepped between Y/N and the cage, blocking her next blow with his chest. He took the hit with a heavy groan and then wrapped his arms around his friend, fighting with her rage to hold her still. She twisted and struggled against his grasp, but he held firm, turning with her, not letting her break free.

Eventually she calmed and they sank to the floor together. Dean leaned against the bars and crushed Y/N to his chest, letting her count her breaths by the beating of his heart. He held her tight and rocked her gently, whispering placations and empty promises against her hair.

“What do we do?” she cried softly into his shoulder, her eyes wide and desperate for direction.

“I don’t know,” he confessed, looking once again at the frame on the wall. “I don’t know.”

Sam took a long step towards the counter, his eyes glued to the image he saw in Roger’s lenses, his hand closing around the handle of his gun. He kept his face neutral, but had Roger known him better, he would have guessed all in the subtle clench of Sam's jaw and the twitch of his nose.

“Something else I can help you with?” Roger looked up and smiled as Sam approached.

“Just one more thing,” Sam said, keeping his voice calm and monotone. He reached the desk and looked down at Roger, confirming his suspicions and filling with rage. The image he had caught in the man's glasses was that of his brother and girlfriend, huddled together in a cage. In an instant, Sam pushed away all facade of calm and drew his pistol. Fire flared in his hazel eyes as he aimed the gun and growled. “You can put your hands up and back away from the computer.”

Minutes, hours, days; they had no way to know how long they had been there. Not since their beer soaked evening at the bar had either even a fleeting sense of time. There was no light, no dark, no way to gauge the passing of time but the breaths they took and the beat of their hearts.

When the tears had dried, Y/N passed into a dreamlike daze, her head rolling gently against Dean's shoulder, and her eyes falling closed only to pop open every few seconds as she was reminded of their ordeal. Dean kept his arm around her and set his eyes to the floor. He went over every moment from their journey; every step that had led them there. It seemed impossible and pointless that it should all end in a cage. Their trek had been destined for a dead end, but why?

At some point they moved onto the mattress, Dean folding himself around Y/N to keep her warm and provide the illusion of safety. She fell asleep finally, her entire being giving in to the physical trials and mental torture. When her breathing deepened and her limbs went slack, Dean slipped away to inspect the cage. He walked slowly around the perimeter, stopping every few feet to jostle a bar; he ran his fingers down over every welded connection, seeking a chink in the barrier, a drop of hope. Each attempt came up empty. The cage was solid; their imprisonment absolute.

Y/N woke up a few hours later to a loud pop that filled the room and made her jump. She sat up quickly and rubbed at her eyes, blinking into the bright overhead lights that beamed down upon them. Dean was at the foot of the mattress, filling the plastic champagne flutes with bubbly. He looked up at Y/N with a faint smile and handed her a glass.

“What’s this?” she said weakly, her throat torn and burning from the screaming she had done.

“Cheers,” Dean set the bottle down and picked up his own flute, holding it up so they could toast.

“Dean…” Y/N shook her head, not wanting to join in his game, but he insisted.

“You’re exhausted and dehydrated. The sugar will do you good. Drink up,” he said and raised his glass a bit before taking a sip of the room temperature liquid. The bubbles attacked his throat and shot upwards towards his nose, and Dean cringed at the taste.

Y/N sighed and looked down into her cup. “So this is it?” she asked, biting at her cheek to keep from crying. “We make it through Hell just to end up here? Locked up in a cage like rats?”

Dean shook his head and licked a drop of sweetness from his lip. “No,” he said simply. “That wasn’t Hell. This is Hell. All that was nothing, this… this is where it ends. Where we end.”

“No, Sam’s coming. He’s coming, I know he is.” Y/N nodded, agreeing with herself, trying to hold onto that last piece of hope. “Any second now, he’s gonna break down that door and get us out.”

Dean laughed bitterly and took a second sip. “He’s not coming.”

Y/N lifted her glass and took a breath. “You’re wrong.”

Roger scooted back in his chair, raising his hands as a smirk passed his lips. He was cooperating, but only for show. He had a vantage point that Sam did not have, able to see the entire lobby, and his accomplice, Kevin, sneak up behind Sam.

“Just stay right there!” Sam yelled, and then spun around as the floor creaked loudly behind him. He turned just in time to see Kevin attack, his bulky right fist flying towards Sam’s head, a needle held high in the left. Sam dodged the blow just in time, bending down and jumping back up with a punch to Kevin’s gut. The man doubled over, and Sam brought his gun down, knocking him out with a hard shot to the back of the head. The handyman crumbled and Sam looked up, chest heaving as he caught his breath, and saw that Roger had crept away.

With renewed anger, Sam tossed his head back, sweeping the sweaty hair from his forehead, and rushed over to the abandoned computer. He clicked a few times to call back the screen he had seen the shadow of, and after a moment it appeared. It was a split screen, four cameras pointed at a cage, observing Dean and Y/N from every angle possible.

The pair looked half-dead, thin and graying, their clothes little more than soiled rags stained with blood; their faces more of the same. They lay on a filthy mattress that occupied a corner of the cage, curled into each other, their foreheads touching as they whispered back and forth. Wide eyed and horrified, Sam fumbled with the controls, trying to zoom in, to turn on a microphone, anything; but it was useless. The four screens were as high tech as the set up got, and Sam was forced to watch the silent production.

As he watched, Dean reached into the back pocket of his jeans and pulled out a thin piece of metal that flashed in the light as he brought it up between them. Sam beat his fist onto the desk, unable to see what was happening. It didn’t matter anyway, he was close.

A door slammed behind him, and Sam turned towards it, gathering himself and preparing to finish his hunt and save the day.

“Y/N/N… we can’t.” Dean sighed as he held the scalpel between them. He gripped the handle tight and looked from its rusty blade into her pretty face. She was tired through and through, her cheeks stained by dirt and tears, lips cracked and bleeding. Bruises spread like purple webs across her neck and collarbone, and he knew the ones he couldn’t see were worse. The cuts she’d endured were red and inflamed by infection, and he felt his burning as well.

Her fingers closed around his hand, and she looked back with a peaceful smile. “It’s OK, Dean. This is how it has to be.”

For days they had wasted away in the cage, taking turns to saw at the bars with shards of glass from the broken champagne bottle while the other kept watch over the door, praying for Sam. The glass caused not even a dent, and the door never opened. They were dying, truly, painfully, finally.

With hearts that raced and stopped with no rhyme or reason, and heads that pounded and spun, Y/N and Dean lay down on the mattress and contemplated the end. How long could they last, alone in this room? How many hours did they have left before the Reaper came? A healthy human could live up to seven days with no water, but they had already been through so much. They had been beaten and bled beyond what a person could handle, and Dean felt his strength fade a little more with every breath he took. He was dying. Y/N was dying. There was nothing he could do.

“I can’t,” he said again, his voice hoarse, throat dry. He licked at his lips out of habit, but the cuts in the creases were deep and they stung when he pulled his tongue away.

“It’ll be quick,” she said softly. “And then it’ll all be over. We can be free of this place.”

Dean searched her eyes, darting back and forth between her glassy irises, but he found nothing there but resolve. She was ready. “But Sam…” he tried, hoping to instill another ounce of hope into her.

Y/N smiled and shook her head. “Sam’s not coming. You were right.” Her hand left his to cup his face, and she pushed away a vagrant tear from his cheek. “You with me?” she asked, recalling the promise they had made to each other at the start.

Dean nodded and closed his eyes. “Yeah, I’m with ya.”

She smiled and leaned forward to press a gentle kiss to his lips. She sucked in a deep breath to push back her tears, and took the tiny blade from his hand. “I love you, Dude,” she whispered.

Dean shivered and opened his eyes. “I love you too, Kid.”

Sam held Roger at gunpoint in his little room behind the lobby. For all his cunning and schemes, the twisted man did not have an escape plan. He never thought he could be caught, and for four years he had carried on, playing his game with the random souls he plucked from the night.

Sam’s fist cracked hard against Roger’s jaw once more and then man’s head snapped back as he let out a groan.

“Where are they!” Sam bellowed as he leaned down and set his hands on the arms of the chair that held Roger tight.

The man flinched but simply smiled in return, shaking his head slightly as he refused to answer the question. “You know, you should be proud. No one’s ever made it that far before. I was surprised.” Roger’s tongue snuck out and he licked away a bit of blood from the corner of his mouth that Sam’s jab had called forth. “Most never make it off the operating table.”

Sam’s lip curled into a hateful sneer when he heard those words. “What have you done to them?”

“Oh,” Roger laughed. “So many things. But, really, they’ve done it all to themselves. I’ve just provided the… necessary inspiration.” He leaned forward and looked Sam dead in the eyes. “And from what I’ve seen, they’re about to do it to themselves again.”

“What do you mean?” Sam seethed, his hands tightening around the wooden arms.

“The ultimate escape.” Roger smiled again.

Sam let out a roar born of frustration and pain and spun away from the chair. He ran a hand through his hair, trying to stay calm and get the answers he needed, but Roger’s shrill voice went on, piercing Sam’s ears.

“They made it through my rooms in amazing time. Only took them fifteen hours; and that’s with all my trip ups and knocking them out and whatnot. I was quite impressed. Which means, of course, that your brother and that pretty little thing have been locked in their cage for just shy of eighty-six hours. Do you have any idea what that would do to a person? It’s been very educational watching them lose their minds, I must say. I’m so grateful for the opportunity.”

Sam’s fingers twitched against his gun, and without thinking he switched the safety off again and spun around to face Roger. “Tell me where they are!”

Roger laughed. “Don’t you know? They’ve been here the whole time. Right under your nose.” His shoulders shook with glee and Sam’s heart pounded in his ears. “Some detective you are.”

Sam raised the gun and pressed the barrel hard against Roger’s forehead, marking his target, straight between his eyes. He let out a cry that stopped Roger’s incessant laughter and Sam’s hand began to shake.

They both jumped when the door was kicked open; Kevin having returned to consciousness and bounding in to save his partner. In the shadows of the back room, Sam could see clearly that he was the man from the video, and while he took no pleasure in putting down a human, he had no mercy either. A single shot to the heart dropped the massive man, and Kevin crumbled, his dead eyes wide and mouth agape.

Sam turned back to the mastermind and took aim once more. The man cowered, eyes darting between his fallen comrade and his executioner.

“You don’t want to kill me,” he said quickly, on a mission to bargain for his life. “If you kill me, they’ll be locked away forever. I’m the only one who knows the codes to unlock the system.”

A soulless smile curled the corner of Sam’s mouth as he lowered the hammer on the pistol. “Well, lucky for me I’m pretty good with computers.”

Roger struggled against the rope that held his arms. “Just wait! Wait!”

“Roger,” Sam said, taking a deep breath and lowering the gun. “There’s only one thing I need to know from you… Why?”

All pleading fell away as Roger transformed back into the psychotic monster he truly was. “Why?” he asked with a sneer.

“Yeah,” Sam confirmed, narrowing his eyes. “Why?”

Roger licked his lips and lifted his chin to look at Sam properly. “Why not?”

Dean’s eyes popped open when he heard the gunshots. They seemed close, but muted by so many layers of concrete that he couldn’t be sure if they were real. Could just be his mind playing tricks on him again; he’d been the victim of hopeful hallucinations now too many times to count.

Y/N whimpered next to him, her breath becoming slow and faint. Dean clutched her hand to his chest, feeling how cold her fingers were growing. Her eyes fluttered and he kissed her fingertips as he began to hum again. He could feel himself slipping away, and everything in him was battling the end. He didn’t want to go, not like this, not ever, but it was too late.

“There’s a feeling I get, when I look to the west...”

Y/N smiled as he sang, listening to his gruff melodic whisper as the room faded away.

“And my spirit is crying for leaving…”

The bars melted around her, the lights dimmed; the torment of waiting and the pain of their trials fell away.

“In my thoughts I have seen, rings of smoke through the trees…”

“Dean…”

“Yeah, Y/N/N?”

She smiled as she closed her eyes. “You’re a horrible singer.”

Sam’s fingers danced frantically over the keys, his eyes searching each line of code, blurring and stinging as sweat dripped down from his forehead. It didn’t take him long to break the system, and soon he was ripping back caution tape and flying through the plastic sheeting on the final leg of his search.

Dean stirred when he heard the lock disengage. He turned his head towards the door and saw it push open; his heart stopping and his lungs expanding with a deep breath when his eyes fell upon his brother.

“Sam?” Dean croaked the name, still not sure if he was real or an illusion.

“Dean!” Sam rushed towards the cage, looking between the thick bars at the bloody mattress and the pair that lay on top.

“Sammy…” Dean let his head fall back down, but managed a smile. He rolled back to Y/N and shook her shoulder gently. “Y/N/N… wake up, Kid. He did it. Sam saved us.”

Sam looked around the room quickly until he found the little frame on the wall that, according to Roger’s plans, hid the switch that would open the cage. He tossed the cross stitch to the ground, shattering the glass in his haste, and flipped the lever. Instantly, the bars closest to the door retracted into the ceiling, and Sam rushed to Dean’s side.

He fell to his knees on the mattress, hovering over Y/N, his hands frantically traveling up her body. A breath caught in his throat when he saw the blood running down from her wrist, and he gathered her up, clamping one giant hand down on the wound and pressing hard. He looked to Dean who struggled to speak, his lip quivering with pain and regret.

“We… we didn’t think you would find us,” he whispered.

Sam couldn’t answer. He fell down over Y/N, his tears dropping to her face and clearing a path downwards. If he had been faster, smarter; if he hadn’t left them alone in the first place, none of this would have happened. He pressed his lips to her cold cheek and let the wave of guilt flow over him.

“Y/N…”

... ...

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@akshi8278 @allinhishands @amanda-teaches @ameliaponders @arryn-nyxx @asxualgallavich @atc74 @autopistaaningunaparte @babypieandwhiskey @bea789 @be-amaziing @because-imma-lady-assface @becauseyouwishedit @becominglionhearted @blacktithe7@blanketmadeofstar @blood-on-roses @blushingdean @brewsthespirit-blog @brooke-supernatural16 @callmesatansprincess @captainemwinchester @carmenisafangirl @chaos-and-the-calm67 @charred-angelwings @charliebradbury1104 @chelsea072498@chrisevansisdaddy04 @chumi-la-chula @crispychrissy @cyrilconnelly @dalikah3@dannnyphantomm @daughterleftbehind @disphandomgirl @docharleythegeekqueen@dreamingofwinchesters @dustycelt @dylanosprayberry03 @easelweasel @erin654@emoryhemsworth @emptywithout @evansrogerskitten @evyiione @fabulouslycassie@faegal04 @faithfullpanicmoon @fandomsanarchy @fandomismyspiritanimal @fandom-queen-of-wonderland @fatalcrossbow @feelmyroarrrr @findingfitnessforme @freddy-fuckboy-tammy@frenchybell @fuckyeahfeysand @geekgirl1213 @gemini75eeyore @ginamsmith @grace-for-sale@growningupgeek @hair-dresses @hannahsakorax3 @hareliketherabbit @hexparker@idreamofhazel @ilsawasanacrobat @imascreamerbabymakemeamute @im-super-potter-locked@impalaimagining @inthedepthsofdespair @itstatertot22 @j2-winchester-boys@jarpadandjensenaremyheroes @jayankles @jesspfly @jerk-bitch-and-an-angel @jocelyn-of-the-jellyfish @jotink78 @jpadjackles @katackles @kate-of-imperium @katelynbkool @katrodriguez99@katymacsupernatural @kdfrqqg @lauren-novak @lefthologramdeer @letmusicguideu@lipstickandwhiskey @li-ssu @lizmalfoywayland @luciisthebest @luulaachops@maddieburcham1 @mandilion76 @megansescape @meganwinchester1999 @mein1928@mija-novella @milkymilky-cocopuff @missdestiel67 @missselinakitty @mistressofallthingsgeeky@mjdoc90 @mogaruke @mrsbatesmotel53 @mrsdeanfuckingwinchester @mrswhozeewhatsis@my-life-is-here-soo @myfand0msandm0re @myloveforyouxx @mysteriouslyme81 @naadestiel @naviwhite @nekobemura @nerdysandwichqueen @newtospnfandom @nichtlisax@notesfromalabprincess @obessivecompulsivespn @ohgodjensen @ohmychuckitssamanddean @percussiongirl2017 @petrovadixon @pinknerdpanda @please-lives-are-at-stake@poukothenerd @precious-bands-love @privatebecks2313 @purrculiar @queencflair @queen-of-deans-booty @riddikulus-obsessions @ridingmoxley @riversong-sam @roxy-davenport@roxyspearing @samisimportant @sandlee44 @sgarrett49 @shhhs3cret@sireennotsiren @silvershadow545 @skadi-winterfell @snarkpunsandsarcasm @sofreddie@sophiebobzz @spooookyscary @spn-fan-girl-173 @squirrel–moose–giraffe @sumara62@summer-binging-spn @super100012 @super-not-naturall @supernatural-girl97@supernaturaldean67 @supernaturallymarvellous @taste-of-dean @tennesseewhiskey-and-pie@the-moose-of-baskerville @theoutlinez @therosecolouredpost @thing-you-do-with-that-thing@thinkwritexpress-official @tmccarney @trexrambling @turnttover @typicalweirdbookworm@uniquewerewolfsuit @vacam79 @wayward-marvel-sommer1196 @waywardswain@weasleywinchester-blog @wellcrazythis @winchesterprincessbride @wordstothewisereaders@wotinspntarnation @xxmizzlexx @yearoftheweasley @yvngkinggchristyy

SERIES TAG: ESCAPE: @thelittleredwhocould @lissa1980fl @fatalcrossbow @its-a-pair-o-docs @thehardcoveraddict@just-another-winchester @jadepc @sammy-moo @ryantherandomhero @goldenolaf25@sunskittlex @allethalove @masksandtruths @deepbreathssammy @susan-is-in-the-house@padasteph-nie @rebelslicious @hillywooddestiel @newtospnfandom @georgialouisea@casismyspiritanimal @ja9erz @mrssamfuckingwinchester @spectaculicious @colagirl5@messy-buns-and-shotguns @bandobsession98 @sasquatch5 @frickfracklesackles@blackfandomtrashandproud @ladyaragorn13 @lefthologramdeer @deans-treasure @tardis-is-mine @savvy-j-01 @canadianjelly @kathaswings @ellen-reincarnated1967 @spnbaby-67@rhapsody-in-flannel @ravengirl94 @invisibledevour @triciareh @just-a-normal-eccentric@veevm @ejspencer14 @goofynerd-67babylove@babylove @there-must-be-a-lock@jensensjaredsandmishaslover @shamelesslydean @mcallmestiles @kettle24601draws @carryonmywaywardcaptain @kingkenzieo @deansgirl215 @mariahoedt @akhuna01 @mizzezm@babyimp1967 @astration @hannahindie @soopranatural @ohmystars30@superwholockmarauder @lavieenlex @oreosatmidnight @caramelcastiel @sammeh-pie-jawn@fangirlinglikeamentalpatient @spn-and-daddy-issues @mery-magizoologist@itsthesamegametoday @kittenofdoomage

#spn fanfic #dean winchester #sam winchester #sam x reader #angst #horror #escape #series #entrapment #murder #character death #tbc

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