#how to get rid of stomach overhang

[hannibals-favourite-meal]

I discovered your blog a little bit ago (back when your requests were off) and got super excited when I saw that you wanted a Sam Winchester request!

So I was wondering if you could write a fic where the reader is insecure about her stretch marks, but Sam reassures her and shows her that he has stretch marks too from growing so quickly and much when he was a kid going from tiny to giant in like a snap. Reader is obsessed with them now that she’s seen them (and wants to lick them ;)) snd there’s so much appreciation on both sides. Thank you so much!

Love your writing!

.⋆｡Natural Matching Tattoos｡⋆.

Sam Winchester x plus size reader

You never liked your body but you love Sam and he adores every part of you so maybe you should let him show you just how incredible you are

Warnings: self deprecation, fat phobic thoughts, stretch marks, fear of rejection, fluff, implied smut, reassurance 

WC: 997

Minors DNI

Library- @hannibals-favourite-meal-library

Hunting was apparently not a great form of exercise, you thought as you stood in front of your full length mirror dressed in nothing besides a bra that should’ve been thrown out years ago and your laundry day underwear. With a critical eye, you glared at the overhang of your stomach, the seam between your thighs where there should have been a gap but especially the shimmery skin stretched too far along your body. 

You tilted your head as you traced those lines with the tips of your fingers. How many things had you tried to get rid of them? How many years have you spent avoiding mirrors just because of this? You sighed dejectedly, your entire body sagging with the weight of your hate. You were exhausted with it, it ate away at you until there was only a speck of the love you once had for the body you inhabited. 

“Princess, have you seen my- oh.” Light from the hallway streamed into your room, casting a new light upon yourself which you immediately turned away from, and instead met the deep hazel eyes of your barely official boyfriend. Sam filled the doorway, his presence overwhelming.

“Sam.” You could barely breathe out his name with the massive weight of shame sitting on your chest. You felt his gaze burning into your skin as he took in every inch of your mostly naked body. Your vision wavered as tears began to build.

Yet he said nothing. “I-“ But no more words would come. This was what you feared most, that he would finally realise that he could do so much better than you, that you could never compare to Jess or Eileen or even Ruby. As you braced yourself for heartbreak, Sam stepped closer, lost in a trance.

Your arms curled around your stomach and you looked away, squeezing your eyes shut. Your fingers brushed the tell-tale smoothness of some of your stretch marks and suddenly you wanted to scream. Why couldn’t you just be fucking normal, you wanted to shout at yourself, why couldn’t you just lose the weight before he saw you naked for the first time. You expected to hear him insult you or say that you had a pretty face for someone so big, but then, just like he always managed to, Sam surprised you.

Far softer than you could ever imagine a man like him to be capable of, Sam cupped your forearms, prying them away from your body and leaving you vulnerable to him. You whimpered under your breath. There was a moment of quiet where all you could hear was his heavy breathing and your own pounding heartbeat and then-

“Gorgeous.” 

His large hands hovered over your hips like he was handling a piece of precious artwork. The calloused tips of his fingers grazed the fat along your pelvis in reverence. “I always thought you were beautiful, but now, I can’t believe that you’re real.” 

“Sam-“ Part of you wanted to stop him, to push away his affections but the way he cradled you and looked at you with those big hazel puppy dog eyes, you didn’t think you had the strength to stop him. He gave you that stupid grin of his that showed off his dimples and made his entire body light up. “But my stretch marks.” You managed to stammer out as some sort of last ditch effort to get him to realise the truth.

Finally he laid his hands on your skin and your mouth snapped shut. His thumbs brushed against said stretch marks, leaving behind a warm, buzzing sensation that you could feel in your bones. “What about them?” He murmured but you could tell that he was already lost in the texture of your skin.

“They’re ugly.” You admitted like it was some shameful secret. Sam froze for a moment and gazed deeply into your eyes. 

“You really think that?” You nodded. Your skin was cold where he let go of your hips, it made you wish that you had just kept your mouth shut and let him love those parts of you that you hated. 

You jolted forward to try and grab at his hands but they were already pulling at the buttons of his flannel with a determined look on his face. You gave an embarrassed squeak as suddenly, Sam was topless in front of you, his perfectly sculpted torso so achingly close to your hands. “Then you must think mine are ugly too then.”

In the soft light of your bedside lamp, you could see the silvery lines that trailed up his slim hips, starkly contrasted against his tanned skin. They were almost identical to your own and they were beautiful, like silver threads that had been placed upon him like jewels. You couldn’t help but reach out to them, desperate to feel them beneath your hands.

Sam chuckled deeply in his chest but did not try to stop you as you laid your palms flat against his toned stomach. “How?” Was all you could manage to say besides something else incredibly impolite about your boyfriend’s body.

“I’m 6’4 princess, and Dean will absolutely attest to the fact that I grew over a foot in one summer. I was bound to get some stretch marks.” You hummed, now understanding why Sam had been so distracted by your own body moments before. “Still think stretch marks are ugly?”

You shook your head without hesitation and he beamed. “’S like we have matching tattoos.”

A soft kiss was pressed to your temple as he once more wrapped you in his arms to hold you close. “That’s my girl.” You sank into his embrace, content and warm. The weight of your insecurities was slightly lessened with someone you so dearly loved taking some of the burden and you couldn’t be happier about it. Well, there was one thing.

“Can I lick ‘em?” Sam’s laugh reverberated through the room.

“Only if I can lick yours.”

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FIRST | <- | ->

"Wha…?" Confusion momentarily overtakes the growing paranoia as she examines this creature that was seriously out of place in a city like this. Did it come from the woods and get lost out here? How did it get this far without becoming roadkill or someone's new fur rug? And why the hell was it scarred up to hell and back. Tentatively, she moves to take a step forward… only to be stopped by what feels like the equivalent of nails on a chalkboard grinding against inside her skull. It was Shade. The demon, in reaction to the sight of this animal, was wailing, screeching. She was whipping herself up into a frenzy of panic. Margaret grimaces and yelps, forced to step away from it. Her head was pounding, blighted by a fresh, hot migraine brought on by the panicked demon. She couldn't even ask what was wrong. The grating wails drowned every inquiry she attempted to bring up. 

Margaret took a step back… but the Fox took a step forward. She feels the cold trickles of dread well up in her stomach… and takes another step back. The vulpine takes another step forward. This was bad. Real bad. The Fixer didn't know what this creature was capable of, but clearly, Shade was setting off multiple red flags to stay the fuck away from it. So she was going to take a chance right fucking now… by booking it.

Boots hit the pavement, kicking it into high gear one foot after the other. The Fixer could hear the taps of claws hitting concrete just behind her in a gallop. It was fucking chasing her. Margaret didn't know what it wanted, but she wasn't stopping to figure it out. Uphead, she could see the telltale sign of her apartment. It is a bittersweet sight… because she knows she cannot flee into it. She needed to throw it off first to get rid of it. So she runs past her home, finds the nearest alleyway, and makes a sharp turn for it.

Her surroundings transform from one alleyway to a different street a few blocks down. Transported to a new environment, she finally has a moment to stop and catch her breath, bending down to plant her hands on her knees. Her lungs felt like they were on fire, having pushed herself so much just to get the hell out of there. Slowly, the Fixer collected herself, yet… the overhanging dread hadn't left her. In fact, Shade was still urging her to keep moving.

“Why?” She thought. “We just teleported away from it. How the hell is it gonna-”

Suddenly, a sound. A small ‘yip’ cuts Margaret's inner dialogue off, the cold sensation of dread yet again creeping to the pit of her stomach. There was no time to think. She needed to MOVE. Legs boost her forward, a sharp ‘wind’ missing her backside by just a hair. She’s bolting down the street, making a sharp turn for an alleyway again. The Fox follows. This time, it’s wailing. It’s a sound she’s only heard foxes make towards one another in YouTube videos, but this sounded like a call for something. The Fixer turns down another alleyway, taking a metal barrel and flinging it backward. It does little to deter the small vulpine.

Margaret finds herself at the park at the other end of the teleported path, finally stopping to face the foreboding creature. She spins around, only to just barely catch the bladed edge of a claw against the cheek of her mask. She stumbles back, eyes wide with fear, bewilderment…disbelief. The Fox was no longer alone. With it were three large, dane-sized weasels with sickle-like claws."Itachi," per Shade’s hissing. The creatures snarl, licking their fangs hungrily, anxiously, sizing the young woman up. The Fox stood behind the weasels, watching intently with those large, expressionless eyes. A Ringleader directing the madness.

Shade writhes within the confines of her vessel, agitated, fearful, angry. She was cornered. The Weasel creatures moved to surround them, to cut off possible escape routes. They needed to get out. They needed to get out they needed to get out they needed to get out they needed to get out they needed to get out they needed to get out they needed to get out

[phytochorion]

How the Forest Finds the Island

Chapter Three - You Catch More Flies With Honey

The rain was soon pelting down, steadily raising the waters of the creek. Not wanting to hang around and see if the banks burst, Sen approached the trunks of the twin ginkgos. Without wings, climbing the taller of the two was a daunting prospect, but the shorter tree had more crinkled bark that should provide a firm foothold. Taking a few deep breaths to steady himself, Sen placed a hand on the bark, enjoying its slightly warm roughness, then started his ascent.

Some tiny tarachocelid flutterflies were nibbling tender leaves at the tips of the freshly sprouted twigs. Sen glared in their direction, but refrained from shooing them off. Despite being leaf eaters, they also helped to spread pollen, and were overall beneficial for ginkgo survival.

Approaching the crown, Sen scanned the nearest branches for a suitable perch. He soon settled on one with a bowl-shaped dip in it, testament to healed storm damage. From here, he had an unparalleled view of his other ginkgo, the lake, and the expansive fern fields beyond. Perfect.

The rain had already begun to ease off, and gentle sunlight filtered through breezy clouds. Sen sat cross legged, closed his eyes, and soaked up the energy surrounding him. As it invigorated his body, he smiled and bowed his head. His brow knocked softly against the wood. Magic began to emanate, vitality flowing from his system into the ginkgo's.

The effect was visible straight away. Slight vessels rose along the sides of the knot, while the knobbled bark along the fringe closed over, forming a little roof. Soon there was only a small aperture left, shaded by an overhang, along with some tiny pores along the edge for drainage. Sen wriggled through the gap and snuggled down. The rainwater was already being channelled out by the newly grown network, leaving the space dry and cosy.

Coming out of dormancy and straight into a rather hectic day had taken its toll, and Sen felt exhaustion creeping up on him. Warm and safe, he lapsed into a sleep of fervent dreams.

⸙ ⸙ ⸙

Sen awoke before dawn, well-rested and motivated by the scenarios his mind had conjured in the night. He quickly shimmied out through the crack in the bark and gazed upon a starry sky. His mind continued to whirr, concocting plans for all he hoped to achieve in this boundless habitat.

Firstly, he was going to construct his nest. The alcove he had formed in the bark was suitable for the time being, but it was a fixed structure. It left no room to expand without harming his tree, something he wouldn't countenance.

Strolling along the branch, Sen picked up a munching noise. The flutterflies were gone, but a hungry horde of inchworms had taken their place. Sen crouched and watched them. They were doing more damage than the flies had, but there was one very useful substance that caterpillars produced.

Silk.

Sidling inquisitively over, Sen inspected the larvae and their depredations. The sooner they pupated, the better, as then they'd stop eating and their silk would be available to harvest. If they weren't due to metamorphose for a long time, it would be prudent to just get rid of them now.

Deciding that could wait until sunrise, Sen instead studied the half-eaten leaves. They were no longer any good for photosynthesis, and pruning them would make way for fresh growth. They'd be his breakfast.

⸙ ⸙ ⸙

By the time he was done eating (and trying to stomach the residue of inchworm saliva) the sun was peeking over the mountains. Sen stood and trilled a series of notes, more meaning being added with each layer of sound, until the melody, though not quite forming words, carried meaning. Sen listened as his song faded and the shadows crept down the slopes. Presently, an answer was given, a song deeper and more rhythmic than his. Si-woo was awake too.

Smiling, Sen returned to the worms. He gently patted an average sized individual, and at his touch, it reared up in its defence response, looking exactly like a bare twig. With the insect motionless, Sen concentrated and envisaged four steadfast pillars standing around him. He then laid a hand on the inchworm, transmitting its experiences into his mind. After a short interval, he broke out of his trance, satisfied. This larva was close to pupating, and given their similar size range, the others must be too.

Until they did so, Sen had other jobs to do. Stretching out the lignin in his neck and brushing his feelers, he returned to the tree's trunk and descended. It was nerve-wracking, but he knew he wasn't in serious danger; his negligible mass meant that he wouldn't reach terminal velocity should he fall.

Following the grain of the bark, Sen reached a small burl near the trunk's base and jumped the last foot from there. Landing softly in the fronds and leaf litter, he stood and headed down the creek.

In the preternaturally fertile soil, some of the clipping's he'd planted the previous day were budding already. This warmed his heart, but unfortunately he wasn't the first on the scene. The flutterflies were back, and on small shoots that hadn't yet developed their reproductive structures, they were nothing but a menace.

Sen shouted, racing forward, momentarily forgetting his wings had not regrown and launching himself into the air, only to come stumbling down in an awkward leap. He tottered rapidly ahead, regained his footing and launched himself the last few centimetres at the tarachopterans. They rose into the air, evading him easily, and buzzed off a short distance before settling on another shoot. He drew to a halt and watched them.

If he kept chasing them, he'd only tire himself out. He could see insects on some of the other nearby shoots, and he couldn't target them all at once. Normally he'd resort to his spells in this situation, but he was still feeling a little drained. He didn't reckon he could manage any more after already magicking not long prior.

Maybe he could build some kind of scarebug? But insects reacted more to movement than to shape recognition. Unless it was something that blew constantly in the wind, they'd ignore it. And there wasn't much wind. He sighed. It looked like he was going to have to kill them.

Sen disliked killing animals, but if it came down to them or his trees, there was no contest. Shaking out his limbs, he strode purposefully to the nearest group of flies. He made no attempt to intimidate them, and though they turned to keep an eye on him, they didn't immediately take flight. He paused for a second, tensing his legs. Then he sprang.

The flutterflies rose into the air, but Sen was easily within range now, and knocked one of them into the dust with a well-timed thrust of his palm. This was followed by a slanting heel kick that took its head off in one neat movement.

He covered his nose with one hand and tucked his feelers down with the other as fumes of pungent haemolymph rose. Turning, he saw the others had gotten out of reach. He approached the next sprig. The flies here seemed more wary, and he imagined they could smell their dead congener. This wasn't enough to put them off their meal, however.

Slowing to a tiptoe, Sen got as close as he could. The flies turned, one looking him dead in the eye. He leapt, catching it by its legs and thrusting it down. Landing on its back, it buzzed frantically but couldn't get airborne, and lashed out in panic. Sen yelped as keen tarsal claws lacerated his forearms. Sap welled up through the smarting wounds. Furious, he curled his knuckles and delivered a leopard blow, punching clean through the insect's abdomen and severing it from the thorax.

Sen swayed gently as behind him, the tarachopteran's convulsions ceased. He was bleeding and somewhat winded, but, after catching a breath and letting the sap coalesce over his scratches, felt confident to continue. The flies were now too wary for him to sneak up on, so instead he made repeated runs at them, chasing them back into the air when they tried to land and swatting any that got careless. He wasn't quite sure how long he spent doing this, but after what felt like hours under the sun, he was starting to wilt. Drawing to a halt, he took stock of the situation. Some of the flies had given up and fled, but most remained stubbornly in place. Girding himself, Sen made a final charge at the tarachopterans. His spirits rose as a cloud of them lifted off his plants, and sunk in tandem as they simply picked new ones. He staggered to a smooth, moist root and sprawled out.

After a moment, puzzlement ran through his brain. There were no trees large enough for this root to belong to nearby. And it certainly hadn't been here yesterday. Rising once more, he ran a hand along it. The texture wasn't bark, but… skin. His fingers stopped at a mottled-brown, heavy-lidded eye.

Sen just about stopped himself from jumping two feet in the air. Very, very carefully, he crept back, lips tightly pressed together. But the beast displayed no interest in him. He could now discern a trail where it had hauled itself from the creek. It appeared to have been creeping unnoticed for the last few minutes.

As he watched, the elongate crawler opened a cavernous maw with deliberate, creaking patience. Unlike the mouth of most vertebrates, it was not the bottom jaw that moved, but the top, so it didn't even have to lift its head. As the mouth grew wider and wider, it revealed a stunning, golden throat, and a fringed tongue of a similar colour. This appendage unrolled, spooling like a meaty fern out into the dust.

Enraptured, Sen was overcome with a sweet, heady fragrance. It was so tempting that he nearly took a step forward, before the logical part of his brain snapped into focus. He remained rooted to the spot. Soon, the flutterflies were stirring. The first took flight, followed by another, then many more, all homing in on the alluring tongue. They landed in droves, attempting to feed, only to find their mouthparts gummed by viscous mucous. When they tried to struggle free, the same secretion thwarted their escape. With remarkable speed, the tongue flicked back into the mouth. The creek crawler swallowed in a deep, satisfied manner, then with a sweep of its tail swished back into the water. The ginkgo grove fell silent, untroubled by fluttering.

[jackdaw-writes]

Andrew is a good swimmer. He has been swimming for as long as he can remember and his mother gave him permission to go to the beach on his own, even if he isn't supposed to swim without an adult present. And he doesn't. He knows the stories of hidden tides, pulling children and adults alike oit into the sea, never to be seen again. He knows the dangers of stepping on the wrong fish or getting stung by jellyfish while swimming.

He knows all of that and he pays attention to it, makes sure to keep his distance when walking along the shoreline on his own. He knows his mother trusts him to come home safe.

He also knows he isn't supposed to be out as late as he is right now. It's already starting to get dark, the sun painting the water golden as it sinks. But his mother has a late shift for work and the house is too silent without her. So Andrew decided to go on a walk.

He's walking over the cliffs next to the beach, paying attention to every step. Some of the older teens and young adults sometimes jump from these cliffs. Andrew's mother made him promise to never do the same.

The waves crash against the stone below in a regular rhythm, not too loud or hard but still present. Andrew can hear seagulls and birds, insects from the grass on the other side of the patg he's walking on. The sheep are all asleep further away from the sea. He can smell salt and seaweed, can taste it on his tongue. It's nice.

Andrew isn't sure what happens next. One moment he's climbing over a large rock, the next he's falling. He must have tripped. He's lucky he was on an overhang, so he doesn't risk hitting his head on the rock.

The water is approaching fast and Andrew reminds himself how his mother taught him to jump, never in the ocean but in an open pool not too far away. He forces his body straight, his arms to his side and toes pointed.

It works, but the sudden shock of the water around him still almost knocks the air out of Andrew's lungs. It's not warm, but not cold either. He's lucky it's summer.

As soon as he can, Andrew tries to struggle upwards, towards the surface. His jacked pulls him down, his shoes make it almost impossible to swim. It feels like he's being pulled down. He can feel his eyes widen, his heartbeat quickening. He forces himself to keep calm. Panicking would only cost him more air.

He tries to kick off his shoes and get rid of his jacket when someone appears in front of him. Andrew isn't sure if he's seeing them right or the shock is starting to set in, because in front of him is someone who is only half human. Half of their body is covered in scales, light on the stomach and darker on the back. There are gills, running all the way up their sides and fins on their arms.

Andrew has heard of mermaids before, of course he has. None of tge descriptions seem to come even close to the one floating in front of him now, staring with too wide, faintly glowing eyes and what looks like shining stripes running down their body.

They grin, showing off too sharp teeth and the only thing stopping their hair from floating around and getting into their face is the seagrass they braided into it. Andrew doesn't think he has ever seen anything more beautiful. He doesn't even realize that he stopped trying to swim, that he has been sinking, until the mermaid suddenly swims forward, wrapping their arms around him and pulling him upwards.

Andrew lets himself get pulled along, too stunned to do anything else as the mermaid pulls him closer to the surface. He can feel his lungs burn, but he ignores it. One beat of the mermaid's tail and they break the surface. The mermaid hauls Andrew onto a rock close to the beach and he gasps for air, clinging to the rock with the sudden shock of being able to breathe again.

The wind runs over his wet skin, making him shiver. The mermaid stays close, their head and shoulders outside if the water, but everything else staying under. Andrew stares at them while he tries to catch his breath and they watch him back.

"What's your name?"

He wants to curse himself right after. What if they don't understand English? It's a stupid question. Then they grin again, showing off more teeth than a human has and swim closer, holding up something that they wear around their wrist.

Once they're close enough that Andrew can see, he recognizes the thing as a bracelet, laying tight on their skin. It looks like something someone lost in the sea, made out of fake leather and decorative stones. Waterproof. The stones each have a letter on them.

"Paul? Is that your name?"

The mermaid, Paul, makes a motion with their hands. When they see that Andrew doesn't understand, they hesitate, thinking, before they nod. Andrew tilts his head to the side and tries to copy the movement.

"Does this mean yes?"

Paul makes the move again, then nods. Andrew smiles. Paul smiles too, a short pulse seeming to ripple over their glittering scales caused by a quick movement.

"My name is Andrew."

Andrew looks towards the sky and sees that the sun is further down now. He frowns.

"Sorry, but I have to go. I'll be back tomorrow. Will you be here, too?"

Paul makes the sign for yes and Andrew smiles.

He manages to get home before his mother and pretends his hair is wet because he showered. He doesn't tell her about Paul.

---

Andrew comes back every day and Paul meets him each time. They talk, Paul teaching him the mix of sign language, clicks and movement mer, because that's the right term, use to communicate.

Andrew doesn't have a tail or scales and he doesn't manage to copy the clicks, no matter how hard he tries. But that's okay, because Paul understands him anyway.

Each day they meet and each day they talk and each day they learn. Andrew learns that Paul only knows English because their parents taught them and that only few mer can understand it. He learns that Paul can read a little bit and that mer have a basic written language as well, but that it's very different from English.

Paul brings him a stone, with symbols scratched into the surface that they explain are words and information. In turn, Andrew brings them whatever he can think of. Since mer don't have letters like English has, they don't have fingerspelling, a concept Andrew found when he tried to research sign language. So Andrew and Paul learn it together.

Amdrew doesn't know what would happen if anyone found out about Paul and he wants to avoid it ever happening. From what he knows, people don't know that mer exist. He doesn't want to lose Paul, no matter what.

But for now, he doesn't worry about it. For now, he learns and laughs. Soon, school will start up again. But he'll cross that bridge when he gets to it.

[hairstyleforteen]

Does sucking in your stomach help?

According to a study published in the journal Archives of Physical Medicine and Rehabilitation, practicing stomach vacuuming can help to relieve severe back pain, improve posture, and power up your overall workout regime.Your core gives you strength and stability. Can sucking in your stomach make it flatter? Is sucking in your stomach good for you?You would expect the answer to be no.You would be right if you said that sucking in your stomach or vacuuming won't net you a six-pack. Does holding your stomach in help tone it? Your mother might have told you to hold your stomach muscles in.It will support your back.It is a go-to exercise for personal trainers. What happens if you suck in your stomach? Pelvic floor issues can be caused by sucking in.Excess force on the pelvic floor muscles can be caused by habitually contracting your upper abdominal muscles. Why can I push my stomach out and look pregnant? There are a lot of people with diastasis recti.It happens when the rectus abdominis muscles are not being stretched.A person's belly can stick out months or years after the separation. Should you let your stomach hang? In reality, most people, including many who are in overall good health, don't have sculpted stomachs, and she and other experts emphasized that holding in your gut is not a healthy behavior in the long term.Kearney-Cooke said it was painful.It's not good for your whole system. Why is my belly flat when I lay down? Your stomach should go flat when you lie down because gravity pulls the contents of your abdomen downwards towards the floor. Does sucking in your stomach burn fat? You can get less midsection fat by sucking in your stomach because it uses a vacuum and doesn't use the abdominal muscles.Stop it. Why is my stomach split into two? The growing uterus causes the 2 long, parallel muscles of your stomach to separate from each other.These muscles run from your chest to the middle of your belly. What does sucking in your stomach do? Pelvic floor issues can be caused by sucking in.Excess force on the pelvic floor muscles can be caused by habitually contracting your upper abdominal muscles. What is a hanging belly? It's the belly fat that's hanging by the sides and front of your stomach when you wear tight fitting pants or shorts. What is a hanging stomach called? Abdominal panniculus is the scientific name for stomach overhang that hangs down in front and is a common reason for this anxiety. Does shaking your belly burn fat? Advocates say that as little as 15 minutes a day of whole-body vibration three times a week may aid weight loss, burn fat, improve flexibility, enhance blood flow, reduce muscle soreness after exercise, build strength and decrease the stress hormone cortisol. Why do I look pregnant? It's a separation of your abdominal wall muscles.Singh says that you will be able to feel a separation or weakness of your muscles in the abdominal wall, which will cause you a "pregnant" look. Why is my belly popping out? The most common causes are trapped gas and eating too much.A swelling or extension of your belly can be caused by the sensation of a bloated stomach. What happens if you hold your stomach in all the time? The compression of your organs can make your health problems worse.The compromised breathing caused by sucking in your tummy can cause problems for asthmatics, and lead to shoulder pain, neck and jaw pain, and headaches. Can you suck in your stomach when pregnant? When done for a short period of time, sucking in your stomach while pregnant is completely harmless.They caution against doing so for long periods in certain conditions. Why is my stomach so big? Poor diet, lack of exercise, and stress are some of the reasons why people gain belly fat.Making lifestyle changes can help.There is fat around the abdomen. How do I get rid of my mom overhang? This excess fat store can be burned by exercising such as swimming, aerobics, running or dancing.The fastest way to get rid of stomach fat is with high intensity interval training. Read the full article

[abdulajeez]

What exercises get rid of mommy belly?

What exercises get rid of mommy belly?

[lacheri]

vermillion // part iii.

|| masterpost || part ii. || part iv. ||

pairing: demon!Eren x fem bodied reader

content: DARK CONTENT, modern au, sacrilege/sacrilegious themes, demons/fallen angels, predator x prey, corruption, mention of nightmares, anxiety, blood/gore, eventual smut, strangulation/choking, violence, minors DO NOT INTERACT

summary: reader tries to rid herself of the negative energy plaguing her life.

wc: 3.5k

a/n: I cannot stress more how thankful I am for everyone being so patient with me through my writer’s block. thank you for you endless support and kindness. I hope you enjoy <3 (I spent 2 months on 3.5k words please omfg)

“I’d like to return this book please.”

“You’re having nightmares, aren’t you?”

Your eyebrow twitched on your forehead, your eyes squinted towards the familiar appearance of the elderly woman of your favorite bookstore. The novel in question was slammed on the wide plains of the checkout counter, and the elderly woman frowned down at it.

“Yes,” your answer was clipped, blunt.

She stared back at you, her kindness combating your harshness, “Sorry hun, no returns. You know this.”

“I’m not trying to give you trouble,” you pleaded. “But I can’t have this thing in my house anymore. It’s damaged, first of all, missing almost all the pages. Second, I’m going insane without sleep.”

“Did I not warn you, honey?” her smile did not falter. “To not sleep with it or read it before bedtime?”

“C’mon, you know how I am with reading,” you deadpanned. “I carry the thing with me everywhere I go until it’s finished.”

“That still doesn’t work for our return policy,” she pointed a finger above her, gesturing to a sign nailed into the overhanging wall.

No returns after 24 hours. You buy a book, you give it a forever home.

You huffed. What a stupid sign.

“You want to talk about it? The nightmares?” the woman pressed, eyeing you warily.

“Did you not have them when you read the book?” you tilted your head in question.

Her old eyes scanned the store — not a customer in sight aside from you. You followed her gaze, eyebrows furrowed together. Why was she so concerned about who heard her? Why couldn’t she just answer your question?

Your eyes returned to her form, searching her shirt for a name badge. Nothing. Just the striped blues and whites of her cotton t-shirt met your investigation.

Her thinned lips finally opened, her voice nearly a trembling whisper, “We can’t take it back.”

You laughed incredulously, throwing your arms up, “Alright, fine. I’ll just throw it away, or something.”

“You really shouldn’t do that,” though her smile remained in place, her eyes held a glimmer of desperation. “That’ll only make things worse.”

“Worse?” you blinked, shaking your head in bewilderment. “What does that even mean?”

Her eyes glazed over, as if she was having the most casual of conversations, and her grin began to unsettle you, “Sometimes, it’s better to not know, dear. I will say this; whatever you do, do not get rid of that book. Keep it somewhere hidden, and do not let others see it. It’s yours now, don’t pass that book onto anyone else.”

“But it was passed to me?” a feeling of dread pooled in your stomach. You felt nauseous, “Please, I just don’t understand why I can tell you about my nightmares but you can’t tell me why they’re happening. You’ve read it, you’ve had to have been through this before.”

“I wasn’t the rightful owner,” she took the black hardcover into her grasp, taking a fresh bag from underneath the counter and concealing the literature inside the plastic. “It seems as though you are.”

“You’ve got to me kidding me,” you groaned under your breath, leaning your elbows across the counter. Your head greeted your palms, smoothing back your hair as you cradled the sides of your face, “I’m one bad dream away from checking myself into the hospital. I’m — seeing shit, constantly. He’s fucking everywhere.”

Her beam finally diminished, shooting across the galaxy of her expression to die as a supernova, a black void left in its wake as shock parted her lips, “He’s shown himself to you?”

“You know Eren?” your hands left your cheeks, and your fingers gripped the edge of the wooden countertop, hauling yourself forward.

“Do not say his name,” she hissed. “Please, tell me you didn’t say his name in front of him.”

“You know him!”

“You naive girl,” worry filled her pupils, and she took a step backwards breathlessly. “What have you done?”

You blinked, recognizing your intimidating position, and straightened backwards, “I haven’t done anything! Please, please, just help me. I feel like I’m going crazy.”

It was like all the air in the room was sucked out at that very moment. Stagnant oxygen swirled in your lungs, as if your exhale would ignite an explosion. You watched on as her raw concern transformed back into the impassive kind smile she typically adorned. Her body visibly relaxed, her breathing evened. Finally, her eyes greeted yours in utter indifference.

“Have a great day. I’m sorry, but I can’t help you anymore.”

“What?”

“Please,” her voice cut sharp through the thick tension. “We can’t talk here. Go home, stay with someone you trust, just, stop saying his name. Stay safe, please take care of yourself.”

Your jaw hung in disbelief. You stood to full height, though your spine felt heavy in your back. You wanted to slump over in defeat, but your weighted thoughts and shallow breaths of panic willed you to keep trying for answers.

“You can’t tell me anything?” your voice crackled, the last shreds of hope left in tatters in your larynx.

The woman frowned. It was deep, every wrinkle uplifted by her usual beam fell, and you realized then how old she looked when she wasn’t smiling, “Like I said, sometimes it’s better not to know. Do you pray?”

“No?” you nearly whispered, and you cleared your voice to allow passage for the visage of confidence. “No, I don’t.”

“I recommend you start. Go to church, keep yourself in good health, whatever you have to do. A priest might be able to help you more than I can,” she reached across the counter, palms facing upwards, and you placed your fingers atop of her own. “I’ll pray for you. Take care of yourself dear, you are a smart girl. You’re not going crazy, believe me.”

“Feels like it,” you wanted to sob, a docile sniffle took place of the heave in your chest.

“I’m sorry,” she released your hands, and gave you one last fleeting smile. You nodded as she extended out the bag containing the damned text.

You felt numb as you turned your back, stumbling out of the shop. The woman followed behind, and as soon as the glass door closed behind you, a click signaled the bookstore was now locked. You threw a glance over your shoulder, the open sign now turned closed, blinds being pulled on the front facing windows.

Well, there goes that shot for answers.

You gazed down at the bag with rumbling anger. Rage blistered, nearly boiling as your freezing shock faded. Your limbs felt weightless, your jaw clenched tight. You just did not understand.

The sun casted golden rays on graveled sidewalks and budding weeds on your journey home. Cars whooshed past your body, your mind elsewhere as you became entranced in thought. You had ran your errands for the day, dropping off groceries and necessities on your kitchen island, took one good look at the book in question, and hauled ass over to the shop. You were done, frightened out of your mind and completely exhausted. You still had problems sleeping. Eren had not shown himself to you in a week, but the looming anxiety he held over you was enough to keep your eyelids from fluttering shut in the late hours of the night.

Your own book had made remarkable progress at the very least. As it turned out, delirium was a fantastic muse for writing.

Historia had called you a few times only to meet your answering machine. You had listened to the voicemails with sleepy frowns and teary eyes.

“Hey, just checking in on you. Haven’t heard from you in a couple days, hope the book writing is going alright!”

“Hey, it’s me again. Give me a call back, trying to make plans for this weekend.”

“Please give me a call back. We’re worried about you.”

You had simply sent out a group text informing your beloved friends you were just too tired to socialize. That your book was taking everything out of you. Which wasn’t entirely false, you really had been slaving away over your illuminated keyboard. Your editor had sent an email, informing you that your deadline was near to submit the first draft of your novel, and crunchtime was dawning. Tormenting sleepless nights had only aided you in your self isolation, but your promising book kept you strapped to your office. Afraid, drained, and alone, you were truly surprised you hadn’t completely lost your grip on sanity.

Sasha, Mikasa, and Historia had all sent you loving texts saying how proud they were of you for working so hard. That their bank accounts were ready to buy your book in every shop in the area. You had smiled at this.

You missed your friends and the life you had two weeks ago. You missed feeling the happiness and light in a room. Lately, all you had felt was never ending dread and despair.

You stalled outside the front steps leading up to your home. The blue painting chipping, the sun falling low into the horizon, you grit your teeth. The concrete flight held your attention for a beat, your grip on the plastic bag tightening. Your nails pressed into the inside of your palm, digging deep red crescents into your skin. The pain brought you out of your daze, and you casted a lethal gaze to your hand. The book felt as if it weighed a thousand pounds, and your mind was made up.

You were done listening to nameless old women. Especially ones who could not answer your questions.

You wanted your normal life back.

You stomped over to the garbage bins stationed on your street. They glistened in the golden lighting of the sunset, metallic and reflective. For public use, of course, your free hand grasped the edge of the closest bin. The black hardcover fluttered in the bag, a gust of wind opposing your weighted appendage as it lifted. It clattered in the steel caging as it fell from its confines, and you smiled.

Fuck this book and everything it had done to you.

The plastic bag discarded in the recycling, you felt nearly weightless as you strode back to your front steps. Unlocking your door and pressing through the archway, your back hit against the entry wall, your foot kicking the front door behind you. You chuckled breathlessly, shaking your head. It was done, and you were free.

The evening passed by quickly after. You lounged out on your couch, sipping from your favorite wine glass as you watched a documentary on nature. Your consciousness was slipping, but the program held your stubborn attention. Belly full of dinner, thirst sated with the deep red in your cup, you were utterly relaxed.

Life had finally felt optimistic for the first time in over a week, your spirits high. You had even sent out a text to your friends asking what their weekend plans were.

You hadn’t realized you had drifted off until the roaring of music paired with the end credits rolled across your eardrums. Stemware pressed against your chest, empty with the last remnants of sacred drops of nectar, you groaned. You hadn’t even remembered finishing the drink.

Clicking the television off and settling the glass within your palm, you stood to wobbly feet. You spared a glance to your messily made couch, deciding you’d fix it up in the morning. Same with the wine glass, you set it on your coffee table, and let your bare feet carry you to your staircase.

“I guess I left my bedroom lights on,” you mumbled, eyeing up the top of the stairs. Your bedroom door was swung open, soft yellow illumination casting soft shadows on the floorboards. You padded upwards with caution.

You would’ve remembered making a trip to your bedroom. You hadn’t been in there since you had woken up this morning. More so, you knew you didn’t turn on any lights. The bright rays had casted enough illumination into your space. There was simply no need for artificial light.

You stalled in the door frame before entering, apprehensive and calculated. You observed the room, seemingly nothing out of place. Your bed was still made, your night clothes folded in the corner of the mattress. Your bedroom window was cracked open still, allowing the soft city breeze to dance through the interior, the subtle hum of cars driving by soothing your ears.

So, you stepped forward.

The door immediately slammed behind your back, the lights flickering until they dimmed into darkness. You were swallowed whole, your eyes struggled to adjust to the black abyss.

You squinted, an unplaceable feeling pooling in your stomach. Fear should’ve come to mind, should’ve welcomed you with open arms. However, you quickly recognized the emotion as rage. Angry and fiery, you clenched your fists.

“I’m done playing your fucking games!” you called out, mustering all the courage you could. A dark chuckle greeted you in return. Spit fell from your curling lips as you cried, “Get out! I’m done!”

Your spine crashed against the cedar frame, and you yelped in shock. Strong hands, that unfortunately you recognized as familiar, held onto your shoulders with shattering grip. Nails dug in through your shirt, you whimpered, and that hot flash of anger quickly disappeared.

Eren’s breath was ice cold as he towered above you, leaning his head down to lock his pine colored eyes to your hazy ones, “You’re done? Aren’t you feeling awfully brave today, little girl.”

“How are you here right now?” your voice barely came out as a whisper.

“You think you could throw away my book and that would solve all your problems? Didn’t that nice old lady tell you not to?” his laugh was anything but humorous. “Naive, dumb little girl.”

“I’m tired, please, just leave me alone,” it was your last resort, begging.

“You know I can’t do that. Besides, you sound so pretty when you’re scared,” his right hand lifted its pressure from your shoulder, and he cupped your chin between his fingers.

“Eren please.”

“Ah, there it is,” Eren moaned lowly. “You gonna’ start crying now too?”

“Fuck you, leave me alone,” and start crying you did.

Tears cooled instantly in the frigid air as they trailed down your cheeks, collecting in the crook of his thumb and pointer finger. Your pupils dilated, and suddenly you could see everything with crystal clear vision. Eren appeared much more terrifying in the dark, jutting cheekbones and furrowed eyebrows. His eyes and smile were what plunged your heart to your stomach though — unassumingly soft, almost kind. As if he was performing an act of service.

With his left hand still digging into your shoulder keeping you locked in place, his right fell from your face. His verdant irises flickered downwards, watching in pure fascination as your tears trickled down the meat of his thumb. They left glistening trails in their passage until they collected into the bend of Eren’s elbow. He returned his focus to your face, all benevolence deserted his expression. His eyes abandoned their green hue, black pupils expanding nearly to the rim of his irises. You swallowed a lump in your throat, and suddenly his attention was caught.

You wish you had had time to react, to run away. Eren had seen your body twitch, your fight or flight activated, and his palm shot back to you. The inside of his knuckles pressed into the sides of your throat, and you choked on stagnant oxygen. Your eyelids fluttered, your heart pounding in your ribcage. He sneered above you, pressing his forehead to yours.

“Have you thought about it? Our deal?”

You couldn’t even think let alone speak, his nails digging into the opposing sides of your trachea. Your body responded for you, your head shaking ‘no’ with the limited amount of room Eren’s palm allowed you. He rolled his eyes and loosened his grip, his hand never moving from your throat.

“And why not?” Eren quipped, a hint of malice in his tone.

“I—“ you began to cough, your esophagus screaming in the sudden onset of airflow.

Eren was not going to have this. As if appalled by his own hands, he wobbled backwards a step. Relief flooded your senses, a false coaxing for your exasperated breathing to regulate. You licked your chapped lips, and Eren folded his arms around his chest.

“Don’t wanna’ sell my soul,” your voice was hoarse.

“Is that what you think I’m here for?” his eyebrow perched.

You nodded, your knees buckling as you attempted once more to stand your ground, “Isn’t it?”

“I’m here for a lot of different reasons, little girl. Frankly, you were the one who summoned me. Maybe I’m trying to sell my soul to you.”

“What soul?” you rasped. “You fucking sold it already.”

“Did I?” Eren placed his pointer finger to his chin, feigning deep thought. “Is that what it says in my book?”

“Your book has missing pages,” you spat, embracing your middle. Your back was flat against the door, trying to distance yourself as far away from the entity in front of you. “Aren’t you a demon? Of course you sold your soul.”

“It’s cute, but very annoying how smart yet stupid you are,” Eren rolled his eyes, shaking his head and he turn to face the window. The moonlight casted iridescent illuminations across his features, and you recognized then Eren was terrifyingly beautiful. Although, when you’re designed to be a predator, you supposed that would be logical.

But wasn’t Eren crafted in Heaven?

“I’m getting really tired of no one having any answers,” you mumbled to yourself. The floorboards appeared grey in hue under the dim lighting as you inspected them, no longer interested in gazing at Eren.

“Would you like to know what a contract with me would entail?”

Your attention was caught once again, a pit developed in your stomach, “What?”

“I’m far too selfish to want just your soul, dear,” he peered at you from the corners of his eyes. “I’ve waited millennia for you. That’s not all I’m after.”

“Then what is it?”

“Everything,” Eren blinked, a small smile developing on his lips. “You, sweet, stupid girl, are my salvation.

“Pick another girl,” the quiver of your lip did not hold back the bite in your tone. “I don’t want to make a deal with you.”

He took a step closer, and you sunk to the floor, “Turns out you don’t really have a choice. I’ve been nice to you, you know? I didn’t have to offer anything beneficial to you, I have the power to just take whatever I decide I want. If I wanted your heart, I would have it. If I wanted your eternal devotion, I could’ve deceived you into giving it. But here I am, showing you exactly what I am, and yet you still have the nerve to bark demands at me. So, I’m going to ask you one last time.”

Eren planted his feet where he stood, slowly bending down until he crouched before you. The whites of his eyes diluted, inky coal black creeping forward until it met the circles of his green. His face was sharp, jaw clenched tightly. You could imagine that if you reached a pointer finger out and touched his bones, you would draw back a finger sliced open, drops of scarlet blood falling to the floor.

“Money, fame, power, glory — it could all be yours. Whatever earthly desire you crave, just say the word and it will become true. In return, all I ask for is you. In whatever way I decide.”

“You won’t go away until I say yes, will you?” you hugged yourself tighter.

“No, I will not,” Eren was deadly serious, expression stoic. “I will give you three days to decide. After that, I will not treat you as kindly as I have. I’m getting what I want, girl, be smart and choose to reap the benefits.”

“What about your book?”

Eren’s lips twisted into a sincere smile as he gazed at you, “It’s in your hand, my love.”

You ripped your arms from your sides, and low and behold in your right hand sat the weighted text of the cursed book. You whipped your chin upwards, ready to ramble off your chain of questions. However, Eren was gone.

The lights flickered on as if nothing had happened.

Out of sheer curiosity, you flipped open the hardcover. You expected blank, lifeless pages to meet your vision. To your alarming discovery, the parchments were littered and full of never ending text. You flipped through, your fingers shaking. Word after word, page after page, Eren’s story sat in firm typography. You felt entranced, limbs going numb. You fumbled to the last page, and took a deep breath. In beautiful penmanship, cursive and black, awaited a message.

Maybe this will give you some clarity.

LACHERI © 2021: all writing content belongs to LACHERI. I do not allow reposts or translations.

TAGLIST: (bolded couldn't be tagged ):)

@onwiings @besotted-eros @ryukatters @esroh06 @phasmwrites @blondeboyfriend @cherryackerman @liashideout @e-jaegerenthusiast @erentoes @lagrimasdeglitter @bbyju @misslovingpearl @xadist @prxttyguardian @ashjbu @kakashihatakesbaby

[hockeylvr59]

Hi. Number 1: taking a rain walk with cale. You can choose the time. Thank you !

So with all the UMass content I've been digging up I decided to take a trip back in time with this one. So we're setting this fall 2018 when Cale was a sophomore at UMass. I'm lowkey in love with this one. Big thanks to @bqstqnbruin for the help with this plot concept. (1,610 words)

~~~~~~~~

Ellie was so going to owe you for this. Dodging beer spilling out of a cup, you pushed your way through the crowded frat house, wincing as the volume of the music somehow got even louder. Your roommate Ellie had made plans to meet a guy here tonight and she’d pleaded with you to come with her in case he didn’t show or things didn’t turn out how she expected. But, as soon as she had spotted him in the crowd upon your arrival, she had disappeared and you hadn’t seen her since. That had been nearly two hours ago. Like a good friend you’d sent her a text twenty minutes or so ago checking in and you had just gotten a reply of a thumbs up and that they had left to go to a diner off-campus.

Of course, they had. A heads-up text would have been nice.

Though you wanted to be mad at her, it was hard to be when you knew how excited she had been for this date. Still, a packed frat house on a Friday night was one of the last places you wanted to spend your time. Trying to weave your way toward the door, you tripped over something and landed smack against a solid chest. A pair of hands quickly reacted, catching you and helping you regain your balance. Quickly you mumbled an apology, though it wasn’t your fault there was a drunk person sleeping on the floor with their leg in the middle of the path.

“No worries, you okay?” A deep voice questioned, causing you to look up. When you did, your eyes met a pair of reddened cheeks that were familiar to anyone on campus who didn’t live under a rock.

Cale Makar.

The hockey team’s superstar defenseman who was back for his second season despite the chance to make the jump to the NHL.

“Yeah. Yeah, I’m good.” You stated, snapping out of your daze. “Just need to get out of here.”

Cale’s gaze softened in concern and he quickly worked using his taller frame to clear a path for you until you reached the slightly less crowded front porch. It was still loud outside but at least you didn’t have to scream to hear yourself think. Slowing, you leaned against a railing just trying to catch your breath and rid your senses of some of the stench of cheap alcohol. You didn’t expect him to stay close so when he leaned against the railing beside you, you were slightly surprised.

“Did we have Western Thought together last fall?” He asked after a moment, the question catching you off guard. You thought back to your schedule last year and then bit your lip considering that query.

“Was that Tuesday/Thursday morning, Herter Hall?” Cale must have nodded because he spoke again a moment later, a smile evident in his voice.

“I thought you looked familiar.” He mused, offering out a hand. “Cale.” He greeted, introducing himself officially. Introducing yourself in return, you asked him what he had thought about the ridiculous question that had been on the final for that class. You may not remember much but that question had screwed over half the class and you certainly hadn’t forgotten the stress you’d felt waiting for grades to drop after that exam.

That question sparked an entire conversation and before you knew it, it was almost 1am.

“I should really head back to my dorm.” You admitted a bit reluctantly. “Thanks for the chat and making this party not a total bust for me.” You joked, looking up at the sky which was starting to look like rain.

“What dorm are you in?” Cale asked, shoving his hands in his pockets.

“Grayson.” You replied with a shrug even as Cale’s eyes went a little wide.

“I’ll walk you.” He immediately declared.

“You don’t have to do that. I’ll be fine.” You assured him. Grayson was all the way across campus and you weren’t sure where he was living.

“I’ll walk you,” Cale repeated, signaling that he wasn’t about to take no for an answer. “It’s late and you shouldn’t walk across campus by yourself, not with all these idiots around.” The way he phrased his explanation showed that he knew you could handle yourself but that didn’t mean that you should have to.

“Fine. Thank you.” You declared, shooting him a slightly exasperated look. Cale gave you a semi-dimpled smile and motioned for you to lead the way. As you walked toward the admin building and fine arts center you continued chatting about everything and nothing all at once. Conversation came easy and even if you didn’t want to admit it, you were a bit taken at how smart Cale was.

You had reached the western edge of the pond, with the intention of cutting across the northern shore to make your way to your residential area, when a loud boom sounded across the sky out of nowhere. Before you could even react, torrential rain was pelting you both, soaking you to the bone. Quickly, Cale herded you over toward the library and inside. The building was quiet as he guided you up to one of the study floors murmuring that you should wait out some of the heavy rain. Knowing that you really should get home and to bed, you wanted to protest but then a flash of lightning cracked across the sky. Maybe you should wait out the storm a little bit.

Moving into a study room overlooking the pond, you shivered slightly from the air conditioning blowing through the building.

“Come here,” Cale murmured from the spot on the floor where he had settled. For a moment you eyed the chairs but then decided maybe you shouldn’t get them soaked too and the floor was probably a better option. Though you sat with some space between you and Cale, it wasn’t long before he was tugging you closer murmuring that he can’t keep you warm if you’re so far away. With another chill racing up your spine, you shifted to press against him, sighing softly at the warmth he radiated even through wet clothes.

The two of you sat in silence for a while before you heard Cale murmur your name softly.

“Yeah?” You questioned, trying not to yawn.

“Did you know that the architect of this building forgot to account for the weight of the books in his plans and that’s why only every other floor has them?” Cale stated.

“One that was totally random.” You teased softly. “Two, that’s 1000% a myth.”

When you peeked up at Cale, his cheeks were even pinker than before and they matched his lips as he did this little mindless tick you had picked up on already.

“Totally true.” He defends softly, making you giggle slightly.

“It’s not but that’s okay, you aren’t the first person to buy that myth.” You assured him. Though you didn’t notice, Cale’s face fell into a bit of a frown and he murmured under his breath that there goes trying to impress you.

Watching the rain again, you couldn’t help but yawn. Slowly your head drifted down to rest against Cale’s shoulder and you must have dozed off because the next thing you knew, Cale was murmuring your name again, trying to wake you.

“C’mon sleepy. The rain has let up a bit. This is probably our best chance to get you home.” He explained, urging you to sit up before he moved from underneath you and then pulled you up onto your feet.

Leaving the library, you started walking again through the rain, Cale chattering non-stop. You were sure it was his attempt to keep you awake and you appreciated it. At the same time though, his voice was so soothing, you almost wanted to curl right back up against his shoulder and fall asleep while he talked to you.

By the time you finally reached your dorm, it was nearly 2:30 in the morning. With the rain, a normal half-hour walk had taken three times as long. Standing in a sheltered overhang, you turned to thank Cale for making sure you got home safely.

“Definitely the most interesting first date I think I’ve been on,” Cale replied with a tired smile, his eyes still somehow bright. When your brain processed his words, your jaw dropped.

“Date?” You prodded causing Cale to hum and shrug, glancing down at his watch.

“I mean we’ve spent the last three and a half hours together talking and walking through campus. Pretty sure we can call that a date.” He insisted. Butterflies swarmed in your stomach and you ran your fingers through your wet hair. Cale was calling this a date. That was...wow.

“A date huh…” You finally breathed. “Guess that means I better get a good night kiss. Though technically it’s definitely early morning now.” Cale’s fingers slid around your waist to press against your lower back gently as he crowded closer into your space and after a moment of his eyes searching yours, he leaned down for a kiss, his lips pressing against yours chastely but firmly.

One kiss turned into two and then three before your yawning caused Cale to pull away. After asking for your number so he could take you on a non-rain date, he kissed your cheek and murmured for you to go take a warm shower, put on dry clothes, and then get some sleep.

Your lips still tingled slightly as you climbed into bed and you couldn’t help but think that maybe you were the one that was going to have to owe Ellie.

[little-bi-kingtrashmouth]

47. a kiss followed by a tight, air squeezed out of your lungs, hug

okay so this basically turned into a mini fic so i’ll put most of it under a read more which i hope works. i got an idea and ran with it, thank you for the prompt!!! please enjoy this tender jovier

John was slow to leave the small room he’d rented from the gunsmith. It was early morning, the sun wasn’t yet over the horizon, the outside world was a soft blue. The lantern that he left lit gave everything in the room an orange glow.

He checked the pocket watch he’d gotten off of some guy some time ago and it wasn’t yet six. It shouldn’t be too hot yet and maybe he could get to Javier before he got any further away. If he was lucky, he hadn’t crossed the San Luis.

Not that John knew for certain that’s where he was going, last he knew Javier couldn’t go back but things change, especially as years pass. Javier was clearly up to something out all this way in New Austin, leaving his damn horse in the Tumbleweed stable. 

John had nearly lost his mind upon seeing the animal, had to restrain himself from shaking the poor stablehand down and interrogating him about it. He must’ve seemed insane, near to tears upon seeing a grey overo American Paint. He’d felt insane at first, it was just a horse and surely wasn’t the only horse with that coat. Except, Boaz recognized him. Of course he did, after all the time John had spent with him and Javier.

The stable hand could barely give him much to go on, just that the man who left the horse with the stable did fit Javier’s description and had basically traded Boaz in for an unassuming Tennessee Walker. It was something to go on, a hell of a lot more than John had in a long time. It had been impossible trying to find any word on the man since...since the last time they saw each other. Especially so because John didn’t want people to question why he was asking so many questions himself. 

But now that he was this close, so close to Javier he was sure he could see him today, he was terrified. John had no idea to know how Javier would react to seeing him. Would he shoot him on sight? Would he call John a traitor? Was there a slim chance he could be happy to see him? What scared John the most was that Javier left Boaz. He sold his horse. A man getting rid of his possessions like that...departing from things he held dear never boded well. Either Javier was running into death and did not want to take his horse down with him or he was planning...John couldn’t bear to think about it. Javier wasn’t the type but it terrified John nonetheless because why else would he have left Boaz behind? Javier loved his horse, would have been lost it if something terrible had happened to Boaz. John could still remember all the praise and attention Javier had given to Boaz after they made it out of the snow. John too had slipped Boaz extra treats to thank the horse for carrying him away from death. 

There was sunlight shining on John’s face from the eastern window of the room by the time he got out of bed. There was no point in putting this off any longer. He made it this far, had bought the horse, questioned a group of people in the Tumbleweed saloon. There was no point in thinking himself in circles. He put his hat back on his head, pulled his boots on and buckled on his gun belt. John dug out a piece of jerky from his satchel to quiet his gurgling stomach and headed out. Boaz waited below and just seeing him brought John’s stomach to his toes. This wasn’t going to be easy. 

Voice quiet in his murmurings to Boaz, he readied up and mounted, leaving Tumbleweed behind. From what he gathered, Javier was hiding out somewhere south of Benedict Point. Someone had mentioned seeing smoke coming from Scratching Post which was odd given that the place was abandoned and John was going to take that and run with it. 

John and Boaz made their way along the desert roads in search of their lost family. It was warm already as he made his way down the hill and towards Benedict Point. He would start there, see if anyone had heard or seen Javier. Maybe Javier was hanging out to get telegrams out, talk to someone else. It was just under an hour ride there at a steady pace. As much as John felt like sprinting until his lungs gave out and he couldn’t run any longer, they would take this ride slow. Boaz knew him and they got along fine but he didn’t want to risk this horse bucking him and running off to leave him in the middle of the desert. He’d had it happen before and had landed his ass in a bunch of cacti and he wouldn’t have it happen again. 

It was just past 7:30 in the morning as he left Benedict Point, Boaz following along the dirt path that hugged the side of the large rock formation across from the station. The clerk had been able to confirm seeing Javier, but he wouldn’t say much else. He didn’t seem to trust John’s intentions and John couldn’t blame him. Without much a fresh trail to go on and Javier on a different horse, John made his way to Scratching Post. Someone was living there and it was near Benedict Point and John was just clinging onto a thread of hope that this would be it, that he’d find him today. 

John had Boaz pick up the pace as they made their way through the desert, the sky a bright blue and the sun blinding at his back. John could feel sweat starting to form and he wanted to lay in the shallow water at the shore of the San Luis. No matter how this went, he would do it to at least cool off for a minute, give Boaz time to drink as well. He pulled the horse to a stop upon seeing Scratching Post. It looked like it was falling apart and the last place anyone would want to stay but sure enough, he could make out the shape of a horse in the small fenced area next to the house. He nudged Boaz back into movement and he kept them steady. He was just a man, riding along the road and making his way through New Austin, nothing suspicious at all. He did not want to give Javier a reason to run or worse, shoot at him. 

His voice cracked as he called out to Javier upon getting closer. The horse was what John assumed to be a Tennessee Walker. This had to be him, he had to be here.

There was silence in response and John’s heart was caught in his throat making it harder to speak. 

“Javier!” He called again, dismounting Boaz and leaving his guns. He wasn’t here to fight, he never wanted to fight Javier. 

He saw quick movement in the house, someone sitting up off a bed and moving to cover. 

“Javier it’s me, I’m not here to fight you.” 

A gun came out first, clasped tight in a brown hand and slowly, Javier stepped out of the house into the shade of the awning. John let out a deep breath, putting his hands in the air to show Javier that he meant it, he didn’t want to fight. 

Javier looked almost the same aside from longer hair and just a bit of extra scruff on his cheeks. He probably hadn’t shaved in a minute. But he was still beautiful and John wanted to run and hug him and kiss him until he died. He must’ve been resting, only his union suit, pants, and boots on, hair still down as he stared John down with an almost unreadable look. 

Javier’s eyes flit back behind John to Boaz and his mouth opened, shock and the hand holding his gun sank down a few inches, no longer really aiming at John. 

“Why do you have him?” Javier’s voice was quiet and John wanted him to keep talking. He’d missed him, so goddamn much. 

“I found him, in Tumbleweed. Why’d you leave him there?” John asked, taking a step closer, hands still in the air. Javier kept his gun up but didn’t aim it again, as if trying to just keep distance between them. Not fully letting his guard down.

Javier stared, closing his mouth once more and looking John over. “That’s none of your business, what are you doing here John? How did you find me?” 

John shrugged, “luck really. I wasn’t even meaning to look for you but the second I saw Boaz I had to, I had to find you Javi.” 

“Don’t.” Javier whispered and shook his head. 

John stopped in his tracks and sighed, feeling his heart drop again. 

“You still hate me then?” John asked. 

Javier shook his head and laughed even, but it was broken and sad. 

“I never hated you John, I couldn’t ever hate you even if I tried. Believe me, I tried to.” Javier lowered his gun more. 

They were only feet away from each other now. It would only take two lunging steps and John could be in front of him again, closer than he’d been in years. 

“Sounded like you hated me, certainly seemed like it. You stood behind Dutch, pointed a gun at me and Arthur.” 

“I never aimed at you.” Javier snapped, “I never would’ve shot you John, honestly you’d think after everything we went through you’d know that.” 

“How could I? When all you would do was imply I was a traitor, that I was a rat!” John shouted, voice hoarse and his heart breaking again. 

“I was afraid!” Javier huffed, sagging his shoulders and fully dropping his hand with his gun. “I was afraid John, our family was falling apart and Dutch…” 

The air felt thick then and John’s eyes burned but he would say it was the dust kicking up. 

“Dutch...I thought he was right, that he would protect us. He’d saved me before, saved all of us and he could do it again. I wanted to believe that things would be okay again if we just...stuck with him.” Javier wouldn’t meet John’s eyes. He looked far away, thinking of things that John could only imagine. 

“What happened Javi? What are you doing all the way out here?” 

Javier’s head snapped up again and he stared John down, eyebrows pulled together looking as though he couldn’t decide if he wanted to say. 

“Dutch wasn’t the man I thought he was. I saw that and now…” Javier looked around himself, up at the overhang above his head and to Boaz, to the horse he’d just bought and he laughed. “I’m trying to go home...to find a way back to something I know at least.” 

John nodded and he stook a small step forward. Javier looked back at him. John’s arms were starting to ache and he really just wanted Javier in them again. 

“What are you doing here John?” He asked again, “why did you try to find me?” 

“Because I love you. I missed you and I needed to know you were alive, that you weren’t running into something you couldn’t come back from because the last time I saw you, you’d run off with my father who left me to die.” John forced out, voice breaking at the end. Javier’s eyes gleamed and he looked away from John, like he couldn’t bare to see what was in John’s eyes. 

“Ever after all of that…” 

“I could never hate you.” John whispered, echoing Javier. 

And it was like something snapped. Javier holstered his gun and nearly lept at John who met him half way and wrapped him up tight and kissed him. John wrapped up tight in a bone crushing hug and Javier clung back to him just as hard as they kissed one another breathless. His ribs would hurt later from the way Javier held him but John wouldn’t and couldn’t complain. 

[angst-fairygodmother]

I’d like to request: “You can hold onto me if you’re scared, you know?” with Nathan/Reader, pretty please? 👀

A/N: This was so fun to write! Thank you for the lovely Nathan prompt. Word Count: 1265 Content Warning: a little spice, swearing

“Are you sure this is a good idea?” you whispered as you shifted positions and peered, squinting through the darkness. 

Someone had been vandalizing the community center every night for the past two weeks, and given that Nathan lived there (despite your attempts to convince him to let you help him find a proper place) and you didn’t want him to get blamed for it if anyone found out about the arrangement, you had agreed to help stake-out the place and catch them in the act. You had tried to convince the others to help as well, even appealing to their more selfish nature by pointing out that you all kept having to cleaning up the mess, but only Simon had agreed. Of course, he had also bailed about an hour ago after drifting off at his “post” and reminding you and Nathan that morning would come early. So now it was just the two of you, in the dead of night, situated in a shadowy overhang not far from the building, hoping to spot someone.

You shivered, trying to tell yourself the chill you felt was just from the night air, and hoping Nathan didn’t notice.

“Of course it is. I’m immortal and ya’ve got yer whole badass Poison Ivy thing going. Even if someone decides to mess with us, they’ll lose,” Nathan said, louder than you would have liked. 

“I didn’t take you for a Batman fan,” you said, chuckling at the reference.

“What? No. Mum liked that old movie a lot, so I’ve seen it,” he shrugged. “I think she really liked lookin at Clooney in that skintight armor stuff. I don’t see the appeal.”

“Well, you’re also not a middle aged woman, which I think is pretty much his demographic,” you teased before sobering again quickly. “Your logic only works if we’re near enough something I can use, and don’t know if you’ve noticed but there’s not a lot of life around the center.”

“Ah, but that’s why I brought you...this!” he said dramatically, lifting his jacket which had been sitting in a bundle next to him and revealing a small, pathetic little plant that looked like it might have been rather aggressively dug up from the park next door and then promptly crushed further under the fabric for hours.

Still you felt your anxiety disappear, at least for the moment. As with most things about Nathan, the gesture was thoughtful, even if the execution was flawed.

“Aw, poor thing,” you cooed, cupping the cutting when he placed it in your outstretched hands. 

You took a deep breath, trying to focus and pep it up a bit now, in case you needed it later (and maybe a little because you felt sorry that Nathan had battered it). You still weren’t entirely sure how your powers worked, but you knew that when you pictured things growing or blooming, they did. 

After a few minutes, the little plant was looking much fuller and greener and you looked up, eyes meeting a different, even more beautiful green as you caught Nathan staring at you. He quickly looked away, but not before you caught the tenderness and awe on his face and you bit your lip, face heating. 

Something clattered off to your left, and even though it was probably just a stray dog or something, you tensed. It was followed by a high whistle cutting through the night and making you jump.

“Fuck, what was that?” you whispered, looking wildly around for a source. 

“Ya can hold onto me if ye’re scared, ye know?” Nathan teased, nudging closer to you. 

You rolled your eyes, but whatever remark you might have made died on your tongue as the sounds drew closer: shuffling, and the thump of shoes on concrete, and occasionally, that damn whistle-shriek. 

You clutched tightly to Nathan’s arm with one hand, nails digging into his sweatshirt and you both drew backward further into the shadows of your hiding spot. His hot breath tickled against your neck and an arm slipped around your waist, keeping you close. 

“This is cozy,” he quipped softly, lips tickling your ear and you could practically imagine the wiggle of his bushy eyebrows. 

“Seriously? We are hiding from who knows who or what and you still can’t shut up?” you hissed.

“I’m just taking advantage of a moment. Ya know, like that fancy saying. ‘Carpet dean’ or whatever.”

“Carpet…” you frowned. 

And then it dawned on you what Nathan actually meant and you had to press your lips together to hold in your giggle. 

“Oh Nathan,” you sighed, shaking your head. “It’s ‘carpe diem.’ Seize the day.”

“Ain’t that what I said?”

“If you were really seizing the moment, you would have just done this.”

Before he could ask what you meant, you had leaned upward, planting your lips on his and burying one hand in his hair, the other still clinging to his forearm. He made a small noise in the back of his throat, pulling you closer and cupping the back of your neck. His tongue ran teasingly over your lip and you parted readily, allowing him to dive in hungrily to explore your mouth, your tongue dancing with his. He pushed you back gently, your shoulders bumping against the brick wall behind you, giving him even more advantage over you, not that you were complaining in the least. You tugged lightly on his curls, relishing in his moan against your mouth. 

The sound of shattering glass very close by had you suddenly leaping apart, both scrambling to find the source. There, a few feet away and just barely visible from the distant street light are a couple of dumb teens taking pot shots at the windows with bricks and a baseball bat and passing a joint between them. 

“Gotcha, ya little shits,” Nathan muttered, moving to confront them before you caught his arm.

“That bat gives them a distinct advantage if you go pick a fight,” you pointed out.

He scoffed. 

“Besides, wouldn’t it be loads more fun to screw with them?”

That mischievous smirk that you made your stomach do flips crept across his face. “Oh? What did you have in mind?”

You laid out your plan for him, which involved a) using your powers to cause their joint to sprout and bloom in their hands, b) Nathan making horrible noises from the shadows, and c) if that didn’t work, just running at them, maybe using your powers and the little plant he had so kindly collected to give him a strange and monstrous appearance. 

He chuckled, grin wide and eyes bright. “Oh Y/N, that’s brilliant. They’re sure to shit themselves! I love ye...r evil mind.”

You flushed, grinning back at him.

One of the teens threw a firecracker at the ground near the doors, causing the whistling noise that you had heard earlier and lighting up the side of the building where a third was spray-painting crude images on the wall. 

“Oh come on,” you muttered. “That is an insult to street artists.”

Nathan quirked an eyebrow at you. 

“Oh don’t start,” you growled. “Let’s just do this hey? I have better things to be doing.”

“Better things then spending time with me?” he cried, placing his hand on his chest and gasping dramatically.

“Did I say that?” you smirked at him.

His face scrunched adorably in confusion. You waited expectantly as what you were implying slowly dawned on him. 

“Oh. Oh!” His emerald eyes lit up giddily. “We should definitely get rid of them. Right now.” He nodded, curls bobbing.

[metaphorical-love-for-a-car]

Dealing with Devils-- Damien/Darkiplier x Reader

Prompt: I was inspired to write this when I saw this comic panel on Pinterest!

Warnings: light language

Word Count; 2k

Notes; I wrote this on impulse after rewatching Who Killed Markiplier? and Damien lol (gif creds)

    You grimaced at the sunlight shining through the window. The cottage's lack of curtains only bothered you in the morning. Sure, sunrises were beautiful, but they were a pain in the ass when you desperately wanted to sleep in. A shiver ran through your body as your feet hit the cold floor. Spring was on its way. The snow was beginning to yield to grass and budding flowers, but the cold was still strong enough to seep into your bones. Wrapping a blanket around your shoulders, you shuffled over to the fireplace. You wrinkled your nose at the lack of kindling. There goes any hope of a fire this morning. Not wanting to spend another moment in the cold home, you begrudgingly pulled multiple layers of clothing out of the closet to prepare yourself for the day. You turned to the large mirror hanging on the wall, carefully observing your reflection. It was hard to see small details because of the cracks that webbed from its center. When you first moved into the cottage, Damien told you to get rid of it, but you couldn't bring yourself to do so.

    A grin found its way across your face as the memories of your move resurfaced. Damien had insisted on helping, even though you hardly had any belongings to bring into your new home. Just some clothes, toiletry items, and... the mirror. Your brows furrowed. Where did it come from, anyway? You couldn't quite remember buying the mirror, but you felt such an attachment to it. Maybe it was an heirloom? If it was, why would Damien tell you to throw it away? A strange sensation began to form in the back of your mind. It felt as if static electricity was crawling across your brain. You leaned closer to the mirror. Your reflection seemed to shift out of focus the longer you stared at it. Was it your eyes playing tricks on you? You lifted a hand, carefully reaching towards the mirror, only to freeze before you had a chance to touch it. A sharp ring ripped through your eardrums, causing you to take a step back. You looked forward and realized that your entire reflection had changed. Your skin was a muddled gray color, and your eyes were filled with a lifeless black void. Horror filled every nerve in your body. Something was terribly wrong with this place.

    A sudden commotion outside drew your attention away from your reflection. Desperate for an excuse to leave, you lunged at the door. A magpie sat on your porch, squawking up a storm. You frowned at the creature. I probably forgot to fill the bird-feeder again, you thought. Your shoulders dipped as you began to relax. Glancing over your shoulder, you surveyed the interior of your home. What were you getting so worked up about, again? Your eyes landed on the dark fireplace. Right, no kindling. You pulled the door, making sure it was secure before stepping off the porch. On your way to the shed, you checked the bird-feeder. You raised a brow. It was still full. Maybe the bird was freaking out about something else. You just hoped it would be quiet, wherever the thing went.

    You made your way to the shed. There was an overhang that allowed you to store firewood outside without you having to worry about it getting wet. You stopped a few feet away from the shed and tilted your head to the side. You could've sworn there was a big lock on the door. No, you were //sure// there used to be a lock on it. Damien locked it when he was helping you move. You were never curious about going inside. He told you there was only old, rusty tools. You had no need for them, so you never bothered to try to get in. But now? The lock just disappeared. You hesitated to step forward, realizing that Damien disappeared too. He told you... no, he promised you that he would visit sometime. He said he would come back for you when he sorted out some business. What did he mean by that? You slowly pulled the door open. Creeping inside, you realized that Damien was right. For the most part, the shed was empty, other than the dust that occupied the shelves and some old gardening equipment piled in a wheelbarrow. Something towards the back of the shed caught your eye. A large sheet, stained from who knows how many years of exposure to the elements, covered something large. Sunlight poured in from the cobweb-covered window above it. It was almost as if it had a spotlight. You reached for the sheet, only to be distracted by squawking once more. You huffed and looked out of the dirty window, surprised to see that even more magpies had gathered in your yard. Your eyes darted back and forth between each one. Seven? Shaking your head, you returned your attention to the matters at hand. You pulled back the sheet to find an ornate desk. You ran a hand across the smooth surface. Unlike anything else in the shed, it withstood the passing of time. There wasn't a speck of dust. Your brows jumped when you noticed a folded piece of paper tucked away beneath an empty inkwell. You wasted no time in unfolding it, anxious to know its contents. A poem jotted down... in your handwriting. "One for sorrow," you muttered. It was a curious little thing. You had always appreciated poetry, but why did you decide to document an unsettling nursery rhyme?

    Taking a breath, you continued to sift through the desk. The first two drawers you searched were filled with legal documents. You could recall all of them. They were milestones from your career. From your first case as a fledgling lawyer, to the most recent one from your current position as District Attorney. Your heart fluttered for a moment. Why was it, again, that you stopped working? You pursed your lips and pressed on. Your ears started ringing when you grabbed the handle of the bottom drawer. You blinked a few times in an attempt to keep focused. There weren't many papers in this drawer. You picked up the small bundle and placed them on the desk, spreading them out. A fond smile graced your features as you picked up an old photograph. It was of you and Damien, attending a ball together. You couldn't help but laugh at the memory. It was the first time he had asked you out, and to say that he was a nervous wreck is an understatement. The man was flustered beyond belief, hardly able to get a word out! He ended up shoving a bouquet of flowers in your arms and holding the ball invitation for you to read. The next photograph displayed not only you and Damien but also Mark and Celine. Double date night, something that happened often back when you and Damien were a new couple. A droplet fell onto the photograph. You gently touched your cheek. You didn't even know you had started crying. Moving on to the next item, your heart sank into the pit of your stomach. It was an invitation to a party hosted at Markiplier Mansion. Memories came flooding back. Too much champagne, a night of gambling, and enough terror to last you three lifetimes. Your wild eyes desperately searched your surroundings. Where were you? The last thing you remember before moving here was... You glanced down at the drawer once more. This time, there was a revolver sitting at the bottom. Your ears rang violently as a searing pain exploded across your abdomen. You instinctively pressed a hand to your stomach, only to snatch it away when you felt something warm and sticky. Your hand came away red. The ground swayed beneath your feet, and the atmosphere around you darkened. It was getting hard to breathe. You tried to take a step back, but your knees buckled.

    Falling. That's the last thing you remember. The sensation of your insides going somersaults as you descended. You tried to scream, but no sound came out of your mouth. At least, not that you could hear. The only thing that filled your ears was that insufferable ringing. After what seemed like an eternity, you hit the ground with a violent crack. You kept your eyes closed, certain that you just broke every bone in your body. The ringing finally subsided, and you gathered up the courage to open your eyes. At first, you saw nothing but darkness. Then they appeared out of nowhere-- the magpies. Their white coloring contrasting the void like stars in the night sky. It gave you momentary comfort.

    "Why?" You sat up with a grimace, trying your best to fight back the pain. The cracked mirror stood tall before you. This time, it didn't show your reflection. You finally made it to your feet, despite feeling as if you had been put through a meat grinder, and approached the mirror. Your eyes stung with tears. It looked like Damien, but this... this person was different. His whole being was monochrome, and the eyes you used to get lost in no longer held any warmth. They were cold and calculating your every move. "Why did you wake up?" he clarified.

    "I don't... I don't understand." The man laughed. A sinister smile remaining on his face.

    "Don't you?" The ringing rose once more. You covered your ears, clenching your eyes shut. You cried out in pain and tried to will yourself to remain standing. The memories that had been locked away came barreling into your mind. Tears were flowing freely when you looked back up at the man. Horror filled your expression, causing him to look amused.

    "Where's Damien?" you whispered. His grin left as quick as it came. His face darkened. The air around him shifted as his muddled aura lashed out violently.

    "You were a lamb to the slaughter. Don't you get it? Celine would have left your soul to rot, but he gave you mercy. He gave you a chance at peace. He saved you from damnation!" You flenched as his voice rose, and you could've sworn that you saw new cracks forming in the mirror. "But he's not here to protect you anymore. I'm in control now." His eyes had gone completely black, and his unnerving smile had returned. You glanced upward, relieved that the magpies were still there. Your brows knit together for a moment. Your eyes dashed between them, counting just as you had done moments before. Eyes widening, you remembered the last verse of the poem. Thirteen, beware, it's the devil himself.

    "Who... no, what are you?" The man tilted his head, grin widening.

    "An entity of vengeance, created by Celine and Damien. Celine had the reigns for a while, then Damien took control. But they were weak. Their need for revenge combined with the darkness that consumes the Manor grew until they were simply... no longer a factor. I run things now. I don't necessarily have a name, though, I suppose you could call me Dark. I'd say it's quite fitting. Wouldn't you agree?" You swallowed thickly, nodding.

    The entity straightened his tie. "It's nice to know that we're on the same page. I understand why Damien was fond of you. You're... amusing, to say the least." He extended a hand towards the mirror. "I'm sure you're just itching to get out of that mirror, now that your memories have fully returned. I'll help you safely return in exchange for your companionship." Almost as if your body was acting on its own accord, you reached forward to take his hand. You stopped yourself, mere inches away from the mirror. Dark barked out a laugh. "Afraid to make a deal with the devil?"

~*~*~

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[minetteenfers]

Day 4: Breaking More Than My Heart (Chapter 2 of Hello, My Old Heart)

Here is Day 4 of @blancweek! Nothing NSFW in this chapter, but I will post the link to the story beneath the cut at the end since the fic is Rated E. ^-^

Chapter 2: Day 4= Breaking More Than My Heart

Marinette stood in the kitchen, pouring her soul into making a meal for Chat Blanc. She had worked all day out picking herbs, spices, and gathering a swan for the dishes. Then, she had come in to turn it all into something. Her father had taught her many things as a child, one being how to make the most delicious food that they could create. It was a hidden talent that she had since she was small. Something that she could do well.

Her mother had perished during childbirth and she had always dreamed that she had met her. Her father always told her that she would have loved her because she was exactly like her in many ways. She sighed and finished up supper, putting the items onto dishes for Chat.

Marinette wiped her hands on her skirts. Normally the kitchen of a castle would be full of bustling servants and people with duties to help bake and cook, but this one was empty. She assumed he must have gotten rid of them all. Which meant this only made her life that much harder. She took a deep breath and carried the courses out to the massive dining table.

Chat sat at the table drinking his wine and speaking with guards about how much he disliked people in the keep. It seemed to be his go to conversation until she would set the table.  She didn’t know why the man never spoke of anything but hatred and negative things, but she really couldn’t blame him for being so broken.

He peered up at her and a dangerous smirk appeared on his full lips. “Ah, there you are. What have you provided me with today?”

“Swan and vegetables with bread, your grace.” Marinette grabbed her skirts and curtsied, waiting for him to respond.

“Come. Join me at my side.” Chat kicked the chair beside him away from the table, and she stood up straight to sit down beside him.

Marinette took his fork from him and sighed, taking a bite of swan from his plate. She knew it wasn’t poisoned. She had made it herself and she wouldn’t do that to him, but clearly his trust was lacking.

Chat watched her for any signs of being ill before taking his fork and stabbing a vegetable holding it out to her. She stared at him with a blush, gazing around at his court.

“Go on then.” Chat gestured with his fork and she swallowed hard.

She leaned in and grabbed the bite from his fork. She chewed and took a moment. “Tis good, your grace.”

“Very well then.” Chat cut some of the swan on his plate and took a bite, letting the spices and herbs settle onto his tongue. “Rather delicious.”

“Thank you, your grace.” Marinette smiled and tried to look poised beside him.

“Did your father teach you?” Chat stabbed a potato and brought it up to his lips.

“Yes, your grace.” Marinette licked her lips and tried to not focus on how her stomach rumbled.

“Are you hungry? Surely, you did not eat.” Chat poked a piece of swan and held it out to her. “Eat.”

Marinette shook her head and chewed on her bottom lip. “I shouldn’t.”

“I insist.” Chat smiled and something about it was different than before.

She parted her lips and wrapped them around the bite of meat, taking it into her mouth with a soft hum. “I do miss my father’s cooking.”

“Your father was a good man. Tis a shame my father rid the castle of him ages ago. I should have loved to have him here still.” Chat stabbed a carrot harder than he had intended to, his knuckles turning white around the utensil.

“Twas not your fault, your grace.” Marinette touched his fist, and he licked his lips and sighed.

“Perhaps not, but my father was still my flesh and blood.” Chat grabbed his knife and sliced it along his palm, closing his fist, and dripping the blood onto the tablecloth. “You told me so. I am very much alive, even if I erase the name. Until I perish, I will still be an- an- never mind.”

He flipped his knife and stabbed it into the table, leaving it standing on its sharp tip. “Never mind, shall we finish our meal so that I may make more decisions for the town.”

Marinette wanted to mend his hand and help him, but she didn’t know how. She had no idea how to make him come back to her. He was too full of pain. The bad outweighed the good, and she needed to figure out how to bring him back.

“Shall we take a stroll through the garden?” Marinette hoped that he would agree. She wanted to get him alone, away from his father’s guards.

“Why ever would we do such a thing?” Chat raised an eyebrow at her. “I have far too much to accomplish.”

“Taking a moment to breathe is always a lovely idea.” Marinette touched his arm and he peered down at her hand with widened eyes.

He ripped his arm from her hand, and she sighed. He had done a complete one-eighty since they had played in the kitchen. She felt like her touch burned his skin and no matter how hard she tried, he wouldn’t let her in. He had put up the highest walls with the best guards that their currency could buy and she couldn’t storm it.

“Fine. I shall entertain your idea.” Chat sighed and finished his meal.

Marinette took his plate to the kitchen and went to her chamber to get ready to walk through the garden. She had barely finished getting ready when a knock sounded on her door. Marinette rolled her eyes and opened the door, finding Chat standing there.

“I have yet to explore the gardens since my mother’s death.” Chat worried his bottom lip and she warmly smiled, grabbing his forearm in her hands.

“Allow me to reintroduce you two then.” Marinette led him out of the castle and down to the garden.

Purple and white wisterias hung down from the overhang as it opened up to elegant topiaries and overgrown rose bushes. It was like a dream and it also needed a lot of work.

Chat Blanc held his hand out, catching petals as they fell with a blank expression like he could care less. It had been so long since he had gone out there. So long since he had seen the garden that his mother had insisted on having. To be honest, he had been afraid to venture out to it again. Too many memories of being a child with her. Too many fractals of her smiles and laughs before it was taken over by coughs and tears.

“Your mother loved this garden.” Marinette sighed and ran her fingers along the flower bushes. “Tis sad to see it overgrown like this. Although, I am sure that it can be mended easily. It just needs a bit of love.”

Chat swallowed hard as memories of his mother and him flooded his memory. Memories of her sneaking him out to play like she had felt a kid should.

“My mother would sneak me out here to play as a child,” Chat spoke quietly, and Marinette nearly missed it.

“Mm-hm. She was fond of children being able to play. She would always speak of children needing to have a bit of fun even if society has deemed it to be inappropriate.” Marinette giggled and plucked a white flower, spinning it between her fingers, as she walked back towards him with swaying hips. “I used to dream of what it would be like to be in Eden and I always felt that this must be what it is like when I came here. Though, not often. There were duties to be done.” She reached up to place the flower in his paled golden hair. “You had them too.”

“Too many. Still do, I am afraid.”  Chat took the flower from his hair and flicked it across the garden.

Marinette watched it land in the pond, sending slight ripples through the water, and she nodded. “I see. Well, I shall not keep you then.”

Chat tried to ignore how he felt surrounded by his mother in the garden. He tried to ignore that he felt like she was whispering to him and trying to pull him out of the waves of disaster and pain. He didn’t want her. He didn’t want to be helped, even if he had told Marinette to.

“Marinette.” Chat stopped her from leaving with his hand held out to her.

“Yes, your grace?” Marinette turned around to stare at him, watching how the fallen petals swirled around him and for a moment she thought she saw Adrien instead. But it quickly faded away as fast as it had come.

“Do-” He had no idea what he was going to say. His words had left him.

“Yes?” She walked closer to him and hoped he was coming back.

“Do you think that my mother is watching?” Chat swallowed hard as he thought about it.

“I think… she never left.” Marinette warmly smiled and ran her hands down his doublet to smooth it out, stopping to play with a button.

“What do you mean?” Chat peered down at her slender fingers on his button, fiddling with it.

Marinette slowly peered up to meet his saddened gaze, “Your mother lives on in your heart.”

“My heart has frozen over.”

Marinette placed one hand over his heart, “If it is merely frozen over then it just needs a bit of warmth. The forest is not dead all year. Eventually, the sun comes out to warm its leaves and streams. The forest rebirths into something wonderful again with spring. The flowers bloom and the leaves green. The streams flow and trickle with beautiful waters. Much like our hearts. The memories and pain may never take their leave, but we can heal with time. Just takes a bit of love and warmth. Someone to tell us that everything will become well again.”

Chat swallowed hard and touched her hand, searching her gaze and struggling to not let tears fall. Why was she not running? Why was she still here? Why was she saying everything that she was? He didn’t deserve this. He didn’t deserve anything she was telling him, and he knew he had to prove it. He had to prove that he was as bad as they say in the town. She was getting too close.

“You know what my father told me?” Chat took her hand from his chest and she raised an eyebrow at him as he walked away with his hands behind his back.

“I am sure he told you many things.” Marinette didn’t know what he was getting at.

“He told me how useless your father was in the kitchen. How much he loathed the man and his subpar cooking.” Chat peered up at the wisterias.

“Yes, well he was not too fond of father.” Marinette sighed and walked towards him again. “But his grace rarely enjoyed the company of anyone except your mother.”

“My father also spoke of you.” Chat slowly turned to face her and she swallowed hard.

She knew what was coming and she wasn’t prepared for it. He was spiraling backwards, and this experiment had only turned south. She took a deep breath and prepared herself.

“And?” Marinette cringed as she spoke the word.

“He was correct. You are good for nothing more than a mistress.” Chat’s words sliced through her heart and her bottom lip quivered.

“You do not mean that!” Marinette stormed towards him and he glared at her as she held up her hand about to smack his cheek.

“I would think wisely before you choose to do such an action to your king.”

“I do not see a king or a prince, but a scared little boy,” Marinette spit the words at him and ran back to the castle.

Chat growled beneath his breath as he watched her run from him. He still considered himself a prince, but he needed to say something stronger. While he was now the King, he didn’t want it and so he kept his title as prince within the castle. And while he was terrified of being alone, as he was, he wouldn’t go as far as saying he was a small child. He had grown and become mature because he had had to. There wasn’t another option. And if he let her get close, then she would know how truly broken he was and he couldn’t do that to her. He couldn’t be a burden for her.

 ***

 Marinette laid on her bed and sobbed into it. She just wanted Adrien back. She wanted the boy that she grew up watching in secret back in her life. She wanted the man that had been in the kitchen the other day back. But right now, he was nowhere to be found. She sniffled and got up, visiting her vanity to wipe the tears from beneath her eyes. She had to clean up his chamber among other duties around the house.

It was the last duty that he had put on her list for the day. She had no idea how he lived alone with no one to keep up on housekeeping. It was more work than one person could handle alone. She knew that it wasn’t his fault that he had obliterated everything, but a few guards. That he had done away with most of the servants because he was afraid of hurting anyone. His heart was broken after his father had been trialed and his name had been soiled. Not only that, but he had been shoved onto the throne with little time. The whole town had erupted into questions over the late King.

Adrien hadn’t been ready to deal with it and she knew that. She knew that it had been too much too soon. He had been trained since birth to do his father’s bidding, but that had not prepared him for something such as this. So, the man had shoved everyone away and locked himself away with few guards. Ones he trusted since he was a child.

She took a deep breath and brushed her trembling hands down her skirts and put on a fake smile. She could do this. She had to do this. She had been told that no one could change him back but her. There was something about her that would make his mind flip back to being the kindhearted boy that he had always been. She felt more tears threaten to fall and she reached up to wipe them away.

“Seize your sobbing, Marinette. You are merely being silly.” She rolled her eyes at herself and walked out of her chamber, making her way to his.

Guards whispered near the door and she stood and waited for them to let her inside. They stepped away from the double doors and she opened them, finding Chat sitting on a chaise lounge.

She gasped and about turned around to leave when he stopped her, “Are you not going to wash my items?”

“I thought you would be in your study.” Marinette cleared her throat, as he stood up and walked over towards her in only a tunic and a pair of trousers.

“Tis true that I should be making decisions, but alas, here I be.” He spread his hands out and relaxed them beside his thighs on the cushion. “So, feel free to wash up around me.”

Marinette rolled her eyes and walked over to his bed, stripping it to begin to get it ready to be laundered. She worked around him, ignoring how his eyes seemed to follow her every move.

“Do you really intend to watch me?” She peered over at him as she placed new linens onto the bed.

“Would you rather I helped?” Chat raised an eyebrow at her and she scoffed at him.

“I would rather you were more of a gentleman,” Marinette mumbled under her breath as she fluffed his pillow.

“Pardon me?” Chat stood up and walked over towards her.

Marinette sighed and let her hands rest on the bed before she stood up straight, “Do you know what your mother would speak to us every morn?”

“Enlighten me.” Chat set his jaw, and she knew that he didn’t want to hear it.

“Every morn, she would come gather the children to tell them a tale. Usually, one with a moral story.” Marinette shrugged and went about the room, finishing up other duties.

Chat Blanc watched her with no words, mostly because he didn’t want to talk about it. He didn’t want to talk about his late mother that had passed away from an illness. He didn’t want to venture into the pain that still gripped at his heart and made it hard to breathe, hard to live.

“Have you heard of The Songbird?” Marinette opened his curtains that appeared to have not been parted in God knows how long.

“I can not say that I have.” Chat gave in and sat down in a chair, grabbing a cup of wine. He held it out to her, and she sighed, grabbing a tasting bowl from the bag hidden by her skirt.

She took the bottle and glass, pouring some into the bowl and tasting them for him. “Tis good, your grace.”

She passed them back and he took a long sip from the glass. “Enlighten me.”

“Once there was a songbird, that was free to fly about the land. A knight was wandering through the forest and came upon a beautiful melody. The most beautiful one he had ever laid his ears upon. He peered up to find a golden songbird on a branch. The gorgeous little thing sang and sang. The knight thought that his maiden would love such a prized possession so, he captured it in a cage.” Marinette sighed and folded a few more items.

“Seems quite ridiculous.” Chat scoffed and rolled his eyes, drinking more wine.

“The knight brought the little bird home to his maiden and presented it to her. She was quite delighted, and of course, she wanted to hear the bird sing.” Marinette leaned forward a bit with an awkward smile.

“And did the damned thing sing?” Chat leaned back in his chair with his forearm draped over the arm of it.

“He tried to make the songbird sing. He tried everything he could ponder up, but nothing seemed to work. He failed in every way. His maiden became quite upset and questioned why he would present a broken gift. He told the tale of how he had come upon the little bird. How beautiful the bird had sung in the forest.” Marinette sighed and sat down on the chaise lounge. “For days, he would shake the cage and demand for that poor bird to sing. But the bird would do nothing but sit on the small perch made from a twig in this gilded cage. He called it useless and unworthy, pathetic, imperfect. The poor thing dropped its head and became sadder. Trapped, it’s beautiful golden plumage dulled to a pale butter.”

Chat moved on to tipping the wine bottle to his lips, ditching the glass onto the table beside his chair. He didn’t want to hear more of this story. He had had enough of this silly game.

“The knight became angry and grabbed the cage, taking it outside. His maiden had followed him, wondering what the commotion was about. The knight opened the cage, and the little bird was shy. It would not budge from its gilded cage, feeling like it was nothing more than an imbecile bird. Too damaged and imperfect. Unloved and unwanted. But the sunshine warmed its wings, comforting it, and coaxing it from its cage. The poor thing began to gently flap its wings, before taking off. It landed on a branch somewhere in the forest and began to sing its sweet melody again. For how can a trapped bird sing?” Marinette searched his expression and watched his eyes flash to emerald before shifting back to sapphire again.

Read and bookmark the whole short fic here!

Some of the songs I wrote To:

This one for some reason screams Chat Blanc for me in this or in general:

[wincore]

In the rain, sad or hurt feelings, and Hendery please~ thank you~

theme: rich kid!au, fake dating!au

You should’ve known. You should’ve known. You should’ve fucking known.

You swallow the bile rising in your throat along with the anger of unsaid words that leave hot patches as they trail down to your stomach. Even the thought of his face gives you a headache, stupid smile and kind eyes. He’s not supposed to look like that to you. You’re not supposed to see someone beautiful in a person like him.

You pull your jacket up so that it doesn’t droop against your shoulder anymore. The air smells like rain and although it stopped a while ago, there’s chances for it to begin once again, a watery envelope for a world that doesn’t bat an eyelash at its own people. It’s only a few more minutes till you reach the subway station, Shanghai winds trying their best to drag your body in the other direction. People pass you by in a hurry, some with children, some with a lover and some alone. You dare not look; there’s a certain fear that you might see something else in them altogether. You grit your teeth. The nauseating classical music’s still ringing in your ears, from a party you wish you hadn’t attended.

You look down, the dirt on your shoes catching your eye. You found it distasteful, always scrubbing them clean whenever you got the chance but Kunhang, he never saw it that way. He’s a fascinating person, you thought, far from the self-destructive, artificial rich you have the image of. You want to swear at yourself for thinking of him and his voice, always, even now.

“It means you’ve got the world on you,” he says, laughing. “Wherever you go, the earth will remember you when you come back.”

“Kunhang.” You pause to join in his laughter. Sunlight in his eyes shouldn’t be having this effect on you. He shouldn’t be saying things that make you adore him more. This isn’t real. It’s not real. You struggle to enunciate the words in your head these days.

“Kunhang, you make no sense ever. It’s brilliant.”

“My pleasure.”

You hear loud footsteps behind you and make the mistake of turning around.

“(name),” he breathes heavily, hands on his knees as he tries to look up at you. There’s the bruise on his cheek that hasn’t healed from last week, the makeup over it already worn off in the rain and wind. His dress shirt is soaked through, jacket shrugged off and mud on the hem of his pants. There’s a cut on his lips that you’re sure wasn’t there before. What did he break now? you think. Apart from your heart, of course.

Wong Kunhang looks disheveled, worried and everything that he is not.

You turn back round and keep walking. It’s you who gives him space in your heart like this. You can just walk away. You can just walk away. You try to keep the inconsistency of your breathing in check.

“(name), please!”

You hear the footsteps get quicker and louder till there’s a hand on your shoulder and you immediately shrug it off before turning around to shoot your worst glare. Just like you used to. It can go back to being the way it used to.

“Leave me alone.”

You should’ve had the courage to say those words earlier, when he hadn’t tied you into this mess. You should’ve yelled at him, thrown a few punches, anything but complied with only a scoff to accompany.

“Look,” Kunhang waves his hands around with a spaced out look on him, “It’ll be good for the both of us.”

“Oh? How exactly?” You roll your eyes. “Pray tell.”

Resident rich kid Wong Kunhang shouldn’t be pulling you, of all people, into a desolate corner after classes. You don’t think you have more than fifty dollars to your name, your parents own a floor of a city mall that’s about to shut down and you work in customer service, for fuck’s sake.

“The old city mall. I can get it back in business.”

You quirk your eyebrow up. He somehow manages to sound in high spirits despite whispering to you as if he’s spilling secrets. Why does he smile like that, so honest?

“I don’t want to be engaged when I’m barely out of university,” he continues, “and you don’t want your mall to get shut down. Am I right?”

Kunhang simply breathes, at a loss for words. You catch the hurt in his eyes before he straightens, eyes flitting to anywhere but you. His hair is a mess, dark locks straying out of place and his nose and cheeks are a noticeable red; you don’t want to see him like this. You correct yourself. You don’t want to see him at all.

“I’m sorry—”

“Save it.” You feel the anger growling out of you. “This was a mistake.”   

“Please don’t say that.”

You look him in the eye, biting your lip so you don’t immediately curse him out. What gave him the right? Because he’s richer than you? Because he has more power than you? Because you are clearly no more than a scheme to him? He thinks he’s clever—he’s right, but he doesn’t have to be painfully so.

“I’ll cancel the plans. I’ll pay for the damage. I’ll renew the entire place. I’ll do anything,” he blurts. “Please, please don’t go.”

Kunhang steps forward, the distance between you less than a foot. It kills you to see him begging like this—and for what? A marriage he desperately wants to call off? That doesn’t mean you’re something. You’re nothing more than a means to an end. It’s what people like you are for.

“And if I stay?” you speak, voice seething in a pitch lower than you’re used to. “How long do I have to keep doing that? How long do we just pretend I’m not a pawn in a game you’re playing?”

“I don’t play games,” he says, lips pressing into a thin line. “I- I just…”

It starts to drizzle. The people around you take out their umbrellas the previous showers had prepared them for, a flurry of nylon sounds around you. The pavement, not yet dried, is once again a dark ashy color, water pooling at the edge of the sidewalk. You want to look anywhere but at him. 

When Wong Kunhang asked you to be his lover, you expected a catch. You didn’t expect a betrayal.

“This place is giving me a headache,” you say, wrinkling your nose. “Why are there so many people?”

“Eh, the press isn’t even here,” Kunhang responds, a smile playing on his lips. “Let me tell you, the tarts are the best thing.”

You pick one up from the large tray placed carefully on the pristine white cloth covering the table, the scent of chocolate making you hum.

A sense of peace entangles the two of you in warm, golden ribbons. Unnoticed by the rest of the crowd, all they’ll see are two ‘lovers’ smiling and laughing by the dessert table like children. You might just tell him tonight. 

Of course, when Kunhang’s father announced their company’s purchase of the old city mall, your parents’ and many other people’s hard work—you had nothing but hurt and embarrassment in your chest as you walked out the doors. You’d doubted someone would notice your absence. But you couldn’t stay there without making some sort scene, something too unsightly for the likes of them.

You suddenly remembered why you hated Kunhang and people like him. 

“You used me, Kunhang,” you say, giving up. You’re tired. “That’s a fact.”

“I’m sorry,” he whispers. “I won’t let anything happen to that place, I swear. I didn’t know this would happen.”

You sigh. It hurts, it hurts. You can’t do anything about it. You want to believe in him, the sound of his voice. Your lips tremble, the ringing in your ears louder as you try to hold your tears back. You’re not weak. You don’t want him to see what people in his status see you as.

Kunhang places his hand against your cheek and you’re surprised at yourself for not shying away. There’s an emotion in his eyes you can’t quite decipher, something melting, something sweet. He brushes the hair out of your face, the cold quite forgotten in the warmth he gives off.

Kunhang is kind, and you hate him for it.

“I love you,” he says. 

You hold your breathe for a good few seconds, taken aback.

“Are you lying to me?”

“The only time I lied was when I asked you out on expensive ass fake dates,” he answers, a short laugh escaping his mouth before his voice hushes to a whisper. “You always dragged me away from those places anyway. Thank you.”

You scoff, the tears silent in their path across your cheeks. He presses his fingers against them, wiping them off and whispers an ‘I’m sorry’ once again.

“May I?” he asks, leaning in his face closer to yours.

You nod weakly, suddenly relishing the warmth that comes with his lips against yours. It’s not fireworks or the taste of chocolate. It’s a little wet, to be honest, and something close to gentle. You melt anyway, the sensation dizzying you with its warmth, reassurance and feelings you wanted to throw away minutes ago.

It’s different from when he’d almost kissed you by his swimming pool, his sisters giggling and teasing him about it. What they didn’t know was your fist against his stomach, and the weak sound he’d choked out while his arms still encased you and the laughter that bubbled up in him afterwards. He’d apologized. He didn’t mean to do it. You hated yourself for wishing you’d let him.

Kunhang slips his arm around your waist to pull you closer, giving you full cover from the soft drops of rain. It’s suddenly hard to get rid of the fragrance of him, cassis sorbet and redcurrant, annoyingly rich and yet of course—he’s more than that. Kunhang, to you, smells faintly of sycamore, running around in secret neighborhoods of a cosmopolis, and vaguely of antiseptic cream, with all the self-inflicted injuries he gets from his ‘miscalculations’. Kunhang, to you, feels the opposite of betrayal and hurt. Kunhang, to you, is more than you’d ever say.

The downpour gets heavier, startling the two of you away from each other. You look at his face, eyes to lips and feel the dense knot loosening in your chest. His lips are a little swollen and his eyes lowered, as he breathes softly in time with you. Why does he always look that way, so paradoxically honest?

Kunhang tries his best to shield you from the rain as you run for shelter to the overhang of some shop door, hands over your head and you sigh at the futility. You’re so stupid, you want to say again, after falling into the habit of it at his everyday chaos. 

“Stop doing that,” you say instead. “Protecting me.”

“I know you’re strong,” he says, grinning. “And smart. I just think you don’t have to defend yourself all the time, you know?”

You bite your lip but the smile comes out anyway. You look to him to find his smile grown wider. The sound of rain against the pavement gets louder and you sigh at the warmth of his hand entangled in yours.

“I feel like a mess, Kunhang,” you say softly, “I hate feeling this way.”

“I know,” he responds, “but we’ll figure this out.”

He looks around, large eyes darting around at the sky, buildings and people around. 

“Hopefully before we get pneumonia,” he adds.

You laugh, regaining strength after the emotional meltdown you just experienced. Your head feels a little dizzy but you grip onto Kunhang, reality soaking in drip by drip. Is it love, to feel this way? Anger and adoration side by side?

“Kunhang,” you say quietly. “What’s going to happen?”

“We can go to that fried chicken place if you like,” he says, a goofy smile on his face before it turns serious. “Is that a date? I wanted the next date to be nicer- I mean I could ask you to marry me right now too but there’s like issues to sort out I guess—”

“No, idiot,” you say, ears suddenly too warm at the mention of marriage, “I meant the mall. Our mall.” 

He falls silent for a few dreary seconds, and your heart drops. This wasn’t just…for show, was it? That’s not like him. He smiles again, the curiously cheerful light twinkling in his eyes once more.

“We can explain together at the next company meeting.”

[pressedinthepages]

Sidetrack: Geralt

Summary: An unfriendly figure from the past still haunts you to this day, and Geralt finds a way to end that.

Series Masterlist

(There is a link on my page where you can be added to my taglist :D)

Warnings: language, angst, fluff

A/N: Whoops my hand slipped. There was a big question that I needed to answer in this series, so here it is! I plan on doing one more “sidetrack” for another plotline :)

    You hear hooves approaching your cottage, just the faintest plods against wet leaves under the sound of Eskel snoring. He didn’t used to snore, but here, in this sanctuary, he is comfortable. You stand, leaving the herbs you had been sorting on the table. You discreetly peer out of the window towards the near-invisible path from the woods, watching as a familiar figure steps out of the shadows. The moonlight dances over the silver of his hair and lets you see the high planes of his face, darkened by the tell-tale scowl on his mouth.

    You push open the door gently so as not to wake your sleeping Witcher. The air is cool on your exposed arms as you cross the small valley, meeting Geralt half-way. He looks tired, but only in the way that another Witcher would notice. The subtle way that his head hangs slightly or that his shoulders are not perfectly held. Nevermind the fact that his armor stinks to high hell. 

    “Gods, Geralt. How long has it been since you’ve cleaned that?” You cross your arms as you stand just out of his reach. 

    “I’ve been busy,” Geralt hums, and you smirk lightheartedly. “Listen, I need your help.”

    “Of course Geralt, whatever you need, I can-”

    “It’s about Stregobor.”

    Your blood runs cold, the world spinning around you as you feel rooted to the spot. And then, like oil bubbling and spitting through the streets of Novigrad, anger fills your stomach and boils over. “That motherfucker? What is it, Geralt? Hang on, let me get my shit and then we-”

    “Wait. We’re not rushing into anything here, not now.” Geralt’s right, and you know it. You huff nonetheless, gesturing for him to go on.

    “I know where he is. Yennefer did some magic-y yada yada and was able to figure out where he’s hiding. It looks like he’s holed up in some cave system that I am sure is enchanted. Yen is waiting with a portal for us,” Geralt shudders, “but we have to leave quickly. There’s no telling what exactly we’d be walking into, but I want to get rid of him once and for all.”

    You nod, glancing back to your little home. Eskel is probably still asleep, curled around nothing in the void where you usually lay. Your heart swells up, conflicted. As if reading your mind, Geralt chimes in. “I’m not asking lightly. I know how much of a risk this is, and I get it if you would rather stay here. But I wanted to ask you, since you have a history with him too.”

    You look up at Geralt, letting your eyes drift over the way he holds himself. The great ‘Butcher of Blaviken,’ stooped down and looking at you with fire in his eyes. You steel yourself, biting your lip before shaking your head. “Let me go grab my gear, I’ll meet you back here.”

    You leave him and Roach, listening as he walks her over to your stables. The door is silent as you walk into the house, letting you pad along the floor over to the edge of the bed. You kneel and slide out the little trunk that has held your armor for more than a year, now. You have to move aside some of Eskel’s as you retrieve your own, smiling a bit at the familiar red and brown stripes. 

    You stand and begin methodically dressing in the heavy pieces. First, the trousers, enforced with hardened leather and chitinous shell at the knees. You have to let the belt out a bit at the waist, having grown a little bit soft around the middle since you last dressed in these. Next a plain tunic thrown over your simple corset, followed by your boots. It’s so much easier to do them first rather than trying to bend over in all of your armor. They are stretched and molded from years of use, plates of enriched dimeritium steel decorating the sides. Then comes the chest armor, meticulously pieced together from different monster bits to provide the highest level protection from any number of creatures one may run across. Finally the gloves, your fingertips bare to provide the most direct source of any signs you may cast. 

    You look over the room, finding your swords resting against the door frame. You run your hands through your hair before pulling it back so it is away from your face. What am I thinking?

    “There’s a pack under the washbasin, it’s got all of the potions and oils in it…” You startle at Eskel’s deep rumble, finding him watching from where he lay over the pillows. Sure enough, when you look, there’s Eskel’s old saddlebags, filled to the brim with various decoctions. You move back to the bed and perch on the edge, running your fingertips over the scar down Eskel’s cheek. He sighs into your touch, turning to press his lips to your palm. 

    “How much did you hear?” You ask, running your fingers through his hair. 

    “Enough to know that this is insanely dangerous. But I also know that you have to do this. And I’m just glad that Geralt’s going with you.”

    You lean down, pressing your foreheads together for a long moment. “I love you, Eskel.”

    His eyes, deep gold in the way of sunlight filtered through the trees, find yours in the darkness. “Just come back to me, that’s all I ask.”

    You kiss him, trying to pour every bit of love and promise into him that you can. You break away first, knowing that if you push it any longer, you won’t actually make it out of the door. You throw on your dark cloak and latch the buckle of your sword sheaths over your shoulder, turning to look back at Eskel one more time. 

    He sits on the edge of the bed, his elbows resting on his knees and his hands intertwined between them. He looks up at you, and you can smell the fear pouring from his skin. You nod, choking on unsaid words as the door closes behind you. 

    Your eyes shine as you approach Geralt once more. “Ready?” He asks.

“As I’ll ever be.” The final leaves that still decorate the trees dance in the breeze as you pass underfoot, following in Geralt’s footsteps. He suddenly stops, just far enough into the trees to be out of sight of your home. He reaches into his pouch and pulls out a little circular device, opening the lid and taking a deep breath.

“Yennefer? We’re ready.” As soon as the words leave his mouth your medallion hums against your chest, the air kicking up around you. A portal opens up between the trees, a black void lined with bright orange and red energy. Geralt groans, moving forward first.

“Gods, I hate portals.” He disppears as he steps through, leaving you in the silent forest, save for the audible buzz coming from the portal. You follow quickly behind, hearing it snap shut as your stomach lurches forward, pulling the rest of you with it. 

***

The air is significantly cooler, the ground crunching with the beginnings of the incoming frost. When your eyes open you notice a tall mountain before you, the entrance to a cave situated not far from where you stand. Geralt shivers, clearly still recovering from the aggressive sudden relocation. 

“Does he know that we’re here?” You whisper, drawing your steel sword. 

Geralt hums, doing the same. “No. Yennefer rendered his outer enchantments null, so we should be able to sneak in pretty easily.”

You nod, and the two of you move silently up to the mouth of the cave. You reach into the pouch that you have situated on your hip, finding a bottle of Cat. You down it in one go, shuddering with the taste. Geralt raises an eyebrow, knocking back his own bottle.

“Shut up, it’s been a while.”

“Didn’t say a word.”

The world sharpens to every little detail in the rocks, rough edges jutting out over a small creek that runs through the stone. Geralt steps first, keeping his feet light and quick down the paths. You follow in his wake, and you can feel your medallion humming harder against your chest as you climb further and further into the depths of the cave. 

“We’re close” Geralt murmurs, just loud enough for you to hear. “Climb up there and you can drop down. I’m going to go around, try and get him from behind. You need to go up to him and cast Yrden, that way he can’t portal out of here.”

“Got it,” you reply, hefting yourself over an upturned boulder and onto an overhang. You can hear the bubbling of various mixtures, the intertwined scents tingling your nose. You can see a lab of sorts, dimly lit by candles around the place. There are barrels and trunks littering the floor, and a man in a long, dark robe stands before a table. His hair is grey and unkempt, and you can feel a powerful magic deep in your bones. You give a count to thirty, letting Geralt find his way around the cavern. 

You take a deep breath before launching yourself forward, landing in a crouch right behind the mage. Yrden leaves your hand before the man can even turn around, trapping him in an almost invisible ring, the barest bit of purple light betraying the edge of his trap. 

“What the-! Why I-urgh!” The mage seems to go through several emotions quite quickly, dancing through confusion into anger, and then anger into pain. His knees hit the floor quite forcefully when Geralt leaps onto him from behind, yanking his arms behind his back and locking a pair of handcuffs around his wrists. You can feel your stamina depleting as you hold the sign, clearly a bit out of practice. We should do some training, just to keep up to standards, you think to yourself. 

“Don’t bother trying to break them,” he growls into the mage’s ear, “they’re dimeritium.”

You let Yrden go, your energy quickly returning in its wake.  You watch as Stregobor struggles in his binds before relenting, looking up at Geralt with a smug smile. “So we meet again, Witcher. And it seems you’ve brought a friend.”

Your stomach churns, but you force down your swirling emotions in favor of observing the mage a bit closer. You step into the light, letting Stregobor see your face. This face, scarred and feral and tired, that he recognizes in an instant. 

“Ah, even better. A friend that I already know.” You bare your teeth at his words, measuring your steps as you step closer. “Are you here to finally understand what you truly are?”

You grab his chin forcefully, breathing heavily into his face. “I know what I am. I am a Witcher, a human, nothing more. You, however, are a monster.”

Geralt hums from where he stands behind Stregobor. “Witchers kill monsters, do they not?”

You nod, pressing the tip of your blade to the delicate skin under the mage’s neck. “Did you truly believe in the Curse? Or was this all some game?”

Stregobor, the bastard, smiles wider, all innocence gone from his eyes. He knows he’s been caught, might as well have a bit of fun. “What does it matter? It’s over now, has been for decades. All of the rest of you are gone, you remain the final piece to my puzzle.”

“It matters,” you growl, “because I am the one with a blade to your neck.”

“No. The curse, it’s a myth. Sure, there was the oddity in one’s anatomy every now and then, but that was mere coincidence.”

You blink, a hurricane of emotion swirling just beneath the surface. But you can’t let it out, not yet. You have work to do.

Geralt steps around to stand at your side, and you can smell the rage pouring off of his skin. Like a wildfire made of cinnamon bark, burning the hairs along your arms as the wind blows over. 

“Go on,” he whispers, Stregobors eyes widening as your fingers tighten on the worn leather of the hilt. “Finish it.”

With a flick of your wrist and a step to the left Stregobor’s head hits the ground, followed soon after by the rest of his body. His blood runs thick and dark over the wet cavern floor. You can’t hear anything over the sound of your heart pounding in your chest and your breath coming fast. You sheathe your sword, stalking to retrace your steps through the cave. 

Your feet dance over the rocks as you climb out of the darkness, forcing yourself to ignore the thoughts whirling through your mind. You burst from the cave entrance, finding only dense forest and nowhere to go. The last traces of your potion leave your system, your eyes returning to their somewhat normal state. You look around for anything, finding nothing, panic taking over as you brace to run. 

And then Geralt is there, his hand on your arm. You look to him, finding a mirror of your own emotions in his eyes. His grip tightens, forcing you to stay. “Tell me.”

Tears well up unbidden as your damn finally breaks. You sink into his arms, sobs wracking your body. Geralt stiffens for a millisecond before his arms wrap around you, sheltering you from the storm that feels as though it is erupting from deep in your chest. 

“It was a waste,” you cry, “all of those years spent running, keeping you all safe, from me. But it didn’t matter, I wasn’t-I’m not-”

Your voice dissolves back into sobs, mourning the years that you lost because of the actions of another. Geralt told you his story with Stregobor, and Renfri. She, and countless others, had her life snatched from her, for nothing. 

“It’s done,” Geralt murmurs, “You don’t have to let this control you any longer.”

You take a deep breath and nod, stepping back into your own space. “Thank you, Geralt.”

He hums, opening up that same little box from before. Another portal opens just before you and you step through first, your feet carrying you home.

***

Your cloak billows around you as your feet meet the mossy ground of the forest around your valley. You hear Geralt groan as the portal pops shut before you take off running. The sun is just starting to rise over the mountains, bathing the lower areas in soft light that beckons towards the mist. The treetops give way to wide, clear skies as you run up the path towards your home. You see the door open with Eskel on the other side, visibly relaxing at the sight of you.

You gasp unwillingly as he runs to meet you, falling into each other’s arms as soon as you feel him on your skin. You fit your nose into the crook of his neck and breathe in, scenting the last of his anxiety filtering away, leaving only the soft scent of home in its wake. Eskel’s hands hold you impossibly close and you can feel how his chest trembles under your fingers. 

Eskel parts from you only enough to look you in the eyes. “Did everything go okay? Where’s Geralt?”

“Yes, it’s done. Geralt was behind me, he’s probably emptying his stomach in the forest.”

“I HEARD THAT.” Geralt shouts from the treeline and you turn, watching as he trudges up the path. “I’m fine, just hate portals.”

“Yes, Geralt, we know.” Eskel laughs, and that sound, so deep and true and happy makes every moment of regret you may have felt seem so insignificant. “Come on, I’ve got breakfast ready.”

Eskel takes your hand and the three of you walk inside, dropping your swords and armor off to go back to their silent vigil over your home. 

[maleficarfic]

Hearts are Foolish Things

Pairing: Aerith Gainsborough/Cloud Strife

Fandom: Final Fantasy VII Remake

Rating: Explicit

Additional Tags: Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot

Summary: Rain drives Aerith and Cloud into a chilly shelter on the road home from the church.

On AO3: Link

She’d felt the resonance. First, on the plate in Sector 8. Then, when he crashed through the roof and landed in the midst of her flowers.

Aerith knew better. She knew better than to want men whose eyes were the color of the sky, and she knew she only wanted this one because of the faint harmonies within him. He was bound up with Zack. She could close her eyes and—

She knew better.

But hearts were foolish things.

She followed Cloud Strife across the rooftops, peppering him with questions and dodging his own.

“Maybe,” she said with a laugh, “he thought I could be the greatest SOLDIER yet.”

Cloud let out a sigh of exasperation. “Forget it.”

Such a prickly creature. She half expected him to casually shove her off the rooftops just to be rid of her. But, no, he warned her as they came up to the thin pipe.

Was he as brave as he acted?

She wasn’t. As she pressed herself against the side of shanty home, her heart pounded in her chest. The ground was a long way away. If a SOLDIER fell, he might be fine, but her? It would hurt like a bitch.

“I… actually… haven’t traveled by rooftop before,” she said slowly as they ducked through a low overhang. Shredded awnings hung from the ceiling, creeping like spiderwebs against her naked arms.

Aerith shuddered.

“Be surprised if you had.”

She rubbed her hands over her arms, trying to erase the tickling feeling from her skin, and turned her eyes upward to a dusty, rickety ceiling. Was he capable of more than five words at a time? He was lucky he was so handsome.

But his sour attitude didn’t bring her down.

She watched him slide down a ladder, grinning over the edge of it. “It’s honestly kind of exciting.” She swung her legs around and slid down after he’d cleared it, her skirt floofing up.

He jerked away, scowling into the distance.

Red stained his cheeks, and Aerith’s grin turned mischievous and pleased.

“Well. First time and all.” He scratched at his chin, refusing to meet her eyes.

Aerith leaned toward him, her hands laced behind her back. “First times are very exciting. Aren’t they?” she asked, letting some of that desire seep into her voice.

His flush deepened. Blue-green eyes met hers and then darted away. He cleared his throat. Rocked back on his heels. “We should keep going.” Stepping around her, he resumed a much brisker pace than before.

Aerith trotted after him, pleased with herself. Little was as fun as making stoic men like him blush.

Quickly, though, he outpaced her. He leaped over the rooftops with ease, leaving her on the far side of a large jump.

Heart pounding so loud she felt her pulse in her ears, she peered over the edge.

With a strangled little sound, she jerked back. It was a long way down, even with all the progress they’d made.

When she glanced up, he was halfway around the corner of the next building. “Wait!” she called, clutching her hands to her chest. He wouldn’t abandon her. She knew that. For all his bluster and too-cool attitude, he wasn’t cruel. “Give me a moment, would you?”

He paused, looking over his shoulder at her. They stood too far apart for her to read his expression, but he turned back. He came back.

“Come on,” he said, holding out his hand to her.

Swallowing down her nerves, she took a step back and then flung herself forward.

The tip of her boot caught on the corrugated iron rooftop, and she pitched wildly forward, crying out with alarm. Her heart jumped into her throat, her stomach twisting into a sudden, vicious knot.

And then his hands, wrapped in warm leather, closed around her wrists. With inhuman strength, he pulled her against him, and Aerith collapsed into his arms. Safe. Warm. So warm. He smelled like sweat and dirt and the crackle of ozone, and she wanted to press her face against his neck and just breathe him in for hours.

One hand rested lightly on his chest. The other smoothed over his shoulder. “Thanks,” she said softly, smiling up at him.

He stared down at her, still faintly red.

“Maybe next time, you don’t run off on your own?”

He chuckled, the corners of his mouth quirking up. “Those the words of a SOLDIER candidate?”

Oh, he had an adorable grin. And he teased her. He rose to her bait and gave as good as he got.

“So petty,” she huffed, but she kept smiling, too. Her arms twined around the back of his neck, and she leaned closer. Her lips brushed his ear, and his body tensed against hers. “Lucky for you, I like that.”

She drew back, sliding her body along his before pulling away, and left him standing behind her with a poleaxed expression. She also liked that, but he didn’t need to know that.

The sky grew darker, the plate’s shadow deeper.

Aerith paused on a rooftop, holding onto a half-rotted wooden pillar behind her. Tipping her head back, she peered at the sky above them. “Looks like rain.” As if to confirm her suspicions, thunder rolled on the plate’s horizon.

She glanced at Cloud. “We might want to find a place to wait out the storm.”

He frowned. “Won’t the plate—”

“Nope,” she said with good cheer.

People new to the ground often thought they were safe from storms. Not true. The slums covered by plates got the worst of it. Dirty rain water slipped between the gaps in a plate’s structure. The runoff dropped groundside long after the rain stopped plate side, dragging sludge and refuse from the plate above to the slums below.

“The plate makes storms gross. The stormwater is downright vile. We should find a place with a decent roof.”

Cloud crossed his arms, turning his frown on the nearby buildings. “So… no one lives in these buildings?” he asked hesitantly.

Aerith wondered why. Was he concerned about breaking into someone’s house or that he’d have a cute girl curling up against him when the water fell from the plate and turned everything chilly?

“Nope,” she said, sliding up to his side. He leaned back, but only a little. Only enough to meet her eyes. “No one to get mad if we make noise.”

His eyes widened.

Aerith pressed one finger to the middle of his chest. Pushed just enough to throw a normal person off balance. He, of course, didn’t move. “What’s that face for?” she asked with a laugh.

Turning, she ducked around the corner of a ramshackle building. The walls had buckled around the windows, so she passed that one by.

Behind her, she heard Cloud’s footsteps on the flimsy wood boards. “We might be able to get to the station before the rain… drips down from the plate?” He made the last bit of his statement into more of a question.

Aerith peered around his shoulder, squinting at the horizon beyond the steel sky. Heavy, dark clouds obscured the sun, painting the sky angry purples and blues. “No,” she said. “This storm is moving too quickly. And it’ll get too dark to see where we’re walking.”

She felt it in the distance. Rain pelted the cracked, dry earth outside of Midgar, those dead plains that wheezed and gasped for life.

Another peal of thunder rolled through the sky, louder this time. Lightning struck in the distance, fracturing like white veins against the clouds.

“This way.” She caught him by the wrist and tugged him after her, leading him deeper into the tangle of dilapidated homes.

The heavy clouds obscuring the setting sun cast the slums into darkness. Shadows deepened as Aerith and Cloud scoured homes in search of a roof that hadn’t split or fallen away. Eventually, he unsocketed one of his yellow materia, holding it up for light so they could see.

They’d just found an abandoned house with a serviceable roof when the first thick, black blob of runoff fell from the plate above them. Cloud stared at the dirty splotch on the pipe beneath their feet, his brows arched with surprise.

Another droplet plopped onto the pipe beside his boot, and Aerith grabbed his wrist with both hands. “You really don’t want that to fall on you,” she said, pulling him into the house.

He stumbled inside, catching himself on a large crate before he could topple over, and she gave him a flash of an apologetic smile.

Setting his sword and the yellow materia on the top of the box, he turned to the pockets in his pants. “Here,” he said, and he removed a handful more materia.

Purple, green, and yellow light filled the tiny house. A small fortune in materia cast strange shadows across the wood and corrugated iron.

Above them, fat runoff pinged against the roof, plinking out a staccato rhythm.

He frowned at the ceiling, sitting near the box.

Aerith laid her own staff on the box, unsocketing her materia, too. They’d want all the light they could get, no matter how strange the riot of color was.

“It gets really loud,” she said, lifting her voice so she could be heard over the sound of the runoff. She smoothed her skirt down her legs and sat opposite him, studying him.

Cloud winced, nodding.

She gave him a sympathetic smile. SOLDIERs had excellent senses. No doubt he found the sound irritating. She did, too, and she couldn’t hear someone drop a pin through three floors of concrete.

They sat for a moment in relative silence, listening to the rain pinging against the roof. As it began to pour down from the plate above in sheets, the air grew noticeably cooler. Aerith suppressed a shiver, wrapping her arms around her middle.

Cloud didn’t seem to notice the cold. His eyes kept skipping over her, studying the cast of the shadows over the room.

She took the opportunity to study his face. The green materia made his eyes brighter. The purple, almost magenta materia warmed his skin. And the yellow? It made his hair glow in the faint light.

Handsome. He was handsome, just like Zack. And when she stilled her mind and focused on her breathing, when she touched that warm, green place inside her heart, he felt like Zack, too. He felt like warmth and solace. He felt like safety and familiarity.

“It’s a bit cold, isn’t it?” she asked, rubbing her arms.

He made a soft sound of agreement, ducking his head to study the dusty floor.

Aerith scooted closer.

Zack was gone. She’d felt him go. There was no point in hanging onto him, but she couldn’t bring herself to let go of him. Cloud wasn’t Zack.

But hearts were foolish things. For just a moment, she wanted to feel close to him again.

Aerith laid her hand against Cloud’s upper arm.

He jumped, jerking his gaze to hers.

With a soft smile, she lifted her hand to his cheek. Her fingers feathered over his cheek. “You feel chilly.” Her thumb brushed his bottom lip. His mouth was perennially downturned, whether in a pout or a scowl she couldn’t say. But as her thumb traced the soft line of it, his lips parted, and the faintest bit of desire curled them.

She watched his eyes, feeling like she was falling off the edge of a plate and into the sky.

“It’s not that bad,” he said, but he didn’t look away.

“Maybe not to a SOLDIER,” she replied, rising to her knees at his side. Her other hand curved against his cheek. She cradled his face, and the chill in the air faded for the heat expanding like a slow-rolling thunderstorm inside her. “Help me ward of the chill, Mr. Bodyguard.”

His eyes widened for only a moment before a look of soft, simmering interest replaced surprise. “That costs extra.” His tone was playful. Kind. Inviting.

“How much?” Her fingers applied a gentle pressure, urging his head to tip backwards.

“We can negotiate a rate.” Hesitant hands settled on her hips. Slid higher.

Aerith inhaled deeply, her eyes fluttering shut as his hands ran over her waist, beneath her jacket, and up her sides. “After?”

“After,” he agreed, and she bent her head to kiss him softly.

She felt more of his hesitation, but not unwillingness, no, for his lips parted beneath hers with a gusty sigh. He tasted shy and uncertain, his lips moving always a second later than hers, but she found she didn’t mind.

He gave her the space to lick into his mouth and discover heat beneath the uncertainty, and when she teased his tongue with hers, he rewarded her with an aching little moan.

Her hands slipped from his face. One slid behind his neck, her arm curving around him as she settled against his chest. His arm wound around her, too, banding about her waist to tug her closer. Her free hand ran down his neck and along his shoulder. She traced her fingertips over his bicep, drawing idle lines against his skin.

At his wrist, her fingers curved into the edge of his gauntlet. A gentle tug pulled the armor down his wrist and over the back of his hand. He pulled in the opposite direction, and the glove fell away.

His callused fingers brushed against her elbow as she turned her face, catching his mouth from a new, better angle. Like this, her hair fell over her shoulder and cut off the light from the materia. Heavy shadow obscured his face when she opened her eyes, but not so much that she could confuse him for someone else.

She didn’t want to. She didn’t want to climb into bed with a ghost; she wanted a living, breathing man with hot skin and hotter moans.

“Hey,” she whispered when his eyes met hers.

“Hey,” he whispered back, his hands easing up her body. One bare, one still in his glove, his hands paused just beneath her breasts.

A shiver ran down Aerith’s spine, but not from cold. Desire warmed her and deafened her to the pounding rain. All she heard was the beat of her heart and the whispering exhalations of Cloud’s every breath.

She kissed him again, hungrier this time. Their mouths fit together, and she sank against him, sank into the heat of his body and the warmth of his kiss.

His hands slid up, slid over her breasts, slid to her shoulders where he pushed at her jacket. She arched her back, drawing her hands from him. The heavy denim jacket dropped to the ground behind her, and she left it there, forgotten.

Surging forward, she wrapped her arms around his neck. Her skirt climbed high on her thighs as she slipped into his lap, her legs bracketing his.

She settled against him as her fingers drove into his hair. An easy pressure with her fingers cajoled his head to turn, to tip to the side so she could slide her tongue into his mouth and devour her.

His arms came around her. She felt the brush of them against her sides as he yanked off his other glove. Then his hands were on her again, curving over her ass as he drew her hard against him.

The strength of his grasp made her moan.

“Sorry,” he gasped into their kiss.

“No.” She nipped at his lower lip. “No, it felt good. Feels good. You feel good, Cloud.”

Her hips pressed against his, desperately seeking friction and contact. Between her legs, she felt the line of his cock against her thigh. A shuddering heat rippled through her, and she rolled her body against his for the exquisite pleasure of feeling his desire.

She made quick work of his pauldron, unsnapping it from his suspenders.

It clanked to the ground. He shoved it further aside and then returned his hands to her. One hand pressed against the small of her back, urging her to move against him again. His other hand pressed between them and brushed against her belly. His fingers danced against her, making her gasp and then laugh. He tugged loose the tie around her stomach, and then his fingers lifted to the buttons.

He paused, drawing back. “This okay?”

Aerith brushed her nose alongside his. “Remember when I said there isn’t anyone in these houses?”

He watched her with wide eyes. When he spoke, he was breathless. “Yeah. I do.”

“Remember how I said no one will get mad if we make noise?”

He nodded, his fingers fiddling with the button between her breasts. Each little motion rubbed his knuckles against her skin, and the teasing promise of touch through fabric made her ache.

“Make me scream for you, Cloud.”

The button popped off. He jerked her hard against him, fitting her hips to his. Their mouths crashed together, their kisses hard and fast and good, yes, so good. She moaned against his mouth as her fingers raked down his chest and yanked at his shirt.

He shimmied, letting his suspenders fall over his shoulders, and then grabbed the back of his shirt. He pulled it over his head in a fluid motion, setting it beside them, and then he wrapped his arms around her and rolled her to her back beneath him.

She gasped, laying panting on his shirt as he dropped his mouth to her chest. Hungry, sucking kisses danced down her chest. His tongue traced the edge of her dress.

“Yes,” she breathed, arching her back for him.

She caught the heel of one boot with the toe of the other, kicking first one and then the other off her feet and out of their way.

In the mad rush to lose their clothes, she yanked open his pants, and he rucked her skirt up to her hips. He left her dress buttoned, sitting back on his heels to take in the sight of her.

The weight of his gaze made her burn. He devoured her with hungry eyes, sweeping his hands up the inside of her legs.

He bent, brushing his nose against her cunt through her panties, and Aerith gasped.

“Kiss me.” Her fingers combed through his hair, her legs falling wide to accommodate the delicious breadth of his shoulders.

She urged him closer, and his lips pressed against her.

A broken moan fell from her lips.

He tugged her panties to the side, revealing her cunt. The heat of his breath washed over her like a warm wave, leaving her delirious for more. She didn’t tug him closer, though; she let him take his time. Let him study her.

“Do you like what you see?” she asked.

“Yeah,” he breathed, and she shivered beneath him. “Like when you move like that.” He shifted closer, and his lips brushed against her slick flesh.

She moaned his name for him as fire swirled through her—and then she cried out for him as he ran his tongue up the length of her.

If he’d never done this before, it didn’t show. He tasted her with long, deliberate strokes that had her aching. And when she sank too easily into those motions, her hips rolling with each drag of his tongue, he slid two fingers inside her and ran the tip of his tongue around her clit.

No, he’d definitely done this before.

She was so grateful to whomever had come before her as Cloud’s fingers curled inside her. He started an even pace, testing to find out what she liked, and then moved faster to keep time with the rolling of her hips and the aching cries that spilled out of her.

Her fingers clenched and tugged in his hair. She arched her hips against his mouth and keened for him. Decadent tension built between her legs, a slowly increasing burn that spread through her entire body. She could float in this forever, she thought, opening her eyes to stare blankly at the wash of rainbow color no the ceiling. She could lay on the dusty floor and let Cloud fuck her with his tongue until she expired from the lingering pleasure of it.

But he didn’t give her eternity. He pressed her, he pushed her. His tongue flicked against her clit as his fingers worked inside her, and he cajoled her deeper into the consuming flames of pleasure.

She came with sobbing cry, her back arching off the floor. Her toes curled, her legs wrapping almost violently around his sides as she clutched him against her and her cunt clenched around him.

Her breath stuttered and shuddered along with her body. Sweet ecstasy prickled her skin and clouded her vision.

“Kiss me,” she begged him, her hands pressing against his shoulders to urge him up.

Cloud slipped up her body. Curving his fingers around the back of her neck, he lifted her into a kiss that tasted sharp and tart and sweet. She licked herself off his lips as she pushed her fingers into his pants to stroke the length of his cock.

He broke away to groan her name. The arm bracing his body above hers trembled.

“If you keep that up…”

She smiled at him. “Will you fall on top of me?” She squeezed his cock, and he swore. “Let me ride you, then.”

Cloud didn’t hesitate. He rolled to his back, bringing her with him. She heard the thunk of his boots hitting the ground as she pushed his pants down his hips. His hands joined hers, and then his feet dragged his pants lower.

She settled astride him. A roll of her hips caught his cock between the lips of her cunt, and Cloud made the kind of sound that nearly killed her. She adored that sound on a man’s lips.

“You’re killing me,” he groaned.

Aerith moaned, too, head falling to the side. “The best kind of death. Good thing you have tufts of phoenix down.” But items didn’t save a man from the kind of death that came with sex.

She rocked her hips against him, dragging her cunt along his length. With every roll of her hips, she rubbed her clit over him. The pleasure of it made her shudder—made him shudder. She let him soak in it as she did, working herself against him so she could burn as hot and bright as she had when he’d had his fingers in her and his mouth on her.

His hands swept up her hips. He plucked at the buttons of her dress, opening the front of it so he could fill his hands with her breasts.

She gasped, her hips moving sharply against him as her cunt clenched on nothing. Rough calluses against her skin. Delicious texture. Her nipples hardened under his touch, and with a glance at her face, he closed his fingers around the little nubs.

An aching moan spilled out of her as he pinched her nipples. A louder one filled the air when he released one nipple, surging up to close his mouth around abused flesh.

Wet heat seared her. Need blazed inside her.

She reached beneath her skirt, catching his cock in her fingers. As he sucked her nipple hard, she sank down on him, and the burning stretch of it was good, so good. She pressed her cheek against the top of his head, gripping his shoulders hard enough to bruise.

His hands stayed gentle on her hips. A light pressure showed her how he wanted her to move, and she rocked against him to the rhythm he so sweetly asked for.

The hot brand of his cock rubbed against already sensitive flesh. She groaned again, almost whimpering when he released her nipple and tipped his head back to look at her.

Sky blue eyes met hers. She fell into them, fell into the sky as he moved inside her. Wind rushed through her hair. She soared on the front of the thunderstorm as it crashed furiously over the city. The storm screamed in the face of Shinra’s hubris, and she screamed with it as Cloud’s fingers slipped beneath her dress to dance over her clit.

She came at least twice for him, her cries sounding with the thunder as he clutched her to him. And when she shuddered against him the last time, he rolled her to her back so he could fuck her the way he needed to.

A few hard thrusts left him shaking over her. His fingers slid into her hair, and he kissed her rough and hard as he spilled inside her.

They lay there for a long time.

Slowly, she began to hear the sound of runoff on the roof. Gradually, she felt the warmth of sex recede for the chill of the storm.

She smiled faintly. “Good thing there aren’t any neighbors to bother.”

Cloud huffed out a chuckle. “Not sure I’d care if there were.”

No, she wouldn’t have cared either.

Hearts were foolish things, but it felt good to feel cherished again. The neighbors could go to hell for all she cared.

[sweetwhumpandhellacomf]

Nachtperle 3

Part 2

TW: Emeto, dead animal

Taglist: @thingsthatgo-whump-inthenight, @pepperonyscience, @rosavirgoart

After his breakfast of rabbit and roots, Fritz finds the tinderbox and takes it and the oil lantern to the entrance of the cave. He shuts off the flame and sets both just under the overhang so he can find them later, and sets to finding himself a sturdy stick.

There are plenty to choose from scattered around the area in front of the cave. He finds one that would be just perfect, if he can figure out how to whittle the grip to be more comfortable. As it is, it still helps ease the weight off his bad knee.

With his new cane, Fritz sets to exploring, though he doesn’t wander too far. The clearing in front of the cave is something like a front garden, and he realizes that there are rows of herbs and forest fruit and vegetables tucked against the treeline. There’s even a fence to keep pests out. He smiles, marvelling at how human the guardian actually is.

The day passes slowly, with nothing to keep Fritz busy once he’s explored the outer perimieter of the guardian’s home. He feels it would be rude to snoop around inside without his host’s permission, so he simply finds a shady patch of grass and sits for hours, daydreaming and remembering stories to entertain himself. When he gets hungry, he goes back inside to finish off his breakfast; then it’s back out to wait out the hours.

Close to dusk, he hears approaching voices, and he hurries to his feet to duck around the corner of the cave. If someone’s bringing a sacrifice, maybe the Nachtperle won’t go out hunting tonight--maybe he can ask them some questions, learn more about them.

“You sure it’ll eat it?” The voice is faint, incredulous, feminine. “It’s already dead.”

“It’s just an animal,” someone answers, indifferent, slightly annoyed. “Animals eat carcasses they find all the time.” Fritz feels offended, realizing this person doesn’t have the same reverence for the guardian as he does. “Easier for us this way, too. C’mon, let’s go before it wakes up.”

He waits for the voices to fade before peeking out again. Even if they don’t respect the Nachtperle, they still left a sacrifice--a slaughtered sheep, dropped on the offering stone. That puts him a bit more at ease. He picks up the lantern and lights it, heading back inside to wait for them to wake up.

The Nachtperle stirs not long after Fritz has seated himself at the rough kitchen table, and he hears them yawning and stretching. “Good evening,” he calls softly, smiling when their big yellow eyes turn to him.

“Good evening?” they repeat, curious, through another yawn. “What is meaning?”

“It’s... a greeting,” Fritz says. “If it was morning, I’d say good morning.”

They hum and nod, plopping themself down on the other log bench. “Mm. Evening. Good evening.”

Fritz smiles again. “Some people came to deliver a sacrifice,” he says. “It’s already slaughtered.”

The guardian’s pointed ears perk up and their pupils widen with excitement. They hop back up to their feet and skitter outside, leaving Fritz to laugh behind his hand. He instinctively averts his eyes when they return, lugging the carcass with them--it’s still improper to watch a guardian take its sacrifice. “Eat good!” they say, beaming at Fritz with sharp teeth as they drag it into another chamber.

Fritz lights a few more lanterns as he waits, brightening the main room so both he and the Nachtperle can see better. His stomach growls, but he resists the urge to rummage for food--it seems impolite, especially if the guardian is going to cook something. And before long, they return with two skinned mutton legs, and Fritz sits down to watch them cook.

They’ve clearly been fending for themself for a long time, he realizes, seeing them add wood to a firepit before taking the tinderbox and lighting it. They tie the mutton to some string hanging from a slightly charred wooden frame, and then they hurry outside, tail swishing eagerly. Fritz’s stomach growls again as he smells the meat cooking, and even more when he sees that the guardian is sprinkling fresh herbs onto it.

“Hungry too,” they say, grinning and patting their stomach. “Animal is good. Tasty meat, warm fur. Good sacrifice.”

Fritz nods in agreement. “Do you have a name?” he asks suddenly. They blink at him, surprised, and tilt their head.

“Name?” They hum and scratch at their scales. “What is?”

“Oh, a name is...” Fritz is stunned, trying to decide how to explain it. “A name is what others call you. My name is Fritz.”

“Frrrr-its,” the guaridan repeats, trilling the “r”. Fritz grins and nods. “Close enough. What’s your name?”

They hum and shake their head. “Am not called, have no name.”

That’s... sad, for some reason, to Fritz. “We call you something, where I came from,” he says. “We call you the Nachtperle, because your eyes in the sky at night look like pearls.”

“Nnnocked--perluh?”

“Nachtperle,” he repeats more slowly. “Can I call you that?”

The guardian mutters the name a few more times to themself, pacing and checking on the meat. “Can call--Perle. Easier.”

“Perle.” It seems so intimate, calling the guardian something like that. “Alright, Perle, I will call you that.”

They grin again and nod. “Perle. Like that. Frrrrits, and Perle.”

He can’t help but giggle at how they say his name. They turn back to the meat, watching it closely as it continues to cook. “Can I ask you something, Perle?” he asks.

“Mm?”

“Do you have--clothing, that I could borrow? Maybe offerings? I know it would be rude to take them, since they were offered to you. But I don’t have any other clothes.”

“Clothing? Yes, have clothing. Will get. Not let meat burn.” Perle scampers off into another tunnel in the cave without waiting for an answer. They return shortly with a heap of rumpled clothes, dropping them onto the floor. “Clothing!”

“Oh, good heavens,” Fritz says, almost laughing. “That’s so much. Are you sure I can take what I need?”

“Yes, take,” Perle encourages, tail swishing. “Do not wear. Feet, wings, destroy clothing.”

Fritz nods; he can see how that would happen, those talons and massive wings. “Thank you, Perle,” he says earnestly, limping over to start looking through the pile. “This means a lot.”

They hum and nod, then turn back to the meat again. Fritz finds some sets that look like they’ll fit, and he takes them into the entry tunnel to get changed. He feels much better, wearing clean--if a bit dusty and wrinkled--clothes. Maybe he can find somewhere to wash them off, and wash himself off as well. He puts aside a few other pieces of clothing and returns to the main chamber with a small stack balanced in one arm.

Perle has already taken one of the mutton legs off the fire and is enthusiastically tearing into it, devouring large strips of meat with contented trilling noises. Their tail is swishing behind them like a dog’s, and Fritz finds himself smiling as he puts his new clothes to the side.

The speed of their tail slows, though, and so does the speed of their eating. Fritz stills, watching as Perle drops the half-eaten leg onto the table, their already large pupils dilating further. “Hurts,” they mutter, clutching at their stomach. “Hu-urts--”

“Perle?” Fritz hurries to their side, looking at them, then the meat. “What hurts?”

“Hurts!” they wail, stumbling away from the table and landing on all fours, convulsing and struggling to stay up.

Fritz’s eyes widen as he realizes. “Poison,” he breathes. “Perle, you have to throw up!”

Perle shudders and digs their fingers into the stone, their claws scraping awfully on the rough surface. Fritz seems to have gotten through to them, though, because they start retching, beating their wings erratically; he has to jump back to avoid being hit, and he stumbles when his bad knee tries to give out. With a sickening noise, they empty their meal onto the stone floor, leaving them gasping and panting.

“Perle?” Fritz askes tentatively. “Perle, did that help?”

“nnngh.” They clumsily stumble away from their sick, falling on their side a yard away. Fritz hurries next to them, crouching down and putting a hand to their bare chest. Their heart’s still beating, if too fast, and they’re still breathing, still conscious. He breathes a sigh of relief and sinks down to sit next to them.

After a few moments of heavy breathing accented with the crackle of the fire, Perle tries to stand again. “What are you doing?” Fritz asks, grabbing hold of one clammy arm.

“Have--clean,” they mutter, their voice weak.

“I’ll clean it up,” Fritz says, standing as well. “You need to rest. You look dreadful.”

“D-dread--?”

“Bad,” Fritz says quickly. “Very bad and sick.” He takes Perle’s scaly hand and starts to lead them over to the sheepskin bed, and is surprised when they comply. “Cooking the meat probably saved your life. It got rid of most of the poison.”

“Mmmn.” Perle nods sluggishly, dropping down onto the wooly bedding. “Stay.”

“Huh?”

“Want... Fritz, stay,” they repeat, clinging onto his hand even as he tries to pull it away. “Protect.”

Fritz doesn’t think he can do much protecting. But he nods, sitting down next to Perle and letting them nestle up against his thigh. “I’ll protect you, Perle. Just rest.”

Perle nods, their eyes slowly closing as they drop off into unconsciousness.