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embrassemoi · 3 years

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Surrounded by the Moon and Stars ✷ 29

Pairings: Sirius B, F!Reader, Remus L Warnings: Language, angst, insecurities, blood, darkish thoughts (self-hatred), fighting, violence Author's Note: heavy chap. if you’re having a bad day, take a moment, be kind to yourself and put off reading this until you feel better 💜

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Chapter 29: That Pet You Just Couldn't Keep

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Remus woke up to a bright, white light. He squinted, head lolling to the side of his lumpy pillow. The chair near his bedside was empty, saved from a pitcher of water along with a few potions Madam Pomfrey must’ve left for him, were placed on the stand beside his bed.

Something wasn’t right. Peter or one of the other Marauders were always there waiting for him after his transformations.

Too hot for a blanket in June, he ripped off his covers and noticed the bumpy, large material hiding beneath his nightgown. He licked his lips, letting air whistle down his dry throat while a sharp, burning sensation flooded his abdomen. Remus winched, groaning out while stretching to drink the potions and water. Although, as he brought the glass vials to his lips, he noticed that his arm was littered with scratches and bruises. Curious, he lifted the slit of the gown to see a large wrapping across his lower stomach and bruises in the shape of lopsided circles and rectangles travelling across his body.

Remus felt his face scrunch. Ever since the Marauders had become animaguses, he hardly sustained any injuries aside from the occasional limp or flimsy scratch. There was usually an absence of pain nowadays, not an overload of it.

What caught his attention was the scent of human blood. His senses were always heightened the week leading up to the full moon and the week following, so it was particularly strong. It caused his head to spin like planets performing a celestial dance.

Preoccupied with the scent, Remus didn’t notice someone slipping into the room.

“Hey, how are you feeling?” A fuzzy Peter came into view. He went to sit on the edge of his bed sporting a nervous look.

“Was wondering where you were.” Remus relaxed at his appearance.

“Yeah… Erm — been busy.”

Soon enough, another sharp pain stabbed at his abdomen again. “Fuck — what happened last night?”

Wormtail sucked in sharply as he wiggled in his seat uncomfortably. “I… something terrible happened. Bollocks, Moons — I’m sorry...”

Remus felt his spine prickle with needles. “What?”

“We should wait until Dumbledore or James comes back.”

“Dumbledore?!”

Ghostly pale, Peter was on the verge of fainting. Remus took another deep inhale. This time, he smelt blood, but it was coming off of Peter and a few other foreign scents lingered on him. Was that… Y/N? And… Snape? Remus scanned Peter, noticing the droplet of red on his shoes.

“Pete,” his voice dropped to an icy whisper, “Whose blood is that?”

He remained quiet.

Remus moved to prop himself up on the bed. “What happened?”

As Peter spoke, every word made Remus recline into himself and he was left unsure of how to feel. The overload of information put him into a state of complete shock. His vision faded in and out, suddenly feeling very cold and dizzy compared to the hot weather.

He distantly heard Peter trying to gain his attention but stared blankly at the metal bed frame.

“Say something,” his friend tried, sounding desperate. He didn’t even know how long he’d been quiet for.

Remus worked through the betrayal in nine steps. It helped make sense of his emotions. To categorize them — making it easier to file away.

1. Shock & denial

“No,” he said, barely moving a muscle in his face. “That's impossible! Padfoot would never…”

Peter watched him pitifully. Remus’ eyes blinked rapidly, heart pounding. “I’m sorry.”

2. Process what happened (or try to)

“He… told… Snape?” He asked despite Peter repeating the story multiple times.

“Sirius was mad at Sniv — Snape, and he was provoked by —”

“I didn’t hurt him, did I? I didn’t hurt anyone?”

“He’s fine.”

“Then why won’t you tell me what happened to me? Why was I bleeding?”

He refused to look him in the eyes and Remus felt terror ebb it's way through his skin. “Answer me!”

“As I said, L/N and Snape got into a row… she heard Sirius tell him and she went to save him…”

“Don’t you dare lie to me.”

Wormtail took a deep breath. “You… nicked her a bit and James’ antler broke off in you because… he was trying to get you off of her…”

Remus was rooted in place. What Peter just said was unreal. His stomach twisted painfully. He blinked. “Y/N’s hurt? I hurt her?”

“Yes — no! That was Snape —” “Is she here? Did I bite her?”

“You didn’t and yeah but —” “Move out of my way.” He pushed himself up wobbly.

“You lot a lot of blood, sit —”

“Get out of my way!” He threatened. Remus pushed Peter to the side, clambered to his feet. Remus gripped the bed tightly and felt a few seams rip open and blood began to faintly seep through his white bandages.

He staggered around, ripping back the curtains until he saw Y/N. Limping up to her bed, Remus almost burst into tears when he saw her. She looked so tiny, curled up and engulfed in blankets and pillows. Her ankle was propped up, head bandage and skin dull.

It felt like Peter had poured a bucket of freezing cold water on him.

He hurt her. Almost got her and Snape killed or infected. Could have hurt Prongs and Wormtail…

He was a fucking monster.

He should be put down.

From how loud he was, running around the wing, Y/N’s eyes fluttered open. She attempted to stretch, groaning out in pain. But then, her eyes flickered up to him and she froze. Her hand shot up protectively to her chest and face as instinctively went for her wand but stopped. Genuine fear flashed through her, making Remus instantly want to cry. It felt like an eternity passed as she gripped her sheets and opened her mouth.

She was going to scream — to take him away — call him a monster — to cry or yell for Madam Pomfrey or —

But Y/N’s body relaxed. A tried smile twisted and gaze dissipated with fear, replaced with nothing but understanding and softness; she even went as far to touch his hand but Remus wrenched it back.

“Ta-da!” She croaked. “I lived.”

Remus didn’t smile, only staring horrified.

“Yeah, that was a hit or miss...” Peter interjected. He stood behind him, ensuring that if he fell, he’d be there to catch Remus. He continued to stare like she grew another set of eyes.

“What?” Her grin deflated. “Am I that irresistible?”

That pulled a breathy laugh from Remus as he shook his head. Why wasn’t she disgusted with him?

“Thank Merlin, you’re both awake.” All their heads turned to James’s floating head before he pulled off the invisibility cloak.

James moved to pull Remus into a large hug, whispering an ‘I’m sorry’ into his ear. He held him for a while before breaking off, going to embrace Y/N who wheezed.

“Ouch.”

“My bad, my bad!” He pulled back and slipped into bed with her. Peter forced Remus to sit on the edge of her bed while he stood.

A million thoughts ran through his head. He wanted to get away, to run — not even be in the same room as her. Remus wanted to think, to make any sense of what happened.

What the fuck happened? He couldn’t even process it.

She remembered everything, right? Surely she wouldn’t be this calm had she.

“Oh, wait — Lupin, are you alright? I swear a deer came at you last night.”

James chuckled out loud, breaking Remus out of his thoughts as he looked at him and Peter. “I guess there’s no point for secrets anymore.”

Y/N looked at them questioningly, her eyes squinting from the bright light before Peter went to close the blinds shut. James got off the bed, smiling widely at Remus and Peter got onto the bed instead.

“Ugh — Pete? James? What —”

A loud gasp ripped from her mouth as she jerked away from James who turned into a very large stag and Peter into a fat brown rat.

Remus could almost cry at how comical her face looked.

James was so large that he had to take a few steps back to prevent his antlers from poking one of their eyes out and Remus noticed that one was gone.

He felt sick again. A hand drifted to his stomach.

“Holy shit! Oh my god!” Y/N went to graze a finger on Peter’s fur before turning to James with shaky hands to touch one of his antlers and patting him on the head. She was speechless as her mouth open several times before forcing out, “You're really Bambi!”

James turned back, taking his glasses off to clean. “I wanted to be a lion — for Gryffindor, y’know.”

“You can’t choose, I wouldn’t be a rat.” Peter grimaced.

“They’re highly intelligent. Nothing to worry about.” James reassured and ruffled his hair.

“When did you guys learn to do this?”

“We’ve been at it for three years now. We finally were able to do it in August before school started.”

She shook her head, staring in awe.

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Dumbledore came to speak to everyone later that day.

Remus had been dreading it once he came into the wing and began speaking to Y/N, a buzzing sound filling his ear. All Remus was left to do was twiddle his thumbs, waiting and completely disoriented.

When he finally approached him, Dumbledore lost his usual twinkle in his eyes. He made sure to close the long vertical blinds and again, the room filled with a low buzzing sound.

“How are you doing?” He asked. Remus, had he been in the right mindset, would have prevented the scoff escaping him. Dumbledore didn’t react but continued. “Miss L/N is recovering well and Mr. Snape didn’t receive any injuries. Just a fright.”

Remus nodded, that was good, but he remained quiet.

“Snape’s been persuaded to act accordingly for the best interest of his fellow pupils and L/N gave her word.”

Remus choked back a laugh. Snape was going to, no matter what, let his secret slip somehow.

“You’re also exempt from the Transfiguration exams, both you and Miss L/N. You’ve both sustained a degree of varying head injuries and you’ll be graded on a cumulative from McGonagall.”

Dumbledore was forcing Remus to the edge as he bit down on his inner cheek. It was useless to listen to him. “Are you expelling me?”

“No. You should not bear any blame.”

“Dumbledore, no offence, but are you mental?” Remus sputtered adding, “I endangered four students last night.”

“Yes but —” “The next time we won’t be so lucky. I’m a monster, sir. I should be.”

The headmaster sighed. “Remus, give yourself a bit of credit. Think highly of yourself.”

Remus gave a dry laugh, almost baffled at how Dumbledore was acting. Did he just gloss over the fact he could have gotten students infected? He wouldn’t be able to live with himself had he. “How can I?”

“Well Y/N seemed to think very highly of you. She made you a very compelling case along with your friends, Potter, Pettigrew and Black.”

“Black’s not my friend,” Remus countered. He didn’t care about how rude he was being.

“Remus —”

“Is he expelled?”

“No.” The answer had Remus wheeling, anger spiking. “He’s not.”

“Why not? If it isn’t my fault, that I’m not to blame then why isn’t he? He told them how to find me.”

“I understand that this is a very difficult situation and rest assured, Sirius will be punished. I can promise you. But expulsion isn’t the answer.”

Remus refused to look at Dumbledore and he must've realized he was getting nowhere with him. He stood but before leaving, he gave a pitiful look.

“I have done terrible deeds, indulged in foolish pranks that I have lived to regret, but each has been a valuable learning experience. It’s a pity that it came to this. Learn in your heart to forgive, Remus. The world is already filled with too much hate.”

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June 16th, 1976

3. Sadness & pain

Remus had been avoiding the Marauder’s dorm. He’d gone as far as begging Madam Pomfrey (who’d taken pity because she knew what happened) to let him stay another two nights before getting kicked out. Remus always healed physically faster and his wounds were already healed by the third day. Pathetically, he’d been sleeping in dingy passageways or the prefects’ bathroom before relocating after being harassed by the ghosts.

Remus had a plan, avoid them; skip classes, get longer prefect duties, never staying in one spot for too long. He wouldn’t know what would happen if Snape saw him. Although, whatever Dumbledore told him, it kept Snape quite so far. But tonight, he got tired of Moaning Myrtle sobbing.

Before curfew, Remus made it a habit of visiting Y/N, who was still stuck in the wing; both out of guilt and because she was his friend, but he couldn't stay for long — seeing her like that made him wallow in guilt.

Similar to him, Lily had visited, along with the other girls, every day. Today, Lily stayed a little longer, bleeding into the time Remus usually dropped by. He watched as Lily whisper into her ear, causing Y/N to laugh and Lily blush madly as she sat snug by her side. Not wanting to ruin their moment, Remus went to leave before they had the chance to see him.

Remus had another pressing matter anyway.

He entered one of the nearest bathrooms to give himself some sort of pep talk and stared at the mirror.

You can do this. A voice echoed in his head.

Typically, memories from the full moon came back to Remus a few days or even weeks later, his brain usually too foggy a couple of hours after and even then, he would never fully remember everything. He vaguely remembered seeing a flash of Snape’s face and Prongs but Y/N’s screams were one of the clearer memories from that night.

“REMUS! PLEASE REMUS! STOP!”

Remus looked to stare at himself in the mirror. He observed the scar on the bridge of his nose, feeling bile rush up his throat at the sight.

He was a freak, littered with scars covering himself.

He was disgusting.

Ugly.

Pathetic.

Dangerous.

A monster!

4. Anger

Sirius Black had always been loyal, so what changed that night?

He needed to leave. It was no good staying here anymore.

Remus was shaking with rage, twinged with hurt. He paced outside of the common room door and had a few options running through him. Either start a huge fight with Sirius or just… ignore it.

Avoidance.

Maybe he could ignore Sirius forever? Impossible, surely. Sirius would get bored, anxious within a couple of weeks — that was too generous — a few days sounded right.

With his mind made up, Remus crept up to his room. He could hear the faint shouts of James and pondered about just sleeping in the common room or prefects’ bathroom. Even if he did have to listen to Moaning Myrtle.

Maybe because his senses were still coming down from its peak or James was just brash, but Remus didn’t even have to press his ear on the door.

“— done ENOUGH! — hear me? You better — why are YOU crying? You bloody — understand? Understand?! You will not talk — him — best friends my —”

The only person he's told he was coming back was Wormtail and it sounded like he told Prongs.

Remus didn’t care to listen anymore as he pushed open the door. Pete was sitting on his bed, eyes wide at Remus’ presence surrounded by unwrapped wrappers. He always tended to eat while stressed.

Sirius was looking down at the floor as James stood in front of him, scolding him like a child. But, his head shot up once he walked through the door. Out of his peripheral vision, he could see his eyes bloodshot, puffy and circles dark. He didn’t dare look at him.

Remus didn’t acknowledge them, instead moving robotically to the bathroom, changing into his holey yet comfortable clothes before scurrying off to bed, swinging his curtains shut before casting a silencing spell around.

He’d plan to adhere to his avoidance strategy. It worked so far.

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June 18th, 1976 | 1:29 am

“Psst… Moony.”

Remus turned over to face him. “What do you want Peter?”

“Just wanted to check up. You okay?”

“What do you think? Please, leave me alone.” And then closed his bed drapes.

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June 19th, 1976 | 11:37 pm

Peter had crept up to his bed again as Remus laid there awake, thoughts swarming him.

“I’m not in the mood. I’m tired.” He moved to turn over and forced his eyes closed.

Peter had been nothing but amazing. Always thinking about him and his needs but what Remus wanted most was to be alone and Peter's pity and worried features did nothing but make Remus feel like shit.

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June 21st, 1976

In life, there are few things that are certain. Getting older, death, taxes… No matter how hard we try, no matter how good our morals are or our intentions, we all will eventually make mistakes. It’s either as small as burning your food or writing the wrong answer down on a test, but you’re also going to fuck up pretty bad and hurt people. Say something — do something you don’t mean and it’ll end up with both sides hurt. If you want forgiveness, there’s multiple solutions to gain that back, but the two words — obvious, there, waving in front of your face — can be the hardest words to say.

“I’m sorry.” Black muttered for the hundredth time that night. His voice was pushing Remus to the edge as he kept his face straight. Dead. Not once taking Sirius’ shitty apology baits. He continued to stare down at his book, reading silently in his dorm. His teeth hurt from how hard he was clenching his jaw.

Remus was right, of course, he was fucking right. Black had grown anxious as he ignored him.

“I’m sorry.”

Remus never really considered himself violent. Sure, he’s gotten into rows that ended with a punch or hex here or there, but Remus didn’t have violent thoughts. If anything, he prided himself on not being a bonehead like Black and Prongs. But, it took every ounce not to beat the shit out of Black right there and then.

Bastard. Scumbag. You mother fucking betrayer.

Remus never liked not being in control. Not having it scared him too much, feeling more animal than man. He did everything to avoid being violent, the wolf was already violent enough and had too much control and Remus refused to let it dictate human him. There was already too much violence, he never wanted to contribute more.

He did everything not to be a monster. But it's like the wolf roared from deep within, scratching and begging to let him pounce.

Remus wasn’t violent — anyone who met him would vouch for that. Fuck, if he saw a spider, he would open a nearby window and release it. But now, he wanted to slam Sirius against a wall and wrap his hands around his neck and squeeze.

You piece of shit. Wanker. Twat. I want you to feel as much pain as I do.

“Moony, please let me explain —”

All the words suddenly blurred before Remus slammed his book shut, causing to become still and quiet.

Sirius trying to explain — excuse his actions — pushed him over the edge. Remus sent a venomous glare at Sirius, waiting for him to talk. His quietness made everyone uneasy.

Selfish bastard.

Any sympathy Remus held for him this past year, along with any logic, evaporated to the point where he felt a rabid thump spread through him. There was a desperation to relieve himself of it — lash out, scream, cry —

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it,” the rest of the Marauders watched the scene, knowing not to get involved. “It was a mistake and —“

“A mistake?”

Sirius perked up at this. That was the only word he’d spoken to him since the incident. “Honest. I did it because —” “Shut the fuck up.” Remus stood, tall and loomed over Sirius. He could almost smell the fear off him.

He had never been so mad before.

“I — I… I,” stutters Remus. But instead of it being out of shyness or nerves, it was out of pure wrath that he wasn’t able to articulate his emotions properly. He took a deep breath in, attempting to regain control over his emotions but failed as he burned with deep, seething hatred. “I am the monster that mothers tell their children to keep them in at night.”

“Moony —”

“Don’t call me that!” His voice boomed so loud that everyone in the room had to take a step back and shrink down. Remus was always so reserved, only ever lashing out in annoyance close to the full moon but nothing more.

“Living up to your name, aren’t you?” There’s a sarcastic, bitter humour lilt to his voice.

Someone so in control of his emotions, someone with an unbreakable exterior, the only glimpses they’d ever seen of Remus losing control was him snapping at someone close to the full moon but would later apologize within mere seconds. But to see him like that… it was an intrusion, something the Marauders hadn’t ever seen or wanted to before.

“Please, just calm down so we can talk.”

Remus paces around the room. “You — y’know I’ve never understood why everyone lets you get around treating others like shit. First, it was Marlene, James, me, Peter, Lily and Y/N — we all let you get away with it. Outburst after outburst, we all sat back because you were going through shit. But I can’t? I’m not allowed to get angry?!”

Sirius wouldn’t look at him.

“Look at me.” Remus kept his voice low throughout the ordeal, only ever raising if Black interjected. “You coward, look at me!”

5. A lot of anger

He couldn’t meet his eyes so he settled to stare at the scar across his nose. It only angered him more as Remus picked Sirius up and pushed him against the wall as he fisted his shirt.

“I’m sorry.”

Sorry is nothing but a word to you. I gave you my most trusted secrets. I confided in you. I was there for you when you needed it. I loved and cared for you like my own brother but I was nothing more than a pet that you discarded when you got bored. You’re only guilty because of the repercussions you’re facing. Your guilt isn’t nearly enough. Bastard. I trusted you. You’re a Marauder. My best friend. I would’ve done anything for you. You fucking ruined it.

“You did this! You did!”

“I know. I’m sorry.”

He laughs, mocking and loud, void of any emotion. “No, you aren’t. You’re never fucking sorry!”

Stupid fucking selfish arsehole.

“For years you’ve told me that you accepted me — cared for me — loved me like your own brother! That what I am — a-a monster — that it didn’t matter!”

“It didn’t mean anything, I promise! It was a shitty, fucked up prank —”

“A prank?! You used me as a weapon! A toy because how could anyone ever love a werewolf?” Remus’ voice was so low. “You’ve never respected me. If you had any, you wouldn’t have — you - wouldn’t....”

Everything came crashing on Remus at once.

6. The realization settles in

And after nine days, Remus Lupin had finally realized what Sirius Black had done. Before, everything he felt had been true but he hadn’t fully realized the gravity of what happened, as silly as it sounds.

Sirius turned his worst fear into a living nightmare.

In the background, one of James’ Quidditch posters, encased in glass exploded, shattering into millions of pieces from the amount of pure magic radiating off Remus. He didn’t even flinch at the sound.

James finally interjected, placing a hand on Remus’ shoulder. “Lay off him… He isn’t worth it.”

Remus eased off Black instantly. “You had no right… no right…” He pointed. Remus turned his face down as he felt tears build up.

“I trusted you,” he whispers. “Every bit.”

Remus stormed out of the dorm, going to sleep in the common room.

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June 22nd, 1976

7. Depression

When Remus finally let himself cry, he didn’t make a move to leave his bed. Even skipping meal times, leaving James or Pete to bring him food.

Everything felt suffocating, a gnawing feeling that made every part of him ache. Remus couldn’t handle anymore pain or emotions from ‘the prank’ as he felt himself slip into a temporary void.

He hugged his pillow tighter and closed his eyes once more.

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June 23rd, 1976 | 11: 37 pm

Remus had gone straight to bed again, effectively shutting up the rest of the dorm. James was ignoring Black, leaving Remus surprised that he hadn’t made a move to defend his actions. Nonetheless, he was appreciative still. Peter had been trying to appease everyone, not taking sides but still must’ve thought Sirius was in the wrong because he hadn’t talked to him much.

He didn’t ask James to choose between him or Black. Remus was never one for ultimatums but even then, it seemed like James picked him. He was beyond furious, seemingly more than Remus at this point who pathetically wallowed in his depression. He wouldn’t spare Black a second glance, wouldn’t talk to him, shut him down if he tried to speak to him. Hell, he’d even gone as far as to make it very clear to the entirety of Hogwarts that they were no longer friends, making sure to not sit with him, ever. Always choosing to sit by Remus.

They chose his side and a part of Remus felt elated to know they had his back.

This left Black alone, looking at them through tearful gazes. Remus had been ignoring all of them and they seemed to be understanding, avoiding crossing the wordless boundary Remus set in stone.

But, both James and Peter had been checking up on him nightly, always there and he could tell they were getting impatient.

When the lights went out, he heard James crept out of bed. Usually, Remus would find some sort of comfort in knowing who was approaching him, but now, it only left him feeling uneasy.

And then he felt the bed dip and James muttered out a spell.

“Hey, Moony.”

Remus didn’t face him. “Prongs?”

“Hey,” there was a loud sigh, “Do you need anything?”

What was he supposed to say? A hug? To talk? He’d much rather use his avoidance strategy, although he realized it left him alone with too many thoughts and nobody to confide in.

“M’good.” He felt James place a hand on his shoulder.

“I’ll always be there for you. That’s what Marau - that’s what friends are for, no?”

Remus didn’t answer and felt James move to leave. But before he had the chance to slip out, Remus peeked his head from the drapes, announcing just loud enough for Sirius to hear.

“Thanks for saving all of us, James. You’re a true friend.”

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June 24th, 1976

People had their poisons.

Alcohol can make you forget. It blocks out everything and makes the rest of the world fade away until you can’t remember. People gambled to feel a rush, only to realize they dug themself into irreversible debt. Shopping, food, the high from risky behaviour…

But how we manage our poisons is up to the person.

People love to deny that they have addictions. They deny they’re hooked, they deny that they can’t put it down, they deny that they’re scared or want to stop. People only see what they want to see, believe what they want to believe.

And then the truth becomes muddled with lies that it’s hard to recognize the poisons sitting right in front of us. And all we want is more.

For Remus, his poison, his bright red self-destruction button, was smoking.

Granted, he never was a big smoker, typically only smoking when stressed or bored. But he still did it, filling his lungs with poison. But maybe he was wired like that. Besides, what werewolf lives past thirty? Might as well die revelling in the poison that brought him ease…

Remus conjured a ball of bright fire from his hand; fishing out a pack of cigarettes, slipped it past his lips and lit it. He inhaled, feeling the familiar, comforting feeling before dragging it from his lips, blowing out the thick cloud of smoke that left him wanting more.

He’d been sticking to his avoidance tactic strictly now. The Marauders were hovering over him, worry evident on their faces. A few times, Lily and James both invited him to sit. They never fought anymore, or at least in front of him, and it probably was his doing — a group effort into getting him to talk.

So even Lily knew something was wrong… Snape probably told her…

The door clicked open and Remus didn’t have to turn around to know how it was.

“Leave me alone. I’m not ready to talk.”

“Wasn’t gonna make you.”

He spun around, that wasn’t James or Peter. His face softened.

“Well… I’m not,” Y/N said simply, “But the others are about to.”

Remus groaned at that but Y/N smiled and turned around, ushering him over with a little wave. In one hand, she raised the Marauder’s map. “C’mon, I know a place and that they won’t be able to find.”

Remus was intrigued. He stepped out the butt of the cigarette, flicked it into the trash and followed her. Surely he’d already been there but being with Y/N seemed ten folds better than being around the other Marauders.

He followed wordlessly, passageways flying through his head but she never stopped by them. Instead, she climbed onto a ledge, slipping into an area under a large curtain. He followed, eyes lighting up in awe. He’s definitely never been there before.

“Get comfortable,” she said, flinging him a pillow and lighting a few candles.

They sat opposed to each other in complete silence. Y/N flicked back and forth, watching James and Peter scrabble around the castle looking for him. A few times, they passed by, each time leaving Y/N amused.

Remus tapped his leg anxiously. The question remained: Why wasn’t she disgusted with him? Why was she helping him? Why wasn’t she afraid?

Now alone together, those questions dangled on his tongue.

“Why aren’t you afraid of me?”

She looked up at him, finally putting down the map. “Because you’re Remus.” She said, like it was the most obvious answer. “You’re not scary.”

8. Hold onto doubt

The answer irritated him. Another memory unfolded then and he blurted it out. “Why didn’t you cast any spells at me?”

Her brows rose, “I didn’t want to hurt you.”

“I’m dangerous.” His voice was bleak and cold. “Why can't you grasp that?”

She stays quiet for a long time, her head turning to look out the large window. Y/N watched the owls and labyrinth of ancient trees of the forbidden forest and Remus was painfully aware of time slipping by.

“Do you remember that night on the astronomy tower on Halloween? I said that there’s bound to be someone looking at the moon at the same time?”

It takes Remus a moment to remember, but he does. “Yeah. You said that it’s like you’re not alone.”

Y/N turns around to face him. “Exactly. You don’t have to be alone in this.”

He looked away, deliberating. “It’s one thing for me to be alone but then drag you and others down with me.”

“Remus, I’m not going to lie and say I wasn’t scared. I was terrified. I thought that was it.” He gulped. “But I could never be scared of you. The real you - the you right now. I don’t care about what you are. You are more than just a werewolf. I feel safe with you.”

The dark shadows surrounded them as she reiterated herself. “You don’t have to be alone in this.”

He soaks in her words for a while. This time, peering out the window as he breathes in deeply.

Okay. He decided.

“Do you want to know how I got —” he pointed at a scar on his upper forearm. “— this?”

She nodded her head.

“When James turned into his animagus form to show me for the first time, his antlers pierced my skin. I had to lie to Pomfrey and say I fell while playing Quidditch.”

Any invisible barrier between them crashed instantly as she smiled brightly and laughed. So infectious, Remus couldn't help but flash a real grin.

He never realized how beautiful her smile was.

“Oh, and if you ever tell anyone about this place, I’ll skin you.”

“I would never.”

Remus scouted over to her, pressing his back against the cool stone as they sat together in a comfortable stillness. But then she shifted, opening her arms wide. He lent in without hesitation and her arms flung around his neck, pulling him into a tight embrace.

He felt salty tears stinging in the corners of his eyes and let himself soak in her warm.

He really needed that.

Over her shoulder, he returned to watch the stars.

9. Acceptance

Remus learned from a young age that it was better to keep people at an arm's length. Get too close, they’ll dig, find out his condition, fear him and run.

He hates to say it, but he’s not surprised that his secret slipped out. He got too comfortable, got too close... It’s just that the Sirius component was surprising.

But maybe it wasn’t surprising. Ever since the beginning of the year, especially since winter break, Sirius had been reckless more and more lately, and he probably should have seen it coming. He was wild as a result of being freed from the confines of his rigid upbringing.

Sirius Black was unpredictable.

Sirius Black was dangerous when it came to secrets.

Sirius Black was one of his best friends.

Sometimes betrayal is so profound that there’s no way to fix what was lost. The damage is done, irreplaceable, unfixable.

If Remus was sure of anything by the end of that week was that,

a) James Potter and Peter Pettigrew were still his best friends,

b) He almost killed Severus Snape and Y/N L/N,

c) Y/N knew his secret and despite everything, continued to talk to him, support him, be there for him — she accepted him,

d) His walls went up a higher, became stronger and insecurities ran deeper,

e) Lastly, Remus Lupin would never, ever forgive Sirius Black for what he did. Never.

━━━━━━━━━༻☽༺━━━━━━━━━

【 Next Chapter 】

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mmvalentine · 3 years

Note

Hiii, firstly I love your writing, you’re sooo good and thanks for blessing us with your fics❤️ i looooove your smuts🥵 Secondly, I want to make a request. Would you mind writing something for Rhys’s birthday, something smutty?

Thank you sweet thing, I would not mind at all! And thanks to all the prompt senders who are still waiting while I work on The Bargain, your patience is appreciated x

Birthday Regards

The gala for Rhys’ birthday every November 21st was always a lovely night, but it was always exhausting, too.

When Rhys was young, his birthday was a revel that went for three days, a large portion of which he went at least partially naked. He had been the Prince of the Nightmare Court, then, and nightmare he was.

When Rhys became High Lord and distanced himself from the Hewn City, he just took the one day for his birthday, and it was a feast in the courtyards of Velaris where he spent time with the fae in his beloved city.

Now that he was approaching 600 years old, all he really wanted to do was spend the day with his family, but it had become a tradition of late that they would open up the estate by the Sidra and host a gala dinner, that absolutely everyone was invited to and could come eat and drink from their tables.

It wasn’t that Rhys didn’t want to be there. Far from it- ever since he had returned from Under the Mountain, the Night Court fae had been so attached to him. Like children whose mother had gone unexpectedly, so they clung to him now that he was back. And he was likewise glad to be home. So opening up their house and filling it with happy fae was a great pleasure.

The occasion also served as an opportunity to strengthen bonds between the courts. Rhys had sent out invites to the High Lords and Ladies around Prythian, and while not all had accepted and weren’t ever going to, he knew it was still a gesture of good will to send the offer. After all, there were so few times when the courts gathered that did not involve crisis or bloodshed or plotting. A birthday party was so much nicer. Good for souls.

But after hours and hours of mingling, smiling, kissing cheeks and shaking hands, Rhys was tired. Mor and Cassian were dancing in the centre of the room still, and Azriel and Amren were deep in conversation with some visiting High Lords. But Rhys had lost the appetite for it all. He scanned the room, seeking out Feyre, and found her drinking wine in a shadowy corner.

“Drinking alone, Feyre darling?” Rhys asked her, stepping out from the shadows. His voice teased, but his arms slid round her waist and his nose nuzzled into the crook of her neck. Feyre leaned back against him automatically, and closed her eyes. After all these years, he still loved how easy she was around him. The only one who never shied from him.

“Just taking a moment,” Feyre murmured. “I think I’ve spoken to a thousand people tonight, and there are still faces I don’t recognise.” Rhys chuckled into her skin. “The duties of being High Lady,” he said. “One of many,” Feyre replied, and then stifled a yawn. Rhys kissed her on the cheek.

“Alright, go to bed,” he said. “But there are still so many people here,” Feyre argued. “Yes but you’re exhausted and they can entertain themselves.”

Feyre turned and looped her arms around Rhys’ neck. “Will you at least come with me?” she asked. She leaned forward and pressed a soft kiss to his mouth. Then nipped his lower lip with her teeth. Rhys circled her wrists with his hands, and supressed a shudder.

“In a bit,” he said. “Then I should stay too,” Feyre frowned. Rhys stroked his hands down her back. “I’m giving you an out darling,” he said. “Now do you want to stay and make small talk or do you want to snuggle up in bed?” Feyre hesitated. “That’s what I thought,” Rhys said. “Now get.”

Feyre kissed him once more, then stepped away. “Where’s Nyx?” she asked. Rhys shrugged. “Last I saw he was going for a romantic stroll with a young fae along the Sidra.” “What? Who?” Feyre demanded. “He’s fine now go,” Rhys shooed her. And Feyre rolled her eyes but wandered off to bed.

Rhys was able to stomach almost a full hour after that. But by that time of night, most everyone was too drunk to be paying him much attention, and he was able to slip upstairs on tired feet. He didn’t know when he had gotten too old for parties, but wondered if maybe they should start celebrating Nyx’s birthday instead of his. Let his son be up all night entertaining, twenty was almost certainly old enough.

Rhys rubbed his eyes as he trudged up the stairs, and opened the door as quietly as he could so as not to wake Feyre. He removed his jacket and shoes in the dark, and had just undone his top three buttons when a candelabra blazed to life on the bedside table. Rhys blinked in shock, and then stared.

Feyre was kneeling on their bed, completely naked, her hair unpinned and tumbling around her face and shoulders. And she was tied up all over in a red satin ribbon. Her hands were bound behind her back and a perfect bow was fastened just below her navel.

Rhys let out a slow breath as his eyes roved all over his mate, suddenly wide awake. His gaze followed the lines of the ribbon- around her neck, between her breasts, crisscrossing over her ribcage. Wrapping around her upper arms, her thighs, her ankles. Knots at her waist and wrists. That shiny, crimson bow.

“Happy birthday, Rhysie darling,” Feyre said, and her voice was honey and velvet.

“Happy birthday to me indeed,” Rhys murmured. He began a slow circuit around the sides of the bed, taking in Feyre from all angles. His fingers worked his buttons at the same time, and when he returned to the middle, he laid his shirt over the cast iron end of the bed. He ran his hands through his hair as he contemplated where to begin.

Rhys kneeled up onto the foot of the mattress, and traced one finger down the ribbon that followed Feyre’s sternum.

“Who wrapped you up so nicely for me, Feyre love?” he asked her. His hands now traced the ribbon under her breasts. Her heart beat faster, and the sound in his ears was delicious.

“The Shadowsinger sends his birthday regards,” she said, and then gasped when Rhys bent his head and put his mouth over her nipple. His fingers spread over the ribbon on her ribs.

“Pity,” Rhys said, eyeing the knots at the hollows of her shoulders. “That means they’re unbreakable then.” But the look in his eyes was anything but regretful, as a whisper of magic brought a sharp, silver blade into his hand.

Rhys hooked one finger behind the ribbon on Feyre’s breastbone and used it to pull her in and kiss her. With their eyes closed, he teased the cold edge of the knife down her stomach. At the same time, his tongue traced the edge of her bottom lip. Goosebumps rose on Feyre’s skin.

The first slice Rhys made was vertically through the length of ribbon that was tied off between her navel and breastbone. He didn’t sever it, just cut a slit down the centre of it and then swiftly followed the blade with his tongue. He waited for Feyre’s first moan, before he turned the knife and cut the satin away.

Next he turned his attention to the stripes across Feyre’s thighs. She was on her shins, with her knees apart and her feet together behind her. Rhys threaded his fingers through the wrapped ribbon, and leaned on her legs as he moved his tongue up her throat.

“Of all the presents I’ve gotten today,” Rhys said, between soft bites, “you are by far my favourite.” “Well,” Feyre said, trying to steady her breathing, “I’m just for you, mate.” He picked up the knife again. “I could unwrap you all night.” Rhys leaned back and surveyed her arms, her hands still tied behind her back. Then he began slicing through the bands up her arms, from wrist to shoulder. The silver kissed her skin over and over, Rhys moving achingly slowly as the tightness was cut away and blood flow returned to her limbs. He left her hands tied, though.

As to the ribbon wrapped around her thighs, he dispensed with the knife altogether and tore through these ties with his teeth. Scraped them sharply against her skin as he bit against each wrap, working from her knees upward, until his mouth was right up against her inner thigh and she was writhing beneath his lips to get them where she really needed them. But she couldn’t do more because her wrists and ankles were bound. And then he moved to the other knee and started again.

By the time all he got back to the top of her other thigh, Feyre was breathing heavily and her eyes were glazed with lust. The tails of the bow at her navel hung down in front of Rhys’ nose, and he took one in his teeth and tugged it every so painfully slowly. When it came apart he licked a swift, broad stroke all the way up her pussy.

Feyre’s moan shuddered through her and she lifted her hips up to him. Rhys’ hands slid up the sides of her thighs and curled around her backside as he buried his tongue in her, licked and lapped at her until she was squirming against her bindings and his name was tumbling from her lips.

A little restricted there, are you my love? Rhys asked, looking up at her without moving his mouth from her. Her head was tilted back, and he could feel the twitching in her thighs. She didn’t answer, just dug her knees into the mattress to try and get her hips closer.

Must be difficult to be all tied up, he mused. You usually have your hands in my hair by now. He sped up his tongue on her clit. Or your legs wrapped around my head.

At this last suggestion, Feyre broke, came suddenly on his lips. Rhys grinned against her, and then eased back. Removed the rest of his clothes while Feyre watched, panting on the bed. Then he guided her onto her stomach, pulled her hips back, and slid his fingers into her while he began kissing up her spine.

Feyre moaned, the side of her face pressing into the mattress since her hands were behind her back. Rhys took a hold of the knot between her wrists, and used it to hold her steady as he pushed his cock against her soaking wet entrance.

“Mmmm,” Rhys rumbled, low in his chest. The sight of her ass perked up like this for him was to die for. He held onto the ribbons, and began to thrust lazily. “You look so damn good in red, Feyre darling,” he said. Feyre turned her face into the sheets, and arched her back to get him deeper. This earned a groan from Rhys.

“You look absolutely… fucking… perfect,” he ground out, starting to pick up the pace a little. “You’re all I want, for every birthday, for the rest of my birthdays.”

Feyre looked back at him, a wicked gleam in her eye.

“Then you better work a little harder than that, old man,” she teased. Rhys spanked her across the ass. “Cruel thing,” he said. “I’m not that old.” His hips sped up nonetheless. “Prove it,” Feyre returned, and Rhys grabbed a hold of her hips and fucked her until she was screaming into the mattress.

Her climax squeezing around him brought him over the edge with her, and then they collapsed together amongst the pieces of red ribbon scattered around the bed.

Rhys reached for his knife and cut away the last few ties that bound Feyre, and then lay her back against the pillows before kissing every scarlet mark left on her pale skin. Her eyes fluttered closed and her hands stroked his hair as he did, while her limbs relaxed and her breathing deepened and slowed. When he was done, Rhys came up to rest his head on her chest, and Feyre kissed him on the forehead while he listened to her heart beat.

“Thank you for my birthday present,” Rhys whispered. “Next year,” Feyre said, “I’m tying you up.”

Rhys laughed, and kissed her skin, and breathed in the endlessly gorgeous scent of his mate.

****

Something a little different for us? Hope you enjoy this nonnie, thanks for sending this in!

MASTERLIST

TAGLIST: @ghostlyrose2 @highladysith @stardelia @feysand-loml @tillyrubes10 @ratabrasileira @live-the-fangirl-life @maybekindasortaace @annejulianneh111 @thebonecarver @rowaelinismyotp @loosingdreams @whythefuckdoiexist @inejsarrow @swankii-art-teacher @sjmships @courtofjurdan @teddytdr @positivewitch @thalia-2-rose @darling-archeron @rapunzel1523 @fairchildjace @asteria-of-mars

#asks #prompt fill #feysand #feysand fic #acotar #mine #smut

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blushing-starker · 3 years

Text

Insanity brings me truth and you

can you guess what Peter's doing to not be understood by the guards?

It's not easy, being crazy. There are expectations to run away from, a bar to limbo under, a specific number of people one has to betray and scar. The unknowable becomes knowable, so you have to skirt the edge of that Venn diagram very carefully. Or very recklessly. Either way, it's a complex thing except for when it's not. Jesus, how infuriating to think about. The point is, the paradox that crazies carry on their shoulders? It's a fucking hassle, a tricky one and Peter is tired of it.

He sighs, lets gravity bend him backward, legs slipping dangerously off the blanket he's hung as a hammock inside his cell. Act like a psycho and you're predictable, don't act like an ax wielding murderer and whoops! Predictable. It's the downside of being insane; you leave the weary capitalist consumer mask out in the world, probably set that shit on fire and make yourself sick with the fumes. But you just replace it with the one labelled 'danger to society' and get forced to play along with that. He did what he did to avoid the world and its predetermined fate, its standards.

Peter closes his eyes, thinks of the nauseating smell on his left. Rupert, the guard that dared graze him while he came back from the shower naked, has a broken nose thanks to Ned and his loyalty to him. The idiot barely cleans the open wound and the whole cell reeks of pus because of it. He does the math of how long it's been going on for and shudders in disgust. His bare calves slip a little more.

An inhale near the front of his cage. Slow, but controlled. Not the usual. Thank God for a circus family and heightened senses.

The doctor is paying attention to him.

"Doctor Stark. Gnittor gnihtemos llems ouy nac?" Rupert grumbles from his perch on the second floor, curses a hare brained psycho that's incomprehensible. Peter hums, pleased to know that after ten months, nine days, twelve hours, and...

Breathe in. Breathe out. Focus on sinking deeper into nothing, into a yawning void. The blanket shakes and his thighs are starting to tremble. Blood is rushing to his head, veins most likely beginning to protrude. Irrelevant.

His favorite guard Stan wears a Swiss watch his wife got for him on their fortieth anniversary. It sings to him now, smooth and cool like a river. A skipping stone is thrown, tic, a fish heads towards the sound, toc. Above all the other stimuli in the room, the watch announces itself. Ten fifteen.

Ten months, nine days, twelve hours and twenty minutes into a game, his tiny gnat still hasn't caught on. Not like the charming doctor. He sees him then, behind closed eyelids, as clearly as a sweet nightmare. Tall, taller than Peter, but less strong. Wide shoulders that morph into a slim waist and a delectable ass he aches to sink his teeth into. Shapely calves from running, curiously delicate looking ankles.

Down and back again. A full head of dark hair with a dusting of silver. Dangerously clever mouth, what his aunt would call a noble nose. Agreeable cheekbones. Piercing eyes that tear his walls down, rip apart the bricks and mortar until he's scrambling on the other side, desperately, clumsily attempting to reinforce them for the millionth time. Those eyes saw the trick, the mirror reflection on his second day here, Peter offhandedly talking in reverse with Ned when they passed the new doctor. A dark gaze had pinned him in place, a spider fixed in place with its own silk against the cold dissection table.

Ned had rambled on, Peter had met a worthy playmate and the doctor had seen all he needed in that eternally prolonged glance. That very afternoon, a psychiatrist signed on as his very own voyeur.

Doctor Stark seems to be as interested in cutting him open to peek inside as Peter is in taking a dagger and comparing their hearts. He does this a lot; wonders how fate and the absence of lucky fate led them here. On opposite sides of a prison when perhaps it should be the other way around. Or perhaps there should only be Peter and Doctor Stark.

He feels himself falling, plummeting ever downward into fantasies and hazy dreams. It's not until the good doctor sharply calls out his name that he realizes he's also plummeting towards the floor. Now, MJ had warned him; had specifically said that the hammock being ten feet off the concrete ground was a bad idea. Ned had said he'd be fine and Peter loves the guy, ok? He has to do everything he can so that his best friend wins a bet over his other best friend.

Peter slightly regrets that when he's forced to arch his body backward, flip right side up in order to hit the floor on his feet instead of his face. The impact chokes the air right out of him, shakes his bones, but he doesn't react. Cracks his neck and that's all. Most of the guards were kind, some shade of understanding. They weren't harmless, though. He knows what he looks like, knows how many hours these men are cooped up with the scum of the earth.

"To answer your question," Peter leaps onto the bars of his cell, slithers higher than any sane person would and somersaults off the vertical slits, sinks into his trustworthy hammock with its trustworthy knots (MJ and Ned had tied them, one each), "yes, I do. It's less potent this time."

He stills, frowns. "How? There haven't been any changes. External or internal." No need to act like the Mad Hatter when the conversation could be had normally. Quicker and more reliable with meanings. But the doctor pauses, enunciates his next words slowly.

"Ti koot uoy erom emit yadot." God, he loved hearing Doctor Stark talk that carefully and smoothly. It was as comforting as it was uncomfortable. (He and sex don't particularly get along. It's like a headache that comes and goes; with the right medicine it can dissipate and evolve into something soothing, pleasant. With the majority of medicine, it blossoms into pain and soreness, a dry throat clogged by a thick syrup that won't leave him be no matter how much water MJ and Ned encourage him to drink. Peter isn't yet completely certain which side of his scale the doctor falls on, but he's guessing it's likely the first.)

(The man seemed to live in the grey areas; fitting that with this, too, he'd reside in the in between.)

The reverse effect is in play and he grins, genuine and wide, when he catches it. "Monsters are visiting more frequently, taking up space in the light." His nightmares had intensified recently, and they're starting to accompany him even in moments Peter knows are real; shapes drifting by the corner of his eye. As a coping tactic, he rips parts of his nails off. Not entirely, just the corners. His mind could concoct lots of things, but in his dreams his hands are always pristine.

(He hasn't caught up with it, hasn't noticed that although his nightmares have a clearness to them, a bright intensity, Peter can't shift enough focus to realize his hands aren't his own. They never are. But he usually has more pressing bodies to deal with than the good doctor's.)

Another pause, this one being done by Tony Stark, doctor and healer of men, instead of Doctor Stark, curious keeper of deranged souls. "I'm sorry to hear that. Maybe this will help." Peter peers over the edge of the grey hammock, watches with interest as the doctor approaches his cell with a glass bottle of clear liquid sloshing inside. The other man stops an inch away from the bars, looks up at Peter.

There's a slow tension simmering between them, something as thick and addictive as honey. There's scientific curiosity, a desire to seek out and maybe comprehend the unknown lurking inside their mirror image, as other and as alike as oneself. But there is also a gleam of something he's afraid of acknowledging in Doctor Stark's eyes. A madness once tucked away steadily unraveling itself with each glance they share.

Peter returns the look, unblinking and thinking. " 'If you gaze for long into an abyss, the abyss gazes also into you.' " A lesson Nietzsche offered to those wise enough, sane enough to live blind.

The doctor raises an eyebrow, is otherwise still. Sometimes, if Peter considers their current predicament for too long, his grasp on his masks loosens, and the Spider begins to spin its deadly thread round and round its very own body. He sees a guard exchange money with a partner; the crazy quota has, he guesses, been filled for the week. And they had such a nice streak going on, too. Oh, well. This web is unavoidable anyways.

He pitches himself forward, is the one who controls the descent instead of gravity this time. Letting the air rush up to meet him, he inhales, tastes a distinct sharpness around him. Crouching, Peter takes it all in, every last detail. Looks, really looks, at the doctor and suspects.

As if he were none the wiser, he calmly heads to the front of the cell. Meets the doctor at the divide and wonders what it'll be. Wonders if he'll rise higher than ash and flame, an acrobat testing the fates by flying just seconds ahead of death. Doctor Stark hands him the bottle and he can see now, tiny pieces of lavender. A distraction for the guards. "That should keep the monsters in the dark. Use it before you got to sleep and tuck away your hair."

Like a schoolgirl with a crush, he self consciously brings a hand to his curls. They're getting a bit long, but the warden only allows haircuts once a month or two. "I don't have anything to use." Digging into his lab coat, the other man retrieves a single black stick.

Well, to everyone else it's a hair pin. Peter knows the truth though, can see it and smell it and very nearly touch it. As it is, he gently plucks the items out of elegant hands and refuses to look at them. Looking draws attention. Doctor Stark gazes at his face, eyes flickering in a rehearsed way around his own, but not into them. That's alright, he understands.

"The lack of movement around your face should also help." The question of why is out before he can reel it in and act as a sane, normal person. Christ, he could handle crazy, not rude. He would have to practice being in control so as not to slip up when the doctor is around. Said doctor cocks his head, doesn't have to do anything more for Peter to get the message: go on, ask the devil why he made the deal.

Peter B Parker does not back down when intrigued. "Why are you helping me sleep better?"

Why help me escape?

"It's my duty." Three words. Not the explicit declaration of affection typical, normal, dull people receive from an admirer or partner. Not a grand proclamation of wanting what the heart wants, or a sonnet regarding the connection between star crossed paramours. Simple, short, concise; enough to turn to religion, to sanctity and salvation if it means hearing it again. He'd do anything, including putting on a discarded mask from his past if it gets him what he desires. Peter would suffer through sanity for this man. He would if it means hearing what sounds silent to those around them.

You're my duty. Whatever happens tonight, Doctor Stark believes it's his duty to see it through. To see him through, in a way.

"Why would you accept?" Ah, silly doc thinking any of his principles have changed since the first time they met, since the first time he brought fire to life and gave death in return. Peter smiles, brings forth the prisoner that had not seen the light of day in almost a decade.

(His uncle often said Peter's greatest gift to the world was his smile, his true smile. His aunt said it was the final move needed to capture a king and make him his pawn.)

"Why, doc, you know I hate to be bored." Call him a psycho, a freak, a sick, pitiful creature. Call him anything and everything and maybe those words would ring true. But Peter will never allow himself to be bored, not when there's so much fun to be had. Especially with a doctor as crazy as he is. "This looks...promising."

" 'He who fights with monsters might take care lest he thereby become a monster.' " The first part of Nietzsche's warning.

"Nietzsche didn't understand; those who fought monsters were already fated to become what they struggled to defeat. They believed salvation could be found by killing the monsters outside, but all they did was feed the ones inside."

Anthony Stark, the truest version, grins at him, all glinting eyes, sharp teeth and a crooked smile. Peter Parker, armed with a match, gasoline and soon to be glass shards, grins right back. In this instant, being crazy isn't such a hassle. After all, he has someone to share the crazy with now.

#starker #dark!starker #insane!peter #insane!tony #patient!peter #doctor!tony #peter parker x tony stark #i mean sorta dark #arsonist!peter #demisexual!peter #legit a harley/joker version where theres no manipulation #theyre insane and in love yall #sophie writes

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shoutogepi · 4 years

Text

No Touching

Kirishima Eijirou

word count : 4.3K of S M U T (seriously 98% smut)

[ ✘ (nsfw!) ]

themes : sub!kiri, dom!reader, thigh riding, ball gag and cock ring nastiness

bio : You finally give in to the desires of your favorite client, Red Riot... Not that you’re complaining though.

author’s note : ya so i said i was writing something sinful (shouto smut on hold for the moment) and uhh well this certainly qualifies lmao. ALSO go easy on me please this is my first Kiri fic and I tried my best to do him justice :’(

tagging : @lildreamer93 ty for supporting me 🥰

also available on AO3 here

─── ・°* ﾟ✧:* • ｡ﾟ:*･☽･*: ｡ﾟ•*:✧ ﾟ*°・ ───

🅂weat drips down the prominent contours of Red Riot’s chest, the broad muscles jumping in shock at the cold and harsh snap of the clips. His nipples stand out as his back arches off the back of the chair, shoving his thick pectorals into your face. He whimpers out a low moan as your finger gently tugs at the chain connecting the clamps latched onto his sensitive chest. His thighs press together, creating the friction his throbbing cock so desperately desires.

“Y-Y/N,” he grumbles, his crimson eyes flashing briefly at your wicked gaze.

“Tsk tsk tsk, you know better than to call me that, Red.” The words taste so right rolling off your sultry tongue, and the way the number six hero’s eyes roll back as they shut sends your confidence through the roof.

He gasps as your fist squeezes his cock, this being the first time you’ve touched him so directly all night. Your heavy breath on his moist skin makes his legs shake slightly, and he throws his head back over the top of the chair when your hand glides down his shaft, maintaining your tight grip. His cock glistens with your spit and his precum, which has continued to dribble out of his aching slit since you’d begun your teasing long ago.

Sucking the chain into your mouth, you gently rear your head back so the clamps pull on his tender buds. The new position allows you to greedily soak up the way his chest puffs and falls at a quickening rate, his eyebrows scrunched in pleasure. A trickle of blood runs down his chin, his sharp teeth tucked into his bottom lip frantically. He wiggles his hips ever so slightly, hoping you won’t notice how he subtly tries to quicken the pace you’re jerking his dick to. His fingers stab into the meat of his outer thighs, trying to restrain himself from reaching out and touching you.

As his inner battle ensues, you take your time playing with his swollen cock. Gliding your fingers over the protruding veins that decorate his length, squeezing his balls just hard enough to make him shift in his seat— oh god, you love the expressions that fluctuate on his handsome face. It’s partly why he’s your favorite patron.

Sure, being a high end dominatrix has its ups and downs. Sometimes you’d get stuck with a disgusting politician, and sometimes you’d have the pleasure of spending your evening with a top hero. Many a hero had paid for a night with you, and after some time you were able to make your living off of your handful of regulars. You were no virgin to teasing men to their wits’ end, but every time your hands were on your favorite crimson client, you couldn’t help but feel sinful butterflies in your stomach.

But it was dangerous playing with a man who blazed as bright as his fiery red locks. He was dangerous. He was dangerous in the sense that always at the peak of your nights with him, you’d find yourself wondering what would happen if you broke the rules.

“Stop squirming so much,” you instruct, and although a loud whine escapes him, his body instantly stills to follow your command. His eyes slit open as your hand leaves his dick, sagging slightly in his seat in a mixture of disappointment and relief that you had stopped. “Stay,” you demand, winking at his longing gaze.

You saunter over to the vanity, ass pushed out to bend your spine just the way he likes. Your manicured fingernail drags along the drawers, and you enjoy the feeling of his hot eyes glued to your every motion. Opening the top drawer, you search for the items you’d come over here for. Your smile only widens as you recognize the smooth plastics, and you make sure to keep the various items out of Kirishima’s sight as you take it out of the drawer. Reaching out to grab a container of lube perched at the top of the shelf, you gasp as you knock the container onto the floor.

“Clumsy me,” you purr, watching the redhead’s eyes ignite with renewed interest as you lean down to retrieve the bottle. Your tiny little skirt does nothing to cover the ruby red thong that slips between your cheeks, and a broken moan erupts from the hero across the room. Your hand slides up to grip one of your ass cheeks, pulling apart and almost revealing your needy holes.

But you know just how far to spread— and much to Kirishima’s chagrin, he can only see the tiniest glimpse of your sex before you stand upright again.

When you come closer to him, you can see how you’ve affected him. His cock is angry— thick and red and twitching impatiently against his taut stomach. The emotions swirling within his scarlet gaze makes your pussy flutter, and a slight blush rises to your cheeks even though you’re the one in control here.

“My favorite panties, darlin’? You’re always so considerate of me.” His gravelly voice causes shivers to shoot down your spine. His eyes fixed on yours, the corner of his mouth twitches up as you draw nearer, a full smirk on his face as you sink to your knees between his legs. His length jumps eagerly at your proximity, a puff of hot air washing over your face as he exhales.

“Do you like them, Red?” You inquire, but it sounds more like a taunt. You deposit the plastic items on the floor underneath his chair, keeping them out of view. His thighs jerk roughly as your palms lay against the skin there, your fingernails tickling his flesh.

He gulps, his cocky grin faltering as your fingers slide upwards toward his erect cock. “I didn’t get a very good look at ‘em sweetheart. Be a doll and ‘gimme a refresher?” His voice is softer this time, but it still has that Red Riot edge to it. He knows he is not in a position to make requests, but fuck all if he’s not going to try and see your perfect body again.

His heart slams against his ribs at the bright smile that splits your lips. “Hmm, I ‘dunno, Eiji,” you tantalize, ecstatic at the loud groan he releases. His name falling from your pouty lips makes his eyes roll back, his fingers cutting into his palms as he clenches his fists. “You didn’t even say please.”

Drawing fresh air into his lungs, Kirishima licks his lips as you push yourself to stand halfway upright, your face dangling just a short distance from his. Oh, how much he’d pay to lean in and taste your mischievous lips. Your hands still on his thighs, his body trembles at your closeness. “Please, baby, ‘lemme see those panties,” he begs, his voice crackling slightly in desperation. His brows cinched and his eyelids half-lidded, his teeth grind together as he grovels.

You lean in, and his eyes dart south to analyze your breasts for a moment before he looks back at your face in flustered surprise. “You’re such a naughty boy,” you moan, smiling at how his cock jolts upright, standing vertically as if saluting you. “Only ‘cause you asked so nicely.”

You turn around and the sound of Kirishima’s sharp inhale makes the corners of your lips curl into a satisfied smirk. Your ass meets his thighs, cunt placed strategically in between so he doesn’t get the pleasure of feeling your wetness. Of course you’re turned on, but you must comply with those infernal fucking rules.

Kirishima groans unabashedly as you grind your ass against his thighs. He’d visited you many nights before, but this was the first time he’d felt the silky skin of your ass and thighs on his own, and the sensation only makes his aching cock impossibly harder. Twisting your back, you turn your face so you can watch his expression. His eyes are scrunched shut and more blood trails down his chin as he bites his lip so hard his teeth stab into himself. His fists are clenched so tightly beside his thighs that they’re white and trembling, and it seems like he’s too tense to even take in a breath of air.

“Eiji,” you whimper and he immediately opens his eyes, his pupils blown out. “Don’t you wanna see ‘em again?” His gaze remains on your eyes for a moment before he realizes one of your hands is lifting up the back of your skirt, presenting your ass and that delicious sliver of carmine lace that disappears between your cheeks. Your ass jiggles slightly as you drag yourself along his thighs, and he nearly explodes as he watches your asshole pucker underneath the mesh fabric.

“F-fuck, Y/N,” he gasps, finally releasing his poor bottom lip from his pointy teeth’s hold. Your sweet skin on his is too much— infinitely better than the meager scraps his imagination had conjured up all those late nights when he would return home from your workplace. Even though you’d always get him off, he’d find himself hard and ready to go again as he’d replay the hours you’d spent with him in his head. Of course he’d jerked himself off to the thought of finally fucking you, but he would never force you into something you were uncomfortable doing. And then, of course there were those forsaken boundaries with your job, which he ruefully reminds himself of with every roll of your hips.

Kirishima cries out at the loss of your touch, desperate to have your skin on his. The contact was much too brief after all his pent up imaginations had run so wild. A foxy frown is on your pursed lips as you turn around, sinking back to your knees between his legs. “Red,” your tone is low and oozing with lust, and even though he’s being admonished he can’t help but leak more precum at your sultry voice. “You know you’re not supposed to call me that.”

Before he can apologize, you grab one of the toys from underneath the chair. The thick black ring makes him slightly recoil, but his reaction doesn’t stop you as your mouth eagerly engulfs his tip. The pearly substance gathered there greets your tongue with a bitter saltiness that you gladly welcome. His hips nearly buck, and he doesn’t know how he manages to keep still as your throat welcomes his throbbing cock. Moans tumble out from him, loud and dissolute, just the way you love it. You only allow a few bobs on his length before you lean back, sliding the ring around his cock and fixing it to slip around his balls so it sits tightly at the very base of him.

The muscles on his torso are quivering as he tries to recover, his breath ragged and uneven. “I’m s-sorry, darlin’,” he pants and he nearly doubles over as the ring begins to vibrate,” I— fuck— I got too excited.” You wonder if the expletive is because of the vibrating ring or because he’d wanted your body on his longer. You’d barely even touched his cock and yet he was horrifyingly close to climaxing, an embarrassed flush tainting his tan cheeks.

“I forgive you, Red,” you slap his thigh, not soft but also not hard enough to hurt— just the right strength to make him sweat. “But you’ve still gotta take your punishment.”

Kirishima whines gently as his gaze lands on the ball gag you’d brought over, which you now dangle in front of his face. His apologetic gaze captures you as your thumb traces his broken bottom lip, smoothing over the small cuts from his vicious fangs. He dares to lean forward, lips parting and taking your thumb into his mouth. Careful not to slice your skin, he tucks his teeth away and caresses your finger with his warm, strong tongue. You become aware of your cunt dripping between your legs, your arousal intensifying at his intimate and contrite action. You want that tongue on you, all over your body, especially on the places hidden away from his piercing eyes.

You sigh at his submissive gesture, licking your lips as he opens up without protest for the gag. The ball isn’t too large a size, just grand enough to leave his mouth open and to keep him from hurting himself on his spiky teeth. “No hiding now,” you sigh into his ear as you lean into his neck. His moan is much louder with his mouth propped open, and you savor how he blushes slightly at the heightened lewdness. “Aw, you’re blushing, Red?” The color on his cheeks only darkens, and another heavy moan sounds when your fingers land on his cock.

His body is still trembling as you continue your work, and his eyes fall shut as you place your lips on the juncture where his neck meets his broad shoulder. His harsh breaths give warning to how close he is, and you heed their warning as your fingers slowly pull on his rosy member. Strategically ignoring his inflamed tip, you languidly stroke his shaft, and you’re rewarded with a slew of short and desperate mewls from the hero beneath you.

You know just how hard this must be for him. Red Riot, the unbreakable, top hero who prides himself on his manliness and bravery. An absolute unit of a man— rippling muscles strung along his huge frame, sharp teeth to dazzle his fans with his signature cocky grin, and of course the most gallant, chivalrous character— Yes, that’s who is melting into a puddle underneath you.

Your lips dance along his slick chest, never staying long enough to leave a mark that could tarnish his noble reputation. The moans turn to deeper growls as your hand floats further up his length with every jerk, his noises of pleasure so exquisitely loud with his jaw hanging open. You can’t help but shift against his thighs, the burning between your legs becoming hard to ignore. A wave of embarrassment crashes through you as you realize your desire for the man beneath you. If you could have it your way, his cock would be nestled in your cunt so quick he wouldn’t even notice until you were cumming around him. Fuck, if only you weren’t at work right now… what are the damn rules again?

No touching.

No kissing.

No penetration.

The three statements are a blaring mantra in your head, repeating over and over, faster and faster. Fear mixes with your lust, a terror culminating that you might do something forbidden if the words stray from your focus.

No touching.

No kissing.

No penetration.

Kirishima, ever the gentleman, notices the subtle shift in your mood, his eyes taking in your wanton expression and how your hips just barely swing along his thighs. Your core still in between his legs, untouched save for your arousal pooling in your panties. His hungry stare roves over your black brassiere, the thin material not doing much to hide your hard nipples from poking through. He lets out a vicious groan as he imagines how you’d squeal if he could take one of those cute little buds in between his teeth, just hard enough to make you squirm but not so much you’d bleed. Fuck, how wet your cunt must be under that string you called panties, how you’d scream as he rammed his fat cock into your tight little pussy.

Little do you know, the rules are replaying in his head too. He wants you just as badly, if not more.

No touching.

No kissing.

No penetration.

Your hand stops abruptly and he grumbles, unceremoniously ripped from his imagination once more. Your gazes lock, and he lets out a soft moan when you bite your bottom lip, unsure eyes floating around his handsome face.

You’d like to think Eijirou trusts you after all the nights you’ve spent together, but you can’t stop the nerves that tingle with uncertainty as you summon the courage to say something. You’d had surprisingly deep conversation with the man when you weren’t teasing the living shit out of him, even going so far as to reveal your real name in exchange for his-- something a woman in your profession should know much better than to do. But you couldn’t help it, and although you had to chastise him for uttering your name, every time he did so sent a wave of heat rushing toward your core. Even now, after you’d edged him mercilessly all night, his eyes hold a deep, touching sincerity as he looks back at you.

No penetration.

No kissing.

No...

Your shaking hands reach down to land atop his fists. His eyes widen as your thumb pokes into the middle of his fists, unraveling and pulling them so his hands lay open in yours. Your fingers around his wrists now, you guide them to your hips, hovering over your skin as you continue to doubt yourself.

Kirishima allows you to hold his hands so enticingly close, his crimson orbs flickering between your waist and your hasty expression. So he makes the move instead. Slowly, at an almost agonizing pace, he lowers his hands to rest on your flesh.

Touching!

Oh god, he’s touching you and it feels so fucking good!

The skin on his palms is calloused and rough, but they feel like heaven on the smooth skin of your hips. A whimper departs from your open lips, eyes falling closed at how hot and manly his touch feels. His fingers press into your supple hips, moving your torso to the left slightly and maneuvering you to poise directly above his thigh. He watches your erotic expression blossom as you sink yourself onto his thigh, your cunt finally receiving the friction it so desperately desires. He snarls out a sexy groan at how easily your cunt wets his thigh, your arousal soaking through the red thong you had put on just for him.

“Eiji,” you moan and he grabs your hips hard. His biceps bulge as he slides you toward him, dragging your pussy along his thigh and soliciting a whine from your parted lips.

Your hand starts up again on Kirishima’s cock, jerking his whole length now and making sure to pay special attention to his pretty pink tip. Your other hand flies up to curl around the back of his neck, your elbow perching on his shoulder. His soft red locks tickle your wrist, his hair flat and void of product. Your fingers twitch to undo the ball gag but you know very well if you do that, you’re going to kiss him. You’re going to kiss him and feel his tongue on yours, and you’re going to suck in all his moans and give him some of your own.

And then, that’s two rules thrown out the window, why not abandon the last as well?

No, you’re a good girl and you need this job. You need it more than you need Eijirou’s mouth and his cock, even if the call is so disturbingly close. No kissing and no penetration. And fuck, you could get off with just his touch no problem.

The hero underneath you groans at your renewed vigor on his member, his grip tightening still as he drives your hips back and forth against his thigh. His jaw becoming sore from being open so long, drool trickles down his chin to drip onto his lap. He longs for your release, eyes barely open to watch you make such a sinful face as you let him push and pull your body against his. A devious thought enters his mind, and he quickly acts on it, activating his quirk on his lower half.

The gasp that tears from you is exhilarating, and Kirishima’s wrists only flick your hips faster against his hardened muscles. He allows his moans to ring out into the room without restraint, his deep, guttural noises loud enough to drown out the beautiful whines that he forces out of you. Your hand keeps up with this increased pace, thumb pressing dangerously into the head of his cock and smearing the essence trickling out of him so it lubes up your ministrations.

His hardened thigh sends delicious jolts of pleasure through your body as Kirishima drags your clit against himself. Your fingers pull tightly on the hairs at the base of his head, eliciting a sensual howl to rumble from his chest. The incredible solidity of his muscle beneath your quivering cunt forces you to hurdle to the edge at a shameful speed— already you can feel the haziness of an orgasm consuming you. His quirk so delectably harmonious with the onslaught his hands roll you against, your head tilts back as your eyes slam shut.

“Red!” Your body crumbles in his hands, collapsing as your climax wracks through you, emanating from your core and making your entirety surge with a pulsating, white heat. Your hand on his cock clenches, frantically yanking at his sensitive tip and making his hips buck up against you.

Kirishima revels in your euphoric expression and how your pussy clenches through your thong against his now-soft thigh. He continues to draw your hips along his lap sensually, watching your chest shake as you recuperate. Your head flops forward so your forehead rests on his shoulder, your hand on his neck falling to drag your nails along his muscular back. The sensation makes his skin prickle, and he can’t hold back the smug grin that appears on his lips. He’d made you orgasm and he’d barely even touched you.

Finally catching your breath, you slither off his thigh. A thin trail of your arousal strings out as your hips retreat, connecting your cunt and the pool of slick that had leaked onto his muscle. A pink blush blooms on your cheeks at the sight, and Kirishima can only let out another vocal groan to assure you he finds it sexy.

Shakily landing on your knees once more between his legs, your fingers slide under the confining ring on his base, slipping the forsaken toy off of him. His cock seems to immediately grow, pulsing and radiating heat against your palms. His hand frames your face, thumb on your chin and middle finger brushing the corner of your jaw. The other hand pushes your hair away from your mouth, and you hum in appreciation as your hand cups his length.

Kirishima sighs as you take him into your mouth, his cock feeling free yet hypersensitive after the torture from the vibrating ring. Your tongue caresses the tip, swirling around to collect his saltiness before flattening at the bottom of your mouth, and sliding his member deep into your throat. His sensual moans greet your ears as your velvety mouth welcomes his length, and his eyes flutter closed as you guide more and more of him inside.

Your movements are lazier than usual, your brain still clouded with ecstasy from your orgasm, but he doesn’t seem to mind the extra care you give. Your tongue curls around his length, the soft ack ack ack of his cock nestling entirely inside your throat making him shudder. Your fingers trail up his flexed torso, hooking around the metal chain across his chest and gently pulling it towards yourself. His groans increasing in frequency and volume, you blearily look up to catch his scarlet gaze honed in on you. Your other hand cupping his balls and your nails combing through his black, trimmed hair, his eyes whirl back into his skull, and a broken, ferocious snarl tears through him.

Briny, hot ropes of his cum easily coast down your throat, and your purr against his member. He lets out another animalistic growl, his long overdue orgasm sending shivers from head to toe. The face he pulls is exquisite, his eyes nearly crossing in bliss and his jaw still hung open, drool dribbling down the corner of his mouth. Rolling his balls in your palm as your tongue glides alone his veins, your mouth leaves his cock as you stand. Your cunt throbs, longing to be stretched with his thick cock at the knowledge that had his mouth not been full on the gag, it would’ve been dripping with your name.

Sitting in his lap, facing him again, your fingers wind around the back of his head and undo the gag. The ball falls out of his slack jaw and drips with his saliva, not that that phases you. His lust-clouded eyes regard yours, and a low chuckle thrums out of him as his hands drift up and down your spine. His lips curve into a sated smile, a warm feeling trickling into your chest and you suddenly feel bashful under his intense eyes.

“So we breakin’ the rules now, baby? Long time comin’,” He whispers, his hands gathering your hips once more and dragging you into his chest. The friction on your puffy clit makes your core spasm around nothing, and as if the movement is not enough to be noticed by Red Riot, a low whine tumbles out of you. He presses you closer to his torso, the sinew underneath his skin protruding delightfully. You let out a mewl as your cunt touches his still-hard cock, your mesh panties the only barrier separating your bodies. “You’re so fuckin’ cute pressed up against me like this, darlin’.”

You gasp as his finger dips into the puddle you’d left on his thigh, shocked as he sticks the digit in his mouth and groans.

“Bet these lips of yours are just as sweet,” he mumbles as his hand takes your chin, thumb rolling over your plump bottom lip. His eyebrow quirks as an idea comes to mind, his hands still running across your soft skin with his darkened gaze challenging you.

“Does it count as rule breakin’ if we head back to my place?”

─── ・°* ﾟ✧:* • ｡ﾟ:*･☽･*: ｡ﾟ•*:✧ ﾟ*°・ ───

thank you so much for reading. If you’d like a part 2 (breaking the other rules huehuehue) please be sure to let me know ♥︎

make sure to shoot me a comment/ask/reblog if you enjoyed ♥︎♥︎♥︎ I’d love to receive any feedback!!!

➥ masterlist

𝐂𝐨𝐩𝐲𝐫𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 © 𝐒𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐭𝐨𝐠𝐞𝐩𝐢 𝟐𝟎𝟐𝟎. 𝐀𝐥𝐥 𝐫𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭𝐬 𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐞𝐫𝐯𝐞𝐝.

#waaa my first kiri fic!!#i hope i portrayed him alright #i really struggled trying to capture his character so if it's off im sorry :((#but dang he was kinda hot tho right?? lmao #if part 2 is in demand the tables may turn 👀#my fics #kirishima fic #kirishima eijiro x reader #kirishima eijirou smut #kirishima smut #red riot smut #red riot fic #kirishima eijirou fic #bnha smut #bnha fic #mha smut #mha fic #bnha x reader #mha x reader

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dragonrajafanfiction · 3 years

Text

The Trieste Venture (Part 2 - Mourning the Lenin)

GAME CANON VERSION: The second part of the rewritten Trieste Story Quest. I wish they had added more of the emotional stuff for the MC. I don’t think it would have been hard. They had like, some nice elements. They just didn’t use them well or not at all. Below the Cut!

You watched those lung snails slowly swallow Caesar and Chu Zihang like a mudslide, while you sat with this bloodless coward in the cockpit.

The lung snail attached to the Lenin's outer wall probably weighed several hundred tons, and could kill a man if it hit him. Chu Zihang was trying to climb towards Caesar, but he was further away from the nuclear power module than Caesar was. He was carried askew by the currents when he fell into the lung snail pile, and his landing point was not as good as Caesar's. According to the instructions for use, the suit can only support five minutes and is used to repair the shell of the deep submersible if necessary, but now Caesar's suit has been outside for seven minutes, and Chu's has been out for two minutes. Caesar is unconscious, and Chu Zihang's vitals are getting worse and worse. He is relying on blood rage to support himself, but the effect of blood rage in this extreme environment is also unknown.

The chances are getting smaller and smaller. The Chu Zihang in his spherical submersible is still paddling his arms in the pile of lung snails. He understands that he is doing his best. He’s obviously the kind of person who is not too concerned about anything, but as long as he has any strength left, if there is even a glimmer of hope, he will not let it go.

Chu Zihang finally broke through the lung snails in front of him and grabbed the handrail behind Caesar's suit. He tried to use a strap to tether the Caesar’s submersible to his suit, but how the two suits are joined side by side and this is a big problem.

Your rage has gone and left you feeling empty inside as you watched. It wasn’t like the heart-pounding explosions, the gunshots and the desperate screams of the dying at Black Swan Bay. This seemed cold, clinical and distant. The cabin was completely silent while you watched them struggle.

There was no need for you to be here. Caesar and Zihang were absolutely wrong. There was something you could do.

You slip off the headset and take off the seatbelt.

“Not you too! What am I supposed to do?” Lu Mingfei cried.

Because Caesar and Zihang would live, they would be able to provide him with instructions. That was a fact. So there was no need to say anything to Lu Mingfei or answer his questions.

“There are only two suits. You’ll die if you go out there!” He protested.

“That’s the point.” Because Lu Mingfei meant nothing to you, and his feelings didn’t matter, it was easy enough to say what was in your heart.

“Really? Suicide?!” He whimpered. But, just as you expected, he was too weak and cowardly to stop you. He didn’t even move to unbuckle his seatbelt.

“You’ll understand later. I’ll be back with them.” You stepped into the cockpit hatch and shut it. Inside, you could hear the rushing of the ocean over the vessel. It reminded you of the time you fell into the ocean after being pushed there by your dear friend. You’d survived extreme ocean conditions before.

You close your eyes to focus. In your mind, swirling serpents appear in a vision. They part to reveal flaming golden eyes.

“Wait!” Lu Mingfei’s fists are pounding on the hatch. Your eyes are golden, your pupils have turned to vertical slits, and large blue-black veins are crawling up your neck and face followed by bright golden scales. Because you were going to die, it didn’t matter if you died like a monster. With this strength, with Blood Rage, you could live, just like the mermaids lived. From within the hatch, your heart beat loud like a drum. In a single inhale, you sucked the air. When you opened the hatch, the water rushed in, pressed in on you and forced that breath out of you. The water was pitch black, but you could see just fine.

More and more mermaids crawl out of the ground, creeping and swimming, reminiscent of millions of earthworms crawling from the mud in spring. A huge crack appeared, cutting lengthwise into the long river of lava. Hundreds and thousands of tons of lava gushed into the crack. Something huge struggled in the lava, its scales black, its dorsal crest bearing barbed bone spikes, black metal hooks piercing its muscles, locking it firmly under the rubble. But the metal hooks were just barely able to restrain it, and it lashed the ground furiously with its thick tail. The buildings that still stood collapsed in pieces, with metal fragments floating up with the gravel, forming a blinding fog in the sea.

But that wasn't the worst of it. What looked like swarms of fireflies were flying out of that chasm!

It was those ghost-toothed dragon vipers! They had first appeared further up from the trench, but no one had expected the ruins to be their nest. The dragon vipers poured out like silvery bands of light in the sea water. They were not interested in small things like lung snails or corpse guards, but gradually closed in on the struggling Caesar and Chu Zihang. Your mind explodes in a rage. You remembered what Chu Zihang and Caesar said: the ghost tooth dragon viper gathered in groups and chewed the bronze pillar to eat. They can secrete strong acidic mucus, and chewed metal with their horrible teeth. Can the titanium-magnesium alloy used to make men’s equipment stand up to the dragon viper's teeth?

You weren’t about to let them find out. The Dragonblood in your body was surging and you let out an inhuman cry, a cross being a baby’s cry when it is first born and a wildcat’s scream. Your body powers forward, undulating like a dolphin, knowing how to swim like this even though you weren’t built like a mermaid. The dragon vipers didn’t know you, but your fierce charge marked you as an opponent and, for a moment, they instinctively changed course as one school, spinning away from you.

Caesar and Chu Zihang couldn't run, they were completely trapped in a pile of lung snails. Chu let go of Caesar, plucked the lung snails in front of him, and headed for the nuclear power module. Apparently, he had heard your scream and understood the situation at hand. He was trying to see if he could fire up the nuclear pods before the dragon vipers pounced and tore into them, but all he knew was that the code had something to do with Nono's birthday.

The swarm has come back around, this time in even greater numbers. The urge to survive is pushing your blood rage to higher levels and now you don’t even think twice about focusing on the group and lashing out with claws, slicing the fish open neatly, blood and entrails filling the water.

The viperfish are not above cannibalism and this throws the swarm into a frenzy, biting into their wounded brethren and occasionally taking chunks out of healthy fish who are then rendered skeletons in an instant. The feeding frenzy doesn’t go unnoticed and more viperfish are coming. You cry out from the sharp pain of one latching onto your foot. You dislodge it, but the numbers of fish are starting to over take your ability to fight and those on the outer edges of the school suddenly turn their attention back to Chu Zihang and Caesar.

Fortunately, the toughness of titanium-magnesium alloy is far more than bronze, so these small things they have to bite very hard.. Chu Zihang is exhausted, he is still less than 5 meters away from the nuclear power module, but his metal prosthetic limbs have broken, he can not enter the passcode. You want to save them, but the moment you turn away from the school of viperfish, they pounce on you, biting at you like gigantic mosquitos! You start to realize that you might not rescue Caesar and Zihang after all, that maybe… just maybe you wouldn’t be enough…

Again.

The spherical figure suddenly stood up. It was Caesar, who had been unconscious! His pupils burned brightly, and he used metal prosthetics to crush the dragon viper attached to his body. With the power of a rock driller, he plucked away layer after layer of lung snails. He passed Chu Zihang step by step, approaching the nuclear power module. You’re stunned for a moment and then you feel a sudden thrill, like the sudden excitement of descending the first hill on a rollercoaster!

Your body really is moving on its own. You slice through the fish like a blender, claws ripping, teeth tearing. Scales floated through the water like it was glittering confetti for New Years Day at Times Square! They turn to bite back but you’re too fast, zipping through the school with such power they were forced to part ways or get bludgeoned to the side by your own body. You’re lost in the amazing power of it. Was this you? Was this happening? You’re laughing, but you don’t feel breathless! How was this happening? What was happening? Your mind was screaming with giddy joy, but you’re not sure where this is coming from. It was as if you were on some sort of high from a powerful drug and your conscious mind was taking a back seat.

Caesar was a little drowsy, slowly entering the code. A confirmation of success! The nuclear power module reignited, the cadmium rod recovered neutron density and rose. This time it wouldn't go into safe mode. It really became a nuclear bomb. Caesar turned around and grabbed Chu Zihang who was struggling in the pile of lung snails, and removed the lead dive weights from their suits. The weight was reduced and they immediately surfaced, taking with them the ghost-toothed dragon vipers that were biting at them.

You follow them into the pressurized cabin as door began to fill with water, followed by drainage, when the pressure in the pressurized cabin returned to the same as in the cockpit, Lu Mingfei could not wait to pull open the pressure door.

You were a mess of half human, half servitor and bitten a thousand times. As the strange power left you, you found yourself unable to stand any more and slipped to the floor. The pain was unbearable as your muscles and bones reminded you that even though you couldn’t feel it in your moment rapture, they were working beyond their limits. The strains, sprains, bites and bruises crashed into your mind all at once. It hurt so much you couldn’t even cry, only gape wordlessly.

“Get Caesar! I’ll take care of her!” Chu Zihang had already shed his spherical suit. He drew his blade and brought it down hard against the dragon fish that were still clinging to it, beheading them as neat as a sushi master. He then left for a few seconds and returned with the injection that was supposed to save you. Still, he held that bright blade against your throat just in case. You didn’t even feel the needle only the serum’s burning course through your veins.

“It’s okay…” You tell him. He didn’t have to try to save you. In fact, you don’t know why you even came back to the submersible. You were just following the natural order of events and you felt fine. Why did you bother coming back? You were supposed to die out there. That was the plan, right?

Chu Zihang held your hand up and examined it. Little by little, the scales and black veins were starting to retreat, albeit, slower than he would have liked. “Stay in here, I’ll bring a first aid kit.”

"What the hell kind of fucking fish is this!" Lu Mingfei was screaming. You watch as he takes the fire extinguisher and sprays the fish still clinging to Caesar’s suit with it. Even though they were powered by Dragonblood, they still needed oxygen to live. The foam sapped them of that oxygen and they dropped off Caesar’s suit. Turned out that Raccoon Boy as good for something after all.

A bump attracts your attention. Through the inches thick glass, you see that the gold scaled mermaids are flying past you in a swifter river than before, streaming upwards. Chu Zihang returns, carrying a blanket and pulling on a roll of bandages with his teeth.

“Hey is she alright? Do you need help?” Lu Mingfei asks, with approaching footsteps.

“Stay out there! Tell me what’s going on outside!”

You finally look down and see that your clothes have been near completely shredded save a bit around your waist and neck.. Chu Zihang was kneeling in front of you to obscure you from Mingfei’s view.

A wall of flames rose slowly from the side of the Trieste, and the sound of thunder resounded in the depths of the trench. Rivers of magma erupted! Millions of tons of magma spurted out of the chasm! The magma was golden red when it was newly ejected, before gradually solidifying and turning black, rising to about half a kilometer before it completely solidified, forming a giant black wall, and the seawater next to it instantly vaporized, as if a million thunderstorms had exploded continuously at the bottom of the sea. The Treiste and the mermaid hybrids were only a few hundred meters away from the wall of lava, and there were still streams of lava spewing from below. The newly solidified volcanic rocks above had begun to fall. So the mermaids gave up the attack and started to flee again. Even these things can't help but be afraid in front of a huge disaster, and it's obvious that when the lava wall collapses, everything will be destroyed.

From the beginning, they fled not because they were afraid of the nuclear power module, but because they sensed the eruption of the volcano under the sea.

Chu Zihang finished bandaging your wounds and covered you with the blanket. He then picked you up and carried you to your seat to strap you in. "It’s already too late to call the Sumeru. We have to accelerate away. Mingfei, you control the rudder and stabilizing wing. In a few moments the nuclear power module will explode. We must reach beyond a safe distance!"

"But we have no power! We've already lost the nuclear power module! Just the lithium batteries aren't fast enough!" Lu Mingfei was dumbfounded.

"I'm an engine too." Chu Zihang strapped himself firmly into the seat.

His golden pupils burned up, and the four walls of the cockpit were illuminated in gold as heat waves reverberated through the air.

Royal Fire erupted! Swirls of black flame appeared in the seawater below the submersible. It was the most concentrated state of the Royal Flame, with internal temperatures of several thousand degrees, yet not a trace of heat was escaping. The black vortex slowly rotated in the seawater for a second and then collapsed. The heat leaked out. The huge amount of seawater was instantly vaporized. The swirling white steam stream roared in the deep sea. The water vapor and the flame were entangled and swirled together to create a flaming vortex!

You were all starting to rise! Even though the rock wall was collapsing around you, the Trieste brushed past the falling debris. You’re holding your breath hoping that you wouldn’t end up buried anyway.

You stared at the screen. The screen is an external camera shot of the Takamagahara. The scene was solemn and magnificent. The ruins are slowly sliding along the tilted sea bed into the lava river, the last buildings gradually tilting and crumbling, high towers snapped off, thousands of bells rolling in the streets of the city. You feel that at the moment they play sad music like the song sung by desperate birds. A small mountain of volcanic rocks fell from above, spewing out lava as they splashed in the ruins. Lava was converging into small rivers along the streets, as if cleaning the city with flames. Tides of magma from the fissures swallowed up more and more of the ground. Certain shattered pieces of land disappeared forever into the rivers of lava, and soon with the sun-bright explosion of the nuclear powerhouse, Takamagahara was lost to the world forever.

　　The Lenin slid along the tilted foundations, its huge hull collapsing countless buildings along the way and rolling into the magma. The embryo inside did not struggle, and the Lenin floated in the lava for a few moments before gradually sinking. The fractured metal tower rolled over and smashed into its middle, destroying its bridge. The high temperature burned the fleshy layer covering the Lenin, exposing the carbide red five-star of Soviet Russia on the bow, which was the last to sink. By now the Trieste was far from the depths of the trench, and the bright river of lava in view was fading.

It was just a ship, but it was one of the last remaining memories of your past. You remembered anticipating the visit of this ship every Christmas with its gifts of chocolate for Vera and vodka for Herzog, new clothes and shoes for you. Up until now, when you thought of your past, you thought of a terrible end. The blood and the fire and the smoke. You shed no tears then.

But watching the ship and the city sink irretrievably, it finally hits you that everything happy is gone. Gone is the ship and its presents, burned forever and it was never going to arrive again.

You hold the blanket against your reddening face and stain it with your tears, all your sorrow bursting out an a flood.

#Dragon Raja

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cupidmarwani-archive · 5 years

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Come Into the Water (8/15)

The day after nearly drowning goes by slow. Sarah eats breakfast with Olivia and Maggie, goes to therapy, and spends an afternoon at the beach in hopes of seeing Ava. More than anything, she wants to see her again. Thank her, perhaps, for saving her life, and ask that she see Olivia and Maggie again. She isn’t sure how, but isn’t opposed to attempting a reunion she would never be able to handle for herself. But it would be the kind of good Dr. Riley always tells her to put into the world. For as heavy as these thoughts fall, they mean nothing if she can’t find Ava.

Which, after twenty minutes or so of searching, she doesn’t. It burns in a familiar way, the rejection, although she tries not to think of it that way. Her eyes and nose begin to burn the longer she searches alone. Like before, she looks at tidepools and skims light hands along mussels and sticky anemones. Used to this as she is, it’s different alone now that she knows otherwise. She looks around and knows who she’s looking for and what she’d like to do. Her thoughts return to the first day they met. Ava kissing her. They haven’t kissed like that since. Sarah wants it again, craves it, and also knows how likely it is that she'll never have that again.

Fog and heavy clouds roll in and out above the ocean, indecisive over whether or not they’d like to rain some more. Sarah votes no, and the weather listens to her. The tidepools bustle beside her, busy in the low tide, and she watches life scuttle and survive, carry on in a way she herself is only just learning to do. It would be nice, she thinks, to live in a tidepool, although they seldom last. Maybe she’s meant to, then.

She should ask around about a library, maybe read about tidepools. And she should borrow the ocean life books from Olivia again because it might help her figure out where Ava is and why she hasn’t seen her. She misses her more than she thought she would. Sarah thinks about getting in the ocean, but then she recalls yesterday and there’s a cold fear in her stomach of how out of control she felt, how afraid, how pained, as she nearly drowned.

As she watches the waves, she catches sight of fins and instinctively slips down slightly into the water, expecting it to be Ava, coming to see her and take her somewhere peaceful. But then there are more fins, more tails, like a pod. Sarah wonders what kind, but then she sees heads poking above the water. Human heads. Oh. This is Ava’s family, or perhaps used to be. She has questions, but they’re too far away to ask and she doesn’t trust her ability to swim out there, so she watches.

They seem to be talking to each other, laughing, the smaller ones- children- chasing each other in and out of the waves. It’s a family like Olivia and Maggie and Noah, but it’s also very different, she thinks as she watches the way the children wander off and the adults don’t seem to mind. Olivia and Maggie would mind if Noah wandered off. But no one stops the children, and they come nearer to the shallows. One of them ducks beneath the waves and pops back up with a fish in its mouth, twitching and struggling around sharp teeth. Ava’s teeth aren’t quite that sharp. They’re more human. Sarah wonders why.

Before she has the chance to dwell, one of the children swims up to her and looks at her with curious eyes of vertical slit pupils.

“Hello,” she says carefully.

The child studies her and reaches for one of her hands, which she offers without hesitation. She can’t imagine refusing. But as soon as she offers it, the child pulls her into the water and sinks their teeth into her palm. She cries out and they let go, quickly swimming away, their scales flashing in the light as they call in another language to the others. A little afraid of a swarm, Sarah hurries out of the water and back up the beach, sand clinging to her toes and blood dripping from her hand. At least it hurts. In school, they said if it didn’t hurt, it was because there was too much nerve damage. So if it hurts- which it really does- then it’s a good sign. Maybe. The blood stains sand and her shirt as she runs to Maggie and Olivia, because she trusts that they’ll help her. At the very least they have something her own home doesn’t: bandaids.

“What the fuck,” she hisses to herself as she goes.

Usually animals bite when they feel threatened. She doesn’t think she did or said anything threatening. Not even on accident. The more she reviews her actions, the more confused she becomes and the more her palm seems to throb. Sarah chances a look at her hand and sees the neat ring of tiny puncture wounds.

When she arrives at the pink house, Noah is in the yard, playing with his toys as Olivia tends to the little garden along the edges of their home. “Liv,” Sarah calls out, hiding her arms behind her back to protect Noah from the blood. “Do you have bandaids?”

Olivia stands up and wipes her hands on plenty-stained jeans. “Yeah, c’mon in. Noah, sweetheart, let’s go inside for a few minutes.”

Noah whines and pouts, but nonetheless pushes himself to his feet and toddles indoors after Olivia with one of his favorite toys in hand. It’s certainly something that Sarah knows which ones are his favorites. She doesn’t know what to do about that. But when she’s inside and Olivia reaches for the first-aid kit on top of the fridge, asking what happened, Noah clears from her mind and she hesitantly produces her still-bleeding hand.

“Sarah!” Olivia exclaims, immediately grabbing a hand-towel and wetting it to begin cleaning the blood. “Why didn’t you say anything?”

She shrugs.

“What happened?”

After the blood is mostly cleaned, Olivia studies the bite and pulls out a yellow tube of cream to rub onto the line of marks. She’s so careful, as if Sarah were her daughter. She wishes she was her daughter. Then comes a gauze pad and an ace wrap to hold it in place around the curve of her hand. A deeper bite would’ve taken her thumb off.

“There were more mermaids,” she says in spite of herself. “A lot of them. Kids, too. One swam up to me and asked for my hand, and then they bit me.”

“It’s because you’re human and you were in their space. They bite Ava, too.”

“Oh.”

After the bandage is secure, Olivia puts the first aid kit back up, washes her hands, and sits across from Sarah at the breakfast bar. “You were looking for her, weren’t you?”

It’s not really a question.

“I wanted to say thank you, and I wanted to see her again.”

“I know.”

They’re quiet for a moment, before Olivia stands up and reaches for a flyer on her freezer. “We’re pulling beach grass on the dunes this afternoon, if you’re up to it,” she says, handing Sarah the paper. “Sometimes Ava sits in the shallows and watches. If we don’t bother her, she doesn’t go anywhere.”

“Why pull up the grass?”

Olivia’s whole face opens and she runs out of the room, only to return with a couple of books and a stack of printed articles about how the grass got there, the damage it’s done, the progress they’re making. Endangered plants on the return. Bees coming back. All because people clean up.

“It’s tedious,” she admits, “but it feels good. We see Ava a lot, even if we can’t talk to her. When she isn’t there, the pod usually is. They like that we’re fixing things. Once or twice, they’ve brought us fish and thrown them up to us on the sand. They’re nice when we’re helping.”

“Have they ever spoken to you?”

“No,” Olivia says sadly, but doesn’t let it overcome her. “I do have extra gloves, however. Maggie’s staying home with Noah tonight. They’ll protect you from the sand.”

For longer than she means to, Sarh thinks about it. About going out and doing something instead of sitting in her house or searching fruitlessly for Ava. It would be nice. But it sounds like a lot of work, and she’s not sure if she’s up to the effort it cries for. Olivia seems hopeful, though. Excited. And Sarah’s a people pleaser, occasionally to a fault, so she says she’ll do it.

The next half hour is spent with Olivia finding work clothes for Sarah that’ll fit her, and then waiting for Maggie to come home while they weed the garden, and finally a rather long drive to the right area of the coast.

As soon as they arrive and begin hiking out to the dunes, surrounded by people who laugh and talk and joke together, Sarah scans where the native plants and plethora of insects thin, and the ground is barren save for thin sprouts peeking through the dirt, and then it turns into the thick beach grass that lays in a carpet over the landscape.

“We’re just pulling the sprouts that came back today,” Olivia says. “I’ll show you how. Make sure you get all of the root, too, or they’ll just show up again.”

Sarah watches Olivia dig, and she mirrors the action, which earns a litany of praises. She does it again, gets into the rhythm of digging and pulling and finding the roots. But every so often, she looks up and scans the water for a familiar face or flash of scales. So, so badly she wants to find Ava. Even if it’s just a glance, she’d do anything to see her again.

She works through the exhaustion in her muscles. The throb of her bite wound. The grit of hot sand on her forearms. The wind that blows grime into her face. She works through all of it until they’ve cleared a good chunk of land and the sun is setting, and still, she does not find what she’s been so desperately searching for. The reward of what she’s done loses out to disappointment.

“Maggie and Noah and I will be here Friday night for dinner and blessings and all that,” Olivia says. “You can come with us if you want. If not, I can recommend a place in town, or I can make something for you before we go.”

“It’s not your responsibility to take care of me,” Sarah mumbles.

“No, but I want to. Now, c’mon, let’s get showered and see what Maggie made for dinner.”

#ciwfic #mine #fic #reesker

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freedom-shamrock · 6 years

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Catching Chances - Chapter 12

Also on AO3 Chp 1 Chp 2 Chp 3 Chp 4 Chp 5 Chp 6 Chp 7 Chp 8 Chp 9 Chp 10 Chp 11 Chp 12 Chp 13 Marichat May day 31 - reincarnation

Marinette felt Chat scoop her up, cradling her as he moved. "Kitt-ty," she mumbled, completely comfortable with him carrying her. "Where we going?"

She felt his chuckle more than she heard it. "Bed, Princess. It's late. Way past your bedtime."

She recalled cuddling with him on the couch watching movies. "You're staying?"

"Yeah," he replied. "It's our long weekend together, remember?"

"Ooooh. Yeaaaah." With the knowledge that he wasn't leaving, that she would wake up to him tomorrow, she was able to relax against him and let sleep claim her again.

The floor was cool under her bare feet as she silently moved through the emperor's summer palace. In her transformation, the airy skirts and light trailing sleeves of her hanfu had been replaced with a red and black representation of a Jingxi opera huā dàn costume. Loose vertically striped pants swished around her legs. Two long thin braids hung down against the front of her red shirt while the rest of her hair was coiled at the back of her head in a style she never adopted as herself. A fan was tucked into her gold accented belt, its long red tassel and the dangling ties of the belt brushing against her pants in a way that was comforting in its familiarity. She'd prefer not to get caught sneaking around at night, but if she was, it shouldn't be a problem. She was a well-known hero in this guise, and she was effectively masked by white and pink magical opera makeup. Not even her own parents knew of her superhero activities and she'd rescued them twice this year alone.

She paused, seeing a shadow lurking in the room she was heading for. He was tall, carefully standing at the back of the room, where the open windows wouldn't shine light on him. But her eyes were attuned to the movement, and she saw better in the dark when she was transformed. She sighed, letting a faint smile grace her lips when she noted the pom on the top of his head. Pausing just long enough to listen, she continued into the room to meet with her partner. She joined him at the back wall.

"Piáo Chóng," he purred. "I suspected I might find you here."

She reached out and lightly tapped his nose. His face was concealed behind the magical makeup of the mask of Chong Hēihǔ. "Of course I'm here, silly cat," she whispered. "I don't deviate from our plans."

He smirked, bowing his head slightly. "My Lady is so clever."

She loved this relationship, so full of fun and genuine affection delivered in polite social manner. "I have managed to establish myself among the ladies as sweet and reliable."

He grinned. "As I said, so clever." He held out his hand, letting two fingers brush under her chin.

"Ah ah," she said, waving a finger in front of his face. "No distractions, My Tiger."

He folded his hands together and bowed his head. "Business first, of course," he said in agreement. "I have uncovered the first silk strands of the plot against the emperor and his family. I must unweave them a bit more before I have anything solid for us to work off, but I believe his eldest son is the target."

She swept up one of his hands in her own. "A thousand blessings upon your family," she murmured. "Please continue to pluck at those knots." Her fingers ran over the back of his sharp claws.

The world melted away, and she stood beside the Loire River at the besieged city of Orléans, dressed in plate armor that would have felt heavier if not for Tikki. She held a French banner aloft to flap in the wind while men around her fought. The dull thuds of steel against leather bucklers and shields joined with the sharp crack of bow strings and the shouts of the soldiers. They were here to free the town of Orléans from its British invaders, to take back French land from the ever expanding British reach. The army had been demoralized after too many consecutive defeats, and losing here was not an option.

Though she couldn't see her partner, she knew the Black Cat was here, following his side of the plan from his place inside the high stone walls of the city. She could feel his movements as he lurked in shadows, sabotaging the entrenched British forces at every opportunity. Her troops would succeed this day, and she would finally meet her partner outside of the visions her kwami's magic gave her.

The sights and sounds of war faded into the arid heat of the desert, subdued in the dark of night. The stars were bright in the deep blue black cloth of the sky. She sat cross-legged on the roof of the chapel of the sun, her black-spotted, red linen sheath bunched up around her thighs. The North Palace was quiet tonight, and she couldn't decide if that bode well for them or not.

Her hands fiddled with the red yo-yo that served as her primary weapon as Red Scarab, protector of Egypt. A faint scratching sound, the familiar noise of claws on brick caught her attention and she looked up in time to see her partner pull himself up onto the roof beside her.

"Good evening, my Panther," she whispered, smiling at him. The beads at the ends of her many braids clicked together as she moved her head.

He crawled, cat-like, to settle beside her. The tall gold-lined black ears that came with his transformation twitched and pivoted to catch the sounds around them. "Lovely Scarab," he said, settling beside her, the belt of his gold-accented, black linen shenti covering his lap. "The pharaoh is unwell. His mind has taken to madness."

She nodded. "It is what I feared."

"He has taken to calling the departed mother of his child by another name, and is preparing a great sacrifice to Ra," Panther continued. "He has acquired a tool of magic." He looked down at his hand, where a silver band wrapped around his finger. "I've not seen its like before. Plagg tells me that should he cast his spell it will cause great harm and it won't bring back the dead."

Red Scarab nodded. "Tikki feels the magic. She worries for the fertility of Egypt and the surrounding nations if it is put to use."

"We will stop him, my love," Panther said, confidently.

She smiled at him. "You seem so certain, son of Bastet." She tapped him lightly on the nose.

"With you beside me, I can't be anything else." For a moment, he closed his bright green eyes, slitted like a cat's and glowing with his magic. "And perhaps when the threat is past, you will consent to become the wife of a scholar and servant of justice."

She giggled. "I see you have plans of you own."

"I do," he agreed, leaning over to nuzzle her beaded hair. "You are welcome to join me in them."

"Then I shall." The skin of his bare shoulders was warm and soft under her hand as she leaned against him. She didn't know his true name or identity, and learning his occupation made her far happier than she expected.

Marinette woke with a gasp, strangely both fully aware of who and where she was, yet oddly disoriented from dreams of a hundred past Ladybugs. In every one, her black cat was by her side. Sometimes things ended peacefully in old age or naturally from illness. They raised children, mourning together for those who did not survive infancy. In other lives he took a final fatal blow meant for her, and in even fewer she did the same for him.

She was breathing hard, tears leaking out of her eyes to drip onto the duvet she clutched. She whined, unsure if she was more upset over experiencing Jeanne d Arc's burning at the stake, or the fact that her Back Cat had allowed himself to be captured in cat form, only to be thrown onto the pyre, as self punishment when he couldn't help her escape.

Familiar hands wrapped around her, pulling her to Chat Noir's chest. He was in the soft t-shirt she'd made for him, and it smelled like him. Not pungent, but comforting. "Sssh, Mari. I'm here. I've got you," he whispered. His hands trembled a little, and his breathing almost as rough as her own. "It was just a dream."

She shook her head, unable to speak out of fear that she'd make some horrible howling sound. It wasn't a dream. She'd bet her miraculous on it. She'd lived the past Ladybugs' lives in her sleep. She didn't remember all of them, not consciously, she couldn't. But they were all there, to some extent.

Chat kissed her forehead, rocking her in his arms, whispering softly to her until she was calm. His fingers gently brushed her hair out of her face as she looked up at him from her vantage point resting on his bicep. "You're safe Mari. I'm here with you, I won't let anything hurt you."

She reached up and brushed her fingers over the edge of his fabric mask. It was damp and he looked almost as spooked as she'd felt. "Oh Kitty," she whispered. "My sweet kitty." She bit her lip and tightly screwed her eyes shut, to prevent another round of crying.

"It's time," Plagg said quietly. He'd taken up residence at the end of the bed.

"I'll get you cheese in a minute," Chat said.

"That's not what I'm talking about," Plagg said with a wry smile. "You had the dreams. It's time to end the charade."

Marinette reached out a hand to the black kwami, pulling him close to cuddle as soon as he landed on her palm. "Oh Plagg…" she whispered. How hard had it been for him to lose so many of his kittens?

Plagg purred and rubbed his head under her chin. "This is what we've been waiting for, Princess. You can tell him now."

"Tell me what?" Chat asked, eyebrows furrowing.

"Why now?" she asked, confused.

"You are each complete now. You know who you are. Who you were." He reached out and lightly placed one paw on the tip of her nose. "You've seen what can go wrong. You understand the importance of caution and planning. You're ready."

Sniffling a little, she looked back up at Chat. "I love you."

That brought her a half-smile. "That's not news, though I'm always glad to hear it."

She shrugged. "Yeah… I hope you still feel that way after this." What if he didn't? What if he didn't come back? Tears pricked at her eyes again. She couldn't lose him. Not again.

"To be fair," Plagg helpfully interjected, looking his chosen in the eye. "She's been wanting to tell you this for ages. Since she moved here."

"Before," she corrected.

Plagg gave her a glance. "I stand corrected. She's wanted to tell you since before she moved here. But we wouldn't let her."

"What?" Chat said quietly. "We?"

Marinette put her thumb behind one earlobe, calling his attention to the plain black cabochon earrings she always wore. "I'm Ladybug."

Chat froze, his eyes positively huge as he stared at her.

"My kwami... Tikki, forbade me from telling you, and… I've felt awful, keeping it from you. But it doesn't change anything. I still love you. I still want to be with.you." She wanted to reach out and embrace him, but didn't dare intrude upon his space. "None of this has changed." She gestured between them.

"With all due respect, My Lady, it changes quite a bit," he said.

She flinched, drawing her arms in close to hug herself as she prepared for the worst.

His hand caught one of hers before she could fold in on herself entirely. "I didn't say it was a bad change, Princess." He brought her fist to his lips, lightly kissing the back.

She closed her eyes, shuddering in relief. "I love you."

"And I love you, Marinette." Moving slowly, he reached up and placed her hand on the knot at the back of head. "And I know how you feel, exactly. I've wanted to tell you who I am… I've felt so dishonest, Princess."

She offered him a small smile. "I know you, don't I?" She felt his nod more than she saw it. "I understand. And I will still love you without this."

"Take it off, please." His voice was small, as if he expected her to deny him.

She slipped the knot up the back of his head, not looking away from his eyes as she discarded the mask the moment his face was exposed. "Oh," she whispered, her hands coming up to cup his cheeks. "Oh, Adrien. It's you." It was as though all the pieces of a puzzle had fallen into place, and it was so right. She beamed at him. "Of course it's you." She slipped one hand into his hair behind his ear.

His eyes fluttered closed and he leaned into her touch. "Please forgive me."

"There is nothing to forgive." All her warm happy feelings fled and she nearly choked on nothing when she realized all the things that had happened to Adrien, when she suddenly knew the name of the man who had abused her Kitty for years.

His eyes snapped open. "What? What's wrong?"

She ground her teeth together for a moment. "I want to kill your father," she snarled.

"I told you," Tikki whispered, nudging Plagg, as she settled beside him in Marinette's lap.

"She's being hyperbolic," Plagg dismissed.

"She's not." The tiny red kwami met Marinette's eyes. "Don't think I don't see you plotting murder, Marinette."

"Death is far too good a punishment," Marinette snapped.

"I adore you, Princess," Plagg said, happily.

Adrien laughed, lightening the dark mood that had settled. "Nice to meet you Tikki." He extended one finger to the kwami, chuckling as she hugged it. "Princess, can you plot against my father later?" When she met his eyes she was surprised by the joy she saw there. "I really want to kiss you right now."

"Kwamis out," Plagg blurted, grabbing hold of Tikki and flying out of the room.

"But I can plot later?" she asked, massaging his scalp again.

"Yes." He leaned in to rub his cheek against hers. "I'll even help."

"Okay," she agreed. "Kisses and cuddles now. Plotting later."

Thank you all for sticking through this one with me. I'm so sorry this chapter took so long! If I have time an energy, I'll come back and slap on an epilogue showing the fall of Gabriel Agreste.

Research Notes: China Piáo Chóng (Ladybug) and Hēihǔ (Black Tiger) Their costumes are influenced by Chinese Opera.

Huā dàn is a traditional opera role. Huā dàn are young maidens, flighty, energetic, and vivacious, they are known for quick movements and a bit of sass. Their role is there to brighten and amuse. This is a presentation of a well known dance Qiao Huā Dàn by the dance school I volunteer with

Chong Hēihǔ is a black tiger character from both a Chinese novel and opera. You can see his opera mask paint here .

Hēihǔ is wearing a costume consistent with a wu song hero role because it would be better to fight in than some of the costumes used in the wu sheng and other hero roles. He's wearing this in black with green

France Jeanne d Arc and Black Cat

She was burned at the stake and a black cat was thrown on the fire, a common practice for the pyre of a witch. The cat was her partner, who could shapeshift. He chose to die, allowing himself to be captured for this purpose when he could not free his partner.

Egypt Red Scarab and Panther

Akhenaten's concubine or lover (known to historians as only The Younger Lady), and the mother of Tutankhaten (later Tutenkhamun) has died and he is bereft. He has taken to calling her by his wife Nefertiti's name (it means "the beauty has come").

#Miraculous Ladybug #fanfic #marichat may 2018 #Catching Chances #my writing #Marichat

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raccoonsinqueen-taxes · 7 years

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Six Skeletons, One Maid (Now With Twice As Much Daily Fiber) <Chapter 2>

“g’morning.”

You jumped at the voice, turning quickly. You knew that some of your masters could teleport, and you assumed that Mr. Crimson could, as well, but you certainly weren’t prepared for the frequency at which he used this ability. He was leaning lazily against the wall, the small bony wings peeking out from behind his back and dull gold and brown fleece he wore and the usual drowsily sharp grin fixed on his skull. “Good morning, Mr. Crimson.”

He tilted his head. “‘s fine if you just call me crimson. just no numbers at the end.”

You nodded. You had forgotten. “Sorry, Crimson.”

“eh. just wonderin’ how monsters’re doing back home.” He shrugged. “also, i have somethin to ask you. any wide open places ‘round here that wouldn’t mind a bit of landscaping?”

You paused, thinking. “Well, there is the field out back. It was a garden, once, but none of my masters have either interest or skill in gardening. You should most likely ask Master Sans before doing anything, though.”

He winked. “thanks, kid. stop by later for a show?” You turned around, the sound of his bare feet on the floor abruptly ending as he shortcutted off, presumably to ask Master Sans.

“SABLE AND CRIMSON ARE GOING TO SPAR LATER TODAY!”

You turned around at Master Papyrus’ excited exclamation to Masters Blue and Orange. Master Blue looked equally excited, Master Orange less so.

“i dont see whats such a big deal about it, theyre just going to toss around a few attacks.” your honey-loving master shrugged.

“BROTHER, IT’S NOT JUST THROWING AROUND A FEW ATTACKS! IT’S PRACTICALLY CHOREOGRAPHED, THEY’RE SO GOOD!” Blue cried, then, in an afterthought, “NOT THAT THEY COULD TOP THE SANSATIONAL BLUE, OF COURSE!”

“So that’s what Crimson planned, he asked me about an open place and invited me to come look at it later,” you said, thoughtfully. You noticed how Master Orange’s expression became tense.

“GREAT! YOU CAN COME WITH US!” Master Papyrus and Master Blue were practically bouncing up and down at you.

You looked down the laundry basket in your hands. “I’m not sure, I have a lot of work to do…” Although, you had hardly, if at all, ever seen any of your masters ever throw any magical attacks around, and from the way your two most excitable masters were fired up about it, Crimson and Mr. Sable must be very good.

Master Orange nodded quickly. “she does.”

Master Blue pouted, “WE INSIST. YOU CAN GET IT DONE LATER!”

Master Papyrus nodded, giving you pappy-dog eyes. You sighed in mock defeat, and in exasperation at the pun most likely induced by an excess of pun-lovers. “Alright. I’ll come later.”

Masters Papyrus and Blue looked like you had just given them a pound of monster candy. Master Orange looked like you had just thrown out his entire stash of honey.

Mr. Sable and Crimson were standing at opposite ends of the wide grassy field in the back of your masters’ mansion, and you, along with all of your masters, were standing on the sidelines. Masters Papyrus and Blue had had to drag Sans, Black, and Red. You didn’t know why Master Orange was there.

“READY IN THREE?” yelled Mr. Sable to his brother. Crimson replied with a nod, summoning three bones to hover in front of him. The bones fire up into the air, dissipating with a faint sparkle of magic about twenty feet up. As the last bone disappeared, Mr. Sable leapt forward, a wave of jaggedly sharp femurs bursting up from the earth. When the attacks and skeleton reached where Crimson was standing, he simply was not there. You looked around, and there he was, just behind his brother, wings flared and clawed hand swiping at the other’s exposed neck. You almost gasped in fear, even though you knew he wouldn’t really kill his brother, and Mr. Sable turned around, blocking the shorter skeleton’s blow with his radius and ulna and twisting the force against him. The shorter skeleton found himself heading straight for the ground, but he rolled, and pushed himself off of the ground, his arm outstretched at Mr. Sable, and a flurry of long bones, crackling with red energy, flew at him and he met them with a barrage of his own, plain and gleaming white. And then Crimson was at the other side of the makeshift battleground, crouching, and Mr. Sable was still there, tall and proud in the scuffed dirt, and his gleaming slit eyelights fixed on the smaller whose right eye was bright white and whose left was more apparent than ever, and a wall of bones grew up behind the taller, interlocking ribs and femurs and humeri and bones you didn’t know the name of, in an ivory twist like an impenetrable bramble. And an army of skulls, long and draconine, with hinged lower jaws, and sharp jagged horns on the back, came up behind Crimson, and a whine filled the air as light was sucked into their half-opened maws, and then the bones rumbled and hissed as they flew at Mr. Sable’s opponent, and the whine crescendoed into a scream and the day darkened and the jaws opened wide, like a hundred white snakes ready to swallow the world whole, and white beams pierced the air, meeting the bramble-bone-wall. You shut your eyes tightly, sure it had gone wrong, and at silence you opened them, and sunlight shone through dust and Mr. Sable and Crimson were still standing, and grinning, and Crimson wasn’t there anymore and he was leaping at the sky and Mr. Sable was crouching, all deadly grace, and bone clashed with bone in midair and Crimson’s wings were flared and sickly red lightnings were flickering across his bones and his lashing tail and he his eye was shedding a comet-tail of red magic. Your eyes flicked away from the two fighters, at the huge disembodied talons that had formed around Mr. Sable, flickering with bright red. Your eyes flicked to Crimson, who was smirking, his hand held up, clawlike. The behemothic talons around Mr. Sable closed in tighter, and tighter, clenching as Crimson clenched his upheld hand, and then he leapt up them like a huge stair or vertical hopping rocks in a stream, but deadlier, all feral grace and oiled lightning. And he leapt at his brother, and the hands were gone, and Crimson was helping him up, offering his hand. Mr. Sable looked Crimson straight in the eyelights from the ground, poker-faced, and he accepted the hand, and you almost burst out laughing at the sound of the whoopie cushion.

“good spar, bro?”

“GOOD SPAR.”

Master Sans poked your arm, and you suddenly realized that you had began clutching at his hand sometime during the brothers’ alleged spar. You let go quickly, feeling embarrassed. Looking back at Crimson and Mr. Sable, you saw that they were walking over. The moment they arrived at where the group of you were standing, they were swarmed by Masters Blue and Papyrus.

“WOWIE, THAT WAS AWESOME!”

“CAN YOU SHOW US HOW TO DO THE HANDS?”

“AND THAT WALL OF BONES! SO COOL!”

“PAH, I COULD HAVE DONE IT IN MY SLEEP.” You looked at Master Black, his arms crossed as his skull in what looked to be a scowl.

Mr. Sable walked over to him, sauntering like a big cat, but with more bravado. Wow, where were these poetic synonyms coming from? “WHAT, EDGE? NOT JEALOUS, ARE YOU? AFTER ALL, THE SECOND-IN-COMMAND OF THE ROYAL GUARD COULD NEVER BE BESTED BY A SCIENCE EXPERIMENT, RIGHT?” Mr. Sable said condescendingly, leaning on Master Black, “OR WOULD YOU LIKE TO BACK YOUR EMPTY WORDS WITH A SHOW OF STRENGTH? I’M SURE IT CAN’T BE TOO HARD, SEEING HOW SURE OF YOUR OWN ABILITIES YOU ARE.” Master Black seemed about to rise for the bait, until Crimson stepped in, pretending to stumble backwards into Mr. Sable. Which was slightly awkward, since Crimson was barely taller than half of Mr. Sable’s height. “BROTHER, WHY?” the taller skeleton exclaimed, turning his eyelights skyward. You noticed he didn’t try to push the shorter skeleton off of him, in fact he stopped leaning on Master Black to pick his brother up by the scruff of his fleece.

“im like a bike, im two tired, i think id just fall asleep in the middle of your allegedly epic battle with edgypants here, and youd hate it if your favorite bro missed even a second of you trouncing someones coccyx. please wait for me.” Here, Crimson flung an over-dramatic hand over his face. Mr. Sable sighed.

“BUT ONLY BECAUSE YOU’RE MY FAVORITE OLDER BROTHER.”

“and with all the extreme competition, im very glad that i have been granted that very esteemed spot, coolest bro of mine.”

“CRIMSON, YOU RAISED ME. I HARDLY REMEMBER WING.”

“STOP YOUR BANTER, I WILL FIGHT YOU TOMORROW,” Master Black huffed, tired of being ignore.

“cool.”

“I HOPE YOU CAN BLACK UP YOUR WORDS, EDGE,” smirked Mr. Sable with a chuckle as the other stomped off in the direction of the mansion, Master Red trailing nervously behind him. Crimson gave his brother a thumbs up.

“Umm, that was very… intense,” you said to Master Orange. “Are their spars usually that death-y?” He opened his mouth to respond but someone beat him to the punch.

“sometimes, but other times they’re pretty funny,” Crimson poked his head in.

“YES. I HAVE THE PICTURES FROM WHEN WE TAG-TEAMED.” Mr. Sable put in. “I CAN SHOW YOU, IF YOU WANT, (Y/N), THEY’RE ON MY PHONE.”

You nodded eagerly, curious who they would tag-team with. The tall skeleton set Crimson down (who proceeded to peer over your shoulder), and pulled out his phone. He leaned down, showing a picture of a yellow, dinosaur-like monster sitting on the shoulders of a tall, bright-red-haired ultramarine-skinned fishy monster, and then the next photo, a broadly-grinning Crimson piggybacking on an equally-happy purple fire monster in rectangular glasses, who looked a lot like a different-colored Grillby. “THAT’S DR. ALPHYS WITH HER GIRLFRIEND UNDYNE, IN THE FIRST PICTURE.”

“and me with the ol’ b-f in the second,” added Crimson.

“wait what?” said Master Orange, looking over quickly, “you have a boyfriend?”

Had he been jealous? Wow, these skeletons have a problem.

Crimson looked puzzled, then he smirked. “yeah, i have a boyfriend. really hot guy, makes a mean burg ‘n’ fries. name’s grillby. bro’s in a relationship with almsal, his sociopathic brother.” At your and Master Orange’s puzzled looks at Mr. Sable, Crimson added, “other brother. sable just got out of one, wing’s with almsal.”

“Wing?” you asked, “That doesn’t seem like a normal skeleton name.”

Crimson laughed. “his full name, well, theres a reason he doesnt use it much. professionally he likes to go by-” He broke off, glaring at Master Orange, who had been desperately signaling for him to shut up. “what, dont want your pretty little maid to know the esteemed name of-”

“shut up,” said Master Orange abruptly.

Crimson huffed. “his last names the same as the collective of green and yellow.”

What was it again? Your masters had only mentioned it once, but they had made such a big deal when you commented on the strangeness of the name. Faster? Gastly? Oh, Gaster.

“ASHTRAY, WHY DON’T YOU WANT (Y/N) TO KNOW OUR FAMILY’S LAST NAME?” asked Mr. Sable, flatly using a fairly insulting (but strangely fitting, in your opinion) nickname and putting his phone away.

Suddenly, Crimson cut in. “you have a nice ‘ghost’, ashtray.” When Master Orange turned around, Crimson wasn’t there anymore. Mr. Sable sighed, turning to walk back inside. Wait, what did the ghost have anything to do with this? And why did it sound like he’d put the word ghost in quotations? And… thinking back, Mr. Sable had referred to himself as a science experiment? What was with that?

Also Crimson had a Grillby as a boyfriend. And a brother other than Sable. That was new.

You decided to head inside, to catch up on the duties you knew at least one of your masters would berate you for not completing.

(Umm, yeah, I tried submitting this once before but I don’t think you got it, anyway, yeah. Sorry for the badly written action scene, and the fact that it seems like two different people wrote this. I think I’m sorta imitating the writing style of 6S1M, but then for the action scene it was more my own. Also Wing (a.k.a Dr. Wing Dings Gaster, The Royal Scientist and designer and builder of the Core) is Crimson and Sable’s brother, same age as Crimson. And he’s going out with Grillby’s adopted brother, a smoke elemental named Almsal. ALL UNNECESSARY INFORMATION. But, I don’t care. *dumps it on your head* And next chapter Sable will be a gentleman and help with dinner. He can actually cook something non-lethal. I believe it will be lasagna. For two reasons, being that I like lasagna, and he’s kinda an offshoot of Fellpap. And I like to think that he can make more than one kind of noodlething. or anything. wait thats three things WHO CARES. *shuts up before the exposition gets any more long*)

Goshawk-Gyrefalcon

This is blessed <3<3<3 I didn’t get it before, so thanks! Excited for the next chapter!! (ﾉ◕ヮ◕)ﾉ*:・ﾟ✧

#goshawk gyrefalcon #6s1m #submission

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