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noyasboxdye · 3 years

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Notes: Welcome to the first day of kinktober this doesn't have a lot of knife play bc i don't really know how to write for it but i tried my best :)

Word Count: 2,016

Pairing: Tendou Satori x Male! Reader

Warnings: Yandere themes, home invasion(?), knife play, CNC (?), death threats, praise, oral sex (reader receiving), power bottom tendou.

Tendou Satori loved you. He thought you knew. You obviously didn't thought with the way you were hugging and laughing with Ushijima. To be fair though he hadn't confessed. But you still should've known! After all the things he's done for you he can't believe you would betray him like this.

Going out to coffee with him and alone at that! Something could've happened to you. He could've hurt you and he still could. But you were to naive. He couldn't blame you honestly nor could he get mad. For several reasons the main one being that he cared to much. The other being that you couldn't help it after all you were just cute little y/n.

So when he'd saw you in that coffee shop with Ushijima letting him touch you like that he'd decided to do something. He had to do something bigger to let you know you were his. Obviously being a gentleman along with the occasional flirting wasn't doing that. How could you know though because once again you were naive.

He'd just have to come on a little stronger. He couldn't do that now thought you both had class. And his class was out of your way so he'd just have to wait till you got home. Oh he was so excited! The day dragged on for the both of you. He couldn't stop thinking about how excited you'd be to see him. He'd decided to wait until you got home to coming in.

You'd gotten home from school hanging your coat in the closet setting your bag down on the table and going into your room. Getting undress and wrapping your towel around yourself taking your soaps into the bathroom. Turning the shower water on and putting your shower cap on. Getting in the shower and sitting under the water.

Your muscles relaxing under the hot water. Allowing yourself to calm down. Tendou on the other hand was tense. He was here now! He couldn't figure out how to get in though. He didn't want to set off your alarm and have you possibly hear him. But he couldn't think of another way in. Your window might work but they were usually closed and he couldn't go through the front.

The neighbours could see and call the cops. Your room window should work though. You usually sleep with them open because sleeping in the cold with the heat on is easier. Going to the side of the house and seeing that the window he climbed onto of the patio table. Climbing his way into the window. Peaking into the bathroom to make sure you were in the shower. Seeing that you were in the shower.

"Perfect they're getting all clean for me." he thinks sneaking past the door as quietly as he can before making his way into the kitchen. Grabbing a (bigger) knife. He was hoping he wouldn't have to use it. He was hoping you would be just excited to see him here as he was you. Because he knew you loved him and you knew he loved you. You just didn't think straight sometimes.

A perfect example would be this morning before class. You went on a little coffee date with Ushijima. You loved him he just had to remind you of how much you did. And he would do just that. He would make sure that you never forgot about either of your love ever again. Going back into your bedroom. Taking off all of his outer wear.

Cleaning himself up a bit wiping himself off and fixing his disheveled shirt. Making himself comfortable on the bed patiently waiting for you to come in. Trying to decide what to say, how to say it, and when. He knew you'd be a little startled by him coming unannounced but you'd also be delighted. After all who wouldn't be delighted to see their love surprise them at home.

Especially after a stressful day at school. It was a while before you'd finally got back into your room and when you did you were definitely surprised. He'd just been sitting there trying to explain himself. While you were yelling at him to get out.

He'd sounded like a mad man to you and to make matters worse he had a knife near him! You'd started hitting and kicking after he grabbed you. Pushing him off of you and running to the bed so that you could grab the knife. But he'd gotten a hold of you and the knife first. He never thought he would have to but he pinned you down and pressed the knife to your throat.

Pushing your hands above your head and into the mattress before putting his thigh in between your legs against your groin. You'd whimpered a bit and prayed that he didn't hear you but he did. A smile grew at the noise you let out. You'd sounded so heavenly. Like music to his ears!

He wanted- no needed to hear more. He had to hear more of those pretty little sounds again. And louder. He wanted to hear you say his name in that way. He had to hear it. He'd do anything he could to hear it again. So he did it again. He pressed his knee into your groin. Another whimper falling from your lips as he pressed into you.

You didn't know if it was because of the pressure or the fact that he had a knife to your throat that was making you feel this way and you hated it. But you loved it as well. The thought of your life being in such danger made your stomach curl. It made you crave him. You unconsciously grind into his thigh as you think about the situation more. More whimpers and now moans leaving you.

Leaning down Tendou kissed you lifting the knife from your throat. Setting it down on your bed and kissing his way down to your neck. Sucking and nipping at the skin. You wrap your arms around him as he makes his way down your neck. Taking your shirt off and immediately finding his way back to you lips and neck.

Kissing down towards your chest. Grazing his hand against your nipple testing the waters. His stomach did flips as he heard you whimper his name. He'd dreamed about this on numerous occasions and he always knew what to do when he'd done it with other people. But now that he'd actually had you in his grasp, and was doing these things with you he didn't know what to do.

You were so perfect with the way you grabbed at the nape of his neck toying with the little hairs, softly moaning his name in his ear, and wrapping your legs around his. He needed more though, he needed to be in you. And with the way you grinder your hips against him you were practically begging him to fuck you. And who was he to deny you a good fucking?

If you wanted to be fucked that's what you would get. Kissing his way back up your body he removes his lips sitting up before taking off his shirt and removing his pants. He'd never been more eager for something in his life! "Tendou- baby please." you moan reaching out for him pulling him back down to you stroking his cock through his boxers.

He let out a deep groan at the feeling. Pulling him self away once again to pull your pants down, dragging your boxers down with them. Throwing them in a random corner of the room and forgetting about them as he strokes your cock. "mmm- Tendou- fuck... please." you say your back arching off of the bed slightly. "Nuhuh you got to tell me what you want hun alright...? Use your big boy words baby." he says as he rests his head back into the crook of your neck, sucking and biting on the skin.

He smiled at the sight. His hand moving faster making you stutter out even more nonsense than before. "Fu- fuck me-! Tendou please fuck me." you say getting impatient, humping at the air as if it'll give you the relief you need. "Good boy! Using your big boy words for daddy!" he says smiling at you. You moaned at his words.

Finally he stood up grabbing the lube out of his jacket pocket and pouring a generous amount onto his hand before strolling your dick once again. Making sure that your dick was wet enough. Straddling your lap and lifting his hips he slowly sunk himself down on your length. A series of moans leaving past his lips as he reached the base, slowly grinding against you as he waiting for himself to get used to your length.

Slowly bouncing on you as he pinched and twisted at your nipples. High pitched moans coming from you as you begged him to go faster, trying to thrust your hips up to meet him. You reached over at nothing his head following your hand as he bounced on your dick. "Oh can't have you getting to this now came we darling?" he says tauntingly as he rolling his hips making a point to grind down harder and fit more of you into him.

You felt him squeeze at the base of your cock and it made you go wild. "Fuc- Tendou! Please!" you moan. He rolled his hips as he bent down to kiss you. You were becoming so desperate for him. You'd try and fuck up into him but every time you tried he'd just press the knife into your neck.

"Mm~ I guess I can give you what you want... just use your big boy words for me baby? Please?" he says sucking on your chest. "Fuc- fuck me! Please- please fuck me." you say. A smile pulls at the ends of his lips as he kisses your forehead resuming his previous pace. "Mh-m shit! You feel so good." you moan.

He rested his hand on your chest while the other held onto the knife, applying pressure to your neck with it every few minutes. "Mm- daddy 'm gonna cum~" you say gripping onto the bedsheets your knuckles going white. "No you aren't baby. You're going to hold it for daddy like a good slut aren't you?

Wouldn't want the knife to slip and cut up your throat now would we..?" he says pressing the cold metal further into your warmer skin. Chills going down your spine, and your cock twitching inside of him at the idea. "N- no sir." you whined as he fucked himself onto you again. "Good boy." he says.

Dragging himself up and down on your length as moans fell from his lips. Throwing his head back as he came to a full stop whimpering as his cock twitched beads of precum leaking from the tip. "Fuck~" he moans softly as he starts bouncing again. Not noticing that the knife was starting to pierce your skin tiny beads of blood making their way to the surface of your neck.

The euphoric feeling of your warm thick length in him while he listened to your pretty little whimpers and moans had him on cloud nine. "Mmpf- fuck i'm gonna cum!" you exclaim. "Ye- yeah me too- fUck~!" he moans as you fuck yourself up into him his movements coming to a halt as his hand grips at your skin dragging his nails down your chest as he throws his head back, his warm seed spilling all over your stomach.

"Daddy- daddy please, please let me cum!" you beg tears pricking your eyes. Getting off of you and immediately going down to put your dick in his mouth. Sucking on the tip while he uses his hands to get to the rest of you. "Fuck fuck fuck-" you say cutting yourself off as you cum. Tendou hums softly smiling to himself as he swallows your cum, licking any extra off of you to make sure it doesn't go to waist.

#noyas.works #haikyuu !!#haikyuu smut #haikyuu tendou #tendou satori #tendou smut #tendou x male reader #tendou x reader #tendou x y/n #tendou x you #haikyuu x male reader #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu x y/n #haikyuu x you

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ontheoddoccasioniwritestuff · 3 years

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Full Moon (Thorn x Reader) Smut

Summary: It’s already hard enough to keep his hands off his partner in usual circumstances. Now that they’re carrying his child, it’s impossible for Thorn to keep himself in check.

AN: I saw King Knight at Fright Fest and this was instantly born. Thorn deserves a partner who wants to give him a child as much as Willow deserves a partner who respects her decision not to have one.

Content warning: Reader uses they/them pronouns and is AFAB. They are three months pregnant. It’s barely smut, just a mild description of oral, but still MINORS DNI! Over 18+ only! If your age is not in your bio, you will be blocked.

Masterlist // Photo Credit // AO3 Link

Your name: submit What is this?

“It’s late. We should get to bed.”

Thorn had been edging towards the bedroom all evening, only stopping once Y/N reminded him that there was something else to do before retiring for the evening. Meditation before dinner, packing the leftovers and slotting them into the fridge, speaking to Alexandra about the upcoming Samhain celebrations, he seemed to have forgotten their entire calendar in favour of the sky.

This time, it was Y/N’s head tilting to the sink that caught him in the doorway, as they reminded him: “Still have to wash up. You know I hate leaving dirty dishes overnight.”

It took Thorn a second to process, then he briskly walked back to the kitchen. In his current mood, which was to prevent Y/N from doing more than their fair share, he took on both washing and drying up. The tiny bump in their belly would hardly be in the way, but Thorn still insisted that they rest at every possible moment.

The sun long since set. It was the moon that shone down and bounced reflections off the porcelain dishes slotted in their draining board spaces. Thorn’s rings dripped suds as he scrubbed vigorously at the bowl used for the salad. Hiding their mirth, Y/N moved behind him and allowed their bump to press up against Thorn’s shirt. They caressed up his left arm then onto his shoulder where it met with the other hand and squeezed.

“You’re so tense, my sweet. Are you alright?”

“I’m fine, darling.” Thorn stopped his ferocious scouring briefly to kiss their cheek. His words did nothing to convince Y/N, but they didn’t require anything of the sort. Instead, they began preparations for their sleep. As if they would be getting much anytime soon.

As though he had been waiting for them to finish dressing, Thorn rushed to open the bedsheets. A stray soap bubble on his arm popped into nonexistence as he ripped off his odd socks – one was onyx, the other charcoal. Then he saw the look of expectation from Y/N and instantly he jumped up to put his socks in the laundry hamper.

As he got back in, Y/N gently prompted, “My love, the incense.”

Thorn’s eyes flickered down to their stomach, “Right.”

His trembling hands were so frantic he almost waved out the glowing embers as soon as they were lit. Y/N joined their life partner, allowing the smoke to waft over their rumpled bedspread. It was a new kind; their usual had made Y/N feel nauseated from the pregnancy’s get-go.

Back under the covers, Thorn pulled Y/N close to him and took in a deep draft of their scent. Y/N knew this and held back a smirk. They cupped his face, and he kissed their palm. His fingers curled like the incense delicately around their wrist, his lips dragging down to kiss against their pulse. He would have painted more along their entire arm and neck if he was not so impatient. The moment he could, he shared with them a deep long kiss. His palm twisted over their belly.

They were so close when they pulled apart that their lips brushed promises of future love onto one another. Through words, actions, everything they could purse and pucker for their beloved, and Y/N stroked under Thorn’s jaw while he spoke to them.

“If I could, I would veneer your body every minute of the day. I’d forsake all other gods to laud your name.”

His words were sweet yet Y/N acted alarmed at his words, gasping loudly as they gave his cheek a short sharp slap. “That’s sacrilege, Thorn!”

Thorn swallowed, and his untouched cheek matched the other in pink passion. “How can it be? You’re a deity. Every day I worship at your altar and I give up all worldly possessions in your name. Every thought is a prayer for you; I am always praising your abilities or thanking Moirai – Greek Goddess of Fate - for sending me to serve you.”

He leant in again but Y/N avoided his lips, their head tilting back with a smirk. His nose bumped their chin before their nose returned a nuzzling.

They cheekily reminded him: “Serve with me. We’re a team.” Their hands found each other again and locked fingers.

“We are,” and Thorn sighed in complete lovestruck awe, “But I will always submit to your will.”

In those gloriously kind eyes, Y/N saw them reflecting the Moonlight, as She - the full moon - reflected the Sun’s to Earth. Sharing the adoration that spread life and warmth throughout the galaxy but this love was just for Y/N. They would bask in it as long as they liked.

“Then get on your knees and you can prove it, Thorn.”

The covers were flung aside carelessly, for they have no purpose in comparison to a man submitting to his life partner. Thorn did as he was told, though he was quick to grow impatient from his kneeling spot at the foot of the bed. These traditions, he would follow them resolutely, if not slightly needy; he had been told to kneel, not yet to touch. Meanwhile, Y/N moved at their leisure towards him. They had an entire night to be worshipped and watching Thorn fidget, like a dog being asked to stay when a treat was balanced on his snout, was a good start. Those eyes were still bright with full moon delight. They watched as Y/N carefully removed their underwear, leaving the bed only to drop the pair with Thorn’s discarded socks.

“You’re so good sometimes,” Y/N reminded Thorn and the corners of their mouth ticked up. They perched on the bed’s left corner. As Thorn leant into their fingers, they fisted at his hair and dragged that hand around to his cheek. Unable to resist, they tenderly slapped it again. His beard was rough against their fingers, and the groan Thorn let out sweetened the deal.

Spreading their legs, Y/N leant back on their hands and their hips tauntingly raised before Thorn’s panting mouth. “You may begin your worship.”

He lunged and snatched their thighs with his warm rings stinging their stretch marks. Two long moans of relief sang out. Their harmonies vibrated where the two lovers connected, lips to lips. The tufts of hair pulling matched the scratch of a beard. The belly, the creation of their love, was not yet round enough to hide their life partner from view as he looked up at them hungrily, blinking slowly. He devoured. They let him.

And all this in just the first three seconds.

#thornton adams #king knight #thorn x reader #thornton adams x reader #thorn imagine #king knight imagine #mgg #mgg x reader #mgg fanfic #thorn fanfic #king knight fanfic #my writing #smut #mgg smut #thorn smut #wc: >1k #r: gn

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ashintheairlikesnow · 3 years

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I’m Here

CW: Negative stimming including stimming resulting in self-injury, pet whump, death of parents, grief, ableism, past noncon references, r*pe survivor having severe PTSD flashbacks, memory of shock collars, derogatory language, dehumanization, meltdown/panic attack, whump of a minor referenced repeatedly.

This is Chris in a very dark place - stay safe.

Directly follows Found Out, Akio, and Chris Sees.

Come on, 223499-

I'm Tristan! My, my, my name is Tristan, Tristan H-Higgs and I l, I, I live at-... but, um, no, no, at my, my my aunt's ap, apartment now-

Tristan Higgs is a fucking corpse, kid. You don't have a name anymore.

No, I'm, my, my name is, is, is-is-

Your name is for your prospective to choose. Now let me show you how we shut you up.

The boy is screaming, twisting, writhing in pain on the floor, clawing at the black collar around his neck, desperate to somehow escape it, but there isn’t any way out. He digs his fingernails down his skin but it’s still there, the collar never leaves, you’re only safe with your collar on, no wait that hadn’t happened yet-

Oh, that’s nice. Time for the Drip for you.

N-no, no-

Welcome home, 223499.

M-my name is, is, is Tristan-

Chris slams the door on his way into the bathroom, locks it behind him, sweeps everything off the counter with a crash, plastic bottles of soap bouncing, a toothpaste container clicking against the tile, the toothbrush holder shattering and sending shards of ceramic pale on one side and rainbow-painted on the other everywhere. He stares at them clicking over the floor before they stop, some of them skimming the tile all the way to the wall.

Inside his head, there is a cry, bubbling up behind the wall that his life has been hidden behind, deep inside the cold pale light that all the worst things drown in.

Beneath the Drip, the needle in his arm, beneath the pain, the fear, the hands that moved over him and the bodies that moved inside him and the voice in his ear whispering, pet, pet, pet until he was one, until he wasn’t anything else any longer, until he was ready to be overwritten.

My, my, my name is Tristan Higgs, my name is, is, is Tristan, my name is-

Didn’t I tell you Tristan Higgs is dead, trainee? All that’s left of you is my pretty little whore. You wanted it so bad you signed up for this. Now get on your knees and show your handler some respect.

No, pl-please, please I don’t-, I, I, I don’t want to, I-

What you want doesn’t matter anymore, 223499.

Please-

What you want is irrelevant, trainee. Now let me show you what I want.

Inside his head there is a boy, screaming, his wrists forced down by larger hands, body rocked in a rhythm of terrible pain while a stranger who will be his entire world whispers in his ear, I paid extra for this and you did not disappoint, darlin’.

There’s a boy alone in a white room, painting with his own blood on pristine white walls, just to see color, just to see something, anything, that isn’t nothing at all. There’s a boy, alone, whispering apologies to the parents he is losing, their memories slip-sliding under the surface until they are gone.

There is a boy, screaming.

Chris screams with him, their voices in tandem, in echo, but it's the same voice, and the scream was always him, always Tristan Higgs inside him, buried beneath it all.

Chris screams until his throat is raw, bashes his hands into the mirror until it rattles under his fists, rocks forward to knock his head into it. Again, and again, and again, rattling it inside the frame, trying to force a break. The chaos inside him is too much, too strong, and at the center of the train tracks is her face, always her face, her hands, her lips moving and fighting to speak, her face.

I love you, baby, I l-love you, it's okay, it's okay-

Mom, please, pl-... please, no, no no no, I’m, I’m s-sorry, I’m so so sorry, I’m, I’m sorry-

Sssshhh, baby, it’s-... it’s okay, it’ll b-be okay, Tris, Mommy loves you, h-honey, Mommy-... loves you s-so much-... Her eyes shining like marbles, her blood on the wall, burbling from her chest as she fought and fought to breathe and then she stopped and her eyes, her eyes stayed open…

He laid with her and she was so cold and no one came to help him and no one came and they were both so cold and he stayed with them all night, wailing into her shirt soaked in blood, into his side, laid down between them and tried to keep them warm with blankets but they were gone and it didn’t matter and it was-

If it weren’t for you, she’d still be alive.

His aunt looks at him with hate or stares through him and there’s no routine and there’s no therapy and Aki is gone and his phone is gone and he hurts himself desperately just to feel something other than the chaos and the noise and the cracking, shrieking angry pain inside him, the guilt the blame the hate and oh, how he hates himself for not staying still the one time it counted and no one is coming and no one loves him anymore because they’re gone and his aunt doesn’t love him because he should never have been born-

If he weren’t born she’d still be alive-

"It's not okay!" He screams again, tearing at his hair, clawing at his arms, dragging deep red welts down on each side, trying to dig the pain out from inside of him. “It’s not okay, it’s, it’s, it’s not, it’s, it’s not, not, not, not-not-not, not okay, not-”

Please, pl-please, let, let, let me go-

Told you to stop rocking, didn’t I? You did this to yourself. Be still, statue boy.

Pl-please, I, I don’t know how-

You’ll learn.

His head snaps to the side with the imagined memory of a slap to the face, his breath catches with the pale shade of the shock collar lighting him up, nerves sparking shrieking agony, the needle in his arm, it's in his arm again this isn’t freedom he’s just gone crazy from drugs again and he’s on the Drip again and he was never not on the Drip he was, was never free no one saved him no one is coming-

He rocks forward, again and again, banging his head into the mirror until there's blood, until it cracks, bad luck for seven years, Tris, sucks to be us, and they laughed, the two of them, carefully picking the shards up to put in the wastebin and Aki grinned at him, unbothered, because his mom would probably forgive them and it wasn’t a big deal-

Let’s, let’s, let’s make up a, a routine, Aki, yeah?

Yeah, sure, but can we like… be normal teenagers for a half-hour first?

Um, how, how do we-

I thought we might start by watching TV and not doing our homework. You know, get crazy with it. Maybe even go super crazy and eat leftover pizza.

Chris's lips curl back from his teeth and he stares at himself in the mirror, his wide green eyes and pale eyebrows that darkened a little with age, blue hair that hangs around his face, frames the lines of his cheekbones. The gash along his forehead where he hit the mirror hard enough to open it, bright red blood welling up and slowly seeping out.

He lifts one hand, pressing his fingertips to the crack in the mirror that matches the cut in his forehead. There’s a little bit of blood there, and it smears under his fingers. For a second, he’s fascinated by it, the liquid that slips along, ripples his reflection.

It doesn’t feel like part of him. It’s just something he can control, when he can’t control anything else.

Behind him, the doorknob rattles, but Chris barely notices. “Chris?” It’s Jake’s voice, and Chris swallows, ignores the push, the urge, to let him in. Instead he keeps looking at himself, tries to see the boy inside his head, the boy in the room, under the men, the boy screaming in his head while his mouth learned to say all the words they wanted..

Come here, pretty-... oh, look at you, so full of tears for me, hm?

On your back, gorgeous boy.

On your knees, pretty pet.

What you want doesn’t matter anymore.

No isn’t an option for you any longer.

Don’t I always give you options, pretty thing? You can choose to be good, my good little slut, or…

“You, you, you can choose pain,” Chris whispers, finishing the sentence that started in his handler’s voice, in his mind. “Too, too, too… pretty to, to be for anything else. Too pretty… too, too pretty for, for, for…”

He nails the dismount for the first time on the the bars, his body does exactly what he wants, and he looks up to see his mom cheering for him, and he jumps up and down, hands moving, rocking with his happiness, and his team cheers for him, and his scores are really good so he can go to state and he’s so happy-

He’s so happy-

She’s so proud of him-

There’s a hand in his hair, jerking his head back to look up at his Sir, who smiles down at him, and Tristan can barely see him through his tears. He’s tied down and he can’t escape and he doesn’t know it’s his Sir, yet, he was still Tristan then but his Sir’s hand is in his hair and he whispers, God, I love that you came already flexible for me, sweetheart…

Please, n-no, please, I don’t want, want this, please, I-I-I don’t, I, I-... I need h-help, I didn’t… sign, yet, please call, call, call the the the-the cops-

Sssshhh. Sir’s finger to his lips, and he didn’t dare bite, even then. Hands on his wrists, forcing them down against the table. His back arches, trying to get away, and his Sir laughs at him, low soft chuckle, and boy weeps, turning his head to the side. You’re going to be perfect, sweet boy, I can already tell.

No, no, no no no, no, pl-please don’t, please, please, no, no, g-god, oh oh oh god, oh god, no-

I paid extra for this, and you did not disappoint.

The pain, when it comes, is blinding and never-ending and Tristan Higgs is screaming.

No one cares.

No one will come to save him.

Chris groans, pulling at his hair, trying to rip it out by the roots to settle his jangling shrieking nerves, scratching his fingernails down his cheeks as deep sa he can, smacking his hands again and again into the broken mirror, shrieking at the pretty face split apart by the cracks. A piece of the mirror falls out into the sink, and Jake is still talking, trying to open the door, but Chris isn’t listening.

He can’t hear Jake over the sound of his own mind turning against him, spitting memories he’d thought were gone, but no, dead things don’t always decay, sometimes they just wait to come back and tear out your throat and show you how it’s all your fault.

What about you, Tris? Mrs. Nakamura’s voice is gently teasing, soft and unassuming. She’s sitting with a book in a soft cozy chair somewhere with nice warm lights, and everyone watches Tristan’s hands move to tap on himself without judgement, without shame. We all know Aki can’t take his eyes off of that pretty Nicole girl-

Mom. No. Please, please do not talk about this. Oh my god. She’s just my teammate!

I’m just being silly, Aki.

It’s, um, it’s okay, Mrs. Na, na, Nakamura. I’m just-... nobody for, for, for me, right now. Tristan’s face is red, he’s blushing, and he hasn’t really thought about it much, beyond just thinking everyone is pretty, but he hasn’t told his mom yet, and-

Oh, well, maybe later. You two are so busy getting ready for state, anyway.

He can hear Jake back on the stairs, now, thumping down them and away, and Chris’s hands move rapidly over the sink and counter, avoiding the bits of shattered mirror. He’s standing in ceramic but he doesn’t notice, he doesn’t care. His body doesn’t belong to him, anyway, his body belongs to his handler his owner his rescuer his anyone but him it’s not his it’s not his body, they took his body and he doesn’t get it back…

He wants his body back.

He yanks open the drawer, shoving through the disposable shaving razors that Jake buys, the nail-clipping kit he keeps in here, a stupid little comb that he can’t see any use for, rolls of gauze and bandages, tossing them to the floor, until he finds what he’s looking for.

A pair of scissors, used mostly for gauze and bandages, big shining metal scissors that weigh heavy in his hands.

Chris stares up at himself in the remaining mirror, pulls a hank of his hair out straight with one hand, and clips right through it with the scissors. He lets out an exhale, and grabs another bit of hair, and does it again.

Blue drifts down to gather with the broken glass in the sink and on the floor, piling higher and higher as Chris keeps cutting, staring into his eyes and not looking at how even the cut is. He looks at the bloody mess on his forehead-

Mom, please, I’m sorry, I’m sorry I, I, I moved, I’m so so sorry, I’m sorry…

It’s okay, baby-

Blood on the wall, he stayed there all night and no one came. She was cold, he couldn’t keep her warm all by himself.

“It’s, it’s not okay,” Chris whispers, and Sir’s hand is heavy on his neck, look at how you ruined yourself since you left me, darlin’, but his Sir can’t stop him because his Sir is dead, too. Everyone who cares for him dies but Jake and Antoni and Laken and maybe they’ll die, too, because of him, because he’s too pretty to be for anything else-

There’s blood on the featureless white wall and he pulls it through his fingers and it’s something that’s not white, he barely recognizes it as his blood, it’s just bright red and feels good under his fingers, the blood cools and dries so he hits his head and makes more, and more, and more-

He keeps cutting, until what’s left is a shaggy, unkempt mess, different lengths all over, and all his hard-won long hair is gone. He has wisps that hang over his forehead, little bits that tickle the tops of his ears. He cuts until it’s just little scruffs, barely blue at all.

He drops the scissors into the sink on top of the pile of blue hair, runs his hands back through his hair, watches more loose bits drift slowly downward.

He lifts his hands and takes out his piercings, one by one, dropping them into the sink with the hair, until his ears are bare, too, and his eyebrow. Nothing but a thin narrow face, nothing but freckles that stand out too much, nothing but big eyes and chin.

He pulls his shirt off over his head, and then his compression shirt. Takes off his pants and his boxers and then straightens to stare at himself naked in the bit of mirror still left.

“I, I’m good for you,” He whispers, tilts his head just right, looks up at himself through his eyelashes. His look is warm and liquid and well-trained, a show of desire he’s never once felt. He bites down on his lower lip, just so, hand moving as if to brush a bit of hair back - but the hair he might have touched is gone, it’s in the pile in the sink.

The look is ruined by what he’s done.

Good.

Wide green eyes, yeah, let’s see those eyes nice and empty for me, trainee, but they’re red-rimmed and shadowed, full of pain. His eyelashes - inhuman, unearthly, pretty boy - are barely visible. Freckles that stand out too much, I’m going to kiss every single one until you understand how beautiful you are, Chris, okay? scattered over his nose and the angled cheekbones. Narrow chin, perfect for gripping and moving his head around, smeared with drying blood. Bleeding from the slash across his forehead, running slowly down to stain his pale eyebrow darker, to run into his left eye, what the fuck did you do to yourself, trainee?

“Not, not a trainee,” Chris whispers. “Not a, a pet. Not Tristan. Not, not, not. I’m, I’m Chris, I made myself, I’m, I’m, I’m, I’m, I’m... I’m I’m Chris, I’m, I’m Christopher fucking Stanton, I’m-... I’m Chris.”

Big scratches down his cheeks, his neck, bright red welts that might turn to bruises, that he could open into bleeding, he could make himself so ugly no one ever wants him again. “Not, not, not so pretty anymore,” He whispers, and his throat closes up against the words, but it feels good, it feels important. “Not, not, not pretty, now.”

Not worth dying over, not worth breaking, not worth noticing, not worth taking, not worth buying, not worth rescuing, not worth being arrested for, not worth saving, not pretty enough to hurt, not pretty enough to love.

You fucking freak, I don’t know how Ronnie managed to think you were so great, you can barely brush your own teeth.

How the hell did she love you? You ruined her life.

If it weren’t for you...

The door suddenly jolts open, and Chris doesn’t flinch - he doesn’t look back - only stares at himself, rocking slowly forward and back on his toes and heels until his head bumps the cracks in the glass like the cracks inside of him, his hands twisting at the ends of his wrists to smack rhythmically into his sides, his hips, harder and harder, fighting to find the same soothing rush that motions like this normally bring.

It’s too loud, inside of him. It’s too much. He can’t stop the trains roaring up out of the light, bringing everything into the darkness where he only wants to hide.

“Holy shit, Chris,” Jake whispers, standing behind him, eyes wide with shock. “Wh-... why did you… Oh, Chris, no. Oh, no, oh fuck, Chris, you hurt yourself, you haven’t done that since-”

Chris turns, ceramic crackling underfoot, sharp little spikes of pain in his feet, and looks up into Jake’s eyes. “Tris, Tristan Higgs was pretty,” He says, weakly. “I don’t want to, to, to be pretty anymore.”

Oh, darlin’, aren’t you just pretty as a picture.

Open up, 499.

He’s such a sweet, handsome boy, Ronnie, you’d never know he had, you know...

You can just say it, you know. It’s not a dirty word.

You’re too pretty for anything else, 499, you were always going to be somebody’s slut.

You want it-

I, I don’t want to-

No one gives a fuck what you want.

I don’t, don’t, don’t want to, please-, pl-please, please stop, please please stop touching me-

What do you say, trainee?

I want this. I want you.

Good boy.

A shudder ripples through him, a memory of pain, long gone but still written over every inch of his body. Broken, and dirty, and used until he forgot how to be anything else. He feels suddenly exhausted, weighed down, too heavy to move. There’s a weight on his chest and every breath takes an effort, takes determination, and he is losing the battle.

His lip wobbles, and he feels infinitely young, like all the years didn’t happen, and he’s still just Tristan Higgs in the end, ready to be broken, bent, and twisted.

He looks at Jake, and his brother blurs with tears. “He was, was, was too pretty for an, anything else, I d-don’t want to, to-to-to be pr-pretty like him anymore-... s-so I made, made, made myself uh-ugly-”

Jake sweeps him up and Chris lets himself be swept. The cry is bubbling up again and he wails into Jake’s shirt, gripping into the fabric and twisting his hands, tears rolling down his cheeks and stinging into the places he scratched himself. He’s pulling, tapping, rocking his bloodied head into Jake’s shoulder, fighting the trains in his mind that aren’t thoughts but memories, each one fighting to be the first to hurt him by coming back to the surface.

They crash into each other, into the wall of cold white light. They break through.

Inside him the boy in the black collar is screaming, the boy in the collar is crying, the boy is laid back on silk sheets and cries tears he has to keep inside his head while his face is smiling and his voice makes all the right sounds, the boy has his wrists and ankles locked down to keep him still, the boy is curled up between his parents waiting for someone to come and nobody is coming, the boy wears a suit in court that itches and he can’t stop shaking his hands and the judge doesn’t like him and the social worker doesn’t like him and the boy is curled up on a bed in a windowless room missing his friends, the boy hits his head and hits himself and the words are gone and the boy is screaming the boy is screaming the boy is screaming-

Mom, can Tris sleep over tonight?

Again, Aki? Well, I guess I don’t see any harm. You’ve got half your closet in Aki’s room by now, anyway. Call you mom and ask her, Tris, okay?

You fucking freak, I wish you had died with your bastard father instead of her.

I hate you, I, I hate you so, so, so-so much-

You should hate your fucking self, Tristan.

I love you, kiddo. It’s you and me, right?

Right, Mom. You, you, you and, and me.

Til your dad comes home, anyway. Can’t wait ‘til he’s working days and we’re not alone at night, huh?

Your prospective will choose your name.

I, I’m a… number. My name is… 223499, Romantic designation, Facility 001. I am a pet and… and… a toy. I am an active par, participant in fulfilling m-my, my, my owner’s desires-

I paid extra and you did not disappoint.

On your knees, gorgeous boy.

I think we’ll play a game, sweetheart.

Show some respect, 223499.

Come here, darlin’.

Good boy

I love you, Tris

Good pet

It’s, it’s okay, it’s-... okay, I l-love you, it’ll be okay-

Good boy

The boy is screaming for help and nobody is coming to save him-

“I’ve got you,” Jake whispers, holding him tightly, and Chris buries himself into the warmth, the familiar scent, the feeling of Jake’s arms is branded deeper than anything else in the world. I will rescue you, I’ll come back to you, Chris, I promise, I’m here.

I want you I love you I’m here.

“You made Chris, and you’re still Chris. This is just all the shit they took from you, that’s all. It’s okay, you can cry, Chris, go ahead and cry. It’s okay, it’s hard when it comes back, and Kauri and Ant and Laken and I, we’re all here with you.”

Chris sobs in Jake’s arms, bleeding all over his shirt, but Jake doesn’t care. He holds him anyway. There’s a throbbing pain inside his head, but it’s not stronger than the memories, and the cold white light isn’t holding them back like it used to, anymore.

Her face, her hands, the blood coming out of her, the silent house around them.

Her face.

Her eyes.

She loved him.

Oh, no, did you fall down? Oh, it’s okay, honey, I’m right here, I’ve got you - it’s hard the first time, but we get back up and try again. Here, let Mommy give it a kiss - there, all better, right?

Therapy is rough sometimes, sweetie, but listen - we can do this, together, Tris. We can do the hard stuff if we do it together. D’you want a hug? Yeah, hugs can help make it better, right? That’s what moms do.

I heard the thunder, baby. Go ahead, climb in, I’ve got you, c’mere, I’ll hold you.

I want you I love you I’m here.

I l-love you, it’s okay, it’s okay, I love you, Tris...

“I, I, I don’t want to, to be Tristan Higgs,” Chris cries against Jake’s neck, shoulders shaking, rocking, rocking, rocking in his arms. Jake’s hands are up in what’s left of his hair, feeling the short, chopped strands, rubbing over the nape of his neck, soothing the twisting hurt and fear inside him. “I don’t, I don’t, he, he, he, it was his fault, for, for, for for for moving when he had to, to be still, and I wasn’t, I didn’t do it right, and they, they d-died because of me… I l-loved, I was, they, they, they shot them and-and left me and, and, and no one came, nobody came to help, no, no, no, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry-”

“I know,” Jake murmurs. “I know. It wasn’t your fault, you were just a kid. It wasn’t your fault, Chris, whatever happened, it-... it wasn’t your fault. It was never your fault. You’re whoever you want to be, Chris, but Tristan is still a part of you, okay? We have to work on making everything integrate, work together, or it’s going to keep hurting. You have to get past the conditioning to forget, or it’s going to… get worse.”

Chris whimpers at the idea that he could feel any worse than this. “I don’t, don’t… don’t want to, to, to to to lose her again,” Chris whispers, shaking his head. “Don’t want to, to lose y-you-”

“Never. You can’t ever lose me, you’re stuck with me. I’m not going anywhere. Let’s clean up this mess, Laken is probably dying to talk to you-”

“No,” Chris whispers, begs without a voice. “No, not, not them, not… not yet.”

The scream is bubbling up again, the boy in the cold white room is rocking, rocking, rocking with his hands tied behind his back, can’t touch can’t hurt can’t feel can’t think someone help me but nobody is coming except the handler with his smile and his pain and his hands-

“Okay. No problem. Cleaning first. I’m going to bandage you up, and I’ll clean up the mess while you sit and maybe drink some water. But… can we… can we do one thing? Will you let me do one thing?”

“Wh, what?”

“Will you let me fix your hair?”

Chris pulls back a little to look up at Jake, and he smiles faintly back down, sympathetic and loving, and it’s not okay, but Jake is here, so it’s… it’s better than it would be if he were alone. “Um… y, yes, you, you you you, you can fix it.”

“Okay. I love you, little man. You weren’t supposed to see it so soon, we were going to get you ready, and it’s going to hurt coming back, but I promise… I promise it’s good for you to have it. Okay? Do you trust me, when I say that?”

Chris meets the sincere love in those blue eyes. “I, I trust you.”

He does. But he doesn’t believe him.

It’s okay, baby, it’s, it’s okay…

It’s not, and it never was, but… he remembers her face, at least. He remembers her voice.

He remembers her.

I love you, Tris, I’m so proud of you for doing the hard things, and I’m right here with you. I’ve got you, sweetheart. You and me, right? We can do all the hard shit as long as we do it together.

His fingers twitch, and he buries himself against Jake and sees her eyes full of tears and dying and her chest covered in blood and the blood on the wall and she tells him she loves him and then she doesn’t tell him anything anymore and her body is cold and Tristan curls up between them, blood drying on the wall and no one comes until the sun is shining and the blood is dry but Tristan is still crying-

Chris begins, again, to scream, but this time Jake is holding him, this time someone’s here, this time there’s someone who isn’t leaving, this time he can wail with arms around him and this time he’s not alone.

The boy is Christopher Stanton and he is Tristan Higgs and the boy is screaming and his brother came to help him and his brother is holding him tight.

I love you, Tris. I’m so proud of you.

I’m here, Chris. I’m not going anywhere.

I want you

I love you

I’ve got you

I’m here.

---

Tagging: @burtlederp , @finder-of-rings , @endless-whump , @whumpfigure, @slaintetowhump, @astrobly @newandfiguringitout , @doveotions , @pretty-face-breaker , @boxboysandotherwhump , @oops-its-whump @moose-teeth , @cubeswhump , @cupcakes-and-pain @whump-tr0pes @whumpiary @orchidscript

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themurphyzone · 3 years

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PatB Oneshot: Crystal Clear

AN: Part of an art trade with @plutonis in honor of her upcoming wedding. She tasked me with writing an introspective piece for a Brinky wedding. The art piece I requested is for the next chapter of Nova, so you’ll see the finished product there.

Prompt given by Pluto: I was wondering if you could do a little fic in which Brain is walking down the aisle on his wedding day, and we hear the thoughts going on in his head. What is he thinking? How is he feeling?

AO3 Link

If Brain had his way, he would’ve taped himself to the table leg with extra strong industrial strength duct tape and remained there for the rest of his life.

But Romy wouldn’t let him attach himself to said table leg, and Wakko already ate the duct tape to prevent him from getting it. All other binding materials, including the shoe strings and gluesticks, had been placed on a shelf mockingly out of his reach.

And since he was already in his wedding dress, he couldn’t even climb the shelf to retrieve the necessary materials.

“Dad, you’re killing the glarb,” Romy complained as he pried Brain from the table leg.

“Unhand me at once or so help me, Roman Numeral One!” Brain shouted, trying to break free from Romy’s grip, but it seemed their son had inherited Pinky’s unusual strength.

Wakko wasn’t any help either. He just watched the spectacle from his perch on the dresser, chomping on a platter of garlic prawns swiped from the catering company. Thankfully, Brain had the foresight to order plenty of garlic prawns for their celebratory dinner.

As soon as Romy’s grip loosened, Brain broke free and reattached himself to the table leg.

Funny, how he wanted this for so long. Yearned for it. And when the time came, even after all the progress he’d made, he was still afraid for reasons he didn’t understand.

It was illogical, he knew. He trusted Pinky more than anyone else, even himself.

But even that wasn’t enough to get him moving again.

“Guess someone’s gotta tell Ma you’re not coming,” Romy sighed.

Brain’s fingers dug into the wooden grooves.

“He’s definitely gonna cry. Probably gonna curl up on the couch and watch daytime soap operas with buckets of triple fudge ice cream or something,” Romy continued.

Sweet, innocent Pinky being heartbroken at his own wedding. Running off and doing who-knows-what, because he could be very unpredictable when he was truly distraught. His simple mind eroding away because of the unhealthy combination of trashy soap operas and ice cream diet.

Brain’s heart clenched uncomfortably at that mental image. With great reluctance, Brain let go of the table leg and marched over to the mirror to smooth out the wrinkles in his wedding dress to keep his hands occupied as he quelled that troublesome idea.

“You’re gonna tell him that Brain’s in here, right?” Wakko asked.

“Sure,” Romy replied.

Wait...everyone knew of his intentions to see this wedding through to the end. And he'd never let the hard work and efforts of their wedding plans go to waste.

It was just a ploy.

Brain took a deep breath. To lose his temper before the ceremony would surely spell catastrophe. He wanted to keep this an emotionally satisfying occasion, for Pinky’s sake.

“Romy, I won’t deny that your tactic was effective. But you will refrain from using my fondness for Pinky against me in the future,” Brain said.

Perhaps Roman Numeral One took after him more than he thought. It was impressive and aggravating at the same time.

"Sorry, Dad." Romy's head dropped as he handed the bouquet to Brain.

Like with Pinky, Brain just didn't have it in him to remain angry once an apology was issued. He transferred the bouquet to one hand and lifted Romy's chin from its downcast position.

"Look alive, Romy. This is a celebration," Brain ordered as he turned back to the mirror. "And Wakko, you're not touching our wedding rings with prawn-stained hands."

Wakko pulled out a kitchen sink from his hammerspace and started washing his hands without removing his gloves. With the soft hum of Happy Birthday in the background, Brain turned back to the mirror and examined himself one more time. They didn’t have long before the ceremony began.

His dress towed the line between simple and extravagant. Ruffles in the right places, but not so many that it would hinder movement. A small hole had been cut to fit his tail, carefully sized so that it was easy to thread the stiff appendage through. His sleeves cut off at the elbow, white fabric giving way to a delicate flower pattern, lending an elegant and dignified quality to the outfit.

It hadn’t been easy obtaining this dress. He’d lost track of how many toy aisles Pinky had dragged him down, and he didn’t want his outfit to come from the toy section of Walmart. Pinky had eventually called Dot for help, and with her connections, she arranged for a fashion designer who specialized in making clothes for dolls to help them out.

And while they eventually put the issue of clothes behind them, they had a fair number of arguments when Brain found a reason to reject all the dresses Pinky suggested. Especially with that gaudy puffed sleeve dress Pinky loved but Brain hated.

“I realize we must’ve been insufferable for the past few months,” Brain said. Planning for a wedding wasn’t anything like planning for world domination, as he learned the hard way. But it was Pinky’s wedding as much as it was his, and after one vehement disagreement, Brain had realized he was pushing out Pinky’s contributions to impose his own.

It wasn’t easy, but he did try to turn over some aspects to Pinky, just to see how he did with them. And Brain didn’t regret that choice, because the results were absolutely wonderful.

“Yeah, you and Ma were ruining my vibes,” Romy gave a lazy smile as Brain nudged him in retaliation.

Romy had said something similar when he’d first run away from home, but mischief had long replaced the anger. Though Brain still didn’t think ventriloquism was a lucrative career, he’d made his peace with Romy’s lifestyle while repairing their relationship. And Romy wasn’t the only one who derived happiness from working with dummies.

“Regardless, we’re grateful that you came,” Brain said.

“Wouldn’t miss it,” Romy shrugged. “Better save your sap for the ceremony though.”

“I’m not being sappy,” Brain muttered out of principle rather than true irritation.

It was 2:55 pm. Five minutes until the ceremony began. He was running out of time.

He quickly fixed his leaf crown and attached veil so that it was less crooked. In years past, he never would’ve been satisfied until a golden crown with embedded jewels rested atop his head. But now he found the leaf crown was worth so much more than gold.

Then he made sure the transparent veil covered his face. The thin fabric didn’t hinder his vision, but he felt like he was looking through a lens.

Everyone would be watching him. He wanted that thin wall of privacy between himself and the onlookers. Seeing outside, but concealing his feelings within.

He didn’t have to. He knew he didn’t. But old habits die hard, it seemed.

The clock chimed three. It was time.

What could go wrong?

“Don’t worry!” Wakko exclaimed as he picked up the purple velvet cushion with their wedding rings. “I didn’t mistake these for tiny Ring Pops this time!”

Brain was a fool. A sentimental, lovestruck, starcrossed, and twitterpated fool.

Wakko brought up the lead as they marched through the twisting hallways of the enormous property they’d rented for their Hawaiian wedding. Surprisingly, coming up with a location for their wedding hadn’t been difficult. After a stressful day of making other arrangements, they’d chosen a scenic, relaxing travel documentary to unwind.

As soon as the documentary showed a beautiful Hawaiian beach at sunset, they both agreed on making Hawaii the destination of choice for both wedding and honeymoon. Brain gripped the flower bouquet tightly, careful not to crush the petals between his fingers. Romy’s hand was on his elbow, light enough to not be intrusive but quick to react so Brain didn’t run into a wall.

He’d assigned Pinky to the task of flower selection, and Pinky had researched the meaning of flowers extensively with an unusual amount of focus. If Pinky had his way, he would’ve gathered one specimen of every flower in the world and brought them to the wedding, though Brain eventually convinced him to narrow his list down to a single digit range.

Brain was only familiar with the rose as a symbol of love, and he recalled the meaning of only two other flowers within their wedding. The rest were completely lost on him. The first was the magnolia, which represented perseverance. As such, a white magnolia stood proudly in his bouquet, nestled among the red roses of passionate love. Pinky had chosen the magnolia for Brain, and insisted Brain choose at least one flower too.

Though Brain didn’t place much stock in what the websites claimed, he just went along with it to humor Pinky. But he’d settled on the colorful freesia, just to thank Pinky for his friendship, faith, and trust for all the years they’d known each other.

Their miniature procession stopped at a glass sliding door that separated them from the rest of the proceedings.

Brain gulped and clutched the bouquet to his chest.

Beyond those doors, the wedding guests mingled with each other on the grass. A gorgeous, azure beach formed the perfect backdrop to the ceremony. White, fluffy clouds dotted the sunny skies, and the beauty was rather foreign to him. He’d spent far too much of his life hiding away in the darkness of a sterile lab.

It seemed the entirety of their Animaniacs coworkers had shown up for the wedding. He was surprised by the turnout, but it seemed that everyone had been clamoring for him and Pinky to tie the knot for years.

And while the usual toon antics were prevalent among the guests, Brain’s attention was drawn to the very front, where Pinky was arranging flowers on Pharfignewton, who’d jumped at the offer of being Pinky’s best mare.

Back then, the sight would’ve incited a feeling he’d come to realize was jealousy. Now he was just grateful that Pinky received some physical affection from someone when Brain couldn’t give it to him.

Wakko opened the screen door, causing a stir among the guests in the back, which caused a ripple effect that spread to the front and prompted everyone to take their seats. Pinky slid off Pharfignewton’s back, bouncing on his toes and craning his neck to see Brain.

Even from this far away, Brain saw Pinky’s bright, goofy smile. It made him regret keeping the veil over his face, cloaking his happiness even from his partner.

“Testing, testing!” Yakko said into the microphone. When he’d been ordained to officiate a wedding, nobody knew for sure. He shuffled through the cards for his opening speech. “Alright, everyone. We’ve all been very impatient for this moment, so no more delays, capiche? Dot, start the music!”

A hush fell across the audience, and even the most rambunctious members of the Animaniacs crew fell silent as a soft piano arrangement of A Whole New World began to play.

Wakko proudly held the cushion with the wedding rings over his head and marched to the front. From the aisle, Mindy reached into her basket and threw pink flower petals into the air, and Buttons held onto her so she didn’t fall out of her seat.

Romy released Brain and followed Wakko. Pinky greeted their son with an enthusiastic hug, and Bunny flashed them a thumbs-up from her seat.

All the attention was on Brain now.

He wasn’t sure if he wanted it.

He wanted to flee inside the house. Tell everyone to go home and they’ll get refunded the costs at a later date. Take Pinky to city hall and sign a document to make their marriage official instead.

The audience whispered.

He saw the worry in Pinky’s eyes, a stunning shade of blue that popped out from the beautiful Hawaiian beach. They were too far from each other to speak normally, but Pinky laid his hand on top of the colorful freesia pinned to his white dress shirt, just over his heart.

Trust me, he was saying.

And Pinky had proven himself worthy of his trust long ago.

Slowly, Brain laid his hand on the magnolia, the centerpiece of his bouquet.

I won’t give up.

Pinky smiled that soft, knowing smile of his. Emboldened by his encouragement, Brain stepped out of the house and onto the white, silky path that had been laid out for him.

He took slow, methodical steps to steel his nerves. This was his reward, and he was allowed to have it.

No more electricity, no more fear of rejection.

The happiness of having someone by his side. The sorrow when they were separated either by force or by choice. The surprise of receiving gifts from Pinky when he’d done nothing to deserve them. The guilt that came from upsetting Pinky with morally questionable schemes.

Emotions he’d once derided as frivolous were now precious and dear to him.

All the good, all the bad, and everything in between. And this occasion marked a brand new beginning, a new chapter of their lives that would bring new happiness and surprises. Though they’d be sad, angry, or terrified sometimes, they’d always be together.

That’s what counted most.

The melody of A Whole New World floated gently through the air. An airy tune filled with wonder at a world previously unknown to them.

He and Pinky dueted this song so many times that the lyrics and background instrumentals were permanently etched into his mind.

Only now did he understand what the song was truly about. Leaving behind their defined roles, into a freedom-filled sky. Just the two of them, exploring a huge world together. The burdens of the past and worries of the future left on the ground, and all that mattered was the present.

Being themselves, and experiencing things they’ve never experienced before.

It was terrifying and exhilarating all at once.

He could hardly wait.

Pinky waited for him, taking Brain’s hand in his own. He was absolutely breathtaking up close.

“Narf,” Pinky whispered, and Brain would never tire of that endearingly stupid word. “You did it, Brain.”

“All thanks to you, Pinky,” Brain replied, and Pinky’s tail wagged at the praise.

Together, they walked to that beautiful wedding arch with intertwining pink and blue flowers, stopping in front of Yakko’s podium. Brain gave his bouquet to Romy so he could properly hold Pinky’s hands. Romy gave them a lazy grin, and Pharfignewton lowered her head so Romy could have a good perch. Wakko proudly balanced the cushion on his head, and Dot stood beside her brother, giving him a friendly shove without knocking the wedding rings off.

And Brain realized he was still seeing the world through veiled eyes. Though his vision was unimpeded, he’d barely noticed there was a filter among all his doubts and fears.

He’d kept the veil for a transparent amount of privacy when he walked down the aisle, but now that he was with Pinky…

Well, it just wasn’t necessary anymore.

He brought Pinky’s hands to the veil. Their eyes met, and a silent understanding passed between them.

Then Pinky threw back the veil, and the filter he’d been looking through was completely gone. And Brain saw the...no, he saw his world through fresh eyes.

A bright, happy, silly mouse stood before him, a colorful burst of freesia on his chest, and beautiful sky-blue eyes filled with endless love, promising hope and warmth and companionship forever more.

“You’re so pretty, Brain,” Pinky giggled.

It was the most wonderful sound for his compass, his heart, and his world.

No more tolerating. He fully accepted the undeniable fact of how much he loved Pinky, and Pinky loving him back from this point forward.

Never before had he felt so much happiness, and he was ready for everyone to see it.

Unable to contain himself, Brain leapt into Pinky’s arms and kissed him. Though he heard their audience reacting with shock, it was all just background noise to him. And he’d never been a patient mouse.

Pinky was surprised at first, but his strong arms wrapped around Brain to support him, and he kissed back wonderfully.

Fireworks exploded in Brain’s mind, or maybe the Warners set some off, he didn’t know. But he had to come up for air, and he released the kiss, though it seemed Pinky could keep going for quite some time.

“Technically, you’re supposed to wait until I say ‘you may now kiss the Brain’, but who am I to stop true love?” Yakko grinned.

“Sorry,” the mice chorused, though neither of them regretted the little break in protocol.

The audience burst into cheers, and Yakko led them in a standing ovation for a good five minutes before they all settled down enough for him to start his opening speech.

“Love you, Brain,” Pinky whispered as he put Brain down and took his hands again.

“Love you too, Pinky,” Brain replied, and he couldn’t wipe the smile off his face.

Everything was laid out before them, clear as crystal and bright as day.

End AN: This is cheesy but I don’t care I love it and they’re married now.

The Hawaiian setting is not a reference to the PatB fic Trouble in Paradise, it’s just that the last wedding I went to was in Hawaii and it was so romantic.

3rd time I’ve referenced A Whole New World in these fics. This song is just too perfect for them.

#pinky and the brain #brinky #patb fanfiction #cheesy in a good fluffy way

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writerwrites · 3 years

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Yuánfèn | 02

Ch. 2: Retrouvailles: “An overwhelming feeling of happiness caused by seeing someone after a long separation.”

Summary: When you’ve lost everything and try to run away from your problems, you keep finding a way back to the one person who completely understands. Can you make another person happy with a broken heart?

Pairing: Steve Rogers x Reader Chapter Word Count: 3.3k Chapter Warnings: Smut - 18+ Only - Minors DNI, male masturbation, one night stand mentioned but not detailed, slow burn, grief, fluff

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The first week Steve took it slow, only texting you when you texted first or if he hadn’t heard from you at all. He’d taken your advice, balancing his time between preparing the team for another altercation with the Maximoff twins and finding out as much as he could about them. It was a welcome distraction from the lack of news on his hunt for the Winter Soldier. Natasha was the only one that seemed to notice that he would periodically glance at his watch or his phone and go quiet for a moment before getting back to work. When she finally cornered him, he felt like he should have seen it coming. Arms akimbo and eyebrow quirked, she called him out with no hesitation, “You’ve got a secret.”

“Don’t we all?” Steve could immediately feel the regret in challenging her, busying himself with packing up his bag to head to his room and shower after a long morning of training. Nat didn’t hesitate to follow suit, tagging along with her own bag as she took long strides to keep up with him, even slipping into the elevator before he could. “How’s the search for the Maximoff twins going?”

Nat stood in front of the panel before he could select a floor. “Who have you been texting? Finally ask that SHIELD agent out, Sharon, or is the moping about a certain fossil?” She raised an eyebrow, her fingers tapping her arm impatiently.

Sighing, Steve reached behind her and hit the button. “Neither. I’ve just got a lot on my plate.” Before she could make another snarky comment, he asked. “Clint went home. Did you check in on him?” Though he didn’t use the tone of encouraging her to mind her own business, as he respected the effort she was putting in to build their friendship, he couldn’t help but hope she’d drop the subject.

“Yeah, I’ve checked in. Clint’s good, just like Doc said he’d be. Cho’s kind of a genius and it’s a relief to know that there’s someone that can piece us mere mortals back together when we’re out there saving the world with you.” Steve nodded as he listened, like a captain listening to a report on one of his troops, but his shoulders went ridged with her comment about Dr. Cho. She reminded him too much of Tony and not enough of Dr. Erskine. Luckily, it went unnoticed as she stepped out of the elevator with him and they walked toward their rooms.

There weren’t many memories in Steve’s life, even before the serum, where things simply went black. Taking a beating from his brainwashed best friend was one of them. Steve could picture the metal arm pulling back, the sting of pain as the bones in his face shattered over and over, and could even recall the conversation between swings, but he knew there were moments that were just blank from the concussion- especially after Bucky pulled him from the water. The fading image of him walking away, the ache of being put onto a stretcher, the gentle touch of small hands on his swollen face as the hum of medical machinery tried to pull him back to reality. It didn’t happen for days, but there were moments when he could still hear her talking to him or someone else in the room and always gave his hand three small squeezes before saying her goodbyes.

Steve had been in his head, remembering the music that woke him up and Sam waiting there for him. They’d stopped at Steve’s door, closest to the elevator, and Natasha pretended not to notice how quiet he’d been until she finally added, “Clint’s probably going to take another week before coming back to work, but we’re going out for drinks tonight. Are you thinking about coming with us this time? Might help you clear your head.”

“I’ll think about it.” It was a surprisingly genuine response. He didn’t need to get drunk to have a good time with friends and knew Sam could use the break from hunting a ghost and was itching to see Nat again. There was no doubt in Steve’s mind that if he said yes that Kristen from Statistics would be there and he wasn’t going to open that door, let alone walk through it.

“Aren’t you full of surprises today.” With a slight smirk she kept walking toward her room, calling back, “We’re heading out at eight. Take a nap old guy.”

By the time he was alone in the shower, the idea of going out with the team seemed all the more appealing. Regardless of Natasha still trying to set him up with random colleagues. He was lonely and reaching one of those breaking points of needing to find some comfort to balance out a minute sense of normalcy to his bizarre life, be it good conversation or bad sex. The water cascaded down his toned body and he brushed away the beads of dew and bubbles of soap that trailed down the lines of his muscles before reaching for himself. A part of him that was still very much stuck in the 1940’s hated this need, always feeling some level of shame in finding comfort in the palm of his hand. Typically, these moods resulted in an act of non-sexual frustration, a stress reliever that was easiest to address with his fist and a punching bag.

He told himself that he wasn’t the kind of person to think of someone in particular that way during the solitary act. When he did ‘indulge’, his thoughts had always trailed back to the singular heated kiss with Peggy Carter. But now, with one arm on the tiled wall and the other stroking his length, Steve took an uncommonly slow pace and his mind went to the little things that he’d thought about over and over throughout the week. Small warm hands on his skin, her hand in his. How small would her hands look wrapped around him? How soft would she feel? The smell of her hair and the way she clung to him in a simple hug. Did she know how warm she felt as she held on so tightly to him? Steve gripped himself more tightly, strokes still slow and steady, as he worked out the loneliness with a twist of his wrist. Thoughts passing from little moments and his own stolen glances. The sound of her little hums when she was thinking or satisfied with a solution she’d come up with, how she always bit her lip when she was in a room full of people. Then there was the way she held her breath every time she managed to make eye contact with him as his hands moved over the lace panties she'd passed him to pack. Was she always wearing something like that under her scrubs? Did she do this, think about him getting off to the thought of her in them? The thought of the doctor slipping her hand between her thighs while she wore nothing but lace, scrolling through their messages, and thinking of him finished the soldier off. A long deep groan of her name echoed in the bathroom as he made a mess of the shower wall and floor.

Steve was panting, exhausted but satisfied, as the water washed all evidence down the drain. Slowly, he started to realize what he’d done, but the familiar weight of guilt couldn’t settle in as he realized he wanted something other than a past he couldn’t have. As he dried off, Steve tried to rationalize the thought away, they’d had a nice moment between two colleagues and she was undeniably pretty. It was easy for his mind to drift there, he thought, to think about someone who was naturally beautiful and kind when they were so wholly unaware of it. As he got dressed, Steve put a pin in it, telling himself that even if there was a little spark, she needed a friend. That thought alone seemed to settle the decision to go out or not for him. He chose to drag Sam along for Nat’s sake and make the most of it all.

Sam and Nat were hitting it off well, making Steve wonder what was really going on between her and Clint. The pair of them together had been a force and, despite not feeling ready to date- especially someone as modern as Lilian-with-a-lip-piercing from Accounting, he found himself heading out with her for the night. She was chatty and outgoing, and he found some relief in her questions about his past or job. It stopped him from having to open up on a deeper level when that wasn’t what they were doing. What they were doing was rough and exhausting. She was vocal about what she wanted; hair pulled, ass spanked, fast thrusts, and a firm no kissing rule. He obliged, getting his pleasure from the sounds of her own and his name on her lips, but by the third round she was exhausted and he was left thinking about how he’d never made love to a woman.

Slipping out of Lilian’s place with less awkwardness than he’d expected, Steve checked his phone. He still hadn’t heard from you all day, and it was 2 am in New York, which meant a new morning for you in Spain. He wondered if he should’ve asked Sam for an update on Bucky at the bar, but hesitated to reach out and ask at this hour. Despite socializing and the workout he’d just had, he was too in his head to go to sleep. Spinning his keys around his finger he found himself riding his bike over to the small, quiet apartment with books and a hungry fish.

As if you knew he’d turned up in your space, he heard his text tone just as he was screwing the top back onto the fish food. “I know you said that if I needed anything, to just ask. Probably didn’t expect a text this early and I’m guessing you’re probably asleep… this is so dumb and a big ask, but…” Steve stared at the screen, eyebrows drawn together as he wondered if the smartphone had eaten a text or had some feature that shortened longer messages that he didn’t know how to open. He watched the typing bubbles pop up again and waited, taking a seat at one of the two bar stools at your kitchen counter, the other containing a pile of your neatly stacked mail from the week. “I know I didn’t think I’d get through the goodbyes alone, but I managed. Thanks for the encouragement. It's everything else that I realized I just can’t do alone. The packing… all the pictures. There’s so many memories and I can’t take everything back to my place in New York- my place is just too small.”

Steve clicked the ‘call’ icon and waited for you to pick up on the other end. He thought about his mother’s funeral and how Bucky had been there for him, told him he knew he could manage alone but didn’t have to. His stomach twisted with emotion and then the call went to voicemail.

You didn’t expect him to see your panicked messages until later in the morning. You sat there, runny nose and bleary eyed, staring at the name on your screen. Five minutes, just staring, no text response, no new call- and then he was back, a FaceTime call this time. Pulling your hood over your head so he couldn’t see how disheveled you were, wiping your face on your sleeve, you answered with your face hidden mostly between your knees where you rested your chin and the hood. “I didn’t mean to wake you up.” The apology that excluded the ‘I’m sorry’ was still very obviously an apology.

“You didn’t.” You were unconvinced, his hair was a little mussed, clothes wrinkled. He could tell that it seemed like you hadn’t fully thought through what you were going to ask of him, so he offered up a different question.“What do you have left to do in Spain? We’ve managed to stay out of trouble over here, just for you.”

The soldier tried to study your expression, noticing the glimmer in your eyes that wasn’t just from the sunrise. “I have to pack up what I want to take home. I was thinking I could get a scanner and digitize the pictures, but I don’t know how long that will take.” You let out a puffed up sigh, “I don’t think I have the heart to sell the place, but I’m so bad at taking vacations that it seems like a waste to keep it.”

“Don’t sell it. If your gut is telling you to keep it, go with your gut. There are other options, AirBnB or renting it out.” You sniffled, burying your face further in your arms and legs, leaving Steve to stare at the view behind you. “I know I’m getting a sideways view here, but it looks really beautiful.”

That managed to squeeze a small smile out of you as you nodded and turned the phone toward the balcony to give yourself a moment to wipe away the tears and snot once more. “Yeah, under any other circumstances it would be a proverbial paradise. You probably need a vacation more than me.”

“You’re probably right.” Steve laughed softly, trying to coax you out of what looked like the tail end of a lot of crying. “Send me the location, I’m curious what’s around the place.”

With a long hum you sent him your location. “Not going to send Stark tech to stalk me, are you?”

“I’m sure if Tony wanted to keep tabs on you he was already doing it.” Steve clicked on the marker and looked around the place, its stone streets and little shops. “Doesn’t look like there’s any modern shops, as cute as all these little places are. Where are you going to find what you need to scan the pictures?”

“Oh, I hadn’t thought that far ahead. Just using my phone’s camera, I guess.” You looked at him as you watched the colors reflect off his face, blues and greens that mirrored the same flecks of color in his eyes. He probably didn’t even realize how beautiful he could look just staring at a phone. You relaxed a little, having someone to talk to for the first time in a week and let out a quiet yawn. “Is 8 am too early for a nap?”

Steve laughed and your face ached as you nearly smiled again. He bit his bottom lip, tempted to tell you that it was nice to see you smiling when he knew your heart was hurting, but he could already hear how cheesy it sounded and instead, chose banter. “Is 2 am too early to still be awake?”

“Go to bed. You know the second that you all even think you know where the twins are you’ll be on a Quinjet to find them. You can’t be pulling all nighters, even if you’re a super soldier. Doctor’s orders.” You added with a small smirk.

“Even if I headed back to the Tower this very minute, I bet I’d still beat Nat back. I think she left the bar with my friend, Sam.”

You knew Sam, just a little from one brief patch up. He had the same charm Steve had, clever and driven. “Nat and Sam? Good for her. He seems like a great guy and he could keep her on her toes.” With his phone so close to his face you couldn’t help but wonder, “Wait, it’s too quiet for you to be at a bar. Steven Grant Rogers, are you FaceTiming me from the bathroom of an O.N.S.?”

A part of you wanted to laugh, the thought of Steve just sleeping with some random person from a bar. Another part of you, the one that had a hint of a crush on the sweet guy who helped you when you were desperately in need of a friend, felt a pang of jealousy. “I’m not sure what an O.N.S. is, but I’m actually at yours feeding your nameless fish and named plants. You really got to figure out a name for him before I do.”

Somehow, a smile found your face, this big hero wanting to name a fish and zipping over to your place to feed him at 2 am. “If you’re too tired to head back to the tower, you can crash at my place. It’s late, you look like you could fall asleep at any moment. The bed’s clean, towels are in the bathroom cabinet, and coffee and it’s fixings are right over the pot. I’m not fancy enough for a Keurig, sorry.”

You watched him stop scrolling, his eyes meeting yours as you rambled. He didn’t look tired, he looked disheveled but perfect, as always, but it was cute to see him try to flatten out his hair nevertheless. “You forgot about the books.”

“I thought that was a given.” You stuck your tongue out before yawning one more time. “I’m serious though, best to stay off the road if you’re tired. Besides, the bills are paid even though no one’s there to use anything. I’ll probably be gone another week.”

Steve sighed, not in some defeatist way of you being right but, to your surprise at the mention of how much longer you would be gone, “One more week…”

“Feels like I’ve been gone for months.” You looked away, eyes stinging as the weight of your reality settled on your shoulders again. There was no one left in this world to actually miss you. The truth was that despite being in this beautiful place, you couldn’t help but feel all the more hollow and alone in it. If it wasn’t for the little check ins you would’ve never managed to drag yourself through the house, to the lawyers, or out to the shops to eat. “I’m not texting you too much am I?”

“Not at all.” He replied quickly, then worried it might have been too fast. He could tell you were off somewhere else, wondering if you heard him or if it even mattered. The way you clung to him just a few feet away from where he currently sat, a tight hug now in the forefront of his mind. Before he knew what he was saying, the thought spilled out. “I wish I could give you another hug. I know it’s not easy to do this alone.”

The confession choked you up, sniffling you nodded, “I wish you were here to give me a hug too. A1 hug game, big guy.” Despite the tacked on joke, tears silently spilled from your cheeks and you were eager to get off the phone so he didn’t have to hear the incoming wave of heavy breathless weeping. “Get some sleep, Steve. I’ll keep texting signs of life.”

He nodded, eyebrows knit together with concern and curiosity, “We’ll catch up soon, darling. Goodnight.”

Steve took you up on the offer, showering and climbing into your bed somewhere around 3 am with one of the other books that had been stacked on your bedside table. He hardly comprehended a single word, replaying the conversation as he drifted into a heavy sleep, overwhelmed by the sense of happiness in just seeing your face through a screen as he was surrounded by the comforting scent of you. For the first time since seeing Bucky, he didn’t dream of his best friend falling off the train or the dance he never had.

A/N: Thank you for reading! I would love feedback from you. Do you think these two miss each other? Are they crushing or just some horny adults? We shall see, we shall see!

Also, if it wasn’t obvious: In this house we stan bisexual Cap and ship Sam x Nat over Bruce x Nat.

As my followers know I have an obscenely demanding job, but I always try my best to keep you posted on if there will be a delay in a chapter posting. This series should be posting every Sunday until it finishes. Also, while I do keep Reader vague, I’m a Latina writer and I write fics I want to read.

Divider by the amazing @firefly-graphics

I will be reblogging with tags, send an ask if you’d like to be added either to the series or to my overall tag list.

#fic: steve rogers #steve rogers smut #steve rogers x reader #steve rogers x y/n #steve rogers x you #writer: writerwrites

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silence-burns · 3 years

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Please Hate Me //part 50

Fandom: Marvel

Summary: Based on: “Imagine having a love/hate relationship with Loki.” by @thefandomimagine Who would have thought that babysitting a god could be so much fun?

Genre: slow-burn, enemies to lovers, banter, smut

Living in an apartment so full of various enchantments that you couldn't move without bumping into one certainly had its perks, but your favourite was the space enhancement that made sure the apartment could actually fit everything you wanted it to.

In their original state, both floors of the apartment weren't small on their own, but as your moving in progressed, you quickly realized that the amount of both your and Loki's belongings overran the space you'd been given.

The solution was pretty standard and required bending only a few minor laws of physics and logic.

Whoever dared venture into your apartment now would get quite the surprise in the form of rooms that felt a little too big for the kind of space indicated by the building's construction, and doors leading to places that absolutely shouldn't be able to fit so close together and yet stubbornly did. But however much you loved the whole apartment in general, you couldn't deny that your absolute favourite part of it was the giant monstrosity of a bathtub that Loki was absolutely uncompromising about.

Laying in it now, you couldn't blame him.

The passage of time was forgotten as the two of you soaked in the scented water, kept warm for what felt like hours, and might've actually been that long. If it was up to you, you would've stayed there forever and enjoyed Loki's firm, warm body, the pleasantly dimmed lights and the few bottles of whatever Loki had hidden for special occasions.

Well, the bottles weren't there originally, but as your clean up progressed and both of you started to feel like something other than a walking biological disaster, a need for celebration rose. You weren't sure how the things progressed from the first bottle to the small pile of them on the floor by the bathtub, but you found yourself straddling Loki's lap, completely drunk and unable to move despite one of your legs going completely numb.

"Remind me to never drink with you again," you mumbled into Loki's neck.

"I did."

"Then be more convincing…"

With your cheek plastered to him, you felt rather than heard Loki's chuckle. The rumble did unruly things to the contents of your stomach.

"I'm gonna puke."

"Please save the last of my dignity and at least aim away from me." Despite Loki's words, he didn't move a bit and if you didn't know him any better, you'd guess he was feeling similar sensations.

With his head leaning on the tub's edge and his eyes closed, Loki was indeed fighting against the world spinning around him. The warm embrace of your body pressed into his and the water scented with jasmine were his only anchors in the chaotic mess his head tried to sort out. Truth be told, he had forgotten the full potential of the Asgardian alcohol, and especially the type he had stored for a perfect occasion. It was like a blow to all his senses, and as much as it was fun, Loki was starting to worry about his ability to ever walk out of that bathtub again. He certainly wouldn't attempt such an insanity now, with you weighing him down, so comfortably settled on his lap that you felt like an integral part of him.

Loki tried, and failed, to convince himself it wasn't an excuse, and a pathetic one too.

"Do you think we're gonna get in trouble?" You asked, as if you knew you were on his mind.

"As petty as Odin is, I don't think he's going to execute us for stealing some alcohol…"

"I meant the stuff Thor was talking about. We kinda messed up the Moon, didn’t we?"

Loki hummed in a way that was definitely not an answer. One of his hands roamed over your exposed back, enjoying the soft curve and warm skin. The other stirred the water, making the soap bubble again and the temperature stay unchanged. Loki had to concentrate more than usual, which was partly because of the amount of alcohol consumed, and partly because his mind was slowly drifting away on soft tendrils of sleep.

"No one knows you there, and I wore my brother's face," Loki finally murmured, leaning his head back. "It'll be fine."

It, unfortunately, didn't know about those predictions, which was why It was interrupted by a certain boy's voice.

"Hey guys, are you okay?" Peter asked from the other side of the door, having let himself into the apartment. Again.

Loki groaned, even as he could feel your smile pressed to his chest.

"We're fine," he said, louder than necessary. He winced as the sound seemed to erode his skull.

"What about Barbara, though?" Peter was insistent. "She's scratching at the window from the outside… and I think she wants those pickles from the table?"

"You locked her outside?" You hissed, trying to look at Loki's completely innocent face, but the sudden movement only resulted in the world tilting to the side dangerously fast.

"I have no idea what you're talking about. I love that bird dearly." Louder, he said to the boy, "She's only allowed to eat them outside!"

"Okay!" The answer was quick and cheerful and mercifully moving away as the boy grabbed the open jar and went outside.

Loki took a deep breath. The blessed silence once again enveloped the apartment. Through the cloud pressing on his hazy thoughts, Loki considered locking the apartment altogether.

Another chilled bottle appeared in his hand, delightfully full and heavy. As much as he had tried to get drunk on Earth's alcohol, only the Asgardian kind seemed to do the job.

The drink burned his throat in precisely the manner he needed. It'd been so long since the two of you had a moment to yourself and could just relax without worrying about a thousand responsibilities. On most days, Loki enjoyed the kind of life he had somehow managed to secure himself. If he decided to be honest, Loki was still rather uncertain how it had happened.

The long, curvy, and annoyingly labyrinthine road that started on the day the Avengers had decided to put him under your wing somehow ended up leading him to where he was now. Not literally, of course - as much as he loved the grand bathtub he had insisted on, Loki had in mind something grander spiritually. A place of comfort, but without the boundaries of a physical space bound to certain conditions and limitations.

A home, but only if it could be a person.

Loki supposed it could. Even as he drank again from the bottle, mudding his thoughts further, the philosophical conclusions he came to still felt right.

Revelations such as these were worthy of sharing, lest they might be forever lost in one's memory. Loki wanted to share the wisdom granted to him by the unholy amount of Asgardian cider, but he had found you plastered to his chest, asleep. And drooling.

Loki made sure the water didn't run cold as he too decided to join you in the dreams' escape. The quiet popping of the soap bubbles and the lavender scent hanging in the air lulled him quickly into a state of complete and utter comfort…

"Brother, where are you hiding?

…from which a rather brutish, and definitely unwelcome voice dragged him away.

Loki started. The contents of a forgotten bottle escaped into the water.

As the heavy steps sounded outside of the bathroom, it was clear the apartment was being searched through again.

You swore. Loki agreed.

"I'm going to," he hiccuped, "change him into a frog."

"Barbara would devour him whole."

"Let them fight. He always prided himself to be a warrior."

Fortunately for Thor, even though he was not aware of the small mercy of the universe, Loki found himself too drunk to act on his words, despite his best attempts at conjuring the transformative spell.

But when his brother's thudding steps neared the bathroom again, with clear intent of dragging Loki out in whatever state he was, Loki was forced to make a very dire decision very quickly, or lest his quiet evening suffer a bitter end.

So Loki did what he had always done best, and spiced the world up with a tiny little trick.

You heard Thor approach the door, but you didn't have it in you to move and at least cover yourself up. The doorknob twisted and you heard it very well through the slight creak it always gave. Then you heard the door open - but it didn't.

Living in an apartment complex had its perks, and being able to hear your neighbors on occasion certainly wasn't one. Still, your gaze turned up when you heard a high-pitched scream and Thor's booming voice coming from the apartment above yours.

"He's going to kill you for that," you said.

"Given the vigor with which he was looking for me, I think he had a hefty list of reasons prepared already."

"That's fair."

As all good things have in common, they always come to a saddening end when you least expect them to. The conclusion that life was utterly unfair in its precipice was a natural one to come up with, even in the state of drunkenness.

"I think it's time for us to go," Loki sighed.

A groan escaped you when the world tilted to the side. Getting out of the bathtub while completely, embarrassingly drunk was a feat that almost resulted in one broken neck and three broken limbs, but somehow both of you managed to scramble your way out. While you searched for clothes that had an annoying habit of duplicating right in front of your eyes, Thor's roars of fury sounded clear through the many walls separating you.

You wondered if any of the neighbours would connect their unexpected guest to you.

You gave up on your search for the other sock and decided to only wear one. Trying to put it on was already hard as it was. "If you spelled all the doors in the building to lead astray, how are we getting out?"

"Don't worry," Loki hiccuped. "My brother dearest is too stupid to notice I didn't touch the windows."

You had never loved anything as much as you loved the walls in your apartment, their quiet support helping you get through the endless expanse of the living room. For reasons you elected to ignore, the swaying of the world only increased as you progressed, bumping into every single piece of furniture some idiot (most likely you the day before) had decided to put there.

"I don't think this is a good idea," you slurred when Loki opened the window, pickleless, owlless and impossibly high.

"Your intuition, my love, is right as always."

Loki managed to put his leg over the windowsill on the second try, which he deemed a great success. He also managed to get down on the other side with no life-threatening injuries, which was just as surprising.

His pride was short-lived when you tumbled down, knocking him off feet.

The few half-melted snowmen seemed to have a good laugh. The little garden was still winter-bare, and no grass cushioned the fall. Barbara, perched on top of Peter's head, hissed with obvious joy.

The boy blinked. "Are you...sneaking out?"

"No," Loki grunted in the same moment you said, "Yes."

Barbara ripped another pickle from the boy's hand. Life was short, especially after you died once, and there was only so much time she deemed worth looking at the two of you. She had far more pressing issues, like the impossibly narrow jar into which her head just wouldn't fit, and so left her reliant on the boy's nimble (and tasty) fingers.

"...are you sure?" The boy watched the two drunkards scramble to stand up.

"We're just out for a walk."

"A long one."

Glass broke upstairs, followed by raised voices and what was undeniably a string of curses.

Loki looked at you. You looked at Loki. Another Loki looked at you. Unable to choose which to make eye contact with, you squinted and the two Lokis merged together—damn you were never drinking again. There was no way all of you would sneak out in time.

Barbara ripped another pickle to shreds.

"Hey, Peter," you cooed sweetly. "Do you happen to know a quiet little place to lay low for a while, my darling?"

Peter, the darling, did.

*****

A/N: Hi! I'm sorry for no chapter last week, my university is going to kill me with that graduation paper I have to work on and reasearch and realize how little do I actually know about the subject I have to get a 70-pages long paper done. Heh.

But don't worry, this story is slowly nearing its end, and even though I have little time to work on new chapters, I'm doing my best and hope you'll enjoy them. Well, my life's pretty busy right now, and it stresses me out, so I'm not sure how regular the updates will be, but I promise, I'm not giving up on this story. I'm so happy about all the support I have received for this story, and grateful for all the comments it got! Hope you enjoyed this chapter too!

#please hate me #loki x reader #loki x you #loki imagine #Loki Laufeyson x Reader #loki laufeyson x you #loki #loki marvel #loki mcu #loki laufeyson #loki fanfiction #marvel loki #I Love Loki #marvel #loki series

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xempasuchil-love-blog · 3 years

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Hope (Harry x Uma) one-shot

Summary: Sometimes the VK’s cannot believe that true love exists. It is something so alien that it sounds like a farce, a story that parents make up to scare. Mal proclaims from the rooftops that she has found it, but her false smile is fooling no one. But when the VK’s see Harry and Uma, they can't help it. They feel hope. They do not know what it is love, no one has taught them, so they cannot name what they see between those two, they only know that it is a bit similar (and so different) to what Auradon calls love.

HOPE

10 years

Uma, daughter of Ursula; and Harry Hook are two of the most unusual children on the Isle of the Lost. The adults know it, and they try not to run into them, because the monsters know no limits. No one respects a good villain anymore these days (most are just old and pretty tired, though the evil hasn't left their dreams and bones), and if you run into the pair of bored kids, you're more than likely to end up being the target of some particularly painful joke. No, thank you very much.

A villain, on one of his good days, can put either of the two children in their place; drag Uma by the braids to her mother's shop (though it would surely end with a good handful of scratches and bites) or lead Hook's son by the ear to the docks (who gives a real hook to a ten-year-old boy, anyway?), but it happens that they are never separated. And together… together they are a true force to fear.

They ravage the isle like a tornado, robbing stores, painting walls and emptying pockets. They spend every stolen penny as innocent as they should be at their age, buying sweets and trinkets, and enjoying them on the deck of the Jolly Roger. (They always share their loot.)

The girls on the isle want to be like Uma (until Mal has a fit of envy, throws a bucket of shrimp at Uma's head and, since everyone is afraid of her mother, they decide they want to be like her), and kids envy Harry's hook.

11 years

A year has passed since the incident, and Uma has not been able to get the shrimp smell out of her braids. Every day for the past year she has gotten up earlier than everyone to earn some soap in the daily supply shipments, but even when she gets it, the smell never goes away. Uma screams and curses Mal in all her rage, because during that year in which Uma's life has taken a nosedive, Mal seems to win everything. She is considered one of the meanest girls on the isle and Maleficent has given her a bit of territory to terrorize; all Uma gets are screams from her mother, the beginning of a severe case of anemia, and the nickname Shrimpy.

But Harry is there for her, her faithful friend. He holds her when her legs buckle from exhaustion, lets her hit him when she's so mad at the smell of her hair that she wants to burn it, and threatens to hook on anyone who dares to call her Shrimpy.

Maybe Uma has gained something: a best friend.

12 years

Harry is about the perfect age to look like Peter Pan, and his sly, cheeky personality causes his father to throw him off the ship for a few months. He won't admit it, but he's scared. The only consolation he has is his hook, and suddenly a wonderful idea occurs to him. His father will want him back when he sees that he has a real hook hand, right? So, he leans over the water and waits for hours for Tick tack to show up. When the crocodile finally starts to close his mouth over his hand, Harry panics, somehow manages to get a punch at him and runs all the way down the dock towards Ursula's shop, his hand dripping with blood because anyway, the crocodile's teeth ripped a bit.

Uma yells at him more than she has ever yelled in her life, even more than with the shrimp, and she is not at all soft when heals his wound. She is beyond angry, she is so furious that she cannot see him in the eye without starting to insult him; she looks so exhausted, and Harry notices that sometimes it is hard for her to breathe, but she gives him a place in her bed (even though they fight at night over the only blanket she has) and steals some of the food from the store for him.

When his father finally lets him go back to the Jolly Roger, Harry promises himself that he will find a way to make Uma's heart beat slower, to erase the daze from her face; so, he struggles and every food he steals, if it is edible, he gives it to her. Uma giggles in his face, cheeky, but in the end, she ends up eating so hungry that it hurts Harry to watch. Still, he looks.

(He can't deny that he cares about her).

13 years.

Uma's heart beats at a normal rate, she has regained her strength and demands that Harry teach her to fight with swords. She's tired of feeling weak and small, so she runs in the morning, she trains with Harry every night, and her arms start to get muscle. Like, real muscle.

She wants to be a pirate, the sea in her blood calls her to have adventures and be free, take whatever she wants and live each day as if it were her last. Harry is not only satisfied with teaching her, he pushes her to the limit until one night she seems to forget everything and the only thing that can be heard on the beach is the thunder of metal colliding with metal, furious, and suddenly Harry is no longer giving blows but stopping them, until he realizes that his sword is lying on the ground and Uma smiles triumphantly, screams with joy and turns on the beach laughing, her arms outstretched and her braids moving in the suffocating sea breeze. Harry could only stare at her in a daze; because he suddenly notices that there is a delicate curve in her waist and her features are more delicate.

Two months later, when Harry walks into the Chip Shoppe one morning, as usual, he can't find Uma anywhere. Without daring to ask Ursula, he sneaks into the tavern and runs up the stairs to where Uma's room is. He worries that she's gotten sick again and hasn't told him, or something like that; he remembers seeing her grumpy for the past week, but what he doesn't expect is to find her curled up in her bed, scared.

"Uma? Are you okay?” Harry asks, and she looks up at him. He is her best friend, she should trust him (even when everything on the Isle is about mistrust, they like to break the rules), right?

But she seems torn between shame and fright. Harry approaches her bed, and she looks away from him as she forces the words out of her lips, even a few angry tears escape because she is not used to being afraid.

"I'm bleeding."

But no matter how hard Harry looks for a wound on her face or arms, he can't find it. So, she seems to want to die of embarrassment and it all fits into Harry's mind, because he remembers Harriet crying the first time it happened. He is relieved to know that Uma is fine, but he is still a thirteen-year-old boy, so his face turns red. He swallows his pride to place a braid behind her ear with his hook, in a gesture that pretends to be affectionate (but he does not know affection, so he does not know if he achieves it very well).

“Don't worry, it's normal. I'll go find Harriet to ask for her help and I'll come back. Right?"

Uma nods without looking him in the eye, and when Harry is about to walk out her bedroom door, he hears her say thank you. Uma has never said thank you or please, so he can't stop a smile from spreading across his face.

That year, no one attends her birthday party (The Sinister Thirteen) because Mal has decided to have her birthday party on the same day. Harry and Gil, Gaston's youngest son, take her to steal some alcohol and get drunk for the first time in their lives.

Uma doesn't want to know why alcohol makes her want to be closer to Harry or what is this strange feeling in her belly that she can only name as needing. She never says anything about it, anyway.

14 years

Harry is upset. He has had to listen to several guys say how hot Uma is, how much they want to kiss her face and that her waist is so provocative. He has been wanting to break faces all week, but he can't do anything, because he reminds himself that he lives on the Isle and that any little weakness he shows can be twisted in the worst way. He reminds himself that he would be putting Uma in danger, because the Isle has a motto: "if you can't have it, break it." They would break her just to amuse themselves with his anger. So, he grits his teeth, squeezes his hook until his fist turns white, and goes on his way.

There is a part of him that doesn't understand why he gets so upset. Uma is one of the most beautiful girls on the Isle, so she is more exposed. But he has heard the same comments about Harriet, Mal, and other girls. He realizes that what bothers him about that is the way they talk about her, as if she were just another girl, when Harry knows that Uma has divine heritage running through her veins.

They should have more respect for goddesses.

For what else could she be, whose laughter sounds like the tempest, whose blue-green braids are like the tide, whose voice can be as sweet as foam and as cruel as a typhoon?

The next time he says her name, he can't help it sounding like a prayer.

15 years

Sometimes Uma wishes Harry would stop flirting with everything that moves. (She's not jealous at all!) But there is something about it that irritates her. It seems like a lie, and although everyone on the isle lies, she doesn't like to see him lying to himself. She can't help but wonder why he does it if his eyes fill with pain as he smiles (and the girls swoon at his feet).

One night, Harry steals his father's alcohol, and they hide on the beach, staring at the sea and cursing Auradon (because they realize their future is having no future) and making fun of Mal and her entire gang, and Uma feels so good to be there with him that she forgets to be cautious and gets drunk.

She is tired. She hates working for her mother, she hates the Isle and she hates lies. She hates secrets. So she, emboldened by alcohol, decides to be honest with herself. She looks at Harry, who seems happy and relaxed, staring up at the sky, always trying to find the Neverland star, and she tells herself that she's sick of this shit: she accepts that she's in love with him.

Uma doesn't try to deny it. She has no patience for such nonsense.

"I want you to be mine," she tells him (it's the closest she can dare to say her feelings), and Harry is so shocked that he accidentally drops the rum bottle, spilling its contents all over the beach. She is claiming him, more or less, and Harry feels incredible satisfaction from that fact.

"I already am," he tells her, all dangerous serenity.

Uma kneels on the sand, impatient, and then sits on Harry's lap with her legs on either side of his hips. Her sense of need returns, but she finds that she feels a little sated if she rubs against him. She likes the way his lips moan and his eyes blur, for her.

Harry kisses her, his lips taste of rum and adventure, just like a pirate should. Just like she always imagined Harry would taste. Afterwards, they look for any excuse to lock themselves in closets and rooms. Lust is common on the isle, but Harry's touch is reverent, and Uma finds the most tender side of her, which is like the sea breeze and calm waves, to caress his lips.

And he does not make her his as a prize, an easy conquest, an object that is used or a simple means to satisfy his needs. When he makes her his, he makes sure Uma knows that he loves her. (He can no longer deny it).

16 years.

Harry and Uma are unusual on the isle. Sure, everyone fears Mal and her gang, so when they are sent to Auradon, basically betray the villains and forget about them, the fear easily turns to hatred and desire of revenge. Uma and her new crew take over Mal’s old territory and, although it is impossible to believe, things improve a bit, because Uma doles out the supplies and the fear that Harry instills keeps the territory, to some extent, safe. The safest thing that can be being the Isle of the Lost.

It is not a secret that Uma hates Mal, it is not a secret that she wants revenge on her. Everyone on the isle knows that now the queen of the place is not a queen part fairy, but a Pirate Queen, everyone knows that she is dangerous, deadly, and that she would not hesitate to cut a neck with her sword.

Sometimes the VK’s cannot believe that true love exists. It is something so alien that it sounds like a farce, a story that parents make up to scare. Mal proclaims from the rooftops that she has found it, but her false smile is fooling no one.

But when the VK’s see Harry and Uma, they can't help it. They feel hope. They do not know what it is love, no one has taught them, so they cannot name what they see between those two, they only know that it is a bit similar (and so different) to what Auradon calls love.

And not even the cruellest dare to break it. It is like seeing a single flower being born in the middle of a field where nothing has ever sprouted, it is like finding an oasis in a desert that stretches across the entire horizon.

Uma smiles at Harry, and he looks at her like she is the world.

Although the swords hang from their hips.

#harry hook x uma #harry hook #uma daughter of ursula #Huma #uma x harry #uma x harry hook #descendants

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snarkythewoecrow · 3 years

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Prompt time! I know you've taken prompts for more serious subjects and mental health related stuff and I've absolutely loved them. If you are comfortable to write it and it won't be triggering, would you write like a sequel to your rubber band/coping mechanism fic where Peter goes to Tony when he has an urge to hurt himself or afterwards for helping cleaning up? Either that or a fic unrelated to that one where Tony sees Peter's old self harm scars or finds out that Peter still does sh? Just something irondad that's related to that subject but only if you are okay with writing it! I completely understand if it's something you don't wanna write more off, I just thought I'd ask anyway if that's okay

Sorry it took me so long to write, but here it is!

Read on AO3

*Trigger Warning for Self-harm and Blood*

In the kitchen at the lake house, Peter sat at the center island, watching Tony thread macaroni onto yarn as Morgan painted the necklace she’d already made. Noodles were scattered everywhere, and when you walked, there was a good chance you’d hear pasta crunching underfoot.

Morgan had paint from her hands to her hair, and Tony wasn’t fairing much better. Morgan had already made them all necklaces and was working on her fifth. The one she’d made Peter was draped around his neck. She'd said the one she made him was extra special because it had wagon wheels laced between the macaroni.

Peter was on the end of the island on a stool, his textbook carefully placed to avoid the smears of paint and glue. Thankfully, after the glitter balloon incident, Pepper banned glitter from the house, so Peter didn’t need to worry about that.

All in all, he should have been happy, but he wasn’t, and he wasn’t sure why that was, either.

Things had been better in the months since Tony had found Peter on the back porch that night, since they’d talked about his self-harming, but that didn’t mean that sometimes, for a reason Peter didn’t understand, he still had bad days—like today.

Everyone in his life was healthy and happy, things were going well at school, but he still couldn’t get the itch to cut out of his mind. Some days were definitely worse than others, and he’d been building toward this bad day all week. The rubber band on his wrist was getting plenty of use.

Tony had told him that he could come to him whenever he needed but seeing Tony smiling as he played with Morgan, he knew he couldn’t. He couldn’t bring the mood down. He didn’t want to be the reason the worry lines in Tony’s face deepened.

It was already hard enough to use the rubber band with Tony nearby. He always got this look—somewhere between sadness and concern. Peter hated causing that look, so he’d done the only thing he could to avoid it. He stopped snapping the band when he was with Tony.

It was easier this way. What Tony didn’t know, couldn’t hurt him, or at least, that’s what Peter told himself.

The cloud over Peter’s head wasn’t lightening up, and he felt overwhelmed like his lungs were filling with water, and he was going under. He fingered the band on his wrist, wanting to snap it, just to feel something, but then Tony laughed, and Morgan giggled, the box of macaroni spilled, and Peter—Peter just couldn’t do it.

He closed his textbook and excused himself from the table, mumbling that he had a headache and needed to lay down. Before he made it out of the kitchen, Tony called after him, telling him dinner was in a few hours and he’d check on him then.

Peter forced a smile, ducking his head and scurrying up the stairs, leaving the sounds of Morgan’s laughter behind him.

When he got to his room, he shut the door, falling against it, still clutching his textbook. He didn’t have a headache like he’d told Tony, but he didn’t know what else to say at the time, though with the tension in his body, a headache was a real possibility soon.

He kicked off the door and walked over to his bed, pausing by the desk to drop his textbook with a thump. He collapsed on the bed, so his legs were still hanging off the side.

With Tony no longer able to witness it, Peter snapped the band on his wrist, but it brought no relief from the deep need to cut. The feeling was so consuming Peter thought he could taste it. The flavor reminded him of ash. He hated that he felt this way, but he didn’t know how to control it.

Tony had paid for therapy, and May made sure he went, but the coping skills only helped so much.

When it was like this, nothing else seemed like it could scratch the itch—not as well as a knife.

His therapist had suggested holding ice cubes when the urge got bad, but that would mean going to the kitchen, and Tony would notice. He would ask. Then worry lines would etch the man’s face, and Peter would feel even worse because he put them there.

Drawing on his arms was a nearly laughable suggestion. His therapist had suggested a red pen for effect. Peter didn’t have a red pen, and it never worked in the past. The only thing he knew that could make him feel better came with a healthy dose of guilt. He knew hurting himself would temporarily make it all melt away.

But the worst part—the part that made Peter feel like a failure—was he didn’t even know what had triggered it. Everything had been going well. Maybe he really did come back from the snap wrong.

Frustrated, angry, Peter sat up and scrubbed his hands over his face. The urge to just make a little cut or dig his nails just deep enough to break skin was all-consuming. The band on his wrist felt more like a reminder of his failures than a lifeline—a way to pull himself back.

He wanted to scream at the unfairness of it all.

Then it reached a point where it started to hurt in his chest, and he just needed something to focus it all back, to let him breathe, and without conscious thought, he started clawing at his arm. The little stabs of pain felt grounding, but it wasn’t enough. It wasn’t the fix he needed.

The crescent-shaped cuts and scratches oozed blood as Peter got up and went looking for a knife, for something to cut with. He’d given his utility knife to Tony, but he thought they both knew that wouldn’t stop him, not when he felt like this.

A small part of him thought he should call out to Tony, but then he remembered how happy they’d looked, and he didn’t want to spoil that. He’d deal with this on his own.

He slipped out of his room, listening to make sure no one was close, then darted to the bathroom. His chances of finding something to cut with seemed higher in a bathroom.

When he got to the bathroom, he started rifling through the cabinet but not finding much. He came across spare toothbrushes and travel-size shampoos and soaps, but nothing sharp. He looked under the sink, knowing there should be a first aid kit, and where there was a first aid kit, there might be scissors.

He found his prize with a shaky sigh. Setting the scissors on the counter, Peter stuffed the kit back under the sink, pocketed the scissors, and headed back to his room.

When he got to the hall, he heard Tony talking, telling Morgan something about a spaghetti monster. It made guilt twist in his gut, settling there and starting to fester.

He ran back to his room as quickly as he dared, then shut his door, locking it for good measure.

The feeling that washed over him as he took the scissors from his pocket was one part relief, one part anticipation, and the rest self-loathing. He knew he wasn’t just letting himself down. He was letting those who cared about him down, too.

That didn’t stop him from sitting in the desk chair, putting the blade to his arm, and cutting, though.

It happened so easily, and when he did it, he put all those bad feelings into it, turning the negative emotions and guilt into something manageable, something he could do something about. Physical pain made sense. It had a cause, a source, a purpose. And the blood that welled up from the cut made sense, too. It all made sense in a way his emotions didn’t, and he needed it.

The one cut wasn’t enough, though. It had been hesitant and not that deep. The bleeding was already stopping.

Peter felt like the world was muted and focused down to the blade and his arm. He pressed the metal harder against his skin and dragged it until he reached the underside of his arm. It bled much more freely, and Peter felt almost high from it.

Wanting to see more, needing the cause and effect of it, he cut again just below the second, pressing even harder. The skin split neatly under the blade.

He was just about to make another when the door handle jiggled, followed by a knock.

“Pete?” Tony’s voice drifted through the door. “Why’s the door locked?”

Peter’s high came crashing down, and reality wasn’t gentle. It hit suddenly how stupid he’d been. It was like realization hit him all at once. One thing had so easily turned into another. And Peter had taken each step without truly acknowledging the direction he was heading. And the place it brought him wasn’t great. He was locked in his room with a bleeding arm, having used Tony’s scissors, and ignored every chance he’d had to reach out for help. Tony had only been a shout away.

His body felt like it had locked up as the emotions swirled within him. He dropped the scissors on the floor, clattering against the wood, and he looked down at his arm, really seeing the damage for the first time outside of the warped lens of need.

It was bad. It was really bad. He might not need stitches, but it would be close, and the blood was everywhere. There were droplets on his jeans and on the floor, rivulets running down his arm.

He didn’t know what to do or what to say. His voice had been stolen by the grief he was feeling. He wasn’t just mourning himself. He was mourning the loss of trust he knew he’d just caused. He wasn’t ready to face the music.

The door handle jiggled again, and there was another round of knocking, even louder. “Peter, open the door.”

His heart kept hitting his ribs so hard he thought it would bruise.

He didn’t want to lie, but he didn’t know how to tell the truth. He hated himself for not just telling Tony how he’d been feeling. With more clarity than before, he realized now that Tony would probably have been proud.

He wouldn’t be proud now.

He would be sad or angry or worse—disappointed.

If Peter were honest, he was pretty disappointed in himself, enough for the both of them, enough for the world. He felt like a failure.

He didn’t want to be a liar, though, but he didn’t know what to do, so he called out to Tony, “Just a minute.”

He grabbed some tissues from his desk and tried to dab some of the blood up, but it just smeared it around, making his arm look like part of a crime scene. He’d really done it this time. Once Tony saw, there would be no going back. He’d see how broken Peter was and not want him anymore. No one wanted to deal with this, no matter how much they said they cared.

Tears started to well in his eyes, frowning so hard his face hurt. He kept a tissue pressed to the deepest cut and stood. He looked to the window, considering escaping the only way he could. He knew it wasn’t an option, though, and would only make things worse.

Accepting his fate, his body and mind feeling weighted, Peter shuffled to the door and unlocked it. He stepped back so it could swing open, closing his eyes and waiting for Tony to realize.

There were footsteps and Tony saying, “You know you’re not supposed to lock the door.”

Then Peter heard it. The air sucking into Tony’s lungs.

Peter’s shoulders fell, and the tears in his eyes broke free, rolling down his cheeks.

“Jesus Christ.” Then a hand grabbed his arm, and Peter opened his eyes, his eyelashes clumped together by tears. The devastation was clear on Tony’s face.

“I’m sorry,” Peter said. The apology wasn’t nearly enough, though. Nothing really would be. There weren’t words for times like these.

Tony’s expression was pinched. He shook his head, letting out a breath, then saying, “I’m not mad.”

And Peter wondered who he was trying to convince.

Peter nodded, his face twisting into some ugly and raw. “I don’t know what happened. I know I shouldn’t have—I didn’t mean it. You gotta believe me.”

Tony’s expression softened, and when he swallowed, it looked painful. “We can talk about it later. Let’s get you cleaned up first.”

Then he was guiding Peter to his bed, sitting him down. He grabbed some extra tissues and pressed them to the wounds.

“Hold those there. Keep pressure. I’ll go get the first aid kit.” Then Tony’s foot hit the scissors, and he looked down, his head shaking a little. He bent down and picked the scissors up. Licking his lips, he said, “Will you be okay for a second?”

Peter wasn’t sure he’d ever be okay again, but he nodded anyway, not trusting his voice.

With a nod, Tony turned and dipped out of the room. Thankfully, or maybe not, he was back before Peter could think too much about what he’d done.

Tony pulled the chair closer and sat, the first aid kit on the desk. He dug out the supplies he needed and lined them up, opening the packets of gauze. Then he lifted Peter’s hand and the tissues from the cuts, assessing the damage. The bleeding had stopped.

No one said anything, and Peter wasn’t sure if that was better or worse.

With methodical movements, Tony cleaned the cuts, and a few times, Peter thought Tony had been close to saying something, but each time, he’d just shaken his head and gone back to tending his wounds.

As Tony taped the gauze in place, he finally asked, “Was there something I could have done? Something I didn’t do? I just—” He cut himself off with a sigh, then straightened. “You know you can come to me, right?”

Peter couldn’t meet Tony’s gaze, so he stared at his shoulder. “You seemed so happy today. I didn’t want to spoil it. You and Morgan—” He shook his head. “I didn’t want to ruin the mood. Sometimes it feels like that’s all I do, you know?”

Tony sighed, scrubbing a hand over his mouth. “I know you think—let’s just say I’d rather you told me than finding you like this. I know I’m not an expert, but I could’ve helped distract you if I’d known. It might not have been easy, but I want the chance to help you—no matter what mood you think you’re ruining.”

Peter nodded, the tears back in his eyes. He felt all-encompassing guilt for what he’d done. “I don’t know what to do—how to fix this.”

“We take it one step at a time. Relapses happen, and when they do happen, it doesn’t make you a failure.” He squeezed Peter’s knee. “Recovery isn’t linear. It might feel like it’s all over, and you can’t fix it, but it’s really just a little bump in the road, a little hitch in the graph. The line is still moving forward and up.”

He wanted to believe Tony, but it was hard. He didn’t feel like he deserved the kind of understanding Tony gave him. He felt sick for what he’d done, and it would be so much easier if Tony were angry. He could deal with that.

His arms wound themselves around his middle without his consent as he tried to hold himself together. The cuts on his arms barely stung any more, which he was thankful for. The pain wasn’t a good feeling now. It didn’t settle him like it had. Instead, it reminded him how badly he’d screwed up.

“Oh, kiddo,” Tony said as he got up and moved to sit beside Peter. Then his arm wrapped around Peter’s shoulders and tugged him closer.

Peter sank into his side, his breath hitching as he fought a sob.

Tony pressed his lips to Peter’s hair, his breath warm against his scalp. “We’re gonna get through this. Just you watch.”

Then Peter broke, and it was an ugly sound. He choked on the sobs as they erupted from him, tears dripping from his chin, snot clogging his nose. His shoulders shook as he fell apart, or maybe not really, as Tony was doing a pretty good job of holding him together.

And wasn’t that the meat of it.

Because Peter realized amidst the tears that no matter what, Tony and the others in his life, they weren’t giving up on him—no matter how badly he screwed things up.

Tony held him until he could breathe again, then he cleaned himself up and changed out of the bloody jeans, and he and Tony went to finish making dinner. Morgan was at the table with Pepper, both wearing macaroni necklaces and big smiles.

If either of them noticed the bandages, they didn’t say a word, and when Tony patted his shoulder and told him to grab a chair, it felt something like forgiveness or understanding.

Things weren’t always great, and the line of the graph might hitch, but Peter could see that it was still moving up, still moving forward, and he thought that just might mean he’d be okay.

#tw: self harm #irondad #peter parker #tony stark #depression #snark writes #LittleMissAgrafina

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arysthaeniru · 3 years

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aAAA the joy of seeing an update on your current favorite fanfic is just aAAA

I always felt that kiwami 1s Nishiki was just a bit too,, I dont know how to describe it; but essentially he just felt off, granted yakuza 1 is a product of its time and therefore the plot is a bit dated and whack as all hell

The way you write Nishiki just feels so much better and realistic; in the original he just seems so uncaring towards Kiryu? which just feels kinda OOC? You'd think he still cares about Kiryu despite it all, especially when you take Yakuza 0 into consideration; and i feel like you portray Nishiki much more accurately

I never thought much about Yumi, because honestly, in the original she was kinda just, there? You actually made her a very interesting person! like I'm actually invested in her in your story! (side note you ever think about her clone who got tortued and died? yeah who WAS that???? thats never brought up is it??)

Theres so much more to talk about but in short; This is the best fix it/rewrite of a game plot I have read to date and it brings me joy in my current stressful school life. and no I will not stop praising it or the author, because this work has made me very happy. ;)

I just have a gift for picking favorites that end up dying,,aand another favorite of mine is Mine

imo theres a lack of soft, reassuring Minedai, i just feel like he'd need a reminder that people love him as a person and not just for the money he can provide, even if its obvious

I'd love to see how you'd write them, but I understand if theres more interesting/appealing drabble requests!

- Carp

CARP, thank you for this <3 this is so sweet!!!!! I’m so happy you enjoy my Nishiki! I had fun playing with what Yakuza 0/the Kiwami additions gave us about Nishiki’s personality and outlook on the world, and trying to reconcile that with the plot that Yakuza 1 initially had. Ultimately, I fell on the side that you did: even if Nishiki’s ambition took him down a monstrous path, I don’t think he’s the sort of person who neglects to pay back his debts. And he’s aware of the huge debt he owes Kiryu. Not to mention, their bonds of trust and love vanishing completely because of jealousy felt unreal to me. Their relationship becoming twisted or strange? Yes, but vanishing entirely felt unsatsifying to me.

And Yumi!! I had so much fun excavating her character from the clues we get of her in canon. I worry sometimes, that she’s unrecognizable, because you know, I’ve given her a college education, and a whole bunch of interests beyond hostessing alone, but people seem to like it and like her, which is great!! I hate fridging women characters, so keeping her and Reina alive was important to me, hahaha. (RE: fake!Mizuki, there’s this substory in Kiwami that actually addresses who she was, BUT IT’S EVEN MORE HORRIFYING. So that’s why Yumi in my fic is the one captured and tortured by Nishiki’s men, because the thought of this poor innocent woman getting dragged into the mess was just untenable to me.)

Anyway, thank you for your support and kind words, and I hope you’ll continue to read and that my fic can continue to relieve stress. I--tried to write this about Mine, but Daigo kind of stole the spotlight a little??? I hope you still like it--if not, I will try a ficlet from Mine’s perspective too. I enjoy minedai a lot, but I haven’t had room to think out their dynamic yet, so this took me a while.

Daigo’s no stranger to being desired. He’s attractive, he knows this—his mother’s beauty lives in his veins, and he’s always had the money to look after himself. Fancy soaps to wash his face, the invisible retainers to keep his teeth straight, fancy suits and skin-tight shirts to show off his frame. For all that Kiryu insists his charisma is something that comes from the soul, Daigo knows it wouldn’t be able to draw the sort of attention he does without being attractive.

Which is to say that Daigo’s not especially thrown off by the intensity of Mine’s gaze. It’s happened before, and it’ll happen again. The thing that surprises him is how much he relishes in being seen by Mine.

Maybe it’s because Mine’s an island in a stormy sea, one of the only yakuza his age who’s sensible and level-headed enough to make it big. Maybe it’s because Mine’s gaze is always so reserved, polite, never overly lusty or overstaying its welcome, and Daigo has so rarely been desired so quietly. Or maybe it’s because Majima and Kashiwagi so clearly disapprove of him—Daigo’s always been something of a rebel, and he hasn’t shaken that off, even now he’s in his thirties and is the arbiter of rules for the Tojo Clan.

Daigo can’t quite put a pin on why he’s so comfortable with Mine’s yearning looks, but he’s never been one to hold back when he wants to indulge in something good. Not exactly a hedonist, not by yakuza standards, but Daigo has never kept himself from enjoying life, in the name of some dubious ‘honour.’

Which is why, in an after-hours meeting with Mine, as they eat cheap takeout sushi together, Daigo takes his chance. A momentary slip, the slightest hint of wasabi left at the corners of Mine’s lips and Daigo swoops in, rubs a thumb over the corner of Mine’s lips. Mine stutters to a stop, mid-sentence through a rundown of the real-estate that the Hakuho Clan’s been purchasing up, and stares at Daigo, eyes bewildered.

“Sixth Chairman?” he asks, his voice still remarkably composed.

“Wasabi.” Daigo says, nonchalantly, as if it’s nothing, and sticks his thumb into his mouth, slowly licking it off with a lingering lave of his tongue. He feels a sharp stab of satisfaction as Mine’s eyes turn darker, and his gaze follows Daigo’s hand down.

Daigo straightens up, languidly, and cracks his neck, casually. At this point in the day, he’s untucked his shirt, and he knows that a slight strip of his stomach will be visible when he stretches out his arms towards the ceiling. And as predictably as clockwork, Mine’s gaze darts downwards, to that pale expanse, to catch that brief second of skin. Daigo can’t help but feel warm. Something about being watched by Mine is exhilarating.

“Smoke?” offers Daigo, but as usual, Mine refuses, with a polite shake of his head.

Daigo knows from hearsay that Mine’s something a health-freak, so he’s not entirely surprised. It’s already too late for Daigo to preserve his health—he knows that his liver’s already been pretty ruined from long nights of binge-drinking as a youth, and this job’s too stressful to withhold from vices like smoking and drinking, without an optimal end-goal. So he walks over to the window, cracks it open a little, and lights up.

The breath of nicotine curls over his body, a tender caress, and Daigo feels his shoulders drop, as the relaxation hits. He pulls off his cufflinks, tosses them into his pockets and rolls up his sleeves. He takes it slow, runs his fingers over his skin a little more than strictly necessary. Surreptitiously checking the reflection in the window, Daigo watches Mine watch him, and smirks at how intense that gaze is, how Mine’s mouth has opened, and Daigo can just see the soft pink of his tongue.

“Dojima’s just fine, you know. When it’s just us two.” Daigo says, turning over his shoulder. He smiles, one of those charming smiles that had always gotten him whatever he wanted as a child, “We’re same-aged friends, after all.”

“Dojima-san.” Mine acknowledges, after a brief pause.

Daigo turns around, to properly look at Mine and lifts an eyebrow. “Dojima. Or Daigo, preferably. Dojima-san’s always my father in my head.”

Mine nods, face impassive. Daigo can’t read him like this. Maybe that’s why he likes when Mine stares at him, filled with longing. At least then, Daigo feels like he knows him. In moments like these, his implacable gazes might as well be a brick wall. “Right. Your Father was also in the Tojo Clan.”

Daigo smiles, wryly, and blows out a puff of smoke. “One of the most horrible men I’ve ever had the misfortune of meeting—and I had to call him Father. But damn if he wasn’t good at the job.” He sighs and stubs the cigarette out against the ashtray. “...sometimes feel like I’m competing with his dead spirit. Everybody’s looking at me and wondering if this is what my Father would do. Or what Kiryu-san would do.”

“You’re doing better than any of them.” Mine says, immediately, with a vicious ferocity that Daigo wasn’t expecting. He can’t quite stop his eyebrows rising in surprise, and Mine straightens upwards, looking self-conscious immediately. Daigo regrets his instinctual reaction, immediately. “That is to say, Dojima, that I think that you’ve pulled this Clan into somewhere far more respectable. From what I’ve heard of your Father, he didn’t have the temperament to do proper business on this level—too insistent on formal obeisance and unable to be flexible as the times require. And Kiryu-san might be very honourable, but we are yakuza. There are certain things you have to do as a Chairman, that he couldn’t bring himself to do. But you are practical and do what is necessary, while also not overstepping into excessive violence. You are uniquely suited for this job, Dojima.”

...he’s taken aback a little, he can’t deny it. Daigo wonders if his cheeks are colouring, wonders if his obvious shock is offputting, wonders if this is how Mine feels every time Daigo teases him lightly about his obvious attraction. A startling warmth spreads through his chest, and Daigo can’t stop the slight smile that touches his face. Has anybody ever said something so unreservedly kind and measured about Daigo before?

Maybe this is the difference between everybody else’s gazes on him, and Mine’s gaze. It’s based on something more than desire alone. Respect.

Daigo runs a hand over his slicked-back hair and ruffles it free, with a rueful smile, a smile that he couldn’t take away from his face, even if he tried. “I appreciate that. You know I couldn’t do it without you, right?”

He’d never really believed himself capable of attraction to a man like Mine. All of his previous childhood crushes had been on bright, cheerful conversational, pure-hearted people. Daigo had always figured they would balance out his sardonic cynicism. He’d never thought someone as reserved and principled as Mine would ever make his heart flutter. But then, there was something about that deep hunger and passion that Daigo craved. Perhaps it was because he was no longer the gloomy punk of his youth. Maybe his tastes have changed towards tall, dark and handsome. Maybe Mine’s just that special.

“Dojima—” Mine says, clearly trying to refute it, but Daigo cuts him off.

“I mean it. Everybody in this fucking Clan wants me to do something or be somebody else. Kashiwagi-san wants me to be my mother. Majima-san wants me to be Kiryu-san. Everybody else expects my Father. But not you. You deal with me honestly, and with candour, and never hold any expectations against me except success. I appreciate your faith in me.” Daigo takes a couple of steps forward, until his shoes almost brush up against Mine’s own. He leans down over Mine’s chair. “I could not do this without your backing and help. Truly. I don’t think I’ve ever had someone like you in my life. A true friend.”

Mine tilts his chin up to meet Daigo’s gaze, a hungry devotion in his eyes, and Daigo, for a moment, wonders if this is wrong. If he should hold back, like Kiryu would. But Daigo is Daigo, and Mine clearly wants him anyway, so he leans down and kisses him.

Mine’s mouth is velvety smooth and wet and hot and it is oh-so satisfying a feeling to put his hand against Mine’s broad neck and feel his warmth up against Daigo. He pulls back, with a satisfied sigh, and feels the burn of wasabi across his lips, a final parting kick.

#minedai #mine yoshitaka #dojima daigo #spiraling downhill fic tag #yakuza #rgg

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green-and-grey-kenaz · 3 years

Text

I Sleep with the Dirt by Fire Glow

Language: English

Chapter 1: Please pull me from the dark

Characters in Chapter: Regulus Black, Sirius Black, Remus Lupin (Briefly), Albus Dumbledore (Briefly)

Chapter Summary:

Regulus is returned to life after his body has been kept in stasis as an inferius. It takes some getting used to, being alive again. Sirius meanwhile is dealing with having to look after a somewhat wild brother and not being able to adopt Harry, like he promised.

Word Count: c. 5 900

Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/34049455/chapters/84695911

It was strange. Bright. Pain. Noise. Smells. Thoughts. Feels. Sights.

Food.

He lunged, grabbing the prey which shrieked, only getting shriller as teeth tore into it. He pulled his head back and tasted sweet iron. Something grabbed him, forced his jaw open. He snarled. He was hungry and this was his food. He had rightfully caught it.

There was more noise and he turned, glowering. He hated the noises that they made at him. He had a sense that once it might have meant something but now they were empty sounds. It was infuriating.

The one he did not want to eat was there. That one was skinny. Bones. Bones weren’t food. He could crunch them to get food, but the skinny one was still not food. He did not know when the concept of food had come. But the desire to kill the warm moving ones had become a painful urge to fix an emptiness within. Hunger. Skinny was not that though. There was more to the bony one. That was why it was not food.

The other one was tempting but it could stop him. He had tried.

It always knew. It was always prepared.

They made noises to each other as food was placed into his hand. It wasn’t fresh but he tore at it, snarling at anyone who got too close. Too soon, food was gone and he licked his fingers. They were tasty.

Bony was there, hand on his arm. He snarled and Bony flinched but made noises at him. Soft sounds that soothed and promised safety. Bony took something damp and pressed it against his face, rubbed it over his fingers. He liked the damp and wet. It was like a home in that dark, wet cave. The bony one continued to make the noises and gently shifted his limbs. It was a more comfortable position. The old one came and muttered words. He tried to shift and get at it but Bony was being gentle with him and captured his attention once more.

He did not know what he was doing here. He had known, back at the cave. Or perhaps it had not been a knowing – it was more like a state of being. There had been no knowing, just guarding. Devour any that touched the water. Wait. Constant waiting. Protect.

A part of him had something different. A part had been sleeping, almost too deep for dreams but that part had been more alive. There had been the vaguest sense of a series of sounds that had defined it. Memories that had created it.

He could not remember the memories now. They were like the fish that sometimes made their way to his deep waters and were devoured by their many hungry mouths. Flashing, briefly there and so powerfully sating. Then gone. The Bony one perhaps came from there. It came from somewhere deep within. That was why he didn’t eat it.

Bony looked at him, it gave an expression. The lips curled slightly at the ends and it helped him to lie down and pulled the soft warmth over him. It took his head and held it until boredom closed his eyes.

_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_- _-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_

“No, Regulus.” Sirius said firmly as his brother held the raw, half eaten chicken breast in his hand, teeth bared and showing the remnants of his midnight snack.

This was not what Sirius needed. He didn’t need Regulus back. He ran his hand through his hair, guilt sparking in his stomach at that thought. No, he did need Regulus back. Just not with the caveat that he would have to fight off the magic that had kept his body frozen as a minion for Voldemort. Because that was a lot to deal with when you were fresh out of Azkaban. As was knowing that if it hadn’t been for Regulus’ soul somehow taking root deep inside him, if Dumbledore hadn't realised that… well his brother's body would still be in that cave. Dead and violated, twisted by Dark Magic. The thought was sickening.

Yet it was because of Regulus that he had been told he couldn’t take Harry into his home. Harry Potter, James’ son. Sirius' very own Godson, who he had sworn an oath to protect. A boy who was criminally neglected by his supposed guardians. Sirius had waited all this time to get Harry back in his life. He had told the boy he could move in with him. It wasn't fair that he had to look after a kid who should be grown and able to take care of himself.

Sirius resented Regulus for that. He resented that a lot when Regulus had never shown him any love or care back when they had lived together. It had always been ‘why can’t you just behave?’, ‘why must you hurt mother so?’, ‘can’t you just get it into your thick skull that we are better than everyone else and that it is our duty to rule?’. Well, Regulus didn’t look much better than anyone else with his half-eaten chicken breast clutched in one hand.

“Put it down. You’re going to be sick enough as it is.” Probably. Apparently inferii had pretty tough guts because Regulus had taken to eating a whole host of raw things (the healer had not been impressed to find that out). Unfortunately for his brother, the closer he got back to being counted amongst the living, the more raw meat did not agree with him.

Regulus shifted the chicken breast closer to his mouth, staring a challenge down at Sirius.

“No.” Sirius growled and Regulus froze. In that second, Sirius took the time to consider the situation. The pantry had been charmed closed. If Regulus had opened it, that had to mean he was getting his magic back which would not be ideal because Sirius didn’t need a magic wielding, zombie brother. He groaned, running a hand down his face and Regulus quickly took a bite of the chicken.

“Regulus!” Sirius roared and his brother jumped, dropping the chicken breast and quick as a flash, made for the door. Sirius swore and lunged after him, wrapping the smaller body and pinning his arms while his hands went to wrap around Regulus’ wrists. He might be skinny after his time in Azkaban but Regulus was still only seventeen (he’d be eighteen if counting the days – he died days before his birthday a voice whispered in his head) and apparently hadn’t been taking care of himself in the lead up to his death. He’d been all skin and bones when they dragged him out and the inferius voracious appetite was not doing much to put weight back on his frame.

The tiny body squirmed in his grasp, twisting his head and sinking his teeth into Sirius’ dressing gown.

“Stop that, Regulus.” Sirius was softer this time, trying to be more reassuring now the chicken was gone. While most people seemed fair game for eating, Sirius had yet to be bitten. Oh, Regulus threatened to and Sirius did not trust himself to sleep without a heavily warded door, but he’d had no more than panicked bites that stopped short of bruising his skin. He pulled Regulus over to a sink and with some effort managed to get warm water running. Forcing Regulus’ hands under, he glanced around for the soap as his brother started to relax.

“See, nothing wrong, Reggie.” He said soothingly, rubbing the lavender scented soap against his brother’s pale skin. He got a cloth to clean Regulus’ face likewise. His brother squirmed but did not resist.

“Just cleaning you up. You know, if you get hungry, you can come to me. Just knock on the door. I’ll make you something.” He told Regulus this every time but he had little way to tell if it went in. His brother made a noise though and leaned into him.

“Right, all cleaned up now. Not much point eating until you’ve got this out your system.” He said, turning Regulus and giving him a once over. He didn’t let Regulus wear anything with long sleeves, unless attended which just made his arms look like skinny sticks but it made moments like this easier. It didn’t look like Regulus had gotten anything on him.

“Kreacher!” Sirius called.

The House Elf appeared. Sirius knew he lived in a cupboard in the kitchen and he found it ever so infuriating that he didn’t help keep Regulus from eating raw meats. Unfortunately, Kreacher was rather dedicated to ‘the young master’, even if that meant letting him eat things he shouldn’t.

“Clean up the mess and then bring the sick basin into the Parlour. I’m staying up with Regulus until we know if this is going to pass through or not. And next time stop letting him eat raw meat.”

Regulus growled at Sirius for his tone, dark eyes narrowing and Sirius groaned.

“Please.” He added, trying to make his tone sweet because he could do with Regulus not waking up mother’s portrait, which was what he would do if in a strop. She only got agitated seeing Regulus in such a state and it didn’t help that Sirius was there either.

“Kreacher lives to serve the Noble House of Black.” The House Elf grovelled, bowing low and Sirius bit back his retort and instead said through gritted teeth.

“Thank you. Kreacher.”

Regulus seemed to accept that as genuine because he smiled and let himself be guided out with minimum fuss. In fact, he looked rather over the moon to be taken into the Parlour where he took his customary seat as Sirius set the fire up and carefully made sure to place the fire protector so Regulus wouldn’t accidentally get too close.

Warmth was something that Regulus seemed drawn to. He loved the fire, he loved the sun, he loved being wrapped in warm hugs when before he’d always been hesitant about touch. It felt like someone else walking about in his brother’s skin. It was not a comfortable thought but Dumbledore insisted that Regulus would come back to his senses. They had to treat this like a flu that his body was fighting off.

His brother was curled up, small limbs all folded in close, and Sirius pulled a blanket over him. Regulus jumped and snarled before realising it was him and calming back down.

“Fire.” He said, giving a nod towards the flames.

“Yes, Reg, fire.” Sirius confirmed, sighing and settling down next to his brother, carding his hand through his hair. Regulus made a small humming noise which Sirius knew to mean he was pleased with himself. Speaking was… a challenge and at times, it could be especially frustrating. Some days, Regulus could manage to string together a sentence and others would be solely animalistic snarls.

Kreacher came in and placed the sick basin down. Regulus smiled at him and Sirius let his brother do whatever it was he did with Kreacher. There was no denying that there was something protective within Regulus when it came to Kreacher and Sirius wondered whether something had happened to Kreacher before Regulus had died. The old House Elf would let Regulus check him over with agitated hands before pulling him in tight for quite a while.

No one knew quiet what had happened and Kreacher was not elaborating. The only information that legimency had been able to glean from Regulus’ soul attached onto Sirius was where he had died. Snape, and Sirius still shivered to think on that, had impressed on them that whatever had happened, it was more important to Regulus than merely the place he had died. It was the one thing that bound him to this earthly plane and even in death, he kept shielded with occlumency.

Dumbledore had uncovered some things. They’d seen that unearthly green glow across the water of the cave and after he’d brought Regulus’ bound and writhing corpse… After Snape had helped coax Regulus’ soul back into it… Dumbledore had returned.

Sirius still remembered that note that Dumbledore had placed into his hand. Regulus’ curved and delicate hand writing. That would have been his last words on this earth. It had been chilling.

Voldemort had created a Horcrux and Regulus had intended to die destroying it. It was clear that he had found it but no one knew where the original was. Snape had confessed that although he and Regulus had shared a friendship, he had had no word about this from Regulus. Kreacher feigned ignorance and Sirius knew that was the case because he had caught Kreacher hurting himself after saying he knew nothing.

He had ordered Kreacher to tell him because he knew that Kreacher knew but that was the closest Regulus had come to hurting him. His brother had flown in, snarling rage, with clawing hands and hadn’t calmed for a week.

Sirius sighed and stared at Regulus, who was lying, eyes half closed as Kreacher now comforted him, singing him songs in Kreacher’s own language. Regulus didn’t sleep. Not since they’d brought him back. At most he dozed. Sometimes by the fire, more often when someone cradled him in warm sunlight. Sirius figured that Regulus felt he had been sleeping enough with fifteen years of being dead. That he might fear that his sleep would bring that again. Certainly rest seemed to bring out the inferius in him. Always a step back from whatever improvement he had built up.

Harry would be easier.

Harry deserved the love that Regulus was given. Dumbledore visited once a week to chat with Regulus – a kid who could barely speak at the moment. Even Snape visited, although he kept these visits to once a month due to the fact that strife seemed to upset Regulus, otherwise he would no doubt be a more frequent visitor. Remus, Merlin knew how, tolerated Regulus. The first few times, Regulus had gone for Remus’ throat and had to be stunned. Remus brought bribes of chocolate frogs and still, Regulus would sit between them once he had finished chasing his meal.

One day he had told Sirius ‘ ‘trayed you. Left you.’. Sirius had tried to explain that he had betrayed Remus, that it was him that hadn’t trusted. But Regulus had touched his chest and said one word. Hurt.

Regulus could tell that no matter what had happened, Sirius had felt betrayed by Remus. That one of his childhood friends had not fought for his freedom… it stung and it didn’t matter how irrational that was because to Regulus, it was real and if he didn’t sit there, protecting Sirius, Remus might hurt him.

Merlin, this was messed up.

“Bad.” Regulus said, stiffening, and Sirius grabbed the basin, handing it over to Regulus who retched into the bowl as Sirius rubbed his back in what he hoped were soothing circles. Kreacher vanished the sick between breaks in his brother’s throwing up.

“There you go. Better out. It’s OK.” He said, using his other hand to pull Regulus’ hair out of his face.

Harry wouldn’t eat raw meat and then need a guardian to look out for him. Sirius winced as Regulus threw up again, sounding rather painful as he shuddered, fingers clawing at the ceramic. At the very least Regulus might exhaust himself and doze. That would be nice. Some peace and not having to rely on paintings waking him up whenever Regulus decided to go on his walks.

Sirius yawned and Regulus paused from his heaving, looking up with dark, pain filled eyes.

They were his brother’s eyes. His little brother, who had died alone in a cave to try and bring down Voldemort. Regulus. The soft little idiot who thought he’d take on the world alone because he had no one else to turn to. Sirius hadn’t been there for him.

Regulus doubled over again and moaned in pain and Sirius returned to rubbing his head. Yes, he resented his brother for a lot of things. It had been a long time since Regulus had brought him joy but every time he looked into those eyes, he saw a kid he’d failed. Someone he should have been there for. Perhaps, the guilt would give way to love at some point.

_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_- _-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_

Regulus snarled at the man who came in through the door. Sirius grabbed him and pulled him away, placing an arm out to stop him getting at the man.

“No, it’s alright Sirius. You said he had a turn last night. It’s fine.” The man… the wolf… said, reaching into his pockets with slow movements. He pulled something out, fiddling with it and suddenly Regulus found his focus forced to something moving fast. He dashed after it and it jumped away. Another pounce and he had it wrapped in his hands, feeling his prey wiggling, trying to get out. A quick crush and he broke it. Opening his hands, Regulus started to pick at its brown, sweet flesh, crushing it between his teeth. It was good. Tasty. Bits fell to the floor and he cleaned up those traces as well.

Good. He’d killed it.

Feeling more content with this, Regulus wandered through the house, trying to recall what had happened before. He had chased his prey but something important had happened before that. What was it?

Voices.

Ah, the wolf.

Regulus dashed to the warm room where the fire was merrily burning and Sirius sat with the wolf, his brother lounging across the sofa and the wolf, the betrayer of his brother, sat on a chair.

“Sirius said you’ve started to collect the cards.” The wolf said, looking up as he entered and stalked to sit in front of his brother. Sirius may have forgotten but Regulus remembered the pain his brother had felt when the wolf hadn’t saved him from whatever had happened. It would only be a matter of time before it happened again.

Regulus looked at the offered card but did not take it. Sirius shifted forward, plucked the card from the wolf’s hand and placed it in Regulus’ own, wrapping his fingers around it.

“You’ve been wanting this one, remember?” He said and Regulus stared at the picture.

“S… Slyth… Slytherin. Salazar.” He managed to get the words out, forcing his mouth and tongue to roll around the foreign sounds. There was a vague sense that this had once been easy, like breathing. He had a concept of breathing now. He remembered realising that he breathed.

“Yep! Rarer than the other Founders because no one wants him.” Sirius said, in a jolly tone. Regulus stared at it. He knew this one mattered to him. He knew that some days he could remember why he mattered. Grey eyes shifted to look up at the wolf.

“Trick.” He said.

“I watched him take the card out, it’s not a trick Reg.” Sirius said, rubbing his head. Regulus growled and glared at the two. He had no idea how the wolf could just waltz in and make Sirius forget the pain that he had caused.

“Regulus.” That was the stern voice. He barred his teeth at the tone then flinched as Sirius went to grab him.

“Sirius, it’s okay.” The wolf said hastily, producing another box.

“No, if he can’t play nice he shouldn’t get nice things.” Sirius said. The wolf hesitated with his bribes. Regulus hated that they talked about him as if he wasn’t here. He could understand them, their noises made his mind know. It was just hard to remember how to make the noises back.

“Sirius, you said other than the relapse, he’s doing better.” The wolf said before looking at him.

“Would you like another chocolate frog, Regulus?” He asked and his tone was nice. It was always nice and Regulus did not trust that. He did, however, like the frogs. He eyed the box up and licked his lips, thinking on how good its flesh would be.

“Please.”

The wolf hands over the frog, his prize, and Regulus clutched the box tight in his hands. It is his now and it feels good to own things. The desire to consume now falls away and he leaned against the sofa, staring. Sirius went back to talking but the words wash over him. There’s something unsettled in him, a poking feeling that makes his limbs feel restless. Something he should be doing.

Regulus gets up and follows the feeling.

It takes him to his room. There is a draw there with lines. He traces them. Line with three with three lines. Two hills. A curve and circle. Emergency. It is scrawled in a very slow and deliberate attempt to be neat.

He pulls the draw open and inside are boxes, unopened. A collection of frogs. Because sometimes he could plan for the future. That maybe one day he’d want a frog when he wasn’t being given one. That they were useful. Regulus placed the box inside with the rest, then on second thought he shifts it down to the bottom. Older ones on top. Cycle through.

He closes the draw and looks at the top of his desk.

On there sits a hairbrush, with a symbol engraved into its handle. Regulus traced the symbol.

It was a gift, from mother. His initials made into one image. He’d been ten when gifted it. The handle had been big in his hands and he knew its worth. Grabbing it, Regulus brought the brush through his hair, wincing as it tugged at knots. Sometimes Sirius held him down and ran a comb through his black hair. Sirius would try to be gentle. Regulus did not.

His scalp stung but his hair was fixed.

Investigating his desk, Regulus next found a vial. It smelt of woods on hot summer days. The smell pulled memories of walks with friends like Barty or Severus. It was comforting. A pot held a cream, near dried out but which moistened as his fingers touched it. Regulus sniffed his fingers. It was a gentle hint of night blooming jasmine. He’d chosen it because of that. One summer, they had stayed in Southern France and each evening meal had been punctuated by that smell. It reminded him of family and love. He rubbed the cream against his face, a familiar gesture. His fingers found their own and rubbed it into his skin which softened.

The smells of the wood went on the neck and wrists. He remembered that now.

A tub full of powdered silver used the brush to add flakes to his skin so he looked otherworldly and more than the peasants around him.

There was a ribbon. He used it to tie his hair back into a ponytail, leaving just enough loose to frame his face. That took too many goes until it was satisfactory but what stared out at him was a face that he might remember.

Regulus glanced down at his clothes. Attire.

Sirius dressed him in robes that cut off above his elbows, short at the legs and with a split. He knew his movement could be erratic. It was the outfit of a child.

His wardrobe was empty of suitable garb.

Regulus went into the room next to his. Sirius’. The one his brother did not sleep in but was so painfully his. Sometimes Regulus understood why it hurt. Mostly, though, he couldn’t remember. There, in the draws were proper robes. Long, rich and flowing. They smelt of mothballs and dust but it was still a better alternative. He pulled the robes on and they came up short. It made no sense because Sirius was taller than him. Older than him.

But it was more presentable.

Regulus made his way downstairs and back to the parlour. He breezed in and took a seat near the fire. It hurt to sit up straight. His body did not seem to like it but Regulus knew it was proper and expected of him. He didn’t know who expected it.

“Hey Reggie.” Sirius smiled.

“Siri.” He said with a nod. Even that took too much effort. How had this once been so easy?

“You look good.” Wolf smiled.

“Are… are those my old robes?”

Regulus glanced away.

“I hadn’t realised that old hag had kept them.”

“M.” Regulus glared at Sirius. “Mother.”

Sirius raised an eyebrow.

“Love.” Regulus said firmly.

“She never felt an ounce of love for us, Reg.” Sirius said, laughing callously. Regulus felt his muscles twitch.

“Sirius.” Wolf cautioned, leaning forwards and placing a hand on the arm of Sirius’ chair.

“What? It’s the truth.”

“You said they kept the room the same as you’ve left it.” Wolf said softly.

“Probably never noticed I left.” Sirius scoffed.

“Or they were waiting for you to come home.” Wolf pointed out gently.

“Fat chance.”

“Did.” Regulus said.

Sirius turned his attention back to him.

“Did they come by the Potters to collect me? Turn up at the Express to pick me up? Ever write me a letter? No, Reg, they didn’t. No one did.”

Regulus pulled his legs in closer, feeling eyes water but he couldn’t be weak. Not in front of the wolf.

“Time. Needed time. Then back.” He whispered. That’s what he’d been told. His brother would come back, he just needed space to realise that he still loved them, that nothing was as important as family. Days became weeks, weeks became months. He just needed more time. He’d come back, see his room kept just as it had been when he had left and would realise that they loved him.

“Sirius-” The wolf said, reaching for Regulus’ brother but he pushed the man’s hands away.

“No! They didn’t care!” Sirius said, his voice shaking and Regulus realised he had zoned out for some of the conversation between the two. He also remembered that the wolf was called Remus.

“I’m not saying that the way they treated you was okay, Sirius. It was wrong and it was good that you got out of it when you did because it was destroying you. But that doesn’t mean they didn’t care. That’s what makes it harder.”

“No one could love their child and put them through that. They didn’t love me. They couldn’t have.”

“I did.” Regulus said softly. Sirius glanced up and ran a hand down his face.

“You didn’t put me through anything, Reg. You were the only thing that made home bearable.” It was a comforting lie and Regulus shook his head.

“I was with mother and father.” He said, his words slow as each rolled around his mouth. “I did not help you.”

“That’s because you were soft enough to believe our parents. You were soft.” Sirius said. Regulus shook his head and stared at his arm.

“I joined.” He pointed out.

“Because they forced you.” Sirius insisted.

“I thought ‘twas right.” Regulus said quietly.

“They brainwashed you.”

Regulus shrugged. Sirius wasn’t convinced but at least he wasn’t fighting.

“I didn’t help you.” He repeated.

_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_- _-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_

Sirius stared at the cold, blank eyes staring up at him.

“James… Lily.” He whispered, hands trembling as they reached forwards, hesitant to cradle the corpses of his friends. As he reached out, he realised his hands were uncomfortably warm. Glancing down, he saw them dripping red. His friends’ skin tore open, pouring blood. He had done this. He was drowning in their blood and the world around him got dark. His heart quickened as a cold touch grabbed his heart and tightened. Slimy hands wrapped around his throat, his legs, his arms. A rattling death gasp and he was falling deeper and deeper.

Sirius screamed, starting awake, thrashing underneath duvet covers as his door banged as if it were about to be smashed in.

He swore and grabbed his wand, unlocking the door and Regulus flew in, snarling at the darkness in the corners of his room and hovering protectively over him.

Sirius’ heart was pounding and his body trembling and he did not have time for Regulus not being OK. He did not want a snarling brother trying to bite his nightmares.

“Reggie, it’s okay. Just a nightmare. Nothing’s attacking me.” Sirius gasped out, trying to place a hand on his brother’s arm to try and comfort him. He did not need a jumpy inferius. Regulus jumped, then glanced around.

“Dream?” He asked. His voice sounded young, uncertain of how to pronounce different words.

“Bad dream.” Sirius confirmed, rubbing Regulus’ arm. His brother calmed down a lot faster than he did and then dashed off to do Merlin knew what. Probably whatever inferii did when everyone else was supposed to be sleeping.

Sirius fell back against the bed. He could feel tears pricking at his eyes but Blacks did not cry. Not the women, not the children, not the men. But if a Black cried and no one was there to see, did they really cry?

Sirius covered his eyes and drew in a shaky breath. He was fine. The dementors weren’t here. It was Peter who had killed James and Lily. Dumbledore had gotten him a pardon for that. The world now knew he was innocent. He would never get sent back th-

Something dropped on his stomach and Sirius let out a blood curdling scream, flinging his arm away from his face to stare up into the shocked face of Regulus.

“Wha?” He asked, glancing down, terrified to find out what Regulus might consider an appropriate midnight gift.

It was a chocolate frog.

Still in its wrapping.

Regulus nudged it towards Sirius with a hesitant smile.

“Thanks.” Sirius said softly. Regulus openly grinned back and dashed over to a chair, watching him. Sirius sighed and took the offered gift, opening it up and carefully grabbing the frog before it could jump. He saw Regulus start, ready to hunt, but control the urge. Remus always said chocolate was the best cure for dementors. It was sweet and creamy and thawed out some part of his chest.

“You saved this?” Sirius asked in sudden realisation. Regulus frowned then gave a nod.

“I can’t kill the nightmares.” He said in his slow and carefully thought out way. “Chocolate might. I think I read it once.”

“Yeah. It does.” Sirius gave a small smile. This was progress. Maybe soon they could have Harry here safely.

“What dream?” Regulus asked, words slipping in perhaps an excitement at being able to keep a conversation going.

Sirius shook his head. He was not going back there. Not at all.

“I can’t… Were you asleep?” He decided, trying to turn the conversation to something he might manage. Regulus frowned and Sirius noticed the dark shadows under his eyes. He hadn’t realised before. They must have slowly built up as Regulus’ body became more and more alive. The frown had made his eyes look sunken in and not too unlike the face Sirius still saw in the mirror.

“Can’t.” Regulus agreed and he went to sit on Sirius’ bed, head hanging down.

“Hey, it’s OK. No one expects you to get back to normal immediately.” Sirius said softly, shifting to pull his brother into a hug. Regulus fell against him. Warm. Alive. Sirius could feel his heartbeat against his side. It was strong.

“Do you need food?” Sirius asked. Regulus shook his head. Well, at least that was something.

“Want you safe.”

Sirius sighed.

“Well, since neither of us are sleeping, why don’t we go into the parlour?” He suggested, throwing off the bed covers and grabbing his dressing gown and wand. On second thought, he also picked up his bottle of firewhisky that rested on his bed side table. It was depressingly low and Sirius hadn’t yet plucked up the courage to do his own shopping. There was only so often he could ask Moony to pick up booze, even when spaced out between what remained of father’s cabinet.

Maybe mother’s cabinet. She’d outlived him and Reg by years.

He hated thinking that he might be using anything she owned.

Regulus followed him on deadly silent feet. It was unnerving. Sirius always felt that Regulus was just about to pounce. They managed to get through to the parlour with no murders and Regulus took his customary place by the fire, waiting expectantly. Sirius muttered the incantation and the fire flickered to life. He took a swig of whisky and offered it to Regulus, who did likewise, coughing.

“Missed whisky.” Regulus commented as he handed the bottle back to Sirius. Sirius gave a bark of laughter.

“When did you have time to miss whisky?”

Regulus frowned and cocked his head.

“Don’t know. Last week?”

“Well, that’s a good sign that you’re becoming yourself again, Reggie. What’s a Black without a love of alcohol?”

His brother hummed and Sirius handed the bottle back to his brother who took another gulp.

“Can… Can I ask?” His voice shook and Sirius took the bottle back. He was going to need it.

“About what?”

“Mother?”

“Died five years after I was sent to prison. Guards let me know. They thought there was something hilarious about me being left this house.”

Regulus sniffed.

“Bellatrix?”

“Captured and put into Azkaban not long after they got me.”

“Narcissa?”

“Uh… you remember she married Malfoy, right? Were you around for her pregnancy? Ok, well, she’s got a baby boy. Same year as Harry.”

Regulus nodded, thoughtful.

“Evan?”

“Rosier? Dead.”

“Barty?”

“Did you know about him? That he was a Death Eater?”

Regulus went silent. Sirius sighed.

“Look, I know he was a good friend of yours at school.”

“New brother.” Regulus said softly. “I… I wanted a brother that mother would approve of. You had James.”

“Did you know?” Sirius asked again, his blood running cold. He hadn’t thought about it but the two had been close. Barty had been a years younger than Reg and practically worshipped the ground beneath his feet. Slytherin cronyism, not that the Crouch family needed it, but they were Slytherins all the way. Bartemius Senior just sucked it up to the crowds and the ministry.

“I brought… Yes. I brought him into the fold.” Regulus’ voice was wobbling now.

“Merlin. Oh Reg!”

“Please tell me he’s okay.”

Regulus had been seventeen when he died and he sounded it. He’d been just a kid. Just like Barty when they dragged him into a cell. Sirius remembered the boy screaming for his mother until he went silent. He remembered thinking if Regulus had been caught before his mysterious death, that’s what he’d have been like. And when Barty had died, Sirius had wondered if Regulus would have lasted that long.

“I’m so sorry.” Sirius said, moving to wrap Regulus in a hug as his brother collapsed in on himself. A sudden ringing filled the air and Sirius just had time to cast a quick shielding charm as glass smashed around them. Regulus was crying openly and Sirius shifted his brother to rest against his shoulder.

“’S my fault.” Regulus whispered as Sirius wrapped his arm around his brother and used the other to wave his wand and restore the room.

“No, you aren’t responsible for others, Reg.” He whispered softly as he held his brother as he fell apart and they tried to put each other back together.

#fanfic #Harry Potter #regulus black #Sirius Black #Inferius Regulus

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poepoe-thebunny · 3 years

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Rudy/Tony and Fam during Quarantine

Cause this is where my life is at, apparently. I thought I escaped the “quarantine fever writing” that everyone else got. Apparently I was wrong.

After another visit to the castle, the Thompson’s end up there in quarantine once miss rona hits the world. Thank god for WI-FI and working remotely, even if his parents look vaguely like zombies due to time zone differences. Tony can’t talk, his online schooling schedule is all sorts of weird and he’s pretty sure his teacher just wants to sleep until the whole thing is over. Honestly Tony can’t say he blames her.

The Sackville-bagg clan, as it turns out, is a surprisingly overprotective bunch when they need to be, especially now that they have accepted their humans into the fold. Even with catching up on modern medicine and germ theory, they won’t allow anything to happen to their precious humans.

(AU/headcanons incoming??

Rudy/Tony:

- Think Rudy was protective before? Think again.

- Rudy is over 300 years old, he’s old by human standards and he has met people who are old by vampire standards. He’s seen Things(TM) ok?

- He has been through more than one plague in his life. He has seen what it can do to the sick and the poor. He knows it’s a different now, that life-saving machines exist, that they’re working on a vaccine, that soap is widely available.

- But he also knows it’s not.

- Tony? Not going anywhere as far as he is concerned. Say hello to your prince, Rapunzel, cause Rudy is keeping Tony up in that tower if it kills him (again).

- He knows where all of Tony’s masks are, and where he puts the extras.

- He’ even shops online for masks with Tony, finding cool hand-sewn, gothic looking ones for Rudy himself to wear. He’s not sure if Corona even effects vampires, but Tony likes finding stuff to match his “aesthetic’ and it keeps his mortal happy.

- He waits on his mortal hand and foot in between videogames and watching Netflix. (Tony likes How to Train Your Dragon and Paranorman, Rudy likes The Little Prince and Kubo and the Two Strings.).

- Rudy’s first introduction to Tumblr is through Tony, and at one point they reach the Plague Doctor Aesthetics. While Rudy hasn’t spent much time in Italy, he doesn’t think they’re very accurate, and complains as such to his mortal.

- Rudy is surprisingly easily offended about historically inaccurate things, and it sends Tony into laughing fits.

- Rudy is Bad At Memes. Like, just in general he doesn’t always get them, and when Corona Memes become a thing he’s just constantly confused. Poor Rudy honestly.

- Tries to learn to cook healthy human food, except he hasn’t had any major kitchen experience in 200-odd years and it comes out as a disaster the first few times he tries it.

- It turns into a teaching session between him and the other adult humans, turns out the old couple who owns the castle like to feed people. Rudy walks into Tony’s room with a tray piled so high Tony can’t see his head.

-Always offering to fly around the castle to get things for Tony, even if he isn’t sick.

- TikTok dances. Tony shows him, then teaches him. Rudy is shockingly good at them, but Gregory thinks he’s cringy.

Gregory:

(Not me flexing my love of the good big brother trope, absolutely not, nope)

- Surprisingly rather take charge about the whole thing, he’s come around to the Thompson’s and the old couple.

- While his parents help when they can, they sort of take a step back, and let the three siblings explain what’s happening in the world to the clan (if they are there). Being the oldest, Gregory sort of defaults to being the leader.

-Checks in with the Thompson’s, as well as Otto and Emma (The old couple who run the place.) Asks if they need anything while they work/are in school etc.

- Warns the clan to be very careful when visiting, not just for the Thompson’s, but also because Otto and Emma are getting on in years and could become sick very easily. Always asks for a heads up before a family visit.

- Won’t tell anyone but, late at night if he’s not busy, he’ll do things around the castle for the humans, especially upkeep for Otto and Emma, while they sleep.

- Dusting hard to reach spots like chandeliers, organizing books in the old castle library, moving heavy furniture and stuff since he can fly.

-Low key drags Rudy and Anna into helping him clean

(”But Gregory, this is our home now too! I’m sure they don’t mind.”

“Humans are fragile, and they’re letting us stay here out of kindness, so don’t be rude. Clean up after yourself little brother.”

“He’s right you know.”

“Of course I am. And don’t think you’re getting out of cleaning the rafters Anna, and stop leaving your books everywhere for them to pick up.”

‘hmph.” )

- Of the vampires he’s lowkey the best at cooking human food. Tony, Rudy, and Anna just walk into the kitchen at night and Fredrick is just watching his eldest, genuinely amused, as he dances around the kitchen in a “Kill the Cook (Too late, I’m already dead)” apron, blasting out dad rock from the stereo.

-Bonds with the Thompsons over cooking human food, especially Tony’s dad after he teaches Gregory what an “air guitar” move is.

-Gregory discovers pinterest food aesthetics, and is a machine of baking, mixing, and decorating sweet candies/cakes/brownies. He wants his food to look pretty dang it.

- Anna and Rudy just watch, silently judging him.

Anna:

- She’s just thriving tbh.

- She has internet access now, and her brothers have never been more terrified.

-If Gregory is the vampire equivalent of a pinterest mommy, Anna is the vampire equivalent of creepy diy aesthetic tiktokers.

-Not like, bloody horror diy, but like, the subtly creepy but still sweet kind, like the Addams family or Coraline.

- She learned needle arts with her mom, so she’s out here sewing Coraline dolls, or patchwork dresses a la Nightmare Before Christmas cause she CAN.

-Makes her own handbag with those felt cartoonish vampire faces and big fake bat ears on the side.

-Learns more modern patterns and stuff, but will make masks for the humans as gifts, cause she doesn’t want them to get sick.

- After watching Coraline together, she made “Other Me” dolls of her brothers, button eyes included, and stuck them in their coffins. She would make them “move’ by flying them around to different rooms when her brothers weren’t looking, just to freak them out.

- Spoiler alert: it worked. They ran to Tony for help and she laughed over it for days.

- Anna loves adventure books to Rudy’s poetry and Gregory’s fables/folk tales. She hates being excluded from her brothers “adventures”.

-Tony introduces her to comics and video games and she just lives her best life.

-One of her favorite comic book character is Cassandra Cain/Blackbat/The Orphan.

- She loves books like Matilda, The Chronicles of Narnia, and The Giver, as well as games like the Lara Croft/Tomb Raider series.

-VICIOUS at video games, this girl has no mercy, she will blue shell you so hard.

The Adults:

-Life is Hard(TM) right now, but the Thompson’s try to make the best of it. They’re very grateful to Otto and Emma for letting them stay.

-They’re both working remotely, so they’re a little messed up sleep schedule wise. But that’s ok, their vampire friends don’t seem to mind.

- Freda teaches Dottie how to make proper tea, cause she likes it and Dottie is sort of addicted to caffeine. Dottie teaches Freda how to make mochas and smoothies, Dottie likes mango-pineapple smoothies and Freda likes hot white chocolate mochas with cinnamon.

-Surprisingly, Frederick and Bob become pretty good friends. Frederick understands the stress of having to care for your family in very uncertain times, and the two men bond over unsure parental decisions.

-Bob is also surprisingly good at making Frederick loosen up, much to Freda and Dottie’s amusement. While initially awkward, they have a surprisingly snarky and sarcastic sort of friendship. Frederick deadpans insults at him and Bob cheerfully annoys him into Being Nice For Once while being completely aware of the fact that he’s annoying Frederick.

-Meals where Bob cooks often consists of him singing oldies into his spatula, making bad impression of certain singers, including Elvis and Cher. He is occasionally joined by Tony and Gregory, making the entire family laugh.

- Anna’s bones may be old, but she can hand sew like a goddess, and has occasionally taken to fixing up the kids’ torn clothes, as Dottie can barely keep straight lines and Freda prefers knitting.

- Someone (read: Freda) mentions that Frederick can play the cello, and after a rousing performance, it turns out that Otto can play an accordion, and of course Bob can play the guitar. A jam session occurs as the kids just stare in utter bewilderment.

- Tony’s grandparents were kinda hippies, so Bob and Dottie know a lot of oldies and folk songs, which while different than from what they normally hear, Otto and Anna connect too. They swap songs back and forth, and it turns out Dottie can do a mean Loretta lynn impression.

- Dottie likes the Beach Boys, and teaches the others how to Twist. As in, the dance, and Freda actually likes it quite a bit.

#the little vampire 3d #the little vampire #TLV #rudolf sackville-bagg #gregory sackville-bagg #anna sackville bagg #tony thompson #quarantine #is fever writing a thing???#I think it is #This is fever writing #Forgive me fandom for I have sinned

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renniecirque · 4 years

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More Rennie HCs!!!

how do they listen to their music? ipod, mp3, computer, cd, records, etc? Records, his phone, sometimes his school laptop

do they take baths or showers? do they prefer one over the other? Bath! Rennie is old fashioned and loves taking a soak in a warm tub filled with herbs and calming scents. It’s not uncommon to find him fast asleep in the tub after a long day.

do they wear their hair down when they sleep, or tied up / braided? Down. Though during the summer he clips his bangs up out of his face!

how many blankets / pillows do they like to have on their bed? 2 blankets! One thin one and another that is minky/soft. Rennie is the king of pillows; he has 4. 3 to lay on, one to hold.

what do they normally dream about? nightmares or nonsense? Dreams are strange for Rennie as they aren’t quite nightmares but they can leave him unsettled. He often replays the past in his sleep.

do they wake up groggy or alert? do they like mornings? Groggy as heck. You’d think he was a different person with how silent and dragging his body-like he is if he has an early morning class. Some say it looks like someone dragged him across the field and left him there with how he looks in the morning. Not at all.

what do they sleep in? pj’s, normal clothes, nothing? A cardigan over his old night gown. He also wears night shorts under it. Though he also now has a matching lounge pj set with his friend.

what do they smell like? do they use perfume or cologne? Rennie either smells like coffee or fresh pine/floral scents. He uses sprays whenever he feels like it but doesn’t make a habit of it.

what shampoo scent do they like the best and why? Lavender! Anything that reminds him of his home in the forest. Plus it has soothing attributes.

bar soap or liquid? do they like loofahs? Bar! He’s quite fond of homemade oatmeal soap. Eh he’s indifferent.

do they prefer sleeping alone or with someone else? Sleeping with someone else. Back at his home, he used to share a bed with his brother and now currently with his sister in the small cottage. It just feels safe to him.

do they like the room cold or hot when they sleep? Cold. Layers are easier to deal with than sweating.

do they stay up too late? do they like staying up? Very much so. Rennie is a big night owl and likes to stay up until dusk before heading to bed. Sadly school makes that more difficult.

do they know how to drive? do they like to drive? NO WAY DFKGKDJ Rennie is used to using brooms or carriage if needed!

do they prefer taxis / buses / subways, etc? or none of the above? N/A. The valley doesn’t really have things like that.

do they have pets? what kind? dogs, cats, etc? No pets. Though Rennie is quite familiar with the animals that lurk near his home.

do they prefer cats or dogs? or neither? Neither.

what are their phobias? do they have any at all? Lightning, war, abandonment issues.

what do they hate being teased about? are they teased often? Their loud voice, getting too excited over things and not knowing when to tone it down- not often thankfully.

did they have any fears growing up that they’ve since conquered? Rennie had a fear of how weak humans were when playing went horribly wrong- ultimately adding fuel to an already tense war and causing them to flee their home. I wouldn’t say it was a full conquered fear just… Rennie copes with it better than he used to. Though not in the most friendly way.

do they have a fear they want to conquer, but haven’t yet? Abandonment issues. Since his brother left, Rennie realized just how quiet the family home is without the one who stood up for him all of this time.

how do they show fear? sweating, shaking, blankness, anger, etc? Biting his lip, twisting his hair, can range from fight to flight depending on the severity. Laughing especially.

do they have a short temper? what’s most likely to set it off? Not terribly short. Setting him off usually involves underestimating him or blocking his way for long periods of time. He also doesn’t stand for weak people getting bullied by fraud mages who think they’re hot shit just because they’re in the brawn dorm.

do they get scared easily? does loud noises, shouting, etc, scare them? Not super easily- though sudden crashes can make him jump. Yelling does put him on edge, especially if it is directed towards him.

what are they most passionate about? what could they debate about for hours? Rennie is very passionate about learning anything and everything about magic! It’s his goal to become a well-rounded magician his mother and father could be proud of. He is also very passionate with his work making clothes for his sister and goods to sell back home. Definitely the history of magic and it’s influence across the world. How each country lives in very different ways involving magic.

what do they never, ever want to speak of, ever? The incident where he hurt a human child on accident. Where his brother risked it all to protect him, even if it meant getting hurt himself on top of severe punishment from the school. How he dropped his birth name because there is terrible magic in knowing one’s true name. He didn’t wish to be controlled by the past anymore.

do they have kids? do they want kids? if so, how many? No kids, he’s a kid himself. Rennie wouldn’t be Against having a family though it’s hard to gauge. Maybe 1-2 kids??? He does like family.

is there something they’d like to change about themselves physically? Not really… though he wouldn’t complain about being a little taller.

is there something about their personality they want to change? The trickster side of himself he shows for sure. While it can be fun at times, he often uses it as a shield to hide his real feelings.

do they have good fashion sense? or do they just wear whatever? Generally Rennie wears whatever is comfortable, though he has an appreciation for certain styles. He at least tries to look presentable.

do they critique others easily? do they judge from afar? To a degree, yes. Though it is more from afar and only within his mind. He only lays light jabs to people and prefers to keep snide comments to himself. No sense picking unnecessary battles.

are they too hard on themselves over the little things? Eh not really! Rennie has a very carefree approach to much of his school life, only getting serious when it comes to his own courses and if others are trying to push him/his friends around. He only gets upset when he fails something he knows he can pull off.

are they the jealous type? what are they most likely to be jealous of? Not very jealous, no. If anything, he’s more envious and resigned to the fact that there are some fae who can live and exist among humans without worry. He’s envious some can survive the strife within the Valley with little issue.

are they possessive over their things? or over other people? Both? Definitely more over people. Those Rennie welcomes into his life are like family and he is not going to let people hurt those he cares about. Not being seen as a dangerous monster by others is all Rennie hoped for.

would they rather be alone or in a relationship? While Rennie feels safer being with other people, I still think he’d rather be alone. I don’t think Rennie would trust someone so openly with his heart as a Fae. Plus relationships with non-fae lead to an endless cycle of heartache.

what do they think about polyamorous relationships? would they do it? They never considered it but nothing is off the table???

do they have parents / parental figures? do they have a good relationship with them? Rennie has his mother and father! For the most part it is very positive. A strict yet loving household, Rennie’s father expects his children to upkeep the family tradition and talent with magic and good schooling. While Rennie’s mother simply wishes for her children to grow well-rounded and respectful. The change in their lifestyle really showed her what really is important and that’s family above influence.

do they have siblings? if so, how many? do they like them? Rennie has an older brother and his baby sister! He’s the middle baby! Rennie loves his siblings more than anything, especially having a close bond with his brother Brier. Brier tries to distance himself from Rennie now not in a mean way but as a- I’ve protected you for so long and I want you to live and survive on your own way. He can’t always be there, so he needs Rennie to be able to protect and live for himself.

do they have a big family or a small family? no family? A decently big family of 5!

where would they want to live if they could live anywhere? Why? Anywhere outside of the Valley. While Rennie’s home is comforting, the memories of The Valley of Thorns are very raw still and being in a place always on the edge of war exhausts him greatly. Humans and Fae never mix, no matter how hard they try to reconcile the kingdoms.

are they happy in their current living situation? why or why not? Honestly? No. The small hut feels welcoming and warm but Rennie feels he’d feel much better being in another country. Being at NRC for semesters gives him that escape from the reality.

do they like living alone or with another person / other people? Other people for sure!

did they go to college, or are they attending? did / do they like it? Not yet.

what’s their dream job / profession? do they have one? Rennie would love to be a teacher for incantations and potions.

if they could control one thing in the world, what would it be? I have no idea kdfjkdfj maybe how people get along? He’d never want wars again.

do they like tv shows or movies? or neither? Rennie doesn’t mind movies, though he really only watches them at school with friends.

do they have social media? do they like it or hate it? obsess over it? Rennie has a Magicame however, he barely knows how to use it.

do they have a creative outlet? if so, what is it? Sewing!!! Rennie loves making clothes and blankets in his free time.

where do they see themselves in 2 / 5 / 10 years? 2 years he hopes to be a great 3rd year student others can look up to. In 5 years he hopes to graduate NRC like his brother and make his family proud. In 10 years he hopes to be working his dream job and training his baby sister in magic alongside his parents.

#twst #twst oc #twisted wonderland #rennie cirque #rennie lore #not art #long post #my oc

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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 5 years

Text

kiss me in the d-a-r-k .4.

tuesday

part 1 part 2 part 3

Warnings: non/dub con sex (oral)

This is dark!(dad)Steve and explicit. 18+ only.

Summary: Our reader finds herself cornered.

Note: Alright, another part. So this is a fic with an old mean/younger woman dynamic. I’ve purposely played up that trope so if you’re not a fan of that, I recommend you avoid this story (not to mention the the other warnings.) This series is just a bit of fun and not a statement on age or beauty or anything like that. It’s just a fic.

That being said, I really hope you enjoy. 💋

<3 Let me know what you think!

...

The next morning you awoke to banging. Distant but persistent. Your head was pounding. Your legs were cramped. You sat up slowly and braced yourself on the head board as you hung your feet to the floor. This was why you hated drinking. You had no control. One drink easily meant ten.

You rose and dragged yourself to the door. You creaked it open and peeked down the hall to the source of the commotion. Steve's voice carried back to you.

"Kylie, I swear. Wake up or I'm coming in." He knocked again.

You reeled as memories flashed through your head. His silver streaked blond bent over you. The warmth of his fingers on your flesh. The tickle of his tongue, the nip of his teeth. You snapped your door shut and pushed yourself against it.

You heard Kylie's door open. Her groggy voice sounded worse than you felt. "What?" You could barely hear her through the wood.

"One of your friends puked on my rover," He said. "Thought I'd allow you the pleasure of cleaning up after them...and don't forget the backyard. This isn't a fair ground."

"Ugh, Dad," She bemoaned, "Just give me a little."

"I warned you. Be smart. And here you are," He retorted, "Hungover. I'm pretty lax but this is enough. You have your friend here so maybe you should start acting like a responsible host. She is not my responsibility."

"She can take care of herself," Kylie grumbled, "It was just a bit of fun."

"I know about Taylor," He chided, "I'm not that stupid. I just hope you're being smart about that at least."

"I'm up, okay? I'll clean it all up. Can I at least have a coffee?"

"I think you can manage to drink and clean at the same time," He scoffed, "I want the whole car washed, got it?"

You listened as heavy footsteps passed by your door and lumbered down the stairs. You slowly cracked your door open and Kylie's eyes were drawn by the movement. She smiled but it was more a cringe.

"Do you feel as bad as I do?" She laughed and gripped her head.

"I'll help you clean," You offered, ignoring her drunken promise to do it herself. You felt too bad for that.

"Kay," She leaned on her door frame, "I'm gonna shower first. I'll meet you down there."

"Good idea," You said, "Think I could use one."

She gave a wave and closed her door. You retreated into your room and touched your temple with a groan. You stared at the bed. You could remember a little. Mostly just the sensation. The images were blurred in your mind.

Had it really happened?

You pushed yourself away from the door and stumbled across the room. The shower was open and you reached in to twist the faucet. You cranked it but only a trickle came from the head. You shut it off and turned it back on. You adjusted the setting on the shower head but nothing change. You sighed.

You tried the sink and a similar result, even the toilet croaked and drained slowly. What the fuck?

You changed quickly into a pair of sweats and loose tee. You'd be cleaning anyways. You stepped into the hall. Kylie must be enjoying her shower still. You were jealous. You descended the stairs slowly and the smell of coffee wafted from the kitchen. You followed it to find Steve in front of the fridge, his back to you.

"Good morning," He turned as he took out the carton of soy milk. "I made coffee...figured you'd need it." He kept the fridge open and pulled out assorted fruits, "Or I can make you a smoothie?"

You stayed quiet. He acted as if nothing had happened. Maybe it hadn't.

"My shower's broken," You rasped through your dry throat.

"Oh, I can have a look at it," He assured you, "So, did you want that smoothie? It's great for hangovers."

You stared at him. He smiled. You shrugged and coughed into your hand. "Sure."

"You girls had quite the party," He rinsed the berries and peeled a banana. "I admit, I had some wild days myself. Me and Sharon...well, she hated when I got drunk but boy was she a load when she indulged. We fought like cats and dogs." He loaded the fruit into the blender and added milk. "Fucked like rabbits after."

Your mouth fell open and he took a jar of honey from the cupboard. He drizzled just a little into the blender. He smirked as he put the lid in place and hit the button. You gripped the edge of the island as he held your gaze. He raised a brow coyly.

"Ugh," Kylie's voice jolted you as she entered. "Can you stop?"

Steve took his finger off the button. "Smoothie?" He offered her and she gulped. Her face turned green as she fought her body.

"Coffee's fine," She croaked and grabbed a mug from the cupboard as Steve opened it.

He took out two glasses and filled them. He walked around the island as he slid one across to you. "I'll finish this and have a look at that shower."

While Kylie hosed down her dad's car, you worked at gathering the plastic cups littered across the backyard. Paper plates and napkins were strewn around the bin meant for them. Why had you even bothered?

You tied up the full bag and tossed it just outside the sliding door. You folded up the table and leaned it beside the trash. You collected the used towels and took them inside. After you'd use the net to scour the pool. You found your way to the laundry room by chance and dumped the towels into the tall washer.

You found the soap in the overhead cupboard and measured out a scoop. The buttons beeped as you searched for the right setting. You were proud when the machine began to whir quietly. You stepped back with hands on hips. You still had a lot of work to do.

"Gonna have to call a plumber," You spun and almost tripped over your own feet. Steve leaned in the door frame. His body filled it easily. No escape. "I'll only mess things up worse. But there's another room. Right next to mine."

You rubbed your arm and tried not to fidget. The way he looked at you made you want to melt. The thought of sleeping on the other side of his wall stoked your nerves further. You'd rather bunk with Kylie. Besides, there were at least several other rooms.

"It's alright, I can use Kylie's shower," You offered.

"I wouldn't hear of it. I want you comfortable." He neared and his hand slowly closed the door behind him. "Happy."

"Steve," You backed up as he came closer. He didn't stop until you were against the vibrating washer.

"Didn't I make you happy?" His fingers walked along your thigh. "It sure sounded like it."

"Stop," You caught his hand. He turned it easily and twined his fingers in yours. He pressed himself flush against you. Your could feel his arousal.

"I'm better with my mouth," His voice was low. "How far have you gone? Have you even been touched down there before?" He licked his lips, "Before me?"

You glanced away in shame. He knew. He could tell so easily. You wondered how many women he had fucked? Maybe just his wife. That would hint at a sudden mid-life crisis that had him chasing you. Or maybe he had fucked dozens of women and you were just another piece of meat.

"No one," You whispered. "Can I please...go?"

"You're more than free to leave," He rubbed his erection against you before he raised his hands and backed away. "I've already moved your stuff for you."

You edged away from the washer and kept your eyes on him. He merely turned to watch you go as he lowered his arms. He grabbed his crotch as you opened the door and you dove out into the hall. You felt the same tingle as the night before. The ripple just along your thighs. It was wrong. So wrong.

When you had finally returned the yard to its usual perfection, you retreated to Kylie's room. She needed a quiet night in and you weren't complaining. Youtube videos, gossip, and the occasional but comfortable lull. It reminded you of the nights you'd spent studying on campus. This was the Kylie you knew.

By eleven, she was out. She hadn't really recovered from her hangover and your own was still a stone at the base of your skull. Her snores were low at first but grew louder. You thought of staying in her room but you'd sleep less as she rumbled like a bear. You turned off her television and tucked her in. At least one of you would be well-rested.

You pulled her door shut gently. You listened to the house. An airy silence met you. You looked down the hall to Steve's door. No light shone from the space beneath. You sighed. He was probably already asleep. Hopefully.

You tiptoed down the hall, careful not to knock the standing vase or step on the single loose floorboard. When you reached your door, you grabbed the handle and slowly pressed the lever it. A gasp escaped you as it was pulled open from the other side.

"Got your bed all made up for you," Steve caught your arm and yanked you inside. You squeaked as the door shut swiftly. "Found some fresh sheets at last."

"What are you doing?" You tried to wriggle free of his grasp but he was strong.

"It's my house, I like to make sure all my guests are comfortable," He played with the sleeve of your shirt. "You and Kylie sounded like you were having fun."

"Get out," You grabbed his wrist but he didn't budge.

"You can deny me but you can't deny yourself. The little looks you send me say it all." He slid his hand up and brought both to cradle your face. "You want it as bad as I do."

You trembled. You felt the pluck within. The tugging deep inside. It wasn't him, it was merely longing. The desire for something you'd never known. "No…" You breathed.

"Why are you shaking? Tell me," He urged. "I know it's not fear. Not of me. Only of yourself. Of the way I way you feel."

You tried to shake your head. You reached up and grasped his hands.

"Fuck, I've been hard all day." He groaned, "Longer."

"I-I-I--" You stuttered dumbly.

"Come on, sweetie, I just wanna make you feel good," He purred, "Help you enjoy your vacation. You've only got a few days left."

He guided you back and you let him. Was it fear? Was it desire? You weren't quite sure. He turned you carefully and edged you to the bed. Your legs hit the side and you struggled to stay on your feet.

"Just relax, sweetie," He cooed and his hands went to your shoulders. He pushed until you sat down.

He got to his knees between your legs and his fingers crawled down to your chest. He groped you through the thin cotton of your tee. Your bra did little to hide your hard nipples.

"You really are beautiful," He said, "Really."

You gripped the duvet. Your nerves buzzed and you shivered as his hands slid down your stomach. He kneaded your thighs and you grabbed his hands. "I don't know."

"We don't have to do everything. Not tonight," He turned his hands over and held yours. "We'll take it slow."

You looked into his eyes. You had said no already. He wouldn't accept it. And despite your protests, your resolve was slowly fading as your flesh caught fire. He let go of your hands and his large fingers went around your waist. You let him push you onto your back, your legs still over the edge.

He pushed under the hem of your tee and you closed your eyes. He tickled your stomach and ribs. Your breath caught and he cupped your tits. He squeezed them through your bra before slowly dragging his palms back down your torso.

He hooked his fingers in the elastic of your pants. He pulled them past your ass and down your legs. He moved between your knees again. His fingers grazed over your panties and you looked down as he bent his head over you. You felt his hot breath through the cotton and your leg twitched.

He grabbed your thighs and nuzzled you through your panties. He inhaled and you let out a pathetic mewl. His hand whispered along the inside of your leg and he slipped a finger beneath the crotch of your panties. He pushed the cotton aside and you felt his breath against you. You gasped.

His other hand went to your waist, almost comforting you. He slowly pressed his tongue to your lips and delved past them. He flicked it up and down and lingered on your clit. You arched your back without thinking as you leaned into him. He swept his tongue in circles around your bud and the air caught in your throat. His mouth sent a charge of electricity through you like no other.

He pulled away, just a little and looked up at you. "It feels good, doesn't it?" He purred. "It feels right."

You bit your lip as you watched him lower his head again. His blue eyes held your as he tasted you and you squirmed. He hummed in delight and closed his eyes as he lapped you up. He held aside your panties as his saliva mixed with your arousal. He lifted your leg over his shoulder and you held yourself up with your arms.

You let out a surprised cry as the flurry gather around the tip of his tongue. You recalled the hazy flashes of the night before. You gulped as the air tried to rush from your lungs all at once. Your pants grew to airy moans and your hand found its way around the back of his neck. You came into his mouth as you clung to him. Shocked by the sensation; by your reaction; that you were latched onto him so fervently.

You released him and fell back on the bed. You touched your forehead but he didn't slop. He kept on until you felt the thrill again. Your thighs closed around his head and you bit the heel of your hand. Another orgasm peaked as quickly as the last.

Slowly he sat back on his heels and you looked up at him as he pulled the crotch of your panties straight. He patted your pussy with two fingers and the fabric dampened beneath his touch. He stood, his lips glistening and his eyes smokey.

"Tomorrow," He rubbed your knee, "I'll show you even more."

You were dazed as he retreated to the door. You didn't miss the bulge in his pants or the way he rubbed it. He groaned as the door handle clicked and you listened to him leave. You rolled onto your side and felt the slickness along your thighs.

Tomorrow, the word echoed in your head. Your heart pounded. Was it excitement or fear?

tags will be added in reblog (late bc i work)

#dad!steve rogers x reader #steve rogers x reader #dark!steve rogers x reader #dark steve rogers #steve rogers #dark!steve rogers #dad!steve rogers #au #series #fic #mcu #marvel #captain america #kiss me in the d-a-r-k #miniseries #dark!verse #darkverse #dark!fic #dark fic

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wardenrainwall · 3 years

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Day 2 of Alternative NaNoWriMo Words: 3,556 Pairing: Blackwall/Inquisitor Cadash Rating: Explicit Summary: Blackwall once told Rija Cadash he wanted her in nothing but stockings and a garter. She obliges him.

Rija pressed her hand to her stomach, trying to quell the roiling she felt. “This was a mistake,” she breathed out, catching sight of her reflection in the long mirror. She was going to make an absolute fool of herself. A single candle lit the small storage closet and the dark kohl around her eyes made her look more like a raccoon than seductress.

She regretted ever opening her mouth to Josephine when they had been in Orlais. Walking past a boutique, Rija had hesitated, struck for a moment by the mannequin in the display window. Delicate lace and silken straps, Rija had recalled Blackwall’s words at the Winter Palace, his desire to fuck her while she wore nothing but silk stockings and a garter belt.

Josephine had lit up, dragged her inside, and helped her pick out the perfect outfit, promising to bring any man to his knees. At the moment, Rija had been excited, thrilled by the entire thing. But now, as she stared at her reflection, she felt foolish.

“Rija, love?” His voice called from her room, where he waited for her, sitting in a chair near the fire, a dark scarf covering his eyes. “Everything alright?” he asked and she pressed her lips into a line.

Blackwall loved her. She’d yet to figure out why, but she knew that he did. He loved her body. He told her that often. Every time he touched her, Ancestors, he practically said it every time he looked at her.

“Yeah,” her voice cracked and she cleared her throat. “Yes, just… you still have the blindfold on right?”

“I do,” he called back and she straightened her spine, set her shoulders back, and tried to find the confidence that she’d felt when she’d first tried the dark blue lacy teddy on. Drawing open the door, she peaked her head around the corner to look at Blackwall.

True to his word, he still wore the blindfold, though he had shifted in the chair. He leaned back, legs stretched out, a lazily relaxed pose. Firelight lit him from behind, casting most of his features in shadow. “Rija?” he asked, his head turning toward her at the sound of the door creaking open.

“I bought you something,” she said, padding silently across the cold wooden floorboards until she reached the edge of the plush rug. He perked up at that, sat up a bit more, leaned forward, one elbow on his knee.

“Bought me something?” he questioned, she saw his brows lift behind the bit of cloth.

Rija hummed quietly and then she reached out and took his hand in hers, felt the rasp of calloused fingers. “I did,” she told him, stepping closer. A quiet voice in the back of her mind reminding her that he adored her.

“Do I get to see my gift?” He squeezed her hand, tugged, drawing her closer.

“Not yet,” she told him. Rija took his other hand and stepped between his spread knees. “I… I feel a little bit silly,” she admitted, ducking her head down to brush her lips against his. He kissed her back, sucked her lower lip into his mouth, and gently bit down on it.

“Tell me why.”

“It seemed like a good idea at the time-”

Blackwall’s brow furrowed again. “A tattoo? A piercing?” He made a quiet rumbling sound in his throat that made heat build in her belly. “I have a few ideas of what you could get pierced.”

Heat turned her cheeks pink and she bit down on his lower lip. “Stop that. No, nothing so… long-lasting.”

Blackwall groaned. “You’re killing me, my love. Either give me a proper hint or let me see.”

“It is something I got while in Orlais,” she told him then brought his hands closer and rested them on her hips. His fingers flexed, squeezed, rubbed against the delicate lace. Blackwall’s head cocked to the side, slid up, slowly, stopping just below Rija’s breasts. Her breath caught in her throat and she waited for what he’d do next. But then his hands shifted, making their way down her sides, over her hips, where his fingers found the bare skin at the top of her thighs, down a bit lower, he groaned.

“Maker, preserve me, Rija,” he traced his fingertips along the top edge of the stockings. “Love.” His voice came out a rasp, and then his hands slid around to cup her half-covered bottom. He squeezed and pulled her closer. “Not one single thing about you wearing lacy underthings is remotely silly. Fucking sexiest thing I’ve ever seen.”

“You haven’t seen me yet,” she said quietly, that twist of nerves starting up in her belly again.

One of Blackwall’s hands slid around to her back, found the back to be non-existent, and skimmed his fingertips up her spine to slide into her hair where he wrapped it around his fist and dragged her face close to his until their foreheads touched. “I can tell you, honestly, you’re beautiful, stunning, drop-dead gorgeous. Do you want to know how I know that?” he asked, his voice going husky.

“How?”

“Because I know you. Because I’ve seen you, love. I’ve seen you wearing your pretty dresses. I’ve seen you dirty and disheveled after a battle. I’ve watched you fall exhausted into bed wearing nothing but one of my shirts.” He kissed a trail along her jaw to her ear. “Because I have seen you in the throes of pleasure and I know you. And you are the most fucking beautiful person I’ve ever been so lucky to be with.”

Tears filled Rija’s eyes and she felt almost as if her heart had been torn wide open in her chest. The sincerity he said it with, she knew he believed it. No one had ever said anything like that to her before. “Fuck,” her voice came out a rasp and she lightly slapped his shoulder. “Asshole, you’re going to ruin my makeup, and I spent way too much time on it.” Rija sniffled and Blackwall reached up, ripping away the blindfold to meet her gaze.

The dark makeup around her eyes made that crystalline blue-grey of her left eye seem all the more depthless. The right on the other hand, while masterfully created, lacked that same depth. “Love,” he breathed, cupping her face, thumbs catching the tears that fell onto her cheeks.

“I hate you,” she muttered, but the words held no heat as she leaned into his touch.

He smiled, gaze soft. “S’okay,” he murmured, brushing a kiss against her lips. “I love you enough for the both of us.”

Her breath hitched and she hit his shoulder again. “Stop it, I can’t-” Rija twisted away from him, threw her arms out to the sides, and huffed. “You’re just supposed to want to fuck me.” He’d started calling her love not long after they had returned from the Winter Palace and she had tried to pretend it meant nothing to either of them. Just a pet name for him.

Blackwall’s gaze traveled slowly, from her eyes, down over every inch, every curve. “Maker’s breath, woman, I do want to do that.” Delicate dark blue lace hugged her breasts and torso and down to her hips. He found himself wondering how much give it had if he’d be able to tug aside the crotch when he put his mouth on her. Bits of ribbon led down to where they clipped onto the thin silk stockings that were the same dark blue as the outfit.

Pushing up to his feet, he closed the distance between them. “And more,” he breathed, making a slow circle around her. Her curls hung midway down her back, and the lingerie was completely open in the back, cutting down low to start just at the curve of her rump. “Fuck,” it came out a rasp.

“What?” Rija turned her head, her brows drawing together.

Every day for the rest of my life isn’t long enough , he thought, and for a sad, bitter moment, he knew he wouldn’t even get that long. “Come here,” he said instead, taking her hand, he drew her back to the chair in front of the fire and nudged her into it before sinking to his knees in front of her. Then he was kissing her, claiming her mouth with a deep kiss. He’d be sure that by morning Rija would never doubt, not even for an instant, how fucking perfect she was to him.

How many times would he have to remind her that she was the embodiment of beauty to him? As many times as it took to be sure she knew. He wished he could track down her family, the previous lovers who made her think less of herself and beat them all within an inch of their lives. Blackwall slid his hands up her sides, where he cupped the heavy weight of a breast in each, his thumbs rubbing over her pebbled nipples. He would never get enough of her, he thought, hearing Rija’s breathy moan.

He kissed along her throat and breathed in the scent of her skin. A soft floral note with her usual leather, smoke, and beeswax. Orleasian soap , he thought, and for a beat, he was twenty years old again, cocky, without a clue how to properly please a woman. Lifting his head, he looked at Rija and saw the desire written all over her face. And he was grateful for every lesson he’d ever learned about pleasing a lover.

“Blackwall?” she breathed out his name because that was who he was now.

Ducking his head without a word, Blackwall wrapped his lips around one of her nipples. “Oh!” Rija let out a quiet cry as she tangled her fingers in his hair. He laved at the puckered flesh, then sucked, enjoying the contrast of texture between her skin and the lace. Nuzzling his way over to the other breast, he rubbed his nose along the curve of her breast, and then gently sunk his teeth into her other nipple.

“Fuck!” Rija shouted, hands tightening in his hair, she shoved her breast against his mouth and her hips began to rock faintly against his stomach where he settled between her thighs. Dropping one hand down to that strip of bare skin between her hip and the top of that silk stocking. Maker’s balls, those stockings would be the death of him.

“You’ll wear these, all the time,” he rasped against her breast, drawing back to watch as he traced a fingertip along the top edge, feeling both skin and silk. Then he looked up to her face, Rija’s skin was flushed, lips parted, her eyes wide as she stared up at him. He’d buy her more stockings. In every color, he could find. “Under every dress,” he told her because he knew how she preferred her pretty dresses when she wasn’t out on the battlefield.

Rija’s tongue flicked out over her lower lip and she nodded. “Okay,” it was a breathy sound that had his cock going even more rigid in his trousers. Groaning he cupped the back of her head and kissed her hard, his tongue sliding between her parted lips. He slid his other hand from the stocking up, feeling along the garter to where it met the lacy fabric that teased him. Letting him see her every curve, but hiding her skin, her scars, her stretch marks.

Blackwall dipped his thumb beneath the fabric at the crease of her thigh and mentally did a little jig, feeling it give enough that he knew he’d easily be able to tug the crotch of the fabric away and lick her, fuck her. It was something they had both discovered they found particularly erotic. Quick couplings, with just enough clothing, pulled aside to find their pleasure. Letting out another groan he shifted his hand felt the top of her curls. Every color, he silently vowed. Red, black. Something brighter, maybe gold. Breaking the kiss he let his beard scrape over her throat and felt the quiet vibration of her moan as she arched her back.

Nuzzling either breast, he went down lower, stroked his hands over her thighs, spreading them wider to make way for his shoulders, glancing up, he met her heavy-lidded gaze and nuzzled the damp fabric that covered her slit. “Maker, have mercy,” he breathed, and then licked over the fabric. Rija made a quiet sound and leaned back in the chair, one of her hands coming down to cover one of his own where it still rested against her thigh, while the other slid into his hair and gave it a slight tug.

The sound Blackwall made was nearly a growl as he lowered his head once more and this time he used his free hand to push aside the fabric and lapped his tongue up between her lower lips, again and again, pushing just barely at her opening and up to her clit, where he lingered each time. He ignored the throbbing press of his erection against his breeches and suckled Rija’s clit between his lips until she cried out, her thighs jerking against his hold, but he didn’t let up, her juices soaked his beard and he couldn’t get enough of her.

Another sharp tug at his hair and Rija bucked so hard he nearly lost his hold on her. His need for her reached a breaking point. Blackwall lifted his head, yanked down one side of the neckline of lace, and latched onto her breast as he drew her legs around his waist and stood. She clung to him, panting his name against his ear as she squirmed in his arms. “I need you, please, please, Blackwall,” her voice was sex dipped in honey and Maker knew, he’d give her anything she asked.

Tossing her onto the bed, she landed with a bounce and looked up at him as he yanked his shirt over his head and then yanked at his belt. He still had his damn boots on and he cursed softly. Rija’s lips curved slightly, all that nervousness seeming to disappear in the thick fog of lust that hung in the room now. She lay back on the bed, one hand rising to cup the breast he’d exposed, her nipple still damp from his mouth, while she lowered her other hand to her spread legs, and covered the dark wet fabric there. “Ancestors,” she murmured, “the things you can do with that tongue of yours.”

Blackwall shoved his trousers down, yanked off his boots and his cock bounced against his belly, hard and aching. “Just wait till you see what I can do with my cock,” he told her, one hand curling around the base, he gave it one firm stroke as he reached for her ankle with the other. Bracing a knee on the edge of the bed, he tugged at her foot, dragging her closer. “On your knees, love.” He wanted to fuck her every way imaginable that night. His need to be pressed close, their chest slick with sweat, their hearts beating in rhythm as he pounded into her, filled her until she was claimed, was his.

Rija twisted on the bed, drawing up onto her knees, her shoulders against the mattress, her face turned to look at him over. Blackwall hesitated a moment, afraid his desperation might make him too rough. “Please, my love,” she murmured and Blackwall swallowed hard, his chest splitting wide open. “Inside me, I want you-” her breath hitched and he grabbed hold of her hips and looked down to see her fingers there, stroking her clit.

“Fuck,” he said, his voice low and drawn out. Then he guided his erection to her opening, rubbed it through the wetness, spreading it coating his cock with it. “Maker-”

Then Rija pressed her hands flat on the bed and shoved back against him, impaling herself on his cock, drawing shouts from both of them. His hold on her hips was so tight he knew he’d leave bruises, but when she clenched her inner walls around him, he abandoned all thought and reason and withdrew almost fully before slamming his hips forward.

Her fingers curled in the thick duvet as she braced against his almost violent thrusts. And she relished in every second of it. Throwing her head back she let him have control over their movements, yanking her rump back against his hips as he pounded into her. The only sound in the room was their panting breaths and the sound of flesh slapping against flesh. “Yes!” Rija was close, so close that she teetered on the edge. But if she shifted her hand down to her clit, gave herself that final push, it would shift her whole body, and ruin the blissful drive of his cock inside her.

“Blackwall, Blackwall-” she panted, desperate for that nudge. But then he was pulling out of her, and her mind reeled. No, no, she’d been so close! But he manhandled her, flipping her onto her back, and she let him position her. Tugging her legs up, so that they were flush against his chest as he pushed into her again. Rija shuddered. He was already big for her, but now he felt huge inside her with her thighs pressed shut and he took up that pace again, fast and hard thrusts and she gripped the blanket beneath her, desperate for something to dig her nails into as he quickly had her at that edge again.

But now she could look up at him, see his eyes, watch him watching her. Her breasts bounced with each thrust, one still free, the other covered by the lace. Rija held his gaze and released her hold on the blanket, knowing he’d hold her exactly where he wanted her. She tugged at the fabric, freeing her other breast, and then she held them, cupping and kneading, catching her pebbled nipples between her knuckles and squeezing.

Blackwall’s eyes darkened and he rubbed his cheek against her calf, not once breaking his steady rhythm. “Oh,” she breathed, her back arching, because she was so close again, and the way he watched her so intently, was a pleasure all on its own. He moved so quickly, she barely processed it before he was leaning over her, his mouth latching firmly onto one nipple as he held her legs hooked over his forearms at the knee. His cock felt even deeper like this, and it was as if there was a string straight from the nipple that he suckled to her clit because that edge that Rija had been teetering on for what felt like hours vanished in a rush of rapture.

Rija wrapped her arms around him, her nails biting into his shoulders, as she made a sound of primal pleasure. Blackwall’s thrust grew rougher, more erratic, and hypersensitive, she felt each pulse of his cock as he spilled his release inside her. “Fuck,” he breathed against her breath. “Fuck,” his voice was ragged and he continued rocking his hips against her. “Again,” he released his hold on one of her legs, pushed his hand between them, and circled her clit. “Again, fuck, Rija, come for me again.”

Who was she to disobey? Her thighs jerked against his sides, holding him tighter as that delicious pleasure rolled through her again. Stop, don’t stop, her mind reeled, and then his mouth was against her ear, whispering in a voice like gravel how hot and wet she felt around his cock. How her soft curves made him ache. And Rija was utterly lost.

It could have been years later when she sighed, her cheek against his chest as she lay stretched out over him, a blanket haphazardly dragged up over them. He’d stripped her out of the lacy garment and stockings and now held her, his fingers stroking over her tangle of curls. Lifting her head she rested her chin on the back of her hand where it lay over his heart, he looked down at her, the corner of his mouth quirking up. “Welcome back,” he murmured and she smiled drowsily.

“Warden Blackwall,” she murmured, then her brows drew together. “I love you,” she told him, terrified and so certain at the same time. An expression crossed his features so quickly that she didn’t have a chance to process it. “I wish-” she drew in a breath. “I wish you’d never joined the Wardens. I wish that I’d met you before… before all of this.” Because being a Warden was a death sentence. And maybe, maybe if they’d met years earlier, she could have saved him from it, and he could have saved her from herself.

“Rija-” he stared down at her, the sincerity in her voice, he struggled to breathe past the lump that had formed in his throat. Tell her, he thought. She’d forgive him the lie. Wouldn’t she? I’m not really a Warden. I never joined. I’ve committed horrific crimes, but, please, please, still love me. But instead, he brushed his knuckles over her cheek. “I love you, too.”

She smiled a little, her eyes fluttering shut as she leaned into his touch before she rested her cheek back against his bare chest. “I know you do. I know.”

#dragon age #blackwall #blackwall x cadash #blackwall x inquisitor #cadash #lemon #meraadwrites

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lalainajanes · 4 years

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for the prompt list: 12. “Welcome back. Now fucking help me.” / 1. Coworker AU / 16. "Sit in my lap" :D

Thank you! I was thinking the other day that I’ve never really done a musicians AU which is silly. So I made that happen here though it’s probs stretching “coworkers.”

The Beat Goes On

When Caroline steps on the bus, she stops immediately, only halfway up the steps. She surveys the scene – Kol, Marcel, Klaus, plus about a half dozen fans. Her eyes turn murderous. She hitches her bag higher on her shoulder, yanks her suitcase up the rest of the way, and storms through the living area. She’s whipped the curtain that hides their bunks closed behind her before Klaus can snag her attention.

A pity. He’d been hoping for her help.

He’s in no mood for company either. Partying all night is such a rockstar cliché – and completely unrealistic considering they need to be on the road in a few hours, then unloading their gear in the next city a few hours after that.

It’s their first headlining tour. They can’t quite afford a complete crew. It’s going well, with most shows sold out. They’ve had to put in a rush order for more merch. Klaus has high hopes the next outing will be a little more luxurious.

Higher hopes that one day they’ll have more than one bus. He’s willing to share with Caroline. Preferably something with an actual bedroom – not the claustrophobic stack of cots they’re currently enduring.

He can’t complain too much. Their current accommodations are far superior to the unreliable van and dingy motels they’d piled into on their first tour. They’d been the first of several supporting acts, had considered themselves lucky when they’d turned a profit by the end.

That profit had bought some decent recording equipment, the EP they’d put out after doing well on Spotify. A better tour had followed. Then another. Press, photoshoots. Then interest from a few labels.

Klaus has only spent a few nights of the last few years in his own bed. He has no regrets.

He sets his beer down, stands. Pretends not to notice when one of the women who’d been inching closer and closer swipes it immediately.

He’ll have to check eBay tomorrow. See what the going rate for his saliva is. He doesn’t bother to excuse himself.

Caroline’s stowing her belongings. Klaus would bet they have the cleanest tour bus in the history of the music industry. Caroline’s a bit of a psychotic neat freak. Over the years she has doled out vicious punishments when a “Close Cohabitation Survival Rule” (there’s an extensive list - laminated and prominently posted) is violated.

Kol had been the slowest to learn. To drive the lesson home, Caroline had snipped out the back pockets of every pair of trousers he’d packed. She’ then hidden all of his underwear. Had bribed, threatened or cajoled every man on tour not to offer a spare pair.

She’d timed it flawlessly, Kol hadn’t had time to run out to a shop, and they hadn’t been significant enough to have anyone they could send on an errand. Kol had done a show with his arse – clad only in a pair of Caroline’s lime green lace boy shorts, hanging out of a ruined pair of jeans. The pictures appeared online within minutes, Kol will likely be answering questions about his preference in underwear for the rest of his natural life.

Caroline’s plots had done the trick. Their belongings tend to stay organized, their floors are never sticky, and the bathroom is perfectly sanitary.

Her bunk’s curtain is closed, but Klaus sees a faint glow, knows she’s not asleep. He yanks the curtain aside.

He’s willing to risk stoking Caroline’s anger. He’s exceedingly good at soothing her.

Caroline glares and tries to pull the fabric out of Klaus’ grip. “Go away.”

He gauges how much she means it, finds little heat in her tone. And she shifts over willingly when he climbs in next to her, lifts her legs so he can curl his under them. Caroline had showered at the venue, had her hair braided and off her face. She wears an old pair of sweats (his) and a tank top. Klaus attempts to coax, “Come out and have a drink.”

Caroline’s nose wrinkles, “Pass.”

“One drink.”

“I’m tired. It’s crowded.”

Weak excuses. “You’ll miss the show.”

That piques her interest. Caroline hates to be out of the loop.

“What show?”

“Our lovely manager should arrive shortly, shouldn’t she? Why else would Kol have three girls who’s name’s he hasn’t bothered to learn draped all over him?”

She twists her head to stare at him, and Klaus is sorely tempted by how close her mouth is. It would be so easy to close the minuscule gap and press his lips to hers, to stroke the spot on her neck that always makes her eyes roll back and her hips shift close.

But they don’t do that anymore.

“Are you telling me,” Caroline says slowly, disbelief etched in every word. “That Kol’s concocted some teen soap style plot to make Bonnie jealous?”

“I did try to tell him it was unwise.” Though, if he’s honest, Klaus hadn’t tried that hard.

Caroline presses the heel of her hand to her forehead, a frustrated groan spilling from her throat. “I have been trying so hard to convince Bonnie he’s serious. He’s going to ruin all my hard work.”

“All the more reason for you to come out, hmm? Can’t have all of your most excellent matchmaking going to waste.”

He’s not even upset when she elbows him in the stomach because he knows he’s won. He slides out of the bunk, and Caroline twists, “I need to find my phone and stall Bon,” she mutters. Her tanktop slides up as she rummages through her blankets, and Klaus clasps his hands behind his back because the urge to run his hand over the smooth skin of her hip might be stronger than he is.

He has a plan, well thought out, and practically foolproof. He cannot rush. Caroline pauses when she notices Klaus watching, balances on her elbow, and shoves his shoulder with her free hand. “Get out there. Make sure no one does anything too stupid.”

“No promises.” Klaus knows better. He’s known Kol since birth. Reckless acts of stupidity are one of his brother’s specialties.

Caroline’s found her phone, has settled on her stomach. She’s frantically texting, so Klaus exits.

He immediately notes that several bottles of liquor have made their way out. That more people Klaus doesn’t recognize have joined them. Kol’s lost some clothing, has got one arm raised high, splashes of what Klaus is reasonably sure is bourbon splashing down, onto his bare chest.

It has all the makings of a disaster.

Unfortunately, for some reason, Caroline is slow to appear. Kol’s at his jittery, exuberant drunk stage, unable to sit still or focus on a topic for longer than a few moments. He’s telling stories that are only half true, gesturing wildly. A few of their visitors are enthralled. Marcel had slipped outside with a few people, Klaus hears his laugh drift in through the open door occasionally.

Two women have boxed him in. They don’t seem to mind that he has no interest in the conversation they insist on prolonging. They giggle delightedly at his clipped answers. Klaus has already taken photos, signed skin. Has his fingers crossed their not the type to rush off to a tattoo parlor.

When Caroline emerges from the back, Klaus has a moment of déjà vu. She barely notices Kol; her attention focused on him, and the people invading his personal space. She’s furious again, more so, Klaus thinks.

He’s always been confident in his plan but won’t say no to the ego boost her obvious jealousy provides.

It’s a small space; she’s in front of him in a few steps. Klaus smiles up at Caroline, grabs her wrist. She appears confused for a second – it’s been ages since he’s touched her in front of another person.

He hasn’t attempted it since being photographed, having the images splashed all over social media and picked apart, became a real possibility. Caroline had begun shying away once the tweets and the Instagram comments had started coming in. Some positive, a lot negative. Klaus had followed her lead. Had figured he’d let her get used to the fame, that he’d just have to convince her that they could be together publicly without ruining what they have privately.

He drags her hand to his mouth, distracts her by pressing a chaste kiss to the back of it. He hears a gasp to his left, but he doesn’t care, tugs harder until Caroline loses her balance.

She lands in his lap, and one of the women leaps to her feet with a yelp. Convenient, as it gives Klaus more room to maneuver. He wraps his arm around Caroline’s waist and settles her more comfortably, her side resting against his chest. He pitches his voice loud enough to be heard clearly by everyone in the room, “A bit clumsy tonight, aren’t you? It’s fine, sit in my lap.”

The woman who’d swiped his beer bottle is either drunk enough not to mind her tongue or unconcerned with basic manners. “Are you two?” She lifts a hand in a gesture that’s both vague and slightly lascivious.

Caroline squirms, but Klaus squeezes her hip, cutting off her denial with a whisper in her ear. “You took ages. Welcome back, now fucking help me.”

She pinches his stomach in retaliation. Klaus holds back a wince. Caroline ignores it, turns on the charm, smiling warmly at their nosy questioner. “Nope. We’ve just known each other for ages. Spent way too much time in tight spaces. Not a lot of boundaries when you’ve spent months crammed in a van, you know?”

Klaus could comment about the private time they’d managed to enjoy in that van occasionally but Caroline’s fingernails are sharp. He doesn’t mind wearing their imprints, but he’d prefer to earn those marks pleasurably.

“So, you’re just friends?”

“Bon-Bon!” Kol shouts, interrupting Caroline’s response.

(Probably a good thing. Klaus isn’t entirely sure he trusts himself to stick to his timeline if Caroline tried to claim they were just anything while sitting on his lap and wearing his clothes.)

He’s surprised when Caroline settles back against him, rather than leaping to his feet. Pleased, too. Her arm drapes around his shoulders, her fingertips tangling in his necklaces. She watches the scene unfolding in front of her.

Her touch is familiar, missed. Klaus closes his eyes to enjoy it while he can.

#klaroline #klaroline drabbles #from the prompts list I reblogged earlier!#I need to write fluff #sorrynotsorry

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