#i hardly flinch when i get bit by the dogs now

[ohbo-ohno]

what happens the first time Johnny comes home with some new sex toys for reader?? Cue your absolute PANIC as he pulls them out to show you, ecstatic at the thought of trying them out when Simon gets home, and then Johnny having to do damage control when he sees how he’s freaked out his precious baby :////

YOU!!!!!! Get back here!!!!!! You genius!!!!!

1.6k, nsfw below the cut. this one’s pretty long lol it really got away from me. pretend it’s a gift since i just hit 100 followers <3

Johnny’s like a dog with a bone when it comes to you - he can literally never get enough. When you don’t wake up to his mouth licking and sucking somewhere on you, you wake up to the feeling of him humping your back. On one occasion Simon threatened to “cage your little cock if it’s all you can think with, Johnny.” So like… you know they use toys. You probably should’ve expected this at some point.

But knowing they are probably comfortable using toys and staring at the goddamn spread of sex toys on the dinner table? Two very different things.

There are things you can’t even name. You spot several different types of vibrators, butt plugs of varying sizes, anal beads, nipple clamps, a few gags smaller than the ones they’d used on you a few times, several loops of rope and handcuffs, a fucking hook that you don’t even want to think about what it could be used for, and the goddamn crème de la crème - a butt plug with a fucking tail hanging from Johnny’s hand.

The bastard is smiling. Fucking beaming, like he’s found the meaning of life in a pile of sex toys.

It’s barely 9 a.m.

“Good morning, lovie!” Johnny says, pulling you towards him and placing an oddly chaste kiss on your forehead. “We’ve got a long day love. D’you know Si’s birthday is in a week?”

You can’t tear your eyes away from the cornucopia of sex toys, hardly listening to him as he prattles on.

“Bloody unfair he’s got the anniversary and the birthday so close, means I hafta get the man all sorts of gifts in just a month.” He glances down at you and shoots you a wink, twirling the tail in his hand likes it’s a fidget toy. “Some of them are for both of us, though, so I can’t complain too much, aye bonnie?”

You don’t answer, but he plows foreword anyways. “This’ll be the first part of the gift. Gonna let Simon play with you - well, both of us, but I had to buy the new stuff for you.”

You swallow dryly, hand twitching forward as if you’re going to grab one of the toys. “Play?” Is all you can manage to ask.

Johnny hums low in his throat, tucking himself behind you and wrapping both arms around you. He takes your wrists, still holding the toy in his hand, and guides your fingers across the spread in front of you. “Yeah, lass. You like playing with us, huh?”

You shake your head minutely.

“Don’t lie now,” he rumbles, and you remind yourself that he’s just as terrifying as Simon, only in a different way. Somehow you always forget to tread as carefully around Johnny, but the deep growl of his voice reminds you. “You’re soaked when we play, wailing loud enough we had to explain to the landlord what the noise was. You like it plenty.”

You whine a little, flinching backwards into his body at the reminder of your behavior at night. You don’t like it, don’t like thinking about how much you love being between the two of them, how right it feels.

“Now,” Johnny’s voice shifts back into its normal cadence, hands giving you two little taps on the front of your thighs as he steps away. “Si won’t be back until tonight, so the two of us are gonna test these out and have some fun. Excited, lass? I’m thinking we’ll start with this, work on your posture a bit.”

He picks up the fucking hook. You can’t help but lose your shit.

— — — — —

Ghost is in decently high spirits as he finally gets home. His work had been cut short hours early, and he was looking forward to spending a night in with his two precious little pets, curled up together on the couch and maybe even having a home cooked meal. He’d have to see if you could be trusted with a knife, but the idea of watching you and Johnny dance around each other in the kitchen is enough for him even if he doesn’t get to see it realized.

That all goes out the window when he steps into the flat.

He can hear the two of you, Johnny’s voice a little urgent and yours more than a little panicked. Not the most unusual thing, but the absolutely demolished living room is.

He and Johnny hadn’t decorated much - neither of them had an eye for it and once they got you they wanted to let you decorate your new home - but what little they had done is out of place. A picture frame on the floor, dining room chairs feet away from the table and knocked over, a goddamn knife stabbed into a side table next to the slightly askew couch.

And a shit load of sex toys, both on the dining room table and the floor all around it.

It barely takes a heartbeat for Ghost to piece together what’s happened. He sighs wearily, resists the urge to rub at his eyes with his forefinger and thumb so he doesn’t track paint all across the house.

He moves further into their home, heading straight for the bedroom. Sure enough, Johnny’s got you cornered. You’re slid down on the floor, back pushed as far into the wall as you can go and knees tucked up under you.

Johnny’s crouched in front of you, one hand holding both of your wrists securely in front of you and the other holding your ankles together. He’s got scratches down his face and arms, a few that are seeping just a bit of blood, and a nasty bruise forming on one cheek.

He’s also rock hard in his sweatpants.

Both of you snap your eyes to Simon when he steps in the room. Johnny’s expression is pure relief, but yours is a mix of what looks like relief and fear. There’s a little spark in Ghost’s chest at the knowledge that you see him as a helping hand here, even against what’s probably your better judgement.

He tilts his head a bit. “Johnny.” Not a question, but an expectation.

“She freaked out on me, L.t.,” Johnny says - nearly whines - eyes big and pleading.

“Because you-!” You start up, thrashing in Johnny’s grip. “You fucking bastard, I was defending myself!”

“Against me?” Johnny makes a sad noise, one Simon knows is more manipulative than it sounds, leaning in to hover over you even more. “Baby, you know I’d never hurt you. How could you think that, huh?”

“You wanted to stick a fucking hook up my ass!”

That gets a raised eyebrow from Simon. Seems Johnny’s plans for the day were far more exciting than he had let on.

Johnny can’t help but bark out a laugh, which gets a little scream of rage from you and reinvigorates your thrashing. Johnny leans more weight into you, pulling your wrists further out to keep you off balance. It just works you up more, and Ghost can see Johnny’s cock twitch in his pants.

Alright. Time to do damage control.

He steps into the corner with the two of you, lays a heavy hand on Johnny’s nape and squeezes. His boy doesn’t let go immediately, but he does go loose, leaning one shoulder onto a wall and blocking less of your body.

You’re heaving as Simin crouches down, but your eyes are dry. A good sign for the progress you’ve made.

Simon brings his other hand up to grab your chin, pulling it up and forcing eye contact. “Didn’t want to play around with Johnny, love?”

You’re a little scared - always are, when he comes home with the mask and the makeup - but you don’t tear your eyes from his. Your tiny chin quivers in his grip, but you don’t cry. He can’t help but feel a surge of pride for you and your strength

“I didn’t want him fucking with me. I’m allowed to say no,” you hike you chin in the air a little, stiff and all but daring him to disagree.

He doesn’t play into your hands, just hums and strokes both of his thumbs - one over your chin and the other over Johnny’s neck. “You are,” he agrees, fighting down a smirk at the clear shock on your face. “But did you give Johnny a chance?”

“No-“ Johnny pouts, huffing and shifting in place.

“Quiet,” Simon growls, hand squeezing just past comfortable on his neck. “You’re already in trouble for doing all this shit without askin’. Keep pushin’ and you won’t be sleeping in bed tonight.”

That gets a whine, but no more arguing. Good.

You look a little confused when Ghost turns his attention back to you, but he doesn’t bother explaining.

“You are allowed to say no,” he starts again. “But you should give new things a chance. What if you’d liked having,” he can’t resist a smirk, let’s it seep into his tone, “a hook up your ass?”

You flinch back, and Simon bites down a sigh. You’re not in a place for joking yet, apparently.

He stays crouched there for a few minutes, petting both you and Johnny and watching as you both go limp - Johnny quickly, you with a little more work.

“Alright,” he days eventually, standing and tugging the both of you up with him. “Let’s rest for a bit, get the two of you calmed down, and then we’ll talk punishment.”

You and Johnny wear matching pouts, and Simon doesn’t even fight the smile as he tugs all three of you into bed.

#if I ever write a third chapter this is getting edited and stuck in there somehow #sorry for any spelling errors spellcheck was on my ass and kept turning correctly spelled words into completely different words #bo writes #asks and answers #dlmliyh

[cobaltperun]

Lost (10) - Blood // Water

Tara Carpenter x female Reader

Summary: To anyone on the outside, and to Tara’s friends, you were Tara’s fierce protector, the MMA fighter who’d take anyone on for Tara. The Guard Dog, as Amber called you. You had no idea you’d have to protect her from people who claimed they loved her. It didn’t matter. As long as you and Tara had one another there was nothing you wouldn’t be able to survive.

Story warnings: Scream violence, family issues, trauma, angst, certain sensitive topics

Word count: 3.4k

Story masterlist / First part / Previous part / Next part

-The price of your greed is your son and your daughter. What you gon' do when there's blood in the water?-

You weren't at your best. You were far from it, really. Sure, the wounds healed, but the recovery and getting your strength and stamina back was another story. Soaked from head to toe in sweat from hours of working out, driven only by adrenaline and anger you cursed yourself for getting closer and closer to your limit.

Frustration, however, helped, as you slammed punch after punch into the bag. The sound of the hits echoed in the empty gym, since it's long been past the closing time. The owner knew your coach and it helped that your success brought some new people to his gym, so he let you use the equipment after hours.

You needed that. You were angry. At yourself for not stopping Tara. At Tara for putting you in that position when she asked you to leave. At Amber for starting all of this in the first place. Punch after punch you hoped the next one would finally set you free from the anger. Yet with every punch you would be reminded of the recently healed injuries and that only made you more furious. You gritted your teeth as the cycle continued until you heard the doors opening.

"Y/N," you didn't stop pummeling the bag, it was just your coach. He faked a cough and you let out an exasperated sigh, finally turning to look at him, only to see a face you vaguely recognized.

"Hello, miss L/N, it's a pleasure to finally meet you," the man next to your coach was Thomas Laurent, a former middleweight MMA fighter who had a promising start in his career, but then got seriously injured in his fight against Zack. He never truly recovered after that. Nowadays whenever someone mentions his name all they say is he had potential, but that the injury ended his career before he could reach his prime. From the looks of it, he kept training, and with no weight class to hold him to a certain weight you figured he was somewhere between light heavyweight and heavyweight now. He was thirty-seven and you were sure he could give plenty of fighters a run for their money.

"What? You want to swap retirement stories?" you really had no desire to deal with him, or anyone else right now.

Your coach flinched for a moment, but Thomas merely laughed, it was a loud, hearty laugh and despite your mood, you wiped the scoff off your face and looked at him with a raised eyebrow, now a bit curious about his reasons for coming here.

"No, no, I'm here to make the greatest retirement spectacle women's MMA has ever seen," he boasted with confidence that made you genuinely intrigued.

"Is that so? And how do you plan on doing that, exactly?" you were pulling your gloves off, only now seeing how bloody your knuckles got. Both Thomas and your coach noticed that. "Long day yesterday, I had a lot of pent-up frustration," you explained, not really bothered by scrapped knuckles. The tiny scars you had accumulated from training had long since stopped bothering you.

"You have two fights, so let's make history. You'll fight at the end of November against one of the previous title challengers and then, on the ninth of December, if you accept, you'll challenge Anya Golubeva," Thomas didn't need to explain any further.

Anya Golubeva has been the women's featherweight champion for the past five years, with good grappling and explosive punches, she hardly left any openings. In addition to that you would fight someone around her skill level two to three weeks before that fight. He wasn't kidding when he said he wanted to make history. You'd have one of the shortest, if not the shortest, breaks between two fights, and in case you won the second fight you'd retire as the world champion.

You didn't ask how he could make it happen. You didn't need to know. You knew just one thing, that would be an issue. You couldn't prepare for those fights in Woodsboro. No sparring partner, the gym that lacked equipment... You'd have to leave as soon as tomorrow.

If Tara hadn't told you to leave her, you would have gone to see her, to talk with her. But she told you to leave, and as much as you loved her, you weren't about to waste this opportunity. You’ll see Tara in two months. "I'm in."

~X~

Being in, however, meant calling Sam to handle your absence. So, that's how the two of you were sitting in Woodsbo-Restaurant. She looked tense, though you couldn't see any anger, at least on the surface.

"So, did Tara tell you what happened?" you guessed she probably did, it's been over forty-eight hours since Tara left your apartment, and you haven't seen her since.

Sam sighed, but instead of answering she added sugar to her coffee and began stirring it. Honestly, you were growing impatient. "About retirement, or how she asked you to leave her?"

You slumped into your seat, consumed by the look on her face when she asked that of you. "Both, I guess. Not that it matters. I'm leaving Woodsboro, I won't be here for two months," you told her and placed a key to your apartment on the table.

"You're leaving? You'll actually listen to Tara?" Sam got up, pressing her palms against the table and leaning over it toward you. There was anger in her eyes and most people would have backed away, intimidated by Sam.

"Yes, but not because of what Tara said. I'll have two of the biggest fights of my life by the end of those two months and I'm not about to fuck it up," you didn't even budge when Sam got up. You slid the key across the table and met Sam's angry glare. "Tara is free to spend as much time in my apartment as she wants. She can sleep there, move in, whatever she wants. You can work here since there's about to be an open spot starting today," you had no intention of stopping, you needed Sam to hear you out.

You straightened your posture as Sam began sitting down. "Tara and I grew too codependent, Sam. We grew too attached to guilt. If it spirals out of control she'll stay by my side because she feels guilty for my retirement and I'll stay because I'll feel guilty for not being there to protect her the first time, for letting Amber make her vulnerable and not noticing she was a danger to Tara. Love built on guilt isn't love, it's just regret," you stood up, leaving enough money to pay the bill, and began walking away. You didn't have any time left. Your coach was already waiting for you outside the restaurant.

"Y/N, I'm sorry I dragged Tara into all of that," Sam's declaration didn't surprise you, she felt even more guilty than Tara did.

"It's not your fault those two were crazy," you stopped and turned to look at her.

Sam shook her head, surprising you for a moment. "It is. Billy Loomis is my father, and that's why all of that happened."

It was actually the first time you heard Sam and Tara were half-sisters. Not that it mattered. "It's not Sam. Who your parents are has nothing to do with it. It's an insane excuse made by insane people," you shrugged and offered her a smile. "So, how about this? Instead of being Billy and Christina's daughter, how about you just remain Tara's sister?"

The last thing you expected was for Sam to grab and pull you into a hug. Whispering a small, emotion-filled 'Thank you' as you patted her on the back. You had no idea when Sam found out about Billy, but things somehow began making sense. Why Sam left, why she was distancing herself from Tara when they were younger, maybe even why Tara’s dad left. It didn’t take a genius to figure out that at least some of it was connected to Billy Loomis.

“Take care of Tara,” you requested, though you understood there was no need to ask for that.

~X~

Six weeks, six days, and thirteen hours. That was the last time Tara saw you, heard your voice, touched you, spoke to you. That was when she told you to leave her. So much has changed. Her leg was healed, so she could freely move without pain. She cut contact with her mom and moved into your apartment because she couldn't take it anymore and just needed a semblance of you in her life.

She couldn't even call you. Well, she could, but you left your phone in your apartment. You left it behind. No one could reach you, not her, not Susan, no one. So, that's how she ended up in Sacramento with Sam, Mindy, and Chad, waiting for your second-to-last fight. And then she couldn't do it. She was told your opponent fought for the title before, that she lost, but that she put up a fight. You probably still haven't fully recovered from what Amber and Richie did to you, what Amber forced Tara to do to you.

So, she'd miss the start, maybe even miss the entire first round or two, because she couldn't take watching you get hurt.

She left the living room and poured herself a glass of water. She felt cold, she missed you, she wanted to be near you, to grab onto you and not let go. Instead, all she could do was clutch the necklace you gave her, all she could do was hold onto it as she hugged herself. A sob tore through her throat, but she stopped herself when she heard the doors opening.

"Tara, honey, it's about to start," Susan came in. The woman became Tara's ally since you left, offering reassurance and convincing Tara you'd come back. Somehow, her words held more weight than anyone else's when it came to you, and Tara somewhat believed her.

"I don't think I can," Tara admitted, ashamed that she couldn't watch you even now that she knew how much it meant to Susan and you. That she couldn't watch you even if it was her fault that ten days from now, you'd be out of MMA.

Susan gently rubbed Tara's left shoulder. "I get it, how about we just sit here then. I'll go and turn the volume up so we can hear what is happening. Is that okay?"

Tara nodded and sat down. She watched as Susan turned to go and get the volume up, only to freeze on the doorstep. "It's over."

Tara felt her blood run cold. Over? What was over? The fight? She ran outside of the kitchen and took in the sight in front of her. Chad sitting there with his mouth wide open. Mindy was frozen as she leaned over to Sam to grab the popcorn. Sam just watching the TV wide-eyed and confused. And you on the TV, without a single scratch, just standing with one fist raised in the air.

She watched as the fight replayed on the TV, right from the start. Your opponent approached, and opened with a punch, only for you to counter with a punch straight to her face and she just dropped. Six seconds into the fight. You knocked the woman out in six seconds.

She just stood there, taking your figure in. Her heart beat out of rhythm as she saw the results of your training, the defined muscles, the power and speed you possessed. Tara had never spent this long away from you, even when she was with Amber you two still hung out as a part of the same friend group, and seeing you like this, so abruptly and so briefly made her realize exactly how much that affected her.

"How's the ogling going, T," Mindy's teasing made her look away. She wasn't ogling, she was just looking.

Less than two weeks to go. You'd come back to her soon.

When the title match came Tara watched with Sam, Chad and Mindy in your apartment and she nearly had an asthma attack as she watched you take hit after hit.

~X~

This was the end, in half an hour you'd step into the octagon and have your final professional fight. Yet you never felt more relaxed than you were tonight.

The doors opened and you expected to see your coach. Instead, you saw Anya Golubeva, a blonde Russian with piercing blue eyes. You met recently but between promotions that required some hostility, you didn't have any other interactions with her.

"Hello, Y/N," her accent was thick and you stood up as she approached you. She was 5 foot 8, almost an inch and a half shorter than you, but considering her skill and strength it felt like there was no difference at all.

"Anya," you nodded to greet her.

"I just wanted to say I am sorry this is how your career ends," the sentiment surprised you. "I wish I could have fought you at your peak, in a few years," despite being fine with the retirement that was somewhat of a regret. You'd never reach your professional peak, you were only twenty, most MMA fighters reached their peak sometime between twenty-five and twenty-eight years old. You could train, sure, but you doubted you'd reach the same heights you would've if your career continued.

Anya, however, was at her peak, in fact, most experts predicted she would wipe the floor with you prior to your previous match. Now that you knocked your opponent out in six seconds the predictions were different, and some even dared to bet on you.

You sat down, grinning a bit. "I guess that's right. I don't regret it, though."

"You were protecting a friend. Admirable, really," Anya nodded her approval.

"More than a friend, at least as far as feelings go," you blurted out, not really sure why you felt the need to say it. You just missed Tara so damn much.

Anya chuckled a bit and motioned to the bench next to you.

"Of course," at your words, she sat down and leaned her back against the wall.

"What's her name?"

"Tara," you replied, unable to keep the smile off her face.

Anya remained silent for a moment. "There's a river in the Balkans called Tara. In a small country called Montenegro. Its canyon is the deepest in Europe, so if you ever go there, make sure you take your girl rafting through it. I personally found it to be more exciting than most things I did in my life."

You had no idea there was a river called Tara, but you really wanted to see it now, and you wanted to take Tara with you. "Thanks. I'll keep it in mind."

"Make sure you do, it really is an experience," she got up. "Well then, good luck," she offered you a hand.

You took her hand and nodded. "Good luck to you too."

Her behavior took you by surprise, there definitely weren't many fighters who were openly like this. Still, there would be no holding back. You had a fight and you were going to do everything in your power to win.

~X~

She was strong. You had never encountered a fighter that could match you like this. You traded blows, and you barely got out of her submissions. You couldn't make her submit. In the four minutes since the fight started, you managed to get her on the ground once, and she easily got out. You on the other hand found yourself on the ground for the second time, with your neck in a chokehold as she pressed down on your abdomen and kept your legs immobile by holding them between her own.

In an almost desperate attempt not to lose in the first round, you managed to move your fist back enough to land a fairly strong blow to her side. Her grip on you loosened with a grunt coming above you. So, you hit her again, and then the third time before she finally let go enough for you to get your legs free and twist the position. She pushed against your abdomen with her legs, but you landed a solid right punch to her face. You raised your fist again, but just as you were about to hit her again the round ended, and you got up.

You gave one another a quick fist-bump, enjoying the way this fight was going as you separated. There was no malice in this fight. It was just a competition.

The second round started off much better. You circled each other, throwing faints, and testing the distance for a bit. You landed a low kick to her left leg, she in turn grazed your head. You exchanged a couple of punches, pulling away from one another with nearly simultaneous clean hits to the faces. You could feel blood dripping from your nose and your lower lip, you could feel the area around your left eye starting to swell. She wasn't doing much better, though. You landed an elbow on the side of her head, grazing her forehead in the process. From the looks of it, you also made a small cut on the side of her nose.

Both of you were bloody, both of you had taken several hard hits. Anya went in for a kick, but you pushed her back, landing a couple of good blows to her upper body. It wasn't enough. She quickly recovered, bouncing away from your assault. She hit you in the side with a nasty uppercut and you felt wind getting knocked out of your lungs, but you managed to block Anya's follow-up attack.

The following exchange ended in your favor when you landed three good blows to her head and upper body and finished it with a kick to the side.

You made a mistake, though. You misjudged the distance and her kick connected with your jaw. The next thing you knew you were slammed into the ground, feeling the back of your head bounce off the octagon mat and you just barely had enough consciousness to lift your forearms above your face to guard against the flurry of punches raining down upon you. And then, just as your guard was about to be shattered the round ended.

You stumbled to your side of the octagon, slowly regaining awareness of your surroundings as several icepacks were pressed against your face and sore muscles. You felt something warm trickling down your neck. You touched it and saw red. Blood. That kick made your scar bleed. Scar...

Tara.

Your breathing became steady, and you slowly shifted into the breathing pattern Zack taught you. In, out, two times in, out, in, two times out, in, out, two times in, out, in, two times out. Your head was getting clear again just as you were left on your own and just as the third round began.

You needed a bit more time, but Anya wouldn't let you have it. So, you went in, hoping a good offense would give you that precious time. You managed to surprise her, catching her in a clinch and landing two good uppercuts to her face before she pulled back. There was a smirk on her face, indicating she wasn't annoyed by your continued resistance.

You smirked back, going for a quick exchange of punches that ended with a side kick from you. The two of you had a few more exchanges, trading blow after blow and it wasn't clear who was getting the upper hand. the second minute of the third round was already halfway done when Anya went in for and went for a grapple. You had no time to react, no time to think, you just went in for a flying knee and got her right in the face. She dropped and you stumbled away from her, barely registering that the collision of her and your momentum made that hit much more effective than it ordinarily would be.

It was over.

Third round, twelve minutes in total and you were the champion. The end results of your career. Two years and five months of fighting. Thirteen fights. Thirteen wins. Twelve by a knock-out. You were the world featherweight champion. You were retired.

A/N: This. Chapter. Kicked. My. Ass! Damn it, you have no idea how many variations of that damn fight I had been writing ever since I finished chapter, bloody, seven. In the end, I went with this forfeit emotion, complete action, route. By the way, roughly halfway done with the story. Hope you liked it. Either way, thanks for reading, see you next time! Updated 29.03.2024.

#tara carpenter x reader #tara carpenter x female reader #tara carpenter x you #tara carpenter #scream #jenna ortega x reader

[angelsanarchy]

Glass Houses: Jack Thurlow x Y/N Series CH 05 -> CH 06

"Didn't you say you had already befriended your neighbors daughter?" "I'd hardly call us friends. She doesn't know I'm crazy yet."

Tagging: @roryculkinluvr @thatsthewrongwallcraig @icarus-star @cc-luvr @madamemaximoff06 @shady-the-simp @quicksilversg1rl

"How is your sleep? Is it leveling out or are you still experiencing fatigue?" Jack stretched out in front of the computer screen and yawned.

"It's still weird. Some days I'm too exhausted to function. Other days I work my ass off to clear out the house but when I finally lay down, I just can't shut my mind off." Jack explained.

"What goes through your mind when you find yourself unable to sleep?" Jack rolled his eyes.

"Everything...nothing at all...I think about what I might do the next day or working on the book but then I'm too exhausted to even sit in the chair." Jack was growing annoyed with how his meds made him like a zombie. His brain was far too developed to not be able to use it during the day time.

"How about your appetite? Are you eating regularly?" Jack hated having to explain that he was miserable because his body required these meds to stay sane.

"Not as often as I should. Most of that is because I haven't done the grocery shopping yet. I have to put in an order." Jack listened to the hum come from the doctor.

"Have you thought about maybe going to the grocery store? Getting out among the people just to explore." Jack laughed.

"Yeah I'm not sure I have the energy for that. Maybe if I go late at night but I don't want to mingle just yet." Jack couldn't imagine having to walk through the grocery store having people stare at him or offer condolences that are empty and way too late. He wouldn't mind running into Y/n but that's a different story.

"Didn't you say you had already befriended your neighbors daughter?" Dr. Carty questioned making notes.

"I'd hardly call us friends. She doesn't know I'm crazy yet." Jack explained with a self deprecating laugh.

"You aren't crazy Jack. People live completely normal lives with mental illness. It's like any other illness and you are taking the steps towards a bit more normalcy." Dr. Carty had been with Jack since he checked into the facility. He felt like Jack absolutely needed to be hospitalized for the time he was in order to not only get to the root of his trauma but to allow his brain time to come to terms with it. He recognized all the progress he's made and wanted him to feel proud of that.

"Well how does it feel to interact with someone your own age who isn't a doctor?" Jack shrugged.

"She's fine. I mean we have a really cohesive sense of humor. I think if we did hang out, it wouldn't be awful but I'm pretty sure she's a nurse or something. She wears scrubs whenever she's not in regular clothes and when she's in regular clothes she's usually care-giving for her mom." Dr. Carty laughed making Jack tilt his head.

"You like her." He said confidently.

"What? No! We've had two conversations. That's hardly enough time to develop a liking to anyone." Jack defended.

"Haven't you ever heard of love at first sight?" Now Jack knew the doc was fucking with him.

"Yeah, thankfully I live in the real world. Plus everyone knows it's more like lust at first sight. No one can fall in love just seeing someone. That's based entirely on physical attraction." Jack was more of a pessimist when it came to love and attraction. Plenty of people could be attractive but love is few and far between. Jack can count on one hand how many people he's genuinely loved in his entire life.

"Well is she attractive?" Dr. Carty pressed.

"She's conventionally attractive, yes. I mean she hasn't cured my lack of sex drive but again, we've only spoken twice. I don't think I could fuck even if I wanted to." Jack had known the Doc for long enough that his random bouts of vulgarity didn't make him flinch.

"So you have decent conversation with a pretty woman who can match your intellect and has a dog you enjoy spending time with...She doesn't sound like an awful friend to make. Maybe you should work on that." Jack pushed away from the computer and ran his hands down his face.

"Why? I don't want to ruin anyone else's life. She's clearly a much better person than I am and she's already agreed to let me take the dog for walks on occasion so why risk ruining that with her getting to know me?" Jack genuinely feared letting anyone close at this point. Shanda had been with him since day one and the only person who has gotten a pass is the Doc and that wasn't something Jack asked for but has gotten used to.

"She's not Cleo, Jack." The mention of Cleo knocked the wind out of his chest.

"I know that." Jack whispered timidly before standing from his chair to move to the window.

"Just because you never received closure from her doesn't mean you can't move forward. You have done your part in taking accountability. We knew going into that you might not received the absolution of forgiveness." Dr. Carty himself had reached out to Cleo and was told she didn't care if Jack had dropped dead, she refused to talk to him after having their child cremated alone. Jack had sent a twenty page letter without any sort of response and when he sent a follow up, it was returned to sender.

The few times he dared to check social media, she had erased him from her entire existence. She had a memorial post for the baby but she didn't use his last name. When he accidentally liked one of her posts, he was met with a block on all outlets. Shanda had assured him that she had moved on and was doing better but he held onto that guilt for abandoning her after such a sudden miscarriage.

"What are you thinking Jack?" Doc's voice broke through his thoughts as he stood at the window. He could see Y/n down in her mother's garden watering the flowers and talking to her mom who was sitting in a wheelchair on the porch with Ace in her lap. He didn't need to know Y/n well to see she was a good person.

"The best thing she could do is to stay away from me. I'm just...I don't deserve that again. I wasted it the first time and ruined someone's life. What would I even do if I allowed myself to find that with someone else after Cleo? How do I explain to someone what I did to someone I loved enough to want to marry and start a family with?" Jack's ranting started to make his chest hurt.

"Jack, I want you to close your eyes and take a deep breath." Jack became annoyed but did as he was told counting in his head as he took a few deep breaths.

"You need to remember that we are not our mistakes. We all have flaws and blemishes but it's how we right our wrongs that define us. You are not a bad person." Jack opened his eyes feeling a slight burn from squeezing them so tightly. Jack let out a breath before digging in his pocket for a lighter, picking up a cigarette and opening the window abruptly. The daylight made it hard for his eyes to adjust at first but he didn't realize the sound of the window would draw any attention towards him. He was met with Y/n's gaze as he took a deep drag of his cigarette.

"You have to forgive yourself Jack. If you don't let go of that weight, it will drown you." Jack kept his eyes on Y/n as she smiled at him and waved. Jack returned a weak smile, biting his lip.

"I want to...I really do but I just don't think I can." Jack admitted out loud glancing over at the screen to see Dr. Carty was frowning. He hated ending his sessions on a such a negative feeling but he knew he was out of time today. He knew that Doc didn't want to leave him alone with these thoughts so he gave him self work to do over the weekend so it would keep him occupied. Self work always made him roll his eyes because he could knock assignments out easily but whenever he sat down to work on his writing, his mind would be blank. All he wanted to do was figure out how to feel normal again.

#Jack Thurlow #Jack Goes Home #Rory Culkin #Culkin Cult #Glass Houses #One Shot Series #5/38

[larcenywrites]

I was thinking about the palladium poisoning Tony suffered in IM2. And like, he'd probably try to keep you in the dark about it - but at the same time there's black lines/veins spreading from the reactor up his neck, you're gonna end up noticing that sooner or later, even if he always tries to hide it. Plus, he's clearly on a depressive/anxious episode, he might be showing some suicidal tendencies, he's pushing everyone away, Rhodey's worried about him (and probably knows more than you and Tony probably has him swear he won't tell you anything because he doesn't want to worry you and he doesn't want you to suffer if/when he dies from that shit)...

And it happened (iirc) about 6 months after the end of IM1, so imagine he’s finally started to open up again, he’s comfortable, but then suddenly one day he makes a complete 180 and now he’s wearing shirts to bed again and he’s nervous again… and it only starts getting worse. And just in general, he starts getting worse. He starts to look sick, it feels like he has a fever all the time, you probably catch him drinking more often or even drunk. He uses the excuse that he is sick to stay in the guest bedroom most nights, which makes it a bit easier to hide his little issue. And when you call him out on it, even gently and progressively, all he ever does is damn near cry and whimper I love yous and I’m sorrys into your neck. But nothing ever changes. He’s far too eager to get into fights with everyone else, especially Rhodey, and he’s obviously being less careful when he doing,, whatever he does out there. Except this time, you’re hardly allowed to look him over and help him out. If you do notice something odd and dark peeking over his collar, he’ll just brush it off and keep working on whatever he was doing, and if you try to touch it, he’ll flinch away aggressively and side eye you like a nervous dog. You could try to ask JARVIS, but he’s sworn to secrecy…

Tbh he probably gets Rhodey or Happy or someone to manage to get you out of the house for a while (more suspicious to everyone) because he doesn’t want you to be there when he starts tearing up the whole damn house and doing whatever the hell he’s doing down there??

And then suddenly, he’s just fine! Almost a literal night and day difference! It’ll probably make you more nervous at first, but he doesn’t look or feel sick and feverish anymore. If you bring up your concerns he’ll apologize but he won’t actually address it…

The hardest thing would be if, in reference to the pregnancy hcs, if you got pregnant shortly after he first came home, and now you’re like 3-5 months along and dealing with Tony being weird and Tony’s dealing with secretly dying and everything’s just super fucked up 😩

#anon #anonymous #answered #larstalks

[gaoau]

The capability of an open mind calls for a sacrifice

Raison d'Être warnings — none. word count — 1.6k

prev. — next.

Admittedly, [Name] should have seen it coming. For someone that scanned things so intensely, drinking up every last bit of visual information her brain could handle, she tended to lose sight of her surroundings more often than not. She had seen Ai growing bigger and bigger as the months went by to the point he could paw at her hips if he stood on his hind legs. And with his size grew his restlessness.

It was a surprise—though it really wouldn't have been if she'd known anything about dogs—when she arrived home from work one day to absolute havoc inside her apartment. Pristine white feathers were scattered across the floor, from the genkan to the kitchen to the open windows that lead to her balcony. She wondered for a moment if Ai had murdered a bird that accidentally flew inside, but her assumptions were quickly refuted when she spotted a torn pillow case in the middle of all the disaster. With holes in the fabric and strands of thread sticking in different directions, she was thankful it hadn't been expensive and would be easy to replace.

Still, a destroyed pillow did not explain the mountain of chewed-up paint brushes lying next to her box of art supplies. Now, those were expensive. Not to mention the stand knocked over and with its legs upside down, all of which sported very cute teeth markings in the wood. And, of course, the canvas it had been holding was now shredded to pieces beside it.

Her heart stopped in a millisecond. And when she returned to her senses, she cursed directly at the sky and all the deities she knew of for allowing her to survive this horrifying experience. "Oh, fuck me, I thought it was the Chifuyu-san painting," she muttered to herself, palm pressed flat on her chest, feeling the rhythmic beating of a drum pounding against her ribcage. She tiptoed around the feathers and moved over to the fallen painting. She crouched down to assess the damage. Maybe it was still salvageable.

She could hardly believe she wanted to salvage something she had long abandoned.

Her fingers traced over the slashes on the fabric, grazing over the texture of gouache layered up to create a city. Ginormous buildings and neon lights and blurs of people, all unfinished. She had tried to give it a second chance. With a pitiful grimace pulling her lips down, she picked up the remnants of the painting. The sound of claws tapping on the tiles made her turn towards Ai. Her eyes met instantly with the puppy's as she rose back to her feet, and the poor dog cowered in fear of her reaction. What else could he have done? He was bored and all alone!

[Name] stared at him for a little too long as if Ai could read the disappointment in her gaze. Her teeth captured the inside of her cheek for a moment while she pondered. A hum crawled from the back of her throat. She spoke in a stern tone, "Did you get it out of your system, Ai?" Her eyes burned into his soul. She allowed room for an answer, almost expecting the dog to get on his knees and apologize with eloquence. When he replied with nothing more than a quiet whimper, she turned away from him. "I'll give Chifuyu-san a call," she mumbled, letting a heavy sigh tumble to the floor.

Ai sat by the consequences of his own actions with little conscience. He glanced every now and then at [Name], eyes downcast in shame. She hoped Chifuyu wasn't too busy attending the shop while she dialed his number. When he picked up, she breathed out in relief. Ai flinched as she began speaking, expecting her voice to mercilessly pierce through him, but instead it morphed from painful harshness to absolute softness when she pronounced Chifuyu's name. She spared the dog a side-eye glance as she explained the situation.

Then she blinked. "Oh, it's normal?"

"Yeah, some lil' guys like him can get bored and restless."

"Oh." [Name] pulled away from the microphone to whisper an apology that Ai missed. "But what do I do? I'd like to keep my pillows intact, if possible."

Chifuyu chuckled through the speaker, "Sure, you can get him toys to chew on. Actually!" He was a little excited all of a sudden. "I'm sure Ai would love one of those synthetic bones and we've got quite the stock of those. I hear they're great."

"You hear? You hear from who?"

"Dogs, of course."

"You can talk with dogs, Chifuyu-san?" she giggled to herself.

"And cats. It's a hunch."

[Name] pursed her lips to stop her chortles from bursting. They did anyway, making her shoulders bounce and Chifuyu smile to himself on the other side. "Okay, Pet Shop Owner, sir, I'll be dropping by for some toys, then."

"Come on, now, that was just condescending."

"No, no, not at all," she laughed, "not all of us are talented like that."

"I'll pump up the price on the synthetic bones for you." That was not a threat, it was a promise.

"We'll negotiate." And their individual chuckles blended into one another's as they laughed at their own idiocies. "Thanks again, Chifuyu-san, see you in a bit."

"Anytime, [Name]-san. See you."

Kazutora took over the cash register as soon as [Name] stepped into XJ Land. He would have carried out his job properly, but when Chifuyu had warned him that she would be coming in for dog toys, he decided he would not put up with her today. He switched places with his boss to avoid the discomfort [Name]'s eyes brought and allowed the man to help her out. Plenty of people approached him to get their items rung up, which he carried out with skill. It was enough to keep his mind off Chifuyu and [Name]'s heinous gaze as they browsed the shelves.

Meanwhile, [Name] sneaked glances at Kazutora every so often while he attended the customers. Chifuyu, who was trying to recommend the best toys for Ai within a reasonable budget, noticed her eyes straying. He chuckled to himself and raised his volume, "I'm sure Ai would like this one, don't you think?"

She snapped her attention back to him with burning cheeks. She couldn't help but worry about making Kazutora feel uncomfortable just because she had too many eyes. "Uh, yeah, sure. I'm sure he—That's… That's a cat's toy, Chifuyu-san."

"Ah, is it?" He couldn't hide the teasing smirk growing on his lips. "Maybe you should've brought Ai so he could choose."

[Name] laughed as she focused on nothing more than the intense blue of his eyes. "He didn't really look like he wanted to go out. I think he actually felt sorry for destroying my painting."

"See? You talk to dogs, too." His elbow moved on its own when he nudged her playfully.

"It's just a hunch."

Quiet giggles—so as not to disturb the other customers—flowed freely between the two of them. "Well, my hunch says you should take one of these—" he reached for a synthetic, rawhide bone and handed it to her, "—and these guys." With that, [Name] held onto the two plastic toys meant for Ai to chew on without destroying her apartment further. "They don't squeak, in case you're wondering. I'm sure you'd like 'em to be quiet."

Now, Kazutora couldn't really listen in on their conversation, but surely they couldn't have spent fifteen minutes talking about dog toys. This was supposed to be quick. Chifuyu showed her the toys, she chose whichever ones she liked most, she paid for them, and then she left, all without having to endure the weight of her gaze on him any further. But there they were, chortling away in whispers, wasting time while he handled the customers—not that he would ever complain about his job. He just didn't like that, for whatever reason, [Name] kept looking at him.

He couldn't guess whether she was staying longer than necessary for him or for Chifuyu. He didn't care—he didn't like either option. Whatever intentions she had with Chifuyu, he didn't appreciate her walking around the shop so frequently with that gaze of hers. Why was she staying so long? Please, please, go away.

Taking over the cash register proved to be a mistake when the pair began approaching the counter to ring the toys up. He really didn't want to have to deal with [Name] and her polite Hanemiya-san's.

With a panicked frown, he telepathically begged Chifuyu to help him. It seemed his oblivious boss did not pick up on his silent pleas at all, too busy chatting with [Name]. But she did notice the discomfort in his eyes. Of course she did; she saw things others didn't.

"Oh! I'll go get some food while I'm at it." She entrusted the toys in Chifuyu's hands and patted his shoulder before heading to the food aisle.

It was the perfect opportunity for Chifuyu to return to his place behind the counter, allowing Kazutora to run away. He spared [Name] a glance and their eyes met accidentally. She nodded at him. She looked at him like he was a person—an uncomfortable one at that. She understood he didn't want to be seen. So when she immediately focused her too many eyes back on Chifuyu, he slipped into the storage room, back to work.

#Raison d'Être #Tokyo Revengers #Matsuno Chifuyu #Chifuyu #Matsuno Chifuyu x Reader #Chifuyu x Reader #Tokyo Revengers x Reader #tokrev #tokrev x reader

[crazylilad]

Red|| The Start Of The End

Masterlist

AN: Just an Fyi, this is a TWD fanfiction, meaning there are a lot of TWs, including loads of violence (of all kinds)

No smut!

Summary:

I ran through the woods, Matthew right behind me. 

My breaths came in harsh and my legs were screaming in protest. Just a bit farther. I promised myself. 

Matthew stumbled out of the underbrush and doubled over, his cheeks red and mouth open as he huffed for a breath. I moved his arm around my shoulder and kept going. 

I flinched as a bullet ricocheted off a tree to my left. It was too close. They were too close. 

But this was only the start 

The start of the end

Her foot tapped the dirt repeatedly as she stared down at the piece of paper in her hands.

Rossary had grown curious about what the note was when she found it lying next to a broken bottle of vodka in someone's old camp. Hands shaking, she took the note and read it.

Survival of the fittest.

One of Them was hung from a tree outside. His legs were chewed off and his neck was swollen around his make-shift noose.

She shook her head, and took the same pen the walker had once used to write his letter.

Fear is worse than them

Someone whistled behind her. She turned around, her hand on her gun. Matthew smiled nervously, his hands up in surrender. Rossary rolled her eyes, yet smiled at her best friend, grateful to see he was back from searching the woods.

He held a can up and smiled. "I found us some beans."

It was like he wasn't fazed by anything going on in the world. Most people would wish to be like that but it seemed more like a death wish than anything else.

Rossary grimaced. How had it come to living off of scraps meant for a dog?

She stared at the hanging Thing as she walked by, debating on whether she should waste a bullet or not. Deciding against it, she walked toward the highway.

Matthew jogged until he was next to her. "I'm thinking we circle back to Atlanta, get a car, maybe find a nice neighborhood to raid."

Rossary nodded. "We could do that. The marines are bound to have set up a base of some sort," The government was built to survive something like this, to be with them would be the smartest choice.

Matthew shook his head, his lip in between his teeth. "I don't think they made it, bunny."

She swallowed, dread slowing her down. He was right. As of now, they were the only people in the world and nothing else should matter but surviving.

By the time they were back at the highway it had begun raining. She pulled out her empty water bottle and placed it on the back of an old pick up truck watching as it slowly filled up. Matthew stood next to her, wiping his blonde hair out of his eyes.

"Should we raid the cars?"

It wasn't too bad of an idea. If they could find a car that still worked, or food and water... Rossary shrugged. "We can look-"

Her sentence was hardly out of her mouth before Matthew began looking through a car.

Rossary scoffed but did the same and searched a small car. She hit the windows before opening the doors. You could never be too careful nowadays.

"Uh, Rossary?!" Matthew hollered.

She cursed. A group of those things came out of the woods. There were too many of them to fight off so she grabbed her water bottle and followed Matthew away from the abandoned highway.

TAGLIST

@d1am0ndw0lfxd @eatinpeachs

#twd daryl #twd fanfiction #twd #the walking dead daryl #daryl dixon fanfic #daryl dixon fanfiction #rick grimes #amc #thewalkingdead #oc #daryl dixon x oc

[the-blind-one-speaks]

Strike

The boy flailed in their grip, struggling bodily with bared teeth. He spat at the men dragging him into the room, eyes flashing. Spittle clung to his lips as he fought furiously. “Leggo of me, ya stinkin’ murderers! Let go! Just lemme get my hands on ya, ye —“

One stern guard thrust his hand, safely clad in a thick leather glove, over the boy’s mouth. The youngster swiftly clamped it between his teeth, jaws grinding as he bit viciously. The soldier’s cheek flinched, but he did not withdraw his hand. Between the three of them, he was wrestled to the floor in the middle of the chamber, face ground into the dust. The stern guard looked up, voice calm.

“A prisoner, ma’am.”

The boy thrashed fiercely before falling still. He coughed wretchedly, laboring to breathe through dust and past the weight of several men’s knees thrust into his rib cage. He tossed his head, his mop of brown curls damp with sweat. He spat dust from between his teeth, glaring. He bared his teeth and growled savagely, eyes glittering. 

The soldier cuffed him sternly, ignoring the thin speckles of blood dotting his now-torn glove. “Show some respect when addressing the queen.” 

The boy turned his head slowly, staring him down. He gritted his teeth. “She ain’t my queen.”

A voice rang out. “Release him, Lieutenant. I’d like him to stand before me.”

The soldier looked up. “I don’t think that’s wise, my queen.” Nevertheless, he stood and gestured to his men. 

The boy wasted no time in scrambling to his feet. He jerked a fist towards the nearest soldiers. “Just lemme get my hands on ya, ya dirty —“

“What is your name?” The imperious tone seemed to quiet him slightly. He turned with an insolent lack of speed, eyebrow cocked jauntily. 

“And suppose I don’t feel like tellin’ you et, what then, eh? Have your whipped dogs fall on me and beat me again, will ye, ‘ey?” He spun a hate-filled look about the room, glowering. “Dirty cowards.” 

“I asked for your name, not a confession. Please, it wouldn’t cost you anything to oblige me.”

“Oh, so it’s ‘please,’ now, is et? Well, missy, don’t waste your breath or your ‘pleases’ talkin’ tae me. I won’t say a word to ye, I won’t.”

The woman lifted an aristocratic eyebrow. “I find that hard to believe. You’ve hardly stopped speaking since entering this place.” He sniffed to himself. 

“I ain’t sayin’ nothin’ one way or t’other, so there!” He clicked his mouth shut. The lieutenant was fast running out of patience. He reached forward. The boy dodged smartly aside as his hand landed on the back of his neck, but the gruff soldier was having none of it. He shook the insolent youngster roughly, ignoring his efforts to twist out of his grip. 

“Have some respect when you’re talking to Her Majesty, you young rip.” 

“Leggo of me, you!” Indignation filled his tone. The boy swung his fist. At that moment, the monarch stepped down from her dias. 

His blow, meant for the offending soldier, smashed her solidly on the jaw. His knuckles caught her a glancing blow across the mouth, ripping one of her fair lips. The sound of his fist connecting was the only sound for several moments. 

For a single instant, nobody in the room moved. Bent double, the queen lifted a trembling, pale hand to her face. She dabbed at her mouth with a gentle touch. When her fingers came away wet with blood, there was an outraged stirring throughout the room. 

The blood in the boy’s face drained. He started shaking, eyes wide and full of terror as he realized what he had done. The man, gripping him by one arm and the back of his neck, drew a sharp breath. He grabbed his prisoner roughly, shoving him against the stone column. Trapping his young prisoner with one arm roughly across the chest, he fumbled to draw his sword with a single hand, face grim, eyes cold. 

The sound of the sword slithering from its sheath seemed to loose the boy’s tongue. He began babbling shrilly. His voice was hopeless but beseeching. “I — I didn’t mean to strike ‘er — sir — on me oath I dinn’t! I never meant to —please spare me, sir! I — I dinn’t mean to!” The soldier raised his blade. The boy’s voice rose to a screech. “PLEASE!”

He shut his eyes tightly, clamping his mouth shut on a whimper. The queen straightened and gazed levelly at them. “Stay your blade, Lieutenant,” she called out. The boy cracked his eyelid, peering at her in disbelief. A thin trickle of red blood traced the curve of her mouth, dripping off her chin. Spots of scarlet blood, said by most in the kingdom to be bluer than the bluest sky, stained the elaborate brocaded skirt of her elegant gown. 

The soldier waited further orders, sword lifted, barely restraining himself. His face was coldly furious, his eyes deadly. He stared at the boy with bleak anger, their blackness fearsome in the sturdy, solid set of his heavy face. 

“I believe him,” the queen said softly. She folded her hands in a genteel manner, watching as her most loyal follower slowly returned his sword to his sheath. The man kept his arm threateningly across the boy’s chest for a moment longer, staring down at him. There was no mercy in his face. 

“If you say so much as an insolent word,” he said quietly, “I will deliver the full punishment for your offense.” The boy stared up at him with round eyes, shaking. The man lifted a finger. “Is that understood?” 

There was a shaky nod in response. He grunted and stepped back, spine stiff with ill-concealed anger. “Good. Now, thank her majesty for her generous mercy. And step smartly to answer her questions.”

The boy shrank back against the pillar. He glanced in the direction of the queen, shaking from how close he had come to dying. Mumbling something under his breath, he kept his eyes on the floor, sagging back against the column, gripping it as though for support. All the fight seemed to have gone out of him. 

“Louder,” the stern man said gruffly. He tightened his grip on the hilt of his sword, the torn leather of his glove creaking as his knuckles tightened. The boy glanced at him and sang out lustily. 

“Ah — th-thankee, Majesty. Thankee very much.” He fell silent, face burning with embarrassment. The man was not satisfied. 

“Enunciate,” he said firmly. 

The sound of the boy grinding his teeth was audible. He gritted the words through his clenched jaw, glaring at the dust on the floor at his feet. “Thank ye, very much, Your Majesty.” His words were clear, however choked his voice sounded. The man nodded shortly. 

“Better.” He turned and saluted his waiting queen, fist clipping his breastplate smartly. “He’s ready for you now, Your Majesty.” 

She inclined her head. “Thank you, Lieutenant. Have you a name, young man? It’s alright, you can approach me. You needn’t cringe against that pillar.”

He thrust himself away from the column, jaw jutting out belligerently. “I wann’t cringing, ma’am. Name’s Pippin, Pippin Fairwaithe, et is, an’ you won’t catch no Fairwaithe cringin’!” He declared this proudly, then glanced hurriedly at the glaring lieutenant. Casting his gaze at the floor, he mumbled more softly, “Er, that is — Pippin’s my name, ma’am. Your Majesty.” 

She smiled slightly. 

“I’ll remember that,” she said seriously. He glanced up and shuffled a step nearer, his curiosity getting the better of him. 

She beckoned him closer with an amused smile. He stared at her, then glanced away, ears reddening. 

“I ain’t never seen no queen before,” he said softly. His eyes followed the sweep of her skirt as she turned to remount the dias. “Ya look powerful elegant, ye do.” The lieutenant drifted a threatening step towards him. He nipped smartly closer to the base of the dias, calling up while keeping his eyes on the menacing soldier. “That es, ye look mighty… mighty nice? Mighty royal? Mighty elegant — yore Majesty!” 

The soldier relaxed as his monarch laughed. She rested on the arm of her throne, heavy skirt rustling as she crossed her legs at the ankle. “Oh, stop teasing him, Lieutenant, please! Let him speak as he is accustomed to. He needn’t sound like a palace resident to answer without disrespect, do you, Pippin?”

He mumbled something under his breath, shuffling his feet. She tilted her head curiously, watching him for a minute. “What do you want, Pippin?”

He glanced up at her. His confusion was clear on his face. “Wh-what do I want, miss? Er — Majesty?” 

She nodded gently. “Yes. What do you want more than anything else in the world, Pippin? A boy your age must have hopes and dreams, ambitions? Please, won’t you tell me?” She winked conspiratorially at him, eyes twinkling. She was still quite young, for such a powerful monarch. Her sense of humor was not dimmed at all by the dignity of her station. She rested her chin on her fist and waited. When he did not seem inclined to answer, she asked again, iterating it slightly differently. “What would satisfy a Fairwaithe?”

He glanced up. His eyes studied her seriously. In an uncharacteristically low tone, he replied somberly. “The freedom of my family.”

She slid a glance at her court. “Have we any prisoners by the name of Fairwaithe?”

The boy answered her before any if her advisors did. His face was somber. In the same low tone, he looked her straight in the eye to explain. “Ye do, yer Majesty, but not hereabouts. We’re from the north, we Fairwaithes are, an’ ye’ve still got the camps up there.” He set his jaw, eyes blazing. “My pap died workin’ those mines fer coal, an’ if’n I weren’t down in this city already I’d surely be be’ind a pick by now. Mah mother’s got the little un’s, Majesty, an’ that’s why I’m here. Hard to make a buck, an’ when they weren’t gettin’ none of my coin, I took it upon meself to see what the hold-up was at the postal office, Majesty.” He jerked his head at the soldiers. “They can tell ye they found me there.” 

The Lieutenant scoffed. “A fine sob story for a thief.”

The boy whirled, shoulders stiffening. “I’m many things but I ain’t no liar an’ I ain’t no thief! There wasn’t supposed to be no camps after the war ended, was there? But nobody told us up in the North, an’ yore soldiers never stopped! I only found out cuz I came down ‘ere to visit me uncle, an’ he’s so bleedin’ patriotic he tol’ me there was no way Mum wasn’t gettin’ me pay!” Pippin narrowed his eyes at the soldier, stepping closer to the scowling man. “Ye can kill me if ye want, but ‘ere’s the bloody truth. Somebody’s stealin’ my ‘ard-earned coin, and me mother and two little un’s are going ‘ungry cuz of it. Bloody war’s na over for everyone yet.” He whipped back around and squared his shoulders, gazing rigidly at the stone steps of the Queen’s dias. “So ye asked me what I wanted, yer Majesty, an’ now I’ve said it. I want me family to go free. I want them camps up North closed like they was supposed to be once ye won the war. An’ I want ta know which of yer postmen ‘as been buying drinks using me mother’s coin.” 

Silence fell across the courtroom. He said it with the bursting defiance of one who has every expectation of being denied. His shoulders were back, his heels together, a perfect mimicry of the soldiers flanking him. Standing tall in the center of the Court, the boy with blazing eyes and mussed hair radiated fierceness born of a life lived against all odds. 

In a single motion, the Queen rose from her throne and turned away. The room burst into muttered whispers. She glided towards the exit, dismissing the gathering without a word. Pippin’s eyes remained locked on the stone steps. He swallowed past the rigid muscles of his neck, his jaw still locked in a defiant scowl. When the Lieutenant laid a firm hand on his shoulder, he stiffened. Lifting his chin, he straightened his spine and allowed himself to be led away. Walking with his head held high, he almost managed to look unafraid. 

taglist: @itsleighlove @whumpzone @thegreatwhodini @unicornscotty

#pippin fairwaithe #fantasy #my writing

[onecanonlife]

In which Tommy has a nightmare, and enderwalk!Ranboo is of the opinion that grass blocks make everything better.

(word count: 1,413)

----------

Tommy jolts out of a nightmare that he doesn’t want to remember, and a few seconds later, finds himself hyperventilating outside on the grass.

It’s not on, is what it is. He hardly asked for this, for these awful dreams and this inability to sleep for more than a few hours at a time at best, for this creeping certainty that Dream is breaking out, is going to come for him, and that it’s only a matter of time before something awful happens. He didn’t ask for any of this, but he has it, and he’s not moving out of his house, because that would feel like a concession, but on nights like these he wakes up and the dirt walls press in around him and he can’t breathe, and it is completely and utterly the worst.

So. Outside. Grass. Hyperventilating.

Calming himself down is old hat, by now. He figured out how to do it a long time ago, around the time when he realized that there wasn’t going to be anyone holding his hand anymore, that he was well and truly on his own, without a friend in the world. Other than—but no, he doesn’t go there. He knows better, now, even though his brain still tries to play tricks on him sometimes, tries to convince him that Dream is the only one who actually has his best interests at heart.

The point is, he knows how to do this. He’s used to it. And frankly, he’s glad that he is, glad that he can do this on his own, because he doesn’t want anyone else around him when he’s like this. Doesn’t want anyone else to see, doesn’t want anyone else to know that this happens, doesn’t want anyone else to be able to point at him and go, look, the great TommyInnit brought low.

So when he regulates his breaths and swipes the tears from his face and unclenches his fingers knuckle by knuckle, he looks up and most definitely does not expect anyone to be crouched in front of him. When he sees that there is, he scrabbles backward and lets out an incredibly manly scream, and he doesn’t think he can be blamed for it, because what the fuck?

“Holy shit,” he wheezes, “holy shit, you can’t just—” And has to stop, because it’s not just any weird crouching person. It’s his fucking—what’s the word for when a very irritating and terrible person marries your best friend? What’s the title for that? Annoyance-in-law?

In any case, it’s Ranboo.

“What,” he says, “the shit are you doing?”

Ranboo makes a sound that is not words at all. In fact, it sounds very similar to an enderman vwoop, which, alright, the guy’s half enderman, that checks out. Except, his eyes are also purple, and he looks rather taller than he normally does, even crouching down, so something is weird here. Something is very, very weird.

“Fuck off,” he says. “Go and, go and raise your shitty child or something. Sing ‘im a lullaby. Go on.”

He makes shooing noises with his hands, like one might do to a dog, or a persistent crow. Ranboo tilts his head very slowly, like a complete fucking weirdo, and then rises in one fluid motion, and goes walking off somewhere. Tommy stares after him, because he hadn’t really expected that to work. But alright, he’ll take it.

“That’s right,” he mutters. “Just fucking, fucking leave, go on.” He stares down at the grass, running a shaking hand through his hair. He is, maybe, not quite as recovered as he’d like. He’s usually not, after the initial panic, usually can’t make himself relax until the sun has crested the horizon and the sky has begun to lighten. He’s ruined for sleep tonight, that’s for sure.

But it’s alright. It’s alright, he’s used to it. He can do it. He can do this. He’s a big fucking man, and he can survive on a few hours of sleep a night, and he can avoid looking at himself in the mirror and remembering another face, eyebags just as dark, hair just as wild, eyes only slightly more desperate. He doesn’t have to remember things. Not if he doesn’t want to. He’s great at not remembering things, him.

Footsteps. He jerks, looks up again, and Ranboo is standing over him, and why is he so fucking tall?

Ranboo makes another vwooping sound. And then a little trill, almost like a bird, if a bird gargled gravel and then turned into an eldritch monstrosity. He crouches again, and then holds out his hands, and there is something in them, something that he is offering him, and—

Tommy squints. It’s a grass block.

“What am I supposed to do with that?” he asks.

Ranboo vwoops.

“Could you just stop being so fucking weird?” he demands. “For five minutes? I don’t think that’s too much to ask, really. God, you’re just. The worst.”

Ranboo shifts a bit closer, still holding out the grass block. Like he wants him to take it.

“I’m not taking your stupid block,” Tommy says, and accepts it.

Ranboo vwoops.

“Why would you even—” he says, burrowing his fingers into the dirt. A bit of it crumbles to the ground. He doesn’t understand how endermen manage to do this, keep these blocks in perfect shape, grass and all. “Why would you even give me this? What are you trying to pull on me, eh? It won’t work. You can’t pull the wool over my eyes, pal. You’re up to something. Why are your eyes all purple?”

Ranboo vwoops.

And then—Tommy remembers something. Something he wasn’t particularly trying to remember, and usually, that’s not such a great thing, but it’s not so bad this time. Because this memory is from just a couple of weeks ago, in Snowchester, one of those times that he was trying to hang out with Tubbo, but Ranboo was just there and wouldn’t leave, and Tubbo wouldn’t make him leave, so Tommy spent the entire time being vaguely pissed off. And he was trying not to pay attention to Ranboo, really, he was, except he remembers him saying something about how he gets anxious, and how holding blocks of things and putting them down places helps him. At the time, he made a point of not acknowledging him, because Tommy’s not an idiot. He knew what he was trying to do, and he didn’t appreciate it.

But—

He stares at the block in his hands. And then back at Ranboo.

He wants to be angry, at the idea, at the presumption, because who the fuck does Ranboo think he is, trying to patronize him like this? But Ranboo keeps up his soft warbles, and he finds his eyes filling with tears instead.

“Are you,” he says, and his voice is not choked, it’s not, “are you trying to help me?”

Ranboo vwoops. Chirps. And then reaches out, slowly enough that Tommy doesn’t feel the urge to flinch, and runs gentle clawed fingers through his hair.

“Oh,” Tommy says. And doesn’t lean into the touch. He doesn’t. But if, hypothetically, he does, that’s between him and Prime on high. Or at least, it would be, if all his muscles didn’t go lax a few seconds later, and if he didn’t accidentally on purpose tip forward against Ranboo’s chest.

The dirt slips through his fingers. But that’s alright, because one of Ranboo’s arms wraps around him, and the other keeps carding through his hair, like Wilbur used to do when they were younger and things were better and they were two halves of a whole rather than puzzle pieces that got bent out of shape. The way his head is, he can feel vibrations running though Ranboo’s chest, like the purr of a cat, and it’s going to lull him to sleep if he’s not careful.

He can’t let that happen. He has more dignity than that.

Except he’s very tired. And Ranboo is clearly—sleepwalking, or something. Not all there in the head at the moment. So maybe he won’t remember this in the morning, if Tommy makes sure to wake up first. And that would be alright.

“You’re still terrible,” he mumbles, but the words are slurred, and Ranboo’s arms are very warm and comforting, and he’s drifting. He can feel it.

So he lets himself. Ranboo’s warbles follow him into sleep, and he dreams of stars.

#mcyt #dsmp #dream smp #dsmp fic #tommyinnit #ranboo #enderwalk ranboo #allium duo #/rp #cw swearing #cw panic attack #cw past manipulation #cat writes fic #i should let y'all know that tommy deffo does not wake up first #the conversation the next morning goes something like this: #ranboo: why are we here??? why are you on top of me???? #tommy: i'm attacking you #ranboo: ?????? #tommy: i'm winning

[eloquent-vowel]

I have had a few bucky x read fic ideas bouncing around in my head and i cant write! So here is one,

Sam find a person who stairs and doesnt talk a whole lot because they uses ✨telepathy ✨. So Sam think they would be a good fit for Bucky, but he doesn’t know they have that power he just thinks they are mute. Then there is a thing where the reader is telling Buck how it works and they if they have something to connect them together like an object *reader motions to dog tags* they can have an unbreakable mind link. Then they fall in love or something. This is dumb, thank you for coming to my TedTalk

Hey! Thank you so much for this request, it wasn't dumb at all. I really enjoyed writing this. I may have gotten a bit carried away, this may sit close to 4000 words but we vibe. I hope this is what you had in mind! Please enjoy! <3

Click here for my masterlist of other fics and check in my bio for requests if anyone wishes to ask!

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Bucky had been enjoying a moments peace, he loved working with Sam but sometimes all he wanted was to put his feet up, put on some vinyl and enjoy a good cup of coffee all while reading a brilliant book. He had been trying to get into Game of Thrones lately, on Sam’s insistence, and he had been enjoying it. With the crackles of Glenn Miller from the turntable he missed the clunky footsteps coming up the stairs.

The sight that greeted Sam needed to be photographed. Bucky was lounging back on his ‘old man armchair’ feet up, hair in a towel, in a bathrobe, coffee in hand and facemask on, this was definitely one for the family album.

At the sound of the phone shutter Bucky practically launched himself out of the chair.

“Oh, you are never gonna live this one down old boy, it’s going to haunt you.” Sam almost cackled evilly as he began to email the photo to himself- he had learnt the hard way that Bucky was very proficient at breaking phones.

“You better not upload that photo anywhere, Wilson, I have a reputation to uphold.”

“Pfft, reputation, that’s funny.”

Bucky scoffed as he stood up, placing his book carefully on the side table, “Big scary super soldier, people hardly run-in fear from a guy in a bathrobe.”

“I disagree, a man in a bathrobe is definitely something you should run from. AH NOPE!” Sam jumped backwards, on top of a nearby chair, as Bucky lunged for the phone, towel turban falling off in the process. “You are not breaking this phone as well.”

“Fine. But you gotta promise not to post that anywhere.” Bucky huffed.

“I won’t.”

“Good.”

“As long as- “

“Oh no, I’m not doing anything for you.”

“Think of it as payment for the last phone you broke and insurance for this picture.”

There was silence for a moment as the two friends eyed each other up. Sam raised his eyebrows, Bucky’s eyes narrowed. It was an intense staring match between a guy in a bathrobe and a precariously balanced man. A clock ticked.

“Fine.” Bucky conceded. “What do you want?”

“For you to come to a meeting.”

“The families of Veterans ones?”

“Yeah.” Sam slowly started climbing down from the chair. “And before you get your old man pants in a twist, I’m not trying to force you to talk or anything, kinda.”

“Kinda?” Suspicion laced through Bucky’s voice.

“You know sign language, right?”

“Which kind?”

“American? I think?”

“Yeah, I know ASL, might be a bit rusty but I’m sure it still holds up. Why do you ask?”

Sam shifted slightly on his feet, “There’s this person, they come in every week and listen. I tried to talk to them, but they communicate through sign language, and I don’t have anyone there to talk with them.” He cast his eyes to the floor, “I feel bad. They were brave enough to come to the group only to basically be ignored ‘because we didn’t plan well enough.”

Bucky smiled, face mask crinkling around his smile lines, “You could have just asked me to Sam. You didn’t have to blackmail me into this, of course I’ll help. When’s the next meeting?”

“This evening. You gonna be ready or do you need some more ‘me’ time.”

Bucky simply chuckled at Sam’s teasing tone, patted his shoulder making sure to squeeze just a bit too hard before retreating to his room.

“I’ll be there, Wilson, and I will look so much younger than you!”

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It was frustrating to you, going along to these meetings and not being able to communicate. You could always speak into someone’s mind but all that usually accomplished was a very paranoid person. But just listening to other’s stories really helped the grief from losing someone so close to you. You related to most of the people there and even though they didn’t understand you a lot of the time, you were always made to feel welcome- with friendly pats on the back and the odd tissue thrown your way.

You bustled into the familiar building with a new sense of excitement as Sam had promised to bring a translator for you this week. It was finally time to say your thanks to some of the people there and finally let the group know about your brother, so that it wasn’t only you that remembered him.

You all but ran through the hallways until you caught sight of a familiar smiling man. Sam was facing you, talking animatedly to another man, the strangers back was to you. He was tall, broad shouldered and dressed in a vintage looking leather jacket and rather well fitted trousers. Now the debate was: does the tailoring make the ass, or does the ass make the tailoring. You were halfway through the arguments on either side when Sam shouting your name disrupted the intense debating in your mind. You blushed at being caught, then blushed some more when you caught sight of the stranger’s face. Twinkling blue eyes under a deep-set brow should have made him intimidating, but he was smiling, and his face was dazzling. There was an immediate fluttering in your stomach.

“Hey, I’m Bucky.” Dear lord even his voice was nice, what made you smile even more was the fact that he signed as he spoke. Well, Sam certainly knew how to pick them well. “Sam introduced me; said you wanted an interpreter.”

You nodded as you signed back, “Nice to meet you, thank you for helping out.”

“No problem, Sam has told me a bit about you.”

“Good things I hope.”

“Okay I recognise my own name, you two better not be conspiring against me.” Sam piped up, to be honest you had forgotten about him for a moment.

Bucky laughed, and it sent a little thrill down you, he really was adorable.

“No worries, Wilson, just letting them know all your dirty little secrets.”

“Right, you two get in there, before you make me sleep with one eye open.”

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You and Bucky caught each other’s eye, his eyes were twinkling with mischief, and you couldn’t help the smile that overtook you. You had a feeling that the two of you would get on just fine.

The meeting passed easily. Bucky translated your signs and you finally felt like you could actually take part in these meetings. Everyone listened intently when you spoke of your brother and when you had thanked the whole group for being so open to you a couple of people shed a tear. By the end of the meeting though you were tired and very accepting of Bucky’s offer to walk you home.

It was a lot of side glances and hidden smiles and you walked side by side. Drawn to each other under the moonlit sky, it was nice to just be in the presence of someone who had such a kind aura. You spent the walk trying to work up the confidence to sign something, anything but nothing came to mind and Bucky seemed quite content to just walk in comfortable silence.

You soon reached your home, you turned to Bucky with a smile on your face and signed,

“Thanks for today, Bucky. You were really helpful.”

“No problem.” He signed back,

You hesitated slightly before signing, “Would you be happy to have a coffee with me, tomorrow?”

Bucky went a little red in the face, and chuckled, “I would love to, I know a nice place, real cosy. I’ll text you the details.”

“You know how to text?”

“Hey! I get enough stick from Sam, don’t need you getting on my case too. I’ll have you know that I am very adaptable.”

“Sure, Sure.” You smiled at his flustered tone. “I’ll wait for your text then, have a good evening.”

“You too.”

The two of you stared slightly awkwardly at each other, neither wanting to be the first to turn around. You shuffled your feet away slowing, smiling awkwardly once more at Bucky before turning. You heard his footsteps start to fade away as you walked towards your home. You were but three steps to the door when a large figure in a hoodie slammed into you, you raised your arms instinctively to block them when you noticed your shoulder was lighter. The bastard had stolen your bag.

You immediately took chase, chasing around the corner you just walked down but they were fast, faster then you at least. As you rounded the corner you caught sight of Bucky walking ahead. The thief wouldn’t stand a change against him. Without a second thought you cast your thoughts towards Bucky,

“Bucky! Thief! My Bag! Behind you!”

You saw Bucky flinch slightly then turn bewildered, his eyes widening when he saw you hurting towards him, chasing the hooded figure. He caught on and launched after the thief as well, with barely any effort he knocked the thief to the ground, grabbed your bag and whipped out his phone to call the cops.

Well, that was hot.

You took your bag back, immediately checking that you brother’s lucky coin was in the zippy pocket, to your relief it was still there. You looked up to see Bucky staring at you with a very puzzled look on his face. You sighed before casting your thoughts to his head once more,

“I’ll explain later.”

Bucky let out a strange, decompressed noise of shock, it made you giggle. The two of you waited in silence until the police came and took the thief away. The police car had barely driven away when he turned to you.

“Did you just, talk in my head? Or did my conscious just suddenly get really loud.”

“I did. Hi. Sorry about that.”

He waved his hands dismissively. “Believe it or not, not the weirdest thing I’ve encountered.”

“Well, that’s reassuring.”

There was an awkward silence.

“So,” You started, resorting back to sign language, it felt less invasive, “Still down for coffee?”

Bucky smiled, “One hundred percent. I’ll see you tomorrow?”

“Yeah. Bye Bucky. Thanks for getting my bag back.”

“No problem, see ya.”

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The coffee shop that Bucky invited you to, was tucked away, it was the kind of place that you would stumble over on accident. With a simple door and a big window out the front, that lead soft orange light filter out onto the alley. There was the faint sound of jazz leaking out of the building, you smirked. It was such an old fashioned place, of course this was where Bucky frequented.

The bell tinkled slightly as you entered the café, where you were greeted with the smell of fresh coffee and baked goods. You caught sight of Bucky’s broad shoulders sitting in the corner, and you made your way over to him, smiling at the barista as you passed.

As if sensing you, Bucky turned to smile and wave. He was dressed in casual clothes like last time, but this time his hair was loose around his shoulders. You smiled back before settling into the seat opposite him.

His hands moved hesitantly as he signed, “What would you like? I can recommend their hot chocolate, its very warming/”

“Hot chocolate it is.”

You could tell he wanted to ask you a million questions but to his credit he walked slowly to get the drinks, he even took his time carefully carrying the tray of drinks back to your table. He placed a delicious looking hot chocolate in front of you. You watched as he took a sip.

5, 4, 3, 2, 1-

“So,” Here we go, “What is it you can do, you can speak in peoples’ heads, can you,” He lowered his voice and leaned in, “Can you read people’s minds?”

You giggled slightly, his eyes were basically sparkling, he was definitely nerding out about this.

You set the hot chocolate down before casting your thoughts to his head, “I can speak in peoples heads relatively easily, it’s how I talk most of the time to people I know. I guess you could call it Telepathy.”

Bucky’s eyes were as wide as saucers, “So you can’t read thoughts, only… speak them?”

“I like to call it casting, makes me feel like a sorcerer. I can read thoughts, but it takes a lot of energy. I used to be able to talk with my brother from across the house. That usually requires some kind of connection.”

“Oh, so like a blood or family connection? Do you have to know the person very well?”

“That certainly helps but it’s not always necessary. If I have a personal object that belongs to that person, something I can hold and connect to them it isn’t hard to make a two-way connection. Especially if that person is willing to open their mind.”

Bucky seemed to be caught in thought for a second. “So, if I were to give you something of mine, we could both talk in our… heads?”

“Well yes, but Bucky we have only just met. Letting me into your head is a lot. I try not to pry but sometimes I’ve found that thoughts just burst through. Let’s get to know each other a before that happens.”

Bucky smiled at you before speaking and signing, “You’re right. Let’s get to know one another. I find you fascinating.”

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It happened on the fifth date. Bucky was just walking you home after a lovely dinner at a small Italian that he claimed he went to back in the 40s. Just outside your door, under the glow of a lamppost he turned to you and took a deep breath before speaking.

“I know this may be a lot, but I wanted to give you these.” He reached around his neck and pulled off something silver. You gasped slightly as he held out his dog tags, immaculately preserved after all these years.

“Are you sure, Bucky? This is a lot.”

“I know and if you aren’t comfortable with it then just let me know but I want to give them to you.”

“You know what this means Bucky?”

“Yeah, I know, I just figured that you’re already in my head all the time anyways, just can’t seem to get you out of it.”

“You cheeseball.” You smirked at him before taking the dog tags and placing them around your neck. You gripped the cold metal for a moment, concentrating on the man in front of you. Taking everything, you knew about him and stretching out a connection, like a hand reaching out to clasp another.

“Testing, Testing, Testing, one two, one two, can my Telepathic partner hear me?”

You laughed, “Yes I can Bucky, you big dork.”

Bucky whooped out loud before sweeping you up in a big hug. The two of you laughing under the lamp light. His joy was infectious, and you couldn’t fight the smile off your face.

“Oh, we are going to have so much fun messing with Sam.”

“You’re evil.”

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Of course, the two of you made a pact not to tell Sam until he worked it out, which wouldn’t be anytime soon according to Bucky. It led to some very memorable moments and Sam refusing to play any form of card or board game with either of you because you always managed to win, somehow. Not to mention all the times you had spoken in eery unison around him.

“I swear, its like you two can read each other’s minds sometimes.” Sam threw his hands up in frustration at another lost game of charades.

You smirked at Bucky across the room, “Should you tell him, or shall I?”

“I think he’s been through enough, I got it.”

Bucky cleared his throat, “We can.”

Sam whipped around to face Bucky, a look of sheer disbelief on his face, “Seriously Bucky-boy, if you think I believe that after all-

“Hello Sam.” You cast your thoughts to him, in the creepiest old lady voice you could muster.

Sam yelped, before turning accusingly at you, “You better be joking around with me right now, I am not dealing with any kind of ghosts in this house.”

“Sorry! Surprise I’m telepathic!”

“You’re serious.”

You nodded.

Sam put his head in his hands and sighed, “Not the weirdest thing ever. Wait, does this mean you have been cheating this entire time.”

You both looked guiltily at one another.

“You owe me. That poker night, void.”

You both laughed, “We’ll have a fair rematch this time Sam.”

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It had been close to a year since you had made it official with Bucky and you were now much more comfortable around one another. He no longer just dropped you off at the lamppost but cam inside with you. You had spent many lovely mornings together sharing glances over steaming cups of coffee. Fighting each other for who got to spread their legs out on the couch, there wasn’t really a loser though as it usually ended up in sofa cuddles for both of you, while watching a film.

Life was pretty great, you thought, as you smiled down at the sleeping Bucky beside you. Finally reaching over to turn off the lamp and put your book down, you were finally reading the hobbit at Bucky’s insistence. As you clicked off the light beside you and settled down you noticed the faster than usual breathing coming from beside you.

“Bucky?”

You reached out, thinking he was awake but instead as you opened up your connection you caught flashes of night terrors. You were falling indefinitely, snow all around you, and in the distance, there were cries of pain, people pleading for their lives, there was gunfire and explosions. You gasped and took off the dog tags. You only gave yourself a moment to breathe before trying to shake Bucky awake. When it became clear that he wasn’t stirring you steadied yourself and settled your hands on his temples. You didn’t care you tired this would make you, you just wanted Bucky to stop suffering. You focused, offering out that hand of connection again, this time picturing it in the shape of a fist and, although it wasn’t subtle, you tried to shake Bucky’s brain awake. You forced your way into his dreams, punching through the dark fog that clouded his thoughts and almost screamed at him.

“Bucky! Bucky wake up! You’re dreaming my dear!”

Bucky woke up with a start. Tears flowing down his face, he stared at you blue eyes shining. No one spoke as he pulled you into his arms. You just breathed together for a moment, counting the breaths and the spaces in between. When he finally pulled back, you saw his eyes flicker with concern before lifting a hand to gently wipe under your nose, it came back red with blood.

“You, okay?”

You smiled sadly, reaching out to put the dog tags back on.

“I should be asking you that.”

“But you’re bleeding.”

“Occupational hazard.” You tried to subtly get rid of any of the extra blood. “That was pretty intense. Wanna talk?”

Bucky looked down to the sheets and shook his head. You smiled at him, tilting his head to yours.

“That’s fine, want me to go? Or would you like to cuddle for a bit?”

Bucky didn’t talk again, just pulled you gently down to the bed once more. Snuggling himself under your chin, resting his head on your chest. You felt his arms draw tightly against your waist. You pressed your lips into his hair.

“May I help you go to sleep? Keep the bad thoughts at bay for at least one night.”

You felt Bucky nod and let out a little sleepy hum of agreement. You closed your eyes, focused on your connection setting up a golden wall against the dark fog at the corners of his mind and settled into a deep sleep.

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You woke to the smell of fresh coffee and the clinking of cups.

“Morning.” You opened your eyes at Bucky’s voice and took the offered cup greedily. Your mind still felt hazy from the energy you used last night.

You felt the bed dip beside you as Bucky sat and sipped at his cup as well, hair a bit of a mess from bed. He had evidently only just woken up as well.

He took a breath, “I had some pretty interesting dreams, sweetheart.”

You stiffened, “Good ones I hope.”

“Don’t worry, they were good. If a little strange.”

“Strange?”

“I was watching myself most of the time.”

You snorted into the coffee, “Sounds creepy”

There was a slight chuckle, “Nah, I was watching myself build a home, a family- “

“Oh God Bucky.” You snapped your eyes to his, you knew what had happened. “I am so sorry my dreams must have stuck in your head.”

“Those were your dreams?”

“Yeah, its only happened once before but when the connection between two people is very strong, it can happen- I call it bleeding. Perhaps we should- “

“If the next words out of your mouth are take a break, I will spill your coffee.” You clutched your cup closer to your chest, “Truthfully, those were some of the beset dreams I have every had. I really loved them.”

You looked back up at him, hesitantly “You did?”

“And I love you.”

“Huh

There was silence as you stared at him in shock. His face as nothing but adoration as the sunlight filtered over his face.

“I love you, sweetheart.”

“I love you too.”

Coffee cups were cast aside as you both collided. Giggling and joking, radiating happiness as the two of you shared the sweetest kiss. Your feelings merging together, amplifying one another until they shone brighter than the sun.

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky x female reader #bucky x y/n #bucky fic #bucky fanfic #bucky imagine #bucky x you #bucky x reader #bucky barnes x female reader #bucky fluff #bucky barnes fluff #bucky barnes angst #james buchanan barnes #bucky barnes #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes x you #sebastian stan #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky barnes one shot #bucky barnes x gender neutral reader

[dilemmaontwolegs]

Hands That Heal - Ch.8

Bucky Barnes x mechanic!fem!reader

Chapter Summary: You thought you were done with everything to do with Axel but the club is not done with you yet. Things have to get worse before they can get better. Chapter Warning: 18+ only, death, reader gets injured/tortured Word count: 1810

Series Warnings: 18+ only, canon-typical violence, swearing, fluff, misogyny/degrading comments from some men, smut.

Main Masterlist || Bucky Masterlist || Hands That Heal Masterlist

RECAP: “It feels like home, you feel like home.” His arms were already open for you as you crashed against his chest and wrapped your arms around his neck. You could hardly kiss him because your lips refused to do anything other than smile against his. He always managed to brighten your dark days, and that was why you knew you wanted to have him around forever. “Welcome home, Bucky.”

━━━━━━♡♥♡━━━━━━

The flash of blue and red lights filled your driveway and lit up the living room you had fallen asleep in, snuggled in Bucky’s arms on the couch. The call of your doorbell brought back memories of the last time you had seen the same casting of colours outside and the police had come with the news that your father had died. There was already a pit forming in your stomach as you climbed off the couch and went to answer the door.

You couldn’t seem to understand why the police were at your door, you were so wrapped up in the memory of the two other officers that you blinked twice and asked them to repeat themselves.

“I said I’m sorry to inform you that we found Axel Hedges deceased this morning. We are still investigating the crash but it's likely we expect the toxicology reports to come back conclusive.” The officer repeated before he noticed Bucky joining you and he looked like he was going to ask for an autograph.

You felt guilty for feeling relieved and you felt guilty for feeling sad. For a large period of your life you had loved Axel but who he had become was a sick and twisted shadow of the boy next door. The man who died was a manipulative, narcissistic asshole and the world was a better place without him, that’s what you told yourself to suppress the rise of emotions.

“Why did you come here?” You asked as they stood awkwardly on your porch.

“You are, were, Axel’s next of kin.”

Of course, he would never have thought about keeping little things like that up to date, it was probably still the same information that you had given his parole officer when he was released from prison.

“Right.” You sighed. “Uh, thanks for letting me know.”

“Once the autopsy is finished the body will be released so you can have a funeral.”

You really couldn’t believe that they were expecting you to organise his funeral, you were more likely to dump him in the Hudson at this point. “Actually, here’s Jess’ number. She’s his wife, she can sort this out. I’m done with him.”

You scribbled the number on a notepad and handed it to the cops before crossing your arms, trying to bring some comfort from your own touch.

“Sorry, it’s been a bit of a rough night.” Bucky apologised with a small smile.

“It wouldn’t have anything to do with the pool of blood on the drive?” The officer asked and you flinched at the reminder, the feel of Benny’s blood still on your fingers even after washing them a million times.

“Her dog got run over, didn’t make it.” Bucky lied smoothly before nudging you back to the lounge with a look that said he would sort it for you, so you left him to it. “Look, you know Axel’s history, he’d show up here on his bike drunk and high to abuse y/n. She’s been through enough because of him, if you don’t mind just keep her out of anything related to him.”

“Yeah, of course, Sergeant.” The officer nodded understandably and held up the paper with Jess’ name and number. “I’ll make sure everything goes to his wife from now on.”

You had stopped listening after that, glad that you could finally move on from Axel, the club, all of it. There was nothing to get in the way of you and Bucky…except his work. The world could only handle a few months of peace at a time then some uprising would call him away. At least he wasn’t out there on his own, he had his partner Sam to watch his back and you to call him every morning and night, reminding him why he kept fighting the good fight.

━━━━━━♡♥♡━━━━━━

“I miss you.” You pouted at the phone, not that he could see, as you walked home from work.

“I’ll be home soon, doll.” He replied just as longingly but grateful to only be a few states over in Washington. “I can’t sleep when I’m away from you, and Sam snores really bad.”

“Do not.” You heard from the background and laughed as you rounded the corner to your street.

“Do to.”

“Well I’ll leave you boys to settle that argument.” You offered as they began to bicker back and forth much to your amusement. Then you saw an old Corolla parked on the side of the road, hood up and a woman looking lost as she waved the steam away. “I gotta go.”

“Are you alright?” Bucky was suddenly serious and you could picture his frown at the other end.

“Yeah, babe, there’s just a woman who looks like she could use my help.” You smiled at his concern. “I’ll call you back when I get inside, it looks like a cracked radiator.”

“Alright, love you.”

“Love you too.”

You slipped your phone in your pocket and crossed the street to see if you could help her get on her way. “Hey, car troubles?”

She spun around and nodded her head as she pointed to the engine. “It’s always breaking down on me.”

“It happens.” You shrugged and lifted your heavy tool box up. “I can take a look if you want?”

“Thanks, but that’s not necessary.” She said as the car door opened and she began to step away. “It’s running fine.”

“We just needed to catch you away from your boyfriend.” Rex smirked as he straightened his kutte, the President patch instilling fear deep in your bones. “Wanted to have a little chat.”

“There’s nothing to talk about.” You said as you opened your tool box and grabbed a large wrench. “I’ve nothing to do with the club anymore.”

“Axel always bragged that you still had his tattoo.” He countered as he kept up his slow, menacing encroachment towards you. “You want nothing to do with the club, then fire or knife.”

“That’s just for members, I’m not a member!” You began to panic as he pulled a hunting knife out of his hip sheath.

“It’s for whoever the fuck I say it is, I’m President.” He growled. “And I got a dead member who was barely even wasted the night he died. We both know Axel could be black out drunk and ride perfectly, so it seems a little odd right. Cops won’t do anything, they don’t give a shit about us so I have to take matters into my own hands.”

“I know you miss him but I don’t know where you are going with this. He had an accident, it happens.”

“I don’t think it was.” He shook his head and pointed the knife at you. “I think you know that too.”

You swung the wrench at him as he tried to reach out but his gloved hand caught it and ripped it from your hands, tossing it away from you. Turning on your heels you sprinted towards your fence, you didn’t have time to unlock the gate but if you could climb over and get to the car you could get your gun. You had only just reached the fence when you were pushed and your body slammed into the metal mesh, face pressed roughly into it as Rex held his knife to your throat.

“Shouldn’t have done that, little girl.”

Your fingers were slipping into your pocket as you tried to not move your neck against the knife and you pressed your thumb to the fingerprint scanner then prayed your muscle memory hit the right buttons to call Bucky. You tried not to think about waking up that night and Bucky missing from the bed, you tried not to think that maybe Rex was right. Is that what Bucky meant when he would do anything for you, would he have killed Axel? You knew he had the capability but you didn’t think he had the capacity, not anymore at least.

“Phoebe, get the torch from the car.”

Your stomach dropped at the order and you screamed as you tried to get someone to call the cops but this neighbourhood was no longer the family friendly place it was 15 years ago, now everyone kept their heads low and kept their nose out of everyone else’s business. There would be no one coming for you. Rex grabbed your keys from your pocket and unlocked the gate before dragging you into your garage.

“You said you just wanted to talk to her.” Phoebe stuttered as she held a small blow torch in her hand and watched with horror as Rex pulled the back of your shirt away to show the tattoo Axel had given you.

“Shut up, bitch, just give me the fucking thing.”

She looked torn but there was no way she was going to go against the head of the Sinners MC, not if she wanted to survive. You fought against the hold Rex had on you but a hard blow to the back of your head sent the world spinning and your vision in a daze.

“Tell me the truth and I’ll stop, did you get your new boyfriend to kill Axel?”

You couldn’t answer, you couldn’t move, not even when the stench of burning skin and your screams pierced the air and left Phoebe cowering with her hands over her head. You couldn’t even feel the pain, you were already losing consciousness when a stealth jet landed in your yard.

You dropped as the hold on you was released, your body sliding along the sleek panels of your car until you were left numb on the concrete floor. You didn’t even realise you were crying until your teardrops landed on the surface of oil stains, the droplets reflecting the iridescent colours of the oil slick. It was the only thing keeping you conscious, your mind fixating on the way your tears refused to mingle with the oil but pain was slowly beginning to push its way through the shock.

“Shhh, it’s me, doll.” Bucky soothed as he cradled your body, catching the fist you weakly tried to throw as you felt someone touching you. “I got you. Sam! Where’s that ambulance!”

You looked up and found blue eyes swimming in tears and you wanted to wipe them away but you were too weak and every movement sent fire across your back and whimpers along your hoarse throat.

“Don’t try to move, baby.” Bucky begged as he held you carefully, avoiding the burns on your shoulder.

“He thought you killed Axel.” You whispered through the lump in your throat.

“I wanted to.”

“I know, but you didn’t.” You said as you blinked slower and slower, the promise of pain free sleep enticing you with its darkness and you were ready to give in. “You’re too good.”

━━━━━━♡♥♡━━━━━━

Click here for next part.

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#bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes x poc!reader #bucky fanfiction #bucky barnes fanfiction #marvel fanfiction #tw: torture #tw: violence

[harveywritings92]

BNHA Vampire soulmate au: they feed off you for the first time.

They explain to you how blood tastes to them and enjoy a meal... 

Tw: Blood drinking, heavy petting

---------------------------------

Hawks: It's been a year you and Keigo seem to be together, you've been talking about moving in together anywho, You got a paper cut and Keigo who was crashing at your placed smelled it from your living room, he nearly gave you a heart attack when you turned around to see him standing behind you, his gold eyes had red tinge as he eyed your finger like a like man who hasn't eaten in a week. "Ey, there I thought you've already had enough to drink today?" you were referring to the black and red sports bottle he'd brought with him. "I did, It's just- You have no Idea how hard I've been holding back, your blood it does something to me..." Keigo husked eyes locked on the crimson nectar dripping down your hand he was salivating and swallowed hard. "My blood...does it smell good?" you asked timidly.

The blond snapped out of his trance. "Petal, you smell like ripe strawberries and chocolate to me..." Keigo has already told you how smoker's blood smells and taste to him, well you now you were curious about non-smokers, and asked if blood type also has an effect on the blood's flavor? the winged vamp was happy to answer! 

Smokers: Charcoal/moldy bread.

Drunks: depends on how drunk they are, it's somewhere between hard soda and hard wine or liquor.

Drug users: no idea, he says they smell like rotten eggs, and he's seen how loopy other vamps act after feeding on them and stays clear of them.

Sick/injured: He stays away from sick people but they smell like a cross between a hospital or a funeral home.

Virgins: sweet/tart like fruit-punch.

regular folks: like Sangria the fruitiness is still there but it's mixed with bitter wine . 

"Blood types don't really change up the flavors, but I've noticed type As have a spice to them, Bs start off sour, and type Os are pretty mellow." You hummed very intrigued at what you were hearing then, noticed Keigo was still eyeing your finger, like a starved animal, you looked down at the cut then back Keigo and noticed his wings were tense and he was clenching his jaw, after some thought you sighed you held your hand out to him. "Go head before your jaw breaks" His wings bristled. "I'm not some desperate leech y'know." he huffed you shrugged and went to went to put a band-aid on, but Keigo stopped you.

"Let's not be hasty here..."  He stammered out at you cocked a brow at him. "Yer really giving me mixed signals here." you huffed did he want your blood or not? " Um... Are you sure about this?" he said blush adoring his cheeks. "I'm just letting you suck my finger...Why are you acting like I just asked you to pop my cherry?" Keigo's face was as red as a cherry as you said this. "Because you essenually are..." He explained the big difference between mates and prey, on instinct he wouldn't give a crap about some rando he picked up off the street or whatever mystery pack the commission gives him, but you... 

You're his soulmate, his fated one... and right now your pretty much telling him to make you his! He's not gonna stop at your finger, once he's had a taste he's going for your neck! And once he bites you that's it, you have his mark forever, You paused absorbing what the blond male just told you...Well, he hardly leaves you alone already might as well go all in? "Do it." Hawks's eyes were red now. "Come" he hissed sitting across from you and gesturing to sit in his lap.

You complied and watched Keigo warily as he brought your finger to his mouth, immediately you felt a shock go through you the second Keigo's tongue started lapping at the cut, he moaned tasting your blood for the first time. He was right you tasted every bit as sweet as he thought you would...*more...more...* his monster groaned euphorically he felt the cut on your finger close from his saliva's healing properties.

Keigo's eyes drifted towards your neck, You gasp feeling his grip on your hand tighten before his free hand found it's way behind your head, you tensed seeing Keigo's fangs elongate but before he could pierce your neck he smelled your distress.

His rough hold on you suddenly slacked and his hands lowered to your hips his thumbs gently rubbed you sides as he left little kisses and nip along your jaw before you calmed down enough to trust Hawks wasn't gonna tear your throat out. "Just relax." he cooed kissing you neck a couple more times like a countdown. one...two... three! 

You tried not to scream as you felt his fangs pierce your neck, your fingers gripped his jacket as you felt yourself be drained... then like a switch had been slowly tuned the pain tuned into pleasure? moans started sneaking their out from your mouth which confused you, the blond vampire groaned in ecstasy at how rich your blood tasted with lust mixed in he buck his hips against you, after what seemed like hours Keigo's fangs finally retracted from your flesh and lap at the two holes he left on your neck, they sealed as you whimpered weakly Keigo just shushed and you. "It's alright kid, you did good" he cooed kissing your head as you started drifting out of consciousness.   

When you woke up your head was pounding like a bad hangover Keigo was cradling you in his lap looking relieved and sheepish, he explained he went a little overboard with his drinking and venom dosing and you got drunk on him and passed out! you must've looked panicked cos Keigo assured you were completely fine, the venom isn't lethal... (To you anyways, one of the benefits of being a vampire's soulmate.) Though you might be a bit feverish and cranky for the next couple days.  

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Dabi: You were on your period so yes Dabi's self restraint was breaking! you had no fucking idea what you blood was doing to him you smelled like a 5 star meal and all he could do was sit and drown in his own drool and watch you, like a hawk as you moaned and groaned about  cramps and ruining your pajama shorts when you woke up this morning! a low growl escaped the faux raven haired vamp when he saw you toss out a bag with said aforementioned shorts, it took every nerve in him not to run after the garbage truck like a starved dog! before something you said snapped him out of his trance. "hn...What ya say?" he looked at you drinking his third pack of cow's blood.

"I asked if my blood smells good and what does it taste like?"

"I wouldn't know haven't tasted yours yet..."

"Well, what about anyone else's?" 

"Why are you suddenly interested?"

You huffed "Sorry for wanting to know you..." and were about to tell him to forget it, when the the undead cremator spoke up. "Mocha mixed wit' something spicy like cinnamon or rum" he muttered not looking at you. Of course you cocked a brow now intrigued, now that that was out of the bag he might as well tell ya the rest. 

Smokers: burnt rubber/earwax (eh, everyone was a kid once, had to know what that gunky crap in your ear tasted like.)

Drunks: Depends on how much they've drank, it could between hard water to straight up red wine.

Drug users: the one time he fed on one he thought they were just a pothead, but in turned out they had ate a few shrooms which made them kinda taste like... orange juice and black liquorice?... Honestly he can't give a straight answer, as he was too busy trippin out on another plain of existence to remember.  

Sick/injured: doesn't feed off the sick, but they smell like a hospital or a morgue.

Virgins: like apples and honey

Regular folks: they taste like Apple cider. 

Animal blood: kinda tastes like artificial cherry cough syrup, and he hates it!

"Then why do you drink it?" you gulped seeing his cerulean eyes flash red for a brief second as he locked eyes with you. "Why?...*growl* your standing in front of me smelling like a walking buffet and you have to gall ask me why I drinking this crap?!" he snapped crushing the blood pack in his hand as you started backing away, you were nervous that only fueled Dabi's sadistic side you learned early that he enjoyed agitating you via flashing his fangs, popping behind you out of seemingly nowhere, and faking you out.

I.E. making it seem like he was gonna bite you then blow air in your ears before walking away laughing at your reaction, something about putting you on edge and having your adrenaline pumping through your veins adds more "spice" to your scent, it happens so often that Dabi started noticing arousal was mixing in with your fear, you bet your ass he started mocking you for getting off on him scaring you. 

Of course right now you weren't sure if he was seriously mad, or making fun of you again? He was not making fun of you again he was seriously pissed off, The nerve of you walking around asking him about useless crap, and offering him nothing in return! Dabi had you backed against a wall face buried in your shoulder you felt him sniffing you and flinched you felt him nipping along your neck, and like all the other times he's riled you he smelled that that little speck of arousal through the fear. 

He let out a low chuckle causing you to to become fed up, you though he was screwing with you again! "Goddamm-.hm!" You were cut off by sharp yelp as Dabi's fang suddenly pierced your neck! oh god it hurt! you whimpered tried shoving Dabi off! he groaned pushing your back against the wall, suddenly your body felt weird... you moaned it was hot and and everything felt sensitive...

You barely registered Dabi lifting your legs up you instinctively wrapped them around his hips, he let out a low purr and his demeanor became less angry and forceful, his shoulders relaxed as his hands gently rubbed your legs, after what seemed like hours Dabi finally pulled away from your neck lapping at the pin holes he left on, he checked on you only to find you passed out his eye had a rare tenderness to them as he eyed your flushed appearance. "Well aren't you high maintenance." he cooed his thumb caressing you chin before taking you to bed.   

----------------------------------------------------

Bakugou: He didn't want say what you smelled like to him as it made him look soft, he finally cracks after more poking a prodding. "If I fucking do will you shut up and let me sleep?!" he hissed it was 8: 47 p.m. and he was tired which confused you, the sun was still out and you could hear kids playing in the streets outside. You heard a angry growl Katsuki's ears were pink. "S'mores...you smell like S'mores, happy?" he groaned when you started shaking him, no point in trying to sleep now that he's lit the fuse! He gave you the sum up of what blood tastes like to him.

Smokers: old news paper and figs.

Drug users: No clue stays clear of them, they smell like pickled eggs.

Drunks: Somewhere between hard water and flavored vodka.

Virgins: Why would you want to kno-... arhg! Coffee and vanilla!

Regular folks: Irish coffee and bitter mint.

Then you you started asking about blood types and what it was when he drank, Next thing you knew Katsuki let out this frustrated bellow! You yelped as he grabbed your wrists and pinned you under him. "You wanna know what it feels like?" you sheepishly mumbled a meek "yes" but the blonds red eyes narrowed. "Hah? say that again I couldn't hear ya?" he jeered trying to get you to use your voice, you repeated "Yes" again a bit more forceful as the ash blond unbuttoned the shirt he let you borrow exposing your neck to him. 

Katsuki frowned he could smell your reluctance, then grumbled in annoyance as he recalled Shitty-hair's advice ""Take it slow, be gentle..."" He took a deep breath and carefully buried his face in you neck, You flinched expecting him to clamp down, giving how much you annoyed him, but to your surprise; Katsuki instead opted to started leaving kisses along your jaw and collar bone.

You bit back a moan when he found you sweet spot and causing Katsuki to smirk if wasn't so hungry and tired right now, he might've taken this much farther, but the mouthwatering scent of your blood calling him was too much to pass up. "I'm gonna do it" he husked as you nodded and with that, Katsuki's fangs pierced your neck.

You gasped in pain felling them puncture your skin as Katsuki grasped your hand, the blond groaned in euphoria your blood tasted every bit as rich and sweet as he thought it would, he could smell your discomforted and on instinct inject a doses of his venom into your bloodstream in minutes your blood's flavor intensified with added lust, your tiny moans and whimpers were music to his hears, soon his instincts were warning him stop.

Katsuki's fangs retracted he lapped at the punctures he left on your neck, before pulling away to look at you and snorted you were a flushed out mess. "That sate your curiosity?" he huffed fixing your shirt you tried to say something but were too exhausted to say anything tangible, the ash blond chuckled and settled down next to you for the night.   

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#boku no hero academia #bnha fanfiction #bnha scenarios #bnha soulmate au #bakugou katsuki #bakugou x reader #hawks x reader #keigo takami #Dabi #dabi x reader #touya todoroki #bnha vampire au

[a-small-batch-of-dragons]

Mind of a Child

Prompt: Ok so to make for all the Roman Angst I've requested heres some minor angst/fluff. Again I apologise for all the Roman Angst I've been requesting. Prompt: Roman was a mess. You see there's something that happens to sides if they reach a breaking point that they can't handle. Logan was lucky he finally realized it was time to talk about his feelings and look after himself after the wedding but Roman didn't. So after he sinks out from that awful conversation he finds himself beginning to feel really dizzy and as if he's getting younger and smaller. The next morning when Patton and Janus go to find Roman and comfort him they don't expect to see a five year old curled up in an oversized prince costume terrified to death. So there's only one solution to show how much all the sides value and care for their little Prince, help him destress and look after himself. - meltheromanstan

Fluff and angst time, m'dudes

Read on Ao3

Warnings: self-doubt, self-esteem issues, but it all gets cuddled better

Pairings: found family ain't going anywhere

Word Count: 6047

He wants to go back to the way it was.

He just wants to go back.

He just wants to be loved again.

He wants to go back to the way it was.

Roman sinks out and lands hard in his room, bashing his knee against the wall as he crumples to the floor. His hair protests as he tangles his hands in the strands and yanks, trying to think. He lies on the ground, frantically breathing but his lungs won’t inflate properly and his nose starts to burn. He feels nauseous. Is he sick? He turns on his back and it goes away. Humming. You’re supposed to hum when you feel like this. He starts humming something, some parody song that’s stuck in his head. The twitching in his gullet starts to recede only to be replaced by dizziness. Why is he dizzy? He’s on the floor.

His hands flop limply out to the side as he turns back and forth, trying to make sure that he can breathe, that it won’t hurt, what’s happening to him?

A small voice that sounds like a demented version of Remus—a more demented version of Remus—whispers that he deserves this.

But Roman doesn’t know anything anymore and he’s so tired and he just wants things to go back to the way they were.

When there wasn’t so much to worry about aside from making sure Thomas was happy and that he could dream.

When all he had to think about was not hurting Thomas with his dreams and making them good dreams.

When heroes were good and villains were bad and that was it.

He just wants to go back.

He just wants to be loved again.

The lights in his room are too bright. It hurts to keep looking up. So he won’t. He closes his eyes and the dizziness abates, just slightly. He lies on the floor, the cool wood pressing into his back. He lets his head flop from one side to the other. It’s impossible to get comfortable. It’s so loud. It’s so much. He wants someone here with him. He just wants to be told it’s okay. But it isn’t okay. It hasn’t been okay for a very long time.

He wants it to be okay again.

————————

The Mindscape is quiet. Hardly anyone makes a noise as they move about the rooms, some still too on edge to start making peace, some too nervous about sparking another disaster, some too confused to try and navigate the minefield they’ve all found themselves in.

But everything has to start somewhere.

Patton and Janus are the only two on…pretty much alright terms when the morning comes. Virgil is locked in his room. Remus’s brand of chaos is nothing helpful right now. So the two of them take a deep breath and go try to find Roman.

Patton took far too long to put the words to it and Janus would never admit it, but when Roman isn’t around, or when he’s not talking, it’s much harder to cut through the monotony of silence. For better or worse, the prince is impossible to look away from, impossible to ignore. And yes, maybe that has to do in part with how Creativity and the Mindscape work together, not to mention the manifestation of the Sides, but Roman is Roman. And if they’re going to start making any progress on getting back on their feet and getting back to normal, they need to get Roman back.

Patton probably thought that Roman would be easy to apologize to. Not just because it’s worked in the past—although Janus would hiss if he said that wasn’t part of it—but because he knows he’s the one who messed up. Roman likes sincerity, Patton knows what things went wrong, he knows he’s at fault here, a lot, and it won’t be as easy as one apology and everything will be fixed, but it would be a good start.

Janus knows Roman. For better or worse, he knows Roman. Knows what buttons to push, knows when not to push them—or so he thought—and knows that maybe, just maybe, he might be able to do what Patton can’t. Cite the good of the others, the good of Thomas, possibly even the good of Roman if he’s that stubborn. Or he’s a convenient punching bag if Roman needs to lash out before he can start putting the pieces back together if it needs to come to that.

But that’s not what happens.

What happens is Patton knocks lightly on the door and asks if Roman would let them come in. There’s no response. Janus speaks up, says he knows Roman is in there, please, they do just want to talk. Patton sets his hand on the door, just to rest there, maybe coax Roman to come to open it, when it swings open.

Their mouths run dry as it opens fully to reveal Roman’s costume on the floor in a heap.

And no Roman.

Janus muffles a curse and turns in a swirl of black fabric as Patton rushes inside, dropping to his knees by the abandoned costume and searching frantically for any sign of Roman.

What he finds makes him gasp.

Janus whirls around as quickly as he’d turned away to see Patton there, kneeling on the ground next to a tiny child clutching Roman’s sash like a red blanket.

“H-hey, kiddo,” Patton says carefully, trying to regain his composure, “what are you doing here?”

The child shuffles. “It’s my room.”

“This is Roman’s room,” Patton says as Janus carefully closes the door.

The child nods, rubbing the sash across his chin. Patton’s brows furrow as he watches the child’s gaze dart to Janus and back, then to Patton’s hands on his knees. He looks back up at Patton and clutches the sash tighter.

“Do you know where Roman is, kiddo?” The child nods but doesn’t make eye contact. “Can you tell me where?”

The child nods again but doesn’t say anything. The tip of Janus’s tongue starts to tingle. His eyes widen and he starts to walk over, raising his hands when the child’s gaze snaps to him.

“I’m not going to hurt you,” he says, crouching down to make himself a little smaller, “I’m just coming over to you.”

The child stays very still as Janus crouches down beside Patton. Janus tilts his head back and forth as he considers the way the child clings to the sash, the way he seems to be somewhat engulfed in the remains of the costume, and the way he keeps looking fearfully between Janus and Patton.

“…Roman?”

Roman’s gaze turns to him and Janus could cry.

“Wait—Roman?” Patton gasps and his hands fly to cover his mouth. “Oh, kiddo, what happened? Are you okay?”

“Don’t overwhelm him,” Janus warns under his breath as they watch poor Roman flinch a little. Patton takes a deep breath and softens his voice.

“Hey, sweetheart, I didn’t mean to scare you. We won’t hurt you, we promise.”

Roman’s grip on the sash doesn’t waver but his eyes lose a little bit of their frightful sheen. “Promise?”

“I promise.”

Janus takes off his glove, ignoring Patton’s look and—perhaps—the fact that Roman might not remember what this means. “I promise too.”

Roman looks back and forth between them. “…okay.”

Patton smiles and lets out a sigh of relief. Thank goodness. He does have to restrain himself from reaching and pulling the cute little prince into his lap but Roman’s normally defined face is now all chubby cheeks and puppy dog eyes and—no. No.

“Are you okay, kiddo,” he asks instead, still careful to keep his voice soft, “are you hurt at all?”

Roman shakes his head, still clutching the sash.

“What about in here,” Janus asks, laying his hand on his head, then his chest, “or here?”

Before Roman can answer, however, his stomach growls loudly. Janus chuckles.

“That’s enough of an answer for me. Shall we get you something to eat, little prince?”

Roman shakes his head so hard he almost knocks himself over. “Not a prince!”

They both freeze.

Not…not a prince?

Roman is The Prince. He’s Princey. The Prince of Thomas’s Dreams.

“What do you mean, ‘not a prince,’ kiddo?”

“Not a prince,” Roman insists, staring at the ground, “couldn’t—I couldn’t be a prince so…I had to start over.”

Something tugs at a dark place in their chests. Patton glances at Janus. Janus shakes his head slowly.

“Okay, then, Roman,” he says instead, “but can we get you something to eat?”

Roman glances around at the mess of the costume around him. “Clothes?”

“I’m sure someone as creative as you can make as many clothes as you like,” Janus smiles, watching carefully to see Roman’s reaction.

Roman looks at Patton. “What do I make?”

Patton’s smile slips a bit. “Whatever you want, kiddo.”

Roman frowns. “But what do I make?”

“What do you mean?”

“You have to tell me.”

Oh. Oh, dear. Patton’s smile fades, replaced with a slowly growing awareness of what’s going on. “You don’t need my permission, kiddo,” he says firmly, leaning down a little so Roman’s eye level is the same as his, “you are allowed to make what you want to make. What makes you happy.”

“What is that?”

Patton is going to cry.

“Why don’t you make what you think would be the most comfortable,” Janus tries, shooting a glance at Patton and laying a hand on his arm, “maybe to go downstairs and get something to eat in?”

Roman thinks for a moment, then he rubs the sash against his cheek and a t-shirt and shorts appear. But they aren’t red. They’re just grey. Janus smiles and stands.

“There you go,” he says, “well done.”

And oh, if the way Roman’s head jerks up in a quick moment of shameless eagerness doesn’t make that smile a little more sincere. He holds out a hand to the little one and Roman takes it, standing slowly as they begin to lead him out of his room.

“What would you like to eat,” Patton asks as they get Roman sat down, “how hungry are you?”

“What can I have?”

“Well,” Patton says as he starts to open and close cabinets, “we’ve got pasta if you want a full dinner, we’ve got crackers, cereal, pretzels, fruit, quite a lot of options.”

“…can I have pretzels, please?”

“One bowl of pretzels coming right up!”

Janus sits next to him as Roman begins to eat the pretzels. Patton comes to join them, sitting a little further away as to not crowd the poor kiddo. He exchanges a look with Janus as Roman continues to eat.

Footsteps on the stairs.

Janus looks up just as Virgil and Logan come down into the living room, talking between themselves. They trail off as they notice Janus staring at them.

“Can we help you?” Then Virgil’s eyes land on Roman. “Holy—“

He slaps a hand over his mouth and glares at Janus. Janus raises an eyebrow and slowly lets him go.

“Rude.”

“But necessary,” Janus says, folding his hands and drawing himself up. Virgil gives him a strange look but refocuses on Roman.

“So…who’s the kid?”

“I believe,” Logan says softly, the way Roman hasn’t looked up at them once and instead continues to eat pretzels almost mechanically not escaping him, “this is Roman.”

At the mention of his name, Roman looks up slowly, meeting Logan’s gaze with more than enough trepidation to set Virgil’s fingers buzzing. Logan tilts his head and waves a little. Roman just stares at him.

“Hello, Roman,” Logan says, still in that very soft voice, “it’s good to see you.”

Roman waves back. Then he glances down at the bowl of pretzels and twists his hands together.

“Are you full, kiddo?” Patton takes the bowl when Roman nods. “Good. I’m glad you enjoyed them.”

Roman glances around, shifting a little in his grey t-shirt. “Can I go back to my room now?”

“Of course you can,” Janus says, “would you like one of us to come with you?”

Roman shakes his head quickly. A little too quickly. But he’s been given permission to leave so he scoots off the chair and all but scrambles up the stairs. Logan watches him go, concern written over his features. Virgil waits to hear the soft click of his door shutting before rounding on the others.

“Why the hell is Princey a child?”

“We don’t know for sure,” Patton sighs, stretching a little and rubbing his face, “Janus and I just went up to try and talk to him and found him like that.”

“So it didn’t happen after the wedding?”

They wince and Virgil pinches the bridge of his nose.

“Look, I may not have been there, but I know what happened. And no,” he says, raising his voice a little when both Patton and Janus try to say something, “I’m not interested in your excuses. But if you’re gonna try and tell me you don’t think it’s related I will throw a chair at your head.”

Patton bows his head, twisting his hands together in his lap as shame and guilt color his face. “He…he said something.”

“What did he say?”

“That he couldn’t be a prince,” Janus finishes, looking at the table, “and that he had to start over.”

Fuck.

“A-and he felt like he needed my permission for…everything,” Patton continues, “and Virgil, he looked so scared.”

“Of course he did.”

They turn to look at Logan, still staring up the stairs with gentle concern on his features. Virgil pokes his arm when he doesn’t continue right away.

“Roman’s sudden de-aging is likely due to stress,” he explains, looking back at them, “and thus the initial mindset he had when he regained consciousness as a child was fear. Fear of not knowing what to do or of doing something wrong.”

Patton gulps. Virgil shoots him a soft look and he nods slowly. “I…we were going to talk to him. We…I have been putting pressure on Roman since…it’s been a long time.”

“I think we all have.” Virgil’s gaze darts to Janus who is still all drawn up and inspecting his glove. “And you can turn that off, please.”

Janus sighs and Logan has to blink at how much his character shifts. Janus tugs nervously on his glove and straightens his hat.

“Roman is incredibly fragile right now and I don’t know how to fix it.”

“Keeping that off around him is probably a good start.”

“We will need to ask Roman how much he remembers.” Logan adjusts his tie. “What he does remember will dictate how we need to help him.”

“Praise and reassurance.”

Logan raises an eyebrow at Janus who shuffles under his gaze.

“Praise and reassurance,” he repeats, tugging on his glove again, “he…he likes having a sense of structure. To know he’s doing something right.”

The regretful undertone to the words tells them all exactly how he knows that.

“We cannot let him believe that we are only behaving this way toward him because we believe he needs to be fixed,” Logan says firmly, “because that isn’t true. If this is a result of Roman feeling…unloved, then we must show him that he is.”

The word ‘unloved’ gets stuck in his throat and he clears it. Around him, the others are showing similar signs of discomfort.

Roman…their Roman. The idea that he wouldn’t feel loved—that he doesn’t feel loved sits strangely. Like a puzzle piece that just doesn’t fit, even though it has to go there.

While this lovely conversation is happening, of course, they’ve forgotten that there’s someone else who’s noticed the absence of a singing prince.

Remus doesn’t bother entering his brother’s room the normal way, instead sinking straight through the ceiling, fully intending to drive his elbow into Roman’s stomach.

What happens instead is he lands on Roman’s mattress with a dissatisfying thump as a tiny thing squeaks and scurries under the desk.

Remus sits up, frowning at the trembling figure underneath Roman’s desk and peers closer. Did Roman make a new pet for them to join on adventures? Is this one of the villagers that got too hurt and needed to be brought back here to recover?

Only when he sees the eyes peering shakily out at him do his own widen in realization.

“Roro?”

“R-Remus? Re?” And fuck, yeah, that’s Roman’s little head poking out from under there as he scrambles out. “Re? Are—are you back?”

Remus blinks. “Sure, Ro-Bro, I’m back, what—oof!”

A pint-sized pugilist rams itself into Remus’s stomach and knocks him backward onto the bed as his arms instinctively fly around the mass. He looks down, panting, only to see little Roro shaking with the effort of holding onto Remus as tightly as he can. His ribs are starting to protest when Roman turns his head and a cold nose tucks itself right into the crook of his elbow.

“Hey, hey, Roro,” Remus croaks, clumsily petting Roman’s head, “you’re okay. I’m right here, you got me good, I’m not going anywhere.”

“You—they said you were never coming back—everyone hated you, I—they made me say I didn’t like you—they said I was you but they don’t like you and I—I’m sorry—“

“Whoa, whoa, whoa, slow your rolls and buns there, Roro, take in some oxygen before you pass out on me.” Remus wraps his arms gently but firmly around his now-panicking little bother—brother, pulling him securely into his lap. He has to pry Roman’s grip off of him a little but quickly reattaches the little limpet. “There you go, see? You got me! I’m trapped! I can’t go anywhere!”

His jokes don’t seem to work. If anything, Roman clutches him tighter, trembling in his hold.

“You gotta breathe for me, Ro-Bro, come on…in and out, you can do it.” Remus starts to take big slow breaths, feeling Roman start to copy him. “There you go, Roro. Just like that.”

Little Roman dissolves into a shaking and trembling puddle, cold nose buried in the crook of Remus’s neck as hot tears begin to trickle down his cheeks.

“Hey, hey, what’re those for? You’re safe, Roro, I gotcha, you got me, we got each other. We’re not playing right now, I’m not trapping you, what’s up?”

“Y-you’re—you’re back,” Roman wails, “you’re back, you’re back, don’t go—“

“I’m not going anywhere, Roro, I promise.” He gives Roman a light squeeze. “I’ve gotcha.”

Remus is very glad he actually washed his hands this morning as he begins to wipe away Roman’s tears. His hands are damp within moments but he keeps going, letting the little limpet wipe his nose on his costume and not giving a single flying fuck. Roman’s red nose keeps sniffling so Remus lays back against some of the pillows, heaving the little beast on top of him to have him settle down. Roman does, eventually, slumping into a sprawl all over Remus’s chest. Remus rubs his little brother’s back and nuzzles the top of his head.

“D’you want to tell me what this is all about, Roro?”

Roman mumbles.

“I can’t hear you, Ro-Bro, you gotta speak up.”

He can feel Roman’s throat work against him. “I couldn’t be the prince so I had to start over. Couldn’t—couldn’t do it right.”

“Do what right, Roman,” Remus asks, slowly tightening his grip on his brother again, “what couldn’t you do?”

“Kept messing up. Messed everything up.” Roman’s voice starts to choke off again. “Had—hadda make it right. Wanted to go back to—to—to—when it was okay.”

‘Okay.’

Yeah, nothing about this is ‘okay’ right now.

“Well,” Remus says, resolutely ignoring that for the time being, “why don’t we do something fun?”

Roman nods eagerly, pushing himself up so fast his hands slip and he falls face-first down on Remus’s chest again. Remus chuckles and helps him sit up.

“Wanna go into the Imagination?”

Roman’s smile falters. “We need permission.”

“No we don’t, we’re Creativity. That’s our domain. We run it, we decide when we get to go in!”

But Roman shakes his head stubbornly. “N-no, we—we have to ask first. And I don’t want you to get in trouble f-for me.”

“They can try and make me be in trouble,” Remus sniffs, “but it won’t go well for them.”

Roman looks up at him, expression changing as he slowly reaches up to cup his hands around Remus’s face. “I wanna be like you.”

Remus’s chest clenches. “You want my mustache?”

Roman makes a face. “No. I want—I want to be as sure as you are that nothing bad can happen. I want that.”

Ah, fuck. They had a joke going when they were—well, when both of them were smaller that Roman got the Ego, Remus got the Pride. He never—well, kids hold ideas and let them go. He tossed that one over his shoulder a long time ago. Roman, it seems, never did.

“Hey,” Remus says instead, reaching to cup Roman’s face in his hands, “you’ve got it, Roro. It’s yours too. You just gotta look for it.”

“But that’s hard.”

“Nothing worth doing is ever easy,” he says, fighting back a joke that he knows Roman won’t understand.

“…you’re really smart, Re.”

“Well—“ he chucks him lightly under the chin— “you’re the one that taught me that.”

Roman’s little face smiles and oh, Remus could rip his fucking thumbs off.

“If you don’t want to go into the Imagination we could always do something here.” Remus jumps off the bed and starts rifling through his ideas. Well, most of them aren’t…something he would do when Roman is this small. “…paint?”

There it is. Roman’s face lights up and he scrambles off the bed to join Remus. “Painting? Can we paint together?”

“Sure. One big canvas, let’s see, you wanna help make it?” They put their hands together and slowly draw a big rectangle in the middle of Roman’s room. “Good job, Ro-Bro, it’s just the right size.”

His brother almost glows at the praise. “Now all we need is—“

“Paint!”

They both turn to each other with their hands full of it. Roman has several bottles clutched in his little hands and Remus is juggling an armful of tubes. They drop them all over the floor and Remus rubs his hands together.

“What’re we gonna paint?”

“The canvas!”

“Yeah, I mean—“ Remus’s jaw drops open when Roman just pours paint onto his hand and smears it across the canvas— “whoa.”

Wrong reaction to have. But the second he sees Roman’s brilliant grin start to fade, he jumps straight on the fuck-that train and grabs another bottle. Soon they’re smearing paint all over the canvas. They end up creating a pretty good gradient of pinks and blues and reds and oranges and yellows. Then Remus grabs a green tube and just squirts it right onto the canvas.

“Hey!” Roman rubs his cheek. “You got paint on me!”

“I think you got paint on you.” Because when your brushes are your hands and you rub your face, paint goes onto your face.

“It was green! You put the green on me!”

Remus grins, bending closer and pretending to examine Roman’s cheek. “I dunno, Roro, I can’t see any green on there.”

Roman grabs a tube of red paint—

“Whoa, hey, there—“

—and squirts it onto the canvas. But mostly Remus.

“Oh, that’s it.”

The two of them spend the rest of the time splashing paint around, not caring about whether it gets on the actual canvas or the canvases they’ve made out of each other. Remus ends up with red splattered across his sash—not a bad look—and a bright blue handprint on his chest. Roman ends up with some green in his hair and streaks of purple down his arms. They’re laughing too hard to be spiteful about it as they chase each other around the canvas, each trying to get their hands on the other first.

If Roman never sees the others opening his door a crack, only to smile and leave them be when they see Remus and the paint with him, it’s perfectly fine.

Remus ends up using his size to his advantage and scooping the little monster up into his arms. He spins him around, laughing maniacally as Roman shrieks and squeals. He holds onto his brother’s arms, head thrown back as they whirl there.

“I win,” Remus pronounces as he sets Roman—carefully!—back down, “you lose.”

Roman giggles, reaching up to poke Remus’s nose with a bright red finger. “No, I win!”

“We both win.” Remus shakes his head only for some of his hair to stand straight on end—the only straight thing in this room—from the paint. “Uh…we should wash this off.”

Roman examines his paint-colored self, his gray shirt and shorts now absolutely awash with rainbow. “Yeah, probably.”

Remus looks at him and gently touches the fabric with his fingers. Roman’s eyes widen as the fabric changes from having paint on it to the colors being part of the fabric itself.

“Whoa! That’s so cool!”

Remus chuckles. “You’re welcome, Roro. Now let’s get cleaned up. I’m sure you’re gonna get hungry in a little bit.”

They make their way to the shower where Remus gets them out of their paint-covered clothes and squeaky clean. Roman’s eyes start to droop as Remus massages the shampoo into his hair.

“You can close your eyes, Ro-Bro, I gotcha.”

And if little Roman is so tired he can barely keep his eyes open long enough to put on pajamas after they get out of the shower, then Remus will happily carry him to bed. Of course the little limpet decides to latch onto him but there are worse fates. He resigns himself to being a personal pillow and stretches out, rubbing Roman’s back to help soothe him to sleep.

There’s a soft knock on the door and Logan eases it open. Remus has a quip on the tip of his tongue at the way the nerd’s expression melts at the sight of little Roro.

“Asleep, then?”

“Mhm.”

Logan glances at their painting. “I must say…it’s spectacular.”

Remus looks at the painting. An abstract swirl of colors and splatters that looks like the perfect chaotic nonsense. He’s more proud of it than expected too.

“He seems happy,” comes Logan’s soft voice, calling his attention back as he sits on the edge of the bed, “or…happier.”

Remus runs a protective hand down Roman’s back. “He said he missed me.”

“Well, yes, I suppose that…being suddenly reverted to an age where you two were together would—“

“No,” he says firmly, “he missed me. When he was big too, Lolo.”

Logan winces. “Oh, dear.”

“Has he told you why this…happened?”

“Not me explicitly, no.” Logan looks up and waits. “Did…did he tell you?”

“He said he wanted to go back to when everything was okay.”

Logan’s eyes widen. Oh. Oh, dear. “He…the last time he was okay…”

Remus’s sharp nod only confirms it. Logan lets out a breath as Roman’s hands twitch in his sleep. Unbidden, the impulse to reach out and squeeze comfortingly rises up sudden and sharp and he reaches out, covering the little one’s hand and giving it a gentle squeeze.

“He wasn’t supposed to get hurt,” Remus whispers, “when—when they took us away, they—they were allowed to do whatever they wanted to me, but—but not my brother.”

“Never again,” Logan promises low in his throat, touched by Remus’s sudden display of vulnerability, “you won’t be separated.”

Quite frankly, as he watches Remus tighten his grip on Roman, he’d like to see the others try.

As it turns out, that isn’t anywhere near their realm of possibility. When Roman wakes a little while later to them talking quietly with a rumble in his stomach, Remus carries him downstairs as Patton starts making dinner. Logan has to hide a smile at the way Virgil mouths ‘oh my god’ and Janus stuffs his fist up to his mouth to hide the coo. Patton clumsily answers Remus’s question about whose night it is to help—his—and gently asks Roman if he can set him down.

“You won’t go far?”

“I’ll be in the kitchen the whole time.”

“Here,” Virgil calls, holding out his arms, “I’m the softest thing in this room. Give him to me.”

He’s gonna regret that later but not right now. Not when little Princey is deposited into his lap and promptly snuggles right up to his chest and sighs. Virgil wraps his arms around little Roman and sits back against the couch, absentmindedly scrolling on his phone as his breath warms the top of Roman’s head.

“V-Virgil?”

“Yeah, Princey?” Virgil winces when Roman tenses. “Sorry, sorry, I forgot. What is it, Roman?”

Roman’s hands clench and unclench in his hoodie. “Do…do you miss the other me?”

Well. Don’t start off easy or anything, kid.

Does he?

He’s gonna be honest, he does miss Roman. Misses the banter, misses the confidence, misses the warmth of walking into a room and seeing Roman there. He misses the feeling that Roman would always come up with something, even when things seemed hopeless he would be there to try.

But even though he’s had this Roman for two minutes, he already knows he’d miss him like a lost limb. This Roman, who is all clumsy affection and easy smiles and soft cuddles.

“I miss him,” he decides on eventually, “but you’re my Roman too.”

Roman’s little face is too cute. It’s illegal. Who allowed this?

“Your Roman?”

“Yeah,” Virgil says, giving the boy’s hair a gentle tug, “you’re our Roman.”

Roman’s hands tug gently again. “E-even if I’m not a prince?”

Ah. Virgil sits up a little and pulls Roman into his lap properly. “You were our prince because we thought that was what you wanted to be.”

“Even if I wasn’t good at it?”

Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck. Virgil swallows the curses and pulls Roman into a tight hug, muttering into his shoulder.

“You were good at it, Roman,” he mumbles, “you were the best prince. You were the best prince because you were our prince. And you were our prince because you were Roman first.”

He can feel Roman’s jumpy little breaths before he’s hugged with a ferocity that takes him by surprise. But he’s not complaining.

“So I can be a prince?”

“If you want to be.”

There’s a pause during which Virgil pointedly does not make eye contact with Janus, before Roman speaks again.

“…I, uh, I think I’d be okay with the nickname, then.”

“Princey?” Roman nods and Virgil grins. “Okay, Princey.”

When he pulls back, there’s a little smile on Roman’s face that stays throughout dinner.

“Well,” Patton says as they start to clear the dishes away, “I’d say it’s a good night for a cuddle pile, wouldn’t you?”

“A splendid idea.” Logan closes the dishwasher. “Down here?”

“Might as well.” They start to organize, Logan directing the creation of the mattress and pillows, Patton and Virgil moving the blankets. Roman looks around for a moment, waiting, before Janus beckons him over to the last of the fading sunlight by the window.

“We,” he says gently as he coaxes Roman to lie down, “have the most important job.”

“What’s that?”

“We’re the ones that get tired first.” To prove a point, Janus lets himself yawn, big and wide. Sure enough, little Roman yawns too. “When Logan tells us all where to go, it’s our job to start being tired so the others have an easier way of settling.”

“That sounds like we have an excuse to fall asleep.”

“That too.”

Roman giggles and it makes Janus’s chest feel light.

“Come here, little prince,” he murmurs, opening his many arms to gather the little one to his chest, “there you are. You look tired, go ahead and close your eyes, it’s alright.”

Roman shifts a little in his grip. “…Janus?”

“Yes, sweetie?”

“Are…are you gonna take care of me?”

Janus pulls back a little, enough to cup Roman’s face in his hand. “Of course, sweetie, I will always take care of you.”

“N-no matter what?”

“No matter what.” He leans down to gently knock his forehead against Roman’s and press a chaste kiss there. “I’ve got you, little prince.”

The weight of the acts gone without acquittance sit heavily in his stomach, but with Roman cradled tenderly in his embrace, they start to get a little more bearable.

“Come on, cuddle bugs,” Patton calls, hands stroking gently through their hair, “let’s get you onto the mattress.”

Janus uncurls first, only for Roman to blink sleepily up at him.

“Do you need to be carried, sweetie? Is that it, little prince?”

Roman nods and blearily holds up his arms, letting out another squeaky yawn. He makes a few grabbing motions at Logan as he adjusts the last pillow.

“Ah, come here, little one,” Logan murmurs, picking him up, “let’s lie you down, shall we?”

The others join them in their pajamas, Roman’s head in Logan’s lap as he sits against the foot of the couch. Logan’s hand tangles in his hair, nails dancing over his scalp to encourage him to sleep.

“You’re safe, little one,” he promises, “just close your eyes. We’ll be right here for you when you wake up.”

Roman blinks up at him lazily, eyes wet with sleep as he nuzzles into Logan’s stomach. Logan keeps up the soothing rhythm of fingers in his hair, nails across his scalp, until the little one yawns away and closes his eyes. Only when sleep begins to call to him too do they shift, one of Roman’s hands on his chest, the other in Remus’s shirt as his head tucks into the crook of Logan’s shoulder.

The little prince falls asleep, surrounded by the warmth of his family.

————————

Roman blinks awake.

His ceiling doesn’t look like his ceiling and there’s a weight on his stomach that definitely isn’t a pillow. He cranes his head up to look around and his mouth drops open when he sees a slumbering Virgil lying with one arm around him. He turns his head a little more and comes face to face with Logan’s sleeping visage. Remus’s whistling snores are in his ear.

He risks sitting up a little farther, only to see Patton and Janus at the edge of the frankly giant mattress they’ve seem to set up on the floor of the living room. The two of them are almost protectively positioned, guarding the rest of them from whatever would plague them in the night.

His head is a little fuzzy and he can’t remember much of how they got here. Flashes come to him. Pretzels, paint, something about the word ‘prince.’

But, right now, with Logan’s chest rising and falling as Janus mumbles something in his sleep, he can’t be too bothered to worry about it.

Roman settles back down onto the mattress and closes his eyes. As he drifts off to sleep, a small smile touches the corners of his mouth.

For the first time in a long time, he feels okay.

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[dongofthewolf]

Hiii! Can I request no.9 from the cliché prompts and fake dating au?

Making Amends

Abby Anderson x Reader

Prompts: 9. “There’s only one bed and we sleep as far away as possible from each other but wake up cuddling” 18. Fake dating au

Warnings: swearing, fluff, hint of angst, Owen and Mel slander (sry I had to)

No pronouns are mentioned for the reader

Link to the prompt list here

A/N: Both tropes are literally my favourite things ever and it was so fun to write so ty for requesting it. It ended up way longer than I intended so uhhh yeah hope you enjoy LOL (esp if you requested it)!!

“What the hell Abby?! Have you been telling people that we’re dating?” You had cornered Abby into a secluded hallway, trapping her against the wall with your finger on her chest accusingly.

There was a flicker of fear in Abby’s eyes as she chewed on her lip nervously. Abby was considerably stronger than you and you probably looked like a mouse trying to intimidate a lion, but you didn’t care.

Abby couldn’t meet your burning gaze, all she replied with was a prolonged “Uhhhhhh”.

“Abigail Anderson, answer me right now or I swear to God-” It was rare for you to whip out her full name. And maybe it was kind of a cheap move, but it was a cheap move that almost always worked.

“Fine!” Abby interrupted, letting out a short sigh and preparing herself for the worst. “I kind of told Owen we were dating and I'm pretty sure he’s been telling other people.”

She said the words as quickly as possible, closing her eyes like a bomb was about to go off. Your reaction wasn't far off to say the least.

“You what? Why the fuck would you tell him we’re dating?” There was venom in your words and Abby flinched just slightly.

You were angry, incredibly so. You and Abby have always been close friends, or more so you had been until she started dating Owen. At first it was small things; cancelling plans or leaving early because she was busy and you completely understood. It’s not like you didn’t want her to hang out with him, and obviously you wanted her to be happy, but eventually it got to a point where she hardly ever spoke to you. Aside from the occasional greetings in the busy stadium, it was like you guys had never even been friends.

Now, after completely ignoring you for the past months, she decided it was a good idea to tell people that you guys were dating? It only seemed right for you to be pissed off.

“I just... Everyone kept looking at me like some sad puppy dog because I broke up with Owen, which normally I can handle. But every single day I kept getting the same sad fucking looks and I couldn’t take it anymore, so I told them I was seeing someone. I never mentioned your name but they kept prying, and prying and you were the first person that popped into my mind. I’m really sorry Y/N.”

You didn’t say anything at first, instead you looked at Abby without a hint of emotion on your face, and even less in your tone when you did finally speak. “Why didn’t you tell me you guys broke up?”

Abby paused, she didn’t know what response she was expecting but it definitely wasn’t that. “I um, I figured you knew. Pretty much everyone in the stadium knows.”

“Yeah well… I didn’t.” You were quiet. A part of you was angry and annoyed, but another part of you pitied Abby. She had never been one to lie, especially about something as petty as this.

Before you could think of something to say, Abby broke the silence. “Listen, I know you probably hate me right now, but I need to ask you a small favour.”

“Seriously?” You nudged Abby’s chest, pushing her into the wall again. The pity quickly dissipated to nothing, leaving you once again with a seething rage.

“Look, I know things between us haven’t been ideal but-“

“Haven’t been ideal?!” You interrupted, the absolute ignorance in her words tipping you off the edge. “Abby, you threw me away like I was trash! We were friends and you left me to hang out with Owen. I didn’t even know you guys broke up because you don’t tell me shit anymore!”

“I’ll do anything Y/N, okay? I’ll do your laundry, clean your room, I’ll even take your shifts for patrols.” Abby’s hands were on your forearms as she spoke. “Please just do this one thing for me and I’ll spend the rest of my life paying you back.” There was sincerity in Abby’s face, a hint of desperation too.

You paused. What could Abby possibly want so badly that she’d be willing to do all this for you? Even though you were angry at her, you’d be lying if you said you weren’t just a little bit intrigued.

“I’ll do anything Y/N, please. There must be something that you want.” Abby pleaded, absolute seriousness in her eyes.

“What I want is to never see you again.” Your finger was pointed at her chest again, poking her lightly.

Immediately you could see the hurt on Abby’s face. Okay, maybe that was a little bit harsh (and kind of petty) but you weren’t just gonna let Abby off that easily. Not after everything she’s done.

“Fine…” Abby paused to contemplate her next words, wiping the sadness from her face. “Fine, after tonight if you do this thing for me, we’ll never have to see each other again, I promise. I just need you to come to this party with me. We don’t have to talk or hold hands or anything and you can spend the whole night hating me, but I just need you there.”

“I-“ You couldn't do that. You couldn’t just pretend and lie to all of Abby’s friends for a whole night… Could you?

“Please Y/N. It’s embarrassing, okay? When we broke up, Mel immediately jumped in to fill my space. Everyone knew it and I had to pretend like I didn’t care so people would stop treating me like a wounded animal. If they find out I lied about you? I don’t think they’ll ever stop seeing me that way.”

You looked at Abby and felt a tinge of sympathy, she looked so sad and desperate, and for a second you even considered it. One night couldn’t hurt, right? Wait, no.

You mentally slapped yourself, trying to snap yourself out of it. You were not going to give in that easily. Nope. This was Abby, the same girl who threw away your friendship like it was nothing, and you were not going to let her use you like this. Not even while she’s looking at you with those sad, blue eyes. Nope, you’re mad, you’re angry, you’re-

“Fine.” Fuck.

“Yes! Thank you, thank you, thank you.” Abby’s eyes lit up as she wrapped her arms around you, lifting you into the air while she let out a breath of relief.

What did you just get yourself into?

—

“I can sleep on the floor, it's really no problem.” Abby offered, there was a slight nervousness in her tone as she stood in front of you shifting her weight on the balls of her feet.

“Abby, that’s stupid. It’s not like I’m infected or something.” You huffed, reaching for the box of matches to light the candle next to you.

Sometime after the party there had been a power outage and the entire WLF base went lights out. Meaning there was no heat and most annoyingly, no lights.

After a night of uncomfortable looks and even more uncomfortable conversations in which you spent most of the party trying to avoid Abby’s friends, she was walking you back to your room when everything suddenly went dark.

The both of you practically crawled to your room before you could locate a light source of some kind. It had been an hour since the power went out and you insisted that Abby sleep in your room, for… safety purposes.

You shook the match till it was out, suddenly you were thankful for impulse buying those candles last week.

“It’s fine, I’ll just crawl halfway across the stadium until I find my room. No biggie.” You couldn’t tell if she was joking, but something in you felt like she would actually do it if you didn’t insist she stay here.

You sighed. “Just sleep here Abs, it’s easier and I’m offering. Plus, I don’t need you army crawling across the entire WLF base. It’s hard on the arms, even for someone as strong as you.”

“You think I’m strong?” Abby smiled teasingly and you couldn’t help but roll your eyes, looking away as you tried to hide the small grin on your face. God, it was hard to stay mad at Abby.

“Shut up and take the bed.” You could tell Abby was reluctant but she still plopped herself onto your bed. She sat awkwardly on the edge, unsure of how this was going to work.

You tried to ignore Abby’s weird energy as you buried yourself beneath the covers. It took a minute for her to actually lay down in the bed but when she did, she was careful to keep her distance. It was pretty funny (and pretty cute) how unsure she was.

After a few minutes of silence you heard Abby whisper your name softly, almost like she wasn’t sure if you could hear her.

Nuzzling your nose into your pillow you whispered back a small “Yeah?”.

“Thank you.” You could hear the genuity in Abby’s voice, how grateful she was for such a simple act and suddenly it hit you, you didn’t want her to leave you alone. You missed this—missed Abby.

Instead of responding you nudged her foot lightly with yours. It was something you guys had done as kids, like a silent way of saying “I’m here.”. Under the dinner table with the Fireflies or during training when you first joined the WLF; it was an unspoken thing between the both of you. An action that spoke much louder than words possibly could.

The both of you laid on opposite ends of the bed, your backs turned to each other. You shifted under the sheets before finally finding a comfortable position, you fell asleep that night to the steady sound of Abby’s breathing.

—

You were first to wake up, confusion washing over you when you felt your head rising and falling. Why the hell was your pillow moving? Then it hit you; it wasn’t the bed moving, it was Abby. Your head lay resting on Abby’s chest, her arm over your back while your limbs were wrapped around her like a giant stuffed animal. The sound of her beating heart was soft in your ears and you could feel her breath coming out in steady increments, blowing lightly against your head.

You weren’t sure what to do about your compromising position. It was already too late for you to leap out of her arms and a large part of you didn’t want to move anyways. So you decided to pretend to sleep until she woke up. That way you wouldn’t have to decide what to do, she would.

Abby woke up shortly after you, you could tell she was awake by the way her breath hitched in her throat upon noticing how you guys were situated. However, instead of jumping out of the bed in a panic, Abby didn’t move either, and it took everything in you to not open your eyes.

After a few moments of stillness, you almost thought she had fallen back asleep. It wasn’t until you felt a light touch on your temple that you realized she was awake. The touch so light you nearly missed it when Abby brushed a small strand of hair away from your face.

Then slowly, Abby pried you off of her and you nearly let a small groan slip from your lips when you felt the absence of her warmth. She gently rolled you over, covering you with the blanket before walking into the bathroom.

That’s when it happened: the ache. A sharp, jarring ache in your heart that you only felt with her— that you haven’t felt since the two of you were best friends. It had left you when you and Abby stopped talking, but it returned just the same when you witnessed the tenderness of her actions. You never thought to put a name to this feeling (and maybe a part of you didn’t want to), but it was near impossible to ignore it.

You couldn’t possibly be harbouring secret feelings for Abby, right? You tried to distract yourself from these thoughts, it was way too early to be worrying about these things.

Feigning tiredness you rolled off the bed and headed towards the bathroom. You knocked on the door and when Abby opened it you noticed she was in the process of redoing her braid.

You leaned against the doorway as you watched her skilled fingers work. “Abs?”

“Hm?” She replied as she tied off the end of her braid.

“I didn’t really mean what I said to you last night… about never wanting to see you again. I’m sorry.” You picked at your thumb anxiously, eyes wandering around the room, looking anywhere but at Abby.

Abby turned to face you, letting the braid fall to her side. “You don’t have to apologize Y/N, I deserve it. I didn’t even hesitate to leave you when Owen and I started dating, and I was-“

“Stupid?” You finished for her, looking up from the floor to meet Abby’s gaze.

“Stupid. And for what it's worth, I’ve really missed hanging out with you Y/N, even if it is under these circumstances.”

“You know… I think I know a way you can make it up to me, if you’re still up for it?” Abby looked at you with a raised eyebrow and you noticed the corner of her mouth curling into a small smile.

“Oh yeah? What would that be?”

“You see, there’s this guy that’s been trying to ask me out for weeks even though I keep rejecting him.” You gave Abby a tiny grin as you continued. “Well, maybe if he found out I was dating a certain soldier who could pound his ass into the ground, then he’d leave me alone.”

Abby nodded her head nonchalantly as she took a small step towards you, crossing her arms across her chest. “You know what’s crazy? I think I have just the person for you.”

#abby anderson x reader #abby anderson imagine #the last of us imagine #the last of us 2 #tlou2 #abby anderson #abby tlou #requests #fluff #a little bit angsty #I’m big gay

[whumpzone]

Linden & Colton - 15

(masterpost)

another exercise in triggering col, haha. ever since ive had whumpy daydreams as a child ive liked thinking about the caretaker brushing the whumpees teeth. this was meant to be fluffier but i like how it's become something unique to colton <3

CW: NSFW, triggered whumpee, heavy references to n0ncon oral sex, dehumanisation, pet whump

-

Something was bothering Linden as he stood in front of the bathroom mirror one morning. He could hear the uncertain thumps of Col’s footsteps downstairs- sometimes he could hear him dragging his feet, scared to lift them entirely off the ground. He turned his attention back, trying to figure out what was annoying him.

Then he realised, as he looked into the small jar on the side of the sink. Col’s toothbrush was bone dry. There weren’t even flecks of toothpaste down the handle. He frowned. He really, really couldn’t let that happen. He thought about how if Colton only spoke, he might have noticed sooner, might have caught it on his breath, but he stopped himself. It’s not his fault.

The bathroom looked directly through to the staircase, and as Linden walked out he caught the familiar pair of eyes peering up at him, before Col quickly drew himself back behind the wall.

But Linden had seen him, and they both knew it. It was as if Col could tell already that he was in trouble. He rarely pulled back from Linden in any way, but today he was already halfway across the room by the time Linden had descended the stairs.

“Have you been brushing your teeth?” he asked plainly, not knowing how else to go about it.

Col shook his head, of course he did, but there was a brief second where Linden could see that he was considering lying. He liked that.

. . .

Pet had to confess, but it made him feel hot and prickly with fear. He had been bad. Master’s voice was firm and clipped. He was disappointed in him.

“You have to,” Master ordered, and Pet nodded immediately. Okay, okay, I will. I won’t hesitate. “Why haven’t you so far? Were you- was it because you thought you weren’t allowed? Or were you… scared to? Does it hurt?”

Pet’s head started to spin, and he cringed hard as Master sighed, heavy with frustration. “Sorry, sorry. Way too many questions, I know. Besides, it’s not- wait!” Master suddenly looked up at his pet intensely, and like a poorly-behaved dog, he flinched. Master hardly seemed to notice, though, as he continued, “You said the other day, didn’t you, that you can’t hold a pencil well? It’s hard to grip it? Is it… is the toothbrush too hard to hold properly?”

How did he know? Pet nodded, defeatedly. He had tried, fuck, he really had, fighting a losing battle in the wee hours until he could have wept with frustration. He glanced down at his hands. For a brief moment there weren’t clean and unbound, they were bleeding, the wire was cutting into him, cutting to the bone it felt, and he could barely twitch without the pain shooting all the way up his arms. The memories were so real, sometimes. And wasn’t it helpful that the pain never truly left? It had followed him from his old owner’s house to the streets all the way to Master’s front door and beyond, a phantom trailing along his joints, keeping him reminded of his place.

“That’s okay. I can help.”

Master’s voice pulled him from his thoughts, thankfully, and as he turned to stride upstairs Pet followed him meekly, hands cradled before him.

He was ordered to sit on the lid of the toilet while Master busied himself. It made Pet stiffen up. It looked eerily similar to when his old owner had something big planned, and he made his slave sit helplessly and watch. When Master turned to him, holding the toothbrush like a weapon, the association was so strong that it made Pet whimper and duck his head. Oh, god, he was so bad.

“I’m sorry,” Master said, and it truly sounded like there was feeling behind the words, like he really meant it. It was cruel. “I don’t have a choice.”

You do, Pet thought, even though it was disobedient. Master always has a choice. Master controls everything.

“This is for your own good,” he said. “You understand, Col?”

Oh, Pet understood well. He had endured many horrors for his own good, and this was not among the worst. He would gladly submit to Master’s strange ritual.

But then- “I promise it won’t be too bad. Can you open up?”

Pet gasped. He was back, he was back there, not again, please please please not again. He was strung up and completely defenceless. He wasn’t in control, he never had been, he was an object and he was being used.

He opened his mouth wide, letting his tongue sit over his teeth. Master punished him if it even looked at if he’d try to bite. The corners of his vision started to gloss over.

Then. A hand gently brushed his jaw. Fingers pressed into his skin. Holding him in place? Making sure he stayed good?

He let out a pathetic cry of fear.

. . .

“Col, Col, I’m so sorry, I can tell you’re scared,” Linden said, as Col’s eyes started to glaze over. He hardened his voice, “Col! Stay with me, sweet, come on. You’re being brave, come on.”

He should just get it over with, he realised, and pushed the toothbrush in. Col started to close his mouth, and Linden gripped a little harder on his jaw. He wanted to at least exhaust all his other options before he physically pulled the boy’s mouth open.

“Keep your mouth open, there we go. Now just hold still.”

I’m giving him orders. But it was the simplest way, it was so quick, it was to help the boy. Linden gritted his own teeth. He could worry about the ethics of it later.

Colton’s teeth weren’t as dirty as he’d feared, and Linden made light work of brushing them down. He checked in on Col every so often. His eyes were still glassy, but he seemed at least half-there.

“You okay?” A small huff of affirmation. “Good. Almost there.”

It felt so strangely intimate, brushing his teeth. As if he hadn’t already seen him stark naked in the damn bath. I dunno, he thought. I’m so close to him. He’s sitting so still. There’s nowhere to run.

He finished up just as a strand of frothy toothpaste started to crest over his lip and drip down his chin, some of it along Linden’s fingers. Col rinsed, scooping the water into his mouth with his hands in a rigid claw shape, and then looked in Linden’s direction for the next order.

“Well done, Col. That was important, and you sat there like a wonderful rock and made it so quick and easy. I’m very- I’m very happy with you. We’ll work on holding the toothbrush, yeah? But for now we can head downstairs and get on with the day.”

Col nodded, a bit dull, but Linden decided not to push him.

. . .

Pet felt himself coming back as soon as he was allowed to close his jaw. He wasn’t quite sure what had happened. It felt as if Master had just brushed his teeth, like he said. And yet-

And yet he was rinsing out his mouth, and the taste wasn’t minty anymore but something far more foul, and he was being told how well he took it, how he made it so easy, how he made Master happy. He was back there because he could never escape, never truly.

Master finished talking, evidently, and turned to leave. Pet trailed after him, his eyes filling with tears, but he managed to keep his shaky breaths quiet. Master was happy with him and Pet’s feelings didn’t matter.

-

first half of the taglist!

@newbornwhumperfly @whumpadump1939 @firewheeesky @whump-me-all-night-long @captainseconds @grizzlie70 @unicornscotty @lave-whump @princessofonward @cupcakes-and-pain @bumbumbea @whumpfigure @yet-another-heathen @secretwhumplair @whumps-up @as-a-matter-of-whump @getyourwhumphere @itzagoodthing @whumpymirages @soapparentlyilikewhumpnow @zipadeedooda-drabbles @penny-for-your-whump @briars7 @legallylibra @angel-stars @loyds-of-registry @tears-and-lilies @badluck990 @rosesareviolentlyread

@vickytokio @neuro-whump @thingsthatgo-whump-inthenight @whumpsy-daisies @control-whump @theydy-cringeworthy @starnight-whump @cursedandtired @jo-doe-seeking-inspo @justabitofwhump @glamrockgregory @rippedjeansandfadeddreams @genesissane @justbreakonme @addyez @httyd-chocolate

#pet whump #linden and colton #dehumanisation #pet whumpee #slave whump #conditioned whumpee #mine

[whumpurr]

Adrien and Sawdust part 5

masterlist

cw: descriptions of an emaciated body, disordered eating, pet whump, it as a pronoun, dehumanization, conditioned whumpee

Adrien swore he’d never moved so fast in his life. The second he saw Sawdust’s bony body tip over, he was running up the stairs to meet him. The instant he got to the second floor, he was dropping to his knees with a heavy thud, and properly touching Sawdust for the first time. He carefully lifted his face, seeing Sawdust’s eyes still open- though hardly.

The pet looked to be in worse condition than he was when Adrien had first gotten him. His skin was even paler, stretched thinner across rigid bones, his face was more sunken, the only color on it being the thick scratched scar across his nose bridge, and the deep rings under his eyes. He felt chilled. Adrien maneuvered his body like it was nothing, putting Sawdust’s head and torso to rest elevated on top of his folded legs.

“What’s wrong, Sawdust?” Adrien muttered just loud enough for the pet to hear. He was at a loss, he thought that everything was okay.

“‘M sorry, Master,” Sawdust whimpered, turning his head so he could look away from Adrien. “Need food, please, I’m- I’m sorry.” His voice was hardly a wheeze, but at least he seemed strong enough to move, so Adrien wouldn’t need to rush him to the hospital right that second. Sawdust’s words only came out in rough little squeaks and hiccups, tears gathering in his eyes. He looked terrified. “Food for- for dogs, please. If- if Master w- uh- Master may do whatever he wants but- pet- but- need-”

“Shit, okay, will you be okay if I leave you here to go get it? It’s just in the kitchen, I’ll be right over there.” Adrien was horrified and disgusted with himself as he looked down at Sawdust’s hollow figure. The tattered, oversized t-shirt he had come with was draped across his body, and with his head in Adrien’s lap and chest upturned, Adrien could see the thin fabric catch on the ridges of Sawdust’s ribs, pooling in the dip of his stomach, raised up by the ranges of his hip bones. Adrien handled him like glass, moving him off of his lap before standing and running down to the kitchen, nearly slamming his foot into the corner of his counter with his speed and recklessness.

He’d never been more grateful that he bought the dog food. He grabbed it out of the plastic grocery bag it still sat in on the counter and sliced the top of the bag with a knife, filling a bowl with it and- resigned to the situation- he poured some water into a bowl to go with it. He carried the two bowls up to Sawdust, putting them on the floor and pushing them towards the skeletal figure of his pet.

It looked like it took Sawdust considerable effort to roll himself from his back onto his elbows and knees, but he managed it and immediately dove into eating the chow out of the bowl without so much as a second thought. Adrien couldn’t help but feel like he shouldn’t be watching this. Like it was some sort of invasion to see Sawdust wolfing down his food in such a manner, but Adrien felt like if he took his eyes off him for a second, something terrible would happen.

--

Sawdust had never been more scared than when he saw Master racing up the stairs. He continued to break records of fear when he confessed, begging Master to give him something he could eat. He knew that if Master wanted to, he could deny him that, too. Sawdust was never more aware of that fact than when he asked for something to eat, but Master was merciful today. He brought him some chow.

Sawdust didn’t pause to think about whether or not the food could be poisoned, or if it would make him sick or kill him. Going that way, or not eating, it would have been death either way. Regardless of that, if Master saw fit for such things, as much as it made Sawdust want to cry, he would simply have to accept it. So he ate. He ate until the bowl was empty and he felt nearly sick, and he even drank after that.

Master would make him pay for this at some point, he was sure, but for now he could focus on his full stomach. He pulled back from the water bowl gasping, liquid dripping from his lips and chin. With his hunger sated, all he could think about was how tired he was. He didn’t care that Master was right there, and that he’d certainly hurt Sawdust soon. The dumb mutt couldn’t find the energy in him to do much about it as he laid down on the floor, curling up to sleep.

“S-Sorry, Master, pet is- is tired. Sleepy.” Sawdust murmured. “Please forgive it.”

“That’s okay, that’s okay baby.” Master was quiet. It made Sawdust confused, the way Master’s voice broke with his words. But the pet didn’t have the energy to think on it for very long, just nodding against the floor and letting his eyes shut.

--

Adrien was not going to let Sawdust sleep on the floor of the corridor. The second Sawdust was asleep, he took the pet’s dog ears off and undid the tail, setting those aside before he scooped him up in his arms and pushed Sawdust’s bedroom door open with his back, stepping in.

The room smelled of rot and spoil. Adrien muttered an expletive under his breath as looked around. Everything was as undisturbed as it had been when he first gave Sawdust the room, save for one corner that had some puddles of water sitting on the floor. He sat Sawdust down on the bed, pinching his nose. There was no way the pet smelled this bad when he got him.

He got to work looking for the source of the scent, thinking that an animal had found its way into the room or ceiling and died, but that was far from what he found. It took a few minutes of checking behind the wardrobes and dressers before looking under the bed, lifting the bedskirt only to be buffeted by the foul odour. Hidden underneath the bed was a pile of food scraps, composed of everything he’d been feeding Sawdust. Every piece of food that was missing from Sawdust’s plates was underneath his bed.

Adrien was never someone who was grossed out by things easily, but the sheer smell of the food was nothing short of disgusting. Regardless, he still had to get the room to a condition where Sawdust would actually be able to sleep in it, so with the help of a dust pan to use like a shovel, he dumped the remnants of the food into a garbage bag and tied it shut. He was at a loss for how the pet could have been tolerating this the whole time. He went through the room with a bit of air freshener, trying to solve the problem before he pushed a mop around under the bed.

With the room in a far better condition, he glanced over to Sawdust. The pet was still sleeping soundly, in near the exact same position that Adrien had left him in. Adrien took the edge of the blanket, folding one side over Sawdust’s frail body in hopes that it’d keep him warmer. Sawdust wasn’t disturbed at all when Adrien put the blanket over him, and he continued to sleep as Adrien started working to make the room more comfortable for the pet.

Once he got to see the room, it didn’t take him long at all to put together that Sawdust hadn’t been sleeping on the bed, and that he was sleeping in the corner that all the water was splashed around. Adrien mopped that up and swung by his linen closet, bringing every extra blanket and pillow he had and tossing them into the corner before arranging them in the most nest-like formation he could.

He wasn’t about to leave the pet unattended, not after an occurrence like that. Adrien grabbed his laptop and sat down in the seat in the other corner of the room, remembering just how uncomfortable the guest room’s furniture was, and why it was in this room and not being used in the living room. Disregarding that, he opened his laptop and kept himself busy.

--

When Sawdust opened his eyes the room was dim and he immediately froze up. The only source of light was warm and coming from one of the corners. Reluctantly, Sawdust sat up, body stiff. Master was sitting in the chair at the corner with a tall lamp on next to him. He looked like he was asleep, but the second Sawdust sat up, Master was awake again.

The very next thing Sawdust realized- not that he had the capacity to care much about it considering he was surely about to be punished within an inch of his life- was the new smell in the room. The old smell wasn’t good, but this new one was giving him a pounding headache. It was far too strong, but that was the least of his worries as he found himself a deer in headlights under his Master’s stare.

“Hey, Sawdust,” Master shifted a little. His voice was low and rough. “Damn, what time’s it?” He squinted at his phone in the dim light. Sawdust clenched his jaw shut, trying to stop any fear from showing on his face, but from Master’s wide eyes, he obviously wasn’t doing that good a job.

“Sorry, Master,” Sawdust whimpered, trembling under the covers. “I- didn’t- it- it-” His eyes darted all over the room and Master got up, walking over to him and sitting at the bottom of the bed.

“You weren’t eating the food?” Master asked, tilting his head. His long hair fell over his shoulder. Sawdust wasn’t ever good at figuring out what somebody really meant with their words, but Master’s tone was steady. He didn’t sound angry, and that made it worse. The punishment would be worse. Sawdust waited for the screaming to start, but all that stretching out through the room was a deafening silence.

“I just want to know why, Sawdust. I didn’t know you weren’t eating.” Master asked. Sawdust reached up to fiddle with his hair, only to realize another thing that was amiss. His ears were gone. His whole body stung with that realization, and he glanced around the room, not seeing them. His tail was also missing and he couldn’t spot them anywhere. Still, Master asked a question and he had to answer.

“Can only eat dog- dog food. Dogs eat dog food.” Sawdust said, flinching and getting ready for when the blows would come.

“Dog-” Master started before sighing. “Okay.” He dragged his hands down his face. “I found that paper with the rules on it. I don’t want to do this and I didn’t think I’d have to, but I have some rules for you, too.”

--

Adrien didn’t miss the way Sawdust perked up at the mention of rules. It made him sick, but he had to press on now that he said it.

“Three meals a day, with me, downstairs.” Adrien tried his best to sound firm in what he was saying, attempting to walk the line between stern and intimidating. “I’ll come get you when it’s time to eat.”

“Is that all, Master?” Sawdust responded. That sounded rehearsed to hell and back, but more confident and solid than anything else Adrien had heard him say before.

“This room’s yours, treat it as such.” Adrien gestured with an outstretched arm, “The bed’s yours, I put some stuff in the corner if you’d rather stay there.”

“Is that all, Master?” Again. Adrien knew there was probably more he should tell Sawdust, but he was blanking.

“For now, yes. If I think of more things I’ll tell you.” The bed shifted with the movement of Adrien standing up. “Try to get some sleep, I’ll see you tomorrow.” He turned off the lamp, gathered his laptop, and left, shutting the door behind him as softly as he could.

The second he stepped into his bedroom, he sat down on his bed and ran his fingers through his hair, that familiar, heated upset rising through his body. Sawdust was someone he took into his care and he let him get to such a state. Adrien was disgusted, and thoroughly disappointed with himself. He was in over his head, and he didn’t know what to do.

Night passed slowly for the both of them.

taglist: @starnight-whump @just-a-whumping-racoon-with-wifi@neuro-whump @whump-me-all-night-long @cupcakes-and-pain @whumpzone @whumpcreations @dancinglifeboat @pinkraindropsfell @looptheloup @cowboy-anon @meetmeinhellcroutons @thingsthatgo-whump-inthenight @firewheeesky

#pet whump #whumpblr #whump blog #whump writing #whump #whump ocs #whump recovery #whumpee #caretaker #whump community #adrien and sawdust

[dr3amofagame]

Dream tried to stop Wil from creating L'Manburg, Phil tried to stop him from blowing it up, BOTH value people over items and builds, Phil has said that they're replaceable but people aren't, Dream traded spirit for his best friends fishes (we kno he's not someone to talk abt feelings:[) BOTH were kind and selfless but used by almost if not everyone, BOTH were ready to be THE VILLAINS if it meant everyone else could live better after. ONE of them always had someone there, ONE didn't. Intentional?

aaaa sorry for the really inconsistent posts ,, im gonna try to post a little more in the next few days. i have a few things written up, so look out for them? maybe? for now, have this *gestures vaguely* thing ,, it’s kinda a mess but *shrug*

phil is such a fun character, anon, especially for all the reasons that you mentioned in the ask!! he’s a really fun character with a lot of complexities that go (sadly) overlooked by a large portion of the fandom, but he’s super cool even tho i havent analyzed him too much. hope you enjoy (and i hope my interpretation of c!phil isnt too ooc lmao) 

tw: mentioned blood, injury, implied torture/abuse, starvation, trauma, mentioned death, prison arc/pandora’s vault

When Techno first brings Dream back from the prison, Phil doesn’t quite know what to think.

“I don’t trust him either,” Techno assures him, but there’s a flickering anger in the backs of his eyes, one that had emerged ever since he came back from the prison with the other man in his arms, and Phil knows his friend well enough to know that the words are empty in the face of the piglin hybrid’s particular brand of to-the-death loyalty. He shakes his head in reply, refusing to voice his thoughts for Techno’s sake, at least, but the look that the other slants at him suggests that he’s caught onto them all the same.

At first, the work is thankfully mindless; even if Phil has reservations on the man that Techno has more or less dumped into his house, he would hardly wish the clear suffering he’s been through on anyone. The first few days pass in a flurry of brewing potions, wrapping and rewrapping dressings, stitching up cuts and setting broken bones straight. The damage is extensive; Phil has to take more than a few breaks to just leave the house and breathe - he’s far from a stranger to blood and carnage, had received the title of ‘Angel of Death’ for a reason, but even he had never been particularly familiar with this form of cruelty. Torture was a level of violence that extended beyond what even he was willing to bestow - his hands may have caused many deaths, and the weight of each one would continue to haunt him for the rest of his life, but even those had the mercy of being a quick end. The wounds and scars that ripple over Dream’s skin, thin and stretched tightly over his bones with little muscle and fat left to cushion them, speak of horrors that were anything but merciful.

“I didn’t know they were capable of all of this,” Techno says, once, as they huddle of Dream, wringing towels in cold water to wipe his feverish skin. Techno’s hand reaches for the ribboning gold-filled scars that remain from the execution - carefully, Phil raises his hand to let his fingertips brush over them as well. “I mean, I knew he was dangerous and all, but-”

“I know, mate,” Phil looks back at Dream’s face, tight even in unconsciousness, at the darkened, hand-shaped bruises that remain around his throat, at the scar that runs over his left eye, clearly meant to mirror the same one that makes its way down the duck hybrid’s own face. “You said that Quackity and Sam were working together?”

“Yeah,” Techno’s expression darkens, eyes focused somewhere on the wall, seemingly very far away. He said that nothing happened to him in the prison, and he seemed relatively unharmed when Phil activated the stasis chamber, but ever since he came back, sometimes he’ll have moments, and Phil can’t help but - wonder. “Quackity does the dirty work, Sam gives him the way in and out, probably also the tools to do it. It’s-” he huffs a short, self-recriminating laugh. “It’s bad, Phil.”

“Mate-”

Techno shoots him a look, and Phil cringes, knowing already that he’d used the wrong tone. Even with the execution, Techno had been adamant to hide all traces of his own terror and fear away from him, masking it all with fury for Phil’s own sake. He knows, just from the way his old friend looks at the ribboning scars that remain sometimes, that he is far from as over the whole ordeal as he acts, but Techno never wants to talk and Phil never knows the right time to ask and they smooth it all behind plans and explosions and hope that the TNT can blow apart the trauma, too. He’s got a sneaking suspicion that the same thing is going to happen, here.

“As soon as we can,” Techno starts again, pointedly shifting his eyes away from Phil’s face, “we’re calling a Syndicate meeting to figure out what we’re going to do about the prison. Like- come on, man, you couldn’t make a more transparent abuse of institutional power if you tried, really-” he looks over, uncharacteristic uncertainty warring over his features. “If you think that’s good, I mean-“

“Of course, mate.” Phil’s voice softens. “Whenever you’re ready.”

‘Whenever he’s ready,’ as it turns out, is easier said than done, becoming even more evident when their charge wakes up from his days long spell of unconsciousness. The worst of his injuries have, under their careful care and the benefit of many potions, healed enough to no longer directly threaten his life, but the vast majority have quite some time to go before being healed completely. Being as the goal was torture and not death, most of his injuries weren’t made to be life-threatening, but rather to cause as much pain as possible - from the grimace that twists Dream’s face when he struggles to force himself awake, they’re doing their jobs.

“Hey, mate, slow down,” Phil murmurs, pressing the man down by his shoulder when Dream weakly tries to push himself up and off the bed, and his struggling only lasts for a few more minutes before he gives up and slumps against his pillow, eyes cracking open and seeming surprisingly lucid.

“Where-“ his voice is wrecked, and Phil reaches for the glass of water at the bedside as Dream coughs. “Where am I?”

“You’re at Techno’s house,” Dream’s eyes widen and then slip closed as he processes the information, a wrinkle forming between his eyebrows as they knit together. “We broke you out, after Techno escaped with a stasis chamber with your book. Do you remember?”

Dream gnaws on his bottom lip. “Um- yeah. I think.” His head turns as his eyes crack open again- “Techno-“

“He’s out, right now. He’ll be back in a bit.”

“Oh.” Dream falls back into the bed, strength seemingly sapped from the short conversation. His breathing stutters, then steadies. “Okay.”

Recovery is slow. Phil doesn’t actually find himself seeing the man very often; now that he doesn’t need around-the-clock care anymore, he’s moved back into his own house, letting Techno do most of the work when it comes to rehabilitating the escaped convict crashing at his house. As he begins to spend more of his time awake and aware, he brings a whole slew of new problems; Phil catches him screaming one day, blurting harsh, angry words as Techno reads, unbothered from the other side of the room, and he stops in his tracks standing awkwardly in the doorway.

“Um-“ he winces when Dream curses, smashes something against the floor, and then curls into himself at the sound. Techno doesn’t even flinch. “Am I interrupting something?”

Dream stomps away, face flushed, arms wrapped around himself. Techno raises an eyebrow.

“You lookin’ for something, Phil?” he asks, and the unpleasant knot in Phil’s chest refuses to unwind.

The episodes, unfortunately, don’t seem to get much better. Though he’s rarely outright violent, Dream looks constantly murderous, usually muttering underneath his breath about something or another while he stalks the grounds of Techno’s house. It’s not too long before Techno sends him out to work around the house instead of just moping within the cottage, which also means that Phil sees him a lot more - tending to a small farm behind the house, feeding the dogs, hacking away at mobs, and usually complaining the entire time. It’s unnerving, even as injured and unarmored as the man is, to see him walking around like this; despite his rather pathetic appearance, swamped in sweaters that dwarf him thoroughly and thin enough to look like the slightest breeze will knock him over, his eyes are flinty and intelligent and bubble with promises of revenge.

“FUCK!” Phil turns to see him slamming a shovel into the snow, stomping away into the woods, and his hands tighten around his cup of tea. Next to him, Techno shrugs.

“Nerd’s got a few issues,” he drawls, and Phil laughs shortly.

“That seems like an understatement.”

“He’ll ease up in time,” Techno sounds surprisingly confident, completely content despite the muffled curses that come from the woods next to them. He’s probably used to it, with Chat and all, but Phil can’t quite seem to find the same calm.

“I just don’t know, mate,” Phil shakes his head. “You sure having him around is the best idea? He doesn’t seem...stable.”

Techno looks up at him over the rim of his cup of coffee. His head tilts, considering, but there’s a small smile on his face that tells Phil that Techno, inexplicably, doesn’t share the same sentiments. There was always a part of him that was, for the lack of a better word, softer than the rest of the server for his self-proclaimed rival, a sort of understanding that Phil could hardly hope (nor would really want to) understand.

“Don’t worry, Phil, if he tries anything I can always just tie him up in the attic or something,” Phil huffs a small laugh, amused, and nods to concede the point. “And- well, call it intuition. You could really try talkin’ to him, you know. He reminds me of you, sometimes.”

The words stick in his head despite his best efforts, rattling in his skull when he tries to sleep, lingering when he catches glimpses of the green-clothed man stalking around their properties. He can’t imagine what would’ve prompted his old friend to make the comparison, can’t think of a single thing (besides their affinity for the color green) that would mark him as similar to the - from what he’s heard - deranged menace with a particular penchant for destruction (not that his rants and fits of anger are doing anything to correct that impression). Even so, Techno had sounded so sure when he’d made the comparison, the words offhand like he’d thought them a million times before, like it was a simple observation that held no more weight than commenting on the color of the sky. Phil watches as Dream lugs a pile of logs behind him, huffing at one of Techno’s dogs that comes to chase and nip at his feet and grumbling loudly before faceplanting into the snow. He just...can’t see it.

Days later, Wilbur comes to visit, a grin on his lips as he dramatically recounts his newest exploit: a nation by Las Nevadas, a supposed safe haven away from the glitter and glory of Quackity’s city; it sounds brilliant, it sounds lovely, and more than anything it sounds stupid, and Phil tells him as such immediately.

“You’re being reckless,” he rants at his son, wings flaring outwards and only barely noticing Dream watching from the corner of his eye, “What are you doing- picking fights with Quackity? Starting another nation- didn’t you see what happened to the first two you made? You’re going to get yourself killed, Wil!”

“Well, I’ve already seen what’s on the other side of death, and it’s really not that bad-“

“You’re my son!” The words are angrier than Phil would’ve liked, and he knows that he looks ridiculous and overbearing, criticizing the actions of his fully grown son, but all he can see is Wilbur’s face, slack with pain and grief, stained with ash and soot as his eyes flutter to half-mast in the midst of the rubble of a country he loved and destroyed and destroyed him in turn. “I can’t lose you again, Wil!”

Wilbur doesn’t quite storm out, but it’s a near thing, leaving with a clipped goodbye and leaving Phil seething on his doorstep. He spends the rest of the night pacing around the house in a sort of mad frenzy, wings stretching and folding over and over. Not for the first time, he longs for the sky, to feel the air through his wings and let the world fall into pinpricks below him; it’s this that leads him to the roof of his house, staring stubbornly at the clouds as the sun sinks down to the horizon.

“Hey.”

Phil startles; there, down below him, is Dream. He rocks back on his heels, seeming awkward, before clambering up the wall (Phil rolls his eyes at the ease with which he scales it, the feeling in his chest almost fond) and settling himself on the shingles at Phil’s side.

“Hey, mate,” Phil shakes his head. The fondness leaves, and the irritation that had risen at Wilbur’s words, earlier, comes back full-force. “Sorry- Wil came to visit, we talked. I just needed some time to think.”

Dream hums in acknowledgement, and they fall into a comfortable silence, watching as the sun dipping down past the mountains in the distance.

“You know,” Dream starts, sudden, “I told him the same thing.” He looks up at Phil, eyes faraway with old memories. “Wilbur, I mean. When he made L’manburg- I told him he was being reckless.” He shrugs. “I guess he never listened.”

Phil pauses, Techno’s words ringing in his ears. He reminds me of you, sometimes.

Dream looks surprisingly normal up close - face no longer reddened with fever or pale from blood loss, even the scars fail to really take from the boyishness of his face. He bites his lips, eyes falling away at Phil’s scrutiny, golden blond hair flopping over his forehead, newly trimmed to be something a little closer to his old length, at least in the front, the back pulled into a small ponytail. He’s young, and shockingly awkward, teeth worrying his lip, hands fiddling with each other, shifting his weight from one foot to the other several times a minute. He looks like a kid.

“He never does,” Phil lets himself smile, watches as Dream smiles back, almost like they’re sharing a joke. He wonders how well he really knows the man behind the mask. “Want to come in for some tea?”

Dream smiles wider, and something old and worn in Phils chest, knocked loose ever since he felt his son fall limp in his arms with his own sword shoved between his ribs, falls back into place.

“That would be great,” Dream replies, the words almost hopeful, and they go inside.

#tw trauma #tw death #tw blood #tw injury #tw torture #tw abuse #tw starvation #prison arc #pandora's vault #-> my writing #my writing :D #my asks !! #-> my asks