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dekusleftsock · 4 months

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MMMMM OKAY OKAY OKAY

I’m surprised no one has talked about how interesting Izuku breaking his mask is???????? Like oh my god?????

He even comments on the fact that it’s probably useless to wear in a scene like this, since he only put it on previously to shield his face from the waves while fighting and running away from Himiko.

In fact, I could even compare this to another Himiko scene altogether!

Himiko’s broken mask.

It’s a metaphorical mask, but honestly, so is Izuku’s. In this chapter (and previous chapters, obviously) Izuku is hiding from the fact that he has… deeper than desirable feelings for Katsuki that makes him violent and hateful. He does not want to be violent or hateful, but currently, he is at such an awful state of mind (due to Katsuki’s death and then reawakening, and also partly the state of his friends and colleagues) that he can’t help doing so.

That hate and violence cannot be stuffed down deep in his bones like usual, oh no, his quirk elicits a PHYSICAL reaction. But he didn’t have a quirk before, how could he really know that this would happen? It’s like walking through daily life as a teenager, and then in your early adulthood being hit by an extreme anxiety disorder or other health conditions. With no real reason, it just happened one day! Other people have dealt with this before sure, but they had several years throughout their adolescence to figure it out, how to cope with it. And just like it’s said in the manga, it’s like everyone else is running far ahead, and you’re just starting to crawl.

And that’s what the mask is (fuck you dream 🫶🫶🤭) really for. It protects Izuku on a very emotional level. The mask is broken, chipping, dirty—yet he wears it anyway because it’s the only way he can really smile like allmight. Just like allmight found his mask, he also found his smile. It’s also probably why his first reaction to having a quirk stolen (while also strategical) is to hide hide hide in blackwhip. A bubble that hides him from Shigaraki, from Katsuki, from everyone who could see his face.

And comparing this to toga, hello?? Her masking metaphor is about MASKING AS A HETEROSEXUAL GIRL, and her breaking that mask makes her a deviant, an outcast! And here Izuku is, doing the exact same thing.

Shigaraki has danger sense now, by all means, the table has flipped—Shigaraki now knows that Izuku wants to hurt him. Izuku wants to destroy him. Danger sense doesn’t work on just anyone, it has to be coming from a place of malice (because Himiko doesn’t affect danger sense), and an urge for violence. Very Himiko trait.

AND IZUKU KNOWS THIS, HES BERATING HIMSELF, INDIRECTLY ONCE MORE—saying that he has this useless power (similar to how he berated the fish when he was mad at Katsuki in chapter 1), comments on how the mask is broken and that allmight found him that mask, and he even holds this disappointed look on his face.

THIS is the weight I was talking about. This. The berating, the indirect hatred, because Izuku hates. He hates people and things just like Shigaraki does. That’s why danger sense was the only power shigaraki should have taken, it’s the literal power to feel who is loving and who is hating.

AND OF COURSE WE HAVE THE THROWBACK CHAPTER TO 342 OH MY GOD

The fact that Izuku has to say, “you’re a person”, ITS SO DAMN BEAUTIFUL YALL IM DEAD

Oh also! Izuku having matching blood falling over the other half of his face is just too fitting.

To me, with this whole chapter, Izuku and Katsuki, the parallels Katsuki had to ochako last chapter (the falling on the ground, passing out because “it’s getting cold”), it’s just given me a lot to think about.

And I’ve thought and paced and I really really hope I can describe what I’ve been thinking.

Pikahlua (or however their name is spelled, sorry!) translated the text on top of ochako as “Im still not sure what was obvious to that person”. These are the rough translations which is good to keep in mind, but there’s a few ideas I’ve had floating around from that line.

I went back and read 342, Ochako is ofc looking out into the city, calling herself an oddball, even saying she feels like she doesn’t know anything about Toga; if, and this is a big if, but… if this is Izuku thinking about Ochako, then that makes this line far more interesting.

What was obvious to her? A couple of possibilities—possibly understanding that she doesn’t really know Himiko, maybe it’s the fact that Ochako is so openly ready to accept Himiko (unlike Izuku for shigaraki, though this doesn’t apply to Katsuki. Showing Izuku is capable of feeling long term resentment for someone who wronged him, so long as that person doesn’t just wrong him, izuku), or maybe, it was the fact that she was so openly ready to say that she was weird, an oddball (a queer trope for coding characters, “she’s just so weird about that girl”, “I feel like I don’t really fit in”, or “I feel like the way I think of this same sex character—regardless of contextual status such as being a villain or an arch enemy—is wrong, and I should be condemned.”)

Though this could also be Ochako talking about Himiko that wasn’t directly said/shown in that scene, “I’m still not sure what was so obvious to Himiko about me.” (Though personally I find this harder to believe since this isn’t a panel directly taken from the chapter, rather a redraw from Izuku’s perspective. The drawing even makes her look taller than Izuku, which is interesting. Maybe he thinks that she’s better than him, morally)

And if we take Izuku’s comment of “You’re a person” then that furthers my belief that these are thoughts ABOUT ochako. Maybe the “obviousness” was the seeing the villain as a person. She EVEN TELLS HIM that she was thinking of Himiko during her speech about how Izuku is still human to the civilians. Maybe that speech was never about Ochako to Izuku, maybe it was ALWAYS ABOUT HIMIKO.

And ntm, this is another case of Izuku projecting onto someone else; not only is this a declaration to Shigaraki, “You’re still a person (that’s why I know I’m going to save you)!” But it’s also a declaration to himself, a motivator, a reminder that Ochako made to him during her speech, in Katsuki’s apology, and from allmight during his vigilante arc.

“You’re still a person (Izuku).”

The same declaration he made to the fish in the first chapter, to Shoto during the sports festival, and to Katsuki during dvk1.

“I matter.”

And it’s this that truly makes all of this so ironic—izuku speaking for himself, projecting onto shigaraki… honestly they feel the same way about hero society. The only reason Izuku can and does relate to Shigaraki is that he also feels cast away, no adults to reach out to as a kid, therefore making decisions on morality and bias that he mostly made on his own. Not only that, but Izuku has been the boy that was not seen as human. He has been the one to be isolated and shamed for being dirty and looking like a villain.

That’s honestly probably why he agreed with Ochako at all—he saw the little boy Shigaraki once was in ofa yes, but he’s also been an isolated and dehumanized teenager at UA. What if what Izuku was thanking Ochako for wasn’t actually standing up to the people and the speech she gave to him, but that she was able to truly open his eyes, see the bigger picture. Save Shigaraki.

Do I think shigaraki and dekus relationship and ideas of relatability are vastly different from togachako AND dabi + shoto ideas? Yes. Extremely so. Shoto and Ochako don’t and never really did hate Himiko or Touya. Obviously, to an extent Izuku does. Ntm, Shoto and Ochako brought up their conversations about their respective villains on their own, professing their insecurities and doubts, unlike Izuku who only expresses that he relates to them.

Maybe this anger and hatred came more recently, after seeing Katsuki’s death, but I have a feeling it more has to do with a built up grudge of Shigaraki targeting Katsuki.

Regardless of all of this, I see something bigger; when Izuku breaks his mask, he smiles. Genuinely smiles. Not his bright allmight smile, but he smiles regardless on that last page. It hurts and it takes a lot of power to push it, but it happens anyway.

This is the first time I’ve seen Izuku happy, or at the very least motivated, since seeing Katsuki dead. Even when Katsuki woke up, he still looks heart broken.

But the mask is gone. He’s free. Just like Himiko was free, so is Izuku.

And I thought for just a second that he would cover himself up another way, but he didn’t. He got up and he said “You’re still human” And smiled at him like the badass he is (yes I can compliment him, I promise. He’s my favorite character for a reason, I also just wanna kick him in the balls 24/7 for being so dumb).

And what did Himiko do when the mask broke?

She gave in.

She was free.

She let the world know, “this is who I am, take it or leave it.”

And I know, in my heart, that this is what Izuku will do too.

Yk how I mentioned earlier that this was a parallel to this?

I mean that, down to the fact that Ochako is calling Himiko by her first name.

Will Izuku try to give his life to Katsuki? I doubt it, he can’t do much in the medical sense.

However, do I see a shared moment similar to this? Maybe.

Okay all I’m saying is that it’s undeniably canon atp. Like I’m gonna wait for some kind of confession or kiss (bc yes I still believe that will happen, I am in that camp and you couldn’t drag me out unless I was cold and dead on the ground), but Himiko literally says she loves Ochako multiple times, INCLUDING is 395, so like. Idk what else you want. It’s this. We did it. Horikoshi you bastard.

#I got more thoughts on more things I want to elaborate on #but I hope this suffices for now #bkdk #togachako #midoriya izuku #mha deku #bkdk brainrot #bakudeku #bnha deku #bakugou katsuki #mha analysis #deku midoriya

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gainingfiction · 6 months

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Heavily Used

Summary: This is a bit experimental (or weird), and maybe a bit predictable, but I had fun writing it. This is a story about an important relationship in a fat guy’s life, and the risk of taking things for granted. It’s also a story about coping (or not coping) with change.

Hope you enjoy!

I don’t know how much more of this I can take. I can only handle so much. It’s one thing to be taken for granted, that’s something we all have to live with. It’s just the total lack of acknowledgment, or even awareness that I’ve been under a lot of pressure lately. I swear, one of these days, I’m just gonna snap and call it quits.

A little bit about me: I’m stylish, polished, and pretty easy on the eyes, if I do say so myself. Born in Poland, but my background is Swedish—I’m European, at heart. The name is Anders, but no one actually calls me that. I’m not super high-maintenance, once you figure me out, but everyone needs a little attention from time to time. Some tending.

Especially living with Max.

I’ve known Max for a while, and he’s not a bad guy. He can be a little rough sometimes, and maybe a little careless, but it doesn’t come from a bad place. I think it’s just a lack of self-awareness. And let’s be honest, that’s a common problem among pretty-boy jocks.

The trouble with Max is that he’s not the pretty-boy I once knew. He’s changed… he’s grown. I mean, he’s literally grown. Grown by about a hundred pounds, if I had to guess, and counting. Over the course of our time together, I’ve gotten pretty familiar with his ass, and I’ll admit, it’s a great one. But, boy, he’s got a lot more ass for me to handle these days.

It’s not insurmountable, not yet at least. But I’m worried it’s getting there.

It started out simply enough, the innocent midnight snacks and occasional takeout treats. No problem, right? Twunks can afford to indulge a little, especially a hot commodity like Max. But then, you get comfortable. You settle into a routine, you let yourself go. That’s the thing about creatures of beauty: one minute you’re the hottest guy in town, trim and toned, with a golden tan and handsome face and perfect, silky hair. The sort of guy who only seems to exist in a Hollywood version of reality. But then, inevitably, something happens. Sometimes tastes change, or maybe you’re the one doing the changing.

I won’t deny, I’m not in the same shape I was when I entered Max’s life for the first time. Any long-term relationship comes with the normal wear-and-tear. Max, though, has taken it to a whole new level.

The little snacks become big snacks. The extra meals go from “occasional” to “frequent” to “everyday”. Gluttony takes over. A 32-inch waist becomes a 36-inch waist becomes a 40-inch waist; size-small shirts are discarded in the back of the closet, soon joined by ill-fitting mediums, and then by larges, stretched out of shape by a gut that won’t stop getting bigger. Max used to flit around the apartment like a bird; now he lumbers like an elephant, heavy footfalls and a slow, waddling gait. His own warning system—you can hear him coming.

On paper, I know I should be trying to help lighten the load. And it’s not like I’m totally unappreciated; there are days when he comes home from work, legs tired and arms loaded down with takeout, and I can tell he’s genuinely happy to have me. But it doesn’t last long. Once dinner’s over, I’m back to being ignored while he sits on the couch, gorging himself in front of the TV, until he comes around again to stuff his face at the next meal. Which, to be fair, is pretty often these days.

It sounds cruel, the way I talk about his escalating weight, his increasingly-indecent greed. I’m not trying to be mean. I just wish he’d consider how it might affect me. I have to live with him, and he’s starting to cramp my style. But it’s not like I can say anything. I just have to sit there in silence, while he eats and eats, grows and grows, piling on pound after excess pound. And the way he eats, moaning and licking and slurping… it’s downright pornographic.

250 starts to feel like a lowball as the months go by. He’s pushing me to my limits without even realizing it. I’ve never had to deal with a guy this fat before, a guy whose big, round bubble butt would hang over the side of even the most substantial chair. And I, personally, am not “substantial”. I’m pretty thin; it’s just how I was made. I thought Max was made that way, too.

I start trying to make my frustration known, but like I said, I can’t just come right out and say something. So I try a little subtlety; a small groan every now and then when he throws himself down at the dinner table for another round of hedonism. If he notices, he doesn’t care. He just keeps upping the ante.

And upping just about everything else: his pants size, his portion sizes, the size of his monster-truck ass and thunder thighs. They press together whenever he sits down, now, lard against blubber. Not like in the old days when his legs were lithe and lean. His moobs bulge against every tank top, his pudgy arms pack his sleeves, his love handles blossom over the top of every waistband like ripening tropical fruit.

In occasional moments of self-pity, I hazard a guess: how much does my man weigh now? 275 pounds? 300? Is he even trying to do something about it? Clearly not. He never works out anymore, unless you count working up a sweat over a third (or fourth, or fifth) slice of cheesecake. I honestly wonder if he’s doing it on purpose, just to spite me. Or test me. But I know that’s crazy—like I said, sometimes I truly doubt he even thinks about what it’s like for me.

But the problem is getting harder to ignore; he really throws his weight around these days. He heaves himself up off the couch. He rests a hand on the front of his bulging belly, barely restrained by some poor, threadbare top, back arching forward from the strain of it all (he’s not a tall guy, which makes his increasingly S-shaped silhouette even more pronounced). He trudges from the living room to the kitchen and drops himself in front of the table like an anvil. When he sits down, his ass, spilling out of some indecent pair of jean shorts, spreads out like lava blanketing some hapless Roman hamlet.

Some nights, I strain underneath him, feeling absolutely crushed by his sheer weight, boundless mass bearing down on me with the force of gravity. How big is he now? I wonder, as I listen to him moan and groan with pleasure. 325? 350? Could he really have gained over 200 pounds? How could he not realize what he’s doing to himself—what he’s doing to me?

He’s just so oblivious. I don’t even recognize him anymore. I’ve been starting to make noises about how uncomfortable I am, how much I’m struggling with his extra weight. But, as always, it falls on deaf ears. His tight little butt has become a pair of vast, ponderous globes, his abs and lats and obliques are encased in a spare tire that belongs on an 18-wheeler, his tits bulge out and dangle towards his armpits. And he just. Keeps. Going.

Keeps eating. Keeps gaining. Keeps expanding.

Things reach a boiling point before dinner one night. I can see him piling up the table, unboxing some outrageous quantity of food for his secret nightly mukbang. Well, secret except for the consequences, which anyone with eyes could notice. “There’s a man who likes his food” would be such a trite, vapid observation that it doesn’t even need saying. He doesn’t just “like” his food, he lives for his food. Food is practically a part of Max’s identity at this point.

He’s starting to lower his colossal ass to sit, and I can tell this is it. Tonight’s the night. Fuck it, I’m done. He’s well past 350 pounds, and that’s too much weight for me to handle.

Maybe he’ll appreciate me more when I’m not around. Hejdå, Max, it was nice knowing you! At least, it used to be.

Max sat on the floor, rolls of fat still wobbling from the jarring motion of his fall. His chair had been complaining for a while now—squeaking and groaning every time he sat down—but he hadn’t expected it to actually break. What a load of bullshit! He wasn’t even that fat!

He looked around at the splintered wood, soreness radiating across his ass—and not in a fun, post-fucking kind of way. At least his buttocks were nicely-padded. When he was bony, a slip on the ice hurt like all hell.

He was glad he was alone, or this would have been super embarrassing. At least no one was around to see him smash that chair like a pro-wrestler in a grudge match. He knew he’d been overdoing it, but this wasn’t his fault. How could it be, surely he wasn’t that big? Just a little out of shape, in need of a few good workouts to shed some winter weight. It was just the cheap IKEA furniture he bought.

With a grunt, he started the process of heaving his monumental form to a stand. As he started to gather his momentum, he glanced at the ruined seat and frowned. He actually liked that chair. It was pretty comfortable.

At least, it used to be.

(Author’s Note: don’t forget to rotate your dining chairs!)

#weight gain #male weight gain #gay #wg story #weight gain story #realistic gain #gaining fiction #belly #bhm #chub

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sc0tters · 9 months

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Past Meets Present | Alex Turcotte & Trevor Zegras

summary: a horny night with your boyfriend in the club bathroom gets interrupted when your ex fuck buddy walks in.

request: yes/no

warnings: mature scenes, p in v, threesome, sex in semi-public place, use of the name slut once, oral (male and fem receiving!)

word count: 2.70k

authors note: I’ve never written a threesome before in my life so if it’s shit I’m sorry. I hope I did the request justice though because it was actually really fun to write! Took me the whole day but it was definitely worth it.

Trouble always seemed to find its way back into your life.

The latest attempt it made was in the form of Trevor Fucking Zegras. It entailed of four months with great, no fabulous, sex and the instant plus one to all events without any questions. The best part about it was that there was never a title that either of you attached to it. Everything came crashing down though when Trevor decided that the exclusive deal that you two had made by locking lips with some girl at the bar one night when you were running late.

As you ran out of the bar pissed of beyond belief you bumped into Alex. Well actually you collided with his chest and just like in the movies when you landed with your ass on the sidewalk Alex was there to pick up your pieces.

Within two months of knowing him he asked you out and of course you said yes because you liked how relaxing he was to have around. Trevor hadn't been in your mind since that night at the bar.

Sex with Alex was also great, sure he wasn't as rough as Trevor, the orgasms didn't make you cry the way his could. But it never crossed your mind, or at least that's what you told yourself.

So when you landed up in a club celebrating Jacks birthday you finally got to learn that the man you thought you'd never see again was actually best friends with your boyfriend of six months.

Alex seemed to be obvious to it though as all he cared about was pulling you into the bathroom because he couldn't cope with the sight of you in your pretty little short red dress "baby," you moaned as your fingers wrapped around the counter that was under you.

He loved the taste of your cherry lipgloss as he forced his tongue further down your throat "fuck you look so pretty tonight," Alex groaned as he locked eyes with you.

That sight of your swollen lips as you let them form a pout watching him lick his own "couldn't keep my hands to myself," he murmured as he leaned back down to kiss you when you were both unaware that the bathroom door opened "princess doesn't usually like it when you get all needy." Trevor's confession struck you both as it caused you to snap your heads in his direction.

His smirk was prevalent on his face as he leaned up against the frame of the bathroom door. You couldn't help but turn a shade of pink as you could see Alex beginning to figure it out "you two know each other?" He asked keeping his attention on you.

All you could do was nod as you let out a sigh "we were friends," you explained leaving out the key details "you went crazy for my cock a few too many times to just be my friend." Trevor clicked his tongue as he shut the bathroom door this time making sure that he locked it.

You buried your face in Alex's chest as it turned a bright shade of pink "who's better baby?" The question fell from Alex's lips as he was curious.

It wasn't every day that you could ask a girl who she thought was better between you and your friend so Alex truly wasn't going to pass on this opportunity.

The hesitancy in your voice only made Trevor's smirk go wider "you my love of course," you nodded to yourself as you pulled Alex closer to you so that you could kiss him once more.

But Alex stopped you when Trevor started talking "you know that girls who lie don't get rewarded at the end of the night." The Ducks players words rung through your head as edging your through the night was one on Trevor's favourite things to do.

The Kings player ran his finger over your lip "baby you know how you always said you wanted to try something new?" He asked as the idea came to his mind.

Conversations had been shared between the two of you talking about what you each would and would not try in the bedroom, threesome was on each other your green light lists "you sure Al?" You cocked your head not wanting to force him into anything as that was always something that you seemed more fond of than him.

Alex nodded as his thumb drew circles just below the end of your dress "only if you're comfortable with it?" Trevor began to feel awkward as he was just watching you two talk "I wanna see who is better at making my girl come." Alex blurted out the second you gave him the nod to show you were down with it.

Trevor wasn't used to sharing you with anyone, he never wanted to so when Alex proposed that he knew that bragging rights of some sort would be on the table "who starts then?" Trevor rubbed his hands together not seeing the smirk on your face.

As both boys were the same condom size you took the spare one from Alex's wallet "like to have his come dripping out of me at the end of the night." The comment was a total lie but Trevor didn't know that. The younger of the two boys had always wanted to fuck you raw but when you said no each time he asked he respected your answer so the idea of hearing that you were letting Alex come inside of you had Trevor oozing with anger.

You could hear the groan come from your boyfriends lips at the idea of what you were proposing "you sure your boyfriend won't mind me having you first?" Trevor cocked his head as he saw Alex frown behind you "gotta save the best for last," you shrugged clearly pissing him off now.

It truly shouldn't have been this amusing but you couldn't help but smirk at Trevor's pissed off state "don't be jealous just because he knows how to fuck me right Trevvy," you cooed as you placed your hand on his shoulder.

The boy rolled his eyes "when I lift your little dress up I'm gonna see that you're soaked," he had seen the way your thighs stuck together and that was a clear sign that you were ready for a good fuck "not for you." There was amusement in your voice as you crossed your arms.

Trevor unbuckled his belt and the sight was enough to make your mouth water "somethings don't change my desperate little princess," he pointed out as his hand cupped your cheek "gonna make you feel so good." His voice was a murmur before his lips landed on yours.

The kiss was needy as your tongues were in this fight that only ended when Alex let out a groan "didn't expect this all to be that hot." He confessed as his cheeks turned red when you smiled at him.

An idea went off in Trevor's head "go suck your boyfriend off for me princess," his request was met with a quick nod from you "hi baby," you grinned as you pecked Alex's lips.

Your boyfriend always melted into your touch as your fingers danced over the waist band of his shorts “don’t be a tease,” Alex warned as he dug his fingers into your hips “since you asked so nicely,” you grinned as you pressed a kiss to his neck totally unaware of how Trevor moved closer to you.

Just as you were about to crouch down to pull Alex’s boxers down Trevor kept your ass in the air “you’ve kept him waiting for too long,” The Ducks player pointed out as he watched your hand wrap around your boyfriends cock.

You smirked as you kissed the tip of Alex’s cock before you wrapped your lips around it making sure that you took as much of him in your mouth as you could before you let out a gurgled moan.

Trevor’s fingers lifted up your dress “god Alex your little princess here is soaked,” he announced as he was met with the sight of the wet patch on your thong.

Alex groaned as he wrapped his hand in your hair “she’s my little horny slut.” The name made you squeeze your pussy around nothing and you knew Trevor had seen it as he had pulled your panties down.

It wasn’t often that you actually felt excited to be trying something new but here you were weak in the knees at the thought of getting fucked by two guys “you ready to get fucked princess?” Trevor’s usual nickname for you made you nod as your muttered yes came out whilst you swirled your tongue around Alex’s cock.

The younger boys fingers went to your slit as he teased your slit “missed this,” Trevor mumbled as he rolled the condom over his cock before he slowly pushed himself into your core.

He gasped as his hands went to your waist as he slowly continued to rock himself into you as you adjusted to his size “you’re liking this aren’t you?” The Ducks player cooed as he heard you groan causing Alex to shudder.

Alex was surprised he hadn’t let out a whimper yet as you always knew how to suck him off just right “always been so good at this,” he mumbled as his grip tightened over your hair when you locked eyes with him.

That was what Trevor honestly loved most about you, it was your ability to tease the boy you were sucking off even though he was meant to be the one in charge “fuck her face,” Trevor blurted out as he threw his head back when your pussy clenched around him.

Your pussy was literal heavy for anyone lucky enough to come across “you okay with that baby?” Alex asked as his hand cupped your jaw.

When you nodded it finally gave him the green light as he began to move his hips as they met your face. Your nose brushed against his stomach. In your own there was a coil that was quickly growing tighter by the second. “This little princess is getting close.” Trevor smiled as your gurgled throaty noises let a moan slip out.

His hand went to your clit as he didn’t know how much longer he could last.

Alex on the other hand only had seconds let as your throat had him close to collapsing “you feel so good,” he pointed out as his thrusts began to get staggered when you tilted your head upwards to let his cock go further down your throat “shit shit shit!” Alex repeated as his come shot ropes down your throat.

He lifted your head up so you were now standing upright “want to be a good girl and swallow for me?” The Kings player asked as his thumb wiped the rest of his release that had fallen out of your mouth so that he could push it back in.

You nodded as you let the salty liquid slide down your throat before you stuck your tongue out “always been such a good little listener.” Trevor cooed as his pace on your clit increased “I’m gonna come!” The sentence fell from your lips as your hands handed on Alex’s shoulders as you pulled into a kiss trying to keep the moan from falling out of your lips.

Alex always liked the taste of himself on your tongue as he groaned letting his hands come forward to squeeze your breasts.

Trevor in the other hand was morning when your pussy squeezed his cock as your core began to throb “you’ve still got it.” He cooed as his thumb didn’t let up on your clit even after he slid out of you once he came “Trevvy no.” Your face scrunched up as you tried to pull away from his hand.

The Kings player smiled when you sent him a pout “got faith in you baby,” he murmured as he hooked his fingers under your chin so that he could kiss you.

Somehow the taste of your cherry lipgloss was still on your lips “you’re so pretty baby.” Alex let out a chuckle as he kissed you once more.

Trevor watched as your legs began to buckle “hold her waist,” he pointed to Alex who just listened.

His head moved to your neck as he began sucking at it “god you’re hot,” the older boy smiled as his hand rubbed over your lips.

For the second time tonight you has come as your release came running down legs “think it’s about time you sit down.” Alex pointed out as you nodded. He picked you up before he put you on the counter “think you have one more in you?” He asked as he tucked your hair behind your ear.

The Ducks player clicked at his tongue “she can last all night.” Your eyes went wide as you remembered back to what he referred to as fun nights of edging.

Your boyfriend picked up on your reaction as it caused him to kiss down your neck “look at the miss you’ve made,” Alex smiled as he crouched down “you’re looking so sweet tonight.” He kissed at your thighs as he lifted up your dress when he tucked your dress behind you.

His tongue lay flat against your slit as your hand went to his hair “come here,” Trevor smiled as he put his hand behind your neck as he kissed you.

You had to admit that you missed the taste of his whiskey on your tongue, Alex was always a beer drinker so you didn’t get that taste anymore “missed your pretty lips,” the younger boy confessed as you let out a moan feeling Alex suck your clit.

That sound bounced off the walls of the bathroom, your boyfriend had to to admit that the way you kept on looking down at him when Trevor’s lips moved away from your own as his own markings on your body mixed with Alex’s.

It was like even though Trevor was there you still didn’t care especially not when Alex began to finger you whilst not letting his tongue slow down on your clit “please don’t stop,” you begged as you continued to grind your hips against his face.

Trevor forced your face back to face his as he also grew jealous “you make such pretty noises don’t ya?” He tapped your lips as he began to kiss you again. Now the Ducks player wouldn’t admit it but he began to miss what he had with you, he wasn’t a sentimental guy but the way your head fell backwards as your eyes screwed shut feeling your boyfriend take you closer to your high it made him miss you in ways he shouldn’t have.

Your thighs began to squeeze around Alex’s head as you knew you weren’t going to last any longer “keep doing what you do best baby.” You cooed as you encouraged Alex’s actions even further.

The younger boy smiled when your head dropped onto his shoulder as his hand began to tease your nipple over the fabric of your dress “being such a good girl princess,” Trevor’s praise brought you to your third and final orgasm of the night as your face scrunched up in pleasure.

You saw stars and only really recovered when Alex stood up leaving your pussy “always tasting so sweet,” he cooed as both boys laughed at your dazed state.

They smiled as you forced your head up so you could look at him “who won baby?” Both boys didn’t take their eyes off of you as you huffed “there was a competition?” You asked making them both laugh once more.

Your fucked out state seemed to turn your brain into mush “I think I should get you home,” Alex sighed as he helped you pull your panties back up before he wrapped his arms around your waist so he could help you walk.

Just before you unlocked the door Alex turned around to look at Trevor “we’ll call you.” He announced as you nodded in agreement.

Maybe this wasn’t meant to be a one and done thing.

#super smut Thursday #hockey smut #nhl smut #Alex Turcotte smut #trevor zegras smut #oneshots #imagines #hockey imagine #hockey imagines #nhl imagine #nhl oneshot #trevor zegras x reader #trevor zegras oneshot #trevor zegras imagine #alex turcotte #Alex Turcotte imagines #amber writes fics

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azrielslightintheshadows · 5 months

Note

Hello! I would really like if you could write a cassian x reader piece where reader is rhysand's sister and when rhysand is under the mountain, reader goes into a depressive state because she misses her brother and how cassian comforts her. Maybe flash forward to when rhysand returns and reader thanks cassian for helping her to cope with him being gone. Lots of fluff and comfort with cassian

Survival.

Cassian x f!Reader

Masterlist.

Warnings; a bit angst, mentions of death.

Cassian is our gentle giant :') Hope you enjoy this.

Your whole world collapsed, you couldn’t breathe, couldn’t speak, couldn’t even stand without help. It had been a day since your cousin Mor informed you that your brother was trapped under the mountain. When the words left her lips you screamed, the scream so heartbreaking that it trembled the mountains of Velaris. You immediately flared your wings and shot to the sky trying to exit Velaris but getting pushed back by the wards your brother placed. You kept trying until Cassian grabbed you and wrapped his hands around you. He carried you to your room and laid down next to you. He held you as you cried, kissing your head and whispering that everything was going to be alright.

At some point your tears dried, your body couldn’t produce more, and you sat on the bed staring at the wall across you.

“Come on baby he is going to be okay, you need to be strong for him.” Cassian said and caressed your cheek.

“No! You don’t understand. I lost everything! My mother is dead, my father is dead, my sister is dead and now my brother is gone!” You screamed.

Cassian flinched at your words, and you realized your mistake.

“Oh Cass I’m sorry…” you whispered and hugged him.

“It’s okay. I might not have a mother, but I do have two brothers because Rhys is coming back” he said.

“If he survives” you sobbed.

“He will. Both of you are the strongest faes I know, you’ve been through a lot… the mother owes some happiness to you” he said and pressed you harder against him.

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

Cassian stayed by your side for the next days, he would get you all your favorite snacks, he would read to you and when the sobs broke through your throat he would hold you in his arms, kissing your head and whispering sweet promises.

“Come on, its time for you to get up. You sulked enough.” Mor said bursting into your room and opening the curtains.

“Leave me alone” you whined and pulled the blanket covering your head. Cassian woke up with a groan, his eyes falling on Mor.

“What are you doing here?” he asked.

“I’ve had enough of her sulking around and you allowing her to do so. Enough of babying her!” she exclaimed.

“Get out” Cassian growled. The blanket fell on his lap as he sat upright, his sculpted body on display making him even more intimidating.

“Cassian this is bad for her. Rhysand will be really disappointed when he comes back”.

Your eyes widened and the tears came back.

“Get the fuck out” Cassian snarled and got up. Mor shook her head and left the room without a word.

“Don’t listen to her” he said softly and sat next to you, pulling you in his arms.

“Do you want me to read to you?” he asked, and you nodded.

He laid next to you and you rested your head on his chest. His deep voice calmed you and soon you fell asleep in his arms, the sound of his heart soothing you.

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

With Cassian’s help you started leaving the house, strolling around the city and having dinner at the house of wind with the rest of the inner circle. You all started spending your nights together telling funny stories that happened when Rhysand was still around and drinking away your sorrows. Cassian was always by your side, squeezing your hand and carrying you home when you passed out from the alcohol. He didn’t stop you from drinking ever though he worried, he knew that you were going through a really rough time.

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

You woke up with a terrible headache, a groan leaving your lips as you rolled into Cassian’s side, bumping his wing with your own. He tensed and opened his eyes.

“Sorry” you mumbled.

“Its okay, how are you feeling?” he yawned.

You groaned in response, and he chuckled. The air around you felt different, warmer and the scent of the wards was weaker.

You furrowed your eyebrows and jumped off the bed.

“What?” Cassian panicked.

“Something is different. I think Rhys is dead.” You cried out and Cassian jumped on his feet, sniffing the air and noticing the change in the scent. He cursed under his breath and both of you hurried downstairs.

“There you are” Rhysand’s voice rang in your ears. You whipped your head to the direction the voice came from and gasped as you saw your brother standing there with his signature feline smile.

“Rhysie” you screamed and jumped in his arms. You hid your face in his neck and sobbed.

Cassian jumped on you making Rhysand fall on his back with a grunt.

“We missed you brother” he boomed. “I can’t breathe” Rhys croaked. You all burst into laughter and wiped away your tears.

You spent the rest of the day clinging onto Rhysand, enjoying your brother’s warmth and scent.

Night came and you found Cassian on the balcony alone, staring the city.

“Cass” you called softly. He glanced at you and smiled. “I wanted to thank you for everything, I wouldn’t survive without you.” You said and caressed his arm.

“You would… you are way stronger than you think.” He replied and wrapped his arms around your waist.

“You make me strong” you whispered.

Cassian’s breath hitched. He stared into your eyes and then your lips.

“I love you” he said and leaned closer capturing your lips with his own. The kiss was soft and slow, his love and affection flowing out of him making you shiver.

“I love you” you mumbled into the kiss and Cassian smiled.

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fruitcoops · 1 year

Note

a prompt:

sirius and regulus argument. probably something which has been manifesting for a while, like it starts with short sly comments and then builds up to create tension within the family (cuz i consider them part of the dumais family) so dumo tries to comfort one or both of them in the end? kinda long prompt, it’s just something that i’ve not seen and would like to see how it would work?

Gnaw at the Bone, because I just can't leave these two alone. Character credit goes to @lumosinlove <3

TW** (please be gentle with yourselves!): canon shit childhoods (no graphic abuse), Walburga and Orion's A+ parenting, sibling parentification, panic attack, bad coping mechanisms (skating), and past minor injuries from said coping mechanisms

“Sirius.”

“Reg.”

His stomach twisted. His head throbbed. His mouth tacked over, lips sticky, chapped, too much, not enough. Years of it. Stars in orbit, on a collision course with anything that came too close—their gravity was inescapable and destructive to the nth degree. They ruined everything but each other. That gravity would rub and chafe and grind at their rough surfaces and it made him sick to think about it.

Oh, it made him sick to think about it.

“Sirius.”

“Reg.”

And that was it—a clipped acknowledgment from scowling lips, then resignation. Regulus disappeared down the hall with his pasta. Sirius watched him go, shook his head, and headed in the opposite direction with a white-knuckled grip on his cup.

Alright then.

“Everything okay?” Pascal ventured.

Sirius jumped, his glower lifting for a moment in surprise, as if Pascal hadn’t been sitting there for over an hour. “What?”

Pascal tilted his head toward the empty doorway and set aside the broken toaster. “Everything okay?”

His mouth dipped in a grimace; his brow wrinkled like he was trying to find the weak link in a failing play, but something simmered beneath. “We’ll figure it out,” Sirius finally answered. “We’ll—it’s Reg, you know?”

Pascal didn’t know, actually, but Sirius was gone before he could ask for an elaboration. In fact, the only thing he knew for sure was that Regulus had gone through a period of rapid character development over the past nine months and that Sirius didn’t stop loving him for a single second of it, even through the snappish attitude, even through those horrible interviews that Regulus clearly regretted. They were two sides of the same coin with the unfortunate ability to be as evasive as greased weasels.

Celeste would say he was being nosy. Pascal preferred to think of it as a natural desire to engage with his kids as a loving, supportive parent.

He looked down at the toaster, then back up at the opposing doorways and sighed. It seemed some detective work was in order.

“Remus! How are you, mon ami?”

“I’m…good?” To his credit, Remus recovered quickly and offered a light fist bump in greeting. “What’s up?”

Pascal waved a vague hand. “The usual. House is good? Dog is healthy? Boyfriend is happy?”

Bingo. A shadow flickered over Remus’ face before it smoothed out into his usual neutral friendliness. “Yeah, we’re doing great. We were thinking of repainting the living room soon, so if there’s a day you want to borrow the dog, I’m all ears.”

“Parfait, I’ll let you know. And Regulus?”

There it was again—the tension, the twitch, the passive smile. “I think Sirius is just glad to have him home. It’s really been great getting to know him. He’s a sweet kid.”

He might be, but he’s been getting on your nerves, too. If Pascal knew anything, that would piss Sirius off more than any insult Regulus hurled his way. “I’m so glad to hear it. It’s good for them to be near each other right now.”

He clapped Remus on the shoulder and stood before the younger man could respond. It wasn’t just a one-time problem, then; whatever the seething, festering thing between Sirius and Regulus was, it had seeped into their everyday function. Enough that it had even begun annoying Remus ‘Patient’ Lupin. Pascal might not be able to fix their issue, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t give them a nudge in the right direction.

Sirius was right where he left him, hunched on the bench with a whiteboard in hand, though his pen served more as a drumstick than a writing instrument as Pascal approached. The tip-tapping stopped when he ruffled Sirius’ hair and took the seat next to him. “Defense,” Sirius muttered by way of explanation. “There’s a gap. Tremzy’s a killer when he goes in for a shot, but we need to close his spot when he moves.”

Pascal hummed in agreement and propped his skates up on the boards, letting the battered wood take his weight and ease the ache. “Good eyes.”

“ ‘s what I get paid for.”

“You seem tense, mon fils.”

“Hmm?” Sirius blinked. His eye contact was pristine, but his attention was lightyears away. “Sorry, just thinking. Did you need something?”

Pascal offered a wry smile. “What, you’re too old to let me sit with you?”

The deep crease between Sirius’ brows smoothed out; he smiled softly. He blinked again; this time, a bit of him returned. Not beyond all hope of intervention, then. “Non. Desolé. I’m…I’m in my head today.”

“Nothing to be sorry for.”

A few seconds passed before Sirius nodded. Pascal watched his gaze go distant again and his cheek dimpled as he bit the flesh inside. Guilt. Perhaps frustration. A twisted mystery to solve, if Pascal had not been watching him so closely since he first blessed their threshold. It was Regulus, it was Remus and Regulus—

It was something from a time Sirius had been trying to lock down. Ghosts were hard to trap behind hasty boards, nailed haphazard and half-panicked. Sirius was better, not healed. He was safe, not exorcised. He was so goddamn brave it hurt to watch, but Pascal wasn’t foolish enough to miss the way he spooked. And Regulus was a good kid, but a fucking mess all the same.

(Privately, he questioned the decision to go headlong into university right after escaping 18 years of living hell. That was not his place to challenge and not his problem to solve.)

(But still. University? Really?)

Sirius made another note on his board. A canine tooth poked out as he worried at his lower lip. Pascal watched him fidget, hands up and over and under and between, and steadied himself with a slow exhale when Sirius began twirling his pen over his knuckles with a dull, rippling noise.

“Regulus is angry with me.”

Pascal made an impassive noise. It was Regulus.

“I think. Probably.” Sirius’ knee bounced for a five-count before going still. “He’s working through a lot. Finals were hard. It took him off-guard. He got snappy at Remus.”

Remus and Regulus. “Oh?”

“Something about changing his sheets. He didn’t like that we went in his room to clean while he was away.”

Something from a time you’ve been trying to lock down. Not mutually exclusive events, but a progression. Sirius was fixed on a far point, no longer tracking the movement of players. His hands had gone quiet.

“I think I—I think they—” Space hung between them like a bear trap. It was horrible to be right. Sirius exhaled hard and shook his head. “C’est pas grave.”

Pascal bit back his disappointment. He knew better than to think it would spill out so easily. He scooted closer on the bench, and when Sirius didn’t flinch, leaned over to bump him with a gentle shoulder. “Don’t let it eat you up, ouais? Regulus is grown. So are you. It will come in time.”

A halfhearted nod was the best he would get, it seemed. Pascal risked a soft squeeze to the back of Sirius’ neck and—there he was. The loosening of his tense shoulders, the careful lean into the contact. “We’ll talk,” Sirius said.

“Take it slow,” Pascal advised, and prayed to any god that Sirius would at least listen to that. Those who shoved their hands in the cage of a feral animal only came away bitten and rabid. For all his growth, Sirius was plenty feral without the influence of Regulus Black ripping him open again.

They watched the drills together in silence for forty-five minutes. When they were done, Sirius’ clipboard held only blank paper.

“Tuney and I were really close. As kids, I mean.”

A light, fluffy cloud passed overhead on the rushing breeze.

“We did everything together. Like, literally everything. Mom used to joke that we should’ve been twins.”

The pain in her voice was one he knew well.

“We started drifting when I hit junior high, I think.” A controlled, even breath followed the gentle sound of a dandelion being picked. A few bits of fluff floated in and out of view. “And then high school came around, and she hated my fucking guts. Shredded all my tights with a fork. Refused to look at me in the lunchroom. Mom and Dad didn’t tell her it was okay, but they didn’t stop her, either. They just kind of sat there and looked sympathetic.”

Quiet fell over them again. A strand of hair billowed over his vision for a half-second. Time for a haircut.

“I still don’t know what I did,” Lily confessed to the afternoon sun. “I still don’t think she’s forgiven me.”

Looking at Regulus now, Sirius thought he might finally understand what she meant.

The corner of Regulus’ mouth was turned down; not more than usual, but enough to be a scowl to anyone who knew where to look. Quietly, he hoped Regulus’ school friends could tell the difference. He deserved to have people like that. Sirius wasn’t sure he had explained that very well before sending him off. Or ever.

“It’s a good book,” he said.

Regulus made a noncommittal noise. He hadn’t turned a page since Sirius paused in the doorway.

Another try. Pull back to the midline, find an open corridor. “One of my favorites.”

“Je sais.”

“Why are you angry with me?”

Once upon a time, he would not have been so bold as to ask. Once upon a time, Regulus would have sunk further into his cocoon. One pale finger traced the edge of the worn paperback. “I’m not angry with you.”

You’re always a little angry with me. “You won’t look at me.”

“God forbid I’m busy.”

“You’re reading.”

“And I’m busy,” Regulus said waspishly. “Go get Remus to take you for a walk, or something.”

Maybe this was where Lily had failed. In one way or another, she and Petunia had missed each other in the middle. He could recall those six terrible, lonely years with too much clarity to let Regulus push him away. Losing him would never be worth an argument won. “I want to spend time with you.”

“Then get your own book.” Regulus muttered something else under his breath that Sirius didn’t care to look into.

He swallowed down a sigh and picked one at random off the shelf, then settled down on the couch opposite Regulus’ armchair. The words could have been in Portuguese, for all they registered in his mind. The edges were soft from many hands. It might have been Remus’, or from the secondhand bookstore in town. God, it could have been one of Sirius’ own favorites for all he knew. He was working on knowing more of those.

The color blue, but a specific shade.

Tater-tot casserole, preferably with meat, acceptable with just cheese.

Books with adventures, books he could run away in.

Poutine with extra gravy.

Henley shirts that stopped at his elbow.

Hoodies—not the zip-fronts—made of heavier fabric. The ones where Remus had fussed with the cuffs.

“What’s your book—”

The sudden snap of cover on page made him wince; an irritated grumble-sigh hung on its coattails as Regulus swept out of the room without a backward glance. Sirius’ stomach turned, and turned, and turned. He always fucked it up. He always tried too hard. He shut his book in silence and set it on the floor, and went to get his skates.

I’m not an infant. Bared teeth and clenched fists. A charge in the air, a snake ready to strike. And you are not my fucking mother.

Remus wrinkled his nose and scrubbed harder at the grout.

Nightmarish, is what it was. The summer had been sun-soaked and semi-charmed with only the awkwardness of getting-to-know-you’s to taint it. But that was Remus’ perfect wheelhouse—polite conversation, buttering up, small talk to ease Regulus into a world that wasn’t actively trying to shred him. It had all worked so well.

He didn’t know what went wrong. Worse, he didn’t know how to fix any of it. Regulus was constantly boiling with silent fury like a kettle about to blow and it was terrible. Every second Sirius and Regulus existed within each others’ eyeline was hell. And they were living together. For twelve more days.

If they all survived this, Remus was going to take himself out for a little treat. One that did not involve scrubbing the kitchen grout just to avoid running into either of the ticking time bombs.

Regulus’ hissing colliding with the low, furious timbre of Sirius’ voice was not something Remus wanted to experience again, in this life or the next. Nobody won. Everybody lost in one way or another. Sirius got angry and Regulus got angry and Sirius got defensive and Regulus got mean, flat-out and full-send. Sirius snapped back, Regulus stormed off, and Remus spent the better part of his night assuring Sirius he was not turning into his parents. Rinse, repeat, wish for death.

Commotion kicked up in the living room and went quiet in the same breath—Remus paused to watch Regulus stomp off with a book in one white-knuckled hand and listened carefully for the aftershocks.

The house inhaled with him. The office door closed hard. Sirius’ footsteps were rhythmic as a metronome all the way up the stairs and back down again—Remus bit his tongue when he saw the skates clenched in one hand—and remained that way until the basement door shut him out.

Then, and only then, did Remus let a quiet, “shit” slip through his teeth.

Pull back to the midline. Pull back to the midline. Watch, pull back, find your corridor, strike.

The puck skated past the goal without so much as a whisper of net. Sirius hardly heard it hit the boards.

Remus looked faintly ill when they arrived at practice; Pascal was grateful for the early warning to prepare himself for Sirius’ perma-scowl and overall vibe of ultimate distress. The change in the atmosphere nearly made his ears pop. Leo made a hasty retreat from the locker room after Kasey, looking as if he had taken psychic damage, and several others watched him leave with unbridled longing.

“On-ice in five,” Sirius said. Ordered. Everything about him looked incorrectly articulated. “We’re running drills, then doing dry lands.”

Not a soul dared to try the usual bitching and moaning. All cheerful conversation had met its abrupt end.

Cole lowered his head and slunk out the door like a stray bit of shadow. The rest of them followed suit within a minute or two, save for James, who steered Sirius into the ice room with a firm hand on his back.

Plastic buckles clinked softly in the empty space left. “They’re worse?”

Remus slumped forward and muffled a groan in both hands. “They’re going to fucking kill each other.”

“Any idea what happened?”

Remus spread his hands with a lost expression.

“Did this start when Regulus came home?”

“It’s just been the past three days.” Remus shook his head, leaning his elbows heavily on his knees with his pads half-done. “I can’t—Reg was fine when he got here. He was fine through Christmas. Sirius mentions we changed his sheets before he came home, and now he wants my head on a pike and my boyfriend to explode.”

Pascal picked at the peeling logo of his shorts. Sheets. What was so special about the sheets? “Were they new sheets?”

“Same ones he used all summer. I literally just washed them and put them back.”

“So…he didn’t like that you were in his space?” Remus half-shrugged, clearly frazzled by the mere memory. “You know, Adele hates it when we go into her room. Even to drop laundry off, or help her clean.”

“No, yeah, Jules is the same. That’s what started it.”

“Started…?” Understanding crept up his throat like battery acid. “He didn’t.”

“It was bad,” Remus said weakly.

“How bad?”

The laces of Remus’ skates dragged on the ground while he shuffled in his stall. The lines of his arms were rigid and upset; he scratched at the back of his wrist, curled over like he was trying to shield his middle. “His feet bled again.”

Pascal closed his eyes. He should have pushed harder against the basement rink eight years ago. He shouldn’t have let Sirius leave so soon.

He forgot, sometimes, how very alone Sirius had been.

“I fixed it,” Remus said after a minute. Of course you did. He sniffed, shaking his head like he could hear Pascal’s thoughts. “It wasn’t too bad. Blisters, mostly, some hotspots. Made him keep the bandaids on for practice. I hate—Dumo, I hate this. I hate living in it, I hate seeing them tear each other apart. It’s so quiet.”

“They need to stop,” Pascal agreed. Remus kept looking at him for—a solution, he realized. Terrible hope. Something desperate and fragile, a young man coming to a mentor for help he just…couldn’t give.

He looked away first. Remus’ exhale felt like a knife.

“It’s me, it’s me, it’s me, it’s me—”

“No, no, no,” Remus soothed somewhere in the catastrophe of the world.

Sirius spit, again, and pressed his hands over his eyes, again, and willed the bathroom floor to stop digging into his knees and just swallow him up already. His skin crawled and he wanted to scratch but he couldn’t take his hands away or the room would spin and tip him into nothingness.

Maybe he belonged there. But he had managed to hurt Regulus when he was a country away, so perhaps he wouldn’t even be safe in the ether.

Remus’ hand was cool on the small of his back as he frantically tried to keep his dinner down. He didn’t rub. He didn’t tap. He didn’t so much as twitch. Sirius listed to the side and flashed a hand out to steady himself. The pain of his wrist hitting the cabinet didn’t even register until Remus hissed in sympathy and took his weight in the bend of his arm.

“I am treating him just like they did,” Sirius rasped through the smoke pouring from inside him.

“No.” Remus was begging now. He sounded so tired. He was begging. The room swam in the kaleidoscope of suffering that he really should be used to by now, and Sirius pressed his elbows harder into the toilet seat as his ears began to ring.

You are not my mother.

Sirius gasped in a too-hot breath. It had been directed at Remus, not him. But.

But he was.

It was so sick and twisted and his stomach made sure to tell him that with a real-world example of both those words.

You are not my mother.

She wasn’t, either. Their nannies had come close. Sirius missed them sometimes (often) (aching) (with the hurt of a child).

Remus was not Regulus’ mother but he had been, in the same scream-worthy way he had been his father, too, and his brother. He couldn’t think too hard about how he had been the only one to cuddle Regulus without crying and fuck, there he went, Sirius the drama queen making the whole damn world about him.

“Okay, okay.” Arms came around him, easing the slicing pain of the sobs that caught him in fishhooks. The back of his hand hit the floor. His knees hurt like a bruise. His face was smushed against Remus’ chest and it really should have been uncomfortable. Remus made a noise of sympathy and gathered all the gross, slimy, bits of a Sirius-puddle into his arms because he was a saint. The patron saint of fucking messes, and Sirius was the messiest sinner of them all.

“I’m so horrible to him,” he sobbed, hitching and sticky. Probably incoherent. He mumbled. She hated it when he mumbled. “I’m so horrible.”

You are not my mother.

“It was me.” He gulped for air. Remus’ dizzying words fell quiet at the interruption. He added another note to his list of penance. “It was me, it was, I tried.”

“What did you try?” Remus’ fingertips brushed away a loose, sweaty lock and the sobs came harder after that, wracking him down to his organs, past the precious cradle of his ribs. A warm palm cupped the back of his head and Sirius heard a strangled noise interrupt his own endless babbling. He didn’t know he could make that sound. With the way his throat and body were angled against the unmovable pillar of Remus, though, it shouldn’t have surprised him.

“I was—I was his mother.” It was so hard to breathe through the gasping. “I didn’t know what I was doing but I was his mother but I won’t be her.”

“Oh, god.” Remus sounded weak for a saint. There went another beautiful thing, ruined in Sirius’ messy clumsy hands. And somehow, in the darkness, in the Blackness, a kiss nestled just near his temple.

He couldn’t help but go still, then limp, as all the fight and fear siphoned from his flooded lungs.

Remus breathed like he was going to speak several times before he did. “There are other ways.” His voice was heartbreak. Sirius closed his burning eyes. “Sirius—baby, you know my mom. You know Effie, and Celeste, and you know Lily.”

Lily. He knew Lily. Her green eyes, so much pain and regret. Don’t be like me, Pads. Her green eyes, the way she looked at Harry, the way they matched. Sirius had his mother’s eyes. Had she ever looked at him like that?

“There are other ways to be someone’s mother. And…” His hands stuttered, then began to move again, scritching the back of Sirius’ head. That feeling usually made him go comatose in their bed. “Regulus was trying to hurt me when he said that. You know that, right?”

I am not an infant. And you are not my fucking mother.

Remus kissed him again. The shell of his ear, this time. “It wasn’t about you. I promise.”

But it was. There on the bathroom floor, it was.

The woman was watching him with infuriating patience. Sometimes—more often than he cared to count—she would even look away to her clipboard or her phone, and that was even worse. Regulus knew how to be ignored. He fucking hated her nonchalant attention.

Either look at me and pay attention or ignore me properly, he thought with enough force that it should have beamed into her brain directly.

Heather chewed at the corner of her lip and checked her texts again.

“Aren’t you supposed to ask questions?” he finally muttered.

She looked up, milk-mild. “Are you ready to answer them?”

You can’t trick me that easily. “Are they worth my time?”

“I certainly think so.” She tilted her head back and forth for a moment. “But it’s not up to me to decide. That’s your choice.”

“So I can just walk out right now?”

“Sure.”

Regulus only let himself pause for a second before regaining his composure. “I’m pretty sure my brother would murder me if I did that.”

“Your brother didn’t set up this appointment.” A smile made her face even kinder, like a storybook bear. “And I’m not allowed to discuss my other patients’ homicidal tendencies. But yes, Mr. Black—”

“Don’t call me that or I’ll puke, I promise.”

“—yes, Regulus, you are welcome to leave whenever you feel like it. I can’t legally force you into therapy and I don’t particularly want to. If you would prefer to sit here quietly, we’ve still got twenty minutes left.”

He bit the inside of his cheek.

“I have a spare crossword,” she offered.

Gifts. Of course. What an awful woman. He plucked absently at the threads of the armrest and slouched into the too-squishy cushions.

Silence reigned supreme for another five minutes and twenty-four seconds before Heather stretched her wrists and smiled at him again. “It’s good to see you, Regulus.”

“You don’t have to say that,” he snorted.

“I know.”

“So don’t.”

“Alright.” She tapped the side of her thumb on her clipboard. “I’m glad you came back. Is that better?”

“Will you stop with the mind games, please?”

Heather’s eyes softened. His skin crawled. “Regulus, I don’t want you to be uncomfortable in my office. I would vastly prefer it if you did something you enjoy with this time, rather than forcing yourself to come and sit there and be miserable. I’ll sit with you if you’d like, but it seems like that’s not helping.”

His lip curled against his will. “So Sirius told you I’m miserable?”

“I haven’t spoken to Sirius lately.”

“You should. He’s a disaster.” Ignore that I’m a screaming teenage trainwreck.

“If he gets in touch with me, I’ll happily make time.”

“He won’t,” Regulus informed her. He wondered if she would stop him. Was there a point where he was no longer allowed to talk about her other patients? He already felt pathetic enough for refusing to use any therapist except the one Sirius had vouched for.

Heather hummed. “Guess that’s for him to know, and for me to find out.”

Push push push push push— “He’s been a mess. He’s doing that implosion thing he does when I’m mean to him. It’s like he thinks everyone in the whole world depends on him to be happy, and the second they’re not, it’s his fault.”

“And have you?”

“Have I what?”

“Been mean to him?”

“Oh, yeah, I’ve been terrible.” Regulus frowned slightly and sat up. “You know I’m not a nice person, don’t you? You should know that before we start anything.”

Heather seemed interested, but not confused. Infuriating. “Okay.”

“Sirius is the nice one.”

“Okay.” She nodded for a moment. “Why is Sirius nice, but you’re not?”

“You’re not—” He bit his tongue. Being mean to Heather was not what he came here to do. Wasting his time with someone who didn’t understand was not the point of this. “Sirius would have been much happier as a suburban family’s well-loved dog. He’s good like that.”

“Okay.”

“I was ignored for three-quarters of my childhood and have half a dozen complexes and attachment issues because of it. I am not a nice person at all, and so I take it out on Sirius because—I don’t know, I think it’s supposed to feel good, since he had everything and then he left me.” She was still looking at him. Mild and kind. Was everyone in Gryffindor obtuse enough to think he was kidding? “Heather, I am telling you that I’m petty and mean and use my older brother as an emotional punching bag because our parents fucked us up. There is nothing you can say to help me.”

“Supposed to feel good?”

Regulus blinked. “Pardon?”

“You said it was ‘supposed to feel good’ when you’re mean to your brother.” Heather rested her head on her hand. He wasn’t sure when she had put her clipboard aside. “Does it feel good?”

“Oh my god, no,” Regulus laughed hoarsely. “No, it feels like I’m the worst person alive. Why does that change anything?”

I just wanted them to like me.

It hadn’t even been about love, in the end. He had given up on that. Forget about pride—that was a lost cause. But he had yearned to be liked, to have a smile turned on him like the ones he only remembered in blurry dreams between sleep and wakefulness. Their father had light crow’s feet by his eyes. They were probably deeper by now. Their love was never going to happen but it really would have been enough to simply be liked. Regulus had been bright enough to stop hanging on to them far sooner; oh, yes, he had always been the smart one.

Heather had seemed sad when he said that. Sirius hated making her sad.

Pascal thought he knew where the precipice was. He thought they had more time to reel that celestial disaster back from the brink before they tipped over it, clawing at each other for grip and for hurt. Looking back, he felt like an utter fool for thinking he could have stopped them.

“You fucking liar!”

“I wouldn’t lie to you!”

“Yes you would, you always do that!”

“I—” Sirius’ mouth snapped closed; his jaw ticked with tension. “I wouldn’t—”

“You do,” Regulus insisted angrily. “Our whole childhood, and now this. I won’t fall for it anymore.”

“I told you, I didn’t go through your things—”

“Stop it.”

“It was just changing the goddamn sheets—”

“Stop it.”

“God forbid I want you to sleep on something clean!” Sirius shouted back.

Regulus flushed red, bright against his dark hair. “Don’t yell at me!”

“Are you—you started yelling first, you pain in the ass!”

“Oh, I’m just a pain in the ass now?”

Sirius threw his hands in the air with a furious noise and folded them at his nape, shaking his head. His stomach hurt and trembled. His throat was tight, and every swallow had to fight its way around an iron fist. The inside of his cheek was raw and tender from his teeth. “You’re fucking delusional.”

Remus straightened fast. “Woah—”

“I’m delusional?” Regulus laughed humorlessly, hysterically, all dry bonfire wit. “I’m delusional? I’m not the one that tried to start a brand-new family when the old one failed!”

The insides of his ribs were scorched black. “Don’t bring Remus into this—”

“I’m talking about him!” Regulus’ arm shot out. One pale, skeletal finger hovered in midair, an executioner’s axe. A hairline tremor shivered over his skin; his eyes gleamed.

Dumo had both hands on Sirius’ broken toaster, and both eyes locked on Regulus’ hand in shock.

“You had it all planned out, didn’t you?” Regulus’ face contorted. “From the second they called your name on the television. You were going to billet and you were going to go to him and fuck the rest of us, is that it?”

Sirius couldn’t feel his hands. I still don’t know what I did. I still don’t think she’s forgiven me. “Regulus, no.”

But Regulus just nodded, tears welling up despite the guillotine edge of his voice. “You did. And thank fuck for that, because then Logan came along and a brand-new brother just dropped himself in your lap without any effort at all. Your perfect parents, your perfect brother, your perfect, perfect life. How convenient.”

He shook his head. “No. No, it’s not like that.”

But.

But it was. A little bit, it was. Dumo wasn’t his choice but he was Sirius’ escape. And Logan…Logan had been so alone, so afraid, so young, hiding under his baseball caps like Regulus used to hide under his toques. Sirius had caught too many sidelong glances of dark curls and bitten back the wrong name those first few months.

Regulus could smell it on him. Could read Sirius’ guilt like a child’s book. His eye twitched. “I told you not to lie.”

“I didn’t mean to,” Sirius said hoarsely.

“I don’t care.”

“It was not my intent—”

“Fuck your intent.”

Lightning spit up inside him and he choked it down, tasting iron as it went. “Will you let me speak? Or are you going to stand there and yell until you feel better?”

Regulus’ face turned blotchy with rage. “Don’t patronize me.”

“Then stop acting like a child,” he snapped back.

“You sound like—”

“Do not.”

Something burnt coated his tongue as the lightning licked off it in a whipcrack and sparked between them. Regulus looked away, fists balled tight against his sides.

Sirius let the burning out on a controlled breath. “Do not bring them into this,” he continued carefully, even as a scream built under his lungs, kicking its feet and howling. “Do not bring her into this. I am telling you right now that you will not like how it goes for you.”

Regulus’ mouth twisted, petulant and bitter. “You’re really going to threaten me? Now?”

“I don’t threaten, Regulus. I win.”

“Because everything is a competition,” he sneered.

“Because you know better than to start that fight.” Sirius caught his gaze and held it with clenched, snarling teeth. Regulus knew better. Always the smart one, always levelheaded. Regulus, the wordsmith, and Sirius, blowing up the ground he stood on as long as he didn’t come out on the bottom. Locked jaw or locked antlers, dragging them both over the canyon edge before any thought of retreat. He had shouted himself voiceless before bending to their father. A simple locked door couldn’t block the endless screaming matches from Regulus’ memory.

“This isn’t a tantrum,” Regulus said at last.

The slavering dog in Sirius’ head sat back and eased its hold. He jerked his chin. “Then get to the point.”

“You left.”

“I was always going to leave.”

Regulus flinched, but to his credit, kept going. “You replaced us. Me.”

“Logan was never you.” Logan, young and scared, but not Regulus. Never Regulus. It had only ever taken a moment for Sirius to right himself, and less than that to be buried alive in guilt.

Regulus stared at the kitchen table. His nailbeds were white where he clutched the back of a chair. They’d have to get more iron into him while he was home; Sirius didn’t trust the university food. “You never came back.”

“For holidays—”

“You never came back,” Regulus repeated, louder. He blinked fast a few times, inhaling sharply. “You were never there for more than a day or two. You’d go dead the second we sat down together. You never—you never came back.”

“Regulus, that house was going to kill me.”

It came out too soft for the weight of it in the room. Regulus closed his eyes and leaned forward, stretching his arms with an unsteady exhale. Sirius kept his focus despite the building sting in his eyes but he could feel Dumo’s gaze on his neck, could hear Remus’ short inhale. There was no coming back from this. Ever onward, clawing his way out of the depths.

“One way or another, it was,” he continued quietly. “So, no. I didn’t go back. I won’t.”

The blur of Regulus tilted his face toward the ceiling with another shaky breath, still blinking fruitlessly as drops of mirrored light slipped down his cheeks. “Then how—?” He broke off and cleared his throat hard enough to make Sirius wince. “How could you leave me there?”

“I didn’t want to.”

It meant nothing; they both knew that. It still felt right to get it out there.

“I thought you’d come back,” Regulus said. “I thought you’d try. Once—once you had your first paycheck, or something.”

It hurt so much more to hear old, broken hope than anger. “They knew where I lived.”

“Then we’d move.” We. A child’s daydream. They made me hate you, but I never did. A phone number memorized for six and a half years. “We’d go somewhere else.” Regulus ran his sleeve under his nose and shook his head. “I was so alone. I don’t—” He looked up and immediately, his lip curled in disgust. “Oh, god, don’t look at me like that.”

“Reg—”

“Like a fucking puppy, merde.” He yanked his sleeves down over his hands and scrubbed viciously at his face, lingering over his eyes a second longer before letting them dangle at his sides again. He sniffled, then did a double-take when he saw Remus and Dumo on the other side of the room. “Why are you still here?”

“Um.” Remus glanced over at Sirius, but he had nothing to offer. “It…felt wrong to leave.”

Regulus rolled his eyes, though the effect was dampened by his red cheeks and slight pout. “You are all so codependent.”

“Don’t be mean,” Sirius chided instinctively.

“Don’t tell me what to do.” Regulus gave him a quick up-and-down look. “We’re both ugly criers. Shit. Yell at me again.”

“…no?”

“Just do it, it’ll make me feel better.”

“I’m not going to yell at you.”

“Don’t make me insult you more. My throat hurts.”

“Do you want a hug?”

“No.” They stood in silence for another fifteen seconds. Wool socks scuffed on the floor. Regulus gnawed at the inside of his lip, then stepped around the side of the table an inch. “If it’ll make you feel better.”

He was over six feet tall, now. His hockey muscle had yet to fade. He felt—

Small. He felt safe. A shudder ran down his aching back. It had been so long since he felt safe.

“Desolé.” Sirius’ voice vibrated in the burrow of his chest and Regulus pressed his face to it as hard as he could. “Desolé, mon etoile.”

Tears snuck up on him in bursts; he pushed closer, closer, tucking his arms between them and shuffling forward until he could stand on the front of Sirius’ stupid slippers and let the cold floor fall away. He was tired of drowning, but it was hard to remember how to let the water out.

Sirius sniffed above him. The kiss to the top of his head was more of a hard bump than anything else. His arms were tight and warm around Regulus’ back, one palm cupping the back of his head. “I never forgot you.”

“Je sais,” Regulus croaked back.

“I never forgot you.”

Don’t, don’t, don’t. He coughed to clear the brackish muck from his lungs. He wasn’t pretty like this, and he knew it. But neither was Sirius, so maybe that was okay. Just this once. He could be held like a child, just this once. It was a long time before they spoke again.

“I don’t want to see Heather anymore.” He breathed in Sirius’ laundry soap and the same deodorant they had both been wearing for years. The rushing flood in his head had become a stream, had become a trickle. His heartbeat pulsed behind his eye. “I want—I want to see someone else.”

Sirius’ shoulders relaxed enough that he could feel each muscle release. “Good.”

“I still haven’t told my friends about—the everything.” He felt Sirius nod and gathered two fistfuls of his hoodie. “I want to stay at school.”

“D’accord.”

“What if they find out?” He held on tighter, pressed his face to Sirius’ calm heart. “What happens when they find out how horrible I am?”

Sirius huffed. “You’re not horrible.”

“I am.” That was the deal. He was the villain so Sirius could be the hero. He was the junkyard. Spare parts to be hosed off and trotted out when they needed him.

“Regulus, you’re nineteen.”

He frowned. “What does that have to do with anything?”

“Everyone’s horrible at nineteen.”

“What if I’m…” He wracked his brain for something smart. It blew a raspberry at him and fucked off back to sleep. “…extra horrible?”

Sirius sighed, scratching lightly behind his ears. Regulus felt his eyelids droop against his will. “If you turn out to be extra horrible by—I don’t know, 21, we’ll talk.”

“What if they fucked us both up too bad?”

He winced—Sirius’ steady motions stuttered briefly. He hadn’t meant to let that one slither out from its careful cage. That was a thought for sleepless nights in a cold hotel bed and watching the sun rise in a strange city through dry, tired eyes. When his hands were blistered and bleeding, he’d wonder whether that Black blood could ever really be gone from him.

Sirius’ head was a gentle pressure on his own. “Then it’s us against the world, isn’t it?”

Gryffindor airport was quiet at 7 in the morning. Dumo stifled a yawn in the back of his hand as he passed the rolling suitcase to a boy that was far too awake for the early hour, in his opinion. Youths.

“You have everything?” Sirius checked. “You’ll be safe?”

“I’m literally fine.” Regulus arched a brow. “And less than four hours away, if you speed.”

“You’ll call when you land.”

“I’ll text.”

Sirius wrinkled his nose. “If you don’t, I’m filing a missing person report.”

Regulus turned to Remus. “Can you keep him on a leash? Or just sedate him?”

“You think I haven’t tried?” Remus laughed.

Sirius fixed them both with a weak scowl. “Will you just get on the plane?”

“I thought you wanted me to stay.”

“I want you—” Sirius took Regulus by the shoulders and turned him around with a firm grip. “—to have fun and live life and not die. The bar is on the ground. Do not dig under it.”

“Killjoy.”

“Pest.” Sirius kissed the top of his head. “Fly safe. Text.”

“Wait until I’m on the place before you start crying. I don’t want your gross emotions all over me.”

“Well, we can’t disturb your delicate sensibilities.”

“Sirius?”

“Reg.”

Regulus paused, laden with his duffel and rolling bag, and kicked the toe of Sirius’ sneaker lightly. “Love you.”

Sirius’ smile was close-lipped and small and brighter than the rising sun outside the massive bay windows. He kicked him back, even more gently. “Get on your plane.”

#sirius black #regulus black #pascal dumais #remus lupin #sweater weather #vaincre #lumosinlove #my fic #fanfic #coops #hurt/ comfort #angst with a happy ending #black brothers #parentification #panic attack #sibling problems #therapy #look they're working on it okay

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mrs-snape5984 · 2 months

Text

“And if he felt he had to direct you, then direct you into my arms…”

“And I believe in Love. And I know that you do too. And I believe in some kind of path. That we can walk down, me and you.” (“Into my arms” by Nick Cave and the Bad Seeds)

This post was written in a sleep deprived and depressed state of mind. So, I guess, I have to put a trigger warning on the following 8 paragraphs (abuse, child loss, disability, disease, general feelings of hopelessness) I’m sorry… I really am. You know what? Just enjoy this amazing artwork and skip my whiny text…I only needed this to remind myself of breathing.

Ever since I fell head over heels for Severus Snape 21 years ago, I used my fantasies about him as my safety net, when my reality became too rough…too traumatic. He accompanied me through half of my life…helping me through so many horrible times, no matter how devastating they were.

Experiences of emotional and physical abuse? Severus was there to keep my mind safe (and he still is, when my brain gets triggered again).

Miscarriages…so many miscarriages…Severus was there, helping me to cope with my grief.

Pregnancies full of sorrows and anxiety…being ordered to complete bed rest in hospital for months…Severus was in my thoughts all day…keeping me focused on my purpose, to get my children through these pregnancies safely.

Dealing with extremely prematurely born twins on my own as a single mother…well, Severus inspired me to believe in my own strength….protecting my children at all costs.

Times with severe health issues and disabilities, too many surgeries, pain and fears…well, you might guess it: It was Severus, who made me believe in my resilience.

And now, that I’m struggling with this cruel monster ME/CFS, having lost the life, I knew before…Severus is still here with me. I’m clinging on him, I’m dreaming of him, I’m writing for him….because if I wouldn’t do that, I would just break down and drown in my despair. And, gosh, I know how pathetic that sounds…believe me, I do! But it’s him, who keeps me going…who keeps me safe from losing my goddamn mind!

I’m absorbing this fucking (literal) darkness around me…and it is starting to eat me alive. I can’t leave my house, I can’t leave my dark room, most of the times I can’t even leave my bed…and the worst thing is, that I can’t leave my weak, diseased body and my fucked up mind. And yes…when my mind is getting too dark, too exhausted, I need Severus to remind me, that I mustn’t leave my life…that I mustn’t leave my three beloved children!

So…I’ll do, what I’ve always done in these past 21 years. I’m dreaming myself away…right into his arms. Severus was, is and will always be my safe haven, my shelter.

I’ve commissioned the lovely @hannisimp for exactly this little piece of comfort…this small moment of peace for my troubled heart and soul. My dear, please take my apologies for writing such a pathetically weak post beneath your beautiful drawing of Severus and Julia. But rest assured, Lin, your artwork brought a little light to my darkness and a smile to my face. Thank you so much for everything!

🖤Severus & Julia🖤

🖤Sevy & Jules🖤

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orgaslink · 4 months

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Things to say after kissing. #18 with Legend and your choice!

Stormy! Thank you for the ask and I'm sorry it's taken so long.

There were so many options I could have chosen but apparently my brain chose Ravio.

Under the cut for length.

There comes a point when tension becomes so taut a snap is inevitable. Like a coiled spring that has been under far too much pressure for far too long suddenly releasing the tension in a significant and sometimes volatile explosion of energy.

For weeks now, Legend’s quaint little home had become stifling, every molecule seemingly compressed under a rock that had Legend feeling claustrophobic. Except, there was no rock, yet the pressure was palpable and getting heavier with every passing day. At this rate, he would ground his molars into dust with his furious clenching.

The cause of Legend’s woe? Him. The hooded menace that was the freeloading merchant who has taken to humming and whistling to himself in a cheery way that grates on Legend’s last nerve until finally–

SNAP!Footsteps stomping across the floor are Ravio’s only warning before he is nose to nose with an irritated hero, his whistled tune trailing off as his hood is knocked back by the force of Legend yanking him by the collar and pulling him close enough that Ravio can see the vein in Legend’s neck pulsing in barely contained anger.

“Now, listen here. I’ve been more than fair with you letting you turn my home into some kind of rental shop, I’ve put up with feathers everywhere from that winged beast you call a pet–” When Ravio opened his mouth to speak, the snarl on Legend’s face made him close it pretty sharpish. Probably best to wait until Link has said what he needs to, don’t poke the bear and all that.

“I can just about tolerate seeing this ridiculous purple hood everyday. Hell, I can even cope with you using my hairbrush and not cleaning it out. But the noise, Ravio? The annoying whistling and the nonsensical humming? Nope, na-ah, no way.”

“Mister hero, I–” Ravio’s protests or whatever it was he was going to say fall short.

“I’m not finished. If you can’t keep yourself quiet, I’ll have to do it for you.”

Before Ravio can question, Legend’s hot breath was ghosting against his lips. Hesitant, Legend waited for Ravio to pull away, allowing him the chance to give an indication as to if he’s okay with Legend’s action. The way Ravio’s breath hitched and he leant in closer gave Legend his answer.

In an instant, Ravio’s eyes were closed so tightly, he was seeing stars. Or maybe that was from the tongue plunging into his mouth and tangling with his own. It was difficult to tell really. The dizziness he was feeling could also be because of said kiss stealing his breath away or from the sheer unexpectedness to be playing tonsil tennis with someone he never considered was a possibility.

Yet here he was. Engaged in a saliva swap with none other than Legend. Fuck.

Legend’s kisses are as intense as his stares, as deep as his eyes and as rough as his personality. And Ravio was here for every single delightful second of it.

“O-kay,” Ravio is breathless when they finally part for air, lips shining with the evidence of their activity. “Should we dissect what just happened here? How are we feeling right now?” Ravio grins, exposing the gap in his teeth that Legend secretly thinks is cute (he would never admit it).

“Fuck you. I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Ravio’s laugh followed Legend as the hero dropped his grip from the merchant and turned to leave, they can talk about this later when Ravio isn’t being such a smug and insufferable bastard.

At least he wasn’t whistling anymore, the giggling Legend could cope with.

Maybe.

#orgaslink asks #orgaslink games #link kisses #kisses ask #ravioli #raviolink #ravio x link #link x ravio

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katyawriteswhump · 3 months

Text

The power of love pt 6 (steddie, stobin, steve whump fic)

Steve has a habit of surviving near death experiences then getting sick for no reason. And Eddie and those fatal bat bites? After an impossible feat of mouth-to-mouth resuscitation from Steve, he’s mysteriously fixed. So, Eddie’s back to being banished, this time with Steve and Robin in tow. Eddie’s healing, but Steve isn’t… and life gets even more confusing, when Eddie develops feelings for Steve, which aren’t entirely unrequited.

Part one Part two Part three Part four Part Five Part Seven Part eight Part Nine Part Ten Part 11 Part 12

Steve POV

“Hey!” shouts Steve, the next morning, as Robin hauls a mass of supplies onto her back. “What do you think you’re doing?”

He half-runs, half-skids down the slippery rocks outside the cave. He tries to wrest the pack from her. She turns sharply, and he loses his grip.

“Steve, chivalry sucks and should’ve died in the Middle Ages.”

“What? I’m not being—”

“I can totally manage! Most of its bedding, and Eddie’s got half the water. You’re sick, remember?”

He rakes his fingers through the hair he’s just wrested into some sort of sub-standard shape. “Honestly, I’m good.”

Honestly, he feels dead rough, though better than yesterday. Anybody would feel achy after a night in some dingy cave. Even with Eddie Munson’s lap as a pillow.

Not that he spent the whole night there. Hell, no.

He woke up with Eddie spooning him from behind, Eddie’s chin tucked on his shoulder. Which screwed him up big-time. Fortunately, Robin was also cuddled up with him, which… helped. Yeah, he’d been kinda nestled on her boobs, but it wasn’t intentional. And it was Robin, and she’d laughed when he’d apologized.

Thinking about snuggles with Eddie is waaaay more problematic—underlined by the swift and silent fashion they’d extracted themselves from each other, both apparently awakening simultaneously.

Both far too groggy to deal.

Almost as bad, he can’t recall exactly what he’d said to the guy last night. He’s pretty damn sure he made an idiot of himself.

He’s still squirming when they set off, neither he nor Eddie having exchanged more than a passing word. Steve insists on taking his turn with the luggage, as well as using the compass and reading the sky. He’s terrible at it, mainly because squinting at the bright sun gives him an epic headache. He ends up walking behind with Robin, while Eddie disappears off ahead.

“By my reckoning, we took twice as long as we should’ve to reach those caves yesterday,” says Steve to Robin. “Do we really trust him with this pathfinding shit?”

“He’s shockingly decent at it. Not sure I trust him with you. Or vice versa.”

Steve stops dead. He can’t cope with walking and with any Eddie-Munson-related bombshells. “What the hell’s that supposed to mean?”

“Oh, come on! I could carve the sexual tension between you two with a knife then sculpt a little love-heart with it. He literally can’t stop flirting with you.”

“That’s total bull. Eddie flirts with everyone.”

“Uh… no. He really doesn’t. I mean, without belittling your troubles, I wish my love life had ever presented me with such straightforward opportunities.”

He facepalms. “Oh Christ, I’m sorry. I-I just can’t right now.” He pushes his increasingly sweaty hair from his eyes. God, he’d kill for a shower. And why didn’t Eddie pack more hairspray?

“Steve?” She hooks her arm through his, and they trudge on together.

“Okay, I surrender. I like him.” He sighs. Why do they seem to be walking forever uphill? “I don’t see how he can be into me, how I’ve been the past few days, and I’m not sure I want to go there. Period. And before you lecture me, it’s not because I think being gay is bad, you know that. It’s because… I honestly don’t know what I am.”

“You’re bi, Steve,” says Robin, very quietly.

“Yeah, and it’s a lot to get my thick head around.”

“You’re not thick, you know—"

“Whatever.” He swipes his wrist across his brow. “We’ve talked this over a billion times. I really don’t need any more meaningless sexual relationships.”

“Why would it be? You reckon you wanna jump his bones, and it’ll flush him out of your system?”

Steve pauses again. Robin’s questions stab his brain, and yet… He finds he can answer the last one, easy enough. “No,” he says. “I don’t want that. I mean, I got urges to be with him, but it feels different… from Nance or whatever.”

“That’s ’cos he’s a dude.”

“Yeah, I noticed.” Slowly, they walk on again, both breathing hard. “You know, I’ve had fantasies and stuff, but they were just that, and…” I want Eddie to jump my bones and... Oooookay, that’s a revelation he didn’t want to deal with this morning, on top of the rest of the shit. “Why are we discussing this now?”

“Because the pair of you are driving me ment—"

A loud roar scythes through the quiet woodlands. Steve barely hears Robin’s terrified squeak. He grabs her bodily, makes a dive for the undergrowth. A chopper passes low overhead, setting the trees shaking, the ground juddering. They’ve landed hard—on Steve’s injured side—and bracken prods everywhere. Extra bruises and scratches, however, are the least of his concerns.

Another large chopper is about to pass directly overhead.

Eddie! Has he been spotted? Are they all about to be rounded up and frogmarched straight to jail? Steve crouches, squints ahead and realises the forest thins out into a clearing. There are only bushy tree stumps, no real cover. The sky above is clear as summer… and he still can’t see Eddie.

Steve’s desperate to sprint on, to find him. However, even hunkered down, he starts to feel sick. Jesus, not now! He squeezes his eyes tight; squeezes Robin tighter, kinda prays, because he’s that desperate. He’d do anything to protect them both. Anything. Anything! Pleeeease? Apart from he can’t hardly breathe, let alone move. There’s a freaky-ass electric crackling in his head, and he’s on the verge of…

Steve blacks out, but only momentarily. He slams a palm to the earth, stopping himself crumpling.

The roar lessens, as the second chopper forges on. A third follows noisily in its wake. Steve glances up. A thick cloud has settled, low enough to obscure the top of the trees.

“Do you think they saw us?” asks Robin, when it’s quiet enough to be heard.

“Nah,” says Steve, forcing himself to think straight. “It’s military, heading toward Hawkins. Bet they didn’t even look down.”

“If they did,” says Robin, “that cloud couldn’t have arrived at a better time.” They extract themselves from the foliage. Robin offers Steve a hand, which he ignores, clambering up himself. “I mean, it’s beyond nuts. The sky was blue—totally clear—a moment ago.”

She folds her arms, narrows her eyes.

He tosses a hand up, exasperated. “What are you driving at, Robin?”

“I don’t know. Weird shit is afoot.”

“Tell me something I don’t know. Jesus, is Eddie, like, taking a slash or something?”

They both yell his name, while Steve surreptitiously checks his bandages. Blood hasn’t soaked through them, so that’s one thing. He’s even more relieved, when Eddie comes thrashing back through the trees.

“That was waaay too close.” Eddie’s totally spooked, and Steve restrains a burning desire to both hug him and pick out the dry leaves that have gotten stuck in his hair. “Is this logger camp really such a great idea? I mean, we’re rounding back on ourselves—getting closer to Hawkins again.”

“I reckon it’s sound.” Steve rolls his shoulders back with a click. “It’d be beyond tricky to land a chopper round here. Too many trees and slopes. If this place we’re heading for is as remote as we hope, it’ll be impossible there.”

“You sound better,” says Eddie, eyes narrowing, like Robin’s had.

“That’s because I am, moron.” Unable to withstand Eddie’s sudden intensity, he turns to Robin. Who remains staring at him, pretty much the same.

He wants to yell, What now? On the other hand, he is indeed feeling more himself. He might test the waters concerning his ‘thing’ with Eddie. Not with Robin AND Eddie gawking at him, like he’s some kinda freak.

Sure, he’s thought about what Robin said concerning Lover’s Lake—about him asking to go there when he was sick. He really doesn’t want to think too hard on it. Yeah, he’s had a couple of close calls there, and yeah, there’s a gate to the Upside Down in Lover’s Lake, but there wasn't always one, and...

“Look, if you two have a problem with me, I really wish you’d come clean.”

“No problem,” says Robin, perhaps a little too quickly.

Frustration flushes through Steve. "Be honest with me, Robin."

"I am! It's just... what with supernatural creepiness swallowing our lives on an apocalyptic scale, I'm so hugely relieved you're okay. It's hard to trust in anything good being real these days."

Yeah, he buys that, and he sure as heck trusts her, plus Eddie's nodding vigorously. He believes them. Maybe too readily, but he does.

Then he hears it—the merest rustle in the undergrowth. Followed by the patter of footfalls. On reflex, he slams into Eddie, hustles him behind the nearest thick-trunked tree. They tumble to the ground, Steve on top. You were wrong, Harrington. Those choppers landed men after all, and… Shit, Robin!

She hasn’t followed. He straddles Eddie’s upper thighs, straining to see. He hears her cry out, “Oh my God, they’re so pretty!”

A bunch of brown deer streak by, their fluffy white bottoms flashing behind them. Doubtless, the chopper spooked them too.

Steve’s jaw drops. Flat on his back beneath Steve, Eddie hoots, sweeping his hair from his mouth: “Thanks for saving me from Bambi, dude.”

Yeah, he’s mocking him. Eddie’s laugh is still totally delicious. Their troubles forgotten, Steve retaliates with his best dreamboat smile. “You’re welcome. I’m at least 2-1 up again in the lifesaving game, huh?”

“The world is back to rights, Harrington.”

Steve leans closer, revelling in Eddie’s laughing eyes, mesmerised by that gleaming smile... This is where we kiss, right?

A twinge of pain, and the effort of disguising it, totally throws him. He lifts his butt from Eddie’s thighs, then offers Eddie his hand. Which Eddie takes. The strain of tugging sets perspiration dripping from his brow.

“My eternal saviour.” Eddie affects a silly bow. Robin laughs too.

Steve dabs his eyes: “We did that joke, Munson.” He slings his pack up over his shoulder and motions them onwards: “Come on, Princesses. Let’s go, let’s go.”

Part 7

...

tags: @estrellami-1 @kal-ology (thank you, thank you, thank you!) If anybody else would like to be tagged on this fic or any of my writing, please let me know :) Reblogs, comments and likes also very much appreciated :) Thank you for reading so far :)

(also part of my steve whump fic series on AO3)

#steddie #steve harrington whump #steddie fic #steve harrington x eddie munson #steve harrington #stobin #stobin fanfic #steve x eddie #steddie fanfic #stranger things fanfic #platonic stobin #stobin friendship #steve harrington hurt/comfort #steve harrington hc #steve harrington fanfic #eddie munson lives

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am-i-the-asshole-official · 10 months

Note

WIBTA for trying to go back to college over the summer?

I (18M) recently moved back in with family for the summer. Recently as in— four-ish days. My mental health has tanked dramatically in that time. I knew this was going to be a rough move for myself (especially cause I don’t cope well with change), but I never realized how rough until I got back. This isn’t necessarily because my family is abusive or anything— they’re far from perfect people, and my dad has been kind of a dick about me being queer, but I’d never consider them abusive.

However, I’ve been dreading moving back in with them for months now. Being back has been worse than I imagined, and I don’t think I can handle three months of being back here. I know that after these three months, I won’t have to be back here ever again if I don’t want, but I still want to go home. The past year of being on my own at college has been the happiest I’ve been in almost a decade.

I tried to talk with my mom about possibly finding a way to go back to my college town for the summer— she’s generally the more chill of my two parents. She responded negatively at first: saying that I was treating my dad unfairly, and should show more empathy for him (This was right after my dad and I got into a small argument. I wanted to lay down some boundaries, and he reacted negatively. I may have phrased my side of it wrong, because to him, I was making unfair demands and then reacting negatively). She had some general “me being selfish” criticisms that I’ve heard from my family for years— (I still don’t know if it’s one of those things that my family starts to be a dick about when they’re drunk, if it’s actually true and I am more selfish than I realize, or both.) Overall: she thought it was kinda shitty that I wanted to leave, especially since my decision came just after said argument.

She eventually came around, and basically narrowed it down to “wait a week (she was leaving to spend time with a friend for a week, and needed someone to watch my younger brother) and then we’ll figure things out.” I come from a long line of “shit sucks, hit the bricks” in regards to family, so while she was upset cause she was going to miss me, she understood.

So: WIBTA for trying to leave for the summer? (And…basically not coming back, at least not for more than a holiday?) I’m gonna try to find a way to leave no matter what the results are because I’m a stubborn motherfucker and I strongly believe that this is what’s best for myself, I just wanna know if it’s a dick move or not.

What are these acronyms?

#aita #am i the asshole

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fandom-go-round · 1 year

Text

Recovering Together: Reader x Heartslabyal

The last two weeks had been rough to say the least. 8 hours days turned into 12, 16 and even more if you weren’t careful. It was draining; physically, emotionally, socially. You’re sure you would have Overblotted if magic was an option. It hurts more because it’s been so long without seeing your partner. Now, finally, you have a moment to breathe and they’re determined to show you how much they’ve missed you.

Small snippets of the boys taking care of you when it’s hard to take care of yourself.

Warnings: Trauma (Emotional), Physically Exhaustion, Self-Doubt, Implied Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms (Reader, Cater), Crying, Comfort, Intense Emotions, Talk of Puking, Overworked Reader, Eating Issues, Implied Negative Self Body Issues, Fighting (Deuce)

Riddle:

It takes longer than you’d like to admit to go see Riddle. He had been asking you to come visit and you’re paralyzed between hiding under a table and running into his arms.

You know that Riddle isn’t going to blame you; he’s half of the reason you had finally been released from your prison. You know your grades have slipped and your uniforms are wrinkled. You also know it’s not fair to put him into the ‘strictest person on earth’ box. He cares about you and that care is about every part of your life. The issue is that you’re tired and just want to relax.

You agree to come over and have a study date, even if the thought of looking at a textbook has you wanting to puke. You could tell he was upset you were avoiding him and you want to talk to him in person. It wasn’t fair to him to lie.

Riddle opened the door to his room before you finished knocking and you smiled. He was dressed more casually than normal, no jacket or bowtie but his shirt was still tucked in and buttoned up. You didn’t resist the urge to kiss his cheek as you walked in, taking in his room. It was perfectly tidy as always and you felt some of the tension leaving you.

“How are you?” Riddle asked and you turned to him, the smile on your face falling a little. His eyes were bright, happy to see you but the rest of his face was tight, like he thought you were going to strike him. You frowned, Riddle taking in the dark circles on your face and your lack of energy.

“I’m tired. I’m sorry Riddle, I didn’t mean to avoid you. I just, I…” You trailed off, giving a sigh before shaking your head. Communication is important and you’re not going to skip it, even if you really, really want to. “I’ve been exhausted lately and I know that I’m slipping. I don’t want you to think less of me so I was kind of avoiding you. I’m sorry.”

Riddle relaxed as you gave your explanation, giving a slow nod of his head. Lots of different emotions flickered over his face and you let him think, not wanting him to speak until he was ready. He gestured you over to your normal study table and you walked over, pausing when you saw what was on it.

Instead of the normal pile of books and paper, one of Heartslabyal’s teas sets has been laid out, a plate of sweets and finger sandwiches as well. A quick glance showed that there were no textbooks in sight and hope swelled in your chest. You startled as Riddle walked up behind you and began to help you out of your jacket.

“Thank you for being honest with me. I have noticed that your grades are starting to slip but that’s not because of you.” Riddle was calm as he moved to pull your chair out, giving you a gentle smile as you sat. “You’ve been working hard and I wanted to show my appreciation.”

“I didn’t know how to tell you that I just wanted to spend time with you and not study.” You were embarrassed to admit it, looking over Riddle’s shoulder. He surprised you by giving you a smirk and reaching out for you head. He raised it to his mouth and gave a gentle kiss, holding your gaze confidently.

“Just like that. I will let no one come between us.” You grinned back to him, face hot. You would trust him at his word; no one would get between you.

Trey:

The idea of eating sweets makes you sick. It’s a horrible place to be and with your sweet tooth, you’d never thought that you’d hit this point. It’s only after days of being offered sweets instead of payment and eating your feelings that you can 100% say you have no desire for anything with sugar.

You don’t have the heart to tell Try as you walk into Heartslabyal’s kitchen. He’s so focused on cooking he doesn’t hear you walk in. Your content to watch him and know that whatever he makes, you’ll eat. Eventually he turns around and gives you a gentle smile. You know he can see the exhaustion on your face but all he does is wave you over.

“Prefect timing, I just finished up.” You wince internally but walk over; you’ve missed Trey so much you can stomach any sweet for him.

“What is it?” You ask as he turns around to get a bowl. It’s only now, standing so close to the stove, that you realize you don’t smell sweetness. You smell something hearty and savory and your heart clenches.

“Pot roast.” There’s a half smirk on his face as he speaks and then sets a bowl in front of you. Your face lights up and he chuckles, sliding a spoon into your hand. “I can’t guarantee it’ll be good but I wanted you to have something home cooked.”

“Thank you Trey.” You ignore how close you sound to crying and take a bite. His hand on your shoulder is grounding and you lean into the closeness. It tastes perfect; the potatoes are soft and it’s warm and filling. The bite settles into your stomach like a weighted blanket.

“It’s delicious.” You say, smiling and leaning back to look at him, ignoring the tears running down your face. Trey makes a surprised sound and leans down to kiss your forehead, his voice soft.

“I’m glad. You deserve it.”

Cater:

Normally, it’s easy to figure out where your partner is. He’s a huge social media person and if you’re not in the photos, Cater is tagging you. It’s been hard to keep up with everything going on and you’re so busy trying to keep your head above water it takes a few days to realize you aren’t being tagged.

It hurts, even though logically you know Cater is trying to let you rest. The two of you still text constantly and he tells you all about his day. You’ve even done video calls way too late at night. It’s only Magicam that’s stopped.

Cater immediately proposed that the two of you get together after your horror weeks. He had never asked to hang out while you were busy and you did your best to push the ache down. He’s charming and bubbly as always when you finally see him, kissing your cheek as you walk into the rose garden.

Your bruised emotions are soothed when you see the tea party all laid out. Cater has a very keen aesthetic eye and you always feel special when he pulls out all the stops for you. It’s easy to fall into conversation and it’s one of the reasons the two of you get along so well. You don’t notice until it’s been over an hour but Cater hasn’t once reached for his phone. As happy as you are to have his full attention, it is a mystery.

“Aren’t you going to post this on Magicam?” Your question is innocent enough but Cater still freezes like you’ve caught him red handed.

“Ah, I should have known that you would notice out of everyone.” He laughs and scratches the back of his head, cheeks dusting pink. “I wanted it to be just us for a bit.” You smiled back at him, reaching out to squeeze his hand.

“I missed you.” You’re smiled turned a little wry as you looked him over. “You stopped tagging me so I thought something had happened.”

“I didn’t want to bother you!” Cater was quick to jump in. He reached for his phone and the paused, looking at you. “Do you want to see?”

“Of course!” Cater beamed at your words and you scooted your chair closer to his. “I feel like I’ve been living under a rock, catch me up on what’s been going on.” He doesn’t need any more encouragement than that. Cater quickly begins to recount the news you had been missing, everything from politics to brands, even some sports.

Your heart feels like it was going to beat out of your chest when you saw the folder marked with your name. He begins to flip through it, showing you everything he had saved specifically for you. You lean your head on his shoulder, happy to let him keep talking. Later, you would tell him that you would visit him every day if you could and it was worth it to see him at a loss words for once.

Ace:

Ace had been attached to your hip all day and there was no way you would complain. Technically you had to work tonight but the extra hours of sleep in the morning (yay more than four!) made you feel human enough to invite your partner over. He was knocking on the door before you were even ready, insisting that you stay in Ramshakle and have a day in. You were too tired to argue and snuggling sounded like a better idea then going out anyway.

He made a comment about how tied you looked but left it at that, very tame for how Ace usually was. He also came with snacks and treats, something you only realized after he got there. The days of work had made it difficult to find the time to go shopping.

Ace had strong armed you into letting him buy dinner, another surprise to add to the pile. He didn’t make a big deal about it but you had watched his eyes scan your empty cupboards as he said it. Now, warm and full of good food, you were chatting and trying your best to ignore work creeping back up.

“You ok?” You startled at Ace’s question, taking a moment to realize that he had stopped talking. You gave a sheepish smile, leaning into him.

“I’m ok, sorry for spacing out. So, what did you do when Grim set Deuce on fire?” He watched you for a moment and then smirked, leaning back with his usually swagger.

“Nothing of course! Those two can take care of themselves.” His face turned more impish as he kept going. “Jack had to dunk them in a fish tank and then Crewel found them. You should have seen his face.” Ace began to do a Crewel impression and honestly, it wasn’t half bas. You began to laugh, imagining Deuce and Grim dropped in the fish tank, poor Jack caught in the middle.

Ace watched you laugh, his face going soft was you giggled. He didn’t say anything as the laughter began to turn into tears. They started gradually, the hiccuping sobs replacing happy cries. He gave a sigh, shaking his head as you turned to him with wide and surprised eyes.

“Stupid.” He pulled you to his chest, letting you burying your face in his shirt. Ace’s tone was gentle and he began to rub your back. “You don’t have to push yourself for me. I’m here.”

His words opened the flood gates you didn’t realize were there. You clung to him and let it all out, Ace holding you close. It felt good and you couldn’t stop once you started. He made no move to stop you, vowing to support you in any way. Ace might not be the strongest or the smartest but he’s yours and he’s be damned if anyone could take that away from him.

Deuce:

It takes you longer than it should be recognize Deuce at your door, face bruised and flowers clutched in his hands. The flowers look like they’ve seen some shit but you take the bouquet as it’s practically shoved into your arms.

“Sorry if I woke you up, I didn’t remember when you said you’d be up.” He rambles as you let him inside, cheeks pink. Even though the two of you have been together for a bit, he insists on ‘taking care of you’. It’s too sweet for you to try and stop him.

“You did wake me up.” Your sleep deprived brain takes a moment to kick in and you wince as Deuce’s face falls. You’re quick to reassure him. “I’m glad you did though, I wanted to see you.”

“I wanted to see you too.” He gives you a bashful smile as he follows you into the kitchen. You begin the hunt for a vase and some snacks, wincing as most cabinets turn up empty. Eventually you find a box of stale cookies and a vase.

The two of you happily much in silence and you take in your partner again. He looks more than pleased with the cookies but it’s easy to see the cuts on his knuckles. You frown and gently reach out to look at his hands.

“Did you get into a fight?” Deuce freezes at your question, looking a mix of ashamed and determined. “What happened?”

“It was for a good reason!” Your raised eyebrows show you don’t really believe him and he keep going, face serious. “They were bad mouthing you.”

“Me?” You ask, surprised. Deuce nods, frowning as he recalls what happened.

“They said that you must be a bad partner because you’ve been so busy lately and you must not care because you weren’t trying to see me.” You wince and looked away. You for sure felt like a bad partner. It wasn’t up to you of course but being unavailable did make you feel horrible. You wanted to spend time with Deuce, you were just so exhausted and drained it was hard.

“What did you say?” You were dreading his answer but perked up when he scowled and slammed his fist into his palm.

“I told them to shut up their mouths! You’ve been working so hard and I really admire that. Who wouldn’t be proud of a partner like that!? I’m upset you’re forced into it but they shouldn’t act like you want it to be this way.” Deuce continued on his rant, the passion burning brightly in his eyes.

You couldn’t stop yourself from leaning across the table and kissing him on the lips. All the fight disappeared from him, leaving only the shy boy from before.

“Thank you Deuce, it means a lot.” His face was soft as he gazed back at you and squeezed your hands gently.

“Of course. I’ll always have your back.” You grin at his words, leaning over to give him another kiss. You would scold him about losing his temper and rushing into danger later.

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