#not understanding why his father can no longer play in the snow with him

[aphroditeslover11]

Christmas Morning Distractions

Tommy Shelby x Reader

This took me longer to get to you than it was meant to, sorry it is so short. It was fun to write though!

No warnings, just fluff!

The Shelby family was a member bigger than it was last year. You and Tommy now had two beautiful children between you, Charlie who was his son from a previous marriage (but had accepted you as his own mother) and now Rosie, your daughter who would be turning one in February. The Christmas season had been full of excitement, Charlie was at the age now where he could understand the concept of Father Christmas and you had managed to bully your husband into playing into all of the traditions surrounding it. No matter how much Tommy complained, there was no way that he didn’t enjoying taking the bite out of the reindeer’s carrot and the mince pies that were left out. It was a bit suspicious though in your opinion that Father Christmas had also been left out at glass whiskey.

The whole family would be coming over later, eating dinner and opening presents together. The children, mainly Charlie, were getting restless that they were having to wait to open all of their presents. Sat in the drawing room, you could see the lines of Tommy’s forehead drawing together in impatience. He was a good father, but not a tolerant one.

“Charlie, we’ve had this conversation. We have to wait for your cousins to get here before you can open anything…” The boy was about to interrupt when you piped in.

“Surely there must be something that you want to do before then? Something else a little festive?”

“Here’s an idea for you Charlie, why don’t we go and see the horses, eh? You like the stables, it’s snowed a bit overnight and the horses could do with a visit, we could take them something for Christmas as well if you like.” The little boy’s face lit up, he was clearly enthused by the idea.

Charlie was sent to the kitchen to find some carrots from Francis whilst you worried about wrapping up the baby. Tommy emerged at the same time as his son, proffering coats to all of you. He had a complex about you getting cold, he seemed to have decided you were particularly fragile ever since the birth. He took Rosie from you, carrying her in one and arm holding your hand with the other as headed out to the stables.

It didn’t matter how many times Charlie saw the horses, he was always just as excited.

“Go on then lad, go and give them the carrots you got from Frances and make sure you wish them a Merry Christmas - horses can sense that it’s a time to celebrate just as much as you can.” The child went bobbing into the stables, going to find his favourite horse, a bay mare that Tommy had flatteringly named after you - it had a particularly skittish temperament. He reached up to it with the carrot, which it gratefully accepted, his little smile even brighter than the pristine white snow which covered the ground. Tommy drew you to him as you was watched, he had arranged Rosie so that she was tucked inside his overcoat, making sure she wasn’t caught in the wind.

“This is a lovely way to spend a morning Tom, a really good idea baby.”

“Well, I do have ‘em occasionally love,” he chuckled.

“You know, I’d like to make this a tradition, do it every year,” you suggested.

“In that case love, that is what we’ll do.”

#cillian murphy #cillian murphy x reader #tommy shelby x reader #tommy shelby #peaky blinders #fanfic #requests

[lorkai]

.⁠｡⁠*⁠♡ A/N: Wrote this for my secret santa friend, hopefully he'll love it as much as I did writing this. I really like Pomefiore and Ignyhide chapters a lot, but Diasomnia, bro, Diasomnia has my heart, ngl. I don't even have words to describe everything it's making me feel so far. Although something I know for sure is that chapter 7 made me fall in love with Diafamily even more than before. (Also tagging you @hanafubukki I feel you're gonna like this)

“Papa, can you read to me?” A familiar little voice caught the attention of the fae who was lost in his own thoughts, tired eyes looking at his son with interest as he patted the seat next to him, small smile on his lips.

The boy took his place next to his father on the sofa, bringing with him a large book of fables and myths, and birds that rested on the open window, singing. Normally Lilia would read to him right before putting him to sleep but Silver needed to distract him from whatever was troubling his old man right now. His father did that sometimes, staring at the horizon without saying anything as if he was recalling precious but painful memories. Despite his young age, Silver could detect conflicting feelings in his father's eyes.

But it was okay, Silver was there to hold his father's hand and kiss his wounds just like his father did for him.

“What story do you want me to read, Silver?” His father asked, letting the boy lay his head on his lap like he always did. A hand automatically came down to play with the silver strands of his hair, twirling the strands and massaging his scalp with slow movements.

Silver thought for a while. For the past few days he had heard Little Red Riding Hood, Cinderella, Snow White and several other funny stories. But he had his favorite. It was a story he really liked but he didn't know how to put into words why yet, maybe in the future he would come to understand that it was because of the message behind the story.

“Goldilocks!” He responded promptly.

Lilia let out a nasal laugh, already preparing to tell that story for the tenth time that week. Despite wanting to share tales of Little Thumb, The Match Girl, and Hansel and Gretel with Silver, Lilia couldn't resist giving in to Silver's request once again. His eyes lit up each time he read to him, as bright as two diamonds reflecting the excitement the young boy felt.

Lilia prepared, using his best storyteller voice. "Once upon a time, there was a beautiful bear family living in a distant forest."

He turned the book to show the illustration of three brown bears for Silver to see, and even though the boy had seen that drawing a million times, he smiled widely and touched each of them with his finger. For a moment, he wished to meet a bear and become friends, as he was already capable of befriending other animals.

They do look cozy, Silver thought with a smile, imagining how comforting it would be to snuggle with a bear to sleep.

"[before lunch...]. The wise mama bear already set the table before leaving, so they could eat as soon as they returned from their walk." Silver wondered what kind of food bears ate and shivered. He hoped it was better than his father's food.

The story continued smoothly with Silver laughing at Goldilocks' antics, but what he was really paying attention to was his father's face. Lilia was now visibly calmer and relaxed, no longer sad in his thoughts, no longer lost in his memories. And that made Silver smile. He didn't like it when his father was sad.

And he imagined that no other child liked it either.

"Finally, she tasted the soup in the smallest bowl, and it was warm and delicious–"

His eyelids were getting heavier as Silver relaxed, listening to his father's voice trailing off until it disappeared. Imagining being friends with bears and eating alongside them, Silver let himself be lulled by the affection offered and the comfort he felt, his eyes closing completely. Everything was okay now; his father was smiling again.

Lilia leaned in and gently kissed his son's forehead, looking at him lovingly.

Humans grow so fast, the fae thought.

It's not like he didn't know this fact; it was clear that he knew, and he was reminded of it every day. Every second spent with his son was more precious than the previous one. Still, five years passed quickly, five long years where his heart was filling with the purest kind of love. The love of a father for a son, the same love he felt when Malleus's egg hatched, and he could see his beloved sister's child.

It was a difficult feeling to put into words. But he knew instantly when he held Silver in his arms for the first time that his little world would change and change for the better. His bloody days turned into joyful days spent with his son, filled with small joys and simple actions that touched his heart more than he could realize.

The fae let the book rest on the couch, standing up with his son in his arms to put him to bed.

He could always tell another story to Silver when he woke up.

#disney twisted wonderland #disney twist #twst silver #twst lilia #twst lilia vanrouge #twisted wonderland #silver #lilia vanrouge #twisted wonderland lilia #twisted wonderland silver #twisted wonderland lilia vanrouge #lorkai imagine

[letsunity]

With Thunder Comes Lightning

Summery: Peter and MJ tried again, but the spark wasn't there; they stay as friends to raise their soon-to-be daughter. Everything was going great until evil goop and a spooky vampire guy fall out of an orange portal. Little does Peter know that the biggest pain in his ass and future mutant best friend has landed right at his feet.

Chapter 1 - Shockwave

Is it necessary for shopping to be so dull and miserable?

Seriously, there had to be a more fun way to get groceries than meandering around looking like a blind dog. What's the difference between an orange and clementine, anyway? They're both orange balls that taste nasty after you've brushed your teeth.

Peter understood why MJ couldn't go. She's heavily pregnant, after all. She couldn't waddle around like a mentally handicapped goose with a missing foot.

The issue was that MJ was so specific that he couldn't understand sometimes. How could he tell the difference between a regular banana and a foreign one grown on some random farm in nowhere-ville? No matter where it's grown, it's just an ugly phallus-shaped berry.

Also, why are pregnant cravings so weird? The idea of pickles makes Peter want to vomit, but combined with ice cream, the tears of god? Horrific!

As soon as the baby's born, they can return to - wait, what would they do? Neither was inclined to move out anywhere.

It took longer than preferred to realise the spark wasn't there. That fizzled out a while ago, maybe even before their divorce. That didn't mean they didn't care about each other, though. She's still important in his life but felt more like a close friend than his wife.

The feeling is, thankfully, mutual.

They would've broken up, moved out and stayed friends, but then MJ's pregnancy test returned positive. Even with both jobs, plus Peter's major unpaid one, it was hard to keep that house, let alone find a new one. The economy was in the toilet. Again.

A snail would be lucky to afford a shell at this rate. Even Peter's old place, as small and pathetic as it was, had been swooped up. There's nowhere affordable or available, so they agreed to live together and raise the baby as friendly roommates.

A tiny selfish part of him is sad about sex being off the table, but it's drowned out by the excitement and terror at being a father. He realised four months in that Miles was a teenager and this would be an infant - two separate things.

Can Peter do it? Raise a baby? Not only as a mentor but helping them walk, talk and wipe their baby booty. Every decision Peter made would impact that little life.

They didn't know what the gender was, so they drew straws - MJ picked the boy's name, and Peter got the girl's name. He chose May after his aunt, the closest mother figure he ever had. The birth giver didn't count.

He wasn't sure what he wanted, partly because he didn't have a choice but more because he didn't know what to expect. He saw videos of gender reveals, and aside from the ones that caused devastating wildfires, people tended to react badly. Some guys would break stuff in a rage over getting a girl.

Peter could be a girl's dad. He could sit down, paint nails, brush hair and play princess - Peter would be the best Princess! Snow White would be blushing with envy.

He's naturally witty and creative; he would keep up with their little games regardless of what they are. All he wants, honestly, is for them to be healthy and happy. Having Peter and MJ will be good, though he's sad they'll never meet May. She would've loved the tyke.

What will they look like? Will they be wonky and crooked like Peter or smooth and graceful like MJ? It's the luck of the draw with genetics. It's not like Peter could test for that thanks to his spider DNA - that would be more of a nightmare than sleepless nights.

Peter might be reaching his forties, but that's too soon to reveal he's Spiderman. It'll happen eventually; it's impossible to avoid. He'll choose, however. When his baby is grown and safe, he'll tell the world.

On his deathbed.

Surprise, this old dying bastard is Spiderman!

Oh, will the baby inherit any of his spider powers? That's something he never considered.

If there's any luck, which Peter severely lacked, then the baby won't do an exorcist and turn their head around while hanging on the ceiling.

Tingle tingly. Something spooky is afoot.

The older man glanced over his shoulder, trying to spot what triggered his Spidey sense. So far, it looked as mundane as usual. Nameless faces wandering around seeking produce and other artificially created crap, nothing suspicious.

The tingles never lie.

Peter heard someone scream from outside the store. Whatever the tingle was about, it probably originated from there.

After the situation in Miles' world, Peter started wearing his suit under regular clothes in case of this stuff. It shouldn't be easy to change, but with the people inside drawn to the screaming outside like moths to a flame, he threw off his dull clothes, ready to face whatever was happening.

Is it Goblin again? Rhino? Doctor Octopus? Maybe it's a new loser with nothing better to do. He hadn't seen Sauron, the dino scientist, in a while. He could get lucky and have somebody else's trash.

He liked Magneto. The guy was much easier to talk to than Scorpion. Most of the X-Men's villains are more open to communication. It could be one of the loonies like Taskmaster.

God forbid Deadpool or Moon Knight was running around New York again. He liked Wade in small doses, and it's hard to predict a person if they have three identities - you never know if it's Marc, Steven or Jake. Out of that trio, he liked Steven the most.

Spin the wheel of luck and villainy, great god of this confusing and scary universe!

Placing his shopping basket and list somewhere safe, Peter hopped over the aisles and through the doors. It's chaos outside, people yelling and running for their lives.

There's a freaky tear in the sky as if some cosmic cat had torn at the sofa lining of reality itself. It's glitching and leaking something, almost like it's bleeding. He got sucked through a portal once, but it didn't look so... septic. It's diseased and necrotic, and the air around it turned grey.

A bird flew close to it, freezing and falling instantly. Stay away from the spooky sky rip.

Freaky.

The hole shivered and widened almost like an eye, and two shapes fell out. The rift closed behind them, but Peter could still see a faint scar in the sky. Did Kingpin build another collider? Did the one in his universe do that? No, that was more like a Stark thing to do.

Maybe it's Doctor Strange. He's always messing with stuff that he shouldn't.

Peter swung towards the shapes, spotting them quickly.

One was so black that it absorbed all light, a writhing mass akin to a Symbiote but huge. It had red veins, almost like lightning, all over its body and a pair of viciously glowing vermillion eyes. It had a tail that twitched weakly on the melting road. Everything it touched started to decay.

The other was a Spiderman variant, already beginning to stand. He was a dark blue with red markings, ripped and tall. That guy is something new.

His spider-sense demanded he keep his distance, terrified of the black shape. Within a blink, the mass changed, spreading like a violent sea. It was roaring, crying in pain and anger and glee. Those red eyes were pulsating, swallowing the blue guy. However, Peter was unable to move.

Every cell in his body told him to flee, to get as far as possible from the Symbiote-like monster. It looked like Venom on roids!

A bulge grew within the living mound of angry flesh, soon bursting and revealing an outstretched hand covered in red and blue. There was something cylindrical and beeping.

Bomb.

The black mass seemed to realise as well, starting to disperse. However, the blue Spiderman threw something, causing a force field to form around them. It screeched, and then there was nothing, not a sound.

Peter jumped to the edge, waiting for a sign of something. His senses still told him to run, but someone needed help.

He looked for what created the barrier, quickly finding it. It's futuristic tech, but he figured it out. It took longer than he wanted to, but he's getting old; he's getting an elderly brain.

What's the age for dementia? Eh, it's not imperative.

The field disintegrated, vanishing into nothingness. There's black ooze and a cracked silver ball on the melting road. It looked dead, but he was still afraid of that stuff, whatever it was. He was worried the other guy had turned to ash before a hand tore through a charred car.

A Spiderman with talons? That's new.

The stranger pulled himself out of the car, looking intimidating and something out of Day of the Dead. He didn't get to take a step before collapsing off the roof, not moving.

Peter jumped to the guy's side, pulling him onto his back.

He could smell blood but couldn't see it. What is with the guy's suit?

"Neck," he heard; it was raspy and tired. "Nape."

Peter reached around the back of the guy's neck, feeling something that shouldn't be there. He pressed on it, and the suit vanished like a light was switched off.

How in the fuck was the man even alive? He had a gouge so deep in his abdomen that Peter could see past the fat and onto his bare intestines. Blood pooled under him, and burns covered what wasn't open or bruised.

"Burn it," the stranger spat, red trickling down his mouth. "Quémalo todo. Por favor, date prisa."

It would be great to know Spanish right now. What did he want to be burned? The guy's already flambéd.

His eyes are a beautiful red mixed with brown, the opposite of that monster's shade. He's pale from blood loss and is losing consciousness.

He can't let this guy die here.

It's not safe to take him to a hospital. He's not from their dimension; Nick Fury would pop his other eyeball out of his skull!

The only place that Peter could take him was the house where he could heal. He could already see it at work, and it was faster than Peter's healing factor; he's never seen it like that before.

"Burn it," the guy said before finally passing out.

"Come on, big guy. Let's fix you up."

Peter carefully lifted the man, well aware of their size difference. He heard a little whine of pain, which was an understatement for how fucked up he was.

What's with the funky watch?

It was hard to explain why he didn't return with groceries but brought a full-grown WWE candidate.

They used all the bandages in their first aid kids, even having to rip some of Peter's shirts to cover him up.

The regular healing was exhausting for Peter, so he couldn't imagine how much energy it'd take to recover from injuries that severe.

"So, he just fell out of a portal, like you did?" MJ questioned, rightfully confused and worried.

What's going to be the baby's future bedroom was occupied by their surprise guest. He's unconscious still, and he's a hunk of a man. What little skin that wasn't burnt, bleeding, or bruising was beautifully olive-toned and surprisingly smooth.

Those eyes lingered in Peter's mind. He hadn't seen eyes like that before, so fresh but burdened. The eyes of a Spiderman, but there's something different about that guy.

"Yeah. Unlike how I was, he's not glitching all over the place, which is a small mercy. Don't know how to get him home, though, wherever that is."

Having two spiders in New York would be helpful, but the new guy belongs in his dimension. He had a home somewhere else and probably a family as well.

"Maybe he could tell us who the other one was. The one he wanted to burn."

"I don't get it. It's all he'd say. "Burn it". It's so weird, MJ - whatever went near the sludge just died, but he was swallowed by it and came out... well, not fine, but alive."

"Must be a Spider thing. Or because it's from his dimension."

"Yeah, probably. I just have a bad feeling about that stuff. It was dead, but damn, it made my senses go wild. If I tingled anymore, I'd be vibrating."

"Peter, I hate it when you call it a "tingle". It makes me cringe."

"I like calling it a tingle! It's tingling. Like a good version of pins and needles."

"There are no good pins and needles."

"Eh, bad example."

The tingles are good! They keep Peter alive, and he can help people with them.

Oddly, they don't go off regarding the new guy. With the others, he connected to them; maybe with this guy, it cancels each other out? That would be freaky.

It would mean Peter couldn't know if their unexpected guest needed help since he clearly couldn't ask for it. It's about time he checked on the blue spider, whoever he is.

Gwen and Miles were proof that not all Spidermen had the name of Parker. It was weird to see Gwen, honestly. She and her father already died in his dimension; he cradled both their bodies.

Peter Porker made eating sausages and bacon incredibly awkward now. He also couldn't see a Rubik's Cube and not imagine Noir getting confused by it.

He missed them, honestly. It was nice to feel like Peter wasn't alone; there were more like him.

And speaking of honesty, Peter was tempted to stay in Miles' universe. Even though his molecules would've broken apart eventually, it felt like a second chance at life. He could've even retired and tried living a peaceful life.

It was a selfish desire, born partly out of fear and depression. He's glad he didn't, even though he missed that kid; Miles was what finally got Peter to face his fear of fatherhood.

Though it's hard to say when Peter will be ready, he looks forward to meeting this new life. He hoped to raise them to be like Miles; that kid was an excellent role model.

Intelligent, spunky, had the Spider attitude, curious and courageous. He learned to control his camouflage and shock powers pretty quickly.

Peter crept to the spare room; before they discovered MJ's pregnancy, it was where Peter kept his spider stuff.

In a roundabout way, it's storing spider stuff again.

Super tall and buff spider stuff with pretty reddish-brown eyes.

Huh. He'd never thought so much about a guy's eyes like that before.

Shaking that off, Peter opened the door.

The sound alerted the new guy, and red eyes snapped to Peter's location, pupils pinpricked and locking onto him. He could almost see the redness grow in vibrancy. Does he have mood stone eyes?

There was a brief grumble of annoyance and probably pain; the man's stomach was bare to the world barely half an hour ago. Even so, the individual pushed himself to sit up, though not by much. He growled, holding his abdomen.

"Maravilloso," the stranger growled, his voice strained and exhausted. He rubbed his forehead, likely stuck with a concussion. "¿Dónde estoy?"

A curious thing was how he avoided the sunlight peaking through the curtains. It must be the concussion.

"Sorry, big man, I don't speak any Spanish."

Peter got a towel from the bathroom and hung it over the curtain railing, shielding away most of the light. It instantly put the new guy at ease, his eyes dilating to regular size.

"Where are we?" the stranger reiterated, sounding tired.

He couldn't blame him. The guy survived a close contact bomb and whatever that corrosive goop was.

"Me and MJ's place," Peter answered, wondering why his spidery sense wasn't active around the newbie. "You're looking better than before; that's not saying much since I saw your guts. You got banged up pretty badly out there." Super understatement. "I'm Peter, by the way."

"I know."

How?

Maybe Peter left some of his stuff here, or there was a Peter Parker in that guy's universe. It's entirely possible.

"Great. What's your name?"

"Classified."

Oh, so they're playing that game?

"Well, Mister Classified, you need to eat something. It always helped boost my factor. What's your fancy?"

Mister Classified tried to get up, only to fail. He hissed, gripping his side, scowling at the offending location.

Peter tended to be stubborn when hurt as well. He always tried to put on a brave face and keep going, but that did him no favours. He's close to his forties, and the years weren't kind on his ageing bones. What Mister Classified needed was rest, water, morphine and food.

Running around wasn't going to help.

"Where is it?" Mister Classified grunted, loosening his grip a little. He had a good poker face; Peter would sob like a newborn. "His ash."

"Whose?" Peter inquired, confused.

"Klyntarus. The Symbiote. I told you to burn him."

Klyntar was the planet where the Symbiotes came from. It's super pretentious to name yourself after your home planet.

No human is running around named Earthus! Though there are a few called Gaia.

Peter's lack of an answer was all Mister Classified needed. There were many emotions - anger, hate, fear, regret, grief, back to anger and more fear.

Ignoring Peter, he touched the back of his neck, that suit returning and covering his entirety. He used the wall to stand, his fingers digging through the drywall. When it looked like he was going to collapse again, Peter tried to help, but he swiped Peter's hands away.

"Estúpido bastardo inútil," Mister Classified seethed, scowling through his mask. "It took me ten years to get him cornered!" He shouted, expressing his anger. "Thanks to you, he's still alive!"

A whole decade? Damn, that's some commitment.

Peter's always been good at guessing people's age. It's a sixth, or seventh, sense of his. While the man looked Peter's age, his gut told him the guy was twenty-seven, a full eleven years younger than Peter.

From the numbers, he's been fighting that nemesis slime since he was seventeen or eighteen, perhaps even longer.

He never intended to survive that bomb, did he? Mister Classified, whoever he was, was willing to die if it meant defeating Klyntarus.

And Peter let it go.

Ten years down the drain.

"Symbiotes need a host to function. He didn't have one. How did he, well, operate?"

"The sphere stabilises him. It needs lifeforce to power it. He's out there, consuming people and endangering your entire universe... He's shocking cancer."

He let that go.

"We'll take care of it; two's better than one, after all," Peter smiled, wanting to make up for his mistake. "That ball thing was pretty damaged, so he's still weak. We can get him."

Since his tingles won't go off, Peter was vigilant. He could see Mister Classified was shaking, his legs wanting to give out.

Peter could be stubborn too.

He ignored the light shove from the stranger, using his spider strength to push him back onto the mattress.

"You can't get him if you can't even stand, Mister Classified. I'll ask again, what do you want to eat? It'll make you heal faster."

Even though his healing is already faster than Peter's.

He pressed the metal bud on the guy's spine, the suit disappearing. A layer of sweat made his olive skin glisten, almost glowing. He'll need a good sleep after eating something.

"Miguel."

"Pardon?"

"My name," Miguel said, something sharp poking over his bottom lip. "Miguel O'Hara."

"Much better than Mister Classified. How about a coffee?"

It felt weird to suggest that.

"Allergic."

"No way, seriously?"

"Have a lot of them."

Who can survive without the grace of god that was coffee? It kept Peter from falling into a coma.

"Is McDonald's on the list?"

Miguel was pondering, listing things mentally.

"No."

"McDonald's it is!"

They're getting somewhere. Brilliant.

It's gross and greasy, but something about it was horrifically addictive and satisfying. When in doubt, go to the Donald.

MJ always loved her chicken nuggets. She was like a hamster with their babies with her nugs. It was always hilarious to him.

It was impressive how MJ could down twenty nuggets in mere minutes.

"How're you feeling?" she asked, wiping away some ketchup.

"Not great," Peter admitted, glancing across the hall. "Wished I listened. Never been great at that."

"He would've died if you didn't, darling. You did what you do best; you saved someone."

She always knew what to say, even though it didn't fit here.

He knows what that thing will do if Peter doesn't catch it. It's a threat to everything Peter holds dear.

MJ was right, though - Miguel would've bled out if Peter didn't grab him.

Have there been villains that Peter was willing to die to defeat? He wasn't sure.

"We don't have any shirts that fit him," MJ sighed, popping another nugget in her mouth. "I doubt even your slacks would fit him, too."

"Maybe it's an allergy thing? He mentioned having a bunch of allergies; the guy can't even drink coffee."

"Poor bastard."

"I know! I wouldn't be alive without those brown steamed bean water tears of god."

"Always a poet when it comes to food, Peter."

"It's why you love me."

"For sure."

He's an excellent foodie.

He'll need Miguel's size to get him something that wasn't a spooky Halloween hologram. That would draw too much attention. They needed to go covert to scout out possible locations.

Sounds like a shopping trip. He can pick up those groceries he planned on getting before meeting his new buddy.

"Well, we have been needing to get some baby stuff. How about it, MJ? Wanna go shopping for an interdimensional vagabond?"

"I'll need measurements. Also, I want a Starbucks."

"Whatever you and the little munchkin need. It'll be funny explaining stuff - like in Miles' universe, right? They didn't even have FedEx! It was called RedEx. And Coca-Cola is Cola Soda!"

"You're easily impressed."

Peter nearly jumped out of his skin. He didn't hear or feel anything, but there Miguel was, using the doorway as support.

God damn, is that man tall.

MJ was thinking something similar, looking him up and down.

Like before, he was covering himself with his holographic suit. He still looked like crap, but not as bad as some hours ago.

"I told you eating would make you feel better," Peter grinned, happy that he looked better. Still, he should be resting, not moving around. "Miguel, this is MJ. She's the boss of the house."

"Damn straight."

"Obviamente," he grumbled. Peter suspected that he was being insulted somehow. "Parker, how many heroes are active in your universe?"

"Not sure. I mean, there's the Avengers, X-Men -"

"That's plenty. He'll be busy feeding off them for now. That gives us time before he's strong enough for us."

Though Peter didn't get on with all heroes, he was friends with many of them. Despite being kicked out of Wolverine's poker night, he still hung out with the short savage. Though cold, Black Widow was nice, too.

Peter didn't want all of them to die.

"Could we at least warn them about him?" Peter tried, worried for them.

"You'll only speed up the process. He's killed you enough times to think you aren't a threat. That's our best chance for now."

So, that's how he knew about Peter. He's seen Peter die before.

Miguel knew Klyntarus the best; he understood how he would operate and who he'd attack first.

It's strategic - remove any potential ally to your nemesis. Consuming those with abilities must give him a boost, too.

As Miguel said, he's cancer.

"How many times has he killed Peter?" MJ asked, worried.

"From what I know, twenty-three times within the past eight months. Not all universes have a Peter Parker, though, as he's seen."

More than twenty-three Spider-people. That's so many. And, most likely, their universes were gone like them.

An unfathomable amount of people are dead due to a single creature.

He let that go.

MJ used her foot to push open a chair, encouraging their surprise guest to sit with them. He stared at the invitation, perplexed, awkwardly standing there.

"Come sit with us," MJ suggested, visibly curious. Was that not an obvious thing in his universe? Then again, Noir never understood what a TV was. "You're staying with us until we figure out how to get you home."

"This can take me back," Miguel said, showing the damaged watch. "After I've repaired it, of course. Fortunately, the damage wasn't enough to disrupt the stabilising process - it'll stop me from "glitching"."

"Did you make that?" Peter asked, now very interested in the device. "Could've used that in Miles' universe. Glitching is not fun, I assure you."

"It only started working eight months ago. It'll make a secure portal to any universe logged on it. It'll be a coño to fix; the technology in your universe is... older than mine."

"Eh, we can borrow some of Stark's crap. He doesn't use half of it."

"Stark. That's the rich narcissist with a superiority complex. Right?" Miguel inquired, lucky to lack an Iron Man.

"Basically, yeah. How are you with stealth?"

It's hard to imagine him being stealthy, but Peter hasn't seen him in action.

It is creepy to almost watch the bruise over Miguel's eye heal. It was eerily fast, and it made him uncomfortable.

"You didn't hear me when I came to the kitchen. That should be your answer."

That's fair.

Hopefully, while they're out getting this guy an actual shirt, they'll hear about the evil sludge.

"By the way, we're going to go shopping to get you clothes that aren't giving villain vibes," Peter stated.

It was a little funny seeing that statement process in Miguel's deep, oddly coloured eyes. He was squinting a little, so the concussion must still irritate him. He can borrow Peter's sunglasses.

It'll be a shame not to see those eyes, though. Something about the colour was magnetising. Not many people had red eyes, and he had claws; he was even more unique than Porker!

"I don't need it."

"And that suit isn't going to draw unwanted attention?" MJ countered. "Nobody will understand why there are two Spidermen, much less one that looks like another Venom."

That weirdly seemed to hurt their new comrade. Something about that comment wounded him personally. Did he have a previous interaction with a Venom variant?

Maybe it's because Klyntarus is a Symbiote; he didn't want to be compared to that.

"Fine."

"We should go before everything closes. That'll be a pain, huh?" Peter huffed, getting out of the chair. "Come on, big guy. Time to measure you."

"Not necessary. I'll get it myself."

"With what money?" MJ inquired, raising a red brow.

"From an unattended ATM," he answered coldly.

He said it as though it was the obvious answer. Why wouldn't your first thought go to theft?

"Miguel, you're not stealing money from people," Peter stated, though that didn't change Miguel's mind. "We'll get you a shirt, some pants and shoes."

"I'm not stealing from people; I'm stealing from the bank. Es completamente diferente."

"Take Stark's money. It's not like he'll miss a few grand," MJ suggested, which wasn't helping. "I'm compromising," she shrugged.

"Can you even get into Stark's accounts?" Peter asked, admittedly curious.

"Easily. It's not the first time I've done it. Won't be the last."

Although Peter is tech-savvy, he wasn't able to get that far. Although Stark was a hero, he was a bit up his ass. It might be good to be knocked down a peg or two.

He'd be more hurt that his security failed than losing a grand or two.

It barely took Miguel five minutes to get through Tony's security. Honestly, Peter was impressed.

Although Peter didn't like the idea of stealing, they didn't have much money. It would be hard to feed three mouths, one mostly needing milk. They never had any plans for a giant man to join them.

Peter was at eye level with Miguel's chest; the man was almost a foot taller than him.

He has an impressive chest, too.

"So, do you have a new york as well?" MJ asked, trying to keep the mood up. He was still hurt, but at least he could walk without Peter's support.

"Nueva York," Miguel answered gruffly, and Peter could almost feel his eyes glaring behind those sunglasses. "It's... going through some changes."

"Yeah, we're finally getting some potholes fixed," Peter shrugged, unsure what Miguel could mean. "What villains do you have?"

"Dead ones."

Oh.

From how Miguel said it, it implied he killed his villains. It's possible not all Spider-people had a no-kill rule. That might be a problem that Peter will need to discuss.

Hopefully, none of Peter's regulars decided to test that implication.

"Miguel, can I ask how you know this guy?" MJ asked, wincing when she saw the taller man cringe. She put a hand over her abdomen, soothing herself. "It's a long story, isn't it?"

"Very," he answered, sounding less annoyed and more burdened by it. "He's why I'm a Spiderman, I guess. Él me creó."

Peter needs to get a translator or something and stat.

Finally, they reached the store where they knew they had big enough sizes for their unexpected guest. So far, it hasn't been all that bad, though Peter was worried about Klyntarus. As Miguel said, he's out there, consuming people to get stronger.

It felt stupid that they were getting clothes, but it drew less attention than the suit. Besides, he could summon it to cover his clothes; he wouldn't be naked.

Peter saw more of the man than he wanted to, but Miguel didn't seem to care. It's possible nudity doesn't mean anything in Nueva York.

It'll be cool to see him in action, though. He's been a spider for ten-odd years; he must've picked up some things.

How did he get the claws in his suit?

Peter wanted those!

"Parker."

"What is it, big man?"

"To the left."

As advised, Peter looked left. Behind the counter was a TV, which was usually for CCTV.

However, it showed a news anchor looking quite sullum and sad, a slight redness to his eyes.

"Uh, hey, can you turn that up?" asked another customer.

The look on Miguel's face told Peter enough. Whatever happened was Klyntarus' doing.

"- We lost five great heroes in their effort to protect us, the people. They will forever be remembered for their sacrifices and tremendous bravery, even in the face of such evil. We say our sorrowful goodbyes to She-Hulk, Luke Cage, Jessica Jones, Iron Fist and Daredevil. Out of respect for their selfless endeavour to keep us safe, we won't reveal their identities. To their families, we, the people, are both grateful and sorry for your loss."

No. No, they couldn't be dead.

Peter would hang out with Matt and Carl all the time. Although Jessica and Danny weren't friendly, he got along with them great!

Regretfully, he didn't see Jennifer much, but her cousin, Bruce, was a great guy. He must be devastated to have lost her like that.

Carl and Jess' poor daughter...

"Five hours, five heroes. He's more wounded than I anticipated," Miguel said coldly, either unphased or excellent at hiding his emotions.

Miguel expected this, however. He knew that heroes were going to die.

This was Peter's fault.

"Peter," MJ whispered, holding his arm. She knew how close he was to Daredevil and Cage. They were good guys, better than him. They would've listened. "I'm sorry."

"So am I," he said, feeling numb and angry. "Let's just get this over with so we can catch him. We're going out tonight."

"He can't hide his scars. It'll be easier to spot him at night," Miguel concurred, but it didn't alleviate the growing pit in Peter's stomach.

What the hell has he left rampant in his world?

Special thanks to spider-the-bat for the borders!

#ao3 might be fucked #ao3 refugee #ao3 #ao3fic #across the spider verse #miguel o'hara #peter b parker x miguel o'hara #peter b parker #marvel #mj watson #mayday isn't born yet #spiderman atsv #spiderdads #bestie goals mj #oscar isaac is miguel o'hara #with thunder comes lightning #plague of the spiderverse series

[cooliofango]

Strength of the Ancients

[BOTW!Link x F!Reader]

Prologue Part 2

[Previous Part] [Next Part]

Little authors note! I forgot to mention in the last one that this will go along the course of the three games so the beginning will start off in Age or Calamity time! Then it’ll go onto the BOTW events and then with this new game, it’ll continue after that! I hope you enjoy!! Also to mention real quick, you are from the Sheikah Clan in this story, so like all the Sheikah, you have white hair! Everything else is up to you!

That week passed quickly. Informing his sister was the hardest thing to do. Yet, despite how little she’d see her brother, Alona appeared to be rather accepting of the fact as long as they got to write to each other whenever they could. When the week came to a close, Banzetta and Link had set out to the castle like before with Alona to wait at home for their father’s return. The on coming change was dreaded.

Link remained nervous about starting training. He’s never raised a sword a day in his life. Would he be capable and strong enough to go through with this? Would he be able to fulfill these new expectations set for him?

“Relax, Link. You’ve got this,” Banzetta spoke in an attempt to help his son calm his nerves, yet his tensed posture as the two walked up to the castle gates already gave away his own feelings on the matter. Perhaps, with time, this can be relieved some. However, that would have to wait.

A few guards approached the two with two other figures. One was immediately recognized by Link and his father. He was the captain of the royal army, Captain Ulrich, who was always clad in shining armor that glittered in the sunlight. His helmet was off to allow proper greeting and further conversation. The man beside him was not one they knew— the only openly guessable characteristic was that he was from the Sheikah Clan due to his attire and his Snow White hair, a shared characteristic amongst all of the Sheikah. The Sheikah’s usual uniform was made to look like regular cloth, though the material was strong to serve as armor with the addition of thin and flexible armor underneath for extra protection and mobility— according to what his father had described to him one day.

“This is our young hero?” Ulrich spoke firmly as he looked down at the boy. Link tensed under his gaze, but straightened up properly. He wanted to make a good first impression after all.

“Yes, sir,” Banzetta placed a hand on his son’s shoulder and gently pushed Link forward. The boy moved with ease, looking up at the captain.

Ulrich looked at the boy entirely. Not really strong, yet not frail at all. Link was far from out of shape, at least. Mostly from working the farm, but also from being outside most of the time— whether it’s him playing with his sister or him exploring the area around the house alone.

Ulrich released a short hum from his throat in acknowledgment, “Very well. We’ll take him from here.” The captain looked at the blacksmith with a blank face. The man had always been known to be quite stoic, putting his duties above most. It’s part of why he was such a good captain; even if it was unnerving to some people.

The captain began to turn away and head back into the castle walls. Banzetta kneeled down to his son, placing both hands on his shoulders now. He spoke reassuringly, “I want you to understand how proud of you I am, Link. You’re a strong kid, and you’ll be an even stronger soldier.”

Link took in a deep breath and went to respond, but was cut off as Ulrich’s commanding voice struck his ears, “Come now. We have no time to waste.”

Banzetta looked past Link and nodded his response to the captain. He looked back at Link and patted his shoulders. “We’ll wait for your letters,” he muttered to the boy before coming to a stand.

Link only stood there for a moment longer before quickly making his way to the captain. Looking back, he watched as his father disappeared beyond the gates as they were shut behind the both of them. He was finally sealed off from what he was the most familiar with.

“Link,” The captain started, causing the blonde boy to whip his head back around to the front of him, “I’d like to introduce you to Mr. Kaigo here.” He held out a hand to gesture to the Sheikah clansman at his side. “You are to show him the equal amount of respect you’d show me. He will also be overseeing your training, and the training of another new soldier, along side me. Understand?”

“Yes, sir.”

The sound of wood clashing against wood began to grow louder as they neared the barracks. It was almost the only thing he could hear when they walked through the archway leading to the inside of it. There were many men in pairs who sparred with wooden swords for their practice. Using a real, metal sword would be too dangerous and a waste of good weapons. They’re usually saved for real battles. Occasionally, the sound of wood smacking metal would sound when a wooden sword would strike armor or a shield.

“You’ll be coming with me for the time being, Link,” Kaigo spoke in a calmer tone. It was a lot different than Ulrich’s strictness, Link noticed. That being said, that doesn’t mean he was easier to work with. He knew better than to judge a book by its cover like that.

Link jogged to catch up with Kaigo while Ulrich stayed behind. The sound of his booming voice filled the air as he began to correct a few “slackers” as he called them. The soldiers in training spoke a collective, “Sir, yes, sir!”

The place Kaigo directed Link to was a bit more secluded from the others. It was closed off with fewer training equipment around the area. An area for personal training, perhaps?

He noticed someone in the center of the area. It was a girl who held a wooden sword in her hands, constantly whacking a training dummy. The dummy was made to have the center spin with the same force used to hit the sticks on the side.

“Reflex training. It’s what you’ll start on when you finish the basics,” Kaigo spoke beside him, watching the girl swing and deflect attacks. Her movements were quick. Every second or so, the sound of wood clashing would sound. The girl was sweating from the effort, and probably time, she’s been using to go at this. Stands of her pure white hair stuck to her face because it.

“Look closely,” Kaigo said quietly. Link did as he was told, brows furrowing with concentration. Each movement taken to strike was similar, yet slightly different every so often. There was a reason to that though. Link noticed the slight sporadicalness of her movements.

“She’s… going too fast,” Link also said this quietly as to match Kaigo’s tone. Perhaps it was to not disturb her just yet.

Kaigo smiled at Link successful observation, “Yes, she is. That’s what she’s supposed to do.” Link looked at him with confusion.

“She’s supposed to be going too fast?” He muttered, looking up at the Sheikah clansmen now.

“That’s correct. Right now, she’s pushing her limits by going at such a speed. She’s barely landing the hits and dodging the counters— but that’s going to help her improve. In a real battle, it’s moves like that which can save your life.”

Link looked back at the girl with slight amazement after hearing the explanation. To be able to move that fast was an awe inducing sight to see. Will he be able to go that fast in the near future?

A sudden yelp that had followed a smack against… well, not wood. The girl had finally came to a stop with a hand risen to her jaw. A grimace was present on her face— as well as Link’s. She missed the final block and it ended up smacking her in the face.

Kaigo’s laughter filled the air, causing the girl to jump in surprise. Her cheeks flushed a soft shade of pink from embarrassment and her eyes were a bit widened to emphasize the surprise she felt in that moment. However, the surprise melted in an instant when she noticed the new company, now showing confusion.

“You almost had it, (Y/N)!” Kaigo called out as he calmed himself.

#requests open #reader insert #requests #loz #loz x reader #botw #botw x reader #legend of zelda #legend of zelda x reader #the legend of zelda #link x reader #botw link #botw link x reader #breath of the wild

[the-void-writes]

"Its okay, you can let go"

I’m really sorry this one turned out so long lol, but I really wanted to develop Marius and his relationship to the Lockhart family, especially to Val. Hopefully, I’ll finally know which direction to take this story.

TW: There are brief mentions of child neglect and abandonment in the first paragraph. Nothing prolonged or violent, but it could still be bothersome.

SOLM - Home

The snow was Marius’ first home. Bright, slow, colorless flakes had graced his skin for longer than his own mother’s hand. The chill of the mountains held him in its embrace when his own father never dared to touch him. When they left him beside the hospital, the cold wind had carried his cries through the windows, to the ears of Doctor Carrol.

The harsh winter had saved his life, in a way. It loved him when his parents wouldn’t.

Now, Marius admired the snowfall from beside the fireplace in the library of his new family. The Lockharts had been exceptionally kind to him since he first arrived. They never kept secrets from him, not even about his parents, or of the town’s “immortal” state. Their curse didn’t matter to Marius— they had shown him more kindness than his first family had.

Even with their love, though, Marius still felt like an outsider. He had no interest in the games that the other children played, but he was also too young to understand some of the adults around him, some of whom were nearly two centuries old. The Hawthorn Curse didn’t leave many children his age, either. Most of them were either stuck in their more youthful years, or had already grown up.

Marius lowered his book with a sigh and watched the grandfather clock in the corner. The rhythmic ticking of the hands nearly pulled him to sleep.

TICK, TOCK, TICK, TOCK…

He didn’t really need friends his age, he thought. His family was fine enough. Nanny Freya and Kristine could have suffocated him with their hugs, but they were kind and eager to answer any of his questions. Viktor was a wonderful source of conversation, even with his silliness. Even the detective, Mister Haywood, was a kind and knowledgeable man.

After Rosalind was born, the manor became even more lively. Her voice reached every hallway, and she nearly tumbled down each staircase in her rush to see something exciting. She was a pain to wrangle, but the comfort she brought to Marius with her presence made it all worth it.

Then, there was the master of the house: Cyrus Lockhart, his new father. Marius had struggled for years to figure him out. He was an imposing figure, who was followed by a cold aura everywhere he went. Perhaps it was the curse’s effect on him, but there seemed to be something more to it. Marius didn’t believe in ghosts, but always felt that whenever Cyrus entered a room, he was never alone.

His eyes fell to the portrait of his father on the wall. For a moment, the painting seemed to stare back at him, following his head as he tucked himself further into the armchair.

The portrait bewildered Marius, as he didn’t think his father was capable of vanity. He only ever thought of others, often going into town to help those in need. People would rarely refer to him as “Mister Lockhart,” only Cyrus. Everyone loved him, laughed with him, as though they were family. Their love was near obsession, practically worshiping the man.

Perhaps that was why his portrait covered the wall. It wasn’t an act of vanity, but rather a gift to a god from his disciples. The idea made him uncomfortable— not out of hate for Cyrus, but for the fear of having to live up to that image.

The library doors creaked open softly. Marius turned his head slowly, ready to hear his sister scold him for skipping dinner. Instead, he watched as his “mapa” emerged from the dim hallway, into the warm firelight. They smiled at Marius, and never in his life did he ever doubt its sincerity.

“Not hungry?” they asked.

“Not right now,” Marius said.

Val walked across the grand yet cluttered library. Their long, red skirt ruffled and flowed like a ruby sea, and the curls of their hair bounced limply as they moved. Even when they were clearly exhausted, they looked as though they had leapt out of a classical painting.

According to Doctor Carrol, Marius had latched onto Val as soon as they held his little hand. The theory was that Val still retained some of their human warmth, since they had only accepted the curse recently, so a human child like Marius would be more drawn to them.

That wasn’t the only reason to appreciate Val, though. They were calm and quiet, unlike most people in Hawthorn. It wasn’t that everyone around Marius was bad, of course. It just happened to be that Val’s presence was the most comforting in the manor.

Marius shifted in the armchair so Val could sit next to him. They adjusted their glasses to read the print on his book, and their smile got brighter.

“The Tale of Prince Marius,” they said. “How fitting.”

“Did you really name me after this book?”

Val chuckled. “Actually, I named you after a ballet I used to love. I’ll show you one day, if I can find it again.”

Marius nodded. “That sounds much better than this prince. He’s just a pompous fool looking for money around the world.”

“Ah, that’s a shame.” They brushed his hair. “I’m glad we’ve got a better Marius here.”

He smiled slightly. “Thank you.”

Val’s smile faltered. “Are you okay with the name? Because if you’re not, we can always change it—”

“I like Marius, don’t worry. No matter what, it’s better than whatever name I had before— Not that I’d ever want to know it.”

He realized the hem of his shirt was tightly wound in his fist, and he quickly let go. Val’s sigh made the warm air feel heavy.

“If it makes you feel better,” they said, “I don’t know my birth name, either.”

“You don’t?”

“I don��t think I was around my parents long enough to get a name. They gave me up pretty quickly.”

It wasn’t often that Marius felt the deep burn of anger in his soul, especially since he was just a boy— but whenever he heard about his mapa’s past life, it filled his mind with fury. Someone as kind as them should never have been treated so cruelly.

“My adopted parents named me after someone they used to know, and that’s where I got Val from… and some people wouldn’t even use that.”

A tear fell from under their glasses. Marius leaned over, pressing his head against their arm and taking their hand.

“Thank you, dear.” Val tried to smile again. “I’ll be okay, I promise.”

“I know, Mapa,” Marius said. “You’re here with us, and we’ll take care of you. You’re allowed to let go now. They were never worth the time.”

Val kissed the top of his head. “You’re such a smart kid, you know?”

“Smarter than Rosalind?”

They chuckled. “We’re not starting this again.”

Marius hopped up and put his book back on the shelf. Then, he grabbed his mapa’s hand and helped them out of the armchair.

“Do you think the kitchen is still open?” he asked.

“Oh yes, Freya always has something cooking, just in case. I used to hide out with her whenever the show crew—”

Their words trailed off, halted by a memory that tightened around their throat. Their eyes darted across the room, looking from shelf to shelf, as though they were watching someone walk around them. Marius patted their hand. It hurt terribly to see them in such a state so often.

“It’s okay, Mapa.”

Val squeezed his hand and released their breath. “Thank you.”

“We’ll help each other move on, okay? There are no more bad families, it’s just us.”

“You’re right… It’s just us.”

They left the library and walked down the hall hand-in-hand. Val’s mood lifted significantly as soon as they heard Cyrus and Rosalind talking in the parlor, a reminder that they weren’t alone anymore. When they were fully smiling again, Marius smiled, too. As strange and foreboding as the Lockhart Manor was, he was so glad to have a real home, with people who loved him.

In time, he was sure, his past would be nothing but a hazy dream. His first and only home would be with the Lockharts.

#writeblr #ask games #wip: secrets of lockhart manor

[mydisenchantedeulogy]

Live a Little [Part Seven] Promises [Billy Hargrove]

A/n: this is the final chapter before I start the sequel which delves into season 3. I plan to start the sequel before the summer of 1985, however.

Also, in chapter four I made an error. I said the dance was in September but the Snow Ball is in December. It has been corrected. And because Billy and the reader are technically minors in book one - he's 17 in season 2 - there is no explicit sexual content, only mentions of it. Season 3 however is a whole other ball game, so get ready.

Thank you for supporting the story and I hope you continue to read on through the sequel.

Tag list: @boomhauer

If you want to join the tag list for the sequel please let me know.

December 15th

You take one last curious look at your image in the mirror, pleased with the ending results, despite looking worn out. It's been a long week.

To keep busy, you volunteered to decorate the middle school gymnasium for the dance. It occupied a lot of your time, but you were grateful for it. And the results had been worth the effort.

At least you hope.

A sudden knock on your door yanks you from your thoughts as your brother pokes in his head. It's a good thing you are dressed already. He's ready to go, and once he sees you sitting in front of your mirror with a brush in your hand, he narrows his eyes.

"Are you not done yet?" He asks in disbelief. "We're already late."

You turn up your eyes. Whose fault is that? Your brother takes longer to get dressed than you do. Not to mention, you had chores to do; his chores too.

"Don't forget that I have to drive you there. I can easily lose track of time, or take a scenic route to the next town."

He groans and shuts the door in annoyance. He's a handful sometimes.

You snort and adjust your clothing; an outfit Robin let you borrow. Normally you don't go out of your way to impress, but tonight you are chaperoning and you want to look good. For no one in particular; just you for once. You are mostly eager to see your hard work in action; the balloons were a pain and the Snow Ball sign nearly fell on you once.

Leaving your room, you walk into the living room where your family is waiting.

Your mom, who is under oath not to bring out the camera, smiles as she sees you.

"You look gorgeous, hon."

"I thought I might as well try anyway," you mention, thanking her.

Your brother scoffs.

"It's not even your night. And Michelle is going to dance with someone else because you had to make us late."

"Behave," your father warns.

You ignore the little brat. It's understandable; he's eager to profess his feelings to the girl he likes.

"Come on then. Best not keep Michelle waiting," you tease.

Your brother hops up from the couch and races towards the door, not even bothered by your jab. In the meantime, you say goodbye to your parents and retrieve the keys from the hook in the kitchen. Leaving the house, you get into the truck and start the engine. Your brother turns on the radio as you pull onto the main road heading towards town.

Shout plays quietly in the background.

"So, Michelle. What is she like?" You ask, attempting to start a conversation.

"She's nice," your brother merely answers.

You hum.

"Are you going to kiss her tonight? There is still time to drive home and pick up the camera if you want a keepsake."

He tosses a heated look at you.

"That's none of your business."

"Relax kiddo. It was only a joke," you retort with a laugh.

There is nothing wrong with wanting to kiss someone and at his age it's understandable. Besides, it serves him right for rushing you. He's too fun to tease.

"Are you and Camaro Guy going to get back together?" He asks in a mocking tone. "He might have even let me drive his car, but no, you broke up with the only cool guy you've ever dated."

OK, low blow. You roll your eyes. There is no way Billy would ever let him drive the Camaro. The fact he let you was a miracle, and you still don't understand why.

"It's been a month," you mention. "I'm sure he's moved on."

Besides, it's not like there was anything lasting between the two of you; not like you had thought. Billy made it clear by taking no action to save the relationship when you had broken it off. And why? Because he didn't want to admit there was an actual reason he wanted to date you; the I don't have to have a reason was utter bull. And perhaps it was dumb on your part to hang the balance of your relationship with him on one little question, but you didn't want to be just a one-time thing with him; that's what it felt like when he didn't give you a straight answer. But it's expected because you never considered the fact you might want to be his.

All those thoughts had come crashing down on you after the breakup.

The afternoon he had driven you home was the last time you had spoken to him. At school Tommy and Carol had begun to ignore you – no big loss there – and Billy acted as if you had never existed. Though, it wasn't like you had gone out of your way to talk to him either.

It hurt, but it was to be expected. For a while, it even felt like a mistake.

So, you had spent a month leading up to the dance focusing on yourself and your grades. And whenever you passed him in the hall, you simply averted your eyes and moved on.

Easy peasy.

Except it isn't; not all of the time. Thinking about him now makes your eyes tear up.

"I've moved on," you lie, attempting to assure yourself.

It's something you have to do now. Robin had made you see that turning him into an evil villain only buried your true thoughts about him. There is no Billy is at fault anymore; there is only we.

We are at fault. We broke up because neither of us was real with one another.

And no, you don't mean cancer; you mean the fact you cared for him more than you should in such a short time. And that you had wanted to help him get better; a pipe dream in your opinion. Seeing him every day is not easy, but you try to ignore the urge to confront him, perhaps in fear that you might cave and tell him.

You even went as far as asking Robin to teach you the trumpet, but honestly, you have no talent.

Turning up the radio, you groan as I Want to Know What Love Is comes on. The universe is making a joke at your expense; how thoughtful.

Once you pull into the lot at the school, you shut down the engine in relief. Your brother unbuckles and hops down from the truck leaving the door open. In annoyance, you get out and slam it shut. At least he made it at all. You take a moment to compose yourself and adjust your clothing, then you walk into the side door leading to the gym to sign in with Mr. Clarke.

Walking through the main entrance and beneath the balloon arch, you had helped put together, your eyes widen. There are so many students here; you can't believe it. And the decorations look gorgeous; it's magical; a sea of silver, white, and blue. The colors of winter.

But what now? You walk over to the bleachers nearly hidden behind a curtain of tinsel and see Nancy Wheeler sitting alone. She looks crestfallen, but once she notices you, her eyes widen and she motions you over.

"I thought I was the only high schooler here who volunteered to chaperone," she mentions.

It's strange talking to her, given that you aren't close, but she chats plenty enough in class for this situation not to feel so awkward.

"For a minute, so did I," you retort in relief.

Sitting down beside her, you look around in awe.

"It's unbelievable."

You don't remember anyone putting so much effort into the décor for the Snow Ball when you were in middle school.

"The decorating committee did an amazing job. Jonathan has so many pictures," Nancy brings up.

"Jonathan is here?" You ask with a knowing grin.

She smiles and nods.

It's a shame what became of her and Steve, but she and Jonathan are a cute match. You are a bit envious of them.

For a moment, you sit in silence listening to Time After Time play through the speakers across the gym, swaying to the music. Until Nancy clears her throat.

"So, can I ask you something personal?" She asks.

You hum, curious as to what she wants to ask.

"You were there with Steve that night at Jonathan's house, right? Did he protect my brother and his friends?"

"He did; it was sweet," you retort. "And I was supposed to be on a date with Billy Hargrove. Unfortunately, Steve got caught up in his drama."

Nancy merely smiles.

"Mike said you stood in front of him and his friends even though you didn't know them. Thank you for that."

"It was nothing. And if you get the chance, Steve deserves the thank you more than me," you suggest.

Whether it be her brother or yours, or Max and the others, you will always stand to protect them.

Speaking of your brother, you see him dancing with who you assume is Michelle. You are thankful that he got his dance, even if he is a brat.

A few people over from him are Max and Lucas, dancing close; she looks happy. You are glad the two got a chance to be with one another.

That night she swore that she would tell what she was doing at the Byer's residence – not that it was any of your business – but since you broke up with Billy, you had seen less and less of her. The reason behind her actions still confuses you. It's a shame, but you are glad she can smile without fearing that her brother will torment her for it. Perhaps one day you will get a chance to talk with her again and find out what she meant.

And maybe how Billy is doing.

Warm tears fill your eyes as thoughts of him come to mind. You miss his grin and even the lewd innuendoes he often threw at you. A smile pulls at your lips, but your chin quivers as memories invade your mind, causing more damage than good. Did seeing Max remind you of him? You hope he is doing better than you at least; you doubt that thoughts of you randomly enter his mind.

"Are you OK?" Nancy asks suddenly.

You realize that she can see you. Heat rushes across your face from embarrassment and you blink away the tears.

"Tonight has me feeling rather nostalgic. I think I just need some air," you reply.

"I'm here if you want to talk," she mentions.

Standing up, you excuse yourself and walk outside to the truck, leaning against the driver's side door. For a moment or two, you remind yourself that you are OK. Witnessing so many love-sick teenagers dancing with one another with no care in the world has you feeling a little envious. Why is your love life so complicated.

You take a deep breath, opting to go back inside or sit outside a little longer, but across the parking lot, a familiar Camaro catches your attention. You widen your eyes.

Why is Billy here?

Max had made him swear not to bother her or her friends, so it made no sense for him to be at the school. Unless of course, he had to drive her. How vindictive.

You can't see him because of how the car is parked – with its trunk to you – but his arm hangs from the window, holding a cigarette whose end burns like a beacon. Should you walk over and say hello? A knot forms in your stomach at that idea. Perhaps it's for the best that you leave him alone.

But you want bad to see him.

Giving in, you take an uneasy breath, walking across the parking lot to the driver's side window. You knock on the roof to announce that you are there and lean down to see him better. He doesn't look at all surprised; his eyes are dark like the sea during a storm.

"What do you want?" He asks above a whisper.

You can hear the faint sound of music playing on the radio.

"I saw you sitting here and thought I'd come over and see how you are doing," you answer.

Billy snorts.

"I'm fine."

You have no doubts. He's the type to bounce back no matter what.

"Can we maybe talk?" You ask.

"There's nothing to talk about," Billy retorts, flicking ashes onto the ground near your feet.

You frown and lean up.

"No, I guess there isn't."

Billy tightens his jaw and then reluctantly motions at the seat beside him. At least he isn't chasing you away; not yet anyway. You had expected much worse. Walking over to the passenger door, you get in and shut it, resting your back against it to see him better.

The blond takes a drag of his cigarette, eyeing you for a moment. You wonder if he likes your outfit.

"I thought this was a middle school dance. Do you have a date or something? I thought I saw Harrington here earlier."

Is he jealous?

"I'm a chaperone," you answer. "As far as Steve goes, he probably came here to see Nancy."

You tilt your head in question.

"But what are you doing here?"

He rotates the spark wheel on his lighter; a flame shoots from the hood, illuminating the car, then he releases the fork and tosses the lighter onto the dash.

"Max," he utters. "Won't you believe it? I had to drive her to this stupid dance even though I'm supposed to leave her alone."

You frown. A month isn't enough time to change his opinion of her you remind yourself. Not to mention no one knows he's hurting; how bad, you aren't even sure. And perhaps he isn't hurting at all. He might just be an asshole.

"But you're doing better it seems. I'm happy for––"

"Is that what it seems like? Did you come over here to see whether I'm treating Max better?" Billy asks with a snap, interrupting you.

You take a deep breath. He's mad; you understand. Bringing up Max first is not the best topic starter; noted.

"I missed talking to you."

He snorts.

"Sure. An entire month of averting your eyes every time I came into the room proves that."

"Because I wanted to let you have your space. I was unfair to you, but there is so much hate in you and at the time I didn't think you'd ever forgive me," you admit.

Billy leans forward; his blue eyes shine with tears.

"Nothing has changed, babe."

Babe? Not your name or an insult. It's promising.

"And maybe it won't," you utter. "But I do miss you; a lot actually."

You take a deep breath and continue.

"I want you to know that I would have stuck by your side through whatever dark road you went down."

It's the truth. You want him to get better, but with little time, that isn't possible.

"And yet you broke up with me," Billy points out, sharp as a whip.

"A week wasn't enough," you mention. "And at the time it didn't feel real."

Billy scoffs.

"If you wanted more time, then you should have asked."

Tears burn your eyes.

"You don't understand a damn thing. It's not about that."

"I don't understand?" Billy asks in disbelief. He tosses his cigarette out the window. "That's the pot calling the kettle black. And after what you promised me."

What does he mean?

"All I wanted to know was why you picked me. A simple I chose your name out of a damn hat would have sufficed. But you danced around the question when I asked."

"Because you already know why," Billy merely states.

No, you don't. You feel so frustrated.

"What are you talking about? When? And what damn promise?"

"Don't you remember what you said to me that night at Tina's party?" He asks in annoyance.

You shake your head no. That night is one big blur. All you remember are little things here and there; Steve losing at his own game; Billy shirtless.

"You told me that I looked like the loneliest person in the room," Billy states.

Did you? You remember running into him on your way to get another drink – right before you kissed him. But you don't remember insulting him. That makes no sense. Why did he take you home then?

"And when I said that everyone in the room was my friend, you laughed and told me that none of them truly cared; that without popularity no one would bat an eye in my direction," he reminds you.

Oh shit! That sounds familiar. How much did you have to drink that night? You couldn't keep your mouth shut.

"I'm not like that," you utter.

"Alcohol is like a truth serum, babe. You told me what you thought about me," Billy insists. "But that's not all."

What else?

"You leaned in and whispered: if given the chance, I promise I'd never let you be alone. And I accepted."

Your eyes widen.

"I had forgotten."

Billy didn't ask you to date him because he thought you were cute or because you gave him your body; he asked you because you promised to help him. He went out of the way to impress your parents and even let you drive the Camaro because, for a week, you were supposed to make him feel cared for. But you had interpreted the relationship wrong, thinking he thought less of you and broke up with him.

Tears blur your eyes.

"Why didn't you say anything?"

"It's not my place to remind you of your promises," Billy answers.

He's right.

"I'm sorry, Billy. I'm so sorry."

You rest your head against the seat as tears run down your face. Did you see the darkness in him before you even met him? Drunk you has issues.

Feeling his hand cover yours, a spark of hope ignites in you. Does he forgive you? Probably not, but it's worth a shot.

"For once you were right," you utter in a broken tone.

Billy snorts.

"I'm always right."

You turn up your eyes and grin.

"Don't get too ahead of yourself."

You turn your hand and slide your fingers between his.

"I want to keep my promises."

"The week is up, babe." Billy mentions.

You hum and glance at him.

"I want more time. Please."

"How much?" Billy asks, grinning.

Now he's just messing with you.

"As much as it takes," you answer.

The blond releases your hand and rests it on your knee.

"You may be with me for a long time then."

"I'm fine with that," you admit. "I want to be yours."

He bites his lip and motions his head towards the backseat of the car.

"You said you missed me. Do you want to show me how much?"

"We're in the parking lot," you argue. "I swear, you're turned on like 90% of the time."

Your face heats up.

Billy snorts and rolls the window up.

"Hearing you say your mine is a turn-on."

He's a horndog. But what does it matter? You like him this way.

Leaning down, you turn up the radio a bit louder. Sussudio plays through the speakers as you motion for him to come closer. His lips press against yours as he leans forward, running a hand up your thigh. It feels so good to be in his arms again. You feel his tongue sweep against your lips and eagerly you open your mouth, running your tongue along with his; a shiver runs up your spine.

You have no idea how long you have until the dance is over, but you don't plan to waste a second worrying about the world; not with Billy at your side.

The promise you had made Robin holds true in your heart; you are going to enjoy your life a little more. Because tomorrow never knows.

#stranger things fanfiction #billy hargrove #stranger things #billy hargrove x reader

[themanymeteia]

Fresh Snow, Fresh Start

"The stars are falling, the stars are falling!" Ophelia's little face is scrunched up in concern as she raises a hand, pointing to the white flurry as it falls upon the fields of Elpis. She looks to her father with worry in her eyes, wondering what's happening and how to fix it! "Daddy, what should we do!?" Hermes can't help but crack a smile, amused at her plight but he leans down to her level, laying a hand atop her pink hair to help soothe her worries. "Don't worry sweetheart, it's not the stars that are falling. It's snow." He searches her eyes to see if she understands and when she gives no response, he continues. "You know how the snow falls in Ishgard? This is the very same! You'll find it happening here in Elpis too as the season grows cold."

"Oh..! It's just snow!" Little Ophelia looks up to the sky, watching as the white flakes dance across the darkness. "Like the snow we play in!" "That's it precisely." Hermes eyes his daughter sweetly and nods ahead to the growing group of Meteia dancing underneath the flurry. "Why don't you join your siblings and play a little? I think we can linger out here a bit longer so you can all enjoy it." "Okay daddy!" In a flash, a blur of pink speeds across the fields to join the loud group, all 12 gathered in a bunch to giggle and cheer as the snow sprinkles down upon them! Cressida tries to catch some snowflakes on her tongue as Oran simply watches in awe. "Did you ever think we'd see this?" Hermes doesn't need to look to know the voice of his wife and he stands to meet Aliria, wrapping gentle and loving arms around her waist. "Look at them all playing.. they're just.. being kids. Just like they always should have been." His emerald gaze looks to the bunch, to his children, and he's certain its not just the cold making his eyes water. "I know.. I don't think I've ever seen a more beautiful thing. Well.." He looks to Aliria with a loving gaze. "Besides you, dear." Her laughter is like music for him and she nuzzles up at his side, glancing between him and their Meteia. "I'm just glad to see this now, to watch them live this new life.. to really enjoy it." "I'm glad too."

#finalfantasyxiv #finalfantasy14 #themanymeteia #meteia #short story #themanymeteiaophelia #themanymeteiacressida #themanymeteiaoran #hermes #hermes x aliria

[joeandtaylorfanfiction]

Things you cannot take back pt. 1 (Submission)

Hii!! So this is pt. 1 of what I think will be a series? I don’t know how many parts it’ll have, probably somewhere between 4 and 6!! I’ve been working on this for a WHILE now so I hope y’all like it!! Also, the rest of them will probably be a lot longer than this, just wanted to keep pt. 1 short so I don’t intimidate y’all 😂

“Alex, stop pulling your sister’s hair,” Taylor said and sighed as she turned around to give her 5-year-old a look. His ocean blue eyes shined with innocence, just like his father’s did when he did something he very well knew Taylor wouldn’t like or approve of, “But mommy I wanna play with her but the only thing she does is play games on her Ipad!” he said, crossing his arms on his chest, his curly hair falling in front of his eyes, gosh she needed to take him to get a hair cut or else his hair was gonna be as long as his sister’s soon.

“That’s not true I’m writing something!” Ellie said, showing it to Taylor, “Look, mommy, I’m writing a song just like you always do!” she said, excited as always. Ellie loved writing poems, songs, and stories since the day she could hold a pencil, and every now and then she’d read it to her. It made Taylor so proud, knowing how talented her daughter was, and finally having someone who loved writing as much as she did. She knew her daughter’d make it big one day, bigger than her and anyone who came before them. And she’d never let anyone hurt her, no one was gonna touch her little girl they did her, no one would hurt her the way they hurt her.

“Ok, so why don’t we just let your sister write while you can play with one of your toys, and when she’s done, she’ll play with you. How does that sound hmm?” Taylor asked, pushing her son’s hair back and off of his face, untameable curls, just like hers. That was the only thing both of her children had in common, “But, now, both of you grab your bags, and out of the car you go,” she said and laughed.

Taylor made sure neither of them forgot anything before she closed the doors and locked her car. It was snowing heavily, and she had no clue how she made it here or how she was gonna drive back as she walked both of her kids to the door. Ellie rang the door, jumping up and down constantly, excited to finally see her dad after 2 weeks. Alex was tired, but he held her big sister’s hand tightly and excitedly.

It didn’t even take Joe a minute to open the door, his eyes shining with happiness and a wide smile covering his face, “Isn’t it my princess and prince now!” he said as he hugged and lifted both of them in the air, as they both let out a small scream.

Taylor smiled, even though Joe and her had their differences, he was an amazing father to their children. It took Joe a minute to realize that she was still standing there. She’d usually just drop the kids off and leave without even exiting her car, but she wanted to make sure neither of them slipped and have a talk with him, too. A talk that was long overdue, “Hey,” he said, lowering Ellie and Alex slowly to the grounds, as both of the children run inside the house, “Long time no see,” Taylor said, quite uncomfortably.

“Yea,” Joe said, looking inside slowly and then back at her, “Wanna come in? Must be cold out there?” he said more in a whisper than anything.

“Sure,” Taylor said, bending over to open the zippers of her boots and taking them off, placing them neatly next to the door. It was cozy inside, just like Ellie described her countless times by now. Both her and Alex were too young to understand what, ‘separating for a while’ meant, ‘Think of it as a break,’ Taylor told them, ‘Sometimes when parents get too mad at each other, they need to stay apart for a while to remember why they should cherish their love,’ she was sure it made no sense to neither of them, but it was the best explanation she could offer.

“You have a beautiful house,” Taylor said under her breath, she heard something like a muffled thank you, but didn’t look back at him to confirm.

“Make sure they do their homework, also Ellie had a really bad cough so I gave her a few cough drops, and I placed some in her bag just in case it comes back and you don’t have them, they have a few spare clothes in both of their bags and PJs, even though I’m sure that you have more than enough around here. Make sure you take them to the bathroom before bed, we had a few accidents within the past weeks,-”

“I think I’ve got it, I’m their father after all,” Joe said, “So tell me why you actually came in,” he said as he lead her towards the kitchen. It was decorated in the tones of beige and was on the smaller side, he couldn’t cook to save his life anyway, Ellie and Alex both followed them, excited to see their parents together after 7 months of separation.

“Hey, El, Alex, why don’t you go in and play while mummy and daddy have an adult conversation, hm?” Joe asked smiling, “If you do, I promise to bring hot chocolate to you both?” They both complained for a second or two but were quick to leave when they heard the promise of hot chocolate.

“Wine?” Joe asked as Taylor settled herself down on one of the black leather chairs. Taylor nodded, they were both gonna need it. He didn’t even have to ask what kind she wanted. He knew her too well, he wasn’t just her lover for all those years, after all, he was her best friend too, the one person who she shared everything with.

He poured them both a glass of sauvignon blanc and sat himself down in front of her, “I’m listening,” he said and took a sip of his wine.

Taylor looked around for a second, trying to gather her courage, looking around the empty kitchen to avoid eye contact, took a big sip of her wine, then took a deep breath in, “I don’t want our kids to grow up like this. With parents who can’t even… look at each other.” she said, looking back at Joe and finally right into his eyes, “We’ve played the avoiding each other game for long enough. I don’t want the first romantic impression they see to be… this.” she blurted out, unable to read his reaction, she used to always read him, he was an open book to her, what happened to that connection…

7 months 15 days and 2 hours ago

“Mummy, where are we going, it’s so late can’t we just go in the morning?” Alex said as Taylor placed him and Ellie into their car seats, “I know, baby, I know but we have to go right now, and we’re going to grandma’s house, you love grandma’s house,” she said and kissed her son on the forehead as she closed the door to the back seat and opened the one in the front.

“When is daddy coming?” Ellie said as Taylor sat herself down on the driver’s seat, hardly holding back her sobs. She couldn’t do this in front of their kids.

“Daddy isn’t coming, sweetie,” Taylor said, as a quiet tear fell from her eye. She turned on the engine and started driving, out of the driveaway and away from their home.

“But why? I want daddy!” Ellie said and Taylor sighed, she couldn’t believe she had to do this, she didn’t want to but knew she had to go, and she couldn’t leave her children behind, couldn’t abandon them like that.

“Because, honey, mommy and daddy got into a big fight and mommy needs to be away from daddy for a while, but it’s all gonna be fine, because he’ll still be able to come and see you two whenever he wants, ok?” Taylor said, or at least tried to say, it was like there had been a know placed in her throat, and the words were refusing to come out.

“Now why don’t you two close your eyes for a while, hm? Try getting a bit of sleep before we reach grandma’s house?” she said. Alex was already asleep, but she knew Ellie wouldn’t give in easily, she was like her in that way, she never gave in before getting the answer she wanted. But Ellie didn’t put up a fight for too long, she was extremely tired, too. After all, it was almost midnight and neither of them really slept that night, she knew they must’ve heard something from their fight, but she couldn’t think about that right now.

After 20 minutes or so of driving, when she was certain both of the kids were deep asleep, she pulled into a gas stop to check her phone and call her mom. She had 15 missed calls from Joe, but that didn’t matter right now. She quickly dialed her mom’s number and rang her.

She picked up immediately as if she knew something was up, maybe it was her mother instincts acting up or maybe all those days Taylor called her sobbing.

“Hey baby, is everything ok? It’s almost midnight,” her mom said, voice sweet as ever. Taylor couldn’t talk for a second, Hold back the sob, she kept telling herself, you cannot let the kids hear you, only 45 minutes or so.

“No,” she tried to say but it came out as a whimper, “Is it ok if, if the kids and I stay with you for a while I just can’t-” she said, but couldn’t go farther.

“Oh, baby, of course, you can! Now don’t start crying, because they’d know you’re crying because of him, and even though I know you hate him right now, he’s still their father ok?” Andrea said, trying to comfort her daughter.

“Yea, yea I know,” Taylor said, her voice barely a whisper, “I’ll be there in, like, 45 minutes,”

“Ok honey I’ll make some tea and will be waiting, I love you,” her mother said right before Taylor hang up.

Present time

He was still looking down at his hands, unable to face Taylor. It’d been so long since he last saw her, and the circumstances were… not ideal, to say the least.

“I want to fix it, too, when you left that night, Taylor without even letting me explain anything… I was heartbroken, you cannot even imagine-”

He looked up when he heard her let out a scuff of laughter, “Let’s not compare who was in a worse state that night, Joe. Leaving the house at midnight, with two kids, having nowhere but my mother’s house to go after finding out my husband…” Taylor said, trying to stay calm, remembering her own parents' divorce, how well they handled it, even though their situations weren’t similar.

“Maybe let me talk for God’s sake. You never even bothered listening to me, you just grabbed the kids and… I didn’t even know where you were going, Taylor. You didn’t pick up my calls, when I came to your mum’s house, you didn’t let me in, you punished me by not allowing me to see my own kids for an entire week, do you know what that feels like?” Joe quivered, “Because let me tell you, it felt like shit. I felt like I was dying, I couldn’t talk to you, I couldn’t talk to my kids, my family. For something I didn’t even do, but you never let me explain-”

“Oh, you wanna explain that photo? Well, then go ahead!” Taylor said sarcastically and crossed her arms on her chest. Joe took a deep breath in and started talking.

#submission #taylor and joe fanfiction #taylor swift + joe alwyn #one shot #angst #parents

[shyrose57]

(Tubbo falls ill. Ranboo sets out to find a cure)

It had started off innocently enough. A little scuffle with an endermen, resulting in a scratch. They couldn’t figure out why it had attacked him, but eventually they decided Tubbo must have unknowingly made eye contact, and that was that.

Next, came the fever. Again, they brushed it off. He lived in Snowchester, a cold wasn’t all that odd. But it only kept getting worse, and soon the once comfortable cheer in the air changed to hacking coughs and gasps. 

On Monday, he collapsed face first in the snow. If Michael hadn’t been with him and made enough of a racket for a passing Charlie to find him, he might have been there for hours before he was discovered. 

Three days after he was bedridden, black markings had spread over his body, originating from the scratch over his heart. 

And there wasn’t a person who knew what to do. Neither Puffy or Jack had ever seen anything like it. Ranboo couldn’t find anything on it, in any of the books he devoured like a desperate man.

(Wasn’t he?)

They had considered moving him somewhere warmer, in hopes that the lack of cold would do some good, but Foolish had advised against it, saying it was be better if Tubbo stayed in town.

(”There is a certain sort of magic to places like these.” He had said, gazing over the pale boy, face twisted painfully even in his slumber.

“He’s poured his soul into this town, and spilled his blood into it’s veins. It lives by his hands, and it knows. When he can no longer make his heart beat, it will do it for him.”

“Keep him here. Keep him here, and Snowchester will keep him alive.” He had said, locking gazes with Jack, solemn and serious)

Two days ago, Ranboo had found something. The barest mention of it. A single line of an illness born of an Endermen’s claws, and a throwaway note about a place called The End. 

He had latched onto it with everything he had and ripped into the books for everything he could find on the fabled dimension. Eventually, he had found what he needed. 

An eye of ender in his hands, Ranboo clutched the straps of his backpack, taking a moment to take in Snowchester, possibly for the last time. From what he’d read, the journey was not one to be taken lightly....

...But it was also the only hope he had. The only hope Tubbo had. 

Taking a deep breath, he steeled himself for what lied ahead, and threw the eye forward.

He had to try.

#dream smp #ranboo #tubbo #oh to set off on a journey of self-discovery to another dimension #which has possible connections to your mysterious past #for the sake of your platonic(??) husband #who had fallen ill due to a mysterious sickness #and now lies in bed with your son at his side #not understanding why his father can no longer play in the snow with him #you all deserve to know #I made this purely for those tags #michael the zombie pigchild #captain puffy #foolish gamers #jack manifold #dream smp au #kinda #mini fic

[jackoshadows]

Because I see this fundamental misunderstanding so often on the Arya Stark tag...

In the world of ASoIaF, Lady is not defined as someone wearing dresses, singing songs or wanting romance, marriage and children. Considering how wives are often treated and that marital rape is a thing, I doubt many of the Ladies of Westeros are that desirous of marriage and children. Even Sansa realizes that all this marriage for love/romance is a whole lot of bs and that other houses/characters are after her for her claim.

GRRM has the titles rather simple and in some instances it’s not very clear, but this is what I understand it to be. Please do correct me on this, if I am wrong.

Lady is a title for noble/high born women/girls in Westeros, just like Lord is a title for  noble/high born men. Apart from Dorne of course, where we get prince/princesses. We don’t have Dukes or Dauphins or Earls or Viscounts. It’s Lord Stark and Lord Manderly despite Ned being from a Great House.

The highborn girls, irrespective of age, are addressed as Lady. So it’s Lady Sansa Stark and Lady Arya Stark even when Catelyn was still alive. Highborn boys before taking over from their fathers seem to be addressed as Master. Waymar Royce is referred to as a Lordling once - this could be derogatory.

In the books, Catelyn chastises Edmure being called ‘Lord’ when Hoster Tully is still alive and Theon Greyjoy says that he can be Lord only after his father dies.

In the books, Roose Bolton is Warden of the North, Lord of the Dreadfort and Ramsay Bolton is Lord of Winterfell, - marrying Arya Stark to legitimize this claim/title - Lord of Hornwood and Castellan of the Dreadfort. 

Jon Snow refers to Shireen Baratheon as ‘Princess’ because he considers Stannis Baratheon to be the One True King of the 7 Kingdoms.

As per the Worldbook asoiaf app, Arya is labelled princess and Bran and Rickon are princes now that the North (Apart from the Boltons and supporting houses) have declared they no longer hold fealty to the Iron Throne. Sansa did not get this title probably because of her marriage to Tyrion Lannister and Robb Stark’s decree.

That’s why Jon Snow is mocked as ‘Lord Snow’ - because he’s low born.

“That is a longsword, not an old man’s cane,” Ser Alliser said sharply. “Are your legs hurting, Lord Snow?”

Jon hated that name, a mockery that Ser Alliser had hung on him the first day he came to practice

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

“And the grumkins and the snarks,” Tyrion said. “Let us not forget them, Lord Snow, or else what’s that big thing for?”

“Don’t call me Lord Snow.”

The dwarf lifted an eyebrow. “Would you rather be called the Imp? Let them see that their words can cut you, and you’ll never be free of the mockery. If they want to give you a name, take it, make it your own. Then they can’t hurt you with it anymore.

And my personal favorite:

“Lord Snow, he likes to call himself.” Ser Alliser was a spare, slim man, compact and sinewy, and just now his flinty eyes were dark with amusement.

“You’re the one who named me Lord Snow,” said Jon.

Lord/Lady is not about the characteristics/personality of a character. There is no right or wrong way to be a Lady. There’s no rule that says that Ladies should wear dresses and play the harp and be good at sewing. No single character owns the word ‘Lady’. 

This holds true for Northern Ladies as well. Catelyn Stark was a good Lady of Winterfell, not because she sang and played the harp or fought with a sword, but because she was a very capable, strong and intelligent leader whom Ned trusted enough to take over when he left for the south as Hand of the King.

Again, this is Maege Mormont, Lady of Bear Island in the North:

Maege is a short, stout, grey-haired woman, and a fierce warrior. She dresses in patched ringmail, and her favored weapon is a spiked mace.[3][4] She is dedicated to the old gods, and loyal to House Stark. According to her brother, Jeor, she is stubborn, short-tempered, and willful.

Remind us of anyone in house Stark? 

Maybe an older Arya will even grow up to like dresses once she is confident enough in her appearance to know that she looks good in them. But a lot of her dislike for dresses also stems from it not being an easy or practical attire to do activities she likes - running around chasing cats or being able to fight.

What Jon Snow admires in Lady Alys Karstark is her bravery in getting all the way to the wall and agreeing to a marriage with the Magnar of the Thenns -  he compares the Lady to Arya Stark and calls her ‘Winter’s Lady’.

Arya is brought up to believe that there is only one type of Lady and that she does not fit there because she’s not like Sansa. Hence her dislike specifically for things she is told she’s not good at and therefore not being as good as Sansa according to Septa Mordane, her mother, her sister and her sister’s friends. She does not want to be a Lady as defined by the Septa.

Arya loves flowers, likes purple and green and playing with babies, is good at managing a household, can clean and cook and even sewed her own clothes, is kind and compassionate, cares for people, sees the good in everyone even in the lowest of the low often shunned by Westerosi society.

The patriarchal, male dominated Westerosi society does not like women wielding swords or fighting. The text demands that we critique this considering we have characters like Arya and Brienne calling out the double standards and wanting to not be put into boxes based on their genders.

With characters like Daenerys Targaryen and Arya Stark most assuredly having active, leading roles in the next two books, I think the status quo will change or begin to change by the end of the books.

The current, new generation of main characters think differently to the status quo - Jon Snow, Arya Stark, Daenerys Targaryen, Bran Stark, Tyrion Lannister - are all characters who straight off admire proactive female leaders, war commanders, fighters and in the case of Jon Snow puts them in positions of power. Some of our central protagonists - Jon Snow and Daenerys Targaryen - as leaders are involved in reform and changing how things are usually done. Other protagonists - Arya, Brienne - have shown a desire and a need for things to change. Bran and Tyrion admire characters like Meera Reed/Arya stark and Daenerys Targaryen respectively.

One of the things Jon Snow wants to do is integrate the Freefolk into the North and eventually Westeros. Considering the women of the Freefolk, why wouldn’t there be a gradual and eventual change in how Westeros sees the role of women in society?

Note, because I just know some folks are going to make strawman arguments about why this is Sansa hate because she’s a ‘girly girl’ or a character who likes singing, dancing and all that. This post is not saying that Sansa is the wrong kind of Lady or that those qualities are wrong or that Sansa is not a Lady because she likes singing or dancing or that Sansa does not want to be a Lady because she will have to marry and it will make her unhappy or that Sansa cannot be a Lady because she loves to sing and dance or that Sansa is the wrong kind of woman to be a lady etc - things that are often written about Arya on the character tag.

My post is saying that maybe in the Westeros that our heroes/heroines leave behind in this coming of age tale, all types of Ladies can co-exist in positions of power - a Lady Arya Stark, a Lady Sansa Stark, a Lady Daenerys Targaryen, a Lady Meera Reed, a Lady Arianne Martell, a Lady Margaery Tyrell and so on and so forth. GRRM has given us a variety of female characters and we all have our individual faves and who we would like to succeed at the end.

PS: No need to love all the female characters the same - they are all very different, flawed, complex characters and to each their own. Proclaiming loudly and repeatedly that one like all these very different female characters the same because they are female does not make one a feminist. Quite the opposite.

tl;dr - Essentially, according to the world and characters GRRM has written, Arya Stark, as Ned and Catelyn’s trueborn daughter, is Lady Arya Stark - that’s a honorific applied to all highborn girls. She has qualities that fit a Lady of house Stark and there is every chance that by the end of the book, the current patriarchal Westerosi status quo will begin to change to normalize girls like Arya, Asha, Daenerys, Brienne etc. as leaders or otherwise

GRRM has always said that it’s a coming of age tale for our protagonists and I think that changing societal status quo norms are part of that.

Edited: Edited to change and provide the right links/description of Maege Mormont as kindly pointed out by @patate-i-et-patate-a

#Arya Stark #Jon Snow #Sansa Stark #Daenerys Targaryen #Bran Stark #House Stark #Westeros #Titles #asoiaf #GRRM

[ijustwant2write]

His Protector-Fred Weasley x Reader

(GIF credit to @winter-and-zombies​)

Masterlist

Prompts Lists

Summary: At the Battle of Hogwarts, Fred is saved by (Y/N), a close friend of the twins. Both have always had feelings for the other, and in true cliche fashion, neither have admitted this. Years after the battle (where things are somewhat back to normal), the twins have remained friends with her, but it’s only at a Weasley family party does (Y/N) finally say something.

Characters: Fred Weasley x Reader, George Weasley x Reader (platonic)

Meanings: (Y/N)=Your name

Warnings: Mentions of death, PTSD, injuries, blood, lots of fluff

(A/N: This is quite long! And also the first time I’ve written for Harry Potter, blame it on my FYP on Tik Tok)

                                     *~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

There were no dry eyes from anyone gathered in the Great Hall. It was full of students, resting from the battle and treating injuries, or mourning over friends who didn't make it. Some were huddled together as they sobbed, others keeping to themselves as they tried to stop the horrifying images keep playing in their minds.

The Weasley’s were gathered around Fred, who was laid out on a makeshift stretcher, tears streaming down their faces as they waited for some sign of him waking up. He had dried blood on his face and partly in his hair. When he was first carried in, their immediate thoughts had been he was dead, because he seemed so lifeless. They were extremely grateful when they realised he was breathing, and he had a heartbeat.

Molly stroked back her son’s hair, trying to calm herself down as to not alarm her children. Never in her life did she think they would have to go through something like this, especially at such a young age. These were her babies, and she was going to protect them with her life like any mother would. George sat beside Fred opposite his mum, praying that his brother's eyes would soon open. Although it had been confirmed that he would be alright, albeit with a few injuries, seeing him lying there made it feel like he wasn’t with them anymore. Suddenly, Fred began to stir, scrunching up his eyes and moaning as he felt the pain throbbing through his body.

“How you feeling Freddie?” George quickly asked as the family got closer.

Fred mumbled something, but no one could understand. 

“What was that Fred?” Molly quietly said.

“(Y/N)...”

“Who? Who are you talking about?” Molly was sure she had heard the name before, perhaps when the boys were still at school. 

“(Y/N), where is she?” Fred moaned.

“I don’t know Freddie.” George replied.“I haven’t seen her since you were brought in.”

“Is..is sh-sh-she a-alive?” Fred was still weak, struggling to speak.

“Fred, please, just rest for now.” Molly begged, not wanting to see him in pain any longer.

“Sh-she’s d-dead?”

As the family struggled to keep Fred still and stop him from panicking, Ginny backed away, knowing the only way Fred would settle was if she found (Y/N). When Fred was carried in, (Y/N) had also been brought him right behind him, but they were separated. She was taken off towards her friends, and in the heat of the moment, Ginny hadn’t questioned if she was alright, making her feel awful.

Although (Y/N) had been close to the twins, she hadn’t been as mischievous as them, not wanting multiple detentions or to get in any trouble as much as they did. It was a surprising friendship between them, especially when (Y/N) was so nice to Ginny, despite the age difference; she was always surprised that the boys never invited her round to their home during the holidays. Because she saw how Fred would sneak glances at the girl, always rolling her eyes at how obvious he was being with his feelings, yet neither one did anything about it. 

Ginny ignored the calls from her dad when she set off in the hall to find (Y/N), bombarding her peers with questions, desperate to find her as quickly as possible. Luckily amongst everyone, she spotted (Y/N)’s friends huddled on the floor, holding onto the unconscious girl’s hands. Ginny startled them as she rushed over.

“Is she...” Ginny started.

“She’s alive. But she’s weak.” one of her friends sniffled.

“We need to move (Y/N).” Ginny demanded.

“What?” 

“She needs to be beside Fred.”

“Why?”

“She just does! Come on, help me move her. Please!”

The girls glanced between each other, and they knew Ginny wouldn’t be requesting such a thing for no reason. They struggled to navigate her body on the stretcher through the people, Ginny going ahead and commanding that they move out of the way. All eyes were on (Y/N), wondering why they were moving her. Ginny gently ushered George and her father out of the way, the men helping lay (Y/N) down on the floor. Fred also watched, slowly turning his head to look at her, expecting to see her beautiful eyes staring back. But when he saw they were shut, he panicked. He shakily reached out for her hand, struggling to find it as they were crossed over on her stomach. George took on her hands, placing it in Fred’s, smiling at the size difference.

Molly and Arthur looked at each other, wondering why this girl was so special to Fred and also why they hadn’t been told much about her.

“This is (Y/N). She saved Fred’s life.” Ginny explained to her parents."She's alive Fred."

Fred didn't reply, still staring at her and grasping onto her hand. His mind flashed back to seeing her save him, hearing how angry and upset she was as she shouted out her spell, somehow defending him from his death and saving herself. He had blacked out before he could see if she was safe. Although he heard Ginny, it didn't make him feel any better. He just wanted to see her eyes open. That was it.

"(Y/N)." he tried to raise his voice, but his throat was so hoarse that it came out as a whisper. He tried shaking her hand slightly, and again, he was too weak to even do that.

George held (Y/N)'s other hand, trying to help his brother wake up their friend. He too wanted her to wake up, and not just for his brother's sake. Her eyes fluttered open, then quickly shut again. Instinctively she was going to rub her eyes until she realised her hands were preoccupied.

"What's happening?" she breathed out, looking around at the Weasley family.

"You're safe dear." Molly reassured her.

"You're alive." Fred smiled, relief flooding through him.

(Y/N) only realised it was Fred talking beside her, breathlessly laughing as her head lulled to the side. There he was, alive just as she was.

"Fred? Oh my...Y-you're here."

"All thanks to you." George smiled, squeezing her hand.

"I'm so..." she gulped before continuing."I'm so happy you're both safe."

"Please don't do that again." Fred begged.

"Do what?"

"Put yourself in danger to save me."

"Don't be stupid Freddie. You can thank me later."

"Let me guess...lots and lots of chocolates."

"Exactly."

                                         *~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

(Y/N) yawned as she packed up her things from work, tired after another long week. She passed co-workers, waving goodbye and smiling as she left the building. As she put on her hat, she looked up at the sky, smiling at the sight of snow falling. It was turning dark, and seeing the snowflakes illuminated by the street lights made the street she walked down everyday look beautiful. (Y/N) took her first few steps towards her route home, suddenly stopping for an unknown reason. Something was pulling her in the other direction, she wanted to take a different path today.

Following her instincts, she walked in the opposite direction, hypnotised by the weather around her. Once she reached the end of the street, she looked up at the sign post, and the only part of it not covered in snow was the one that said 'Diagon Alley'. She hadn't been down there for so long, she hadn't seen two certain men for so long.

Why was she headed there? And of all the times to go, why now? She hadn't seen the twins for months, not because she didn't want to, but because she was so busy, as were they. Continuing her walk, she thought back to how often they would spend time together, especially after what happened to Hogwarts. She needed solidarity, she needed to be reminded that Fred was still there, that she didn't dream saving him, it had to be real. (Y/N) would regularly visit them, or vice versa, trying to act like everything was normal and that they weren't effected by anything that had happened.

The shops were closed, she could see the owners locking up, beginning to tidy everything away. Lights were dim, signs now said 'closed' and she was one of the few people left in the street after a busy day of shopping. As (Y/N) approached 'Weasleys Wizard Wheezes', she grew nervous, wondering if this really was a good idea. She hadn't seen them for all this time and now she was suddenly turning up on their shop doorstep? Was it rude? Was she being stupid in thinking that they would be totally fine seeing her after a working day?

Mustering up as much courage as she could, (Y/N) forced herself to the front door, seeing that no last minute customers were left. She tried opening the door, luckily it was open, and let herself in.

"Sorry, we're closed!" a voice shouted out.

"Even for me?" she cheekily called back, giggling when a confused George poked his head around a pile of boxes.

He grinned, practically running towards (Y/N) with his arms open wide."Where have you been little miss?"

"I'm sorry, I know this is a random visit but...I don't know, I just thought of coming to see you and Freddie."

"You're welcome here any time of any day. You know that."

They pulled apart, still smiling."Thanks, I just feel bad that I've not made much effort."

"Hey, we're all busy now. Don't worry about it. I'll go get Fred, he's going to love this!"

George was ecstatic as he dashed off to find his brother. All of them were to blame for not catching up more often than they used to, and he had seen how it effected Fred. They had all been each others support system after the battle, but it was clear that Fred and (Y/N) hugged a little tighter than they used to, looked into each others eyes longer, and smiled as much as possible when together. George had always wanted to set them up (he would have preferred involving pranks somehow) and that old itch was back. These two were hopeless with their feelings for one another, he just had to give them a little push in the right direction...into each others arms.

"Freddie!" George exclaimed, laughing when his brother almost dropped a box out of fright.

"What?" Fred sighed as he recovered, placing the box on the floor. He just wanted to get the stock out for the next morning and go home.

"Come see who has paid us a visit."

George said no more, going back to the shop floor, leaving Fred rolling his eyes as he followed. He rolled up his shirt sleeves as they slid down his arms, not paying much attention to his surroundings. So when he looked up and he saw her, his mouth dropped open, shocked to see (Y/N) standing there.

"Would you just get over here and hug me?" (Y/N) joked, though not as boldly as she used to.

Fred just laughed as he did what she said, reaching down to wrap his long arms around her. She had miss how he held her, how tightly he clung onto her, as if it were their last hug ever. George just stood there, crossing his arms over his chest as he waited for them to finish.

"What are you doing here?" Fred asked.

"Just wanted to see you both." (Y/N) simply stated.

"Well I'm glad you did."

"How about we go for some drinks? It is the end of the week after all." George suggested.

(Y/N) nodded."Yeah, I'm up for that."

"Well then, let's get packed up Freddie."

(Y/N) offered to help, but the twins refused. They came in and out of the stock room, being as quick as they could. (Y/N) took the opportunity to walk around, see what items they were selling. There were some new products, but most were older classics. She reminisced over all the times the boys used pranks such as the ones in the shop, and how they could sometimes get a lighter punishment, just because everyone loved them. She took part in a few schemes here and there, but only the harmless ones, the ones that would only land her in detention if they got caught.

She came to a stand that held numerous love potions. She smiled as she remembered making Amortentia in her lessons. That had been an awkward class. No one wanted to be picked on and asked what theirs smelt like, not in front of their peers. (Y/N) knew who's hers smelt like as soon as the lid of the bottle popped off.

"No luck in the love department then?" George smirked as he put on his coat.

"Hm?" (Y/N) hadn't been paying attention, thinking back on old times.

"Still not found 'the one'?"

"Oh, no, I don't have time for any of that."

"Well, hopefully Mr Right just stumbles into your life." George was growing more excited by the second.

"Yeah, hopefully."

"Right, ready to go?" Fred appeared.

"Yes-Oh!" George startled them."Freddie, I just had a great idea."

"Oh here we go." (Y/N) joked.

"(Y/N) should come home with us, to the Burrow, for mum's party!"

"A party? Why is your mum throwing a party?"

"Dad got a little bonus at work, mum thinks it's something to celebrate. And it's an excuse for her to get the whole family back together."

"That is an amazing idea actually." Fred beamed.

"I can't impose on something like that. Especially since it's a family thing."

"Nonsense." the twins said in unison.

"Are you sure? I mean, I haven't seen your family for so long."

"Mum would love it." Fred reassured her.

"OK then!" (Y/N) grinned."I've always loved a Weasley party."

"That's settled then," George opened the door,"we'll discuss the details over those drinks that are waiting for us."

                                       *~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Smoothing down her dress once again, (Y/N) checked her tights for any holes or ladders. She had planned her outfit a week before the party, changing her mind countless times before she finally decided on what she wanted to wear. All morning, her heart had been racing, stomach twisting into knots as nerves got the better of her. Why was she so nervous? She had met the Weasley’s many times, she even stayed the Burrow!

There was a knock at the door, meaning the boys were here to pick her up. Sighing, she checked herself one last time in the mirror before going to answer the door. As she opened it, she noticed it was only Fred standing there, no sign of George.

"Hi, where's George?" she asked as she let Fred inside the flat. She took a note of the smart-casual shirt he was wearing; thank god, she was dressed correctly.

"He's waiting downstairs. Said he can't be arsed to walk up all those stairs. Even though there is a lift..."

"Since when did he become so lazy?" (Y/N) giggled, grabbing her handbag and keys. Turning back around, she saw Fred staring at her.

"(Y/N), you look..." Fred was speechless, which was rare for him. He always had a witty remark, a joke or a flirty comment at the ready, but when he was around (Y/N), those words seemed to get stuck in his throat,"...beautiful."

(Y/N) smiled, ducking her head to hide her blush."Th-thanks Freddie. You look very handsome too."

There were so many more words that he wanted to use to compliment her. He wanted to slap himself for using such a basic word. (Y/N) was gorgeous, she was dazzling, he could believe such a smart, independant and caring woman was in his life. Why did he have to stutter or forget how to speak when he was around her? The real words he wanted to say were on the tip of his tongue, but they would never leave there.

Awkwardly laughing, they left the flat, meeting George outside. George noticed their pink cheeks but didn't mention it, knowing they had embarrassed themselves enough in front of each other.

The journey was full of banter and inside jokes, making it seem like they were students again at Hogwarts. (Y/N)'s nerves about seeing the Weasley’s again had disappeared, but new ones emerged. And they were all because of Fred. (Y/N) wasn't stupid, she had always had feelings for him. But after the battle, she hadn't snatched him up, something held her back, and she just couldn't bring herself to even talk to Fred about it, like any other normal adult would.

The Burrow was just ahead, now the nerves were taken over by excitement. Fred and George reminded (well, warned) (Y/N) how excited their mum was going to be, but she didn't mind. It would be great to receive such an inviting reception. She walked between the twins up to the house, letting them go in first, hesitating slightly as she took in how many people were there; they weren't joking when they said everyone would be there.

"Mum, look who else we brought." Fred struggled to say as he was smothered with kisses across his face.

Molly finally let him go, her smile turning into a shocked expression before letting out a scream, making everyone jump. She didn't waste time bringing (Y/N) into a bone crushing hug. (Y/N) would have laughed if she could breathe, but didn't complain.

"Oh, it's so good to see you dear! It's been too long since you've been back here." Molly held (Y/N)'s cheeks in her hands, looking at how the young girl she knew had turned into a beautiful woman.

“I couldn’t say no when Fred and George invited me.” (Y/N) said through squished lips. 

“Alright mum, give her some air.” George gently chuckled.

“Oh, this is so nice.” Molly beamed, glancing between (Y/N) and Fred, who was already looking at her. 

It took a good ten minutes for the twins and (Y/N) to greet everyone. She always forgot how many Weasley’s there were, some she had not seen for years. Homemade food was laid out on the table (far more than what was needed), everyone nibbling at anything they fancied as they spoke over drinks. There was a toast held for Arthur, who humbly thanked everyone, bashful over Molly’s speech; and she didn’t leave out mentioning how lovely it was that the family was extending, referring to (Y/N). She had blushed too much recently, avoiding eye contact with Fred as everyone stared at the pair who were stood together.

The day was moving on too quickly, it was becoming dark outside, and she didn’t want the night to end. The family had split into groups, still having much to talk about. (Y/N) decided to refill her drink, parting from the others to head to the kitchen. Just as she found another bottle to open, someone appeared beside her. Craning her neck upwards, she flinched back as Fred held out her coat to her, along with her hat, scarves and gloves.

“We’re not leaving are we?” (Y/N) frowned, not wanting to leave.

“Just popping out.” Fred smiled.

After getting wrapped up, (Y/N) followed Fred outside. Once again, it was lightly snowing, starting to stick to the ground which was already frosty, the sound of grass crunching underneath their shoes. She nonchalantly looped her arm through his, snuggling into him (if he asked, she would blame it on the cold), her heart fluttering when Fred instead wrapped his arm around her shoulders, meaning they could be closer. They didn’t stray too far from the house, Fred casting Lumos to light the way. There was a crumbling stone wall which Fred confidently hopped onto. (Y/N) waited for some part of it to collapse, and when it didn't, she joined him, having to jump higher to reach the top. He laughed, forgetting how much advantage his height have him almost everyday.

"We've never sat here before." (Y/N) commented.

"Honestly, I didn't even know it was here."

"So we were just wandering around?" (Y/N) smiled.

"Yeah." Fred confessed.

“How come you wanted to get out of the house?”

“Uh...I wanted to, well, I thought we could talk.”

“About?” she dragged out the word.

“When I saw you again, after all this time, I realised what an idiot I’ve been.”

“What do you mean?”

“Obviously we’re busy, we’ve both got jobs and it’s always harder to meet up. But I regret that so much. After...what happened at Hogwarts, you were my rock, I always felt normal around you, as if nothing had happened. We were able to carry on with our lives like we had planned. When I didn’t see you, I would lie awake all night with that image of you beside me in the hall. It would never go away.”

“Why have you never told me any of this?” 

“I’ve been too scared to reveal anything. I didn’t want to bring anything up, because who would want to be with someone who is still stuck in the past?”

“I would. Fred, you’re not alone in this. I’ve always felt the same. I visited you all those times because my mind would make me think that I never saved you. And if I hadn’t....I don’t know how I would have gone on. Because if I didn’t have you in my life-”

“Don’t finish that sentence, please. We’ve been through so much that we shouldn’t have. But we’re here now, together again.”

Fred held her hand, slowly interlocking their fingers. They both looked down, butterflies erupting in their stomach. The pair glanced at each other, quickly looking away when they realised how close their faces were.

“Why are we acting like kids at school again?” (Y/N) laughed.

“You’re asking the guy who owns and runs a joke shop with his brother, I don’t think I’ve ever stopped being a kid.”

“We did, once.”

“(Y/N), we don’t have to think about that anymore. It’s in the past.”

“Freddie?”

“Yeah?”

“Remember the last time we were in a situation like this? When you actually had the courage to ask me to the Yule ball?”

“And we went as friends?”

She nodded.“Yep. You know, I was a little disappointed when you added that part.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, I was sort of hoping you would ask me out as well. Then when you said that, and I just gave up trying. You never noticed me flirting anyway.”

“I never asked you because I never knew. And you also had guys after you so I didn’t think I had a chance.”

“Are you joking? Fred, no one else was wanting to date me.”

“Now you’re the one who is joking.”

“Well...”

“Well?”

“Let’s not make this more awkward than it already is.”

“Oh it’s awkward now?”

“Fred!” (Y/N) exclaimed but couldn’t help laughing along with him.

“No, no, I’m enjoying this.”

“Fred Weasley, after all this time being idiots and wasting time not being together...”

“What? Did you change your mind-”

(Y/N) didn’t know how to say it, instead closing the already small gap them and kissing him. Fred was shocked by how forward she was, but wasted no time kissing back. Her hands cupped his cheeks as Fred’s hands wound themselves around her waist. This had been long overdue. As they pulled away, breathless from the passionate kiss, Fred started to chuckle.

“What is it?” (Y/N) asked.

“Mum is gonna scream when she finds out about this.”

#fred weasley #fred weasley imagine #fred weasley imagines #fred weasley one shot #fred weasley x reader #weasley twins #harry potter #harry potter imagine #harry potter imagines #harry potter one shot #harry potter x reader #hogwarts #george weasley #george weasley imagine #george weasley imagines #george weasley one shot #george weasley x reader

[robininthelabyrinth]

Beautifully Spent

aka Five Times Lan Qiren Left The Lan Sect Behind

- Chapter 2 -

A/N: As a note, each of these chapters is a separate story with a different point of divergence from canon timeline.

When Lan Wangji was six years old, and Lan Xichen nine, their mother died, breaking their hearts. Even Lan Qiren, who had never liked He Kexin and might have even hated her for having ruined all his dreams of travel, felt her absence keenly – he kept thinking of her at odd times, a matter of irrepressible habit. I should tell her about this next week, he would think as he watched his nephews accomplish something, or, upon receiving an offer to go night-hunting, We can’t go because we wouldn’t be able to make it back in time for the monthly visit, and then he’d abruptly remember she was dead and there would be no more monthly visits.

One time, sitting and watching Lan Wangji carefully practice his calligraphy during the time that would normally have been their monthly visit, he even found himself inexplicably wiping tears out of his eyes. It had been a struggle, but they’d finally gotten Lan Wangji to stop going to her door, ignoring snow and chill to wait there as if simply willing it would allow the door to open again, but he remained overly quiet, even quieter than he’d been before, the loss hurting him deeply, and seeing him hurt had hurt Lan Qiren. He tried to be subtle about it, to hide his abrupt display of emotionality, but before he knew it, Lan Wangji had come over to stand by his side, his little hands holding his own, earnestly mumbling, “Don’t cry, shufu, it’ll be all right” in an echo of what Lan Qiren had been trying so ineffectually to say to him.

“Yes,” he said, wiping harder, and ultimately giving up entirely and letting the tears stream down his cheeks, hiding his face entirely behind one of his sleeves. Lan Xichen found them at some point and curled up into Lan Qiren’s other side, tears starting to slowly seep down his own face; trying to hold back their strange shared grief was like trying to stop the tide. “It will be all right, eventually. I promise.”

He had made that promise too soon, it seemed: less than a week later, one of the elders remarked that it was time for Lan Xichen to take up some of the duties of running a sect.

“What?” Lan Qiren asked, blinking. “You’re joking. He’s nine.”

“He’s the future sect leader,” the elder said, and his gaze was cold. “Never forget, Teacher Lan, that although you fill the role now, you are only a custodian in his name.”

“That’s not the point I was making,” Lan Qiren said, frustrated; he had never been very good with words or with people. “Of course he will inherit the position, given time. But he is not even old enough for his own sword, and years away from night-hunting – why would you burden him with sect business? He’s far too young.”

“He is at exactly the right age to begin. How else can we ensure that he will not fall into the failings of his father or the crimes of his mother?”

“He is a child,” Lan Qiren stressed, wondering what he was missing. “We can only teach him to the best of our abilities, and hope that he does well with it; there’s nothing else that can be done.”

The elder shook his head. “We cannot take the risk of another generation of disaster. He must be trained, and trained now, trained well. If we do not take action, it may be too late, and he will be ruined.”

As you were, he didn’t say, but Lan Qiren felt keenly the burn of humiliation. He had never lived up to their expectations the way his brother had, and then his brother had gone and failed them all, too.

“What exactly are you thinking?” he asked, trying to dismiss the feeling of foreboding in his belly. An introduction to the burdens Lan Xichen would eventually face would not be so far amiss – a shichen a week of helping to transcribe simple letters, perhaps, or running errands, the sort of thing a boy could do and not be bored; that wouldn’t be too bad.

That wasn’t what they had in mind at all.

They wanted Lan Xichen to start tackling political problems at once, forcing him to make real decisions, deal with paperwork, and then also three times the usual lessons in sword and music, all the skills he would need to have. And all this, of course, on top of his regular lessons –

“We can assist, of course,” one of the elders said to the others, ignoring Lan Qiren’s aghast expression entirely. “But the sooner he grows accustomed to the work, the sooner he can step up –”

“You’ll crush him!” Lan Qiren exclaimed, interrupting, and he never interrupted the elders. “He’s a child, and a child who just lost his mother at that – how can you even suggest this? He would have no time to study in depth rather than shallowly, no time to think, to become his own person –”

“We will polish him into a perfect jade,” an elder said. “Him, and the younger one, too. What more do they need than to be of service to the sect?”

It wasn’t that Lan Qiren disagreed that service to their sect was the highest good, or that scholarly and martial pursuits were of the highest caliber, far more important than aimless play. He was a teacher, a strict one, and the sect rules accorded with his understanding: Learning comes first. But at the same time, there was learning and then there was learning – he was a teacher who cared for his students’ well-being, too. He knew that the approach proposed would not polish Lan Xichen into a jade but mold him instead, brutally pruning away any part of him that did not accord with the elders’ wishes.

It was just what they’d done to Lan Qiren the moment he became acting sect leader, after all.

They’d loaded him up with responsibilities until he’d nearly worked himself sick, refused to grant him the slightest freedom to travel even in a small and supervised manner, and they’d tried to force him to recant even those few things he did enjoy – composing music, teaching children. If he hadn’t already been as old as he was when it started, he wouldn’t have had the strength of will or determination to preserve even those few little things of his own…

“He should move into the hanshi soon,” another elder agreed. “If we expect him to take on the responsibilities of an adult, he should be treated as one.”

“Agreed. The sooner he disengages from messing around with his peers, the better. They will only distract him from what he needs to do.”

“I do not agree with this,” Lan Qiren said. “I am his guardian and his teacher. I do not agree.”

“I’m disappointed in you, Qiren,” one of the elders said, and Lan Qiren felt an automatic wash of shame, instinctive and ingrained after all these years. “You took the sect leader position with the knowledge that it would not truly be yours, and now you wish to preserve your personal power longer?”

I never wanted the position, which offers only power in exchange for its brutal demands! I still don’t want it! But to put it onto a child, any child, much less my own nephew who I love – how could I agree to that?

“You must not be selfish, as your brother was,” another elder scolded him, and normally Lan Qiren would be the first to agree. Being like his brother was his worst fear, and one he would do anything to avoid – but at the moment, the reminder felt wrong, as if they were using it as a tool to manipulate him rather than expressing what they really thought. “Do not cling to power and authority, after all. You cannot and must not steal what belongs to your nephews, Qiren. Never forget your place.”

Lan Qiren stared at him mutely. His place?

He had never been selfish. He had sacrificed everything – he had been filial and loyal, obedient to his elders, and they had taken everything from him, just as they planned to do to the two children that had been entrusted to his care. The only difference was that Lan Qiren had been allowed to live freely for a little while, and even that freedom was only because the elders had utterly ignored him in favor of his more talented brother, who had been protected by the love of his powerful father; for his nephews, who were all but orphaned and left only in his inferior care, there was no such defense.

This time, it was clear that the elders meant to rectify the situation – this time, they wouldn’t even leave Lan Wangji his childhood, let alone Lan Xichen.

They would hollow them out and leave them as little more than puppets, blindly obeying the rules without having the time to contemplate their meaning. They would squeeze out every moment of every day, turning each endless shichen into a joyless burden, transforming the rules into little more than a yoke to chain them – his nephews wouldn’t be Lan, who chose willingly to obey because they loved the rules and loved their sect and wanted to give everything for it. They would be little better than slaves.

Perhaps, Lan Qiren thought suddenly, it was not his selfishness that the elders were constantly seeking to correct. Perhaps it was their own.

He tried, first and foremost, to argue with them, but they did not listen to him. They had never listened to him, not from the first moment he had yielded to their wishes over his own desires and allowed himself to be trapped in the Cloud Recesses as the new sect leader. No – it was even older than that, from even before then, from as far back as when he had been small and helpless and crying out for help in his own way, not even knowing what was happening to him and why…

They had always turned their faces away.

Lan Qiren had tried his best to please them, and had failed. He’d thought the blame lay with him, but now he wasn’t so sure – now he thought that it didn’t matter what he did, that he never would.

Lan Qiren’s nephews were the ones who were small and helpless now, and unlike the elders that should have watched over him, he would not turn away.

The plan he hatched was ruthless in the extreme, but there was nothing else he could think of in his desperation. The Lan sect had always been very secretive, in its own way, keeping outsiders from knowing their personal business; although everyone within the sect knew that it was the elders who held all the real power, even if they disdained the work of it and left much of that for Lan Qiren to accomplish, from the outside it appeared as though Lan Qiren were sect leader, invested with all the powers of one.

To be a sect leader, in their day and age, was to be a tyrant.

No need to look at Wen Ruohan, the chief example of this trend, a man who made his sect kneel and touch their heads to the floor upon hearing that he was coming. It was enough to look instead at the Jiang sect, whose sect leader Jiang Fengmian whiled away his days waiting for his old lover to write, ignoring his wife despite her maternal family’s power and influence within his territory. Look at the Jin sect, where Jin Guangshan bedded every prostitute and poor young lady within range, surrounded by a cloud of rumors regarding whether he’d bothered to get all of them to consent – rumors there might be, but no one dared to make any trouble for him over it without actual proof. Look at Lao Nie, whose sect, elders and all, sighed and shook their heads over his excessive fondness for dangerous people, but could take no action to stop him.

Look at Lan Qiren’s father, who had spoiled one child into madness and neglected the other into near despair, and had trained his whole sect to accept it as a given. Lan Qiren was working to repair that damage, to lead by example, but it was a hard upward struggle – rot might start at the head, and healing, too, but the healing was harder than the rotting.

A sect leader, in short, was a tyrant.

And as far as the world was concerned, Lan Qiren was the sect leader.

Lan Qiren bided his time until the next discussion conference. It hurt him to wait, seeing poor Lan Xichen get stretched thin under his new duties and constantly reminded to keep a serene smile on his face throughout, seeing poor Lan Wangji so stressed at his brother’s misery and his own amplified lessons that he'd started biting people again, but he knew it was necessary. A discussion conference meant outsiders, and outsiders meant not losing face; it was the one time that Lan Qiren was actually treated as a sect leader by all around him, the one time no one would gainsay anything he said, even if they would later tear strips off of him in private.

It was his only chance.

"I have an announcement," he said mildly, presiding over the large gathering that marked the conclusion of the discussion conference. His Lan sect was the host of this conference, and he was accordingly seated at the head of the room, equal with the other Great Sects but given additional deference in view of the location - it was easy for his voice to carry, despite his quiet tone, and all the sects turned towards him to listen. They were probably expecting something anodyne, some additional prize or information about the weather to keep in mind as they departed. "I have decided that my Lan sect's ties to the rest of the cultivation world have grown stale, seeing each other as we do only at these times and the common people only on night hunts. As a result, in my authority as Sect Leader Lan, I intend to make a journey throughout the various sects, taking along my nephews to introduce them to your families. In my absence, the Cloud Recesses will be managed by my cousin, Lan Yueheng -"

Talk exploded in the whole audience, furious and loud, all but his own Lan sect which was calm and stone-faced as always, though of course that was only their pride and concern for face overwhelming their shock. Poor Lan Yueheng was the exception, of course, his jaw dropping open like a weight dropped from a great height until his neighbors noticed and elbowed him in the side to make him stop - Lan Qiren mentally apologized for not having warned his cousin up front. He hadn't dared to risk it. 

" - and accordingly I will be leaving alongside the rest of you at the conclusion of this conference," he concluded, for once relieved that his voice never varied far from a monotone; he sounded cool and calm and in control, and like he hadn't noticed the way his sect elders were trying to strangle him with their gaze even as the maintained decorum. "Our first destination is the Nie sect's Unclean Realm, with Lao Nie as our host."

Lan Qiren hadn't warned Lao Nie, either, but he knew him well, and to his relief hadn't misjudged him - the other man didn't spare so much as a moment to blink in surprise, instead grinning broadly at the other sect leaders.

"You bet you are," he laughed, his voice booming and loud. "And don't think I'll let you leave so quickly, Qiren - not until your nephews are best friends with my sons, and not until you've had a chance to work your magic on my sect's younger generation and turn them from little beasts into proper gentlemen!"

Lan Qiren barely resisted rolling his eyes - he still didn't know who it was that had come up with the nonsense about him being able to turn the most hopeless waste into a gentleman, but it was rank exaggeration. But to his surprise, the first person to respond was the head of one of the more distant small sects, Baling Ouyang, a young man with an excitable temperament; he leapt up to his feet and exclaimed, "Will he really? Sect Leader Lan, I insist you visit my Ouyang sect next, if you haven't made firm plans - I scarcely recognized my little hellion nephews after a season in your care, all grown up, careful in thought and action, compassionate and upright...and no more pranks!"

Another exaggeration. The Ouyang twins had been troublesome only at the start, until Lan Qiren realized that what they longed for most was recognition as separate beings rather than a collective whole; as soon as he'd treated them with respect, and showed them how to act in return, they'd taken to his lessons like a desert to water. 

"Sect Leader Lan's skill in teaching is very well known," Sect Leader Yao said, always first to speak after his friend from the Ouyang sect. "You'll really come to our sects to do it, rather than our children to the Cloud Recesses? And you won't charge, of course...?"

"Naturally no," Lan Qiren said, a little puzzled by their enthusiasm. Was it so expensive to send children to the Cloud Recesses? He’d never charged for his lessons, although he supposed there was the cost of travel and maintenance to the standard preferred by students, and of course guest gifts were customary, although he never made any demands. "I would be your guest, and enjoying your hospitality – room and board would be more than sufficient…"

"In that case, you should come to Pingyang next -"

"No, Yueyang!" someone else called, and before Lan Qiren knew exactly what was happening, the sect leaders were arguing over who he should visit first. The most enthusiastic were the ones whose children he had taught already, but the others were quick to catch up, loathe to miss out on what they perceived to be a good deal - even Wen Ruohan, never one to lose out to others when it came to something perceived of as desirable, extended an offer with a smug, snake-like smile. 

Lan Qiren provisionally accepted all the offers with a growing sense of relief: with such public acceptance, the Lan sect would lose more face by refusing to let him go than in allowing his unorthodox action. It was just as he has hoped, and more successful than he'd dared to dream; the other sects had fixated on his teaching skills and in doing so had ignored the strangeness of a sect leader taking his heirs and all but running away from home. 

That relief carried him through to the end of the meeting, when everyone divided up to pack up their things, and Lan Qiren returned to the inner parts of his sect to do the same.

"What are you thinking?" one of the elders demanded the second they were alone. "Have you gone mad?"

"Did you see the reception of my idea?" Lan Qiren replied, hiding the giddiness of relief under a facade of calm. "The sect will benefit greatly from the connections we will make."

"That's no answer!"

Lan Qiren was a filial child; even if they were wrong, he would not tell the elders so to their faces. Instead he only bowed deeply and said, "What's done is done. I need to get ready, and quickly; it would be embarrassing if we weren't prepared."

Of course, he'd already packed everything he thought he'd need, determined to take Lan Xichen and Lan Wangji with him no matter what - it was only luck that his plan had worked as well as it had, allowing him to pretend to some move of subtle strategic genius rather than a retreat out of desperation. Still, he needed to go through the motions.

"Fine," another elder spat out, although their demeanor made it clear that it wasn't fine at all. "But did you have to announce that the provisional leader was Lan Yueheng? He's completely unfit!"

By which they meant that he wouldn't listen to them - that he was brash and lacked tact, said what he thought and cared for nothing but his experiments, his wife, and his children. Out of all of Lan Qiren’s cousins, he was the most thick-faced, shameless to the extreme, essentially immune to criticism or guilt. 

That was, of course, exactly why Lan Qiren had picked him.

"He's good at math and accounting, and at arranging provisioning," Lan Qiren said, picking the more acceptable reason. "That's the key responsibility left over, isn't it? Everything else, I can do through correspondence."

The reassurance that Lan Qiren would still be doing his duty to the sect - would still be accountable to them - helped settle some ruffled feathers. It wouldn't be pleasant to try to do the work of sect leader from abroad, Lan Qiren knew; it would mean a lot of sleepless nights slaving away by candlelight, with no support from any aides, bearing all the weight himself. No doubt the elders knew it too, and figured that he'd soon enough lose interest in what he heard them calling, in hushed voices where they thought he could not hear, his "little show of rebellion".

Lan Qiren didn't care. The sooner they left, the better the chances that the elders would continue to be deceived into thinking that Lan Qiren was doing all this for his own sake - some last stab at achieving his long forgotten dreams, doomed to inevitable disappointment - instead of what it really was, which was freedom for his nephews. They couldn't be assigned work or classes from a distance; their education would be wholly in Lan Qiren’s hands.

He'd take a thousand sleepless nights of overwork if it meant they got to be children a little longer.

"Are we really going to the Unclean Realm?" Lan Wangji lisped, looking even more rosy-cheeked and excited than usual. "Will – will Nie-gongzi will be there?"

"Yes, Mingjue-xiong will be there," Lan Xichen said, and grinned at Lan Qiren over his brother’s head. He looked more carefree than he had in...possibly years, and Lan Qiren briefly regretted how long it had taken him to do this. "Since you like him so much."

Lan Wangji turned bright red at once.

"Both of the Nie boys will be there," Lan Qiren said. "The younger one is closer to your age, Wangji. You can get to know him as well."

Lan Qiren went next to the library pavilion, looking for books on their sect rules - he might not trust his sect elders, but he loved his sect, loved their rules and traditions, and he wanted his nephews to love it, too. He wanted them to see the Cloud Recesses as a refuge, as a haven - not a burden.

He would give his nephews the freedom he'd longed for, and when they were older...when they were older, more resilient, more sure of who they were, he would bring them back and he would ensure that they obtained their rightful inheritance. In full, not in part - Lan Xichen would be a real sect leader, not a puppet for the elders, taught only to be pleasant and yielding and to perform well with his cultivation, swordsmanship and music only for the purpose of impressing outsiders. Lan Wangji would be his brother’s right hand, would love and respect him and be loved and respected in turn.

Maybe, Lan Qiren thought to himself, amused, they would even find some compatible child on their way and one day return to bring them home as a dao companion.

He couldn't wait to find out.

#mdzs #lan qiren #lan xichen #lan wangji #sect leader nie #my fic #my fics #beautifully spent

[prfctethereal]

Can you write James Potter smut please. Thank you

frosted hearts. | james potter

pairing: single dad!james potter x preschool teacher!reader

word count: 3.5k

warnings: NSFW. smut, sub!james, dom!reader, talk of masturbation, talk of punishment, mommy kink, praise kink, tit sucking, thigh riding, slap and degrading kink only for a short amount of time at the end

summary: you are harry’s preschool teacher and one day james is late to picking his son up from school

**

It was hard to be around screaming toddlers, all day, every day. By the end of your long shifts, your head was blistered by the engraved sound of whining, moaning, and that smacking sound the children make with their lips.

But for the most part, you loved being around kids. Their tenderness brought so much joy to you and you were happy to have become an early childhood teacher. Your workplace was loving, with your fellow teachers continuously supporting you through everything. Even the kids were decently nice.

The age old stigma that kids were devil spawn seemed like the most foreign concept to as you coddled a near sleeping three year old, his warm body curled up to your side. Reading a children’s story to the kids, you felt so much adoration for the children around you, enough to make your cheeks rouge. All of them looked at you with doe eyes as you finished the last page.

“And the princess and the prince fell in love and lived happily ever after.” You closed the book with a soft clap. “The end.”

Looking around, the children beamed, flashing their pearly, toothy smiles towards you. In that moment, you felt at peace, almost content, knowing that you were bringing enjoyment to the kids surrounding you. Gently, you stroked the arm of the nearest child, Harry, as he slowly unraveled from your side.

“Miss?” Harry asked placidly, his tiny fingers down playing with the hem of your skirt. He looked up at you, fluttering his long eyelashes.

“Yes, Harry?” You responded, once you knew that he wasn’t going to speak without permission.

“Do you have a prince?”

At those words, you frowned, your smile disappearing from your face. Admittedly, you have been quite lonely for the past year. Focusing on work has been devastating for your social life. After your messy breakup with your previous partner, you felt like it was unnecessary to rush into another relationship. Quickly enough, those days turned into months, and eventually a year. Your dry spell was becoming quite unbearable.

As the winter months closed in, you wished for more comfort at night. The smoking fireplace could only fill your lonely apartment with so much warmth before you got desperate - needy - for something more. Some nights were spent with your fingers curled up into your cunt, tight from the months of neglect, desperately trying to churn some pleasure out of you, but, there was only so much your own fingers could do. They couldn’t go nearly as deep enough, or stretch you nearly as much as you so deeply desired. You were starting to become flustered just thinking about it.

“No.” Your reply was short, until you realised the kids around you would want a longer explanation. Sighing, you folded your hands in your lap, pursing your lips forward. “I’m not a princess of any sort. Even then, sometimes people don't have someone with them.”

“Just like my Daddy.” Harry babbled unprompted, dawdling away from you to join the midst of his pre-school friends. “He is all alone too.”

You knew Harry’s father, and just the thought of him made you curl your toes in delight. He was one of the most handsome men you had ever seen. Deep hazel eyes that light up when he laughs. Plump pink lips that frame his mischievous smile. Strong, muscular arms, complimenting his toned hands, that you can imagine wrapped around your neck...

Before you could even process the dubious insult thrown your way, you felt a sprinkling of fingers press lightly against your shoulders, snapping you out of your daze. Furrowing your eyebrows, you traveled your eyeline up, locking eyes with another teacher who worked there, Lily.

She looked absolutely wrecked. You knew she had been on the phone for most of the afternoon, for reasons you didn’t know, but you expected that you were going to be told now, as she beckoned you away from the kids.

“One moment.” You held up your finger, showing the kids an example of counting. As you walked away, you saw the kids out of the corner of your eye. They too had one finger in the air, repeating the same word - “One!” - over and over to each other. It was very cute.

“Roads have been closing because of the weather.” Lily started, her nimble fingers gesturing out of the frosted window panes. She was right; the roads were starting to look pretty bad. A thin layer of snow seemed to be shredding downwards, coating the town like powdered sugar. The sun stayed behind the clouds, not even daring to peek through, keeping the town in a cold flurry, and keeping the children inside. This was going to be a long shift.

“So, we’ll have to stay here longer tonight?” You asked, an exasperated sigh leaving your lips. You brought the pads of your index fingers up to the window pane, feeling the chill of the temperature seem into your skin. WIthout realising it, you traced a heart shape into the frost, your own heart sighing as you exhaled.

“Hopefully not.” Lily replied. “I’ve contacted all the parents and have told them to come pick up their kids as soon as possible. This storm seems to not be slowing down any time soon. So, potentially, we might be able to go home early, if the children all get picked up before the snow gets too thick. And, don’t bother coming in tomorrow. The snow’s gonna settle, meaning there will be road closure all across town.”

“Great.” A sarcastic laugh poured from your mouths as you turned back to the kids, who were still being occupied by the thought of having one finger in the air. “We should start getting them ready then.”

You and Lily worked diligently side by side, bundling the kids up in layers of soft clothing, keeping them secure from the storm. The kids joined in too, helping to clean the classroom, picking up litter off of the floor, and clearing off tables. As you sprayed down the surfaces of the tables and kitchen counters, you hummed a soft tune, getting into the rhythm of cleaning.

While you were occupied with cleaning, parents started arriving, greeting their kids with loving smiles and gentle touches. You melted as the kids ran excitedly into their parents arms, wrapping themselves around their mums and dads, wishing to not let go. In those sweet moments, you felt a fleeting pang of loneliness. You longed for your own child, and with that, a loyal husband. You breathed out a sigh, something that was becoming quite regular for you by now.

As more and more parents arrived, you saw the sun trickle behind the horizon. Soon, the night sky appeared, painting the sky in hues of indigo and cerulean. As much as you loved the night, you didn’t love the idea of being stuck here all night, and neither did Lily, who was looking even more restless than you.

Her ginger hair fell across her face, partially blocking her vision as she lethargically signed out the second to last kid. Deep, violet bags were forming under her eyes, her skin borderline white from her exhaustion. It was getting hard to look at.

“Why don’t you just go home?” Your offer made Lily perk her head up. “You look way too tired to even continue standing on two feet.”

“I couldn't do that to you.” Lily yawned, clasping her perfectly manicured hand over her mouth. “And besides, Harry hasn’t been picked up yet. I still have to do my job.”

You looked at her with pity in your eyes. You hadn’t seen her this exhausted in years, and you knew her anxiety was bubbling up as more and more snow fell onto the ground. “Please just go Lily. It’s only Harry; I can monitor him by myself. You need to get home before the snow gets heavier.” Before she could butt in, you continued. “Besides, Harry much prefers me over you.”

Lily laughed, closing you tightly into a friendly hug. “Thank you so much. I’ll get you back another day. Are you sure you’re all good closing up on your own?”

“Go home.” You waved her away dismissively. Lily bounced around and in only five minutes, she had collected herself, and had dashed out the door, leaving only you and Harry in the pre-school.

He was looking quite tired himself, which was understandable. By now, it was nearly eight o’clock at night, a time you knew was well past his bedtime. Harry had curled himself up on one of the naptime beds himself, his raven hair falling over his eyes. Staying by his side, you caressed his back, until he fell into a soft slumber.

You felt lonely again. Harry was asleep and there was nothing left for you to do until Harry’s father arrived to pick him up. You knew a few things about Harry’s father, from the fleeting conversations you had had over the time Harry had been at this school. You knew his name was James, and he looked like heaven. Everytime you glanced his way, you felt yourself grow wet. It probably was a problem, but your secret crush didn’t hurt anyone, so you kept it secret.

Long after it had become dark, you finally saw canary coloured headlights glint in the distance. It was a relatively nice car, something you’d expect a well paid ministry worker, like James, to drive. You watched attentively as the car parked slowly and surely. Then, the car door opened, and you got your first look of James for the day.

He definitely looked a little tired but there was something endearing about it. His fluffy brown hair was slightly disheveled, as if he had run his fingers through it greatly. His round glasses sat low on his nose bridge, with his natural eyes scanning the area. There, he locked eyes with you through the window, the same window you had drawn your pathetic heart on. Right then, James was positioned right in the middle of the heart, condensation like a halo.

Before you knew it, James had opened up the door into the school, realising a sigh of relief when he was hit by the warmth of the classroom. Dramatically, he closed the door behind him, leaning up against the frame, apologies falling from his lips like rain from the sky.

“I’m so sorry I was late. Traffic was crazy. Too many road closures.” James seemed frantic, but the solidarity of the preschool was definitely calming his mood down.

“There’s no need to apologise, Mr Potter. Harry is delightful to look after.”

“Please,” James held out his hand, “call me James.” You intertwined your fingers with hsi, shaking his hand ever so lightly, the same hand you had fantasised about. It was everything you dreamed of.

“I should drive Harry home now.” James broke the silence, his voice cutting through the tension, making you want to salivate. You didn’t like the idea of James driving in his state, especially since he looked so tired. If anything, he would need some caffeine in him before the journey.

You reached your hand up, stroking his right cheek with your left hand, concern filling your eyes. “Oh, please James, you look so tired. Let me make you a cup of tea before you journey back home. You look as though you need it.”

James chuckled. “Alright then, just one though. Besides, Harry seems to be having a lovely nap. Wouldn't want to disturbed him now, would we?”

You guided James into the back kitchen through a secret door. Here was your break room where you could have some peace and quiet away from the kids. It was one of your favourite places in the entire school, because even though you loved the kids, sometimes you just needed a place to help you unwind, and unwind you did. Countless times you had fallen asleep back here and had dreamed of James.

“We have Earl Grey. Is that okay?” You looked through your cupboards, eyes locking onto a small red box, tea bags flooding out of it. Personally, you weren’t a big fan of it, that's why there were still so many, but James didn’t seem to mind it.

“Please, sounds lovely, dear.”

You worked in silence, turning the kettle on to boil. Carefully, you dunked a tea bag into a mug, swirling it around in your fingers as you waited for the water to boil. The emptiness of volume was killing; you could’ve heard a pin drop. James was the one to speak up first.

“Harry really likes you. He talks about you often.”

“Oh really?” You chuckled in disbelief, facing away from James, fiddling with some lint of your sweater.

“Yes. Sometimes, he even calls you Mum. I’m happy that he has a mother figure like you to look after him.” You chuckled when hearing James’ words, which confused him. “Why are you laughing?”

“Oh, it’s nothing.” You said, reaching for the kettle. “He’s just not the only one to have called me Mommy before.”

James furrowed his brows, even more confused. “You have kids of your own?”

“Not quite.” You swung your head around, throwing James a cheeky grin. That’s when he understood what you meant. He gulped, his Adam’s apple bobbing in his throat, his pants seeming just a bit tighter than before. It was definitely hotter in the room.

“What normally happens when people call you that?” James asked, testing the waters. As you stood to move around, the chair scraped against the wooden floors, alerting you of his prowling presence.

When he was a mere inch away from you, you smirked once again. “Why don’t you kiss me and find out?” You weren’t sure where this rush of confidence was coming from but you both seemed to not want to slow down.

Consciously, James raised his hand to your cheek, tucking a piece of hair behind your ear. His soft hands lingered a little too long, before his eyes flickered downwards towards your lips. You knew what he wanted, but you never took him for the shy type. Something about this made you aroused. Needing relief desperately, you lunged forwards, connecting your lips to his.

It was everything you thought it would be. Hungry, passionate, skilled. Your lips melded perfectly together with his, as his lips sucked gently on your top lip. Yearning for something more, you moved your hands down to his ass, giving James an experimental squeeze. Just like how you wanted, he gasped, giving you the perfect entrance to insert your tongue into his ready mouth. He moaned, his lips vibrating against you.

“Show your Mommy how much you need her.” You pulled away, whispering those words at the shell of his ear. You could hear James whimper in front of you, positioning himself so he was straddling one of your thighs, as you were pushed up against the counter tops.

James’ fingers worked at the hem of your sweater. Eager to remove as many clothes as possible from you, he tugged at the edge, slow whimpers escaping his pretty mouth, as you tilted your head down to his neck, aching to leave soft love bites on his skin.

He was getting needier and more submissive by the minute, but to you, he was acting like a brat. “That’s not how we ask for something we want, is it baby? Use your words.”

“Please Mommy, may I take your sweater off?”

With a curt nod, you obliged, watching James’ eyes light up in fascination. Quickly, he pulled your sweater over your head, glad to see that your thin shir had stuck to the material of your sweater, leaving you in just a bra on top. His eyes were transfixed by the way your nipples were hard on your pert breasts, sticking out from your bra.

“Can I take your bra off please, Mommy?” James’ hands had already made their way around your torso, preparing for the inevitable.

“Yes love, good boy for asking.” You felt James grow harder against your thigh as you praised him, a thought that made you smirk in delight and what could be in store.

Like you were made of glass, James slipped the bra off of your shoulders, dragging it slowly off of your arms. You knew he wasn’t teasing on purpose, as it seemed that he was distracted by the sight of your tits, but you needed relief anyway, bucking your thigh up against his crotch as encouragement. “They’re all yours.”

Delighted, James leaned in, his whole mouth engulfing your nipple. With vigour, he bagan sucking, the pleasure of it going straight down into your core. You moaned loudly, something you learned that egged James on. Greedily, he started rubbing his hands down your side, eager to feel all of your skin. You didn’t mind though, as you were lost in your own moment.

“Good- good boy.” You stuttered out as James’ mouth left the centre of the nipple, beginning to suck small bruises into the side of your boob. Normally, you would punish him - well, anyone - for doing that without permission, but you didn’t care at that moment.

Content with his handiwork, James moved onto your next nipple, ready to give you the same amount of pleasure as last time. As he worked your nipple to a bright scarlet like the last one, you noticed a curious movement with his hips. Looking down, you saw James, rutting his hips into you, humping your thigh as if he was a bitch in heat. You moaned at the sight.

“You like that, huh? You like,” -  you jolted your thigh upwards - “Mommy’s thigh?”

“Mmm, so good.” James mumbled against your tit. You knew he was close to coming, but you weren’t quite done with him yet. Pulling him away from your body, you looked into his eyes to see a hurt expression, something you didn’t like seeing. Luckily, it wasn’t going to last long.

“If you can make Mommy cum from your tongue, then I’ll let you cum on my thigh, alright?” With an excited nod of his head, James immediately sunk to his knees, diving his head underneath your skirt. His fingers worked quickly, stretching the fabric of your panties to the side so he had the best access possible. When you heard a muffled “Oops” against your thigh, you could tell that your panties had snapped from James’ force, but you didn’t mind. He made up for it by being so damn skilled.

He dove in nearly straight away, his tongue licking straight up the lips of your cunt, lapping at it as if it was his first ever meal. The end of his tongue teased the entrance to your velvet walls, pressing in ever so slightly and pulling away, creating tension and frustration for you. But it felt so good.

“Feels so good, darling. Doing so good, my good boy. My good, good boy.” You knew he was spurred on by praise, so you gave him what he needed. Threading your fingers in his hair, you held him down slightly, taking the tiniest amount of control back.

When he began sucking at your clit, that's when you really felt the tide going out. It was ebbing at your senses, the only indication being your shaking body and the mewling whimpers coming from your mouth. This only encouraged James further to topple you over the edge.

Slowly, James brought his fingers up to your cunt, teasing your entrance with his finger. Then, he slipped it inside of you, feeling the way you clenched around his finger. You were so tight that James dreamed of how you would feel around his cock, these thoughts going straight to his straining dick in his pants. He needed relief, so he worked faster, inserting another finger and pumping faster.

You were so close by now. The combined stimulation of James’ lips suctioning at your clit and his fingers working in and out of you was too much. With one last hard suck, you felt your orgaasm wash over you like a tsunami. You could hardly hold yourself up, and that was evident by the way you toppled to your side. The only reason you didn’t hit the floor was because of James’ lightning fast reflexes, keeping you upright.

“Did I do good, Mommy?” James asked, his shiny eyes looking up at you with adoration, his lips glistening with your cum. You smiled sweetly down at him, stroking his cheek with your hand, until you pulled it back and gave him a harsh slap across his face.

“It was so good baby, but I thought I said only using your tongue?” James had the look of realisation on his face, but you kept going. “Naughty boys who don’t follow rules have to be punished, and I don't think you want to get put in the Naughty Corner, do you?”

James whimpered, but it sounded like he was enjoying the degradation. A smile spread across your face.

“Oh so you do? Good boy.”

#James potter #James Potter x reader #James Potter fluff #marauders era #marauders #harry potter

[strawberry-jammers]

A Child to Protect (pt 5)

tommy x child!reader || Confronting an old friend

tommy comes home to tubbo and ranboo waiting in the living room for...something. 

pt1 pt 2 pt3 pt4

masterlist

sorry this took awhile, i was having some struggles lmao. its not the best but the next few parts will hopefully be good lol

word count: 3215

ask if you wanna be tagged for this seires lmao

~~~~~~~~~

Techno sat in the main part of the room with ranboo and tubbo. They stared at each other awkwardly. Honestly tubbo didn't expect to be in the piglins home today, especially after what had happened. Ranboo shuffled in his seat, uncomfortable with the tension in the air. They saw techno almost glare at tubbo, while the goat in turn decided to glare back.

“Um, are you two okay?” ranboo asked the two of them. Techno nodded, not saying a word, as usual. He was just waiting for Tommy to get there to change the focus or something. Tubbo didn't do anything to acknowledge the question, just glaring at the piglin. “Okay, this is awkward." The enderman whispers to themself. "Techno, hows living in the tundra?” techno looks at ranboo with a blank face, tired of having these two here. “cold.” ranboo nodded. ‘Cold’ not being the answer they were looking for. “Oookay. Tubbo, do you like the tundra at all?'' Tubbo shook his head, having a stare down with the piglin, who had gone back to glaring at the hybrid. “No.”

Ranboo sighed, slinking down into the chair. “You guys are helpless…” ranboo says, sighing tiredly. Just then, there was a knock on the door. Techno jumped up from his seat and looked out the window to see who it was. He smiled, opening the door to the mystery guest. “Finally you're here. Now they can focus their attention on you instead. Good luck with that.” techno says. He moved to reveal Tommy, carrying his kid with him.

Tubbo and ranboo stood up, shocked to see their supposed deceased friend, standing in the doorway holding a child. Ranboo walked over cautiously. “Tommy?” he asked. Tommy looked up at the tall enderman. He nodded, holding the young kid tightly. He really didn't wanna be there, but he knew his kid needed to be back here.

 (y/n) looked up at the enderman hybrid, smiling brightly. “Endy endy!!” they said. Ranboo looked down at them, confused a bit. “Whos this?” they asked the young boy. The kid continued to say ‘endy’ while the two of them talked.

Tommy sighed. “This is my kid..(y/n)” he says, looking at the young child. Ranboo looks at the small child, who smiled at them happily. “Endy!!” they said once more. “No no (y/n), this is ranboo. The good man i told you about.” (y/n) smiled even wider. “Ran ran!!!! Papa told me about you!!!! Good man, good man!!” they said. 

The child's presence lifted the awkward atmosphere that once resided in the room. (y/n) smiled at the enderman, who was nearly in tears from the fact tommy was alive and well, raising a child at that. Ranboo immediately hugged two of them, scarring tommy. “Aye aye get off!” tommy said, not knowing how else to respond. “Sorry sorry, i'm just really happy your alive.” tommy looked at ranboo, gapping his mouth. “Dead!? Why would you think that???” tommy asked. Ranboo smiled awkwardly. “Well…” “tommy?” the two of them turned their head to see their part goat friend, who had finally spoken up. 

“Tubbo..” tommy says, stepping around ranboo to see his old friend. “Ranboo take (y/n).” tommy instructs. Ranboo nodes, taking the small child, who wasn't too happy to leave their father. 

Tommy walks closer to his old friend, who was shocked to see him, barely able to say anything. “Y-your alive!! I thought you died-``Tubbo couldn't continue his sentence. He missed his old friend, and was really happy to see him! He just felt terrible for sending him to his near death…even if it was the only option he had. 

Techno and ranboo went outside, leaving the two of them alone (though techno tried to leave several times). (y/n) was sad they couldn't play with their father, but they did have a new friend, who was really nice.

“Is papa okay?” the young one asked. “Yeah I think he's gonna be fine..wanna play in the snow?” ranboo asked the kid. They nodded, being set down and running into the snow. The enderman chuckled, watching them pick themselves back up and falling again. The enderman did notice, however, the many snowmen that littered the lawn. Some looked like people they knew, one even looked like them. they smiled, seeing the young child show off the one they made of their father.

Back in the house, Tommy and tubbo stood in the middle of the home, staring at each other intensely. 

"So...you're alive? Living with techno?" Tubbo asks, breaking the heavy silence. "Why would you think I'd be dead??" Tubbo looked down a bit. "Well, everything was destroyed and...there was a tower I- I thought you…." Tubbo trails off before finishing. “Oh, that..” Tommy looked down a bit, frowning. “Why'd you do it? Why'd you send me away to isolation? `` Tubbo frowns, tilting his head. “It wasn't supposed to be isolation. I-i thought you just chose to live there..” 

Tommy went over and sat down, sighing. “I really dont wanna talk about this. Can you just tell ranboo to bring (y/n) in here..” tubbo shook his head. “I feel like we need to talk about this, I mean you've been gone for months! You have a kid! What happened?” tommy glared at tubbo. “I told you i dont wanna talk about it, just drop it.” he says, getting up again and heading to the front door. “No! We’re talking about this.” Tubbo goes over and grabs Tommy's arm. He yanks it away from him. “I told you I'm not talking about it! Fucking drop it already!” tubbo let go, stepping back slightly.

“Why won't you talk to me? We’re best friends-”

“We haven't been friends since the exile, since one of your men came here and nearly killed my child! The only reason i wasn't here was cause that lunatic tried to attack me!” tubbo shook his head. “I'm not the one that sent him here-”

“Then explain to me why you're here!”

 the yelling started to get louder, leaving the young child to be concerned. They looked up at ranboo, who was silently screaming cause of the snow. “Ran ran are you sure papas okay? There's a lot of yelling..” ranboo looked over to the house, noticing the yelling as well. “I-im not sure, but we shouldn't interrupt them…” (y/n) looked over to the house, really wanting to see their father. They gasped, remembering a way they could get inside.

“Ran ran!! Follow follow!!” they say, pulling on the endermans pant leg. Ranboo sighed, following the small child to wherever they were gonna bring him. “I'll just stay here!” techno says, laying in the snow.

They, basically waddled, to the back of the house. Ranboo looked around, not really seeing anything. “What did you wanna show me?” they asked. (y/n) looked up at ranboo, pointing to the wall. “Break.” they stood, a bit confused. “You want me to take some of the wall?” the kid nodded, pointing to the wall. “Enderman do the same! Just break.” they nodded, kinda understanding what they were asking. They didnt know if the other two would notice, but they normally break blocks pretty silently anyways.

Ranboo looked at the wall, seeing where the chests would be and where the fireplace was, and broke one of the blocks. They looked in between the chests to see that the others were still arguing and hadn't noticed them. (y/n) pulled on the hybrids pant leg, signaling for them to pick them up to see. Ranboo does so, gesturing for them to be quiet.

Back with the other two, they were having a heated argument. Discussing quackity and his actions, discussing Tommy and his exile, along with bringing up the past such as wilbur and old lmanburg. 

“Well I'm sorry we decided to even form the country! Y'know, we all wanted to find independence!” tubbo says, snapping at tommy.

“It's not that! Its new lmanburg, its lost all meaning!! One of your men, whent and tried to kill techno and I! You said you didn't even send him here!! “

“Why do you keep saying ‘your men’, you know this is also your country right?” 

Tommy glares at Tubbo, stepping away from him. “It hasn't been my country, for a long time. Not sense schlatt took over.'' Tommy looks over, avoiding tubbos' gaze. “Technos gonna destroy the country, and I won't stop him. I know how he is, he's gonna want it gone. Maybe once it is gone, we can start over, not with a country but with a place we could just...live. Together, all of us..'' Tommy says, looking back at tubbo. “You want lmanburg gone? After all we've done!? After what we lost to gain independence!!??'' Tommy nodded. “Lmanburg is more the people than the land. If we’re all together, it'll be the same. The same old lmanburg.”

Tubbo sighs, still angry at the blond before him. “You gave dream the discs for this place, you gave him the one thing we had! Now you wanna get rid of the country we traded it for?” 

“Well, who said we werent gonna get them back?” tommy steps forward again. “You have one of them right?” tubbo nodded, staring at the enderchest in the room. “We already have half of what we need, all we need to do is get the last one. You prepared to lose lmanburg to get them back?” tommy asked. Tubbo contemplated for a second. “No, I'm not. But…"

The two of them talked, no longer upset at the other. They were best friends for years, it's hard to stay mad at each other. Ranboo and (y/n) looked at each other, confused as to how they had just calmed down after such a heated argument. (y/n) ran back over to the front of the house, ranboo running after them. “No no, (y/n) come back please!” (y/n) didn't listen, instead running to the front of the house and trying to open the door. It was left ajar, so it was easy to do so. 

“Dad!!” the young kid said, rushing over towards their father. Tommy looked over to see his kid run over towards him. He smiled as they ran into his legs. He picks them up. "Hey kiddo, whatcha doing back here? Weren't you playing outside playing with ranboo?" They nodded. "Yeah but I was worried!! There was yelling…" Tommy sighs, ruffling the young kids' hair. "I'm okay lil (n/n), everythings alright. Big man Tommy was just talking to tubbo." They looked over to the boy in question, who awkwardly stood there. 

"I think I should get going. Don't wanna make things worse.” (y/n) looked at the goat hybrid and frowned. They pushed their way out of tommys arms, landing on the floor with a huff. Everyone just stared at the young kid as they picked themself up and ran into the goats legs. “Tub don't go! You just got here…” tubbo smiled a bit, leaning down to be eye to eye as (y/n). “I don't think I should stick around. Maybe I'll see you again..” they hugged tubbo, repeating for him not to leave. 

Ranboo picked up the small child, who did not wanna be picked up. “He needs to leave (n/n). Don't worry, you'll see him again.” they huff, nodding. Ranboo chuckled at this. 

Tubbo stood back up looking at tommy once more. “Goodbye tommy. I hope your happy.” with that, tubbo left, leaving ranboo and tommy behind. Tubbo passed by techno as he left, noticing how he was just sitting in front of the door. “Why are you sitting out here?” techno looked up at the male. “Idk mr.government, maybe because i got kicked out of my own home. Again.” tubbo sighed, opting to just ignore the piglin and continue on his way to lmanburg.

Ranboo looked over at Tommy, who seemed to be processing a lot of emotions. Tommy looked over and ranboo and (y/n), smiling a bit before sitting down in one of the few chairs in the room. 

“I really don't like that kid. I don't know why he bothered to come here.” technoblade says, closing the front door that had started to let snow in. He went over to brew some potions, as he needed to go to lmanburg the next day. Ranboo sighed, letting (y/n) out of their arms. They shifted slightly. (y/n) went over to sit with Tommy, who held them tightly. “Um, i think i should leave as well, don't wanna overstay my welcome.” technoblade chuckled a bit. “You don't have to leave, kid. I think you should stay for at least dinner. If you want.” tommy nodded, not really wanting the enderman to leave.

“Oh, well thank you techno, tommy.'' Just then, the door swung open, letting in even more cold air than there already was. They all turned to see philza, who looked like he had just ran here. “What the FUCK happend in lmanburg??” techno looked at Phil a bit confused. “Oh the quackity thing?”

Philza walked in, closing the door. “Yeah but also, why the hell is fundy and quackity dead and WHY IS THE PLACE ON FIRE?? Techno i told you not to do this high level of terrorism yet.” techno looked confused, stopping his potion brewing. “I didn't set the place on fire? I did kill those two tho, they did not fight back. Well, quackity did but he sucks at it.” 

“Wait then who set the place on fire?” phil asked, no longer upset. “Oh i did.” they turned to ranboo, who raised their hand up slightly. “What?” 

“All i did was set the place on fire as a diversion..” 

“Mate the place is basically gone now..” philza said, sitting next to tommy. Ranboo chuckled. “Yeaaahh that wasn't the plan. I just wanted to create a diversion to get out of there..” techno chuckled. “Didn't notice that was you. Good job kid.” techno went back to his brewing, making a bunch of invis potions. “Dadza!” (y/n) said, now noticing the winged man who had sat next to them. They were too focused on tommys scarf. Phil chuckled, picking up the small child. “Hey kiddo. How has things been while i was gone?” tommy chuckled seeing the two of them talk. (y/n) talked about all the things they did in the time he was gone. Ranboo went over to help techno make potions, grabbing things he needed and such. 

It was peaceful like this. Tommy phil and (y/n) all chatted amongst themselves, (y/n) on occasion playing with some random item in the house. When techno and ranboo were done with the potions, they joined the others in their conversation, all of them talking and cracking jokes amongst themselves. It was peaceful, there were no countries or wars, no dream, no trauma, none of that. It was just a couple of friends or family, talking and having fun.

Somewhere down the line, phil and techno whent to make dinner, sense it was awhile sense (y/n) or anyone had eaten any food. The 3 kids decided to play around with some swords tommy and techno had made. (y/n) chased the other two around, playfully trying to hit them whenever they got close. Ranboo dramatically died when (y/n) had stabbed them, while Tommy vowed revenge on the small child. He poked them with the sword, saying he had defeated the evil. (y/n) went into a fit of giggles, saying they could never die cause their immortal, and in turn stabbed tommy. He wanted to stubbornly try to beat them, but he thought it was more fun to go with it. Tommy dramatically dropped his sword and fell to the floor, pretending to be ‘dead’. 

“Stop playing around, foods done.” techno said, entering the main part of the room. (y/n) jumped up, running into the kitchen, excited for food. Ranboo and Tommy got up from their laying positions, wanting to get some food as well.

So they ate, continuing to talk to each other as they did before. Ranboo felt a bit awkward being there, but overtime he felt more comfortable. Tommy talked to phil and techno, occasionally having to tell (y/n) to actually eat their food. 

Once supper was over, phil has suggested that ranboo stays with tommy and (y/n) for the night, since it had already gotten dark out. Techno and ranboo both protested, granted for different reasons, though no one can fight philza. (y/n) was really giddy about this, running around their bedroom, knocking into the prime log a few times. Ranboo climbed down the latter, seeing this. Tommy was making sure they didn't run into the log again, not noticing the enderman.

“(y/n) you know it's time for bed.” Tommy says, grabbing his kid as they try to run away. “No! No sleep!” they tried to wrestle out of tommys arms, it obviously didn't work. “Yes, sleep. Your gonna get too tired to run soon anyways.`` He places them in their bed, trying to make them stay. Ranboo walks over, crouching down to see the kid better, they smiled when they saw the tall enderman. “Ran!!” they said, making the grabby hands at the tall enderman. They smiled, ruffling the kids hair. “(y/n) you need to sleep.” is all ranboo says, making (y/n) frown. “How bout this, i'll give you a cookie tomorrow if you sleep. Deal?” tommy asked. They nodded, laying down on their bed. They both laughed, tommy tucking them in for the night while ranboo stood up, not sure on what to do. 

Tommy got up soon after, looking over at ranboo had just stood there. “You can sleep on my bed big man, I'll either make another one or just sleep on the floor.” Tommy says, going over to his chest in the corner, seeing if he had any left over wool. Ranboo shook their head. “No no, I can sleep on the floor, it's fine. This is your home after all.” tommy looked over at ranboo, glaring at him. “You will listen, bitch.” ranboo sighed. “Fine fine, I'm just saying..” ranboo walked over to the bed, sitting down on it, watching Tommy mess around with some wood and wool. 

When Tommy was done, he put the bed in a random spot in the room. Tommy turned off the only light in the room, signalling that they were going to bed. Ranboo laid down, followed by tommy. They laid like that for a while, not really being able to sleep.

Ranboo looked over, sighing quietly to themself. “I'm sorry about the whole tubbo thing..it wasn't our plan to come here after what happened..” 

“Its fine, it was bound to happen eventually. Thanks for staying with my kid for a bit,you didn't have to…” ranboo nodded. “It was no trouble, they seem to like me.” ranboo says, looking over to see the sleeping child next to them. “Well, still. Thank you ranboo. Your a good man.” 

“So are you tommy..” 

They sleep after that, finally being able to rest for the night.

#mcyt x reader #Tommyinnit x child reader #tommyinnit x reader #tubbo x reader #ranboo x reader #technoblade x reader #philza minecraft x reader #tommyinnit x you #tommyinnit x y/n #child reader #x reader #dreamsmp x reader

[archived-kin]

three names

note from kin: apparently that domestic diluc piece really did wonders for my writers block because i managed to churn this entire thing out within one night

anyway i know little to nothing about childe’s backstory so do be warned that i am only very loosely following the information we get from his story quest/voice lines/etc!

(also as a heads up childe is referred to as ajax throughout this piece! for those who don't know, ajax is his birth name)

fandom: genshin impact

character(s): gn!reader, childe, zhongli

pairing(s): childe/reader

warning(s): death (brief and not descriptive), mentions of blood

genre: angst i guess?? it isn’t SUPER heavy but this is very much Not A Happy Piece

You’ve known Ajax for what feels like forever.

The two of you grow up together on the streets of Morepesok, spending the short hours of daylight chasing each other down icy streets and pelting each other with snowballs until your fingers are frozen solid under their mittens and you’re both lying exhausted under the trees. He’s still a somewhat skittish and shy young boy, always hiding behind you while you ask the local farmers for permission to play in their fields and leaving all of the decisions to you when it comes to your childish games.

You know exactly how to get those blue eyes of his to light up like no other, though. Ever since the two of you were tiny tots, Ajax has always been enchanted by stories of adventures, of heroes who journey far from home to conquer evils beyond his childish comprehension, fighting with both sword and mind to quell any hardships or troubles that come their way. He listens to his father tell him these stories with a sparkle in his eye like no other, and begs for a new chapter as soon as one is finished.

You take advantage of this love of adventure to coax him into playing with you - him, the hero and you, his trusty sidekick, braving fight after fight together until the great sea monster is defeated, or until the brainwashed former friend was released - until the world bows down at your feet. You stand beside him and smile as he cackles, foot set atop a stone and brandishing a stick to the sky like a sword.

While Ajax longs for battle and glory, however, you secretly prefer the stories about the fisherman who wins the favour of the sea gods by saving a seal from a net, about the fae who collects the treasures of the land in an attempt to preserve the remains of a race she has loved and lost, about the dragon who follows the rainbow far into the east to find a companion who has fallen under the control of an evil sorcerer. Where he finds interest in tales of clashing blades and rumbling cannons, you find interest in the warmth of a campfire, surrounded by laughing companions that have shared a long journey together. You don’t love these games for the fights and the victories like he does - you love the games because it means you can be with him.

You suppose that this difference of interests is the reason you stay behind when he leaves on his own ‘heroic journey’.

The two of you are only fourteen - still children, for Archons’ sake - and Ajax has long since lost interest in the mundanity of his daily life.

“All we do is eat and play,” He mutters with a pout, poking at the snow with a stick. “It’s boring.”

You tilt your head in confusion and trot up to stand beside him, face half-hidden behind a scarf wrapped like a vice around your neck. “What do you mean?”

He scoffs a little then, and offers you a boyish grin. “Don’t worry, [Name]. You’re an exception.”

You still don’t understand what he means, not exactly, but it still sends butterflies fluttering in your stomach.

The next day, he knocks on your door, dressed in an over-large coat and his favourite hat, a backpack strapped firmly to his back and a rusty shortsword in his hand. He beams at you as you open the door, and announces that he’s running away to find an adventure, and that he was wondering if you wanted to come with him.

You ask if this is another game he wants to play. He shakes his head and tells you that this is for real - that he’s going to explore far and wide, to seek out the quests that he’s heard so many stories about. He’s going to be a hero, and he wants you to be his sidekick, just like always.

But you have always been a little too timid, too afraid of going so far out into the snow, too aware of the dangers of a reckless jaunt like this. And so, bowing your head in shame, you answer that you can’t

He freezes for a moment then, disappointment clear on his face, but he replaces it with a a grin almost immediately. You don’t know it at the time, but this is the last time you’ll ever see him smile like this again.

“Don’t worry about it!” He reassures you. “I’ll bring back lots of souvenirs for you when I come back! Like a dragon head!”

“I don’t like heads.” You mumble. “Too much blood.”

He doesn’t falter. “A dragon claw, then!”

The two of you exchange brief goodbyes, neither of you aware of the magnitude of what Ajax is choosing to do, nor the consequences it will bring, and then he leaves. And you let him, watching his little figure disappear and melt into the blinding white of the snow.

It’s a mistake that continues to haunt you for the rest of your life.

He turns up again, two days later, lying unconscious on the outskirts of the forest by the village. A mere two days - but somehow, you’ve always felt as if he’d been away for much, much longer.

Ajax is never the same after that. He’s more distracted, more absent - he never wants to go out for walks in the fields with you anymore, nor does he have any interest in playing games or hearing stories. He still lets you follow him around and sit beside him, but he speaks less and less, and spends more and more time thinking.

You don’t give up on him, though. It doesn’t matter how much his blank gaze scares you sometimes, nor how unsettling the look on his face is after he shreds yet another hay training dummy to pieces. You hang around him anyway, talking about every little thing that comes to mind, and sometimes, he replies with the same silliness that he did when the two of you were younger.

It bothers you, the way that he swings so abruptly between the old him and the new him. Sometimes he’s just the boy you’d spent your childhood playing with, chasing you down the street only to stuff snow down the back of your jacket, then making you a hot drink afterwards as an apology when you declare that you hate him. But sometimes he isn’t.

His face stills, and his eyes go cold. He stares emptily at the snow beneath his feet, not responding when you call his name, and he returns to his garden sooner or later, to slaughter another line of training dummies. The way he gazes down at the wreckage, the way his hand clenches around the shaft of an arrow or the hilt of a blade, the way that he seems to hunger for more - it scares you.

Perhaps it is unsurprising that he joins the Fatui as soon as he turns seventeen.

He doesn’t tell you - he doesn’t tell anyone, not at first. He simply slips away and leaves, sometimes for days on end, and returns without a word as to his absence. You believe him when he tells you that it’s a series of job interviews in a different town, even congratulate him on the opportunity. You believe a lot of the lies he tells you.

It isn’t until you come upon him in the middle of one of his assignments that the wool is finally pulled away from your eyes.

You’re out in the city on a shopping trip by your mother’s request, carrying several baskets of fresh produce that just don’t grow quickly enough in your little seaside town, when you spot his auburn hair disappearing into a secluded alleyway. You follow quickly, opening your mouth to call out to him, only to snap it shut when you see what he’s doing.

A woman is lying beneath his foot, and he is crushing the breath out of her with the heel of his boot. There is a blade in his hand, glinting softly in the darkness of the alleyway.

The woman sobs breathlessly, begs for her life to be spared, her face contorted with fear and despair. But Ajax doesn’t flinch. In one, smooth movement, he points the blade to her neck and slashes.

You don’t know if the scream that echoes around the alleyway is yours or hers.

It’s only then that he finally turns around and sees you, and the mask covering the upper half of his face is all too familiar.

Your eyes fall upon the dead woman, her mouth still open in her final plea for mercy.

“Ajax,” You whisper, your voice trembling. “What have you done?”

The bloodstained blade in his hand clatters to the ground. “[Name]... what are you doing here?”

You don’t answer him. Your entire body feels numb. “You’re… you’re one of the Fatui.”

It isn’t a question.

He’s silent for a long time. Finally, he lets out a frustrated sigh, tearing the mask from his face and throwing it to the ground carelessly, and approaches you, hands held out as if comforting a frightened child.

“I didn’t want you to find out like this,” He says quietly.

“Were you ever going to let me find out?” You ask. Your eyes move back to the woman’s corpse despite everything in your brain screaming at you to look away, and your hands start shaking.

Ajax notices. He steps in front of the body, as if trying to shield it from your view. “Of course. I was just waiting for the right time to tell you, that’s all.”

“Why… why would you…?”

He meets your gaze. He shrugs. “I wanted to fight.”

There is blood staining the left side of his face. Your eyes are drawn to it in the same way they were to the corpse, and you feel a sudden burst of anger on her behalf. “How was this a fight? You trapped her in an alleyway - you didn’t even give her a chance to struggle!”

“This is different.” He states, as if it’s obvious, and his eyes go cold. “The woman was defying the will of the Tsaritsa. She needed to be disposed of.”

“Is that all you are now? A puppet of the Tsaritsa?!” You’re practically shouting now, tears threatening to start streaming down your face. You want to punch him, slap him, anything to make him realise what path he’s rapidly beginning to go down, but there isn’t any strength left in you. Not after what you just saw. “What happened to you?!”

“I changed,” He says simply, and his sea-blue eyes are frozen over completely. This isn’t the boy that you grew up and loved - and it occurs to you that he might not have been for a long, long time. “I grew up and I changed.”

“Ajax—” You begin, but he places a finger to your lips.

“It’s Tartaglia now.”

Perhaps if you look close enough, hope hard enough, you’ll be able to fool yourself into thinking there was some kind of emotion on his face - something, anything that proves that he still cares - but there is nothing but emptiness in his gaze.

You don’t sleep that night. You don’t sleep for a long, long time, unable to put a stop to the unrelenting march of thoughts streaming through your head like a gushing river, like the endless depths of the ocean, like the deep blue of his eyes...

You distract yourself as best you can. You move out of town while he’s out on another mission and take your parents with you, settling down in a small village at the base of a mountain. There, you busy yourself every hour of the day, taking solace in the ache of your muscles and the fatigue that weighs heavily on your limbs. The people of the village come to know you as the helping hand, the eager assistant, always raring to go when asked for a favour.

And yet, even as you sit around a table in the local bar, surrounded by warmth and chatter and familiar faces, you can’t help but feel an emptiness opening in your chest. Old Dmitri, manning the bar as usual, slides a tankard over to you with a sympathetic smile, and asks, “What’s wrong?”

You ask yourself that question more times than you can count, digging it deep into your skin, carving it into your mind, unable to help wondering, and yet... you never find an answer. What is wrong with you? Why does Ajax’s absence cut into you like a knife, keeping you awake deep into the night, plagued by dreams of cold, dead eyes and red blood pooling in the white snow? Why is it that, no matter how many times you remind yourself of the man in that alleyway and the body of the woman he’d just slaughtered, of the man that was not Ajax, of Tartaglia - you can only remember the grinning boy of your childhood?

Your parents don’t know why your eyes are always red-rimmed when you come down for breakfast in the morning, nor why you refuse to look at your surroundings when you go out into town, keeping your eyes focused determinedly on your dragging feet.  They don’t know how many hours you spend staring out into the deep sky, wondering if Ajax is watching the same stars as you are, whether he even thinks of you at all.

Everything around you seems to taunt you, and you realise something.

You have to leave. You have to run away, to find a home in a place where the streets don’t stir up memories of days long gone, where the crunch of the snow beneath your feet doesn’t remind you of the sound of tearing flesh, where you can just be without Ajax haunting you around every corner you turn.

And so you set off for Liyue. You journey to the land amidst monoliths, seeking golden soil warmed by the sun to escape the cold snow and icy rain. You do not stop moving until you reach the land where the mountains stretch high and the streets of the harbour are painted with red and yellow, where the people are unfamiliar, the buildings are unfamiliar - where everything is unfamiliar. You’re tired of dwelling on past memories, tired of putting yourself through the same pain.

You settle in quickly, taking up a job at Wanmin Restaurant and eventually saving up enough to afford more than the little hotel box room you first are resigned to stay in. You move in with a new friend of yours, an apparently refined gentleman who seems to have no shortage of money but still always forgets to bring it when he needs it, and you start to remember what living in peace feels like again.

You take a deep breath as you watch the bustle of the city from the open window of your bedroom. The cool evening breeze in Liyue Harbour is soothing, unlike the biting nightly winds of Snezhnaya. Perhaps you can finally let go of Ajax now, you think.

Somewhere in the heavens, Fate mocks your hopefulness.

Two years later, your friend, who has only become even worse at managing his money despite your constant nagging, invites you to a dinner with him and a new acquaintance he’d like to introduce you to. You agree, unsuspecting of the true identity of his so-called ‘friend’.

You take one step into the private room that Zhongli had booked and realise what a terrible mistake you’ve made when you see a familiar figure sitting at the table.

He doesn’t turn around at first, too occupied with trying to take a sip of his tea without burning his mouth. Zhongli smiles at you, painfully unaware of the amount of old trauma he’s inadvertently stirred up.

“I’m glad that you made it,” He says pleasantly, and gestures to the man sitting across from him. “This is the acquaintance I was telling you about. His name is Childe.”

There is a long silence. The initial shock of the moment wears off, only to be replaced by something resembling anger.

“So it’s Childe now, is it?” Ajax stiffens as he hears your voice come from behind him. “How many names does one man need?”

He turns around agonisingly slowly, failing to register the dangerous tilt of the teacup in his hands as it comes close to tipping its contents all over the table. You stare blankly back at him from the doorway.

How long has it been since he last saw you? He doesn’t know. Ever since the two of you had parted ways in that alleyway, you’d all but disappeared. The window to your bedroom had always been dark and empty when he stopped by your home, and neither you nor your parents were anywhere to be seen, no matter how thoroughly he’d searched the town. It had only been when Tonia had mentioned your absence in one of his letters that he’d realised that you weren’t just avoiding him. You’d left. Left the town where the two of you had grown up, left the home you’d lived in for so long, left behind all the friends you’d made over the years - just to run away from him.

There are new scars on your face, a new poise in the way you hold yourself. A sheathed dagger glitters at your belt, and even now you toy with its hilt in a way that tells him that you are familiar with it. You’ve changed so much, and he aches to think that he had been unable to see any of it.

He hadn’t wanted you to go, he never had. You’d always been his best friend, someone he looked up to, someone he enjoyed the company of, someone he cherished - someone he loved. But he’d had a duty to attend to, a new mistress to serve, a new title, a new responsibility. He couldn’t keep fooling himself into thinking he could keep the relationship he had with you forever.

That day in the alleyway - he’s never been able to forget the look on your face when you realised who he had become. It’s been burnt into his memory ever since then, flashing before his eyes just before he strikes, and even now, five years later, he still gets reprimanded by his fellow Harbingers for faltering just before he makes the kill. They always ask - how can Tartaglia, who takes pleasure in watching the life drain out of his opponent’s eyes after a battle well fought, hesitate like that?

He never has an answer for them.

Zhongli looks back and forth between the two of you, his brows knitting together slightly. “Do the two of you know each other already?”

“You could say that,” You reply, though your eyes don’t move even an inch from your old friend’s face. His expression is crumpled, almost vulnerable, a far cry from the stone-cold indifference he wore the last time you saw him.

“[Name],” He says finally, his voice barely above a whisper. “What… what are you doing here?”

You raise your eyebrows at him. “I’ve lived in Liyue Harbour for two years. Why wouldn’t I be here?”

Several seconds pass by with no response.

“It seems the two of you have much to talk about,” Zhongli observes, and gets to his feet. “I’ll leave you for now.”

He’s out of the room before either of you can object. Damn him and his perception.

You don’t sit down at the table. Instead, you move to the window, looking out over the city that you have come to love.

Ajax joins you. He hesitates as he approaches, as if debating whether or not to settle right beside you as he would have in the past. Eventually, though, he decides to keep his distance.

“Liyue is beautiful at night.” He says quietly. “Language is a nightmare to learn, though.”

That earns him a short laugh from you, and he can’t help the way his heart skips a beat as he hears it. “You can say that again. I don’t think I even have a proper grasp of it now.”

“You’re speaking pretty fluently,” He replies. “I’d say that’s a proper enough grasp.”

“It’s all just conversational, really.” You don’t look at him, instead choosing to look down at Xiangling, Xingqiu and Chongyun as they walk through the street below you together, exchanging jokes and nudges. “What about you?”

“I’d like to think I know it pretty well. I had to learn for—”

He cuts himself off, but you already know what he’d been about to say.

“For your Fatui duties here,” You finish for him, and though you don’t move, somehow he feels as if the gap between you has widened. “There’s no need for pretences, Childe.”

He freezes at the way you address him. It’s become familiar to him after using it as an alias for so long, but it sounds so wrong coming from you. It feels as if you’re distancing yourself from him, from the childhood you shared together. As if Ajax, your childhood friend, never existed - only Childe, the Fatui Harbinger.

“Don’t…” His voice breaks, and he forces himself to take a deep breath before continuing. “Don’t call me that.”

“Why not?” You sound so detached, so distant - and he hates it. “Would you prefer Tartaglia? That’s what you told me to call you last time we met.”

He feels as if you’ve stabbed him in the chest. It probably would’ve hurt less if you did, actually, but he knows he deserves it. “...no. I don’t want you to call me Tartaglia, either.”

You don’t respond, but he continues anyway. “I want… I want you to call me Ajax.”

Silence.

You finally turn to look at him, surprise painted on your features. “...what?”

Your eyes are just as he remembers them. He never wants to see them as they were on that day five years ago, filled with despair and tears that threatened to brim over.

He takes a deep breath and repeats, “I want you to call me Ajax.”

You stare at him for a long moment. Your face shifts, as if you can’t decide whether you want to be angry or sad or something else entirely. You open your mouth to say something, but at that moment the door opens again, and Zhongli pokes his head in.

“My apologies,” He says a little sheepishly, “But the attendant informed me that we should start ordering our dishes now if we don’t want to accidentally go over our time slot. That is - if you two are alright with having dinner with each other?”

You don’t respond immediately. Your eyes stay on the man gazing almost wistfully at you, your expression becoming thoughtful.

It’s been five years since you’ve last seen him. Five years of sleepless, tormented nights spent tossing and turning, of days spend exhausting yourself just so that you don’t think of him, of a journey filled with obstacles and monsters just to find a place to be at peace in, and just as you finally think you might be moving on, he shows up again.

Maybe you should be angry. Maybe you should be drawing your dagger and threatening him to stay the fuck away from your city and to take his Fatui agents with him. Maybe you should punch him right where it hurts most for all the pain he’s caused you.

But… you’re tired. You’re tired of hurting, tired of remembering. And maybe there’s a little part of you that hopes - a little part of you that still clings to the boy you played with on the streets of Morepesok, the boy that you lost the moment you let him leave on that journey.

And so you come to a conclusion.

“I’ll stay for dinner. What about you, Ajax?”

#genshin impact #genshin impact imagines #genshin impact x reader #genshin childe #genshin zhongli #childe x reader #tartaglia x reader #angst #first angst piece of the blog baby! #i hope it wasn't terrible :')) #yuta this is for you i know you like a bit of the tartaglia on a rainy day #it isn't raining but you can have this anyway #you still need to do the dishes by the way i'm tired of looking at your dirty-ass plates #enjpy darlings! #unedited

[inkykeiji]

day 3 ❅ you are my home, my home for all seasons

don’t cry snowman, don’t you fear the sun, who’ll carry me without legs to run?

day two ❅ day three ❅ day four | series masterlist

characters: todoroki touya | dabi ft. todoroki natsuo

genre: smut + angst

notes: WAAAAH okay listen i swear to god this was not supposed to be as long as it is. uhhhh just over half of this is smut, pls pay attention to the warnings below n stay safe! <33 | title credit: snowman by sia

warnings: 18+, pseudo-incest (stepcest), one (1) non-graphic fist fight, tense family dynamics, generally toxic relationships, size difference, drug use, threesome, rough sex, cumplay/snowballing, a hint of mindbreak, slight dacryphilia, slight degradation

words: 7.7k

synopsis:

And the way his eyes glitter as he gazes at you, the way his fingers trace your jaw and then smooth down your hair, melts all of the anxiety and anger that had been building in your chest, burns it all to ash and sweeps it away just like that, with that one look and that gentle caress.

Because his sapphire eyes hold so much love it’s almost suffocating, overwhelming in the best way, has you endlessly craving more, more, more; and his soft touches speak volumes, rough hands scarred and stained with blood he’ll never be able to wash off, so tender when they touch you like this.

I think…I think he really loves her.

And suddenly, none of it matters anymore, Fuyumi’s words and Rei’s worry no longer holding any weight. All that matters is that you love him, and he loves you, and that’s all you need.

    ❅           ❅           ❅           ❅           ❅           ❅    

It storms, the day of December 23rd; a nasty blizzard that has the wooden shutters banging against the outside of the cabin, harsh gusts of air rattling the glass windows as it viciously hurls snow and ice against them.

“God, you can’t see fucking anything!”

“Language, Natsuo,” Rei chides softly, bottom lip caught between her teeth as she stares out at the white, at the nothingness, just endless swirls of deceptively pretty snow, being tossed in every direction by fierce winds.

“We can’t even see the cars, and they’re only a few feet away!” Fuyumi whines. “So much for tubing today,”

“That’s alright,” Rei says, forcing her lips into a smile as she turns towards her children. “We’ll just have to find other ways to entertain ourselves, that’s all,”

And not one of you misses the uneasy trembling in her voice.

      ❅           ❅           ❅

“Up,”

Black obscures your vision for a moment as Touya tugs his shirt over your head, a shiver coursing through your body as your skin is exposed to the cool air of your shared bedroom.

“You cold?” Touya teases, tweaking a peaked nipple.

“Niichan!” you whine, swatting at his hand, blood rushing to your face, cheeks tingling with embarrassment.

“Cute,” Touya smirks, the tips of his fingers caressing a burning cheek before he turns away, rooting through a drawer and looking for your dress today. “It’s adorable that you’ll let me stick my cock in you, or fuck your throat, or coat you entire body in cum, but you still get embarrassed by those little things,”

He turns back to face you with a stupid, goofy smile on his face, though his eyes are shining with mirth, and you can’t help the soft giggle that bubbles past your lips, sprinkled throughout your shy little shut up, niichan!

It’s routine at this point, your actions entirely automatic as your naked body slides off the bed, Touya kneeling to pull a fresh pair of panties—lavender today, trimmed with lace and ribbon—up your legs, lips scattering a few kisses along your thigh as he does so. Arms raise into the air, almost expectantly, as Touya straightens up again, slipping a long sleeved babydoll dress over your head—crushed velvet and plum purple, this time—helping pull your arms through before smoothing it down your body.

Stepping back to assess you, to admire you, Touya dusts his hands together. “Do you think you can pull on your tights by yourself today?”

Your eyebrows furrow, but you nod anyways. Of course you can, you’re a big girl, you know.  

“Perfect.” He turns on his heel. “Then, I’ll be back,” he tosses over his shoulder casually, as if there isn’t a blizzard raging outside. “Stay put, yeah?”

“Wait, what?” tiny finger curl in the material of his sleeve, tugging a little. “You’re going out in that?”

“Just for a moment—”

“Niichan!” the honorific comes out as a gasp, your hand smacking his bicep. “Do you have a deathwish?”

“Baby,” he begins, gently taking your face between two large palms, voice supercilious as if speaking to a child. “I need to smoke, or I’m going to crawl out of my fucking skin, do you understand? Natsuo’s gonna come,”

“I wanna—”

“No.” he says instantly, eyes flashing, your body instinctually cowering from his tone. “I’ll only be a minute, I promise,” he presses a kiss to the tip of your nose. “Relax, it’s just a little snow! I want you to sit here like the perfect little good girl you are, and not move until I come back, okay?”

Lips pulling down into an involuntary frown, you nod in his grasp, watching him go with a little pout. It’s only after you hear the backdoor slam, pulled shut by the sheer force of the wind, that you hear them.

“He’s got her entirely brainwashed!” Fuyumi’s muffled voice carries through the walls.

“I’m not quite sure that’s it,” Rei responds, trying to gently reason with her daughter.

“Oh my God, what are you talking about!”

You creep off the bed, springs squeaking under your weight.

“Fuyumi,” Rei sighs, and you imagine her pinching the bridge of her nose. “When’s the last time you saw Touya smile like that? When’s the last time you saw your older brother this happy?”

Bare feet make the softest little pad…pad…pad… against the hardwood as you tiptoe towards the door.

“Mom…” Fuyumi trails off, her voice softer when she speaks again. “It doesn’t make it right, though,”

The brass knob turns slowly, carefully, silently, and you pull the door open just a crack, just enough to push your ear close to the sliver and listen.

The master bedroom is at the end of the hallway, but the door is wide open, their voices floating through the vacant corridor.

Rei responds after a beat of silence. “Would he stop even if I told him to? Is it even worth the fight, at this point?”

And she sounds so sad, so defeated that it drives a dull, throbbing ache deep in your chest, a hand coming up to press against your body, trying to quell it.

“I think…” Rei trails off, and your breathing halts. “I think he really loves her,”

Her words probably shouldn’t inspire such wicked sparks of joy that shoot through your veins and up your spine, but they do, and you have to press your lips together to keep a giddy smile from spreading across your face. So other people do see it.  

“Oh God, give me a break, he’s—”

“I’m serious, Fuyumi,” Rei cuts her off sharply, voice curt. “I haven’t…He’s never stayed with someone for this long, never cared about anyone as much as he cares about her—you can see it in his eyes,”

“But—But she’s his sister, mom!” Fuyumi cries. “It isn’t okay!”

“Keep your voice down,” Rei scolds, sounding exasperated. She’s quiet for a moment. “You’re right. It isn’t okay. But I…” her voice fades, and you think you hear sniffling, the thought stinging your own eyes. “I can’t take that from him, Yumi, I just can’t,”

A tense silence settles, and you can hear your own heartbeat in your ears, body rigid and tight as you wonder if the conversation’s over.

“She doesn’t deserve that, you know. He doesn’t, either,”

Fuyumi’s words, murmured so quietly you have to strain to hear them, light a ferocious fire in your chest, sending scalding fury burning through your veins. How dare she!

Your teeth grind together, hand gripping the doorknob so tightly it begins to jiggle. How dare she insinuate that Touya doesn’t deserve your love. How dare she imply that he isn’t capable of loving, when she barely knows a goddamn thing about him.

Sparkling cobalt flashes through your mind, accompanied by that pearly, lopsided smile and that thoaty, syrupy voice that’s always dripping with just a touch of indifference, and your heart swells.

Touya takes care of you better than anyone ever has in your entire life. Touya makes sure you’re well fed, well groomed, well dressed. Touya ensures your final year university assignments get done in a timely manner, buys you whatever you want, whenever you want it. Touya provides for and cares about and loves you.

How dare she pretend as if she understands any of that, as if she knows anything about your relationship at all, as if it’s any of her damn business in the first place.

“What about her father? What does he think about this whole situation?” Fuyumi asks a few moments later, when it’s clear Rei isn’t going to respond, capturing your attention again, jaw clenching.

Another deep sigh, one that surely has her chest heaving with the force of it, echoes down the hallway. “He refuses to talk about it any time I try to bring it up, so I’ve stopped trying. He’d rather just…not know, I guess, ignore it and pretend it doesn’t exist, and just look away. I don’t—I don’t think he can bear the thought, so he just…doesn’t.”

Exhaustion is heavy in your step-mother’s voice, weighing down her words and diminishing the flames raging in your chest to smoldering embers, hand relaxing its grip around the doorknob.

“If that were me and Natsuo—”

“That’s enough,”

“Or me and Shouto—”

“I said, that’s enough, Fuyumi.” Rei snaps, and you flinch—in all the years you’ve known her, you’ve never heard her use that tone of voice. It’s unusual, unfamiliar, unsettling.

Heavy footsteps begin stomping up the stairs, cutting off your thoughts, and you yelp softly, scampering back towards the bed. Touya pushes through the door a moment later, eyebrows knitting as azure eyes dart from your untouched tights, still sitting neatly folded on the bed where he placed him, to your bare legs, then drifting up to your face.

“Why aren’t your tights on, princess?” he tilts his head, a smile playing at his lips, more relaxed now that he’s smoked. “Willfully misbehaving? Or are you not such a big girl after all?”

And the way his eyes glitter as he gazes at you, the way his fingers trace your jaw and then smooth down your hair, melts all of the anxiety and anger that had been building in your chest, burns it all to ash and sweeps it away just like that, with that one look and that gentle caress.

Because his sapphire eyes hold so much love it’s almost suffocating, overwhelming in the best way, has you endlessly craving more, more, more; and his soft touches speak volumes, rough hands scarred and stained with blood he’ll never be able to wash off, so tender when they touch you like this.

I think…I think he really loves her.

And suddenly, none of it matters anymore, Fuyumi’s words and Rei’s worry no longer holding any weight. All that matters is that you love him, and he loves you, and that’s all you need.

      ❅           ❅           ❅

By the late afternoon, you’ve all begun to get antsy, resulting in Rei feeling like her kids are actual children again and wracking her mind for an activity to keep you all occupied. She decides on baking and decorating gingerbread men and then a Christmas movie marathon after dinner, gathering the family in the kitchen as her hands nervously rearrange the ingredients she’s laid out on the table.

Everyone’s already a little on edge, shoulders tense and tight any time Touya and Shouto are in the same room together, and you swear the air is electric, cracking and popping with shocks and zaps anytime one of them bristles at something the other said.

Like a storm is brewing.

The entire family works hard to keep them as far away from each other as possible, and attempts to minimize any type of contact at all: seating them on opposite ends of the table, keeping them sandwiched between moderators—family members who speak cautiously in gentle voices, who carefully and dutifully steer the conversation away from a fight—and even going as far to give each ‘group’ their own mixing bowl and baking tools.

The ingredients, however, they have to share.

It feels like a competition: who can make their dough the fastest, who can decorate their cookies the nicest, who can stay the most faithful to the recipe, who’s cookies taste the best.

And yet, none of these efforts seem to matter, because Shouto’s very presence, Shouto’s very existence, infuriates Touya to no end. They clash like thunder and lightning, silent strikes of white-hot fury that you can almost see flashing through the air—Shouto snickering quietly, or making some snide comment muttered under his breath, or reacting to something Touya does with a roll of his eyes or a scoff—followed by a clap of menacing thunder; rumbling—a tremorous growl deep within Touya’s chest; and roaring—the way his deep voice booms through the space; and rolling—his hand clutching you: your hand, your thigh, your wrist, anything he can latch onto to keep him grounded, to keep him sane.

It only continues to build as the day progresses, explosive magma rising higher, and higher, and higher with each spiteful word spit through clenched teeth, each ridiculing laugh ringing out around the room, each malicious look shot in the others direction, until it finally erupts, spouting blistering lava that scorches everything in its path, that seeps through the cracks, beginning to corrode that mask Shouto has been steadily chipping away at.

It was bound to happen eventually—no matter how hard any of you had tried to pretend, you had all known it. It had only been a question of when.

The answer to that question, apparently, is after dinner.

You aren’t even sure how it began, exactly, busy washing dishes with Rei in the kitchen, but your blood runs cold when you hear Natsuo quietly urging Touya to stop, don’t, it isn’t worth it, and Touya growling at Natsuo to let go of him, don’t fucking touch him.

Rei hears it too, of course, because the plate she was scrubbing slips from her hands and cracks as it collides with the aluminum sink, sheer panic etched into her face, wiping sudsy hands on her cardigan as she hurries towards the voices with you in tow.

Shouto’s barking out a laugh as you both round the corner—a harsh, almost piercing sound that echoes throughout the cabin, void of any humour.

“I’m not afraid of you anymore,”

And though his face is harder than marble, eyes positively glaring at his eldest brother, his voice shakes a bit.

Touya picks up on it, of course, because Touya picks up on everything.

“That so?” He asks casually with a shrug, eyes beginning to glitter as Shouto involuntarily shrinks away from him. “Shame. Whaddya say we fix that?”

Touya has always been quick, has always been seemingly one or two steps ahead of everyone else. He reaches around his body, lithe fingers running along the waistband of his jeans, and groans out a curse when his hand meets nothing—Nastuo still has his gun.

That’s fine, he shrugs a little, dangerous smirk on his face as Shouto’s eyes watch his hands with laboured breathing as fingers dip into his front pocket, curling and finding it empty—Natuso still has his blade, too.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” Touya hisses, Natsuo’s words from after the snowball incident echoing through his mind. You can have these back, he had said sternly, as if speaking to a fucking toddler, when you’re in your car, behind the wheel, all packed up and ready to go Christmas Day.  

Well, that’s alright, Touya supposes, because his fists are weapons in their own right, too, aren’t they?, large hands flexing before curling into tight balls, sapphire eyes glinting in the warm light, teeth bared in a petrifying smile as he cracks his neck.

And it all happens so fast, like a cat pouncing on its prey, nothing but a blur of ivory and black colliding with crimson and cream, a mess of bruised knuckles and split lips and flowing scarlet—so much scarlet, streaming from noses and smeared across cracked picture frames, seeping through little slashes and spit from between clenched teeth.

Something shatters, someone screams, but it all sounds muffled to you, distant and far away as you stare dazedly at the mess of limbs on the hardwood floor a few feet away, watching as brilliant galaxies of periwinkle bloom rapidly on smooth skin, and everything feels numb.

Natsuo manages to catch Touya, receiving an elbow to the stomach in the process as he hooks his arms under Touya’s and hoists him off of their baby brother. Shouto leaps to his feet, ready to lunge at his now incapacitated brother, but your father grabs him before he can, holding him back, arms wrapping around him in an iron grip.

The softest sob sounds, all eyes snapping towards it.

Rei stands with her arms wrapped around herself, gleaming grey eyes darting between her eldest and youngest, and everything stills.

“You leave my sight for two seconds—” she starts, blinking hard as fat tears roll down her cheeks, the rest of the sentence getting lodged in her throat. “Two seconds, a-and—and you—I am so—so—”

She’s unable to force the words through her trembling lips, but she doesn’t need to.

I am so disappointed in you.

Natsuo’s able to haul Touya off to the first floor washroom, curses still spewing from your niichan’s lips as he thrashes against his brothers grip, volatile and malignant and stuffed full of hostility, his rough voice breaking with them. His eyes look glossy, and you think he may even be crying, though it’s hard to tell with his aggressive writhing in Natsuo’s strong arms, muscles bulging under the thin material of his shirt.

Touya’s hands tremble as he taps out those little round pills, as white as the snow outside, a few clattering to the floor during the process. Your fingers knot together in front of your body, wringing and unwringing as you watch Touya toss several in his mouth, dry swallowing them expertly before leaning against the counter, fingers curling around the edge, exhaling a shaky breath.

“Sh-Should he be taking that many?” Your eyes dart to Natsuo, who’s propped up against the bathroom door, your forehead creased in worry. He laughs a little, coos at you as if you’re so cute for worrying about your niichan, like your niichan didn’t just down four oxys at once—before bothering to clean himself up, before bothering to do anything—and wraps an arm around your shoulder, tugging you towards him.

It’s comforting, and you automatically snuggle into the warmth, still shaken up from the events that occurred in the past twenty minutes, burying your head in his chest and inhaling, letting the palliative scent of fresh mint and lemon with a hint of blue raspberry fill your lungs.  

He needs them, Natsuo tells you in that gentle voice, in that trusting voice, his thumb rhythmically stroking your back, voice vibrating against your cheek and reassuring you that It’s alright, he’s fine, he just needs a little something to calm him down, to sedate him.

This is the best option, he promises you, stone eyes soothing and familiar when you gaze up at him, bottom lip caught between your teeth. With the snow storm happening outside and all.

He has a point, you guess. Whether you like it or not, Touya’s still undoubtedly trapped in this tiny cabin with Shouto for at least the next twelve hours.

It’s a low dose, he ensures with a kiss pressed to the side of your head, “Gave ‘em to him myself,”

You feel like you can breathe again, Natsuo’s calming words taming the irregular palpitating in your chest, soft fingers swiping across your cheeks, catching glistening tears as he consoles you.

It’s okay. He’s okay. He’ll be okay.

What Natsuo doesn’t tell you, though, is that Touya needs them in more ways than one, that Touya actually ran out of the oxys he had brought for the trip, the ones that were supposed to last him the full five days, and that Natsuo’s pulled from his personal stash to give him more, because the last thing anyone needs on top of this disaster is Touya suffering a fucking opioid withdrawal.

He leaves to check on Shouto shortly after, muttering something about shoving a few pills down his throat, too, to mellow him out.

You pretend not to hear it, rushing towards Touya the moment the door shuts, latching onto him from behind and nuzzling your face into his back, tears threatening to suffocate you again.

Touya turns in your grasp, wrapping large arms around you and squeezing you to his chest, clutching you like a lifeline as his fingers dig into your flesh, head dropping and cheek resting against the crown of your head as he repeats Natsuo’s words.

It’s okay. He’s okay. He’ll be okay—as long as you never leave him.

And you won’t. You wouldn’t. You never will.

      ❅           ❅           ❅

The movie marathon, to everyone’s surprise, proceeds as scheduled. It’s awkward, and no one actually wants to be there, but Rei’s face is still stained with tears, streaks of sticky salt decorating her cheeks, and none of you have the heart to leave her when she throws on some staticky old cartoon and collapses on one of the couches—not even Touya.

No one talks about it, either. No one talks about the shards of broken glass Fuyumi swept from the floor, or the ugly, weblike crack Shouto’s head left when it whacked off the drywall.

There’s nothing to talk about, you guess, bitterness stinging the back of your tongue, sinking in your chest, as you snuggle into Touya’s lap.

But Touya’s feeling better—Touya’s feeling good, large hands running down your bare thighs, kneading the flesh before he drags them back up, under your dress, the thick quilt draped over your lap obscuring his actions from the others.

“N-Niichan,” you whisper, turning to shove your burning face in his neck and whimpering when he chuckles lowly, a dark sound that has scalding heat pooling deep in the pit of your stomach, that has your thighs clamping together and trapping his hand.

“Shh, behave,” he murmurs into your hair, waiting for your thighs to relax before his hand continues its ministrations, creeping up, up, up until he reaches your clit, flicking his thumb over it once. A gasp spills from your lips, and Touya pinches the sensitive bud, lips at your ear. “I said, behave,”

So you do—or, you try, legs spreading wider for him, molars sinking into the flesh of your inner cheek to keep from mewling. Because that’s all you want, really—to be good for him, to be his good girl, to help him forget, to do anything you can to alleviate his stress and make him feel better.

Touya teases you for the entirety of the marathon, continuously driving you to the edge and teetering you on the cliff, tempting you with the fall, the plunge, the release, before dragging you away from it, only to repeat the process again, and again, and again. Skilled fingers have it down to a fucking science at this point, circling your clit in quick, hard motions, until your thighs are trembling and your hips are pathetically trying to buck into his touch. Such reactions are always his cue to stop, to back off, immediately slowing to unhurried figure eights, sometimes pressing his fingertips into your hole just a little through the thin cotton of your panties. And then, he waits, waits until every muscle unclenches, relaxes, until your breathing evens back out and your whines fade, decreasing in frequency, until the gentle, featherlight touches of nimble fingers against your swollen clit have almost put you to sleep, just to simply begin it again.

The bulge in his jeans strains eagerly against the denim, and it’s hard, so hard, pressed up against your thigh. Long, slender fingers catch your wrist when you try to cup it, to offer him some relief, sapphire eyes flashing as he shakes his head slowly. A deep pout etches itself into your face, you just want to help, but Touya growls in your ear, orders you to stop being a fucking brat, chest rumbling against your back.

And by the end of it, you’re covered in a glistening layer of sweat, legs quivering so bad that you’re barely able to stand, the cotton of your panties soaked all the way through and sticking uncomfortably to your aching pussy, your slick slippery on your inner thighs after having seeped through the thin material.

Everything hurts, muscles feeling like they’ve been filled with sand, Touya chuckling as he stands and stretches his hands above his head, cock still straining painfully against black denim, and murmuring about how cute you are when you’re tired.

“Tired,” Natsuo snorts with a roll of his eyes, just after the rest of your family has trudged up the stairs to get ready for bed, Fuyumi struggling to support a barely coherent Shouto.

You look over at him, head quirking curiously.

“You two were misbehaving,” he smirks, glancing between your faces self-righteously. “You were quite naughty tonight, don’t you think?”

Pricks of humiliation crawl along your skin. He noticed?

Of course he did, how could he not? His voice is sharp, stings like a slap to the face, a tone you don’t hear very often from him, and it wasn’t very fair to make him sit through that and not be able to touch, was it?

“No, it wasn’t,” Touya agrees with a shake of his head, sounding almost solemn, though amusement glitters in his azure eyes, a hint of a smirk playing at the corner of his lips. I think we should make it up to poor Natsuo, princess. Don’t you?

They’re looking at you like a pair of starving jaguars, stone and sapphire eyes glinting dangerously in the hazy yellow light the little lamp provides as they prowl towards you, trapping you between their bodies and the edge of the couch.

“I-I…” your voice dies in your throat, eyes darting between the two men as your heart begins to race. You don’t know, you aren’t sure, is this even allowed?  

Then they’re laughing at you, cooing at you as their hands paw at your body, pinching and cupping and squeezing, Touya murmuring about how you’re going to help Natsuo out like a good girl while carrying you up to your shared bedroom and placing you on the bed, Natsuo following close behind, shutting the door with a gentle kick of his foot.

Then Natsuo’s crawling onto the bed beside you, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear.

“I bet you look so pretty when you cum, baby,” His voice is low, rough, and it makes your stomach flutter.

His words pull an unexpected gasp from your throat and your eyes find his, blinking twice in genuine question. “D-Do you think about that?”

“Fuck,” he nearly whimpers, sharing a look with Touya, who chuckles smugly, leaning against the wall a few feet away, arms crossed casually over his chest.

“I told you,”

Forehead wrinkling as your brow furrows, your gaze darts between the two of them, unsure of exactly what it is they’re talking about.

“Yeah, sweetheart,” Natsuo breathes, eyes hooded as they scan your body slowly, working back up to your face as he grinds the heel of his hand against his hardening cock. “I think about it,”

The burning deep in your belly flares at his dark stare, thighs rubbing together as you hold his eyes, sweet little pants escaping your parted lips. Make it up to him, huh?

“I wanna—” you start, looking over at Touya and swallowing thickly. “Can I cum on his cock?”

Natsuo chokes on a whine the moment the words leave your lips. “Christ, niisan, she’s gonna kill me,”

Touya huffs out a little laugh, though his eyes do not leave yours as he considers.

Usually, the answer would be no, absolutely not. Touya has always refused to share your pussy with anyone—that was his and his alone. However…

If there’s anyone he would even think of sharing it with, he supposes it would be his brother.

“You wanna cum on his cock, baby?” he asks slowly, sapphire eyes watching you sharply, analyzing every micro-expression, every twitch of your brow, every quiver of your lips.

You’re unsure if it’s a trick question or not, but you’ve learned that it’s always best to be honest with your niichan—he’d know instantly if you were lying, anyway—so you nod, sucking on your bottom lip. “J-Just once,” you add, after a beat of silence.

“I mean, it is Christmas…” Touya trails off, looking over at his brother, who’s glassy gaze is glued to your face. “What do you say, Natsuo?”

“Seriously?” his eyes fly to Touya’s, wide with disbelief, not nearly as bold as he was in the living room. “I mean—I don’t—I’m not here to overstep any boundaries—”

“I know,” Touya cuts him off calmly. “I trust you,”

Trust. That’s rare with Touya, an honour to be told, and Natsuo’s eyes soften.

“It’d be a privilege to have you cumming on my cock, baby,” he tells you, voice so gentle, so sweet, so sincere, foiling the dirty words spoken.

But your fingers are trembling, tangled in your lap, and your heart is racing, pounding against your ribcage, and your mouth is dry, throat stuffed with cotton. Blood rushes in your ears as you look over at your niichan again, worried, scared. Is this a test? Is he really allowing you to ride someone else’s cock?

A frown materializes on his face and he stalks forward, stopping in front of you and reaching out to cup your cheek and tilt your head up, thumb caressing your cheekbone as he stares down at you.

“What is it, baby?”

“C-Can I really?” you ask, voice barely above a whisper. “You won’t—You won’t be mad?”

Both men coo and Touya laughs, eyes shining in the dark. “No, I won’t be mad, princess,”

“Promise?”

“Promise,” he nods, hand moving to pet your hair once. “Now, come on,” he gives you a light slap to the cheek, eyes darting to the bulge in Natsuo’s grey sweatpants. “Can’t wait to see you take that monster, baby,”

Monster isn’t exactly an exaggeration.

He’s bigger than Touya—not by much, maybe an inch or so longer, but considerably thicker. The head of his cock glimmers, decorated with a pearl of precum, thick and veiny and nowhere near as pretty as your niichan’s.

“Look at her,” Touya teases from his spot across from you, now perched on the edge of the other bed. “She’s already salivating over it,”

And it’s true, at least in part, your wide eyes glued to Natsuo’s cock as endless heat gushes, throbs, between your legs, little cunt suddenly feeling very empty. Touya’s been teasing you all damn night, an intense neediness building in your chest, powerless to stop the pathetic little whine that gets caught in your throat when Natsuo shifts on the bed, rearranging himself slightly and patting his spread thighs.

“C’mere, baby,” he’s saying as you climb over him, massive hands clutching your hips as you hover above his cock. “Lemme give you what you need,”

And the high pitched moan that slips from between parted lips as you sink down onto him is nothing short of pathetic. Natsuo emits a breathless little laugh as dark grey eyes watch the way your face screws up in discomfort, little whimpers spilling from your lips as he splits you in half.

“Aw, baby,” he murmurs, never slowing his pace as he forces your hips down, down, down. “We didn’t prep you properly, did we?”

No, they didn’t, neglecting to stretch you out at all, copious amounts of your own slick the only thing aiding Natsuo’s cock as he shoves it into you.

“Your fault, you know,” he whispers in your ear as he finally bottoms out. “If you hadn’t been so greedy, so eager to hop on my cock, maybe I would’ve let’cha cum on my fingers first. But what more could I expect from a slut?”

Your eyes snap open, inhaling sharply, unused to hearing Natsuo talk with such derision, unused to the way it makes your stomach positively swoop. He’s already looking at you, a small grin on his face, and, oh, he knows.

Natsuo doesn’t afford you a second to adjust to his girth, though, immediately bouncing you in his lap like you’re just some toy for him to use, hips bucking up into you wildly, malicious laughter escaping his chest as you whimper out Hurts, Natsuo, i-it hurts, Touya snapping at you to be a good little whore and just take it.

But the stinging fades quickly, like it always does, finally yielding to that heady mix of pain and pleasure, and it feels so good, the stretch is so good, Natsuo is so good.

Natsuo snickers, berating you for your extremely limited vocabulary, and you’re so cute, all stupid and fucked out like that from bouncing on his cock—you’re so fucking easy, aren’t ya?

His degrading is punctuated by his hard thrusts, blunt nails biting into the flesh of your hips as he fucks you, as he uses you, each piston of his hips forcing you closer and closer to that edge, the one Touya has already dangled you off of so many times tonight.

Todoroki cock must really make you dumb, huh? Turns you into nothing but a drooling, senseless little cocksleeve, isn’t that right, baby girl?

You’re having trouble concentrating on anything, really, overwhelmed by sensations and sounds, by Natsuo’s steady stream of words and the smack of your ass against his thighs.

Can’t even answer me, foolish little girl, already drunk with cock and we’re just getting started.

Yes, you whine, nodding your head in lazy little jerks, pushing the word out of your slackened mouth. Yes, yes, yes!

Your skin is crawling, itching, blazing, your head lolling to the side, connecting with glowing sapphire, and you swear you can feel his gaze on your body, leaving a trail of blistering heat in its wake.

His cock is still so hard, but he doesn’t touch it, completely captivated by you. He doesn’t ever want to forget this, he tells you, unblinking eyes searing into yours, wants to see the way your face contorts in ecstasy when you cum all over his brother’s cock, wants to commit it to memory.

And it’s Natsuo’s mean, belittling words, spoken in that saccharine sweet patronizing voice paired with each rough drag of his thick cock, plus Touya’s shallow breaths, little gasps and inhales, the way his dark eyes almost sparkle as he watches you, that have you creaming on Natsuo’s cock embarrassingly quickly.

Your eyes don’t leave his, though, sapphire all you can see as your orgasm tears through you almost violently, the pulsing release almost painful after being edged for so long, little pussy aching as it clenches around Natsuo’s cock.

A pathetic little whimper slips through your lips as your body collapses against Natsuo’s firm chest, head automatically nuzzling into his neck. His cock is still so hard inside of you, twitching as your hips involuntarily shift a little. Strong hands find your waist, a patronizing chuckle blanketing you as they begin to knead your flesh.

“Idiotic little girl, we aren’t done yet,”

The words are harsh, almost spit out with that small chuckle, dripping with condescension and rolled in icing sugar—and his tone is so ridiculing, speaking to you as if you’re so dumb, so silly and God, you really do go so stupid from cock, don’t you?

Another laugh rings out—niichan’s this time, and he’s saying something—something about Natsuo’s cum filling up that empty head of yours, you think—as Natsuo roughly rearranges your pliant body, pushing your head into the mattress and yanking your hips up.

It’s hard to focus on the words being spoken, brain hazy and floating on post-orgasmic clouds, but you’re fairly sure Natsuo’s promising to make good use of your cute, empty little skull, telling you it’s the perfect little cumbucket.

But Natsuo’s arrogance fades, finally, morphs into high, needy mewls and quiet little moans, interspersed with sharp intakes of air, sucking in curses and your name as he repeatedly rams into you, thrusts growing sloppier, massive hands keeping your hips held up.

“Oh, Christ,” the curse leaves Natsuo’s throat in a pitiful whimper. And although they were talking about it, joking about it, a mere twenty minutes ago, Natsuo knows he must still get permission. “Niisan, can I—can I cum inside?”

And his voice is so whiny, as if he’s begging Touya to say yes, harsh breaths ghosting over your bare back, cool against your heated skin and mingled with little half-grunts, ones that hitch in his throat as he continues to pound into you, pace never faltering.

Desperate pleads begin spilling from your lips almost instantly, urgent and uncontrollable, brain mushy with thoughts of ice cold hands on your waist and a thick cock buried within you, intoxicated by the scent of cool mint and tangy lemon.

“Oh, please, niichan, please,” you’re sobbing into the mattress, bleary eyes squinting as they try to focus on the watery blur you assume is Touya, still seated on the other bed. “Please, want his cum, want his cum for Christmas,”

“Holy fuck,” Natsuo’s gasps out brokenly, a loud moan reverberating in his chest. “Please, Niisan,”

Touya chuckles, and if it weren’t for the slight breathlessness to his voice, you would have figured him entirely unaffected. “Yeah, fine, go ahead,” he says passively, as if it makes no difference to him. “She’s a little cumslut, anyway,”

A steady stream of overlapping, practically incoherent thank you’s flow from yours and Natsuo’s mouths, getting lost between pitchy mewls and the slap of skin against skin as his taut hips meet your ass.

“Nat—Natsuo-nii!” you cry, so fucked out that the honorific doesn’t even register in your mind, blissfully unaware in that moment that you’re older than him, little hole pulsing around his thick cock. “Natsuo-nii, please, please, give it to me,”

“Oh God,” he chokes on the words, gurgling them in his throat.

His hips piston into you once, twice, three more times, and then they’re stilling, pressed flush against you as he falls forward, sweaty chest pressed against your back, strong arms caging you in as his cock throbs, filling your little cunt with powerful spurts of thick cum.

It’s like a rush of frost through your veins, not scalding the way Touya’s cum is, sending vicious shivers skittering across your skin. It’s soothing, almost, cool and pleasant and has you pushing back against him, hips wiggling a little as you try to milk him for just a bit more. Plush lips find the back of your neck, pressing kisses along your sweaty hairline, a tongue darting out a moment later to lap at the salty substance.

He stays pressed against you for a moment more before straightening up, pulling out with a hiss and heavily collapsing back on his heels, legs tucked under himself.

“Let’s see,” Touya’s saying, as if he’s asking Natsuo to show him his homework, not to examine his brother’s cum leaking out of your aching cunt. “God, look at that,”

You whine a little, hole fluttering as Touya gently blows hot air against it, and Natsuo groans out a curse, voice raw and wrecked.

Hands—Touya’s hands, you can tell, you’re sure of it—curl around your hips, halting them from their slight swaying. A soft, surprised yelp gets caught in your throat when you feel something wet, something warm, something strong, lick along your slit.

“Aw, niisan!” Natsuo scolds, emitting an indignant sound from the back of his throat. “That’s so…That’s so…” his voice tapers off into a soft whine that has Touya chuckling against your swollen lips, the tip of his tongue flicking against your clit teasingly before he pulls back.

But, wait, that isn’t fair!

“Niichan,” you whimper, hips squirming in his loose grasp. “Niichan, want some,”

“Yeah, baby?” he asks, hands running over the smooth skin of your ass, thumb caressing his scarred name. “You want some of Natsuo’s cum, too?”

“Please,” you beg, hole clenching again at the thought. You can feel it oozing out of you, thick and cold, and hate the thought of it being wasted on the bedsheets.

You expect Touya to swipe nimble fingers along your slit and gather cum to feed you, gasping loudly when you feel his tongue on you again. The strong muscle laps at the cum trickling down your inner thigh, then it’s curling against your cunt, inside of your cunt, collecting as much of the syrupy substance as it possibly can.

A hand fists in your hair, using it as leverage to yank your head up. Your mouth falls open instantly, expectantly, and Touya lets his younger brother’s cum—now watered down with his own saliva—dribble from his mouth into yours.

Natsuo chokes something out—you aren’t sure what, you weren’t listening, hyper-focused on the way sapphire burns into your skull as cream coats your tongue—and Touya’s open mouth molds into a sinful smile, still drizzling the sticky, viscous substance into your mouth, letting his tongue hang out of his mouth as gooey strings of white drip off of it.

“Such a greedy little baby,” Touya says after he’s emptied his mouth, voice almost affectionate. “Now be a good girl and swallow. Swallow for Natsuo,”

And you do, of course, because you are such a good girl, such a good girl for Natsuo, such a good girl for your niichan.

“You guys are nasty,” Natsuo almost pants out, failing to keep the whine out of his voice, gunmetal eyes scanning your little hole, licked clean and now gleaming with Touya’s saliva. “Fuck, that was—hey, wait…What’s this?”

“About time you noticed,” Touya mutters, and your heart sinks.

You know exactly what he’s looking at.

A beat of silence passes, and you keep your head buried in the sheets, terrified to move even an inch.

“What did…Did you…?”

“Yeah, with a soldering iron,”

“Jesus Christ,”

“I deserved it,” you whine out, muffled by the mattress, guilty tears springing into your eyes. “I was—I was very bad,”

Glowing ruby and soft, fluffy tufts of silvery-blue hair flash through your mind, eyes squeezing shut tightly as stinging spears rip through your chest, straight through your heart and right to the core of your body.

No. Now is not the time to think of him. It is never the time to think of him.

A tiny sniffle escapes, your chest hiccupping with it, and you clench your teeth hard, so hard your jaw aches, in an effort to keep any other sounds from escaping. Touya hushes you, large hand warm and heavy and oh so familiar on your lower back, thumb caressing the silky skin just above the swell of your ass. You’re good, he tells you, voice quiet but firm, and you nod into the sheets.

“That is so fucking hot,” Natsuo breathes out, eyes flying to the brand again, his voice breaking you out of the reverie you nearly fell into. “Can I touch it?”

The question startles you—no one else has ever touched it except for Touya. Your mouth stays shut, body stiff and still, waiting for your niichan to make the decision.

“Sure,” Touya finally answers, your entire body flinching when Natsuo reaches out to trace the name with his pointer finger, first forward; T, O, U, Y, A, and then backwards; A, Y, U, O, T, the letters echoing through your mind in Touya’s smooth, deep voice as he does so.

“Holy fuck,” Natsuo whispers as he sits back again, the bed jiggling a little with the motion. “That’s…”

Touya gazes down at it as he blows air out of his mouth, fingers running across it slowly, feeling the slightly raised letters of his name in an almost gentle caress.

He didn’t expect it to scar as bad as it did, his name forever etched into your skin in thin silvery streaks that almost shine when the light hits them right, but you didn’t seem to mind. It’s pretty, you had told him, in that gentle soft voice that makes his chest feel as though it’s blooming its own tiny ball of sunlight. It’s yours, niichan.

He wonders what Shouto would think, if he knew, how he’d feel, if it would make his throat burn and his eyes sting and his chest stutter, if he would weep for you. Touya hopes he would.

“Mine,” he whispers, leaning down to press a gentle kiss to it, his tongue darting out and laving over the entire name once before the tip traces the letters. “Mine.”

“Yours,” you whimper, hips greedily pushing back again. “Niichan, niichan, please,”

He hushes you, tells you he’ll give you his cock now, quiet, quiet, rearranging your body so you’re on your side and bending your legs, pushing them up towards your chest and revealing your little cunt to him. Large hands drag your hips to the edge of the bed, sure to keep the ass cheek with the brand facing upward, facing him.

The gentle clinking of his belt has your toes curling in anticipation, the head of his cock nudging your little hole a moment later.

He delivers one quick thrust, burying himself in your snug little cunt in a singular motion, groaning about how you’re still so tight, how you still feel so good, even after being pounded by his brother.  

His pace is merciless from the very beginning, hard and fast and so fucking deep, pulling broken cries and rough little whimpers from your raw throat, one of his hands on the mattress to stabilize himself while the other weighs down on you, pinning you to the surface.

“Niichan!” you’re squealing, Touya’s blunt nails digging into the meat of your thigh as he uses it to steady you, large hand splayed out on your skin. “Niichan, nii-niichan, it hurts,”

It more than hurts—hurts doesn’t even begin to describe the excruciating thorns of pain intermittently racing through your upper body as he slams against your cervix, shooting straight to your core and festering in your throat. You can feel them collecting in the column, wedged tightly between the gummy walls, and you choke on them, gag on them, coughing around them as you urgently gasp in air.  

“But you can take it though, right?” he pants out, cobalt eyes wide and frenzied as they burn into your face. “You can take it, because you’re a good little slut for niichan, aren’t you?”

Salt stains the back of your throat, tears and snot mixing as you sob into the mattress, face half-buried in the rumpled sheets.

Yes, yes, oh God yes, you want to be good for him. “Uh-huh,” you breathe out, the noise stuttering past your lips in time with the quick snap of his hips.

And, fuck, you’re so fucking beautiful like this, so fucking hot, taking his cock so well when he’s giving it to you so hard.

“Good,” he gasps, eyes zeroing in on his name etched into your ass, peaking out from between his thumb and forefinger, glimmering when it catches in the pale moonlight. “So fucking good for me,”

Because you are, with your dedication, and your submission, and your pure devotion to him as he brutally fucks you, taking everything he gives you, taking it so well.

And it’s these thoughts, swirling in his mind as you gaze up at him, a mess of sweat and drool and cum, teary eyes dazedly watching him like he’s some sort of god, that have his hips stuttering, filling you with cum, thick and hot and so much, your body going lax under his grip as he chokes out how much he loves you.

Senseless gurgling bubbles past your lips as you try to move, try to roll onto your back or uncurl your limp body, whining softly when you find that you can’t. Two silhouettes loom over you menacingly, the sound of laughter and mingled voices blanketing you, murmuring words you can barely make out. Another pathetic whine hitches in your throat, tongue sluggish in your mouth as you try to speak again, losing the battle with your heavy eyelids a moment later, finally engulfed in darkness. 

#dabi x reader #todoroki touya x reader #dabi smut #todoroki touya smut #dabi #todoroki touya #there's one line of dialogue in the smut taken straight from my life no joke <33 #ok ok ok dont expand the tags unless u want a slight spoiler!!! promised anon i'd answer here so!! #this almost murdered me #deadass almost jumped out from my laptop screen and stabbed me in the heart #uuuuh YES ANON FROM BEFORE there's ur answer: rei is caught in a moral struggle and her dad would rather not know #tw pseudo-incest #tw drugs