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adultish-momma · 5 months

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Ink Dandelions

Ruggie agrees to what he thinks is just a fun outing with Yuu before everyone comes back from break and vies for their attention, but as he should expect when it comes to them, things end up more complicated than he bargained for.

TW: Tattoos and getting tattoos, mention of past trauma, mention of past violence, mention of scars, mention of nightmares, mention of asphyxiation/snakebites, mention of intentional violence, possessive thoughts.

A/N: MONTHS. THIS TOOK MONTHS TO WRITE. I really really really wanted to write this concept, I really really really wanted Ruggie to have his time to shine, to show it's not just the OB boys and Housewardens who are affected by this Yuu, but COHESIVENESS man gets me everytime :'(

"Where are we going exactly? Because I remember something about donuts, and this is not the way to the donut stall."

"I know, and I will get you those donuts, but after my appointment. This place doesn't allow any food or drink, besides water, for the clients."

"So explain to me why exactly I had to be the one to come with you then? Don't you have your pet cat and that card duo to drag along on your errands? I already gotta play errand boy for Leona, what's in it for me?"

There's a way Yuu will look at people, this intense look in their eye that he's never been able to quite pin down before. They're not looking through you, it's different than the way somebody like Floyd or Riddle might look at you, like you're not even there. And Yuu's stare isn't invasive either, not intentionally at least, no Ruggie is well aware of what that looks and feels like. There are too many guys at NRC that have perfected that calculating, dissecting gaze of looking into you, of being able to find your every flaw with just a heavy look. (He sees it enough on his own Dormleader's face.)

Yuu levels him with their unique, flustering, soul-searching look right there on the street corner. They're quiet as they wait for the signal that it's safe for them to cross, seemingly giving his sarcastic question some serious thought. It makes him squirm, makes his skin itch in an unfamiliar way, makes his ears flick and his tail twitch and it's not unpleasant, particularly, but it's different and he's about to say something taunting and probably rude just to get the Prefect to stop looking at him like that and -

Suddenly they're wrapping their hand around his own, gentle but firm as they finally turn away and tug him across the intersection. He thinks they're just going to ignore his earlier jabs, and that's fine, there was nothing serious behind them in the first place. Leona hasn't come back from break yet, and Ruggie had just returned yesterday, so as long as they held true to their promise of sugary delights, the hyena really didn't have any other plans today.

"I think you're the only one in all of NRC who will actually understand why I have this appointment. And if you decide you want it too, then I'm more than happy to pay for yours." They aren't looking at him, eyeing a nondescript storefront that they are determinedly dragging him towards. But their voice is somber, serious in a way he's really only heard inside the confines of the school infirmary. It makes him reach for his elbow, fingers tracing the scar he tried very hard to hide from his family over the break.

They catch the movement, he knows they do. But instead of commenting, they push inside the shop, letting him go once he's passed the threshold so they can approach the person at the reception desk. And Ruggie is left standing there, thinking to himself that this must be what whiplash feels like, because the stark difference between slipping into a slow spiral of complicated memories and baffled bewilderment is absolutely wild.

This is not where he thought the Ramshackle Prefect would be taking him today.

The tattoo shop is warm and cozy, surprisingly enough. Almost every inch of the waiting area up front is covered in tattoo designs. There's art in every different style known to man. From small, modern, simple designs to some massive traditional pieces he'd see back in the slums of the Sunset Savanah to everything in between from every corner of Twisted Wonderland. Ruggie is pulled back from his admiration for the art by the conversation brewing between the Prefect and the tattoo artist leading them to the back, Yuu waving at him to follow along.

"This is gonna be the last one right? I shouldn't have to see you in here again after we finish up this piece, correct?"

"Wow, okay, I see how it is, already sick of me huh?"

"Nah, of course not, you're one of my favorite customers. Some of my favorite art to walk out that door too. But considering exactly why you've enlisted my services, yeah, I want this to be the last one."

Ruggie feels like he's having an out-of-body experience. Sure, he can still feel the shop around him, too many predator instincts ingrained in his DNA to truly lose all his faculties. But as the artist and Yuu keep talking in that weirdly professionally intimate way, he feels his mouth go dry and his limbs lock up. And as Yuu takes off their overly thick turtleneck, revealing the tank underneath, it feels as if the world slows down to a syrupy crawl, like his head is dipped underwater and the only thing solid and real in this new world of his is the expanse of the Prefect's skin that he's now faced with.

Ruggie was there for Azul's Overblot. True he passed out before the fight had ended, but he dimly remembers seeing the cephalopod's tentacles wrap around Yuu's neck and squeeze. (He wakes up in cold sweats some mornings, trying to gulp down as much oxygen as possible when his nightmares decide to play around with that particularly traumatizing experience.) So there's a part of him that flinches, hard, when he sees the tentacles that are inked into the Prefect's skin. They wrap around their neck the same way the Octavinille's housewarden did, although these ones are more stylized than the real thing, purples and lilacs and oil-slick blacks creating a haunting effect on their skin. The suckers look a little more raised than the rest of the artwork, but otherwise, it's a gorgeous piece of work. Makes him less nauseous to see that than the old, awful bruising that used to decorate Yuu's collarbone.

It's the piece of artwork on their right shoulder that cause a ball of anxiety to develop in Ruggie's chest. Sure, the stark reminder of that day in Octavinille isn't exactly pleasant, and seeing the pottery-crack scar on their left shoulder always fills Ruggie with a complicated concoction of emotions, but he knows about those events, he was there for them. He'd seen the damage firsthand for both, helped them with their bandages for both occasions, shared one of those scars with them. But if they are getting tattoos as reminders of the events that left them scarred so far this year, which Ruggie is inclined to believe is the case as he watches the artist prep the area surrounding Leona's mark, then what happened to them over the winter break?

Slithering up the Prefect's right shoulderblade is the tail of a snake, burnt oranges and blood reds and coopery bronze scales climb the snake in an almost hypnotic pattern. They turn, and he can see that the head of the snake rests on the front of their shoulder, fangs poised over two holes just to the right of where their collarbone meets the shoulder. Its hood is flared, and the cobra's garnet-red eyes seem to follow you, daring people to come close lest its fangs end up embedded in them. It's an incredibly detailed and realistic piece, the snake leaving shadows along Yuu's skin and the fangs actually looking like they've... pierced... skin...

"Did you get bitten by a snake??!!"

"Yes, and?"

"What do you mean 'and?'?? When? Why? How?"

And as the Prefect settles down in the chair, they tell him.

-------

Ruggie has spent the past hour in silence, processing everything Yuu told him, watching their newest tattoo bloom to life on their skin, trying to force the nausea to leave his system. At first, he thought Yuu's near-death experience was his main cause of discomfort, and don't get him wrong, it did bother him. Incredibly so.

But the longer they sat there under the tattoo gun, the pissier he became.

It's not like this new tattoo was ugly or anything. In fact, it was gorgeous, something that would make him salivate in any other situation. It was done in the traditional Sunset Savanna style, harsh lines and bold swirls, matte black lines creating an intricate design across their left shoulder. He spent the past hour watching the cracked, jagged lines of Leona's scar disappear beneath a complicated geometric pattern. When he realizes they've replaced the mark of a lion with a massive inked lion head, something in him snarls.

"It's a reminder, not a claim."

"... I don't know why you think you need to explain. 'Aint got nothin' to do with me."

"It's a reminder. It's a reminder I choose, something I have control over. There's no magic in existence that can heal the scars left behind from an Overblot, these are scars I'm stuck with for the rest of my life and I had no choice in it. These are my choice. And I chose to swap the scar tissue for a lion so nobody, especially the person who hurt me could forget it."

Well, now Ruggie feels bad. A little. He gets it, probably the only person on campus who can get it, but that doesn't quell the possessive urge inside of him that's furious with the Prefect for doing... something. He's not quite sure what exactly about this whole situation that's got him so upset.

He grabs his elbow, as the artist paints glimmering gold for the lion's facial features, stuck in his own messy, complicated feelings from that messy, complicated day. Leona is one of his closest relationships, a weird mess of a balance between friend and servant, equal and lesser. Their relationship has always been about mutual benefits, symbiotic always, platonic sometimes. And Ruggie can’t even look at his arm because it reminds him that there was a moment, before Leona Overblotted, before you can write it all off as something done under magical insanity, a moment where Leona actively tried to hurt him, actively and intentionally tried to maim him. And Ruggie is still bitter about it, still brings it up occasionally to inflict some of the complicated hurt on Leona that he still feels, but Ruggie is also exhausted and tired and wants to move on.

He looks up and Yuu has him pinned with that pleasantly infuriating look again, like they can read every thought he's currently having and every thought he's ever had and every thought he could have in the future. And it makes him feel so incredibly seen, but right now while he's drowning in such an emotional internal shit show, he wants nothing more than for them to stop looking at him. He's too vulnerable like this, too on the edge, too irrationally mad.

"I think you should get a coverup tattoo."

"I think you're projecting your emotional bullshit."

....

"What would I even get, huh? No way in hell I'm getting a matching tat."

"I think you should get a Dandelion."

....

"I don’t know, I just don’t feel like you should let Leona have such a physical claim over you. Like, turn this thing that he did to you, this mark he gave you, and make it into something that’s yours. Your flower, your mark, your body, you know?"

And it's not a bad idea, not at all, but it does nothing to satisfy the feral thing that's been pacing in his chest, snarling and chomping at the bit during this whole stupid endeavor.

"Besides, we can say we've got matching flower tattoos!"

If anyone ever doubted Ruggie's predatory status, they should've seen the way he fucking locked onto the Prefect's newly revealed thigh. He was so intently taking in the vine of roses circling their left leg, a constricting band of blood red and bone white roses, vivid green leaves and night black thorns, so intent was he that he almost missed how his disquiet had quieted, calmed and placated.

Oh. Oh, that's what was bothering him.

Because he’d been watching the tattoo come to life and a part of him had died a little inside with every stroke of ink but he couldn’t figure out why. But it turns out he’d always thought of the scar as a sorta good thing, a little bit, in the very back of his head. Because Yuu had the same scar, and it tied them together. And when Yuu erased their scar (for very valid reasons he knows this) they erased the connection they shared with him. Erased their connection and replaced it with something connecting them to Leona of all people.

But instead, he can now have this with them, something they both choose to happen to them. In this cozy, tucked-away store on the far side of town, they can have this tie, and Ruggie really, really likes that idea.

#twisted wonderland x reader #Mirrors are Never to be Trusted #rewrite au #twisted wonderland #rewrite yuu #twst yuu #twisted wonderland ruggie x reader #twisted wonderland ruggie bucchi #twst ruggie x reader #twst ruggie #tw tattoos #tw past trauma #tw past violence #you can not look me in the eye and tell me Ruggie is not messed UP over what happened right before Leona's OB #and rewrite Yuu is just so accidentally an enabler to some of these darker urges of the Twst boys #“you're mad about us no longer permanently matching in our visible trauma?”#“how about you get something permanent to match me instead?”#not the healthiest solution #this is the same Yuu that is mad about their scars not being “balanced” so there's that

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bones-of-a-rabbit · 1 year

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“I,” He raises a hand, barely touching the edge of the slightly mismatched part of your skull headcasing, “I like your patch here. Makes you look a little more like... you.”

He chuckled, a funny suppressed cackle, as he pulls his hand away, and you silently congratulate yourself on not shrinking away from his claws- hands- being so close to your face. The laugh is a little awkward, maybe forced, but you appreciate the effort.

And you know that he means that it makes you apart from the rest of the Staffbots. You weren’t meant to be memorable, so you used to look as carbon-copied as the others, but now you had the section of your headcasing welded on that was tinted a slightly different color. You knew he was right- it was, at least, one thing that could be used to pick you out of a crowd of other bots made of the same parts as you. You tried to look at him directly, and couldn’t quite manage it.

You wondered, if you had a voice with which to speak, you would have told him that he was the one that gave you that patch. Or... caused you to need it, maybe.

As it was, you just nodded, giving a shuddery, static warble that went up and down quickly in cadence- an attempt at mimicking the sound a laugh would make- and moved your shoulders in time with the sound. He seemed pleased at the positive response, eyes brightening slightly. He looked a little like Sun like that, you thought.

You tried, tried so hard, to push away the looping memory file of Moon pinning you in a closet a lot like this one and pulling a handful of wires out of your shoulder so your arm hung limp and useless, with the sound of his laughter repeated and repeated and repeated like a broken record skipping on the worst part of a song as a backdrop to the clearest of retained experiences.

You knew it wouldn’t work.

[DELETE FILE.]

[PERMISSIONS NOT GRANTED FOR THIS ACTION. ENTER COMMAND:]

[DELETE FILE]

[PERMISSIONS NOT GRANTED FOR...]

You tried anyway.

He said something else, and laughed a little again. His laugh was different than how it was back then. You clung to that knowledge, nodding to whatever he had said. This boosted him again, and you focused on the parts of him that were different than the ones in your memory.

His laugh was different. So was his manner of speaking. Even the way that he moved had become less rigid and jerky, though now at times it seemed unsure. You watched one of his hands as he described something, as expressive and mobile as a humans. You tried to keep your focus on the him that was here, and not the one in your head.

Of course it wouldn’t be so easy, but...

[OVERWRITE FILE ?]

[UNRECOGNIZED COMMAND. TRY AGAIN]

[OVERWRITE FILE]

[UNRECOGNIZED COMMAND. TRY AGAIN]

You wanted to try anyway.

#angst #angst and hurt/comfort #readerbot au #repairbot reader #fnaf moon x y/n #fnaf moon x reader #fanfic ideas #writing snippet #fanfic snippet #tw bodily harm #tw past trauma #fanfic drabble #fnaf au #bones of a rabbit scribbles #bones of a rabbit au #I was in th mood for writing lil bits last night ig hhfhf #I’ll try to actually make smthn worthwhile tonight I promise hdfh

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dreamties · 1 year

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there's nothing really wrong with me; i'm just choking almost constantly || Polyam! Ghostface x GN! Reader

title from Twinkle Lights by The Sonder Bombs

Reader is dealing with the aftermath of their sexual assault, to which they still haven't told Billy and Stu that it was even a thing that happened. After a particularly rough night, the boys comfort them.

1st person POV

TRIGGER WARNINGS: there is reference to past SA, but it's not too graphic. the reader talks about it and there's like, references about it through out the text- and I know it can be really traumatic for some to read it so PLEASE be careful and read at your own risk. panic attacks, nightmares, i believe that's it !! let me know if I need to add more warnings!!

I blink awake, filled with an erratic, heart-pounding panic. It takes a moment to realize where I am- home, in my bed, by myself. I'm not at the trailer and I can't feel his breath down my neck anymore.

I let out a shaky breath and sit up slowly, trying not to shock my body anymore.

My body feels unstable and wrong as I walk through the house. My mind and body caught in a fuzzy sort of dream state.

I dial Stu's phone number, because I know he'll ask less questions than Billy- and that's what I needed right now. Just a distraction.

I school my voice to properly fake that sort of "I'm fine, nothing bad has ever happened to me" tone.

I clear my throat. "Stuey? I know it's a little late, but-"

"Nah, it's okay, baby. Whaddya need?"

I laugh- of course Stu sounds so chipper, he was likely up looking at Play Boys or watching total torture porn (aka a load of trash).

"Could you pick me up? It'd be nice to stay at your place tonight."

I can practically hear him grin on the other line. "Ab-so-LUTE-ly!"

I kind of half-giggle and thank him. I pull on an extra-long hoodie and grab the handmade Michael Myers plush my friend gave me off my bed. I wait out on the front porch for him to arrive.

I settle into Stu's bed, and he hurriedly puts his magazines and other items under his bed, careless to the minor scrumpling to his merchandise.

“Hey baby,” he kisses the top of my head and I try not to shrink away too much when he does so. I know it’s Stu, I know I’m safe- I can still feel his touch around my body, his hands at my throat, though. It’s so hard not to think he’s there with me, in bed next to Stu and I.

I smile at him and let him turn his lamp off even if the darkness and the looming shadows in his room are wholly disorienting.

I can feel a light tickle against the shell of my ear, like someone is whispering, “I won't be able to stop myself.” I shake him off of me and turn to my other side.

Just leave me alone, please.

I probably toss in my sleep the whole night, but Stu doesn’t seem bothered when we wake in the morning. My eyes are bleary and blinking back tears, hoping he doesn’t see.

I should know better than to think Stu could keep any secret from Billy. I'm still surprised, however, that Billy jostles into the Macher's kitchen at 9am, already with a prickled attitude.

I drop the spoon into my bowl of cereal, milk splashing up and over onto the counter. I try to school my expression into something more neutral, so my surprise doesn’t hurt him.

“Billy,” I greet.

He replies back with my name, which I can only half-hear through the fuzzy, distant feeling in my body.

Billy sits on a stool next to me, moving my bowl a little further from my reach. “Why were you up so late?”

I half-laugh, still tired, still groggy. “What, I’m not allowed to stay up?” I tease. And the hurt sick feeling settles in my throat.

Billy shakes his head and sighs- he’s clearly frustrated.

Stupid. Stop teasing him, he’s- I physically shake the thought off. Trying desperately to repel the negative energy like water to oil. Get it together.

“C’mon,” Billy tries again. He seems abnormally pissy, and I wonder what Stu told him on the phone. It’s no way that either of them could have figured it out, but the lump in my throat still grows at the possibility.

“Just- missed Stu. That’s all.”

“You brought along your plushy,” he says, like that’s supposed to prove anything. “And that big hoodie of yours that you only wear when you’re sad.”

“Did Stu tell you that?” I try not to sound too antsy or annoyed. I know they’re only worried. Of course they’re worried- of course they know my tells like the back of their hands. I should have just stayed home, even if that meant waking up with the feeling of him pressed against my body.

He nods. “You always tell us what’s wrong,” and he whispers my name in that hard-soft tone he gets when he’s anxious. I shiver.

“Nothing’s. . . nothing’s wrong.” I try and I know it’s bullshit. It’s a dumb attempt and Billy sees right through it. “Nothing that you can fix.”

And I know Billy takes it as a personal attack- that I think he can’t take care of me. That his comfort isn’t enough, that he isn’t enough. I don’t know how to tell him that’s not what I meant, though, without telling him what happened. It feels hard to breathe, I take a shaky, sharp breath in. It doesn’t help.

I don’t even know what’s going on, my eyes teary and blurred. My ears are ringing out. My body feels so fuzzy and too soft at the edges. My thoughts muddle in my brain and I don’t know if I'm breathing or talking or breathing or- I gasp out.

Stu’s hands hold my shoulders tightly, trying to ground me. He’s done it a hundred times before, and it works nearly every time.

My breath is labored, heavy and quick. Too quick. I still can’t feel myself breathing.

Billy and Stu both try to reassure me- I think. Their voices still unclear through the fog.

“‘M sorry, ‘m sorry, sorry, sorry,” I repeat, till the word feels unsafe and garbled through my lips. “Shouldn't have to- shouldn’t have, shouldn’t have to. Have to- have to worry.”

My voice sounds so far away, like I’m speaking into a dying microphone, to the clashing, screaming crowd before me. Feeling so unheard, so unseen, even at center stage.

The fog fades around Billy’s voice. “Hey, hey, it’s fine. Just- stop apologizing,” my name is slow on his tongue. “Can you hear me? C’mon, baby, you’re worrying Stu.”

And I should respond. But everything just feels so- off. I’m not even sure what I’d say. I don’t want to explain myself.

When the fog finally finally cuts through, I can breathe again. I’m sitting on the tiled floor of the Macher kitchen, with my knees pulled up against my chest. Billy and Stu sit on either side of me, their hands tentatively retracted from my body.

I can finally breathe in the clearing. I could cry, if feeling my feelings didn’t hurt so much. If everything didn’t hurt.

My breath takes a while to steady, and when it does, Billy takes this as a sign to pounce on me again.

“What happened, baby?” And he sounds so . . . concerned. It hurts to know I’m hurting him. My body aches with every pound of my heart against my chest.

“I think I had a panic attack,” I managed.

Stu lets out an awkward laugh, and I don’t freak out this time when he touches my shoulder. “No shit!”

He murmurs an apology and repeats himself, quieter now. It was sweet. Stu was so sweet and I can’t get over myself to just- live and not cause all this . . . all this angst and trial and tribulations between us. Billy would remind me- if I vocalized this ache - in my own words, that having tough emotions aren’t a burden. It feels like it is though.

“I’m sorry,” I try and Billy shushes me. He seems annoyed still, I know it’s just the look he has when he’s scared, though.

Fuck, he’s scared. Get yourself together.

I swallow down the lump in my throat.

“Okay, fine. I can’t apologize, I get it.” I realize now that my voice croaks out, like I'd been crying.

My eyes still feel hazy around the edges and they still struggle to focus on anything properly.

“What can I say then?” I teasingly ask, and I feel sick to my stomach.

Please don’t ask me why. Please don’t ask why. Please don’t ask why. Please.

“What’s up with you?” Billy asks. I’m not sure if that’s any better of a question though.

“I- I can’t tell you.”

Billy rolls his eyes. “We can’t help you if we don’t know what’s wrong.”

Stu sighs, giving my shoulder a gentle squeeze. His fingers tense when he speaks. “Please? We won’t- Stu glances at Billy and then back at myself- I won’t ask any other questions, I promise.”

I give a humorless laugh in response. “Real assuring.”

“C’mon, I can’t control what Billy does,” he whines.

And there it is again. The lump in my throat. His breath tickling against my face. “I just can’t control myself around you.”

The attempts to shake off his incessant greed seem to only be in vain.

“Just- just get off of me, please,” I have to wrench the words out of my throat. “Please, ‘m sorry for- I’m sorry- just. Let go.”

Stu quickly winds his hand from my shoulder and puts his hands up, in defense. He looks at me all confused, his eyes wide and his brows furrowed.

He lowers his hands and gives me those stupid, big blue puppy eyes. “What’s wrong?” And he says it so gently. His voice felt warm and comforting.

“Just- I. Give me a moment.”

“Okay,” both boys reply.

“I- I think I was sexually assaulted.” My voice comes out in a tight whisper, lodged somewhere between my throat and the tension of the kitchen conversation. “I thought- I thought it was my fault or maybe it didn’t- it didn’t happen. Or- or maybe I misremembered it but-”

My voice gets caught and I let out a measly sob.

“Woah,” Billy carefully reaches a hand out towards me, but doesn’t touch me. “Woah, woah. Baby,” he whispers. “What- who did this to you?”

I sniffle. I didn’t want to tell them.

It felt so much more real speaking it aloud.

His voice feels dirty against my body, and I just want to get away from him. But he’s in the walls, he’s in my dreams. And I can’t escape. He’s sitting with me as my boyfriend’s try to comfort me.

“I know better than that. I should have known better than that and-” my throat feels all funny, like I can’t breathe again. A sharp intake in, a shaky breath out. “And I still let him put his grubby hands all over me.”

“Woah, baby,” Billy’s voice is impossibly quiet and calm. He appears more apologetic and concerned with how I am, than the dark, revengefulness that usually seeps out of him when someone hurts me. “Baby, look at me, okay?”

I keep my head snuggled at the top of my knees, straining my eyes to look in his direction. I hum, not trusting myself to speak without crying.

“It’s not- it’s not your fault. Whatever happened, it’s-”

My mouth seems to be on its own agenda. And my head feels impossibly fuzzy again. Everything is so . . . so disconnected. I tap my fingers against my shins, and they don’t feel like they’re really there at all. No matter how many times I tap them in the same familiar pattern.

Nothing feels right.

“I shouldn't have been such a tease. I- he told me to stop, said he wouldn’t be able to control himself if- and, and I didn’t listen, Billy. Was so confused, didn’t know where I was, Stuey and- and he- I told him that. But I should’ve listened. He w-warned me and I should have- I’m sorry.”

“Hey, shh,” Billy tries once more. “It’s okay, it’s okay. It’s not your fault, baby. Whatever- whoever it was, who convinced you . . . it doesn’t matter, okay? He doesn’t- you didn’t make him do anything. You-” even Billy struggles with it.

He sighs, “what do you need from us? Just right now- what do you need at this moment, okay?”

Stu tries, as well. Learning from his previous mistake.

“Is it okay to hug you or touch your shoulder right now?”

I shake my head. His hands at my throat, his voice tickled against my face.

His hands at my throat, telling me to behave.

Taking my “i’m fine”s and “okay”s out of context, blatant ignorance of my confusion.

“Could we just- could we sit on the couch maybe?”

It felt better, safer, in the openness of the living room.

Like I wasn't going to suffocate and, like, explode or something.

Stu's hanging his limbs off one end of the couch, and Billy tentatively perches on a couch arm. I assume Billy is sitting strangely to give me space- Stu's position is natural though. He always sits weird, and does things weird, which I love. I love him. I love Billy, and I'm just. I'm hurting them- I'm sitting in the middle of the couch, shaky and strange, and hurting them.

“What can we do?” Billy sounds gentle. He sounds sincere. I think . . . he is. The whole situation is strange and terrifying. I want to go back to sleep and hope when I wake that the past few months were some fever dream instead.

I let out a shaky, heaving sigh.

“I don’t- I don’t know.”

“That’s- that's okay. Baby,” his voice is sturdy, despite the uncertainty bleeding in.

“Yeah!” Stu smiles at me, and it feels sort of warm. It feels almost good.

“You shouldn’t have to deal with someone so damaged.” I stare at my feet and my hands fidgeting absently in my lap. Tears pricking, stinging at my eyes.

I stumble over and retract apologies in my head. Trying to justify what he had done to me, to pin what he said, to pin his hands around my neck and push me down, as my own fault. As my own actions.

I can’t tell Billy that. Not to him, not to Stu.

Billy has this restrained look in his eyes, and his face is twisted into an almost scowl. I don’t know what he’s thinking, but I know I shouldn’t have said that. Because Billy thinks he’s broken, all the time.

He’s told me or alluded to his mom’s disappearance, to his asshole father. About the disconnect between himself and his own thoughts, his hands and his actions. He’s told us why he’s only ever felt safe and trusting in the arms of his lovers.

And that he’s so afraid that one day, we’ll up and leave him, too.

That he’s too damaged, too broken, to be loved.

And I go and fuck it up again. I only know how to hurt.

“That’s, wait- that’s not. I’m sorry, Billy. I-”

And his voice is uncharacteristically sweet. It’s calm and low, and I can’t hear held back anger.

“It’s okay.”

“What?” My voice is small and squeaks out, unsure.

“It’s okay. Baby," Billy says my name with my name with care. “You’re not- you will never be too fucked up to be loved by us.”

Stu smiles, protective. “I- we will never let that happen to you again.”

They offer physical comforts, they lean closer but not close enough to touch me.

Maybe I shouldn’t be so trusting. He had promised to never hurt me and I followed him blindly. But Billy & Stu aren’t him. And I should be allowed to put my faith into others, without fearing I'll be hurt again.

I lean into Billy's touch, allowing him to encase me in his strong arms. Stu leans against us, bringing his long, sweater-clad arms around the huddled mess of us.

Maybe it's against my better judgements.

Maybe it's a mistake.

But maybe, too, this is safety. This is love.

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sulasnsleep · 9 months

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“i do not recall the taste of love. i remember being fed poison and told it was sugar.”

— sulasnsleep

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pickleking8 · 10 months

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Adoption Isn’t All It’s Cracked Up To Be --- Chapter 3

Words: 1,132

Ao3 Link

Previous - Next - Masterpost

TW: references to past trauma/vivisection/and death (done to a minor)

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Danny winced as he shifted in bed. The healing scar pulled on his skin, and it had started to itch. Ghosting his fingers over the makeshift bandages, he felt his way over the creases and wrinkles. He closed his eyes, hoping to see a comfortable field of darkness and to feel the lull of sleep, but all that approached him was green. That stupid neon green.

Green, green, green everywhere! Slippery and disgustingly warm in that that coated the table, reflecting the tinted lights that were glaring and cruel, flecks of green on the surgical blue of his parent’s gloves, just green everywhere. And it was all too bright.

Danny’s eyes snapped open. He- he couldn’t. He couldn’t do this. He couldn’t do this, he needed to get out, he needed to get away, he needed to get away from the grimy walls of the cheap hotel that seemed to be closing in on him all too quickly.

Danny flinched when he noticed the green light his eyes were giving off in his panic. It was a soft light, subtle, but much, much too green. Too neon.

Stupid color anyway, he thinks, shivering in the sudden chill that wafts over him when he throws the blankets off. He needs to get out. The floorboards creak as he makes his way across the room, glancing at Jazz, who was sleeping soundly in the bed. She looks tired, even in her sleep. Stressed, worried, upset. She’d been run ragged taking care of him the past week, not to mention the stress she’d been going through trying to make plans, trying to figure survival for them out… he’s sorry.

The hotel’s roof is surprisingly easy to access. The building has no alarms and barely any locked doors. Climbing the stairs winded him. He would have simply floated up, but the… incident had left him with little ectoplasm to spare; what he did have was going into keeping himself alive. No powers other than the barebones necessary could be used, meaning he had to climb the stairs like a normal person. He decided he didn’t like it. The night air was humid, but a light breeze still introduced a slight chill. Danny winced as his bare feet grated on the gravelly texture of the roof. He should have put on shoes. Sparing a glance over the edge of the roof, he shuddered, imagining what it would be like to have to deal with falling off a roof without his powers, and quickly snapping his gaze away from the edge. Nearing a secluded corner of the roof which hid behind a large air conditioning unit, Danny lowered himself with bated breath onto the precipice. Dangling his legs and kicking his feet, he leaned back onto his elbows and gazed at the few stars he could see in the cloud-ridden sky. They winked in and out of sight as the rain-laden clouds plodded past, but they remained. A steady fixture, something to be counted on. Persevering. Danny smiled. He liked stars. And so he stayed there, enjoying the way the air pulled on his feet as he swung them, feeling the breeze ruffle his hair, and keeping his gaze steadfastly on the sky. And it would be that unwavering gaze that was his undoing, for in his solitude, he quite terribly failed to notice Red Robin, who, at the moment, was in turn gazing slack-jawed back at Danny.

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Tim had always admired the second Robin. Always looked up to him, respected him. He was an idol. He knew what he had looked like when he had died. And he knew that he was dead. He knew, without a doubt, that Jason was dead. So why, then, was what looked like a fifteen-year-old Jason Todd sitting on top of a roof of a shitty hotel. Swinging his legs and looking at the sky like he hadn’t a care in the world. Actually, scratch that. He looked like he had several cares. Jason the kid winced when he brought up his arm to wipe his nose, and the hem of his too-small hoodie rode up to reveal dirtied bandages.

Tim’s breathing picked up. This couldn’t be Jason. This couldn’t. Jason was dead. Tim had seen his body, broken and drenched in bruises. And yet… this boy. Looking too much like Jason to be a coincidence. Wincing like he had a large wound on his chest. Something like an autopsy wound. Looking just a little too pale, too pallid to be on the safe end of healthy. Many evident bruises. It couldn’t be, and yet. Here he was. Here Jason was.

Tim had to tell the others. They would be ecstatic! Jason was alive. Somehow. They’d figure that part out later. But he was alive! Oh, just wait until he was back at the manor. Jason could have his room back! It wouldn’t sit empty anymore, serving only to remain silent under Bruce’s quiet gaze, a haunting monument to the lack of Jason. They didn’t bring it up. But it would be okay now! The room would no longer be silent! It would be okay. Yeah, it would be okay.

Calm down, Tim, he chided himself, It could be a clone. Or even just a doppelganger. It could be anyone (Or it could be Jason, a quiet part of himself whispered. It could be Jason again). He was broken out of his thoughts as the kid (Jason, it’s Jason) stirred. He shivered, as if he was just noticing the chill, and made to get up. He winced once more, bringing a hand to his chest this time, clutching it as if he was about to shatter. As luck would have it, as he turned to leave, his sleeve caught on one of the screws on the clunky AC unit. The boy (Jason) grimaced, annoyed, and yanked on his arm. He only succeeded in tearing his hoodie. Huffing, he simply walked away, steps light in a guard against the loose tarmac and hands stuffed firmly in the pockets of his hoodie. The door to the roof thudded closed, the sound resonating across the now empty rooftop. This was it. This was his chance! He could get Jason’s DNA off the sweatshirt scrap, he could prove his theory!

In no time at all, Red Robin was back on the ground with a little baggie containing the scrap securely in one of his many pockets. Heavy shoes pounding soundly against the street, he started running, eager. So very eager. In that, it was quite soon that he disappeared entirely from the flickering glow of the hotel’s neon sign, hungry tendrils of crackling light licking at his boots like a brilliant, dancing fire, and him leaving it to hum gratingly and alone in the night.

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Constructive criticism would be appreciated!

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Next - Masterpost

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alovesongtheywrote · 1 year

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Pretty Little Things | Eddie Munson x Reader

♥ Summary: A traumatic incident from your past decides to reappear in your nightmares. Eddie lets you vent. Short, sweet, 100% a vent fic, and that's ok. [Eddie Munson x Gender Neutral!Reader]

♥ Warnings: Past abuse: none of it is described in detail and the reader does not go through abuse in the fic. Additionally: trauma, nightmares, crying, vent fic, one use of (Y/N), and blood used as a metaphor. please let me know if there is anything you would like me to tag.

♥ A/N: for an accompanying track, i recommend "pretty little things" by the crane wives. thanks to @mxcheese for the help on this one

♥ Word count: 1,573

♥♥♥

You already hadn’t been sleeping well. Some nights you went to bed far too late, others you woke up at an odd hour with no explanation, and of course, sometimes you had nightmares- but you were used to that. To all of it. Late nights, weird mornings; even bad dreams were becoming uncomfortably familiar. Red lightning across a grey sky, a hundred thousand monstrous bats, and the dying screams of your boyfriend were a normal issue at this point- so normal that you had gotten used to it. You learned how to cope. You would be ok.

But then, y’know. The sandman had to smack you with something else. Great.

You tried to ignore it for the rest of the day- tried to pretend that you hadn’t woken up in a cold sweat. You played it off as just another 3 a.m. morning. You acted like you didn’t care, and you so desperately wished that you actually didn’t care. You cared. You cared a lot. And someone noticed.

Each weird thing you did that day, every time you made up an excuse, Eddie saw it and marked it away for later. Worry built up inside him, but he didn’t want to bring it up while you were surrounded by people. He couldn’t let it rest though. In public, he would play it off and try to do something to make you smile. Internally, he repeated- “I’ll check on them when we get home, I’ll check on them when we get home, I’ll check on them when we get home.”

And he did. That wonderful motherfucker did.

You were floating through your nighttime routine, trying to keep your hands from shaking as you washed your face and brushed your teeth. You were so in your own head- trying to keep the memories at bay, and trying not to disassociate- you almost didn’t notice him standing behind you.

“Hey,” he leaned in against the counter, resting his back against it so that he could watch you, “Are you doin’ ok? You’ve just been a little-”

He cuts himself off, letting his eyes go wide and bringing his hands up in a silent display. Again, he made you smile.

“Weird?” you supplied.

“No, no, not weird. It just- it seems like something’s bugging you, babe. Do you wanna talk about it?”

Your hands gripped the counter. You pulled your gaze away from Eddie’s shirt, focusing instead on your reflection in the mirror. You looked so scared and so tired.

Eddie opened his mouth to say something- to tell you that it was okay if you didn’t want to talk about it and that he would drop the subject if you wanted to. You cut him off.

“That’s kind of the problem. I don’t know if I can.”

Every part of Eddie instantly filled with concern. You could tell just from the look in his eyes that he was desperate to comfort you, and with the shit you’d lived through, who could blame him? Not you. No, you wanted to kiss him.

“Hey, it’s okay. You don’t have to tell me anything right now, it’s-”

“No! No,” you brought your hands up, moving to touch him but hesitating before making contact, “I want to tell you, it’s just… it’s a lot. And I’m gonna be slow about it. You might need to be patient with me.”

Eddie leaned towards you, “Anything you need, sweetheart.”

“Okay,” your voice was no louder than a whisper. You sighed and met your own gaze in the mirror. Your fingers returned to the counter, and your nails scratched at the sink. Eddie reached for one of your hands, but stopped short, allowing you to make the next move. You did. Your hand slid into his like it was made to be there. You took a deep breath.

“I had another nightmare, Eds. Another one of… those nightmares.”

“With the ex?”

“Yeah, with,” you turned away from your reflection to face Eddie. You didn’t look him in the eyes, “With the ex.”

“Shit,” he brought your hand closer to him, “I’m sorry, baby.”

“Yeah, me too. So, uh,” you cleared your throat, hesitating again. You weren’t afraid of Eddie. You had no worries about how he would respond. No, you were afraid of everything you’d seen while you slept. You were even afraid that talking about it would make it feel that much more real.

But you wanted to do this. You wanted to tell Eddie- to let him in. Afraid as you were, you were terrified of having to face this without him. With a deep breath, you let your guts spill out all over the bathroom counter. Blood and viscera dripped onto the bathroom floor. Above it all, you could hear the racing beat of your petrified heart.

“He and I were in the same place. I don’t know why we were there, I think it was a party, or something? Maybe we were at Steve’s? Whatever it was, I was trying to play nice with him. I guess I didn’t want to cause a scene- but eventually, I couldn’t hold it in anymore, and I snapped. I told him everything he did wrong. I told him that he hurt me and that for most of our relationship, he abused me, and I told him I hate him, and then…”

You paused, catching your breath, hesitating again. It was getting harder and harder to breathe.

“Holy fuck,” you gasped, “I don’t know if I can say it.”

“You don’t have to say it, sweetheart-”

“No, Eds, I want to say it, it’s just- it’s getting hard to breathe.”

“(Y/N)-”

With another gasp of air, you let it out. A dam inside you burst. Your lungs were filled with blood and water, and you let Eddie in.

“And then I blinked, and we were alone, and I think… I think, in the nightmare… fuck-”

“It’s okay,” he whispered, always reassuring you, “You’re okay, sweet thing.”

“I think, in the nightmare, he hurt me. He- he put his hands on me. And I- Eddie, I was so fucking scared. I didn't know what to do, or how to get him to stop. I just wanted you, Eds- just you.”

Shaking and out of breath, you let yourself collapse into Eddie’s chest. Hot tears streamed down your face. You clung to Eddie’s shirt like a lifeline- like he was a raft, and you were a sailor lost in a vast and stormy sea.

Over the sound of your soft sobbing, you heard him ask, “Is it okay if I hold you?”

“Please.”

He wrapped his arms around you and held you just as tightly as you held him. A fresh round of tears came to your eyes as you realized that despite all the mental agony, you felt safe. You always felt safe with Eddie, but this- it was something different. Something you needed.

With your body firmly pressed against his, you finally started to calm down. And then, upon reviewing your words, you got upset again- a different kind of upset, though. Where before you had felt the cold hands of a fluttering fear, you now felt the red-hot sting of pure anger.

“God,” you groaned, voice muffled by Eddie’s chest, “I hate that I just said, ‘I think.’”

He pulled back so he could hear you better and let you continue.

“I know what he did in the dream. I know it. I just hesitated because I’m afraid to say it. I’m still fucking afraid of him. I thought I was over this. I should be over this.”

“Hey, hey,” again, Eddie’s voice was a life raft in a storm, saving you from crashing waves and a torrential downpour, “You should take your time, sweetheart. Shit like this- it takes time to heal. You can’t try to rush yourself to get over it.”

“Eds, it’s been years.”

“I know. Like I said, it takes time,” he tucked two of his fingers beneath your chin, bringing your face up so that he could see it, “But I want you to know I’m here for you. For every minute, every second of it, I’ll be right here. Take all the time you need, I’ve got you. I’ve got you.”

You took a short sharp breath and dove back into his chest. You both made weird noises on impact, but that was okay. That was just how it was between you.

“I’m not gonna let him hurt you, sweetheart. I won’t let him get near you again.”

“Do you promise?” Your voice was quiet, barely legible and muffled by Eddie’s shirt. You almost felt childish asking, but he put a swift end to all of your fears.

“I promise.”

You squeezed him tighter, a silent thank you.

You stayed like that for a few minutes- standing in silence, rocking each other back and forward in the quiet of the bathroom. Soon, your heart rate slowed down and returned to normal. You could finally breathe again. At some point, Eddie began to hum. You shut your eyes and leaned further into him, letting yourself relax in his gentle hold, letting the smell of cigarette smoke, and laundry soap, and boy overtake you.

A heavy sigh left your lungs. It was a release- a catharsis. You felt Eddie press a kiss to your forehead, and you knew, at the end of everything, that you would be okay.

#eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x gn!reader #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson imagine #tw abuse #tw past abuse #tw past trauma #x reader

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whumpbump · 1 year

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Cw: mentions of past abuse, whipping, death

Reactions to tragedy are vastly different from person to person. Whumper knew this and yet, they were still disappointed in what they got out of Whumpee when they showed them the video of them killing Whumpee’s family. Instead of screaming and crying or anger and wrenching at their chains, Whumpee sighed in relief and chuckled to themselves. This was the first keystone moment of their time together after the abduction and Whumper was utterly confused.

Pulling their belt off and whipping between each word out of pure, searing anger, Whumper asked “WHAT. THE. FUCK. IS. WRONG. WITH. YOU?”

Catching their breath, they again asked “What the fuck is wrong with you? I just showed you evidence that I murdered your family. Any normal person would be broken beyond belief. Why?”

Laughing, Whumpee uncurled themselves and took off their shirt to reveal a constellation of cuts and scars.

“You think I would miss the people who did this to me? The only reason I stayed with them was because I wasn’t ready to risk it on the streets.”

Whumper backed out of the room, trying to mask their emotions of disappointment and surprise. This one would be much harder to crack.

#whumpee #whumpblr #whump blog #whump ideas #whump #whump inspiration #whump tropes #whumper #whump community #injured whumpee #defiant whumpee #abuse cw #cw past abuse #tw death #tw abduction #tw past trauma #tw past abuse

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sweater-daddiesdumbdork · 2 years

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Life Is Short So Make It Sweet

Chapter Five: Taking The Next Step

Summary- 4.9k Curtis Everett x Plus!Sized Reader. It's been a long day for you and Curtis offers to have a quiet date at his house instead of going out. You welcome the chance to get to know Curtis a little bit more.

Warnings- Some adult activities. Curtis talking about personal past trauma. Curtis and Reader dealing with some toxic eating habits and destructive talk.

A/N- Thank you so much to everyone reading, sharing, and commenting. Hearing what you all think really makes my entire day. This is such a personal project for me now that whenever anyone tells me that they relate to something in it or that you enjoy a particular part of their story, I take it to heart. Special shout out to @what-is-your-plan-today for taking the time to beta this for me, you are always willing to tackle whatever I send you with enthusiasm and if I could give you all the biscuits ever, I would. Dividers made by @firefly-graphics

Chapter 4 / Masterlist

“So when are we gonna meet this girl of yours, Curtis?” Edgar poked at Curtis early in the morning when he was clocking in. Curtis wasn’t a morning person, so he just glared at Edgar while stamping his time card and handing it back to Tanya, who decided to join in Edgar’s questioning with her own.

“I have to agree with Edgar, Curtis, when are you gonna bring her around? We all want to get to know her. She is Timmy’s teacher, you know. I met her a few times and she is really nice.”

This caught Edgar’s attention, having him leaning against the front counter looking to dig out more information. “What can you tell us about her? Spill the beans, Tanya!.”

Curtis was shrugging into his work jacket, listening to the two of them talk about you. Of course, he would have nothing but the best to say, he was a man smitten with you in such a short time. But he wasn’t going to gossip about you to these two. Tanya leaned forward conspiratorially with Edgar, sharing what she knew. Which was not a whole hell of a lot except that you had moved from somewhere east and that Timmy absolutely loved you.

Once Curtis got the last layer of clothing on to battle the early October chill, he picked up the invoices and maintenance requests needed for the freight trains coming in that day and grabbed Edgar by the collar of his jacket, dragging him out with him. “Fucking hell you two, can’t give me a moment's peace. At this rate, I’m never gonna bring Y/N around.” He muttered as Tanya waved goodbye at the two of them leaving her office and Edgar protested the whole way out the door.

When the mid-morning break came, Curtis wandered back to his truck to take a breather and to have privacy to check his phone after getting ganged up on by Tanya and Edgar. He settled into the seat of his truck and got comfortable before taking out his phone and checking his messages to see that you had left him a couple.

I hope your day is going better than mine. If it could go wrong in this place, it did.

Kind of just want to crash on the couch tonight.

He thought about it for a moment. So far the two of you have just crashed at your place. But never at his. It was perhaps time that he brought you to his house, let you completely relax while he took care of you, like you insisted on after he had a long day. Checking the time, he knew you were probably taking your own break, meaning he could take the chance to call you.

It wasn’t long till you answered, but even your tone sounded drained today. “Oh, I’m so glad you called Curtis. I’m sure you saw my messages. I shouldn’t have bombed your phone with all that whining.”

Curtis waited till you took a pause before he responded. “Y/N, Honey.” He soothed, trying to calm you down as you sounded so worried about bothering him with your texts. “I wanna know how your day is going, good or bad. Actually, I was thinking tonight, how about you come over to my place? I will cook you dinner and we can do just what you wanted, crash on the couch and watch some trash tv.”

“Curtis… actually that sounds perfect tonight. I would love that. A lot. You don’t have to worry about picking me up, I can drive over myself.”

“Okay, I’m getting done at my usual time so just come over whenever you're ready.”

“Thanks, Curtis, I gotta go.” You sighed into the phone, but now you sounded relieved. “See you tonight.”

“It’s a date, Honey.” He said softly and once the line clicked he started thinking about what he actually could put together for a meal.

On your way home, you made a pit stop at your apartment to change from your work clothes. A quick browse through your wardrobe left you in a heated debate with yourself. You really just wanted to wear a pair of leggings and sweater combo, no makeup, your hair in a messy bun.

But men don't want to see that, your last boyfriend was sure to remind you of that whenever you did dress in such a manner, said it was sloppy, like on top of your other issues you really must not care what people thought of you.

So that meant you had to dress up again. You didn't want Curtis thinking you didn't care. You tossed aside your favorite leggings for something more dressed up, a skirt and button up blouse, light makeup, and did your hair once more. Making sure to pause in front of the mirror, just to double check that you looked good enough to leave the apartment, you headed out.

Curtis had sent you his address earlier and you were thoroughly curious as to where he lived having never seen it. All you knew was that he had an actual house and not an apartment like you did. Pulling onto a side street a few miles out of the city, you bypassed family homes with fenced in yards and attached garages. Your GPS started to announce that you were getting closer and then you pulled up to a driveway with an all familiar truck sitting in front of an attached garage. The yard was carefully taken care of, although the gardens surrounding the house were overrun with weeds and the building needed a paint job, but overall it looked nice. Parking next to the truck, the porch's screen door swung open and Curtis poked his head out. “Hey, I was hoping you would find it just fine.”

Coming up the porch steps, you carried a six pack of beer with you and held it up. “Easy with the GPS and this time, I come bearing gifts.”

Curtis took the six pack from you and leaned in to give you a quick teasing kiss. “Well, that is the admission to come inside, although you were gonna get a free pass.” He held the door open for you and once you walked through, he went into the kitchen to set the beer down before coming back out to the entranceway while you hung up your coat. “Would you like the tour or let you fend for yourself? I can't be out of the kitchen too long though, I got some stuff ready to go into the oven once it heats up.”

“We will make it quick.” You looped your arm through his while he started to show you around. The living room was furnished for comfort, although the furniture looked a decade old, it was all clean and in good shape, a decent sized tv and rows of built in bookshelves lined the walls. You paused at them while you two walked. “Wow, did the house come with this feature?”

“Actually my grandfather built it for my grandmother. She loved to read and when they were building, she didn’t want big bulky shelves taking up space, so he put them in.” Curtis looked fondly at the stacks of books, a bit dusty but obvious they had been here for many years. You even caught a section of harlequin romance novels that you pulled out, wiggling your eyebrows at him.

“You read these too, Curtis?”

“Sure I have. I mean they are not my first choice but some of them are not too bad.” He winked. “I’m really not that particular in what I read as long as it gets my attention.”

You chuckled softly while sliding it back into place. “That is really all that counts. I actually love them. They give that bit of perfect romance that isn’t always easy to find.” Your gaze falling to a variety of titles, you could have spent the rest of the evening browsing the shelves. “Now I wish I brought my reading glasses.”

“Ahh, next time, Honey. If you see any you wanna take home, feel free.”

You two headed out of the room and down a hallway lined with what looked like family photos. “Okay hold on, who are these people?”

You were inspecting some closer when Curtis came up behind you and wrapped his arms around your middle, looking at the scattering of memories himself. “Hmm, well that little tyke is me, with my older brother and parents. Then this couple down further is my grandparents. They actually raised me, my grandfather's name was Wilford and my gram was Lillian.”

You studied them, happy smiling faces stared back at you. Although you could easily see where Curtis got his icy blue eyes and stern features as photos of his grandfather stared back. Lillian on the other hand was bright and warm, you could tell that she was the kind of woman who would welcome you into her home without hesitation. The other scattered photos showed some of Curtis and Wilford working on a truck engine, some that looked like a train yard similar to where Curtis worked now, running heavy equipment, grade school pictures of Curtis through the years, and a few with a girl that grew through the pictures, the more recent ones showing her as a grown woman with a baby of her own. “Then that is my cousin Ella and her daughter Sophia.”

You grinned as you admired the cute baby with her chubby cheeks, head full of thick dark hair and brown eyes. “She is cute.” You said before you went back to his childhood ones, noticing they seemed to be all with his grandparents but hardly any of his parents or brother short of the family photo where Curtis was nothing more than just out of his toddler years. “They raised you…” You said softly before tilting your head to look at him questioning. “What happened to your folks?”

Curtis hummed a bit, tightening his hold and pulling you back into his chest more to keep you in an enclosed circle of his arms like he was hesitant to let go. “An accident in the middle of winter. A car slid into our lane and made my father lose control. There was just no stopping it, we ended up going off the road and over an embankment. I actually don’t remember much of it anymore. But I was the only one to make it.”

You felt your throat catch hearing this. You couldn't help the tears that welled up in your eyes at the thought of losing his whole family in one tragic accident at such a young age. Curtis didn’t get to have his parents or brother for long, won’t have memories with them. You sniffled and he turned you around to face him. “Hey Pretty Girl, it was all so long ago.” He cupped your face and wiped his thumb pad over your cheeks to wipe them away.

“I’m sorry that happened to you, I just can’t imagine what that must have been like.”

Curtis’s features softened hearing you. “I got lucky, my grandparents are really the only ones at this point I even remember, and my cousin lived just down the street, she became more like a sister since she was over here all the time because her parents worked. Maybe it is better that way, you know? I, of course, love my parents and Tyler… but now they are stories that I can tell my own kids one day. So are they really gone?”

You gave a sob of a laugh, wiping at your eyes and peering up at him from under teardrop lashes. Curtis was caught in how they seemed to make your eyes brighter. “I guess when you look at it like that, it is tragically okay.”

“Actually I got something that you might like to see and won't make you cry.” Curtis led you away from the hallway, pointing out two small guest bedrooms that he had turned into storage, the bathroom and then the stairs leading up to another guest room and master bedroom. Getting to the other end of the house, he flicked on a back porch light and opened the door to step out in the rapidly approaching evening. He had a large backyard that looked to have been recently trimmed. A firepit wasn't far from the house and you could tell that it was frequently used. A couple of broken down cars that looked to be in various stages of repair were near the back of the garage and then in the treeline, there was a large old tree with a rundown treehouse.

“Okay, that is cool. You have a freaken tree house?” You said excitedly while stepping off the porch to get a closer look. “I always wanted one, but none of our trees could support one.”

“It's too unstable now to really go up in it, but I thought you would like it.” Curtis paused right underneath it. “Grandpa built it for me, I even got to help pound in the nails. I would love to fix it up one day. The tree is still alive and strong so it would easily hold.”

You grabbed a hold of the ladder still attached to the tree and lifted yourself on it enough to look up, trying to look through the opening. “I can only imagine what you and your friends did up there.” You teased and Curtis tilted his head to look up at the same spot you were, reminiscing.

“Hmm, we looked through stolen nudie magazines and smoked cigarettes we stole.” You gasped at his confession and he winked, wrapping an arm around your waist and helping you down.

“Oh Curtis, that's bad. You get caught?”

“Sure I did, smacked upside the head and asked what the hell was I thinking.” He continued laughing at the memory. “Grounded for a while, Grandad brought me with him to help out at the train yard to keep me out of trouble.”

You shivered a bit and he placed a hand on your back. “How about we go inside so I can finish dinner. I hope you don't mind baked ziti?”

“Not at all, in fact, sounds like my kinda meal on a night like tonight.” You assured him as the two of you went back inside. Once in the kitchen, Curtis insisted you sit at the counter bar while he finished up. He kept it simple, but that was just fine with you. The two of you joked the whole time, praising his cooking skills and getting the pleasure of seeing him be the flustered one for once.

“It’s nothing special.” He rolled his eyes at you as he stabbed a fork in it, leaning over the counter so you could taste it. You made a big show of it, moaning out how good it was while Curtis spread cheese all over the top of it and slid the pan into the oven. That sound alone made the back of his neck a bright red. The look paired well with the gray sweatpants he was wearing and the almost too tight tank that stretched over his chest, along with a silver chain that you had only glimpsed a couple of times but never got a closer look at until now that it was dangling so freely in what you had deemed his comfy clothes. You had seen him relaxed before whenever you two had chosen to keep date night at your apartment, but here, Curtis was in his element at his own home.

While the ziti was baking, he whipped out a loaf of french bread and started to slice it. “How many do you want?” He hummed out and you wrinkled your nose with a sigh.

“Ahh, it's bread. I probably shouldn't have much.” Which made him pause slicing and set the knife aside. When he studied you, a brow arched curiously and his lips thinned as if he was holding something back.

“Why can't you have any if you want some?”

You unleashed excuses, but all Curtis heard was how you dragged yourself down. Each one deepened the lines in his forehead as you used words like, ‘Need to start taking better care of myself.’ or ‘I’m too chunky for eating bread.’ Then the one that really upset him was ‘My ex was right, bread is too fattening for someone like me.’

Hearing that one made him go around the counter to your side. “Y/N, look at me.” The rumble of his tone made your jaw shut and cut off your nervous chatter. “What do you mean with ‘someone like me?”

You shrugged your shoulders and rolled your eyes to lighten the mood a bit. “You know Curtis, I’m not exactly a top model, I need to slim down a bit.”

His jaw clenched. “You don’t have to do anything Y/N. There is nothing wrong with you.” You looked away on instinct and Curtis reached out to gently grasp your chin and look at him. “I can tell you are not used to it, but Honey unless its a doctor telling you otherwise, no one, not me, not your friends, your family can tell you what you can and can not have. Your ex was a fucking asshole saying that shit. If you want garlic bread, please let me make you some. I want to do that for you.”

You didn't even know what to say, surprised at his reaction. You were so used to people agreeing, telling you that you had a pretty face and if you just lost a little weight you would be attractive. Here Curtis was basically telling you that you didn't have to make yourself less for him, that there was nothing wrong with you. You were unsure of how to respond, so you softly said “Okay.”

Curtis tilted his head in closer, blue eyes studying yours. “Do you want some?”

A moment's pause felt like an eternity and you sensed that he wasn't going to just let it go. “Yes, please.”

That earned you a smile and he pressed a kiss to your lips before going back around to finish what he started. “Happy to, Honey.” The unease washed from you in that kiss, a spark traveling from the cupid bow of your lips down to the tip of your toes.

Maybe you could get used to this.

Dinner ended up with you two sitting close together, back to the easy conversation, and once in a while sharing bites from each other's plates. It was hard not to monitor yourself like you normally did, every time you seemed to start picking at your food Curtis would brush his leg against yours or inquire you into a conversation that had you paying more attention to the discussion than how many bites have you taken, or chews did you take between bites, sips of water to try to make yourself fuller.

You were able to enjoy your food without guilt.

There was a mishap though, a rather saucy forkful fell down the front of your blouse, making you try to wipe it out as quickly as possible. Even Curtis went to wet a napkin and tried to help, but it was a lost cause.

“Listen, how about you just use one of my shirts? I can throw yours in the wash. While it's washing we can watch that movie? You can get changed in my room.” He offered.

You looked down at your blouse, streaked red and wet, it was sticking to the front of your chest and you just knew that you wouldn’t be able to chill for the rest of the evening with sauce all down the front of you. “If you have something I can use?”

“Sure I do Honey, majority of my clothes are made to be comfortable.” Curtis assured you while he took your hand to take you back upstairs to his bedroom. You sat on the edge of his bed while he started to go through his dresser till he pulled out a hoodie that looked like it was a size too big for you, you could have literally squealed when he handed it to you. “You want some comfy pants too? I got pajama bottoms you can crash in, they are those stretchy ones, I hate those ones that just have no give to them.”

You nodded a yes and were quickly handed a pair of flannel red checkered bottoms.

“Thanks, Curtis, I will be out in a minute.”

“Sure, the washer is in the bathroom downstairs, just go ahead and throw them in when you come out.”

Once he left, you let out an excited little squeal. You got to wear your possible boyfriend's clothes, which never happened before. You chided yourself for the ridiculousness of your excitement while you changed into the hoodie and bottoms. You did have to roll the bottoms up because they were just a bit too long as well as the sleeves of his hoodie, but you were thankful for once you were a klutz. Gathering the clothes you changed out of, you went to put them into the washer and hit start.

Curtis had grabbed a couple of beers while waiting for you, already stretched out on the couch, waiting for you to join him. When you wandered in and he caught sight of you in his shirt. Oh it stirred a rather possessive feeling in his gut. You were so comfortable in his clothes and he felt so damn turned on seeing you wrapped up in his stuff. His girl… Ooh he had it bad. You struggled to keep your sleeves up as you fell onto the couch next to him, buried yourself into his shirt and another wave of pleased possessiveness passed through him.

“What did you have in mind?” You cuddled in close while asking about the movie and he let the remote go ignored for now.

“I really want to kiss you.” Curtis found himself confessing, which made you turn up to look at him in surprise.

“Well… I think… you should.” Your fingers started twisting in the fabric of his hoodie and you just looked like you were made to be there, curled up next to him. Curtis shifted a bit closer and cupped your face to feel you melt into his touch looking at him with wide-eyed innocence. Your lips were an invitation of softness that parted the closer he came. How Curtis longed to pluck soft moans from them.

This time was different, it wasn't doorstep hungry kisses of want, now you two were private and wouldn't feel the pressure of being caught. He hovered closer, gentle brushes of his nose bumped yours before his lips pressed to yours, the tip of his tongue trailing the petal softness of your bottom lip til you encouraged him for more.

Just feeling you filled Curtis with an urgency for you, to feel you press into him and grasp hold of his back, to chase your rhythm at all your pulse points and to hear you whimper for more, more, more. His hand fell to your hip, squeezing out that urgency of feeling you in his grasp and you let him pull you into him, your hands bracing against his shoulders and breaking away to move into his lap, swinging a leg over his till you settled onto hard spread thighs while you returned to the heated warmth of swollen lips filling you with hungry moans.

If you had any thoughts, you would have worried, fretted about sitting like this on his lap. But he didn't allow for those thoughts to form, his kisses keeping you distracted, attempting to keep up with him.

His hands fell to the curve of your ass, grasps firmly holding on and squeezing while arching you into his center and pressing yourself to brace against his chest while your hand cupped the back of his neck and brushed through the short buzzed hair at the back of his head. Your touch fell down to his shoulders to dig in, arch yourself up into him again and fall back down, the rhythm of the movements giving satisfaction to the ache starting in your lower belly, clenching for more. With every downward push, you could feel how hard he was underneath you, sure to rub your aching core right against him, every bump against your throbbing clit making you gasp against him, clutching to him to let the satisfying spark feed that hunger.

Curtis’s groans vibrated through you, building in urgency till he muttered “Fuck” against your lips and with a surge of power you never experienced in your lovers, he had you two flipped so that you were laid against the couch and he hovered over you, his hand traveling up your body to cup a breast through the hoodie and squeeze enough to make you arch your back off the couch for more, digging your nails through the thin fabric of his tank and pulling him back down onto you. His hips dropped in between your thighs, rocking into you as your kisses turned messy. “Driving me fucking crazy Honey, you’re all I think about at night when I’m trying to sleep.”

You whimpered for this confession, gasping when he ground himself into you. “Curtis don’t stop.” Pleading for more, you tightened your thighs against him and rocked to meet him, the building heat and churning was making you quiver. A sharp nip of teeth on your bottom lip made you match him, pressing your tongue to lap against his and drown out his groaning noise. A feral desire made him surround you, pressing you into the couch cushions as a hand held your waist to keep you in place, the other braced up by your head, holding him off you enough so that he wasn't crushing you, but there was no space between you, just as you craved him, he craved you.

It was almost overwhelming, and another grind of his hard on against your wet core made you cry out his name while you came, a flood of relief crashing as you tensed and broke under him. You gasped against him as you curled in close, your legs tightening around his waist while you two kept rocking together. “Fuck… Shit Honey, I'm gonna…” He growled out, under your hands on his back you felt the ripple of muscles lead up to his tensing shoulders, his body going stiff and then you saw the release on his face. He just let go and you couldn't help but loosen your hold on his back to cup his face in your hands, pressing kisses to his ruddy cheeks, let your forehead press against his as he panted with screwed shut eyes, letting the sensation simmer back to a manageable pleasure. When his eyes opened, they softened when he found your stare. “Hey, Pretty Girl…”

The entire moment suddenly caught up with you, emotionally it hit you harder than you expected and Curtis so casually dropping ‘pretty girl’ on you made your insides twist and you couldn’t stop your reaction. The tears brimmed your eyes and worry made Curtis start stammering when he saw them roll down your cheeks.

“Fuck, Y/N did I hurt you?” He pulled away from you and you couldn't stop the sob that escaped yourself for reacting like this.

You just broke into tears and Curtis didn't know why. He was cursing himself mentally for being too rough and getting carried away. His hands collected you to pull you into his lap where you sunk into his chest and hid against his shoulder while your crying started to cease. “Honey, please tell me what's wrong? I'm sorry, I didn't mean to get carried away like that.” He couldn't believe he flipped you to the couch and rutted against you like some horny teenager, he was better than that and you deserved to be treated better. You started sniffling as he rubbed at your back and you lifted yourself up, wiping at your face with the oversized sleeve.

“You didn't hurt me, It was good, really good… I just got caught up in the moment and… It’s been a long time since I have felt that good.“ You were shaking your head at yourself and tilted your head close and pressed your lips to his, assuring him that you were indeed okay.

“Are you sure?” Curtis ran his hands up and down your back slowly, calming after the moment you two shared. “Because all you gotta do is tell me to cut it out and I will.”

“Promise.” You nudge your nose against his. “In fact, I'm now a bigger fan than I was before for these gray sweatpants you're wearing.” You giggled and hugged around his neck and he returned the gesture, pressing his face into your shoulder and sighing in relief.

“I didn’t know you were all that much of a fan of them to begin with.” He shrugged in confession and you narrowed your eyes at him playfully.

“All women love a man in gray sweats, I promise you.” You go to move up off him and he tugged you back into him, growling a bit.

“Where are you going? We still have a movie to watch.” Pulling your legs up so that you were sitting sideways in his lap and pulling the blanket off the back of the couch.

“Curtis, I can't stay in your lap like this, your legs are gonna get sore.”

He handed you the remote and settled back into the couch. “I get to make that call Honey if it's too much.”

#life is short so make it sweet #curtis and honey #curtis x honey #curtis everett x plus sized reader #curtis everett x reader #curtis everett x you #curtis everett au #snowpiercer au #curtis everett fanfiction #curtis everett x plus!sized reader #curtis everett and plus sized reader #tw eating habits #tw past trauma #curtis everett #chris evans characters #amber writes #sweater writes #plus sized reader #plus!sized reader

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magicdonuts-supreme · 2 years

Text

TW: past abuse. abandonment issues. self-doubt. intrusive thoughts. self-hate statments that S/I believes but are not true. trust issues (kinda). 750+ words.

— - + - —

You had exposed yourself to your F/O. You showed them your raw, emotional, troubled self… but they were still here. Something in your mind doesn’t fit right, panic rising as it washes over the euphoria you had experienced alongside your beloved under their tender care.

Because they were there.

Why hadn’t your F/O left? Why had they stayed so long? So many had abandoned you by this point, why don’t they? Is there an endgame to this? You are a freak, a horror, a traumatized lump of human flesh… You’ll poison them… Why can’t they just see that and leave already? (Not to mention the other side of your raging mind: the one on its knees, the one that grovels and begs and dehumanizes itself into a living joke just to have another person give you a second of attention…)

Deep down, you know why the thoughts are there.

You are expecting abandonment.

Every moment your F/O welcomes you into their warm embrace oh-so cruelly, you know you’re falling further and further for them. But you can’t allow yourself to do that.

You are expecting abandonment.

So much so that you make a fool of yourself and show your most vulnerable sides to them and hope it wards your F/O off… because it’s easier to say that they left because of your actions than to wait a lifetime for them only to realize their absence is the only answer you’ll ever get.

You are expecting a—

“Love?”

You dry your tears against your shirt as discreetly as possible, red eyes darting to and fro— anywhere away from your F/O’s. “…Yeah?” You cringe at the cracks in your own voice, How dare you not be able to hide this better? How dare you burden them?

Your F/O leans closer just the tiniest bit. “Are you feeling okay?”

“I’m fine,” you say, lips pressed tight.

“C’mon, S/I, you’re underestimating me if you think I can’t notice when you’re upset.” They offer a reassuring smile, although it wavers as your guilty lack of response hangs in the still air. “… Just… I won’t force you, okay? But I know you aren’t feeling well, and that it’s not healthy to keep it all in like this.”

Your voice doesn’t disrupt the silence. A single syllable could break down the dam holding back your sobs, God, you’re a crybaby. You’re weak, pathetic.

“Hey, love, could you please look at me?”

Your line of sight wavers, yet it’s your F/O’s gentle hold and their warm gaze that attracts your own like a magnet’s fated pull.

“There you are,” they utter. “You never were, never are, and never will be a burden, S/I, I love you just as you are. This isn’t a punishment and I will never use it against you. I just want to make sure you’re alright… Like all of those times you did the same to me, ok?”

As calm and tender as they are, there are still signs of breakage in your F/O’s voice. They want to banish — perhaps even worse — whoever taught you those self-damaging beliefs in the first place, but your health comes first. When you’re tangled up in barbs of false promises and toxic love, all your F/O wishes to do is untangle you with a touch of silk and show you what warmth is like. They want to chase those swarms of bad thoughts away and kiss your forehead at night when they’re sure the only thing in your mind is soft dreams of carelessness when you finally let yourself feel safe in their arms.

Some time after their reassurances, your walls break— perhaps for the first time in front of them. Maybe it’s loud and messy whilst your F/O gathers you in their arms, or maybe your tears are silent until you succumb and press yourself against their chest.

And by the end?

“Can I ask you… something…?” You hesitate, doubt still plaguing that one place in your mind.

Your F/O places a kiss against your temple. “Always, love.”

“I mean…” Your gaze wanders off. “It’s a bit unnecessary, maybe even childish…”

“As long as it’s you? As long as you think it’s important and it matters to making you feel safe? It’ll never be unnecessary.”

“… Could you promise…?”

They nod and a small, wonderful smile graces their features. “You don’t ever have to worry about me leaving, S/I. I promise that I’ll always be here for you, that you’ll always be worth waiting for.”

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my-moony-and-padfoot · 11 months

Text

Bad things happen

TW: fighting, panic attack, maybe? Idk what it is. They're talking about a prank here or fighting about it what ever, but it's not about The prank, did that make sense?

Word count: 2 300

“How can you possibly be this stupid?” Remus asked, running his hand through his hair, pacing back and forth in front of the bed Sirius was sitting on. “Like seriously-” he saw Sirius open his mouth to say something. “No, Sirius. Don't.” He said, looking at him, knowing what he was about to say, and he definitely wasn't up for that right now.

Sirius rolled his eyes, leaning his head against the headboard. “I mean Sirius, I don't understand how you can even begin to think that that was a good idea. So please just explain what the hell is going on in your mind because I honestly don't understand.” He said, just getting more frustrated as Sirius didn't answer, but just stared up at him. “Answer me, Sirius.”

Sirius hugged his knees tighter to his chest, tearing his eyes off Remus' and looking at the wall behind him. He hadn't seen Remus this angry in a while, if ever. He knew the prank going wrong was partly this fault, but he didn't understand why Remus was so mad about it, it's not like this was the first time something went wrong.

“What do you want me to say?” He whispered, feeling the tears starting to burn in the corners of his eyes. This situation reminded him of something, but he couldn't quite make out what it was, he only knew it was something bad, and that it definitely happened before, maybe not here, though.

“I want you to answer me, just fucking explain what happened because you just earned us weeks worth of detention.” He could distantly hear Remus continue, but his talking just kind of tuned out without his permission. When he heard Remus raise his voice just slightly, he involuntarily flinched, scared of something happening. He just stared at the wall behind Remus, not taking his eyes off of that one slightly darker spot he had found.

He could still feel the tears pooling in his eyes, but he wouldn't let them fall. He wasn't supposed to cry, it wasn't right, so he wouldn't. He just stared at the wall, hugging his knees more tighter to his chest, waiting for Remus to stop. Just waiting, like always.

“Sirius!” His head snapped up, looking straight at Remus, he didn't yell often. He usually just raised his voice, he didn't like that either, but it was better than being yelled at. Now he knew what this reminded him of, Walburga. “You-”

“You promised.” He whispered, barely audible, interrupting him. Sirius couldn't quite tell what the expression on his face was. He still looked angry, and annoyed, but not quite. He wanted to look away, he wanted to go away just somewhere quiet and alone, but he knew better than to do that right now, something would happen. Something always happens.

Remus leaned against the foot of the bed, and Sirius flinched. There was still a good amount of distance between them, but he knew from experience that it could change quickly. He could feel his breathing pick up just slightly as he stared at Remus, sure that something was going to happen, something bad. Something he had been promised would never happen. “Remus, you promised.” He whispered again, trying to blink away tears.

“What are you talking about?" Remus did sound less annoyed now, but he couldn't be sure. There was still something off. Sirius just stared at him in disbelief. Remus had promised, he had promised a long time ago, that he would never.

He closed his eyes, shaking his head, the tears he had so hard been trying to hold back falling. He didn't see the way Remus' face fell when he started crying, loud sobs leaving his mouth. It was Remus' turn to stare at the boy, guilt starting to bloom in his chest, how didn't he realize.

“Go away, go away please, I'll be good, just go away.” Sirius was shaking all over, his eyes tightly shut and tears just flowing down with no way to stop them. Remus didn't know what to do, he bit his lip, hating that this happened because of him. That Sirius was genuinely scared of him, he didn't mean for this to happen, he didn't even mean to lose his temper over such a silly thing.

Remus slowly rounded the bed, sitting down onto the edge, he hesitated before gently placing his hand on Sirius' knee, trying to ground him and make him realize nothing was going to happen. Wrong move. Sirius just let out a loud cry like the touch had burned him, and Remus quickly dropped his hand, his eyes widening. “Sirius I'm-”

“D-don't.” He cried, shaking his head. “don't please, I'll be good, just don't- don't hurt me.”

“I won't touch you, Sirius, no one will, okay?” Sirius shook his head, and Remus bit the inside of his cheek, he had no idea what he should do. He wasn't even sure if Sirius was listening to him, if he could hear what he was being told, and Remus just hated that, but for a different reason than before. “I'm so sorry love, so sorry, shouldn't have yelled at you, I'm really sorry for making you scared.” He rambled, not sure what he actually should say, he felt tears of his own burn in his eyes as he looked at Sirius, trying to think what he should do.

Sirius was mumbling incoherent words amongst his sobs and coughs. Words Remus couldn't really make out, but he didn't need to. Sirius was pulling on his hair, his eyes still screwed shut, his whole body shaking. It made Remus worry about him, he had seen it before, but it made him feel so guilty to know he was the reason.

“I know you're scared, I know, okay? But can you open your eyes? Just to look around, don't have to look at me, just look around to see that you're not there.” Remus said. “You're not at home, Sirius. You're in Hogwarts in our dorm, and it's just you and me here.” He said calmly, scooting further away from him, wanting to give him more space.

Sirius opened his eyes, darting around the room, then focusing them on Remus. Realizing where he was seemed to calm him down just a bit, “Can you take a few Deep breaths?” He asked, trying to calm him down. In reality, he knew he shouldn't be doing this because it was him who he was being scared of, so he wasn't probably helping that much. He should go get someone else, like James. But he didn't know where James was, and he couldn't leave Sirius alone like this because that wouldn't do any good either.

“R-Remus?” He whispered after a while, seeming to be more aware of his surroundings and a little more calm. His breathing was still heavy, and the tears hadn't stopped.

“Yeah it's me.” He whispered, looking at Sirius. “Do you want me to go away? I can go get James or if you want to be alone.”

“No.” He said quietly, looking at Remus, shaking his head. Remus was surprised, but didn't question it. “D-don't go please.”

“Okay.” Sirius wiped his eyes onto his sleeves, taking more deep breaths. “I'm sorry I broke my promise, love. And I really do mean it.”

“I-i know.” He whispered, though he looked like he didn't believe what he was told, but that wasn't a surprise. Remus nodded, turning to sit cross-legged on the other end of the bed, still not sure what he should do.

“It's the full moon in a few days, and I was just on edge and then the prank went wrong, but that's not an excuse for me to yell at you and make you scared.” He said, trying to explain himself, stopping to wipe his eyes. “But I promise I didn't do it on purpose, I wasn't thinking, and I'm really sorry about that. I would never ever hurt you. Never. And I need you to know that, and really believe me, but I understand if you can't because -”

“It's okay, Remus.” He whispered, interrupting Remus' nervous rambling, making him look up. “I believe you, and I know you're sorry, and that you didn't mean it.”

“You should be mad at me for making you feel so bad.” Remus said, but Sirius shook his head, making him even more confused. He just didn't understand, Sirius had every right to be mad, and he definitely should be.

“Bad things happen, it's okay.”

“It shouldn't be.” Remus whispered, wiping his eyes again before looking at Sirius. A silence fell over them, it wasn't an uncomfortable one, it was just silent with neither one of them knowing what they should say, or do, if anything.

“Moony?” Sirius whispered after a while, and Remus looked up, smiling slightly. “Can you come here?” He asked, patting the place next to him on the bed.

Remus hesitated, maybe he shouldn't. “Are you sure?”

“I'm sure, promise.” Sirius smiled, and Remus got up, going to sit down next to Sirius, who rested his head on Remus' shoulder, taking his hand into his, letting their intertwined hands fall between them. “James talks a lot, even more when he gets stressed.” He whispered after a while. “And he speaks superfast.”

“He does.” Remus said, not entirely sure what Sirius was talking about, before understanding. He had suggested getting James earlier, and now he was explaining why he didn't want that. “Don't have to explain to me, love.”

“I want to.” Remus nodded, seeing Sirius glance at him before continuing. “He doesn't stay calm, but I understand why. He does help though, I'm not saying that, he's just, well, James.”

Remus smiled slightly, rubbing his thumb over Sirius'. “Peter gets awkward in a situation like that, I guess he just doesn't know how to react, I wouldn't either, so I don't blame him.” Sirius said then, and Remus nodded, the silence falling over them again.

They just stayed there for a long while, shifting a few times, eventually ending up laying down under the covers, with Sirius resting his head on Remus' chest, and one leg over Remus'.

James and Peter came to their dorm after some time, but either of them didn't really notice, or just didn't acknowledge it. Sirius was the one to break the silence and speak when he heard James starting to snore and was sure Peter had fallen asleep too.

“Do you really think I'm stupid?”

“I don't.” He whispered into Sirius' hair, kissing his head, and Sirius nodded.

“I don't think you're stupid, either.” He whispered back, lifting his head to look at Remus, who smiled. “Even If you act a bit stupid sometimes.”

“That's good, baby.” Remus said, and he nodded, leaning up to give him a kiss, before laying his head back down, tucking it under Remus' chin. “I'm still sorry.” He whispered, after a while.

“I know.” He whispered. “I forgive you, moons.” Remus just nodded. “We can talk tomorrow.” He said through a yawn, pressing himself impossibly closer to Remus, who nodded again.

“Goodnight, love, sleep well.” Remus whispered, kissing his head, and pulling the covers better over them.

“Goodnight, rem.” He mumbled, already drifting off to sleep. “I love you.”

“I love you too, baby.” He smiled. He waited for Sirius to fall asleep, before letting himself drift off, like always. Well, he tried to drift off to sleep, but falling asleep was hard, the events kept replaying in his head; he couldn't help but feel guilty and bad for making Sirius scared, scared of him. He had promised he wouldn't do that, ever. But it still happened. He shouldn't have yelled at him, shouldn't have started even in the first place.

He shouldn't have gotten mad over a stupid reason like a prank going wrong. It wasn't even that big of a deal, now that he thought of it. It wasn't the first time they had gotten weeks worth of detention, and probably wouldn't be the last. So even Remus didn't understand why he acted that way. Maybe it was the upcoming full moon playing its tricks on his temper, but that still wasn't a reason to yell at him or make him feel like that.

He just hated himself for that. Sirius had forgiven him for the whole thing, yes. And that was important and meant a lot to him, but he didn't know how he'd forgive himself. He had broken a promise he had made to Sirius years ago, he had promised nothing would hurt him when he was with him, that he would never hurt him. And even though he hadn't done that, just making Sirius think he would, just broke his heart.

“Remus.” Sirius whispered, pulling Remus out of his thoughts. “Calm down, stop worrying.” He said, rubbing his side for a moment.

“Sorry didn't mean to wake you.” He said, but Sirius shook his head.

“You didn't, it's alright. I'm not gonna just sleep while you're sad or whatever you're feeling.” He whispered, turning in Remus' arms, so he was looking at him, his chin resting on Remus' chest. Sirius brushed some hair out of his eyes, before talking again. “Everything's okay, right? We're okay, Rem. You got nothing to worry about, I promise.”

“We're okay.” He repeated, and Remus nodded. “Nothing happened, really. I just got scared, but that's nothing new, is it?” Remus shook his head, a little hesitantly. “What I'm trying to say is, it's not the first time this happened and won't be the last.”

“But you were scared of me, like genuinely, and I hate that Sirius, I shouldn't have let that happen, I-i promised it to you.” He said, blinking away tears, before continuing. “I know what triggers you, what makes you scared and panic, so it shouldn't have happened.”

“But it did, Remus.” He whispered. “And that's okay. I was scared, but I'm not anymore. I know you'd never actually hurt me, I know, moony.” He said, trying to explain to Remus that it really was okay. “People make mistakes, even you, and that's okay. Just don't beat yourself up for it, please?”

Remus just nodded, not really knowing what to say. And Sirius just smiled at him, lifting himself up just enough to give him a kiss. “Wanna try to go to sleep?” He asked, and Remus nodded slightly. “Okay, goodnight, moons.” He whispered softly, laying his head back to Remus' chest, listening to his breathing. “I love you.”

“Goodnight, I love you too.” Remus whispered back, kissing his head. Sirius started to talk, about nothing important, he was just talking about their latest quidditch practice. He knew it helped Remus fall asleep when he couldn't for whatever reason. So, this time, Sirius stayed awake, waiting for Remus to fall asleep, before letting himself fall asleep too.

A/N: I posted twice in the same week, and month. That's just... Wow. Anyway, I hope this made sense, to me it does, kinda. Hopefully you liked it :) <3

#sirius black #sirius orion black #remus lupin #remus john lupin #remus x sirius #sirius x remus #marauders era #marauders #wolfstar #fluff #angst #fluff and angst #wolfstar angst #tw past abuse #tw past trauma

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sulasnsleep · 9 months

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“when she yells, i shrink back into the shell of a child i once was.”

— sulasnsleep

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flightlessphantomboi · 4 months

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{ @i-used-to-hear-a-symphony }

Sienna thought it would be funny if they introduced Nikkolai to Bur first, as they returned to the nest after escaping away from it to sneak into a science lab with Alex, as they carried the small toddler in their arms, as they climbed up with one of their friend's help until he got to the top. -“I'm back” He then said as he hid the little fledging with her wing, for the meantime.

Where have you been fledgling?

Bur looks up from where he'd been curled up in the nest, a sheepish and guilty lookin his face, eyes purple rimmed from being upset.

While Sienna has been gone, he'd snapped out of his instincts after a few hours and underwent a major breakdown and drowning in guilt for kidnapping them.

Bur gazes at candy with a look like a dejected puppy.

Sienna, I'm so sorry for taking you. I-I was just so worried for you...I didn't want you to get hurt by anyone more than you already are.

#bursonaverse #phantombur #bursonaverse phantombur #dead bird boi #bursonaverse phantombur 2 #tw protective behaviour #tw breakdown #tw past child kidnapping #tw past trauma

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kokocunt · 1 year

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characters: hanma shūji, female reader (ft. kisaki tetta)

contents: mild dubcon, manipulation, past csa, trauma dumping, age gap (20+ years), vaginal sex, hurt/comfort vibe, probably ooc hanma but i do not care. not proof read lol

wc: 7.2k

"will you be fine on your own tonight?"

you shouldn't have said yes.

but, no—you wanted to be all mature and collected like, "dad, i'm nineteen now; i'll be fine by myself," when you're already sobbing into a pillow not even an hour after he left. your nails tear at the skin of your breasts so hard blood is drawn, screaming as if anyone could hear you from the top floor penthouse. fuck, if it wasn't for your empty stomach, you're sure you would have thrown up twice by now, instead of dry heaving so hard that you choke on air.

it's dramatic, it's grotesque; this is the worst it's been, but even then, it's just milder on other nights.

will this ever change?

i mean, it's been years and you don't even remember what exactly happened that night, but for some god forsaken reason, it still lingers. it's in the scent of your room, in the phantom hands groping your body, in the position you lay in, in the thoughts of intimacy you fear, in the arms of your loved ones—it's everywhere, and you can't escape, no matter what you do.

what can you even do?

with your dad's line of work, therapy isn't exactly an option, but even then, how are you supposed to talk to someone about how disgusting you feel when you don't know exactly what happened? you've tried it already and it doesn't seem to work, albeit kisaki tetta isn't exactly the best person to go to for anything emotional, but if not with your dad, what friends do you even have to go to? you haven't been able to let people into your life after what happened.

that fact makes tonight so much harder.

even if your father is emotionally unavailable, him simply being in the house with you is enough to keep your worst thoughts at bay. he sleeps with a loaded gun by his bed, so the possibility of someone breaking in and doing those things to you again is gone. he can't fix what happened, but your dad still makes you feel safe; that's been enough for you in these past few years.

but tonight is the first night he isn't here with you—well, when he had business to attend to during the night, he would at least wait around for you to fall asleep first, but this is the first time he's abandoned you so early; it's scary. the thoughts you've been able to ignore with him around now rear their ugly heads, and it's so scary. thoughts telling you to tear all your skin off so you don't have to feel the hands touching you, thoughts telling you to mutilate your vagina so you don't have to worry about someone forcing themself inside you ever again, thoughts telling you to nose dive off the balcony so you don't have to think about any of this anymore; god, they're terrifying.

you need an escape from them—no, you just want an escape; what you actually need is someone, anyone to be here with you to make you feel safe for tonight because you know there is no escape. because, at the end of the day, the only thing even close to an escape you have is what little bit of security someone can provide you. at the end of the day, there's nothing you can do to prevent you from losing it all.

at the end of the day, things never change.

so, you call up the only other contact on your phone other than your dad's, and pray he isn't working tonight

—

the buzz of the intercom scares you, even though you've been sitting in wait for the past hour for it to ring; you press on the button and tell the man on the ground floor to come on up, voice shaky. i mean, you can't be blamed for being nervous, right? sure, you know him, but you've never actually spent time with him alone—besides the fact that he's way older than you and hanging out with him by yourself would be weird, he just doesn't seem to care all that much about you.

but, if that was the case, then why would he show up tonight? is it because your dad isn't here this time?

oh god. was he waiting to get you alone so he could rape you and not get in trouble with his boss? waiting for the perfect opportunity to threaten you into not saying a word about the way he's going to toy with your body? your bedrooms don't have security cameras, so he wouldn't get caught that way either.

oh no.

no. no. no. no. not again.

even if he got caught, he's been friends with your dad for so long; it would be so easy for him to find a way to convince him that having sex was your idea. i mean, you're the one who called him over in the first place.

this was a bad idea. this was a horrible idea.

should you grab a knife from the kitchen? no, that wouldn't work; he has so many years of experience on you, especially in fights. he'd just rip the knife out of your hands, and then bend you over the nearest surface, ignoring as you scream for him to stop. or he might just pull out a gun on you, if you try to attack him. he'll push the nozzle against your cranium and tell you to get on your knees, and then, while you're sobbing, you'll have to—

"hey, sorry i took so long," hanma yawns, as he walks through the doors of the elevator. his presence snaps you out of your paranoia immediately.

what were you even thinking? hanma wouldn't do something like that; he's always been nice to you whenever you saw him. just because he's a gang member, that doesn't automatically mean he doesn't care about anyone or that he only wants to hurt you—you're just letting your nerves get the better of you. hell, that's the reason you called him over tonight.

you need to calm down, especially evident when hanma asks, "you okay? you're shaking a bit there, kid."

breathe in for four, hold for seven, breathe out for eight, and then repeat.

deep breaths go in and out of your lungs for about a minute before you finally turn to face hanma, who leans over you with his arms folded utop the backrest of the couch. you didn't take him as the patient type, but you're more than grateful that he isn't forcing you to rush a reaction. "i'm… hanging in there," you answer him, forcing a smile. he rubs your shoulder in what seems like a poor attempt to comfort, before he hops over the couch to sit down next to you; his touch and closeness make you tense up, but you try to ignore it by talking to him. "u-um, thank you for coming over… you, uh, really didn't have to, b-but i appreciate it—like a lot."

he lets out a small laugh before rubbing your shoulder again—you really don't like it. "no problem, girlie; i mean, kisaki would probably off me if i didn't tend to his baby when she needed it," he comments, lifting his hand off you to grab the remote. another deep breath escapes your lungs the second his hand is off you, which grabs hanma's attention. you mumble an apology, but he only sets the remote back down and turns to face you. "but, y'know, i didn't just come over because of kisaki; you sounded pretty horrible over the phone—crying and stuff like that." hanma reaches for you again, but this time, he grabs your hand instead of your shoulder; it's better, but you still don't feel comfortable with him touching you exactly. "is there anything you want to talk about, sweetheart?" though, you're especially uncomfortable with the newfound nickname he has for you.

still though, you feel like you would have recognized any malicious intent he would have had by now, and you haven't; he genuinely just seems concerned for you. i mean, he didn't have to come over, nor did he have to ask about anything—you even told him on the phone that you didn't care if he just wanted to go to sleep the minute he got here, and that all you needed from him was to stay the night with you.

yet, here he is, offering you some place to vent. offering you something you haven't had a chance to really do.

offering something that you need.

maybe hanma is what you've wanted this whole time.

maybe he can make things change.

sure, it might be odd to pour out all your trauma onto your dad's friend of all people, but he's here. hanma is here and cares enough to listen, which is what you've needed. with no access to mental health care, no friends, and no way to explain this correctly to your dad, hanma is the first person you have the chance to talk to properly about this.

you may not be the closest with him, but you trust him enough. and above all else, you want something to finally change.

you need this.

"can… can i get personal with you, hanma? i-if you don't mind…" you mumble, heart beating out of your chest as you prepare yourself for this conversation.

his eyebrows raise in surprise, but then a lighthearted smirk follows it up soon after. "of course; whatever you need," he confirms, which relieves some of the weight on your chest. but, still, you're not comfortable enough to talk yet.

you swallow your breath before questioning, "would you mind if i lie down while i talk?" to which he laughs and tells you that you didn't need to ask, but you felt it appropriate, as you decided to rest your head on his lap. thankfully, he didn't seem to mind that, nor does he seem bothered by how you maneuver your hand around so that you're grabbing his hand back—it starts to become comforting when it's mutual, and even though this is all a bit intimate, laying on hanma's lap and holding his hand makes you feel like nothing bad is going to happen.

it feels safe; something that you didn't think you'd feel with another person ever again.

but as you try to find a place to start talking, fragmented memories push to the front of your mind, and they make you want to scream. they're all incomprehensible, blurry images, and yet you want to run away and hide. all you can make out of your memories are the pain you felt, the blurry image of someone on top of you, and how much you cried—god, you might actually vomit if you linger on this too long, but you need to push through it. you're the only one who can make this change.

but even if it's all up to you, you're not alone; you're reminded of this when hanma squeezes your hand to comfort you, your struggle with racking your memories together visible to him. you look up to him, where he gives you a smile, and it helps you calm back down. you squeeze his hand back, take in a deep breath, and then close your eyes.

he's not a therapist, he's not your dad; you don't need to give an accurate account of what happened for him to believe you. just say what you think happened as it comes to mind.

don't think about it too much.

the deep breath you had just taken escapes through your nose before you start with, "i-i… think it happened when i was twelve…" you could've been thirteen too, though. did your birthday pass yet? you're not sure; all you remember is that you were in your first year of middle school. "dad had… some sort of party that night, i-i'm pretty sure…" you continue, but you think you might be making that part up. you know for sure that it happened at your house, but no clue about what was going on that day; though, it just makes sense that there were other people over, so a party will have to be the scene. "and… u-um… i was… i was in my bed…" that you remember the clearest; it's why you sleep on the couch most nights.

though, to hanma, it was clear you remembered that in particular because of the tears you didn't know were threatening to stream down your face. his thumb smooths over your knuckles to calm you down, as he tells you, "hey, i get what you're talking about now; you don't have to continue."

but you don't process his words—you can't; hanma's reassurance won't cut through the incomplete memories filling up your mind, even though you wish it would. "i-i just… i don't… i-i don't know w-who… how do i-i not know who d-did it…" you pry your hand away from hanma's so you can wrap your arms around your knees, curling yourself up into a fetal position; it's not as comforting as you wish it was—there never is comfort. "it-it… was… it hurt, s-so much… a-and… th-there was so much b-blood on my sheets the next morning, a-and i don't think i could even s-stand up either… b-but i—"

as your sobs start to make your rambling even harder to listen to, hanma sits you up to pull you into a hug, and while you want to peel all of your skin off at the feeling of another person touching you intimately, you grip onto him like a vice. his body pressed up against yours, encasing you—it does honestly make you feel sick, but you're too scared to let go at this point because, "d-dad didn't believe me, s-so i… i haven't told anyone else… a-and i've been s-s-so scared and alone…"

hanma seems to freeze for a second before pulling back, seemingly to say something, but you don't even consider that; you pull him back towards you hastily, face buried in his abdomen. "please! p-please don't go… i-i don't want to b-be… alone…" your panic quickly starts delving into desperation with each sob, leaving hanma left to pet your head like an animal to comfort you. "i-i just… i want it to stop… i want things t-to change… i'm so… s-so sick and tired of being sc-scared and… and mi-miserable over something i-i don't remember… i want it to s-stop… p-please make it stop…" even though you know hanma can't do anything other than listen, you still beg with him incoherently until your tears start to dry up.

…which then leads to embarrassment once you come to your senses.

and god, now that you can think a bit clearly, what have you been doing? convincing yourself that hanma could help you, trauma dumping onto your dad's friend, forcing him to comfort you, pleading with him to do something—who does that? you know it was a spur of the moment thing, but seriously, it's ridiculous. you feel ridiculous. i mean, you're supposed to be an adult for fucks sake, yet here you are, trying to make someone to take responsibilty over your unresolved problems like a child.

you'd probably break down again at the realization that you've never been able to actually mature since that day, if not for hanma's patient reassurance keeping you grounded—"are you feeling a bit better now after letting it all out, sweetheart?"

you nod your head and pull back from him, a shiver running up your spine when you're no longer touching; it's relieving, but at the same time, it leaves you feeling worse than before. though, you ignore it because, above all else, you really need to apologize to hanma. your hands come up to rub your eyes and wipe away all the snot and tears, while you tell the man, "i-i'm so, so sorry that you had to deal with that… i know you can't do anything, a-and i shouldn't have made you comfort me…" however, he dismisses your apology, telling you that you have nothing to be sorry for and that he would've already abandoned you if it was too much for him to handle. which does admittedly make you feel a bit better, if not a little surprised by his bluntness, but you still can't shake the awkwardness of the situation.

so, you mutter, "...um, w-well, thank you f-for putting up with me anyways…" after a few seconds of uncomfortable silence. "y-you don't have to stay any longer, if you don't w-want to…" you offer him, even though you're really unsure if you can be left alone with your thoughts right now; though, you'd feel bad if you made him do anything else for you.

he's already done enough.

and yet—"well, i wouldn't feel too great leaving right after you had a breakdown"—he's still so generous to you.

but in all honesty, you feel… kind of weird, at this point.

i mean, of course you appreciate him being here, but you don't know what he's getting out of this; you're not sure why he would practically babysit his boss' daughter without some kind of incentive. sure, it could be out of the kindness of his heart, but things feel off, now that you're no longer blinded by your meltdown.

and as if to validate this weird feeling you have, hanma drops on you, "by the way, now that you've calmed down, i actually think i know how to help you move past this trauma of yours a bit."

this revelation of his makes you tense up. yeah, you've wanted help for so long, but there's something in the calmness of his voice and the smile on his face that makes you think it isn't the help you want. hell, you're already gotten what you wanted: someone to listen to you.

then, it finally dawns upon you that it isn't that hanma has done enough; it's that you don't want him to do anymore.

yet—"i think you would benefit from having sex; y'know, where you actually have control this time"—he's still trying to help.

and now the source of your unease is viscerally clear.

you know what you just heard him say; the idea itself makes you want to vomit, but knowing that he's suggesting you have sex with him, is something completely different.

something worse.

but you don't want to come off rude, after what he's done for you. "u-um… i-i-i don't know about t-that…" you mumble, scooching away from him ever so slightly, only for hanma to grab your hand. you jump at the contact and debate running upstairs into your dad's room to hide, but instead, you try to calm down, telling hanma, "i-i know you… you, uh… m-mean well… but i don't think i'm, um… ready for t-that yet. i-i mean, this is the first time i-i've even talked to someone ab-about this! it would be weird to—"

"haven't you been waiting years for things to get better?" hanma interrupts, his words cutting through you like a knife and stabbing you in the heart of the issue. i mean, of course you want to get better, but what he's getting at is that you don't know how to get better because of how long you suffered for—and he would be right.

in retrospect, you imagined your recovery to be something instantaneous; you get this dwelling pain off your chest to someone, and then you'll miracuously get better. but here you are after telling someone what happened, knowing that if he left right now that you'd be at your worst. you know opening up about this was just the first step, and you know you have to be willing to step out of your comfort zone of suffering to get better.

you know hanma's proposal is the only option on the table right now.

but you also know that you're not okay with this.

however, your hand still in his grasp, hanma stands and drags you up with him. "listen, i know this is all probably scary to you, but trust me, i only want to help," he starts, as he leads you to the stairs. your feet are moving on their own to follow him, but your heart is beating out of your chest; you were worried about him coming over just to violate you, and that's really about to happen isn't it?

but as if he could read your thoughts, hanma reassures you, "i mean, i don't exactly want to sleep with someone under half my age, let alone my boss' daughter, either, but like i said, you'd benefit from having consensual sex." and even though you're still uncomfortable, his comment does relieve your initial fear—that this is something he wanted to do to you. and to cement that relief, he confirms with you, "and i'd prefer you have sex with someone you know and trust. you do trust me, right?"

that's all there is to it.

you really need to stop thinking the worst of a situation

"yes, i do…" you mumble an answer, noticing he had stopped in his ascent up the stairs to hear from you. hanma gives you a smile in response, before pausing once again once he reaches the top of the steps; he asks you which room you want to use. instinctively, you were going to say your dad's room, but that's… weird. and besides that, you have to face this—all of it. "um… m-my room is the one at the end of the hall…" you say while pointing at the door, to which hanma responds accordingly.

this is okay.

you'll be okay.

when you walk into your room, you feel fine. i mean, you spend most of your time here—you just have trouble sleeping in your bed; that's all the issue is, so it's great that you're going to get past that too, after…

after you're all tired out from…

"go ahead and get comfy," hanma tells you, to which you oblige as if you were on autopilot. you hesitantly lie down face up, as you try to relax yourself.

you don't remember the last time you've laid in your bed; realistically, it couldn't have been that long, right? but then again, all you really do is sit at your desk all day, so maybe it has been a while. hell, you remember laying on your floor more than your bed; so, maybe that's why the feeling of your comforter engulfing you in warmth is so foreign. and, now that you think about it, the softness of your pillows feels like something you forgotten as well—

the shifting of weight on the bed snaps you out of your head.

now's not the time to get distracted.

even though your skin is crawling at the sight of hanma sitting at the foot of your bed, you can't retreat into your own head; it would probably be worse for you anyway.

i mean, it always starts with the little things—like your bed. but then, you start thinking about how you used to lay on your stomach when you were younger, and how you couldn't sleep without cuddling a pillow. then, there's a gap in your memories that always leads to you thinking about the pain you felt. the blood you bled. the tears you cried. the cum that was inside—

hanma's hands rest on top of your knees, and for the first time since you laid down, you're aware of your existence. you didn't even realize that you were sitting up, legs locked together, arms wrapped around yourself.

god, you need to stop thinking so much.

you need to focus.

but that's so hard of a task to do when—"do you want me to take off your clothes for you? it's up to you."—you don't want to be here right now.

you just need to remind yourself that this will help. this is for your betterment.

"i-i can do it myself, but um… do i have to t-take off all of it?" you ask confused, being that this is your first time doing this. much to your relief though, hanma assures you that you can do whatever you want; you call the shots tonight. which… does make you feel more confident in this, but—"well, y-you know, um… i don't really know what i'm doing, so-so, uh… maybe you… y-you should just…"

hanma lifts his hands off your knees and pushes you back down against the mattress as gently as possible, explaining to you, "just tell me to stop whenever you need." you're glad he understood what you were getting at, but the embarrassment of it all is the least of your concerns now that his hands are on your hips.

it takes all your willpower not to kick him as his thumbs finger the waistband of both your shorts and your underwear, but you still end up doing it; thankfully, it was more so just a shove than a full blown kick, and hanma seems fine with it, as he respectfully backs away in response. "l-like i said, i-i can do it… s-sorry, should have, um, been m-more clear…" you apologize, to which hanma only nods his head unfazed. thank god he's patient with you.

though, how much is his patience even helping? your hands tremble as they reach down to replace hanma's to nervously tug off your bottom wear, and it's still uncomfortable. the way hanma diligently watches you strip is uncomfortable. the cool air hitting your naked pussy is uncomfortable. telling hanma, "y-you can… uh… go ahead… i-i guess…" is uncomfortable.

no matter how good hanma is to you, you're still so uncomfortable.

and it doesn't help that he has to forcefully pry your legs apart to get access to your cunt, even though that's more so your fault. but once he does, you can only stare up at the ceiling and take deep, methodical breaths—don't freak out. if you can't get past the discomfort, then the least you can do right now is not panic, even though you already feel like screaming at just the touch of hanma fingers.

you cement your feet into your mattress and clench your jaw shut to the point it hurts, as he spreads your lips apart with his index and ring fingers. his middle runs up and down your folds, with you getting more nauseous every time he makes contact with your clit, but then he suddenly dips the whole finger inside of you without warning, causing you to let out an almost grotesque squeal; you immediately apologize, even though you didn't even do anything—even though you're actually kind of pissed that he did that.

it was his fault, and hanma knows that, especially telling by his laugh as he pulls his finger out of you. to your surprise, his finger is covered in slick; i guess being at war with your body for so many years has made you unaware of how it reacts because he didn't really do anything that turned you on. in fact, you are still pretty sick at just the idea of doing this, let alone actually going through with it.

or so you thought, until hanma's tongue lapped up all your juices left on his finger and what little that started sliding down his "sin" hand.

i mean, you always thought he was an attractive man, but him doing something so… erotic makes you feel so many emotions. another layer of nausea gets added on at the fact that he's so unfazed about tasting you, maybe even into it, but you're not any better—you can feel heat rising in your cheeks, and you can't even take your eyes off him, until he opens his mouth.

"sorry, sorry; i know i shouldn't be too playful with you," he apologizes, which makes you let out a deep breath you didn't know you were holding on. his apology relieves you of a bit of tension, and it results in a smile from hanma. "i just wanted to make sure you wouldn't freak out when i actually went down on you, and i mean—you didn't panic all that much when i shoved my fingers in you, so guess i'm in the clear," he explains, before he finds his place back in between your legs.

you don't understand his methods, nor do you really want to; he seems like he knows what he's doing, so you'll just go along with it. besides, you figured he has plenty of experience just by looking at him, so who are you to say anything to begin with? i mean, regardless of what his intentions were doing… all of that, hanma managed to pull your attention away from what's going on, and that helps you calm down for a bit. hell, you don't even react when his tongue glides up your slit

well, not immediately, at least.

your breath hitches when the tip of his tongue reaches your clit, and it all suddenly comes crashing back down. the vision of an attractive man between your legs was what was keeping your mind elsewhere, but an actual touch whiplashes you back into sobriety.

back into the reality of what's happening.

and the nausea settles back tenfold.

albeit, there's also a churning in your lower abdomen as he sucks on your clit which could very well be the brunt of how sick you suddenly feel, but regardless, you think you might actually vomit the more you stay in your head. just grappling with the fact that this is happening—that your dad's friend is going to fuck you—is hard enough, let alone actually being touched like this after so long of fearing it. it's just… too much to handle, especially when hanma's fingers find their way back inside of you.

you need to tell him to stop; he said he would if you did.

but when you open your mouth to say something, his long, slender fingers reach a sensitive spot inside you that you didn't even know existed, and all that comes out is a whiny moan.

it's supposed to feel good, but the closer he pushes you to finishing, your body starts remembering how it felt the first time you came.

when you were forced to.

when you were so young that it happened maybe weeks after you just started puberty.

when your body didn't know how to respond to what was happening.

your body still doesn't know how to responds

your legs are over hanma's shoulders, so you end up slamming your foot down onto his back to make him stop. you don't even realize you did that until he removes himself from you. he looks pissed with you, and you are too.

you're so pathetic.

but, as always, hanma reassures you, "alright, alright—i'm sorry. we can stop now, if that's what you want," even if his tone sounds a bit annoyed. he wipes his mouth and chin of your slick, before attempting to get up.

but you wrap your arms around him before he can get off the bed. "n-no…" you plead, and he looks back at you confused.

you're going to tough it out. you're going to change.

even if you're scared. even if your body won't like it. even if you think it's weird to do this with hanma.

even if you don't want to.

"no, i-i'm sorry, hanma… i should've just said something…" you apologize, your voice sounding choked up as you fight off the urge to cry. he turns around to you and reaches to give you a hug, but you grab his hands and look him in the eyes. "l-look, i just… i-i don't think i can handle, um… too much… so, c-can we just, like… uh…"

you're not really an adult; saying what you want outright embarrasses you, and you can't deal with anything sexual without feeling bashful. you're a nineteen year old child who needs an adult to walk you through this, and hanma knows that. "you wanna skip the foreplay, right?" he confirms with you, to which you shyly nod your head. he chuckles in response, "that's fine by me; i just wanted to make sure i didn't go in dry—it's your real first time, y'know?" before crawling over you to lay down on the bed.

you turn around to face him, confused as to why he's the one laying down, but he answers your question before you can even ask it. "listen, i know you said you wanted me to do all the work, but you don't tell me anything—and, to be honest, i don't wanna get kicked again," he explains with a bit of lingering annoyance in his tone, as he reaches for something in his pocket. you want to apologize for that again, but he interrupts you by tossing a condom onto your lap, then continuing, "so, instead, how about you be on top and go at your own pace, sweetheart?"

it's not a suggestion; he's already tugging his sweats down his thighs so he can pull out his dick, and you're suddenly way more nervous than you were before. i mean, you don't know what you were expecting, but he's big—way too big for you, at least.

you really didn't want this time to hurt too.

but before you have the chance to retreat back into your mind, hanma points at your hands, and you remember that you're holding a condom. "oh! u-um… uh…" why would he hand this to the inexperienced one here? "m-my hands… they're, uh, s-sweaty, so could you, like, d-do it?"

hanma rolls his eyes—you think it's in jest, or at least, you hope he isn't actually anymore annoyed—and snatches the condom out of your hands; he opens it and rolls it down onto his length faster than you can even prepare yourself for this. "it's your turn now, for real," he comments, carelessly tossing the opened wrapper somewhere into the darkness of your room.

despite what you had hoped, you can tell his patience is running thin—it's most noticeably in his deadpan expression. there's no sight of that reassuring smile he has been giving you all night when he orders you to do your part, and not to mention his mannerisms are slowly getting more aggressive. and as if to prove his growing impatience, he grabs your fidgeting hands and pulls you towards him, placing them flat onto his chest.

if you weren't reluctant before, then you sure as hell are now. maybe even scared a little.

but you said you were going to tough this out, didn't you?

so, you follow hanma's lead and toss one of your legs over him, balancing yourself on his chest; this results in a soft smile from him, and a weight feels like it's been lifted off your shoulders at the sight of it. your hesitation was annoying him, but he isn't actually mad, even adding a proud "attagirl" with his grin—guess that's one thing out of the way.

the real daunting issue at hand, however, presents itself as hanma helping position his tip at your entrance, where you're supposed to lower yourself down now. just the thought is making your heart race and a cold chill go up your spine, and it doesn't help that you can feel what you think is precum sticking onto your folds now mixed with the cool air; it all just feels… so uncomfortable. so wrong.

just a little more left, though. you're so close—you can't bail out now.

you take the deepest breath you can muster and screw your eyelids shut, before slowly lowering your hips, and for the first few centimeters, you had thought you were overthinking things—but then, just one centimeter deeper, you felt a certain sting you had forgotten.

and with it, you heard a little girl cry.

your heart stops for a moment, your eyes shoot open. you don't think you can breathe. the pain was only fleeting, the pain wasn't even an issue, but you feel like you're dying.

no.

that little girl is the one who feels like she's dying right now—not you. her pain is never ending, and she always drags you into her suffering; it's why you've been in this hell for years.

every night, you're forced to hear her cry, and it makes you sick. baring that little girl's agony with her tears you apart; it's been ruining you

and right now is no different, except for the fact that you're trying to ignore her.

you grit your teeth and squint your eyes tight to the point you think you're going to hurt yourself, while forcing your hips down until the full length is inside of you. however, your efforts of drowning out the little girl's sobs are in vain because she starts to scream at the feeling of you getting stretched out. you only thought it was a bit uncomfortable, but she's making you feel so much worse.

and, "you're doing great, sweetheart," hanma isn't making anything better either. honestly, you forgot he was even here; you only took notice of him talking because his hands have found a place on your hips, and it's making her scream more. you don't even take the time to move them off, though—you just want to get through this.

but when you finally start to move, she starts begging you to stop, and you can only respond by bouncing your hips faster than you can handle.

it's awful.

you hate everything about this.

the crying, the discomfort of something inside you, the screaming, the thumping against your cervix, the pleading, the tightness building in your lower abdomen.

why did you agree to this?

a hand comes up to your face to wipe the tears that you didn't even realize were coming from your eyes. "hey, i told you we can stop whenever; you don't need to force yourself."

everytime hanma tries to reassure you that you don't have to do this, the guilt you feel for disappointing yourself is unmatched. you keep telling yourself you're going to tough it out, but everytime, you start to crack when your mind wanders—and you hate it the most out of anything happening right now.

you agreed to this because you wanted something, anything to change, and change isn't supposed to be easy.

change is supposed to hurt.

you slap hanma's hand away from your face, letting your tears flow freely, and start to grind your hips against him again, while the little girl wails 'stop' or 'it hurts' in your head. you really just can't ignore her, no matter how much you want to.

no, instead, you have to hurt her more—put her through so much pain that she dies.

and so, you'll do just that; raising your hips, forcing them back down, while your face becomes disgusting with tears and snot. the gross sound of skin slapping against skin echoing through the room of your quiet penthouse, along with your moan-like sobs and the occasional grunt from under you, and an all too familiar pressure being pounded closer and closer until release.

it all makes her scream and beg louder, cry harder, with each passing second, until your body jolts—a shiver runs up your spine, your lips tremble. there's a white noise ringing in your ears, muting the little girl.

you feel like you've been engulfed in static. even though the hands that are on your hips continue to move you, riding out your orgasm, you don't feel much. you feel fuzzy, but you can't even tell if it feels good or not.

before you know it, you're laying back down on your bed. your pussy throbs, hole clenching around nothing, and your heart is beating so fast that it feels like it's going to stop any second. your sight is blurry with tears, but you don't know if you're still crying; though, your eyes still dart around aimlessly, catching a glimpse of a used condom being tied and then thrown somewhere.

there's weight shifting around your bed, you think someone's talking to you while it happens, but you can't hear them. a warm comforter is brought over you, and the weight now rests besides you.

your mind goes blank, the sight of the little girl completely lost.

—

you wake up more refreshed than usual, but there's an ache between your thighs and a pounding in your head, on top of feeling as gross as any other day. though, you're not plagued by discomfort while laying in your bed, so you shut your eyes again, ready to sleep away your headache; unfortunately, indistinguishable yelling from downstairs denies you of your rest.

guess you should go see what the commotion is.

though, the first step out of your bed and you almost collapse. i mean, you're well aware that you had sex, but you don't exactly remember the last bits too well; once your younger self left, you did too. maybe you pushed yourself a little too hard, but if that meant being able to lay in your bed without having nightmares for at least one night, you were fine with it.

but nevertheless, you have to face the day too, to see if things have actually changed.

you drag yourself over to your dresser to put on clean underwear, before pulling your comforter off the bed. you wrap the warmth around yourself, and head out of your room, trying not to trip over yourself.

"you slept with my daughter." looking over the railing to the floor below, you see your dad holding up hanma against the wall with a gun. right… he's probably enraged about that, for good reason. "give me one fucking reason i shouldn't lodge a bullet into your skull, hanma shūji."

though, hanma looks relaxed, delighted even about a gun being pointed at him, as if this isn't a big deal at all. "well, kisaki, i don't think you want your daughter to witness a murder, right?" he answers, gesturing over to you upstairs. your dad looks up at you in shock, before hanma adds on, "i especially don't think she'd like to see the last guy she fucked shot right in front of her, yeah?"

your dad snaps back to hanma, ready to shoot him point blank for that comment, but he resists the urge because of you. he socks the man in his gut, before turning back to you. "sweetheart, please go back to your room," he asks through gritted teeth, tucking the gun into the holster under his arm. he's trying not to scare you, but you're still concerned about hanma. "i said, go back to your—"

"please don't be mad at hanma!" you plead, resulting in a surprised look from your father.

"yeah… exactly…" hanma mutters, holding his stomach where he was punched. "like i said, i was trying to help her out… you know, help her recover from what you did."

what?

you stare at hanma with bewilderment, and your dad looks at him just as confused… you think, at least.

hanma gives you an all too knowing look, before turning back to the man in front of him. "seriously, why are you mad at me? i mean, you're the one who raped your daughter in the first place."

you heart drops.

and when you hear the little girl, back from nowhere, cry 'dad, you're hurting me,' your body drops to the floor too.

you were right; there's no escape to all of this.

#tw dubcon #tw past trauma #tokyo revengers smut #tokyo revengers x reader #hanma shuuji x reader #tw dark content #tw age gap #this was written in the span of 6 months #so its probably not my best work #but its nice to post again

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