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bugginoutofthisworld · 10 months

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Pandora's Shop (or, Bodega Triangle)

I’d decided to shed my skin, which had been flaking off for years, in a place of nightmarish liminality. Where the only variables are expiration dates. The neon mermaid bade her tail and winked at me as I shook dandruff from my scalp in a snow of powdery crust. A chill overcame me and my dry skin cracked further, an artificial breeze constricting my pores. The palms of my hands clammed, something that hadn’t happened since a childhood incident with a bullfrog who’s piss gave me warts between my fingers so big they couldn’t close. Leaving the quarry that day was a kid who didn't shake hands and his butterfly net of sun-dried tadpoles.

Chipped paint on vestibule walls. Nothing is less appealing to a customer than last year's eggshell under this year's ivory. How hard is it to slap a layer of varnish to wood panels so dry even the termites have gone? It would give the sticky handles of carts and baskets some justification; oh their money is being used on aesthetics rather than sanitation, can’t have both that’s for sure. The soggy coupon ad in the basket I grabbed plopped onto the trashcans rim and slid to the bottom of the bag with a squelch. The radio above reminded me, in the words of Sheryl Crow, “all I wanna do is have some fun.”

Shattered stained glass like that which belongs in a cathedral cracked under my fingers and scathed the wax floor that led to aisles of superfluous inebriation. I’d have stayed home if not for my inability to function without room-temperature vodka in my stomach. And knowing myself as well as I do, the half-fifth I had at home was full of water. Drunk-me had stopped putting my vodka in the freezer because most mornings I’d shakily wake up to it frozen. My ironic humor led my eyes to watch the shelves for new drinks I’d never try. Whenever my work friends and I go out to the bar they order seltzers, something their wives said would quell a beer gut. Frankly, carbonation and vodka sound as appealing as children and pedophiles, but as one might justify his pedaracy, what was the harm in looking?

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With a handle of the most acetone-like vodka tucked under my arm, sloshing a foamless tide, I was ready to pull a swig. To pickle your insides was the most common cause of death in my genealogy. Most of us died pre-embalmed. I told my mom before she passed that I wouldn’t turn out like her brother, my uncle. Who bisected himself and his car on a telephone pole while on the run from a townsworth of sheriffs who were called to chase the violent bank robber that smelled like cinnamon whiskey and could hardly stand, let alone point a gun.

She croaked, and out came the bullfrog; a warty beast of sebaceum so viscous that most flies were caught on him rather than by him. And fed from a stagnant pond with mosquitoes so bountiful they outnumbered the people that lived in the apartments below. Nests of eggs were laid at the pond's edge and under a mountain of muck at the bottom the bullfrog lay masked, waiting for the buffet of hatchlings. From that hill rooftops seemed like asphalt ground and trees like bushes that lined an infinitely expansive blue front door. What I’d always wanted was to knock and ask for directions home.

The cashier behind the till stared at a vacant wonderland ahead of him. If there was a dollar in that till for every zit on his face he’d have enough to break a day’s worth of twenty’s. A haunting atmosphere became of him and the white noise emanating from the humming soda coolers. Fluorescent light is a killer of organic energies, shattering the bone under the skin. Nothing about the cashier felt less than uncanny; human cartilage.

Breakfast was a meal I routinely skipped. In favor of a mug of black coffee and a glass with a raw egg, hot sauce, vinegar, salt, and pepper in it which, along with a shot of vodka, was the only cure for the gale winds and dead fire I awoke to every morning. With more skin left to peel than time I had I wandered with the hurriedness of a molasses snail. Cereal changed little after all these years. A shiny new logo, a thinner mascot, and forgoing box tops for education.

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Even before the hangovers, waking up in discomfort was as regular as morning dew or an oily nose. To remember falling asleep was to beg for memories that weren’t there. After a while of asking I’d just accepted that it was impossible for me not to fall asleep on the couch and have my step-dad carry me to bed. Food was a distant thought in my waking mind. Water was in orbit. But to rectify the pain was as immediate a concern as an asteroid barreling through the atmosphere. My step-dad was the kind of tough that you’d only come to realize was a farce after he succumbed to the hurt. Enough times of seeking help and only getting a fistful of painkillers was a lesson in complacency.

My childhood woes often lost themselves amongst my boundless imagination. Playing with action figures, who could be heroes, villains, cops, or teachers all in one day was my favorite pastime. Hesitancy overcame me in the toy aisle of the store. Although their heroes were more plastic than mine, and although their eyes drooped the way cheap paint runs, I couldn’t fight the melancholic nostalgia that made me bite through my gummy lips. I might not see a hero in Strongarm Mike or Daredevil Nick. But I do see the opportunity to create for them a life beyond their toxic Chinese parts.

Two princesses, in royal blue and purple gowns dance a waltz in a glittering ballroom. From them emanates a hue of sparkling magic which guides their dancing feet and tosses the tulle of their gowns in a dramatic flair. Under the glass floor two heroes’ barrel through the raining debris of a falling skyscraper, each with an unconscious construction worker thrown over their shoulder. A figure-eight of the princesses' wands invites the men into their realm and sets the workers in pumpkin-shaped ambulances. Mike grabs the hand of the blue princess who, with a wave of her wand, clothes him in a teal suit. Nicks’ purple princess bestows him a lavender colored ensemble. The pairs break off and sway with each other to the sound of fluttering piano keys.

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A tactic in self-preservation I’d learned early on was to piss in a drawer at the corner of my room. There was a book I’d read in second grade that taught me about pheromones, about the way animals secrete fluids that can invite or deter others. Like a sort of implicit instruction that finds itself teaching from the subconscious. The bullfrog hated the drawer. My experiment started once my fear of crossing his path overwhelmed my need to piss. On the precipice of an infected tract, I awoke one night to a strained throb in my bladder. While half-asleep I wandered over to the drawer which presented itself to me as a porcelain latrine. In a frothy gush like that of a breaking dam I flooded the drawer. And went back to bed. The next morning the bullfrog wasn’t standing over me nor did I wake up with the pains. After a few more weeks of using the drawer, I’d figured out the correlation.

I ran my nose up and down the cleaning aisle in marathon laps. Like some scentless apprentice I could distinguish clean linen from lavender serenity from April fresh from blossom and breeze from Hawaiian aloha from fresh lemon. They worked in harmony to create an environment that left my skin itchy and my lungs ablaze as the chemical compounds worked their way into my already clogged bronchi. And remembering the time I poured bleach into my piss drawer and created a gas so noxiously overwhelming it did the bullfrogs job for him I hesitated as I made my way.

Cotton fabric is a particularly absorbent material. My clothes always had a musk of cigarettes and nap sweat from my jackets to my boxers and socks. Yet, I was olfactorily unrecognizable. The ecosystem of sanitizing elements that watched me like birds on telephone wire, without trying, hid me in a drape of anonymous scent. Into the mirage of frost, I disappeared. And cried. Bees attacking my eyes with their sharp thoraxes. Gushes of salivation clawed my sunny eyes and bled onto my face. Into the freshly peeled skin of my cheeks, dry and raw, ran a tidal of abstract, toxic compounds. Underfoot the ground disappeared and became a crunchy and brittle surface. My blue toes, numb to thought, squelched in the swamp at the soles of my shoes. Fire engulfed what nerves were left to sing a song of damnation. Shaking so violently the world crumbled from its trembling axis. Fell into a clear void of thick fog which hissed from every point possible in the third dimension.

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The price of milk is only getting more expensive- I mean what is the deal with inflation? Whoever is behind this must be the same ladies working on my husband's tits. And it’s not just because he has a baby on the way- no ma’am. It’s because he has two babies on the way. If you’d have told me that my husband getting pregnant would make him horny and well-endowed I’d have stopped masturbating in the bathroom after he fell asleep years ago. No, no- I’m serious. Nothing makes me feel uglier than looking up into the mirror stained with his popped pimples and toothpaste spit and seeing the face of the gal who just came into her toilet to Three Latina Death Row Inmates Play Strip Euchre. Anyone seen any good movies lately? No? Sorry I forgot it was the great depression. Let me roll my eyes and exhale from my nose dramatically real quick. Anyway, I just got back from seeing that Everything Everywhere All At Once flick- It’s the movie about a dimension hopping mom and her evil lesbian daughter. Whatever, I got to thinking… I wonder if there's a universe out there where my husband is not such a bitch? Look I’m glad we got men's rights, but what about men's wrongs?

I tried to drown myself in that drawer full of piss. By the time the bullfrog was gone to another pond, it had become a murky, autumn colored liquid that seeped through the thin tile at the bottom and dripped onto my floor. But once I’d started pissing in there I couldn’t stop. Everything about that house scared me even after I knew, consciously, it was safe. But some tickle in the back of my mind kept saying it would be back. But I’d seen him hop over to the pigs and play in the mud; last I heard he was living with some birds in a steely nest. And the day came when I learned that it doesn't take much for a lilypad to sink.

The world is ending inside my head.

Find that fuse, which grows from the earth

like a juvenile sprout.

If we were in a hotel I’d say avoid the stairs

and the active shooter.

And when my dog was a duck

I still loved him.

While ants' lap spilled vodka from the couch.

This is like the third kid I’ve killed this way.

If you walk a little farther

you’ll save some money

and make sense of roadkill

and their absent eyes.

and I’ll never be on stage again.

Yet the world persists.

Horridly the presence of asparagus became on me. I’d never wanted again to smell piss so pungent. Artichoke and spinach danced a dip as one. The apples removed layers of caramel seductively and stroked their wooden sticks. Gleeks, sung a mashup of songs that swung and just barely missed a spot in the top 40s. Harmonizing ambiently was the chime of bell peppers. It was midnight all the time. Spicy germ chimed against the membranous wall and echoed toward the tall ceilings and their waning light. Words from languages foreign to human ears, ginger root communicated with a bug-like discourse. Belly laughing pumpkins. An assault of melon seeds against any thick, echoing surface: stone for a bass-heavy thud, metal made a rattling clang, and wood made for a thin, clapping instrumentation. But in a band all parts are made equal; it's the sheet music which permits bias.

Those tomatoes in the corner creating martyrs of themselves, by Florence, they call to me. I’m at the front of the classroom being pelted by spitballs from bullies who might just yank my underwear by my autographed waistband. A match held just under my nose takes hair in sulfur wisps; melting that thin septum of mine to a drippy goop. I believe in protein powder for its glamorous-physique- inducing milk chocolate goodness. Granola makes for too harsh a meal; no yogurt can dull the stalactite-sharpness of any grain. I believe they are coming and I shall light another match and put my nose back in place. Spuds on the floor hear me when I say to you, “por que no los dos?”

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Forsaken by my skin and now as fresh as a newborn chick. Where my feathers are dangling stems of chewy nerves and I am dressed in a clear-orange sauce of fluid. The shelves no longer behold themselves to merchandise and the only light is that which comes in from the moon and street lamps outside.

My cashier exploded, like pressurizing a can of tomato paste there are streams of meat that cover every-inch of in a six-foot-radius from where he stood. I suspect the bills in the till are still fresh and crisp, however. All I can audibly distinguish is the whir of machinery that keeps fridges cool and freezers frigid.

“Underdog, underdog.” Croaks an appalling voice. “Speed of lightning, roar of thunder,” it continues, “stare directly into the sun and see how clean that makes your clothes. Stains do not a good boy make. Your mother would be so disappointed in you. Those scuffs on your white shoes would send her reeling. You know I could clean them up for you. Go ahead and take off your shoes.”

I step from my formerly white tennis shoes, the color of their underside.

“That’s a good boy.”

“Thank you.”

“Thank you, what?”

“Thank you, sir.”

“That's better. Now let's get that shirt and those shorts into the washer, I thought you hated playing in the mud? That was the first thing your mom told me about you, and something I never forgot, ‘this boy of mine hates to get dirty,’ she said.”

I stepped into near-nakedness by taking off my shirt and shorts, left in my underwear, socks, and forsaken knees.

“There we go. Oh you must be so cold. Why don’t you go upstairs and take a warm shower? Wash some of that dirt off your face and get yourself clean before dinner.”

“Yes, sir.”

I abandoned my briefs and cotton socks on the bathroom floor where they became fabric mush; abstracted by sprinkles from the cool shower water. Shampoo de-greased my hair, conditioner made it soft, no soap was strong enough to rinse from me the oil of hands that caressed my up and down and smoothed my skin from the roughness made by the peach fuzz of a fawnlette. And I’d always been grateful that in a shower there were bountiful excuses to dismiss what looked like crying. And what may be blood washed down the drain never to be seen again. And what was pain could be dulled by making the water hotter.

#bugginoutofthisworld #short story #writeblr #writers of tumblr #creative writing #fiction #queer writers #writers on tumblr #horror

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timothymarchbanks · 2 years

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Timmy couldn’t believe his luck. A job at a bookshop! A bookshop tucked away in a corner of magical London the minister was very unlikely ever to wander into. That ghost had been a little odd, but still—it was a job! Timmy had almost owled Benjy right away, eager as he was to share the good news. But then he’d thought about how he’d much rather tell Benjy face to face. And then he thought about how he’d much rather give Benjy an even better surprise than just his good news. The past few weeks had been difficult, with them moving out of their old flat and staying with Benjy’s parents and then moving in someplace new and Timmy looking for a new job and jumping every time a letter got delivered, worried the Minister might have found him. The weeks leading up to Timmy’s decision to leave the Minister had been rough too, actually, with the potions and Timmy finding out about Richie and then their awful fight. Timmy was glad that was behind them. But Benjy had been so wonderfully supportive, Timmy wanted to do something special for him. That was from him, not Richie putting them up in a fancy hotel. Which had actually turned out to be a wonderful night that he was never going to discuss with his big brother. But the point was, Timmy wanted to do something for Benjy from him. He knew that Benjy was a romantic. He’d always told Timmy about all the grand hopes he had for finding his one true love. Timmy still felt all warm inside when he remembered how Benjy had said Timmy was his one. And Timmy knew that didn’t come with any strings attached. But he also wanted to give Benjy everything he dreamed of. Big romantic gestures included. The problem was, Timmy didn’t have much to work with given that he was—up until today—unemployed and laying low and had never dated before.

But being best mates with Benjy meant he had an idea of what was romantic, or at least what sorts of things Benjy thought were romantic, which was what mattered. He’d gotten Bertie and Drew to agree to stay out of the flat for the night and spent the rest of the afternoon preparing. First he’d messed around with a few charms until he got the ceiling of their flat to look like a night sky spattered with stars—which he was quite proud of, actually. Then he’d pulled out the record player Bertie rigged up to run on magic and set up a nice slow record. Next he used another charm to push some of the furniture out of the way in their living room, clearing a space under the fake stars he hoped would maybe work for dancing. And then he set the kitchen table, a few flowers he’d picked from outside their building in a vase in the middle and two glasses of sparkling apple juice, charmed to stay chilled. There was also, of course, a fresh pot of coffee brewed. He set candles up all along the kitchen counters, framing the table in candlelight in addition to the starlight overhead. Then he owled for Benjy’s favorite takeaway and went to their room, making up their bed tidying a few things that were out of place and lighting more candles with magic so they wouldn’t accidentally burn anything down. He wished he’d thought to get some rose petals, but the candles were still nice, he thought. Especially after he charmed the ceiling of their room to match the shared space in their flat. Last he changed into some nice slacks and a sweater that Benjy had said he thought Timmy looked nice in. He brushed his hair, fiddling with it maybe a little too long, which was stupid because Benjy already liked him, obviously. He just wanted this to be special. It was the owl showing up with their food that had him finally giving up, walking back to the kitchen and setting the takeout on plates, charmed to stay warm. He glanced at the clock, heart racing in anticipation; Benjy should be back soon. And Timmy wasn’t actually sure where he should be standing when Benjy came in. Did he stand at the table? Wait at the doorway? Hide and jump out and say ‘surprise!’ when Benjy came in? Probably not that last one. He was standing frozen in the middle of the kitchen trying to decide what the heck to do with himself when he heard the door opening. Apparently standing in the kitchen it was. Timmy turned toward the door with a wide grin. “Hi Benjy.”

#benjy #one more for you xD

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yeouls · 3 years

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SYNOPSIS | having your virgin cunt slutted out on an examination chair by a hot ass doctor is something straight out of a porno—expect it’s way better.

CONTENT | medical kink, corruption, innocence, virginity loss, dubcon, blood kink, degradation, squirting, praise, humiliation, virginity test, unethical as humanly possible.

FEATURING | eren jaeger

WORD COUNT | 2.8k

growing up in a religiously conservative household with parents that rebuked the concept of sex meant that one thing was routine; a yearly check up to ensure that you weren't going against their wishes.

this year things were different. you were sent off on your own to a new clinic. although you turned eighteen months ago and could easily say no, you felt the compelling need to obey your parents. after all, you still lived under their roof.

the fact that you were growing older and independent made them more desperate to keep you as ‘pure’ as possible. they were eager to banish the filth of sex and sin that could potentially manifest within you.

a part of you hated it but the other part of you understood because you were their only daughter. their obsession went as far as homeschooling you during your high school years.

unlike all past visits, this time you were greeted by a male doctor—a rather handsome and young one at that. his emerald eyes glistened a certain darkness but his gleaming smile eluded nothing but brightness. you could feel the sweat eagerly itch in your palms when the man first entered the room.

you impatiently pat your damp hands gently onto the patient gown you had changed into minutes ago.

“no need to be so nervous, i don’t bite,” he lightheartedly chuckles while settling down onto the rolling chair. his smooth words were quick to snap you from your frantic state as he rolls closer to you on his chair. “our female doctor is out on emergency, i hope you don’t mind.”

you didn’t mind but him being an arm length away sent your heart pulsating in your chest. you could smell the faint, musky aroma of his cologne dangling in the air around him. the small whispers of his earthy shampoo filled your nostrils. even the drabbles of his scent rushes a heat of nervousness through your body.

you hadn’t been like this with past doctors. was it because he was young? or attractive? or a man? the only men you grew up around was your father and older brother so interactions with other males were quite limited and overwhelming.

you can’t control the nervousness that roots in your stomach—the tension filling your abdomen with a foreign feeling.

your eyes can’t help but stay glued to the floor as you play with the hem of your gown. the room blankets in a still silence. you can feel your heart rapidly beating in your ears and pounding against your ribs as you anticipate his next words.

“i see that you’re here for a virginity test,” he murmurs while writing on the clipboard that he grips in his hand. you trace your eyes from the floor to his eyes and you’re taken aback by how intensely he is staring at you. you slightly turn your head away from him and nod in confirmation.

“i’m gonna need you to use your words.”

the tone in his sentence was extremely variant from the kind voice he was speaking in seconds ago. his words were now coated in a husky, dark tone that brought a chill to your spine. it was the same looming darkness that made your heart race when you first saw him. it was enticing and enchanting. an unfamiliar sensation swells in your core as you slightly squirm on the chair.

“yes, my parents are a bit…hysteric,” you whisper in an attempt to explain your situation to him. you were afraid he would judge you for being a virgin when kids your age were out indulging in sex.

“there’s no need to explain yourself to me,” he reassures in a smile as he settles the clipboard on the side of the table and rests a hand on your bare thigh. your breath is caught in your lungs by his sudden touch. the touch was filled with anything but innocence. but how could you be aware of his dark intentions? “i’ll take good care of you, hm?”

you softly nibble on your bottom lip before nodding your head. his blazing touch is soon gone as the rushing of water echos through the room. you intently watch as he washes his hands and snaps on a fresh pair of latex gloves. the thumping of your heart increases by each step he takes closer to you.

maybe the leering darkness in his eyes and tone was a mistake on your behalf. he was nice enough to tell you that he’d take good care of you.

“lay back on the chair for me,” he requests as he rolls closer on his seat. your heart feels like exploding out of your chest as you cave into his request. you’re once again meet with the ceiling of the examination room that you were accustomed to for the past two years.

your eyes tightly screw shut as he props your legs up on the leg rests. your feel yourself flinch at the sensation of cool air coating your cunt as your gown rises. a heat burns in your face as you become aware that you were on display to him. you had done this before but something about this time just feels so different.

eren himself couldn’t hold himself back when granted the sight of your wetness. something about an innocent virgin opening her legs to him had his mind running in circles. the persistent urge to corrupt you and drag you into his darkness rushes through his veins. the need to tease you and use you until you begged crying for mercy was slowly overpowering him.

“i see something has excited you,” he leers as a single gloved digit runs up your folds—familiarizing himself with your cunt. he nearly chuckled at how erect your clit had gotten in that short time amount of time. the atmosphere of the room goes heavy—this was anything but a normal examination.

his eyes grow darker as he parts your puffy lips and observes how your virgin holes twitches at the sudden rush of cold air. a small whimper falls from your lips at the cool feeling of his latex gloves. “i doubt you’re a virgin seeing how wet you are.”

it felt different, it didn’t feel like a conversation that should be taking place between a doctor and his patient. but the thing is, you never saw him as a doctor to begin with—you saw him as an attractive male. and he for sure didn’t see you as a patient but more as a little hole to experiment with.

“i’m gonna make you a little more wet so i can slide my fingers in to check, okay?” he hums spreading your folds and enjoying the glistening secretions that coated it. he planned to tease you and arouse you to the point you couldn’t help but beg for him to touch you more.

the lustful whimpers that fall from your lips made his pants grow tighter. he couldn’t wait to stretch out your tight, little cunt. to watch the impure blood drip as he took every last bit of innocence you possessed.

your hips twitch at a foreign yet pleasurable sensation as he leads up your folds—fondling with the small and sensitive flesh. it was a sensation that made you feel like your lungs would give out. the strange feeling made something tighten in your abdomen as your body naturally stiffened. it hadn’t gone like this with other doctors.

eren enjoyed it, watching you confuse over what he was doing to your body. your innocence and neediness only compelling him more. he took pleasure in you trembling under his light touch. he knew by stimulating your clit that he’d make your hornier and in need for more of him.

“f..feels weird,” you finally manage to stutter out. your mind feels more distant than usual as you are unable to focus on anything except this new pleasure. a pleasure that you didn’t want to let go of—that you wanted to experience over and over again.

“that’s normal, i’m just prepping you a bit,” he hushes in a voice dripping in lust. his eyes had grown darker and pupils far more dilated than earlier. strands of hair splayed on his face as your pants intensified.

there was just something so concupiscent about having him between your legs. every inch of your body desired and cried for him. you wanted more. it was becoming harder by the second to suppress the embarrassing whines that fell from your lips.

a hidden, dark smirk paints his face the more wetter you grow from his touch. his fingers were gone from your source of pleasure and were now rimming around your entrance. you shiver a bit at the coldness of the glove.

this was the part of the exam you were familiar with. the part where two fingers want up your vagina to observe if any vaginal penetration had taken place. something felt different when he first entered, his fingers were more exploring than observing.

a shameless moan echos through the room when he presses against something inside you that created an equally pleasurable sensation as earlier. “you’re not the good girl i thought you were, are you?”

whatever words came from his mouth didn’t make it past your ears. your hips jolt forward wanting his fingers to press against that same spot again. formulation of words is a lost possibility as you attempt to defend yourself.

“i a…am! i am a good girl,” you finally moan out in defense of yourself. you truly were. you had no idea why your body was reacting like this now when it hadn’t during past exams. “it’s you who’s making me feel weird.”

a simple, sneerful scuff is his response as your hips involuntarily move against his fingers. your trembling under his touch comes to halt when his fingers slide out of your cunt. your mind feels dazed at what just happened. you didn’t know what it was but you needed more. the boiling sensation arising in your stomach building up to something simply vanished.

so blindly driven by pleasure, you find yourself stopping the man in his tracks by gripping onto his coat sleeve. you slightly sit up with eyes dawning thick tears. the look of ruin on your face automatically rushing blood to his nether regions. eren’s face looked the opposite of you; cool, calm, collected but little did you know that the facade was falling apart.

“m…more, please,” you practically beg as your face grows hotter than before. the innocent pleading promptly causes eren to smirk.

“i’m not sure what you’re talking about.”

the frustration of his teasing makes you nibble at your bottom lip. he knew what you wanted and he wanted you to say it—to beg for it. but you, yourself were far to embarrassed to allow the words to dare slip past your quivering lips. you pull his hand closer by the grip on his sleeve and grasp onto his wrist before guiding him to your soaking cunt.

“more of this,” you whimper as you faintly move his hands over your arousal—the touch barely causing you an pleasure. the action to him was far more convincing than words could ever be. he was further satisfied than ever having you under his clutch from just a little teasing.

his white coat falls to the floor as he inches closer to you. the dark tone and alluding smirk were back into play as he snaps his latex gloves off. his callous finger drags up your core as he places a teasing tap on your clit. “i’m gonna fuck you and turn you into my pretty, little whore.”

you feel your cunt twitch at the words dripping in lust. a gasp falls from your lips as his fingers stuff your cunt again, this time much harsher than earlier. “you’re telling me you weren’t begging me to fuck you when you were sitting here all wet and whiny, hm?”

“n…no, want you to fuck me,” you whisper as his middle and ring finger drive into your sweet spot. the word fuck felt so foreign to your tongue—so vile and dirty. filthy enough for you to forget the entire reason you came in the first place.

you can feel the familiar build up of tension accelerating in your abdomen.

“i..i want it,” you moan, mind blurred by the pleasure of his fingers plunging into your walls. your nails dig into the leather of the seat as you feel a wet sensation licking at you. your breath catches in your lungs as you look down to see the sight of his face buried between your thighs and mercilessly licking at your cunt.

“n…no, it’s dirty,” you stammer as your fingers tangle in his hair. your failed attempt barely hinders his lapping at your clit.

“if only you know how sweet you taste,” he moans into your cunt. the vibrations of his words only amplifying the pleasure. your body tenses as a heat surges through your skin. your mind goes blank and moans grow loud as a warm liquid rushes down your thighs.

tears brink in your eyes at the relentless pounding of his fingers into you even after climaxing. the overstimulation enough to leave your legs trembling.

“fuck,” he grunts at your ruined sight. he couldn’t hold himself back anymore. the tightening in his pants was unbearable at this point. he was more than eager to stretch out your tiny cunt and leave you a whining mess.

“what do you want?” he whispers as he begins to bring your legs down from the rests. your mind was still foggy from your first orgasm. all you knew was that you wanted to feel more of that burning pleasure.

“i want you to make me feel good here,” you pant as you run your fingers up your wetness. the reply flourishes a smile of pride on his face—like he had successfully accomplished something.

“c'mere, i’ll make you feel good.”

with weak knees and a slipping gown you fall into his lap—straddling him. your arms wrap around his neck as you eagerly rut yourself against him. a smirk paints his face as he watches you innocently rub against his bulge looking for some sort of satisfaction.

“you learn fast, don’t you? already a fucking whore,” he chuckles while gripping your cheeks. your face heats in embarrassment at the degrading words. his grip on your hips brings your movements to a complete halt. his hands hook under your thighs as he places you on the examination chair.

“i can’t hold myself back any more.”

his hands lead down to quickly undo the string to his scrubs. your eyes slightly widening at his size. was it even going to fit?

“it’s not gonna fit,” you murmur in concern while chewing on your bottom lip. his hand rests under your chin as your eyes meet his.

“i’ll make it fit.”

the same cunning tone of darkness persistent in his words.

a sharp breath fills your lungs as a burning sensation consumes your lower half. your whimpers of pain are silenced by his lips as his tongue slides into your mouth. his hand drags down to your clit and draw circles in an attempt to relieve you.

“shhhh, you’re doing such a good job,” he whispers against your lips as you feel him pressing against your sweet spot. fake words of comfort for him to just use you to suit his needs. a darkness glistens in his eyes as he takes in the sight of your tight cunt clenching around him dripping in blood.

the gentleness of his thrusts are soon gone and are replaced with something much harder and rougher. the hands that once caressed your cheeks earlier telling you that you were doing good were now wrapped around your throat.

“i told you to shut up, didn’t i? at this point everyones going to hear what a whore you are.”

his harsh words only turn you on more as the sweat of his skin sticks against yours. the feeling of pleasure rained over you as you came around him from overstimulation—your body daring to give out at any second.

your mind feels murky as all you can manage to do is rut your hips against his chasing another high. your body falls limb against the cool leather as the warmth of his seed fills you.

he was proud of the ruined mess he left you in. your cunt dripping the mixture of his cum and your blood. your body coated in sweat. your cheeks stained in tears and your lips puffy from all his bites.

he had completely demolished the image of innocence that bloomed from you when you first walked in. he had marked you with his darkness. he knew you were bound to come back for more. after all—they all do.

“i look forward to our next appointment.”

1K notes · View notes

aggravatetheaxe · 3 years

Note

Hey! Saw your post and saw you said you were upsettie spaghetti so I wanted to cheer you up!

Slashers who stop everything they’re doing because their “My S/O needs me” senses are tingling and go to their rescue to comfort their angry s/o?

I was hoping to come up with A way for you to get your emotions out through your writing- 😅

Hope you feel better! 🖤

I've never done a post in this style before so hopefully I do okay! I think I covered pretty much all the slashers I write for so far (I didn't do Billy Lenz because I still need to read the novelization). I may have gone way overboard, so if I do these in the future, I'll probably just pick a few instead of doing the whole roster 😅 (or you can pick for me). But doing this much work did distract me!

Above the cut:

Bo Sinclair

Vincent Sinclair

Lester Sinclair

Included below the cut:

Michael Myers (OG)

Jason Voorhees

Leslie Vernon

Thomas Hewitt

Bubba Sawyer

Brahms Heelshire

Erik ("The Phantom")

Deacon Billings (OC Ghostface)

Courtney Dwayne Delmont (OC slasher)

Kathleen Montgomery (OC slasher)

Masterlist

***

Bo Sinclair

Despite being autistic, Bo is very in tune with peoples auras and body language. He has to be to manipulate and deceive people with any modicum of success. He's trained himself when it comes to these things; even besides masking or manipulation, he needed to be keenly aware of when his parents were in Bad Moods so he could either avoid them or prepare himself.

The mood he's probably best at when it comes to this, for those reasons, is anger. He can smell anger a mile away. So if you're fuming, you better believe he notices.

At first he's annoyed and will demand to know what your problem is. He's not a very tolerant person, and he can be a bit of a hypocrite. He's allowed to have big, messy feelings, but when it comes to others having big, messy feelings ... he's not so comfortable with that. He gets overwhelmed.

Once he realizes that this is more than an attitude problem, he'll take it much more seriously. And assuming you're not mad at him, he'll want the rundown on the whole situation from beginning to end. He wants all the dirt.

He'll let you rant, and honestly, he'd think you being this angry (when it's not directed at him, but even still sometimes) is kind of sexy. And don't expect him to shut his mouth, either; he'll be ranting right along with you, affirming you and insulting whomever/whatever you're angry about.

He doesn't wanna cuddle. He genuinely thinks you can't cuddle anger away. He'll put on some loud-ass music and let you vent your frustration however you prefer. Maybe suggest a long drive down to the lake or into town or just ... picking a direction and going. He has fantasies of running away from his anger sometimes. He knows how it is.

Depending on what you're angry about, it could definitely get to the point where he's angrier about the situation than you are. And if it really hurt you, he will not let it go as long as he lives. The best he will ever do is maintain a grudging neutrality or distance from the person/situation that made you angry.

He's very protective. If you're angry at someone you need to maintain a relationship with, you're going to have to keep an eye on Bo to make sure he doesn't deliver revenge for you behind your back. If it's something he can solve, he'll do it, so if you don't want him running his mouth, watch him.

Vincent Sinclair

Vincent is in the same boat as Bo when it comes to sensing auras, though his handle on body language and facial expressions is not as keenly honed. While Vincent was not physically abused as brutally or as often as Bo, this wasn't because of some sterling quality he had that Bo lacked. He was always The Good One because he saw what his parents did to The Bad One and knew he needed to protect himself. He tried not to do anything that might provoke his parents.

You can feel anger before a fight like you smell ozone before a storm. Vincent is attuned to the feeling not just because of his parents but because of Bo's temper, too. Because of this, like Bo, he can very accurately sense anger in particular.

His initial reaction is to observe you, gauging if you need time to cool off. If you need space, Vincent is the Sinclair for you. He's used to being quiet and deflecting and riding out anger.

However, once he realizes that your anger is not directed at him or isn't explosive enough to become a problem for him, he's concerned. Rather than asking what happened, he will ask if you're okay, and leave it up to you whether you'll tell him about it or not.

If you vent, he'll sit and listen patiently, maybe even thoughtfully working on a sculpture while you rant. He's not judgemental and he can be very emotional himself, so you could say the most ridiculous, dramatic things and he wouldn't even bat an eye. Let out all your messy, destructive thoughts and feelings. Just try not to throw or punch anything; that's when he shuts down.

If you decide you just want comfort, or decide you need comfort after ranting, art is his first suggestion. It may seem cold to you at first, that his instinct isn't to hold you or kiss you but rather to redirect you to a project - once you got to know him, however, you'd know that's his most genuine way to show he cares. Redirecting to something creative calms him down more than platitudes ever could, and he wants that for you. He's nonjudgmental about the art you create as well, even if it's objectively terrible. It's not about the quality.

He won't turn you down if you need physical affection, however. His twin is extremely tactile, so it wouldn't be the first time he held someone after a breakdown. He prefers to do this if he's certain you won't lash out physically, but if you were in a really bad way and needed to be touched, he'd do it regardless.

Lester Sinclair

Lester witnessed his parents' anger, but it was usually indirectly; if Bo was the Bad One and Vincent was the Good One, he was the Overlooked One. He's not a perfect person, probably not even a good person, but of the three brothers, he's the most normally socialized. He isn't trained to be tuned into everyone's every shifting mood in order to survive.

It takes Lester a little longer to pick up on your anger than his brothers, but not too much longer. It takes him a couple tries at trying to talk to you or get your attention before he realizes something is really wrong.

His first reaction is to get upset. He soaks up emotions like a little sponge, so he's suddenly cranky, too. He also jumps to conclusions and assumes that you're angry with him, and he does not take rejection well. He might be bitter and passive aggressive. You being angry just makes him want to go in another room and not be around you, and yet at the same time, he wants your reassurances. It's messy and sad.

Once he realizes - either through observing you or through you communicating with him - that you're mad at another person or situation, then he'll feel comfortable enough to approach you and ask you about it. You'll definitely need to reassure him that you're not mad at him though.

If you wanna rant, he'll take you on a long drive and let you vent your heart out to him. He won't be quite as aggressive as Bo, but he'll be on your side, frowning with disapproval, telling you "Ya can't fix stupid." If you want only comfort or need comfort after venting, he feels much more equipped for that. He'll put something relaxing in the VHS or let you play his old Super Nintendo, get you a beer, just let you chill out. And he'll let you win at Doctor Mario.

If the situation is something really serious, you best believe he'll be talking to his brothers about it the second he gets a chance. He may be a sweet guy, but he can be real nasty, and he doesn't fuck around when it comes to you. You might have to keep an eye out to make sure he doesn't tell someone off or punch out someone's lights.

Michael Myers (OG)

In 1978, Michael is not very in tune with any emotions besides fear, and even then he only really understands it in an abstract way, as his condition and upbringing haven't really been conducive to him learning about emotions. Unless you're screaming in terror, have tears running down your face, or are shouting angrily, he really can't read your moods. Without any obvious change to how you normally act or look, there's a huge chance he might just not notice if you're angry. He spends a lot of time in his own little world.

In 2018, even though he's spent over 50 years institutionalized, Michael has had time to take in the world, and he's seen a lot more. He understands fear much more than he did when he was 21, but what he understands most of all is anger. His anger fuels him. He would pick up on yours right away and be curious, though he wouldn't verbalize it.

If you tell him how you feel, he'll take note of it. If he witnesses you doing something destructive because of your anger, he'll simply observe. He would be fascinated with this thing you're doing, because it's not something you normally do, and though he might not notice emotions, he certainly notices routine and pattern. Either way, you'll have to tell him how you feel, because he'll simply watch you otherwise.

One thing that can be said for Michael is that he's a good listener. He may not internalize everything you say, but he will remember what he thinks is important. You may be surprised; he may remember tiny little details that seem inconsequential to you but loom large in his mind.

Unless you were caused serious physical or mental harm, he would not be angry on your behalf. He would, however, do nothing to assuage your anger. He thinks it would be kinda neat and interesting to see you snap. He's not 100% sure why you don't just do it.

In 1978, he won't be much help beyond listening to you, but he would be curious to see what you do to vent your anger. You may find him by your side more often, observing you. He may also want to find and observe the object of your anger, especially if it's a person. In 2018, he would, in his own way, suggest you solve the problem by murdering someone/something. He's insatiable, but killing is the closest he's ever come to satisfaction. You should try it.

Jason Voorhees

Out of all of the slashers, Jason is the most likely to actually literally sense your anger, especially if you're psychically sensitive/powerful like Tina Shepard. I'm talkin'—assuming you have a pre-established relationship—he'll be doing something else and just get this itch that tells him you're out there somewhere, pissed off.

Obviously this is untenable. As long as he's not super busy or Pamela has other plans, Jason will stomp his way through the woods to get back to you, regardless of the urgency of your anger. If Pamela doesn't approve, well, he'll let a little anger go and assume you're okay. If he suspects you may be in danger, though, he's sprinting regardless of what Mom says. There's time for both things, Ma!

The first thing he'll do when he returns to you is scan your dwelling, then you, making sure nothing is broken. At that point, you'd probably be able to sense his confusion even without him signing. Jason doesn't experience emotions quite like a human anymore, and he's quite tactile besides, so a lack of tangible or visible clues as to why you're upset would trip him up for a second.

He doesn't want to comfort you at first, he wants to know what's wrong. He'll listen to you vent only long enough to understand the situation and identify his target. His immediate next move would be to eliminate the problem. You'll definitely have to hold him back, and it may take a bit of convincing. Earthly consequences don't really apply to him.

Before comfort comes blowing off steam, for you and for him. His first choices would be mangling some trees (you can pretend it's for firewood) or skipping/throwing stones into the lake. You're welcome to join him if those things calm you down; watching him get his stone to skip like 11 times on Crystal Lake may make you feel better, at least.

You might hang out there for hours before he suddenly decides it's time to go home. He'll do what he can to make your comfortable or stay out of your way while you make yourself comfortable, then comfort you as you please. His go-to choice is always foot or hand massages.

Leslie Vernon

Leslie is extremely observant and surprisingly analytical given how silly he is in the day to day. His intuition makes it pretty easy for him to read people, but especially you, since you two are so close. Especially-especially if you're his Survivor Girl (gender neutral term of course). You two are in sync, so he knows if something's up. Maybe even before you fully figure it out.

God, you're so hot when you're angry, you really are. He almost wants to let you scream and holler and go nuts. But he prefers you only get angry like that at him, especially if you're his Survivor Girl, so his first move is to comfort you or talk you down to a place where you can be comforted. He'll speak to you calmly and rationally, reassuring you and touching you if you wanna be touched—on your upper arms or shoulders or face, or with one arm around your back.

He doesn't just want to comfort you, though, he wants to calm you down enough that you can tell him what happened. Even if you claim you don't want to talk about it, he will coax it out of you eventually. He's gotta know what got you so upset. It's his business to know everything about you!

Assuming you're angry at someone/something that isn't him, he'll talk it through with you. If you're upset about an argument with someone, he has the capacity to see it from the other side, but ultimately, he's there for you. He'll let you bitch as much as you want, still touching you, and he'll be disgusted and/or disappointed with the situation.

Above all, though, what he wants is to see you smile again. The only worries on your mind should be the ones he comes up with, and man, he's not even halfway done grooming the next batch of unlucky teenagers. He'd pat your face or touch your hair and tell you to cheer up, and probably defuse the situation with a stupid quip or joke. Take you out somewhere fun, maybe.

Once you were cheered up, he'd humbly suggest you solve your problem with a little murder. "I mean, I know killing's not really your thing—you're really good at it, though, a talent! You know that..." Pause, considering you. "You want me to do it? 'Cause I can clear my schedule for the rest of the night." If you decline, he'd be like "Suit yourself" but may or may not still murder whoever upset you. If you agree, he'd be super excited to make a romantic night of it. His mind would be going a million miles an hour planning everything out.

Thomas Hewitt

Tommy knows anger when he sees it. Not only does he have loads of internalized anger, he's been on the receiving end of it plenty. He's far too large to be scared of anyone in a physical sense anymore, but he's been shouted at countless times. To know when to shut up and do as he's told versus arguing back, he's learned to gauge intensity and direction of anger, and he well knows that anger can be redirected to him.

So, he instantly recognizes your mood, but it might be a while before he approaches you. When he does approach, he'll let you decide what to do, whether that's throwing your arms around him or banging your fists on his chest to vent your anger. You won't hurt him.

Eventually, once you're all hugged or cried or screamed out, he'll wrap his arms around you and give you a reassuring squeeze. There's no need to tell Tommy what's wrong—he won't ask unless you're obviously in serious distress or injured—but if you decide to speak, he'll listen, brows drawn tightly the whole time. He's thoughtful about the situation.

If you're mad at someone in his family, there isn't much he can do for you besides comfort you and assure you that whoever upset you—Hoyt, probably—didn't mean what they said. If you were hurt physically, it would be another story, but his family gets in shouting matches all the time.

Rather than offering help, he'd wait for you to request it of him. Whatever you ask, shy of hurting his family, he will do. Murder someone? No problem. Make you some food? You got it. Bring you a blanket? Sure. Give you some quiet alone time? That's fine, too.

If you need to vent, he's got plenty of ways to get out your frustration. Plenty of farm work to do, or you could work on something around the house with him. He might suggest knitting or sewing or some other handicraft you enjoy. It always makes him feel better to buckle down and use his hands for something.

If you're still preoccupied/upset by the time you two bed down, or heaven forbid the next morning, then he starts taking it more seriously. Something that disturbs you for that long is bad news. He'll watch you carefully the next couple days to see how you're doing, waiting for you to need him for something.

Bubba Sawyer

Like Tommy, Bubba has been on the receiving end of anger many, many times, so he's familiar with what it looks and feels like. Despite his size, he's still susceptible to physical violence at the hands of his loved ones, so he's very wary of anger.

However, he doesn't have a female presence in his life like Luda Mae, who expresses her anger through passive aggression—so, he's more used to shouting and screaming. If you aren't prone to screaming and shouting, it might take a little bit for him to realize you're not just sad or upset, you're angry.

Bubba will be over you. He'd give anyone else their space because he'd be afraid of retaliation, but you're his special person, and he's pretty sure you're not going to hurt him. He'll touch your hair, your arms, your wrists; he'll babble as he tries to figure out what's wrong. He just wants to comfort you and let you know everything is all right.

If it's too much or you're overwhelmed and you snap at him, he'll ease back. He'll blubber like a kicked puppy, but he won't give up. He'll still try to comfort you, just in other ways, such as getting you a comfort item or article of clothing, or maybe some food. And boy will he helicopter.

There's no need to tell Bubba what's wrong. In fact, it might be better if you didn't; if it's something he can't fix, it would do nothing but majorly stress him out. If it was one of his family members who upset you, as with Tommy, he wouldn't be able to do much. Even if you were hurt, he's just not in a position to stand up for you. That fact would absolutely kill him, though. He'd end up getting even more upset than you.

He doesn't know what help to offer you beyond comfort, but like Tommy, if you requested something specific, he'd try to carry out your wishes. He'll also try to cheer you up with some music and dancing, or just being silly like you like.

Need to blow off steam? He's got plenty of coping mechanisms! Bubba's idea of a perfect de-stress session is turning up the radio and getting lost in crafts. He's got lots of supplies, mostly to create clothing and accessories, and you're special, so you can have your pick. A drive and the radio might be nice, too. If neither of those appeal to you, he'll try cooking or baking with you. He loves sharing the kitchen with someone.

If none of that works and you're still upset, be prepared, because he's gonna be an anxious mess until you're better.

Brahms Heelshire

Brahms is somewhat familiar with other people's anger. He certainly has a whole fountain of internalized anger brewing just beneath the surface, but that's different. He knows that when Mummy is angry, she yells and cries, and when Daddy is angry, he seethes and stews. The former would be obvious to him, but the latter would take him a few minutes to be quite sure about. You're not acting how you usually do. Are you being stern or are you angry? Are you cross with him?

He does not have a lot of empathy for other people, so if your anger gets in the way of his routine or the attention he wants, he'll be irked, cranky, sad. Not necessarily at you—though that is possible—but the situation in which you find yourselves.

Much like Bo, he's allowed to have big, messy feelings, but it makes him uncomfortable and scared when other people have those feelings. He might even hide from you for a while, especially if you screamed and cried.

Once he realizes something is really wrong and you're not mad at him, however, he'll start thinking of ways to cheer you up so things can go back to normal. He hates having his routine interrupted; he's very particular. And he cares for you, so seeing you in distress is very scary and uncomfortable for him.

He'll start by fetching you something you like—something manageable for him like your favorite juice or a sandwich, or if you have a special item or article of clothing, that. He's quite shy, though, and like I said, he'll probably be hiding, so he'll leave it somewhere he knows you'll find it (on the bed, outside your door, on your desk, etc.)

If that doesn't calm you down and your anger is really getting in the way of his routine, or otherwise making him uncomfortable, he'll finally make an appearance. Very bashful and timid at first, using his little boy voice. "What's wrong, Y/N? Did something bad happen?"

If it's something that can't be helped, he'll suggest you do something together to take your mind off it (most likely something he likes to do). He may even be coaxed into taking a walk around the grounds, though he doesn't like to leave the manor at all, so you'd have to convince him. He prefers quiet playtime, maybe some coloring books or loud music to vent your emotions. It would intrigue him to see someone else use his toys to calm down. As long as you recognized he was being very nice, sharing them.

If it was an argument you had with someone, he would want more information. Are they likely to leave you alone, or will they come to the manor? Will he have to deal with them? Because it's scary, but he'll do it for you.

If, for some reason, none of those things work, he may cry or throw a fit. Either way, he'll be frustrated. Adult Brahms may make an appearance and try to help you in more Adult ways.

Erik

Though he lives five cellars beneath an opera house now, Erik hasn't always been entirely reclusive. Even these days, when he can stomach it, he sometimes goes out to see the world. As a younger man, he observed people's lives and moods with a hungry fascination (that has now mostly been replaced by melancholy and longing and bitter anger). Like several of the other slashers here, he's had to train himself to sense fury to protect himself. He's also incredibly wrathful, so you could call him an expert!

He has a very keenly honed sense when it comes to you specifically, since he's watched you so much. He notices the change in your demeanor immediately.

If you know him as the "Angel of Music," his voice will appear to you once you're alone, asking you what's wrong and assuring you you can confide in him—he will insist you tell him, though. "There are to be no secrets between us, Y/N." He will listen without interjection as you vent your heart out, and when you're done, soothe you. Don't let his calming voice deceive you, though; behind that mirror, he's seething, planning to take matters into his own hands.

If you know him as Erik, he will go to you the second he recognizes the shift in your mood and take you from what you're doing, regardless of your wishes. He'll sit you down, kneeling before you with your hands in his, and gaze into your eyes, imploring you to tell him what's wrong. He'll absolutely allow you physical comfort, but he will also absolutely insist you tell. He'll need reassurance that you're not angry at him, because that thought would break his heart.

He will let you vent however you wish. You could have the most dramatic breakdown ever—throwing things, beating your fists on his chest, wailing—and he wouldn't judge you. He would be awfully concerned, though.

Will be 110% on your side. You are his poor little meow meow. "My poor love, my poor Y/N!" He is beside himself with sympathy for you and you only, and is very offended on your behalf.

He will always suggest music as an outlet for your anger, but he will have taken note of your other hobbies and interests as well. He'll fetch your things for you without being asked, as long as it won't separate him from you for very long. If you'd rather just have comfort, that's fine, too. He could hold your hand and caress your face for hours on end under normal circumstances, so no problem there. He may also suggest a little time on the surface, if you normally live in his home. Fresh air will do you both good, he reasons, and he enjoys spending time with you where others can witness it. It fills him with pride and love.

Otherwise, he's at your service for any other soothing activities you need. A calming bath, some sweets, shopping, anything. Perhaps avoid asking for any sexual contact, however. First of all, being asked directly makes him very skittish and nervous; second of all, his method of love-making (when you can coax him) is very intimate and tender, which may be tedious if you're in an angry mood.

Unless the situation is extremely serious or dire, his first priority is making sure you're soothed. Once that duty is fulfilled, however, he is absolutely angrier about it than you are. If it's not that serious, he won't skip straight to killing, if only because he knows it upsets you. He will definitely be writing an extremely strongly worded letter, however. If someone slighted you seriously, they're getting threatened. If someone hurt you physically, they're meeting the Punjab lasso.

Deacon Billings (OC Ghostface)

Deacon definitely knows when people are angry. His step-mom was a passive-aggressive laundry-folder and his dad was a storming out of the house kinda guy; when the two of them were together, they were all hushed but heated arguments at night when they thought he couldn't hear them, or else extremely embarrassing passive-aggressive arguments in public. Growing up, he found himself around a lot of angry people. And there's no shortage of anger in him, either.

So yeah, Deacon knows when people are pissed, and he knows when people are pissed at him. The thing is, he just thinks it's fucking hilarious. He was that kid that would goad peers and teachers just to be an asshole and had virtually no friends as a result. He's a menace on the internet, too: a horrible troll for no reason, stirring the pot even when he doesn't have a stake in the argument. He's trained himself to find people's weak spots so he can strike at them. He does it to make himself feel more in control of his life and his own anger.

So when you're ticked off, he's gonna notice the change immediately. If you made a vent post on social media, he probably knows you're angry before you even see him. He follows all your social media (even if you don't realize it) and checks it constantly. He'd call you out of curiosity to ask what happened. He's open about his stalking tendencies: "I saw your post, babe, who do I need to stab?"

If you otherwise come home angry, he'll be up on his feet, following you around the house and pestering you, trying to get you to tell him what's wrong. If you try to hug him, he won't push you away, but he'll be distracted, trying to needle answers out of you the whole time.

There's no question in his mind as to whether or not you're angry at him. He just assumes you're not; he has a pretty good handle on how you act when you're angry at him specifically.

He'll let you rant all day if you want. You could talk about the shit that's pissed you off for hours and he'd still listen. Outwardly, he might poke you a bit and play devil's advocate for the other side of the argument, if there is one. This is purely for the purposes of being a little shit.

Internally, he's already going down his pre-murder checklist. If it was someone at work, they're dead. Someone in the neighborhood, dead. Online? It'll take a couple days, but they're dead. Even if you're not angry at anyone in particular, just a situation, he'll find someone to menace. He'd walk through fire for your approval.

He's not good with soft, emotional comfort, so instead he'll try to think of something to help you let off steam. His go-to is something competitive, especially if it involves you chasing each other. A Nerf or water gun war, a PVP game with you on opposite sides. He'll put up a good fight, but you always kick his ass.

Once the immediate situation is addressed and you've ranted your heart out to him, he can't keep his hands off you. "Seeing you all pissed off drives me crazyyyyyy." He's grinning, brown eyes sparkling. "Come onnnnn ... I'll get it off your mind!"

Courtney Dwayne Delmont (OC)

Courtney is a hunter of all manner of game, so he's used to interpreting non-verbal cues and body language—when an animal is in distress, when an animal is about to attack, etc. His grandfather was a very angry man, as well, in a simmering sort of way. He would seethe about something before suddenly delivering one decisive strike. Courtney himself is not a particularly angry man, unless some prey is really giving him a hard time, but he can read your body.

If you come home angry, he'll stop in the middle of what he's doing and watch you, still and quiet, just confirming his suspicions. If you leave the room he's in to go collapse on the sofa or something, he'll follow you, looming over you and waiting for you to tell him what's wrong. He's patient.

If you want to vent, he'll sit and listen thoughtfully, doing something with his hands while you speak—probably cleaning his gun or some other weapon. He doesn't look at you. He wouldn't demand greater context to the situation but he would ask "Why?" and "Who?" until he understood Enough.

If you want comfort, he'll sprawl on the couch and let you lay on top of him. He'll probably pull a blanket on top of you to try and encourage a nap. If the nap doesn't make you feel better, he's feeding you protein. Do you like homemade jerky?

Sex is also on the table (not literally ... unless). He's found it's a great way to blow off steam, and he's more than happy to make all worries, troubles, and other thoughts go away for a little bit. Expect that to be the rest of your night, though, because he doesn't do quickies.

Generally, he trusts you to handle your own shit, so he would be more focused on you than whatever made you feel the way you do. However, if days passed and you were still angry/upset/sad, or if it plunged you into a breakdown or was an otherwise extremely serious situation ... just give him a target. It's up to you, but if you tell him to take the shot, it'll be quick and clean. If you're unable to make the decision, he'll decide for you without hesitation.

Kathleen Montgomery (OC)

I'm still developing her so this one won't be as in-depth and is subject to change.

Kath makes it her business to know everything about you. Chances are she's seen you explode screaming while stalking you ... chances are, if you've been in a relationship for a while, she's made you explode screaming. She knows what you look like when you're angry. Besides, she's strong for her size, but she often has to take down people who are much bigger and stronger than her; she uses manipulation and trickery to help ease that divide, so she's good at reading people.

Like Deacon, she also monitors all your social media, so if you made a vent post, she already knows you're in a shitty mood before you come home. Unlike Deacon, she doesn't tell you how she knows, so you're left to assume she's just all knowing. Considering her god complex, that works for her.

She'd probably text you to come home, and she expects you to answer. If you're unable to come home, she'll call you to ask what's wrong.

Once you're together, she wants to know everything about the situation. Even as you're speaking, she's already on her phone or laptop, looking up the people involved. Instead of getting mad on your behalf, she laughs. She's a fan of emphasizing how pathetic or weak the opposition is.

She takes your feelings on the subject seriously, but everyone else in the situation? Insects. Not even worthy of your time or concern, let alone hers. You're obviously in the right here (even if you're not). She'll tell you as much, and say some pretty intense, over-the-line things about whomever/whatever you're angry at.

Overall, however, she's calm and collected about the situation. Your bout of anger is a chance to get you to be reckless with her. She'll do your hair and makeup and dress you up nice, then take you out. Fast driving, drinking, baiting people at bars, menacing neighborhoods ... maybe a little killing, if you'd like.

***

Masterlist

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endeaavorr · 3 years

Text

papa!enji fucking her pretty girl in her kimono hc tw : incest

it’s your day off tomorrow, and as usual you’re going home to spend it taking care of your papa.

on your way home you stopped by a store to buy some ingredients for dinner.

papa!enji has a good high calorie balanced diet

when you arrive at home the maid has cleaned the house per your request and has went home, so you make your way to the kitchen to start prepping.

tonight you’re making gyudon, vegetable sukiyaki, seared gyoza for the side dish, and red bean based dessert.

additional from your black flame, your quirk is somehow able to sense the presence of other flame based quirk user so you can tell when papa is close.

and like how he likes it, you dress in one of the expensive hand made silk kimonos he buys you and wait on your knees by the door.

when he opens the door you’re just so excited you almost went into your puppy headspace :((

but papa looks tired and you’re determined to be his good girl.

he mutters an unpromptly deep tadaima and sits next to you to take off his shoes.

papa usually takes it off with his feet so papa must be extra tired today :(

you hurry and try to take off his shoes for him instead.

your pretty delicate hands swiftly untying the laces, your loose strain of baby hair falling to your face, and you just look so beautiful.

papa!enji is just so fucking whipped

he puts his large calloused palm on the side of your head, his thumb tugging your hair back, careful not to hurt your soft face.

he mutters a thank you

and you just reply him with an eye smile and an okaeri, papa.

damn enji felt like his heart almost stopped

“papa, do you want to bathe first ? i’ll get the water running for you.”

“it’s okay, i’ll go help myself, you go and finish dinner.”

you dismissed yourself to the kitchen with a slight bow and it tugs all the right places at his heart because fuck enji todoroki is whipped.

the dinner was quiet, it’s one of enji’s traditional mannerism mandatories that he still keep.

you’re seperated about 1.5 meters apart by the table and you can’t help but steal little glances at papa, you just miss him so much !!

enji finishes first but as he rises from the cushion you hurry to his side and take his dish from his hands.

“it’s okay papa, i got it.” your hand accidentally brushes against his.

his eyes find yours and you can feel your heart drop at his dim eyes.

he’s always like this, since he tried to fix your family, he has always been so grim and sad.

of course he’d still pull off his usual intimidating manner, he’s the number one hero after all, he’s got an image to keep and a profile to maintain.

but you know better, you always do.

even since you were young, you had always been his best girl, even when he’d spend most of his time at the agency and the little free day he has with your youngest brother, you never complain.

you’d even take another step and comfort your brothers.

and when he built a house far away, meant for your mother, natsuo, shoto, and you.

you almost wailed at the spot.

if someone’s gonna take you away from him, they’d have to pry your stiff lifeless body from death’s cold wrinkled hands.

it’s been a year but you can tell he still thinks you’re better of without him.

and you’re even more determined to prove that you’re always staying, even if you have stop by death’s door and get a loan.

he presses a soft kiss on the top of your head and walks to the living room to go sit on the couch and switch through news channels until he falls asleep on the couch and you’d have to spend ten minutes trying to get him to move to the futon you laid for him.

you wonder what happens on days when you’re not home, does he let himself sleep here until the morning comes ? doesn’t his back strain ? is that why he always seem to move uncomfortably at his office chair ?

you finish the dishes and still see he’s slumped at the sofa.

“papa, can i pour you a drink ?

he looks at your direction and answers a short “sure, come drink with me.”

you came back shortly with a tray of two ceramic cups and a cerafe filled with chilled sake.

he sits on the tatami crossing his leg below the table.

you sit on your knees and pour him his first glass. he motions to pour a glass for you too but you gently pulled the cerafe away.

“it’s okay papa, i’m taking care of you tonight.”

he sighs at your sight and finishes his glass.

“you always have, you always do.”

this continued for three more glasses and you can see he’s starting to heat up by the tint on his cheeks.

you originally hoped the alcohol will help him relax a bit, but rather he seem to be in more distress he looks like he’s about to cry, he never cries.

he prompts his elbows on the table and burries his face in his hands, confirming your earlier concern.

you’re basically entering panic mode..papa is in distress.. what to do what to do

your body moved before you knew it and crawled on the gap between his abdomen and the table side, your legs now straddling his thighs, you upper body forcing itself through his folded arms making their ways to his neck.

you can feel your cheeks heat up at the contact against his nape, it’s hot, he’s burning up.

his strong arms are now fully engulfing you, desperate to find a grip.

“it’s okay papa, i’m here.”

you pet the undercut above his nape lovingly, murmuring sweet little i’m here, i’m here and stay like that for a moment.

he pulls himself from your embrace for a bit, and you hold his face, his eyes are red yet dull at the same time.

oh how you wish you can protect him from all the harm of the world,

and how he silently wishes just the same.

this has been on my draft for months im to lazy to edit but it’s to good to delete shdhshh enjoy

#papa!enji #endeavor #endeavor fluff #endeavor smut #endeavor angst #endeavor x reader #endeavor x reader fluff #endeavor x reader angst #endeavor x reader smut #enji todoroki #enji todoroki x reader #enji todoroki fluff #enji todoroki angst #enji todoroki smut #enji todoroki x reader fluff #enji todoroki x reader smut #enji todoroki x reader angst

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hypmic-writings · 2 years

Note

Can we get some date headcanons of the Buster Bros? I'm just so biased for them ❤️

━━ ∘◦ ☆ ◦∘ ━━

Pairing: Ichiro Yamada x reader; Jiro Yamada x reader; Saburo Yamada x reader

Genre: Fluff

Warnings: None

A/N: Date headcanons are so cute! I made these pretty general so I kind of just went into what I thought they would like. Hope you enjoy~

⋘ ──── ∗ ⋅◈⋅ ∗ ──── ⋙

Ichiro Yamada

Ichiro loves to take you out on dates around town

not just because he loves to show you off, but because he loves it when things are exciting and fast-paced

he loves to go bowling or mini-golfing where things can get a little competitive but still fun between the two of you

he’s definitely making little bets if you win or lose and they all have to do with winning hugs and kisses from him

Ichiro lives for excitement so whenever there’s a new shop or restaurant that opens up, he wants to take you there to check it out

arcade dates are definitely a thing and if you beat him at a game, he’s going to sulk for a little bit, but just give him a peck on the cheek and he’ll be back up and running in no time

sometimes he’ll take you to some cool, underground places in Ikebukero

I can definitely imagine the two of you at an underground skate park with flashing neon lights and dance music, graffitiing your initials together on an art wall

clubbing is also something Ichiro likes, and if you’re down to dance I can imagine him taking you to all of his favorite places

also, imagine going to karaoke bars where the two of you just belt out your favorite songs in duet form together

but Ichiro also loves going on fancier dates with you because he likes to pretend that he likes the finer things in life

but what he really likes is seeing you get dressed up and eating amazing food together

it’s tradition for the two of you to go for long walks after dinner, regardless of where you ate (a restaurant, a food stand, even just at home)

dinner dates at home are also a thing, and this is where Ichiro tries to impress you with his cooking skills

and most of the time it actually works

sometimes though, the two of you will have chill dates at home where you just play video games or watch anime

or even just lay on the bed together at weird angles, watching funny videos online and chatting for hours on end

Ichiro loves to spend time with you, so although he’s constantly pulling you around town everywhere, he’s more than happy to go at whatever speed you want to

Jiro Yamada

Jiro loves to take you to outdoor dates

anywhere ranging from a baseball game to a simple picnic in the park, Jiro loves to spend time with you away from the house

partially because his house is always loud and hectic with his brothers and their friends, but also because he wants to be alone with you

of course, he doesn’t mind a night in every now and then, eating junk food and playing video games

and he does love a good movie marathon with you as well

but he really loves feeling the rush of going on different kind of dates

he’s definitely asked you to go bungee jumping or rock climbing before, wanting to try extreme dates because he read once in a magazine that people equate adrenaline with attraction

of course, it was his downfall because that’s how he learned of his fear of heights

you definitely patted his head and calmed him down afterwards, which was just as successful of a date if you ask him

in Jiro’s mind, nothing is more perfect than the smile on your face as the sun beams down on you

while the two of you are getting up to shenanigans out and about the town

he finds that waiting in line for roller coasters or going on a hike actually gives him time to get to know you

and his favorite thing in the world is being able to talk endlessly with you so it works well for him

your relationship with Jiro is easy and comfortable, and the two of you could talk for hours on end if you wanted to

so he doesn’t want to go to a movie or somewhere quiet, because he’d rather actually get to spend time with you

he gets antsy on dates at restaurants because he never knows what to pay for, how long the date should be, whether he’s dressed right, etc.

so he’d much rather just take you out to his favorite food stall and walk around a park with you

loves to take you to festivals or carnivals and will try endlessly to win you whatever stuffed animal you want

even if he ends up with no money left, but it’s worth it to see the happy look on your face

Saburo Yamada

Saburo loves to take you on dates to places he’s interested in

he’s at his most confident when he’s comfortable and he’s at his most comfortable when he can talk about what’s going on around him

so this means that he’ll try to find a place where he can casually show off to you without it being too obvious

cue the museum dates!

he loves to take you to a museum or to an art gallery and go around, asking your opinion about different pieces or exhibits

although he’ll try to be casual about it, you can see the excitement in his eyes whenever he talks about it

he’ll definitely do his research beforehand so he can come prepared with some quippy interludes of knowledge

and even though it’s obvious, you still think it’s rather sweet that he cares enough to be nervous and actually ‘study’ for a date

Saburo is going to be fascinated by what you think of all of his favorite things so although he’ll want to tell you everything about his favorite exhibit, he’s going to ask you a million questions about it as well

whenever you bring up an idea that he hadn’t previously thought of, he’s going to be so impressed and fall even more in love with you

he wants you to share his interests with him, and although he might come off as flippant, he doesn’t mind if you propose date ideas as well

he’ll sit through a movie, but then demand to get food afterwards so that he can talk about it and rant about what he liked and didn’t like

once you asked him to take you to an arcade and Saburo had to swallow his pride and ask Jiro to teach him about some of the games ahead of time so that he could win you some prizes

Saburo doesn’t mind hanging out at his house or yours, but he gets nervous when you’re around his brothers

and sometimes he feels like he’ll be awkward if you’re both just sitting in his room, so he prefers to go out and do something

even though you wouldn’t even mind just sitting with him for hours on end because you love spending time with him

whenever he needs date ideas, he definitely goes to Ichiro first though

because he always wants to make sure that he’s impressing you with new, cool date ideas

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

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robininthelabyrinth · 3 years

Text

Beautifully Spent

aka Five Times Lan Qiren Left The Lan Sect Behind

- Chapter 2 -

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Lan Qiren stared at him mutely. His place?

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

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

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

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

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

They had always turned their faces away.

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

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

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

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

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

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

A sect leader, in short, was a tyrant.

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

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

It was his only chance.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"That's no answer!"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Lan Wangji turned bright red at once.

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

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

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

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

He couldn't wait to find out.

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

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nanatsumu · 3 years

Text

HIGH SCHOOL!SUKUNA x F!READER

thinking about bad boy itadori sukuna who all the kids at school try to steer clear from because they know he’s bad news and if you get involved with him then you’re bound to be tied with bad luck for as long as he lives. well, that is everyone except for the president of the student council who so happens to be his childhood best friend turned lover.

this is mostly written for my own self indulgence and to project my fantasies of having a boyfriend onto sukuna but feel free to treat this as any other headcanon! ps i am pretty sure canon sukuna would kill a baby at any given situation, but this is going to be a revamped version of sukuna written by yours truly ;) and its a high school au so sukuna won’t be a complete menace to society and will actually have a heart heh

also i didn’t realize how long this was going to be??? this is kind of all over place too because i just wanted to throw all of my thoughts onto this post so there might be some plot holes in this LOL

i feel like sukuna would be the type of bad boy who isn’t necessarily a bad boy but everyone at school just paints him as some kind of delinquent because of all the tattoos and piercings he has.

he actually shows up to school more often than you think he would (but that’s only because you’re in most of his classes so long story short: you’re his only motivation for attending class)

“forgets” to bring his work books to class more than usual (in reality he does this on purpose so he has an excuse to be near you) so he requests to sit next to you the entire class period so he can share with you for the meantime but whenever the teachers not looking he’ll go back to admiring your face.

his older twin brother, itadori yuji, is very fond of you since you three grew up together and you both had your chances of being a victim to his antics!

exhibit a: in middle school when you and yuji were watching tv together, the show you two were watching would keep switching to some wrestling match broadcasting on a sports channel and no matter how many times you turned the tv on and off, it just would not stop. but it wasn’t until you heard snickering from the kitchen that you realized sukuna had a spare remote and was the mastermind behind the whole thing.

exhibit b: sukuna and yuji’s mom was the owner of a bakery so every now and then she would have either one of the twins come deliver freshly baked pastries to your household! oh how wrong was she to trust her youngest. sukuna was now a freshman in high school, and by now you would’ve thought that sukuna would have grown out of his childish phase, but WRONG! sukuna was still a menace in your life even past childhood. so when you bit into one of the macaroons, instead of being hit with the overwhelming taste of [favorite flavor], all you could feel was the burning sensation of wasabi kicking into your tastebuds.

yeah after the whole wasabi macaroon freak accident, you stopped accepting everything sukuna offered to you and opted to only eating pastries out of the boxes that yuji delivered to you. (sukuna eventually caught onto this and was just TEENSY bit upset but he would rather down a whole tube of wasabi than to tell you upfront)

now, how did you two even end up dating??? oh boy now that is a story

you see, yours and sukuna’s dynamic growing up was similar to that of tom and jerry’s— you being jerry and sukuna being 10x worse than tom of course

but it wasn’t until a confession after school behind the cherry blossom tree that was known for bringing good luck to successful confessions that sukuna finally realized that maybe he really did like you just a little lot bit

sukuna overheard the boy who was planning on confessing to you talking to his friend group about how “sweet and caring” you are (although sukuna could argue otherwise, you were a little brat. *LIKE HELLO?!&:&:& YOU WEREN’T THE ONE WHO ATE A MACAROON FILLED WASABI**) and obviously his ears perked up at the mention of your name. he grew up with you after all so naturally he would be interested in a conversation that revolved around you.

but then the boys started going on about how “you looked like an easy catch” and how “your body was bangin’!” yeah no, that’s where he drew the line. sure sukuna was an ass and talked shit about you most of the time (in his defense it wasn’t like he was doing it behind your back) but if he ever caught someone else talking about you like that then he would be sure to give them a hard time.

he hid behind one of the bushes near the cherry blossom tree while the boy was professing his love for you. funnily enough, for a moment sukuna forgot why he was originally there because he was too busy trying to stifle a laugh as he watched the boy stumble over his words.

“okay shows over” sukuna thought as the confession was reaching its conclusion, but just as he was about to step in and give the poor boy a piece of his mind, he stopped in his tracks when he heard you roaring with laughter.

“did you really think that i wouldn’t hear about what you and your friends said about me earlier? you’re really pathetic if you think any girl would be easy enough to fall to her knees for you because news flash! you’re a disgusting pig and you deserve to rot in hell for speaking about a girl’s worth like that.”

“it’s kind of sad too, i thought you were a nice boy and i probably would have given you a chance but it seems like you’re even worse than scum! damn it, to think there was somebody out there who’s even worse than sukuna.”

of course sukuna was not pleased to hear that last bit, but he did have a proud grin forming on his face as he watched the boy run away, flustered from your rejection and the embarrassment he was put through.

“sukuna i know you’re hiding behind the bush.”

“huh? i came here way before you got here, there’s no way you could have seen me.” he said as he stood up to his full height.

“well, your laughter isn’t exactly the quietest, plus i can spot that hair of yours from a mile away.”

lets just say, sukuna was glad you didn’t ask him what he was doing there because he wasn’t sure if he could spare the embarrassment of telling you that he was planning on ruining the confession.

after that whole fiasco happened, sukuna started to feel(!&:&::&) things

like he started to notice how you styled your hair differently one day and how you switched to a new perfume that smelled like spearmint (was that weird? for sukuna probably not. he just excuses it as being highly observant)

you weren’t dumb either, you had a feeling sukuna was there that day of the confession because he too had overheard the conversation between the boy and his friends as well (you knew he was prideful and if you brought it up then he probably would’ve denied it)

so from there on out it was just mutual pining at the point except... well.... not really??

i feel like it was just an unspoken agreement between you two that you guys were “together” but not “together together” because he started to treat you differently than he would before. like for example, he’d carry your bag for you whenever you guys would walk home (yuji was confused by this at first because if anything, it would have made more sense to see sukuna make you carry HIS bag, but he eventually caught on to sukuna’s feelings for you because they were twin brothers after all), he started walking you to class more often even though his class was all the way on the other side of the school (you asked him why but he just shrugged and said he was just “killing time” so that he wouldn’t have to go to class and then you ended up scolding him), and there was also that one time you miraculously found a $20 bill in your backpack after mentioning to sukuna that there was this cute top you saw at the mall the other day but didn’t have enough money at the time to purchase it (you asked him about this but he said it was probably yuji, but you didn’t want to pry any further since you wanted to cherish the fact that sukuna cared that much)

but eventually you got sick of this whole push and pull game that you physically had to tug the collar of his school uniform and pull him in for a kiss (he was visibly shocked at this because he never would’ve imagined you as the assertive type. not that he was complaining though)

“oya? didn’t think you liked me this much kitten.” he said laughing while you rolled your eyes.

“as if, i got tired of you being a wuss so one of us had to wear the pants in the relationship.” you snorted, causing him to irk.

to be honest, your relationship with him is smooth sailing because you both were pretty chill people and you didn’t have to worry about him sneaking behind your back to see other girls because 1. literally all the girls at school are terrified of him and 2. he knew what you were capable of doing to him if you were to ever catch him cheating on you so he wants to stay on your good side

jealous and possessive don’t exist in his dictionary because he is the epitome of those two words. remember what i said about how your relationship is smooth sailing? i kinda lied.

he’s easily jealous like for example: when you were in english class and the teacher had you guys jot down some notes, you realized you forgot to ask for your pencil back when you lent it to your friend last period.

so you asked sukuna to borrow a pencil but instead of giving you a pencil, he called you an idiot for being so forgetful.

this makes you mad so you turn to your male classmate since he was sitting on your opposite side and ask him for a pencil instead.

sukuna was practically fuming the entire class period and once the day ended and you two were back at your place, he made sure to mark you real good. (oh he also went out to buy a pack of mechanical pencils to sneak into your backpack so that next time you forget your pencils, you’ll have 10 extra pencils sitting in your backpack as backup)

he’s not a big fan of pda in public, but on the chances he will show some of it, the most he will do is wrap an arm around your shoulder or waist whenever some dude is trying to hit on you.

BUT IN PRIVATE? better buckle up because your in for a ride wink wink

really likes putting hickeys on you to a fault! but will never put any visible ones on your neck because he doesn’t want your parents to view him as some kind of animal (but he has nothing to worry about because your parents really like him and are grateful for the fact that he’s very loyal to you, and you guys grew up together so it’s only natural that your parents are accepting of him since they already know he has a good heart underneath that tough facade of his)

oh, and yuji starts learning how to knock whenever you come over (or shuts himself in his room for the meantime if he thinks it’s unsafe to step out of his room) because chances are, you’re probably making out with sukuna in his room or smth.

now onto the spicy stuff

when you and sukuna first started dating, the first thing you told him was that you weren’t ready to have sex yet because you were nervous and sukuna understood and told you that he was willing to wait for whenever you were ready.

but when you were ready though, it was kind of spontaneous and you weren’t even wearing a matching pair of bra and underwear that day

you two were chilling in your room watching some stupid (according to sukuna) animal documentary when suddenly you felt his hand on your thigh

dating sukuna and all, it was normal for him to have his hands on some part of your body (whether it be your thigh or your waist) while you two were in bed.

but you were feeling a bit bolder HORNEE than usual so you began to leave a hot trail of kisses starting from his jaw all the way down to his neck.

sukuna obviously got the memo but before those kisses could escalate into something more daring, he asked you once more if you were completely sure you wanted to do it and once you gave him the green light, he was quick to tug his shirt over his head and pounce on you.

he started getting really into it though and accidentally bit your thigh which made you loose your high and scold him for it, but he let out a hearty laugh and muttered a quick apology before getting back into business

sike i lied, remember what i said about it being spontaneous? yeah, you technically didn’t loose your virginity to him that day because after he finished prepping you, you both came to a realization that you didn’t have a condom.

oh well, there’s always next time!

i think sukuna is a sucker for pet names: his favorite thing to call you is either kitten or princess and that’s it LOL he finds calling you baby or babe is a bit too cheesy for him

but he likes it when you call him baby or babe ;)

date nights consist of either staying in and cuddling in his room, going out for a walk at night (but very very late though. there’s still lamp posts that guide your way through the streets but it gives you the heebie jeebies to be out walking outside so late. sukuna always reminds you that nothing bad will happen as long as he’s right by your side), or just spending time with you and your families.

but if you’re really down to do it, he’ll probably initiate a make out session that’ll lead to y’all fucking one way or another (he only ever does it if he is 100% sure that you’re feeling it because he knows you get easily embarrassed if he asks you straight up)

(this part is mainly written for me because i love the idea of sukuna being over at family functions, but it can be applied as part of the general hc heh) if you took him to any of your family functions as your plus one for the first time, all the aunts and uncles would be a bit wary of him at first due to all of the tattoos and piercings he has (sukuna swears he has never felt so self conscious before) but after they strike up a conversation with him and find out that he’s actually a good guy who knows what he wants to do in the future and is very loyal to you, they start to like him more.

your little cousins adore him and love it when he comes over because sukuna is a very tall high schooler which makes him the perfect candidate as a monkey bar

so when you noticed that all the little ones started to climb on his body and mess around with his hair, you were quick to react because you knew your boyfriend was easily irritable which prompted you to think he hated kids

but there was nothing to worry about because when you saw him playing around with them and even crack a smile, you felt your heart grow fuzzy at the sight and you knew right then and there that you wanted to stick by sukuna’s side for the rest of your life

and in the unfortunate circumstances that sukuna is too busy to make it to one of your functions, the first thing everyone asks is “where’s your boyfriend?” or “where’s ‘kuna? i wanna play with him!”

so you have to facetime him and let him know that everyone is wondering where he is (your phone is dead by the end of the night because after the adults get their turn at saying hi to your boyfriend, the kids snatch your phone and end up talking to him for the rest of the night)

but in conclusion, everyone is waiting for the day he gets on one knee to propose to you and your parents are itching to get to get call sukuna their son-in-law :))

also don’t forget that your parents want two grandchildren: one boy and one girl!

#sukuna #sukuna x reader #sukuna fluff #sukuna hc #ryomensukuna #sukuna x you #sukuna x y/n #jujutsu kaisen #jujutsu kaisen fluff #jujutsu kaisen hc #jjk hc #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jjk x reader #jjk fluff #anime #anime fanfic #jjk

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yandere-daydreams · 3 years

Text

Title: Revision.

Commissioned by the very lovely @pyrokittyowo.

Pairing: Yandere!Simeon/Reader (Obey Me).

Word Count: 2.2k.

TW: Past Trauma, Toxic Relationships, Codependency, Infantilization, Isolation, Mentions of Physical Abuse, Manipulation, Gaslighting.

The sun never sets in the Celestial Realm.

It’s less whimsical than it sounds, to be fair. Sleep is a luxury for angels, a way to pass time for the young and the injured, but that hadn't been something Simeon thought to tell you when you first arrived, as you tried to follow his mangled, irregular cycle of rest and work. You’d gotten the hang of it with time, carved out your own routine and forced yourself to follow it, but you’d be lying if you said you were completely used to it. It was grating, if anything, just how bright all of it was, the shine only amplified by the ivory and gold angels seemed so fond of. It was overwhelming, really. If you hadn’t known better, you might’ve called it unbearable.

But, you did know better. This realm was warm, but not stifling, not half as oppressive as the Devildom had been. It didn’t have the same constant chill, a pervasive darkness only made worse by the humid air and that invasive metallic scent, like stone and rock and the blood that must've been soaked into the cracks of both. The darkness was worse. All of it was worse, but you tried to keep your mind on the landscape, the starless sky, the bleakness you’d slowly grown to hate.

If you let yourself think about anything else, you’d have to think about the people you’d met, the brothers, the way they’d looked at you. You’d have to remember how tight Mammon’s grip had been, the first time he took you by the wrist rather than the hand, or how dull Beelzebub's fangs were and how much it hurt when he drove them into your skin, your chest, the sensitive area just below your collarbone that never failed to bleed, when it bit down. You’d have to think about how Lucifer’s hand felt as it wrapped around your neck, the sound of your own failing breath, the way he’d laughed as you—

You inhaled sharply, cutting yourself off before you could get any more lost in the memory.

Because that’s what it was – just a memory. Something you’d never have to worry about again, thanks to Simeon.

Still, you were allowed to complain. Even indoors, perched in one of the many bay windows spotted around Simeon’s sizable chambers, you could feel the unyielding sun, notice the light start to eat away at your vision like a hungry, gnawing parasite. There were clouds in the sky, perfect wisps of nothing, but they'd been their since the day you first arrived, fixed features on an unchanging canvas. They wouldn't move. You already knew that. Nothing moved in the Celestial Realm, not unless it had a reason to.

And yet, you found yourself opening your mouth regardless, asking the question that’d been playing on your tongue all day. You could let yourself have this. You could hope that were wrong. It wasn't like this would be the first time. “It doesn’t rain here, does it?”

Immediately, there was a hum from across the room, one of the many soft sounds Simeon seemed to be so fond of. You should’ve been glad he was there to answer at all, really. Simeon spent most of the day tending to his vague responsibilities. If he had time to sit around, pouring over a scroll in a language you couldn’t recognize, it must’ve meant it was either too early in the morning or too late at night for him to be bothered with anything else. You couldn’t be sure which, not when the two were so impossible to tell apart. “Rarely,” He replied, still distracted. “Michael tries not to leave the weather up to chance. If he needed a storm, I’d be able to tell you weeks in advance.”

You almost felt bad for him. You would’ve hated it, knowing everything long before it actually happened, but you doubted Simeon would ever let himself be so careless. “I don’t know how I’d stay sane,” You admitted, your gaze moving back to the window. A white dove had landed on the edge of Simeon’s windowsill, meticulously sorting through bleached feathers with its pointed beak, and idly, you wondered if the animals bothered to regulate themselves, too. “You wouldn't like my hometown. Couldn’t see the sky most days, and when you could, it was nearly too hot to go outside. Never stopped it from snowing a month before winter, though.” You paused, letting yourself smile at the thought. You missed it; you weren’t going to try to deny that. You were still allowed to miss things. “Luke would probably love it. Say what you want about humans, but we've never gotten a bakery wrong.”

Simeon didn’t hum, this time. The silence couldn’t have lasted more than a few seconds, but your heart still found a way to tighten in your chest, stopping completely as you heard his chair scrape against the floor, sharp footsteps following the noise immediately. You couldn’t bring yourself to look at him, and he was kind enough not to force you to, brushing off your avoidance as he positioned himself on the opposite side of your small shelter. It wasn't much of an improvement, though. If he'd just let himself be a little more cruel, you might've had the pleasure of hating him for it.

“You’re thinking about the human world again.”

He was getting straight to the point. You couldn’t say you weren’t thankful.

“How can I not?” You tried to laugh, but it came out strained, out of place against his sober expression. “I haven’t been home in a year. I’m bound to want to go back, eventually.”

“You know it’s not safe.” It was a familiar mantra, one you should’ve been numb to, but it still found a way to hurt, to linger, accumulate into a small, aching knot in the back of your throat as you reminded yourself that he was only doing it because he cared. That was all – he cared. He didn’t want to see you get hurt, not again. He didn’t want to see you face anything more harmful than his clumsy comfort, even if he did have a strange way of showing it. “We’ve talked about this before, (Y/n). It’s still too early to tell if Lucifer left any lasting damage. There could still be a tracking spell I haven’t discovered yet, or worse.” There was a pause, and a gloved hand came to rest on your knee. You could’ve mouthed the words, as he said them. “I can keep you safe here, but your world is neutral territory. I might not be able to stop him, if he and his brothers tried to take you away.”

You hated the way he said it. Part of you, a persistent minority, still wanted to think this was all a misunderstanding, a result of crossed wires and mixed messages and the kind of miscommunications that only ever led to such awful things. You knew it was unhealthy, to try to tint your own memories with such a forgiving light, but that didn't help you smother the temptation to believe all the soft, pleasant encouragements Asmodeus had whispered in your ear as his brothers lived out their distorted, carnal fantasies. Whatever Simeon was trying to do, it certainly wasn’t helping, either.

“I’ll be careful,” You tried, slouching against the glass. It was warm to the touch, a feeling you savored under his cold gaze. “It’d be a day trip, at most. Just a few hours. I…” He was wearing the silk gloves, today, soft and smooth as he raised his hand, cupping your cheek without a trace of hesitation. You trailed off instantly, still unused to the gentleness. “I just want to see my family, that’s all. Even if it’s only for a few minutes.”

“You’re bored of me, now?” It was supposed to be playful, the question accompanied by a light chuckle, but you still shook your head, leaning into his palm as you went on. “I can’t say I blame you. I know I’m not one for company, but if you’re dying for entertainment, I can see what—”

“It’s not just that.” You should've let him finish, but it was already too late to stop yourself. You didn’t want to stop yourself, if you were being honest. You just wanted to go somewhere else, somewhere different, a place where the sky didn’t hurt to look at and the sun wasn’t so willing to punish you for existing. You wanted to be able to step outside without worrying whether or not your angelic hosts still thought you were worthy of their concern. You didn’t want this, anymore, even if it was the better option. “I’m just tired, Simeon. I’m tired of being here, I’m tired of running, and I just want to go home—”

There was a small huff, a sharp crack. By the time you realized what happed, by the time that sudden acidic sting faded into a steady throb, his thumb was already digging into your jaw, your head forcibly tilted back in such a way that made it so you had to look at him. You couldn’t avoid the softened anger in his eyes, or the stiffness in his posture, or that tight, unignorable scowl. He was disappointed, and he wanted you to know you were the reason why. He was mad at you, and you’d done everything to earn it.

When he spoke, he did so slowly. Like he was talking to a child who hadn’t quite come to terms with reality, just yet. “I’ve taken care of you, haven’t I?”

“You have.” There was no point trying to deny it. If it hadn’t been for Simeon, you’d still be rotting in that hellscape, subject to the whims of a family of monsters. He'd saved you. He'd helped you escape, and you had to be thankful for that. “I just don’t know if I can—”

“And you care about me, right? You don’t want to see me worry?”

You hesitated, but your answer was inevitable “Of course.”

“And you do remember the last thing Belphie said to you, don’t you? What he did to send you running to me?” He let himself smile, despite the nature of the question. “I could barely understand you back then, with the crying and all. Honestly, I almost didn't notice you were begging me to save you.” It was easy to forget how Simeon could be, when he knew he was right. Most of the time, his confidence was comforting, a gentle reminder that you could trust him, that you should trust him. Right now, it just made you feel weak. “What was it, again? C’mon, love, you can tell me, can’t you?”

You could. Objectively, you could, if you tried to. You could force your mouth to make the words, you could shut your eyes and let Simeon guide you through it, and you could tell yourself they were just memories, that you were somewhere else now, that you were somewhere better, but…

But, you really, really didn’t want to, and you couldn’t convince yourself you did.

If you did, you’d have to remember how tightly Belphegor had held your hand, as he said it, his fingers intertwined with yours and his grip strong enough to leave your palm bruised, after he pulled away. You’d have to think about the small smile he wore, the hatred in his half-lidded eyes, the chill that'd run down your spine as he hid his face in the crook of your shoulder and told you that, if you ever tried to leave him, if he ever had to share you with anyone beyond the six exceptions he was already making, he’d kill you. It was as simple as that.

If he ever saw you again, he’d kill you.

You were safe, here. You were safe in the Celestial Realm, you were safe with Simeon, but you still found yourself choking on the words, your throat going dry as your shoulders pitched forward, a bolt of something frozen striking your chest before you could ward it off. You couldn't be sure why something so distant would make you cry, but you could feel it coming on – hot tears welling in your eyes, blurring your vision, threatening to spill over and strip you of what little pride you had left, but Simeon only wiped them away, as doting as he always was. As loving as he always was, even when you took his patience for granted. Even when you hesitated to lean into him, as he pulled you into his chest, urging you to hide your face and treat him like the pillar of support he was so clearly trying to be. Even when you didn't deserve it, when you didn't deserve him, when you didn't deserve any of this, not when he was kind enough to pretend he didn't know that just as well as you.

“Poor little thing.” He was humming, now, his tone teetering on the line between carelessness and comfort. You couldn’t bring yourself to care, not in the moment, not when it was all you could do to muffle your hitched sobs into small, pathetic whimpers. “It’s nothing to blame yourself for. You just need a little help.” Another pause, elongated and purposeful. Sadistic, in only because he had to try so hard not to be. “You just need someone to protect you. It’s only human.”

It was all you could do to nod, to agree, as mindlessly as you were capable of. You didn’t want to think. You didn’t want to risk remembering something you shouldn’t.

Instead, you just focused on the sunlight streaming the nearest window, how it felt as it hit you.

How, wherever your skin made contact with Simeon’s, it seemed to grow just a little more insufferable than it had been, a second ago.

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henqtic · 3 years

Text

𝘯𝘦𝘤𝘬 𝘬𝘪𝘴𝘴𝘦𝘴

paring: draco malfoy x black!fem!reader

word count: 1.0k

summary: neck kisses, he loved them because you did.

masterlist. // taglist form. // request works. // picture creds.

—————————

draco malfoy loved neck kisses ever since he learned how much y/n l/n did, both of you running through the halls, pulling at the others arm if they weren’t catching up— or at least he was, you nearly getting whiplash from it and your bonnet being mere seconds away from falling off of your head before he could pull you into the designated storage closet, lips eagerly connecting to your plump ones.

you smiled into it, hands running through his already tasseled hair illuminated by the bits of moonlight pouring into the short spaced room by the vents.

your head turned at the sound of someone’s footsteps, scared that you’d get caught out of bed with him for the fourth time this week. it didn’t matter much though, each time being by snape and each time draco using his prefect powers to get you both out of it, a harsh look of judgement being ensured. draco wrote it off as jealousy, that snape probably hadn’t been kissed by a girl in the fifty years he was alive— you weren’t even sure if he was that old.

that being said, your shift of attention didn’t stop him, head simply dipping down to search for your sweet spot.

“don’t you think we should stop soon? you know, i can never find the right shade of concealer at the stores and i’d rather not go out looking like something decided to attack me,” you said through shaky breaths, no longer worried about the sounds you heard minutes ago but about how you were going to cover up the marks that you knew were on you.

he quickly drew back, taking a moment to admire the slightly darker spots littered across your neck, his thumb running over them and the fact that he was the one to made them sinking in.

“i could buy you all the makeup in the world,” he smirked, statement not being far from the truth and eyes trailed down to see yours doing the same, rolling and letting out an all too dramatic sigh before responding—

“if you insist draco.”

“i do.”

he loved them even more when he learned how much you loved to be woken up to them. when everything else was quiet in the manor, house elves freed because you argued that cleaning and doing things around your own home couldn’t be as difficult as he made it out to be— even though it was massive.

and although the winter mornings would be so chilling, there was something else you sought after more than warmth and that was the way his lips would instinctively find their way to your neck like a personal alarm clock. whether it be out of tiredness as he drifted back into sleep almost ten seconds after or when he thought it was time for you to finally wake up after admiring your sleeping form for a few minutes, you loved it.

his arms would be wrapped around you from the back, legs intertwined with each other like they had been every night before you went to sleep and his head would be snuggled into your neck, breathing the familiar scent of shea butter that never seemed to fade away.

“well that’s one way to wake someone up,” you joked in an airy tone, enjoying the little nips of affection as you turned your head slightly to find him in a new position, one arm being folded, offering him support to look down at you.

“it’s a way to wake up my wife,” he corrected, both of you bursting into fits of giggles at the new title.

“can you believe it? we’re actually married. y/n malfoy, has a bit of a ring to it doesn’t it?”

he hummed in agreement, reaching down to grab your left hand, diamond ring being in it’s respected place as his pale hands nearly swallowed yours before pinning it above your head, leaning down to kiss your lips once more, just as he had been for hours before, no complaint coming from you.

draco found that the neck kisses he’d give you was his favorite thing to do when he realized how much happiness the little gesture brought to you through the years. while he was upstairs in bed, you were watching the two five year olds running across the kitchen, hallways, living room before the cycle would repeat. it was no surprise they were chasing each other, they could never get along ever since they were small babies barely being the size of their fathers forearm.

they were a perfect mixture of you two, both having skin tones mere tones lighter than their mother while still somehow donning the curly tufts of bright blond hair that the malfoys were known for. you’d actually bet on it— that there was no way your kids would ever be born with such a light hair color while he argued that his genes were too strong. and you laughed it off, blaming it on his inflated ego but when you lost with the first, you lost with the second, your twins being the best things that had happened to your life.

“hey don’t hit your brother with that!”

“but mum—”

“don’t but mum be cass, now put the play broom away,” you scolded, the little girl letting out a dramatic groan before throwing the kid quidditch broom she had got for her birthday on the couch and starting her chase again.

you suddenly felt two limbs wrap around your torso, relaxing into his touch as he gently swayed both of you side to side, his head on your shoulder for support. he’d slept in, wanting to spend his day off with his family but you allowed him an extra two hours while you got the kids ready.

“you could’ve woken me up love,” he mumbled, finding his way to your neck once again.

“i don’t think you could go without a good night’s rest for much longer— you actually got nine hours this time without getting up in the middle of the night.”

“you watch me while i sleep?” he asked, turning your body around to face him, his face slightly scrunched into a disgusted look.

“is there any better sight?”

“mmm, no i don’t think so,” he joked, leaning down to pull you into a long kiss.

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#— draco malfoy.#draco fluff #draco malfoy x reader #draco malfoy x poc!reader #draco malfoy x poc #draco #draco imagine #draco malfoy blurb #draco malfoy x y/n #draco malfoy one shot #draco malfoy x hufflepuff!reader #draco malfoy x you #draco fanfiction #draco malfoy imagine

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belphies-cuhm-sluht · 3 years

Note

I'm sorry if I'm bothering but I cant stop thinking about the brothers reacting to the mcs family accepting them as mcs bf before and after they find out the bro is a demon

The Brothers When MC’s Family Accepts Them As Demons (Headcanons)

These got super long, so I’m gonna put them under the cut. Thanks for the request, this was super fun to do.

Lucifer

The amount of stress he had going into this was ridiculous. He didn’t want to meet your family in the first place, he thought it was unnecessary and he would have much rather they not knew that he and you were dating. You insisted though, and he begrudgingly agreed to meet them when you went back up to the human world for your birthday. Everything was going fine until you slipped up and used his full name, and he was honestly… relieved. He had hated the stupid nickname you had given to him… “Luci”. It made him cringe, but nobody really named their child Lucifer, so apparently it was necessary. That one slip though, and he froze up, waiting for your parents to freak out… but they didn’t. Honestly, he wondered if your parents were even listening, but then your dad tried to make a dad joke. “So Lucifer, what was the fall like? Just joking, glad you could join us.” Confused. Kind of worried about your parents judgement, because, of course he loves you and wouldn’t want anyone to get in between the two of you… your parents are just… okay?With you dating a demon? Might need to take the second that your parents didn’t take.

Mammon

Not really all for meeting your family, but then again, that could be another way of getting free gifts or money. Definitely decides that he wants to meet them around Christmas, and make sure to let them know that you’re bringing your boyfriend, and that he likes gold anything or just flat out cash. He was nervous, but he wouldn’t let that show. Obviously The Great Mammon doesn’t get nervous, not around some measly humans. But these humans, these humans were important to you, and if he didn’t make a good impression, well… he could handle his brothers talking bad about him, but your family was a whole different thing. Christmas morning seemed to be going along without a hitch, the two of you had decided to just call each other by pet names so his real name wouldn’t slip… that is until his greediness started to show and he started pestering your parents about what he got. You lightly smacked his arm, whispering his name, hoping that your family didn’t hear you. “Oh, Mammon? Like the demon of greed Mammon?” Uhm… why weren’t your parents freaking out? “Don’t worry. We didn’t really know what to get you, so we just decided on money. I’m sure you won’t mind.” He’s on a whole new level of shook. Your family is so chill, he wants to come back for every holiday.

Leviathan

Getting him to leave his own bedroom was a job on its own. Trying to get him to agree to meet your family was a whole new level of difficult. There was no need for it, they won’t like him, he’s a loser… he gave all these excuses, and although none of them were true to you, he believed them to be true. You were on the verge of giving up and he saw that, he saw that you were upset about it, and he didn’t want to be the reason for you being upset so he finally said that he would. Only for a day trip though. His anxiety was already through the roof and he didn’t want to be stuck in a house of a bunch of people he didn’t know longer than 24 hours. That was no problem for you though as your family was having a small get together. It was a cookout and there would be a pool and everything, just a pleasant day of family fun. That’s how you sold it to him, and although he was still reluctant, he liked the idea of a pool. So now, here you were, goofing off in the pool. He was pushing you around the pool in a little donut raft, and he decided it would be funny to flip you off of it. You squealed his name when you came up from out of the water, forgetting for a second where you were, and your entire family was looking at the two of you now. “Leviathan… I know I heard that name before… isn’t that that one demon who…” “Doesn’t matter what he is, they’re both having fun. Burgers are up in five minutes, kiddos.” They’re not… shocked? Not running for the hills, having a panic attack. Nope, just burgers. He finally feels like he can really relax now, and that’s all that matters.

Asmodeus

Pfft, worried? Not him. People love him. Your parents will too, he was sure of it. He was all for visiting your parents, actually, he was the one who brought it up. You were about to visit your mom for her birthday, and he decided that he wanted to come along too, since he’d never met your family before. He felt like you were hiding him and he didn’t like that feeling, so now he was coming to your mom's birthday and he even picked her out a gift. Obviously it was self-care set, but what else was he going to get her? It’s Asmo. Of course, your mother loves him immediately. He’s kind and he’s gentle and soft spoken, and he keeps calling her beautiful. He was a charmer, and everything was going great. The entire party went flawlessly, and you both thought that you’d get through the day without anyone finding out that your boyfriend was in fact a demon. That is, until your mother stopped the two of you for goodbye hugs, and she decided to become curious about his name. “Is Asmo your full name, or is it short for something else?” She was so inquizitive, and you bit your lip, hoping that he’d just agree that Asmo was his name, but, he had no shame. He told her that it was short for Asmodeus, and at first she looked shocked, but then she just shrugged. “Hmm, well… isn’t that something. You two get home safely, and come back soon, okay?” At first he thought that she just didn’t know who he was, but you explained to him that she knew, she just didn’t care. He kind of had a feeling it would happen that way though, so he was just as happy as he was before he came up to visit.

Satan

He’ll agree to visit your parents, you don’t have to bribe him, convince him, nothing. He just wants you to call him by his real name. He said he would be on his best behaviour, and that your family would have no reason to hate him unless they’re judging him strictly off of his name, but if that’s the case, then they’re shit anyway and he doesn’t want to associate with them. It was a Fathers Day party, and you were on edge the entire time. Your parents weren’t judgemental at all, but the name, his name alone would freak anyone out. He was a true gentleman, shaking your fathers hand and having regular conversations with him about different books that they’ve read. Things were great, and then dinner came along. Satan and your dad were still talking amongst themselves when he stopped in the middle of his sentence. “You know, Y/N never did tell us your name. Things have just been so busy, I’m sorry about that.” Satan didn’t hold back, he almost too proudly stated his name to your father, like he was expecting some type of freak out. It was your mom who chuckled lightly, shaking her head. “Ah, leave it to Y/N to date Satan. Well, everyone seems happy in the relationship, who am I to judge?” And with that everyone went back to eating. You were more shocked than Satan was, he just seemed really smug now, continuing his conversation with your dad. It felt like a giant weight had been lifted off your shoulders.

Beelzebub

Halloween, you chose Halloween. There was candy involved and he seemed excited about it. He was always so sweet and you really felt like you had nothing to worry about with him, how could anyone not like Beel? He was a big teddy bear, an absolute sweetheart. He wasn’t even nervous about meeting your family, and there was no reason for him to be. When he walked into your house everyone greeted him with open arms, warm welcomes, and soft smiles. Honestly, the only thing intimidating about him was his height, but everyone quickly got over that and it even became a sort of joke between him and your dad. “Oh, watch your head there, pal. If Y/N would have told me you were so tall I would have raised the archways a little more.” Dad jokes, and while you were embarrassed whenever your dad said anything, Beel seemed to love it. When snack trays went out, Beel devoured everything almost immediately, and it was only when he had cleared the entire table that he realized what he did, smiling sheepishly at you. Your family was clearly… concerned. Beel decided to take it upon himself to explain everything since you seemed so worried, and his plan was, if they freaked out, he’d just take you back to the Devildom to celebrate Halloween there. It was quite the opposite though, and your mom actually seemed relieved that there was a reason for him eating so much. “That makes so much sense. I was getting worried that someone wasn’t feeding you. Well, you can always come home anytime for dinner, alright?” So happy, he’s so happy. Ends up changing into his demon form for a Halloween costume which amazes everyone. He asks to visit your family at least once a week for dinner now. It’s a second home to him.

Belphegor

Why visit your family when he can just sleep? Sleep is life. He’ll probably just zonk out at your parents house anyway, but that wasn’t the point. You wanted him to at least meet your parents once. They had asked you to come home, and you had told them before that you had a boyfriend and they really wanted to meet him too. It wasn’t particularly hard to say no to you, it’s just that he didn’t like hurting your feelings, and he felt like it was the least he could do considering he did… kill you once. He really did do his best to stay awake, not for your parents, but for you. He didn’t want you to think he was rude for falling asleep at the dinner table, which almost happened. Once everyone moved into the living room though, he couldn’t help himself. Leaning against your shoulder he slowly dozed off and your mom noticed immediately. “Just like your father, able to fall asleep anywhere and everywhere.” You heard Belphie scoff quietly, deciding that he would throw out a joke about being Belphegor, the Demon of Sloth. Of course, you knew that it wasn’t a joke, and you tensed up, waiting for your mom’s reaction to it. “Oh, well, that makes sense now. Do you need a pillow, or a blanket? A warm cup of tea?” He peaked one eye open, staring at your mom for a second before looking up at you and declining, almost too politely. He was kind of bummed out that your mom wasn’t scared of him. There was no fun in it. At least he got to nap a little longer though, and she brought him a cup of tea anyway, so he was still winning in the end. All is well that ends well.

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imasimpforshanks · 3 years

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Heyyyyyy hiiiiii hope your having an awesome day drinking that water getting hydrated 😗. I was wondering if you could do a Law Angst alphabet please. But only if you feel up to it and have time. If you don’t feel free to ignore or do it later here now have a cookie 🍪 because your awesome 😊

Angst Alphabet - Trafalgar Law

a/n: HI HI!!! thank you for your kind words!! I hope you are looking after yourself <333 here is the law angst! Please enjoy 🥰

A-Accident (would they blame themselves if you died in an accident?)

He would only blame himself if any of his actions led to the accident that caused your death (we’ve seen him blame himself for that very reason about Rosinantes death). If his actions weren’t directly correlated to your death in any way then he would not blame himself, though he would kick himself for not being able to help you in time. Other than that, Law is painfully aware of the harsh reality that is life.

B-Break up (How would they break up with you?)

Law would break up with you in a seemingly emotionless way. He’d mask his true feelings, while telling you a whole bunch of excuses why the two of you could no longer be together. He doesn’t believe any of them, but he’s got to do what he’s got to do.

C-Crying (how would they make you cry?)

I feel like I’ve used this one in a few other character alphabets but it really applies to Law too. He would cause you to stress and panic so much over his health and wellbeing. He’s a literal doctor. He should know to take better care of himself, but he just doesn’t seem to care about himself the same way you do. So it isn’t until you’re crying in front of him, spilling your heart out about how concerned you are for his safety that he realizes his health is important to more than just himself.

D-Death (how would they react to your death?)

My god, if Law was to lose another person that he loved, he literally would never want to let himself get close to anyone ever again. Your death would be it for Law. He’d basically be on the verge of giving up himself. What other reason does he have to go on.

E-Emotion (what is one emotion they would try to hide the most and how would they do it?)

He tries to hide every emotion. Law doesn’t like to be too open, out of fear of people using it against him or it simply being too much of a sign of weakness. So, very rarely does he let his emotions show. He also tries to divert attention away from himself in hopes that people won’t focus on him or his emotions for too long.

F-Fight (do you two ever fight? How big are the fights? What do you fight about? Etc.)

This was covered in his fluff alphabet! But here it is again:

Your fights tend to be pretty short lived resulting in forgiveness and apologies from both sides relatively quickly. He really doesn’t like to stay mad at you for too long – he’d much rather have you two on the same page.

Most fights are caused by stress and concerns of health and safety, so Law does a lot of eye rolling and using his title as a ‘doctor’ as justification that he knows what he’s doing so you just need to chill – but like I said these fights are very short lived.

G-Guilt (what is the biggest thing they feel guilty about?)

Law will never forgive himself for Rosinantes death. He will forever feel responsible for his death – it was all his fault. If only he hadn’t given that note to Vergo, then Rosinante would still be alive. He died because of Law’s incompetence (at least that’s what he tells himself).

H-Heartbreak (what would cause them pain in the relationship? How would they deal during a break-up?)

During a break-up Law would act pretty normal. He wouldn’t behave any differently until he’s left alone. Only then would he let himself go and truly feel that heartbreak.

I-Injured (how would they react if you are badly injured?)

Thanks to the doctor in him, Law is able to remain calm. He can keep his composure until he administers whatever treatment necessary. That’s not to say he isn’t worried though. He’s just capable of focusing on the injury right in front of him.

Only once he is certain that you are stable does he (or potentially his crew) go and hunt down the cause of your beating.

J-Jealousy (what do they do if they are jealous?)

When Law does get jealous (which is rarely), he gets quiet. His fists clench a little more, and his frown deepens. He also speaks less than usual (which is already pretty hard to beat). He only gives you short snippy replies until he eventually gets over it.

K-Kill (would they kill for revenge?)

Law would kill for revenge, yes. He literally wanted to kill Doflamingo as revenge for Rosinante. However, it was in Law’s plan that Kaido would be the one to kill Doflamingo (after they fought) – so I believe that is how he’d kill for revenge as well. He would devise a fool proof plan (okay maybe not fool proof, bc if the straw hats are involved who knows what could go wrong).

In short, yes. Law would kill for revenge.

L-Loss (what is their greatest loss?)

This poor man has suffered so much loss in his life that it’s actually really difficult to choose which would be his greatest loss. He lost his entire family as a young boy while also having a shortened lifespan himself. Losing his family, and the realization that he only had a few more years to live, really made him lose his will to live a good remainder of his life. Young Law literally became a pirate.

However, he did meet Rosinante (Corazon) and he gave him another reason to live. Furthermore, Rosinante actively sought out a cure for Law so that he could continue to live a long life. Basically, Rosinante became a father figure/older brother to Law. So, losing him – another ¬person he loved so dearly – would have been beyond devastating.

M-Mistake (what is the worst mistake they ever made with you?)

There was one day where he spent the entire day ignoring you. It was completely unintentional. His mind was swarming with plans and all this other information that has just come in. He got so immersed in it that he didn’t talk to you or tell you what was going on for a whole day.

N-Nightmares (how often do they have them? What are they about? How do they deal with it?)

Nightmares are one of the many reasons Law hardly ever sleeps. He’s haunted by his family’s and Rosinantes deaths. His nightmares get particularly bad around the same time each year (that is, around the time of year that they died). He wakes up trembling and on the verge of tears (but he never lets them fall). Instead of even trying to go back to sleep, he’ll make himself a nice hot cup of coffee and immerse himself in a book or work of some kind – anything to avoid going back to sleep and risking a re-run of that horrible nightmare.

O-Outrage (how and why would they get mad at you?)

Sometimes his exhaustion catches up to him and other times its all the stress building up that finally he snaps and all the emotions are too overwhelming that he just directs it to the nearest outlet, which just so happens to be you.

P-Past (what has happened in your relationship that changed the way you saw each other?)

You walked in on him absolutely breaking down over Rosinante. One evening Law retreated to his room while you and the rest of the crew were eating and drinking. He didn’t think you had noticed him leave, but soon you were following after him. You opened the door and found him breaking down in the middle of the room. You completely forgot that it was the anniversary of Rosinantes death. It was the first time you had seen him this distraught and it broke your heart.

It really cemented into your brain that no matter how tough he may look, he still suffers (probably more so than anyone). But, you were also grateful that you were able to see him like that, as it allowed him to start relying on you a little more.

Q-Quality (what is their most dangerous/toxic quality?)

His inability to openly express his emotions. Sure, now he will share with you how he is feeling, but that is with you and ONLY you. He still insists on keeping everything else bottle away from the rest of the world which is a really unhealthy way to deal with things. It’s not that you dislike being there for him, in fact, you appreciate how trusting he is with you. It’s just, what if there comes a time where you aren’t around and he’s in desperate need of someone to confide in?

R-Rejection (how would they react to you rejecting their confession (or the other way around)).

Law would wait until he was 100% certain you returned his feelings to confess to you. So, if you were to reject his confession he would be really confused for a while. He’d let it go because well, everyone has their own reasons – its not his place to tell you how you feel. All he can do is tell you how he feels and then the rest is up to you.

S-Scars (battle or self-inflicted)

He has no self-inflicted scars, and to my knowledge he has no battle scars either. But, his arm did get cut off and then reattached during the Dressrosa arc, so it actually is likely that there is a remaining scar from that (although I’m not certain).

T-Trust (have they ever broken your trust?)

Nope not at all. In fact, the only instance in which he would possibly break your trust, or lie to you, about is when he went to Punk Hazard and sent his crew to Zou. Some would assume that he wouldn’t tell you his plan out of fear of your safety, but that’s not true. He had to tell you. You taught him to be open and honest, and to trust. So that’s exactly what he did.

U-Urge (how badly do they want to see you after you guys separated?)

Law has gotten so comfortable around you that whenever you aren’t there, he gets unbearably anxious. Your presence is soothing, even if he can’t see you, even if he can only hear your voice echoing throughout the Polar Tang, it’s enough to put his mind at ease. So, if you are separated for a while… oh boy does he want to see you badly.

V-Vicious (what do they do when they lash out on you?)

He tends to yell at you. He tells you to “piss off” and that “you’re only being a nuisance right now”, despite you only wanting to help him.

W-Weak (what makes them feel weak how do they try to avoid it?)

Not being able to control things makes Law feel really weak. Weak may not be the right word, but it definitely makes him feel unprepared. He doesn’t like when things are out of his control and he can’t account for things. Which is usually why he always does extensive research and preparation before constructing a well thought out plan.

X-X-ray (what do they hate and show it most obviously?)

Well, I mean other than his obvious hatred of bread, Law also really hates when he works extremely hard on formulating a plan only for it to be completely thrown out of the window by a reckless straw hat wearing captain and his entire crew. (and somehow everything still ends up working out!!! That is the part that frustrates Law the most HAHAH).

Y-Yearn (what is one thing that they want but can’t have?)

One of the only things he’s ever really wanted was for Doflamingo to be taken down. He’s been partially successful in that sense, seeing as Doflamingo is in prison now. However, he wants more than that. He wants Doflamingo to suffer the same way he has.

Z-Zero (what do they do/say in your dying moments?)

It may seem a little out of character but… I believe Law would be borderline desperate/inconsolable. There would be a lot of clinging on to you, begging you not to leave him like everyone else he’s ever loved. He can’t handle another person leaving him, it’s too much. It’s far too much.

He wouldn’t cry (just yet), but his voice would tremble, and his hands would be shaking. His mind would be racing with all sorts of theories and possible ways he could save you. How could he possibly prevent the inevitable?

#one piece #one piece x reader #one piece headcanons #one piece imagines #trafalgar law #trafalgar d law x reader #trafalgar d. water law #angst alphabet #one piece alphabet

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iliveiloveiwrite · 3 years

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Bloom // H.P.

Summary: Healing doesn't happen overnight. It’s a process that can take months, if not, years to come to terms with. It’s been five years since the Battle of Hogwarts and the end of the Second Wizarding War. Harry finally feels ready to confront feelings that have long been sat, growing unattended in the recesses of his mind and soul.

A/N: This was inspired by the made-up fic title that I did a few weeks ago. I got so stuck on this, I couldn't get any further, but inspiration somewhat struck and here we are. I know this is long, but I am so so proud of this, I would love some interaction with this. Take a chance, please.

Warnings: feelings of sadness, grief, worthlessness, more visits to graveyards, talks of death. This sounds dark, and parts are, but there is so much fluff and comfort and pining in this.

Word count: 9.4k

Harry’s Flat, London, England, October.

For the fourth night this week, sleep evades him. Deciding to surrender this particular battle, Harry sits up in bed and reaches for his glasses on the bedside table.

With clearer vision, he turns to the digital clock next to where he places his glasses. He hangs his head in his hands when he reads the time. not even two hours of sleep before he awoke; his mind unwilling to alleviate him long enough for him to fall into a dreamless sleep.

He supposes it could be a good thing, or at least, that’s what he tells himself as he throws the covers off his body and swings his legs out of bed. As he sits on the edge of his bed, Harry gives himself a moment.

He gives himself only a single moment to give into the tidal wave threatening to drown him. A single moment simply to feel everything before he packs it all away into corresponding drawers in his mind.

A heavy sigh leaves him as he plods into the living room and through to the kitchen. As he boils the kettle, he thinks of you and your ingrained belief that everything can be put to rights over a cup of tea.

Settling in the living room, he grabs the remotes for the television. Turning it on, he switches the volume to mute, not wanting loud noises, but rather the comfort of monotonous moving pictures. Harry cannot tell what the programme is; a muggle show dedicated to archaeology, he thinks, but he pays it little mind.

He runs a hand down his face; feeling the tiredness deep within his bones. The insomnia had started in the months after the end of the war; beginning with repetitive nightmares in which he would suffer through the deaths of his friends countless times before being awoken by the sounds of his own screams. From there, it shifted into a fear of sleep, a terror of closing his eyes and seeing Hermione’s or Ron’s lifeless bodies. He knows – he knows they are alive and well, but the fear remains.

He wonders how long he’ll continue to feel like this should do nothing; how long he will deal with the sleepless nights and the nightmares that greet him when he does close his eyes.

However, as he watches the soundless pictures play on the television, he cannot help but feel an urge to get better. To do better and to be better in all that he does. At the age of eighteen, he defeated the darkest wizard to have ever walked the earth in the last century. At the age of twenty three, five years later, he feels close to laughter that he has let his life come to this.

But no-one warned him of the aftermath of the war. No-one readied him for the feelings of guilt that twists his stomach; leaving him unable to eat. No-one explained to him just how long the nightmares would last; seeing the faces of those that fell at the battle of Hogwarts and before as he tries and tries to dream of happy things.

Harry’s bottom lip begins to wobble. The tears won’t fall. It’s been years, Harry thinks, since he had cried in earnest.

As Harry sits on his couch for the fourth night that week, he readies himself to start putting his life back together again.

The Burrow, Ottery St. Catchpole, Devon, October.

The Burrow had always, to Harry at least, been a place full of happy memories. The home of the Weasley family physically exuded warmth and happiness. To put it bluntly, it was Harry’s safe haven; the place he could go where he would find no judgement for his state of sleeplessness or lack of appetite. He would catch Molly watching him worriedly, but she knew not to press, and for that, he was thankful. To appease her worries, or at least to lessen them slightly, he visits the Weasley matriarch once a week.

Immediately, Harry is wrapped up in hug after hug. Molly keeping her hands on Harry’s cheeks as she moves his head side to side, getting a good look at him. She clamps her lips together to keep the frown from forming on her face; worry rises in her gut, but she does not voice it.

The food cooking on the stove has Harry’s mouth watering as he walks through the kitchen to the large table in the dining area. There, he finds your eyes. They remain on the door as he walks through, as if you knew it wouldn’t be long before he entered.

“Mate,” Ron greets; pushing a drink into Harry’s hand. Harry nods at Ron, taking a swig of his drink before smiling at Hermione.

He moves to sit next to you; wanting nothing more than to sit by your side so he can tell his plan of which he came up with by himself. All around him conversation continues as if he had never walked in in the first place. He supposes that’s bit big-headed of him to think, but as he looks around those he classes as his family, he comes to realisation that they’ve all started to move on.

It hits him then and there; just how terrified he is of being left behind.

“How have you been?” You ask; voice gentle and caring as you lean into him.

Harry smiles at you; spooning vegetables onto his plate but feeling no pangs of hunger. “You just saw me last week,” Harry reminds in humour; his attempt at avoiding the twinges of fear ravaging his gut.

You roll your eyes, “That means it’s been a while since I’ve seen you. So, how have you been?”

Harry hears the meaning in your words; he hears the undercurrent of worry in your voice, and it only adds to the pit growing in his stomach. After his decision the other night, it was as if all the realisations hit him at once and he came to see just how much of a bad friend he had been to you all. He’d had been so caught up in his self-loathing that he failed to see just how much you were struggling with it all; he hadn’t even noticed that Ron and Hermione had also sought out help too.

Harry nods; reaching for his knife and fork, “I’ve been okay.”

Even he can hear the lie in his voice, and it makes him sick to his stomach. Thankfully, you don’t address it. You simply nod; patting his hand twice before turning your attention to your own meal.

Cutlery scrapes on plates as happy conversation lightens the atmosphere. It isn’t mentioned, but it is there – the absence of Fred’s laughter and his smile, the pointed comments, and his love for his mother. It is there, and it only adds to the guilt pooling in Harry’s stomach and invading his bloodstream.

It’s as if you sense it; as if you sense Harry starting to spiral, his thoughts turning to that dark place that he so often finds himself in. It’s as if you know; changing the hand in which your fork sits to free up your other hand so you can take Harry’s under the table and squeeze. A silent reminder if there is any.

I’m here, you remind him, I’m here and I’m not going anywhere.

Harry squeezes back; unable to do or say anything else, meeting Arthur Weasley’s pained eyes from across the table, and beginning to wish that he had in fact done and said more.

At the age of eighteen years old, harry defeated the darkest wizard in a century. Yet, he had lost a friend he had classed as a brother, and now finds it hard to look Molly and Arthur in the eye.

There is a lapse in conversation and Harry slips his hand free of yours, needing to leave the room before the guilt he’s sitting in drowns him. He smiles apologetically at each Weasley, eyes lingering on the empty chair across from George and promptly leaves the room.

The night air is cold against Harry’s bare arms as he sits on one of the many benches littering the Weasley’s gardens. It’s so cold that his breath is coming out in white puffs, but he doesn’t feel the need to fetch his coat. In fact, he would rather feel the cold against his skin. It reminds him that he’s alive and that he’s breathing. It reminds him of those are who no longer living.

He stiffens at the sounds of footsteps behind him; his hand immediately reaching for his wand kept in his back pocket.

Harry relaxes somewhat when he realises it was you who followed him outside, and not Ron or Hermione. He doesn’t turn, but he smiles when he hears you swear quietly, having tripped on a rogue stone.

You sigh as you sit down on the bench next to him; rubbing at your sore knee.

“How are you not freezing?” You ask; rubbing at your clothed arms, not happy with the chill seeping through to your bones.

Harry releases a breath; it puffs white, “I don’t feel it.”

You raise an eyebrow; running a finger over his arm which is covered in goosebumps, “I beg to differ.”

Harry doesn’t reply; he flashes a smile your way before returning his attention to the night sky and all that he can see of what the Weasley’s own. For a few minutes, no words are spoken between you both. Sinking into a silence that could only be described as comfortable; he doesn’t feel the constant need to reassure you that he’s okay. You check in on him every now and then, but no true pestering takes place.

Truthfully, Harry basks in your attention. He rather likes the fact that you do make a fuss of him when you check in on him because he’s sure that without you, he would be doing a lot worse than the nightmares and insomnia.

Breaking the silence, you broach the subject of Harry’s health, “Harry, can I give you the name and number of my therapist? I’ve made real progress since working with her, and I think you will too.”

Harry smiles at you; feeling grateful for your help but feeling like an awful friend for shaking his head and declining your offer. “I just… I don’t feel ready yet to speak to someone.”

You nod your head, “I get that, but Harry, it’s been five years since the end of the war, and you know how I worry.”

He nods, letting the conversation collapse into nothing in front of him. This is the time, he realises, to tell you his plans for getting better that don’t involve divulging his deepest and darkest secrets to a stranger, even if they are a trained professional.

“I have a favour to ask you,” Harry prompts, “And I’ll understand if you say no.”

“If I can help you, Harry, I’ll do anything.”

“I don’t want to speak to anyone, not yet at least, but I do want to start moving on.”

“So what’s the favour?” You ask; your curiosity piqued with his mystery.

“I want to visit the places where things have happened, whether they’re good or bad. I want to go back, and I want to see them in a different light.”

“That,” You pause; thinking of your next words, “That sounds like a really good idea, Harry. Where do I come into it though?”

Harry smiles at you sheepishly; running a hand through his forever messy hair. “I want you to come with me,” He states as plain as day.

“What?”

“I’d like for you to come with me,” Harry amends, “I don’t think I can do this on my own.”

“What about Ron or Hermione? I’m sure they would help.”

Harry shakes his head, “They’re both so busy, and they’re starting their lives together. I don’t want to dredge up bad memories for either of them if I can help it.”

You sigh, picking at an invisible thread on your sleeve, “How were you thinking of doing this? I have to work too, you know. Not everyone can inherit a fortune, Potter.”

Harry blinks, letting your words settle before a small smile breaks across his face, “You’d come with me?”

“Harry,” You start, “I don’t think there was any chance of me saying no to you. If I can help you in any way, I can. I’m always here for you.”

The familiar burn of tears starts at the back of his throat. Harry has to avert his eyes; glancing up at the night sky as he swallows past the lump in his throat. He should have known you would say yes; you’ve been by his side for everything since Third Year, but the small voice in the back of his mind had him doubting whether you would.

“Thank you,” He whispers eventually.

“So,” You begin, “Where too first?”

Grimmauld Place, Islington, London, November.

Upon the untimely death of Harry’s godfather, Sirius Black, the headquarters of the Order of the Phoenix had been passed down to Harry through Sirius’ will. Sirius had no children for the house to go to, but Harry was as good as.

Standing on a residential street in Islington, you watched as the house appeared as if from nowhere. Appearing amongst number eleven and number thirteen as if it had always been there; as if it was part of the furniture at this point.

Thick dust covers each and every surface. Simply opening the door sends a cloud of dust into your face; leaving you coughing and sneezing as Harry battles the enchantments placed upon the home after the death of Albus Dumbledore.

Turning your gaze to Harry, you could remember the last time you had stepped foot in the ancestral home of the house of Black. It hadn’t been long after Sirius’ death; Harry’s gut-wrenching screams still echoing in your ears as you had bundled him up in any blankets you could find and sat him down at the kitchen table.

He hadn’t spoken much; he hadn’t even cried. Instead, his face set in steely determination, his desperate need to avenger his godfather overriding any common sense. That night, instead of comforting him and drying his eyes, it had been argument after argument, trying to make Harry see sense.

It took hours; the both of you tired not only from the arguing but from the grief sitting on your shoulders. It took hours, but Harry eventually agreed with you, choosing to sit back and wait for the right moment instead of lunging headfirst into attack that would surely get him killed.

Memory after memory washes over you, dragging you into its grips. If the memories are this strong for you, it was not hard to imagine how it must be for Harry.

You focus your attention on him, watching him warily as he wanders further down the hallway, heading for the kitchen where you still expect to hear Sirius’ raucous laugh despite years having passed since his death.

“How are you feeling?” You ask; running a finger across the now clean surface of the kitchen table.

Harry releases a shuddering breath. “I thought,” He starts, “I thought by coming here it would help me come to terms with Sirius and what happened in the Department of Mysteries but being here simply makes me hate his family more.”

“What makes you say that?”

Harry gestures to the large room. “He hated being here. He despised being locked up in the house that he left at sixteen, but he wanted to help the Order, so he stayed here and let it be used as the headquarters.”

“That… That is a very noble thing to do,” You murmur, eyes fixed on the man in front of you, taking in his tight fists and clenched jaw.

Harry laughs without humour, “The noble house of Black.”

Silence lapses and the tension in the room only increases. Biting your lip, you can only think that this was the wrong thing to do, that this is only pushing Harry further away instead of helping him come to terms with the last years of his life.

“We can leave, Harry,” You remind him, “We can leave right now and do this another day, when you’re more ready.”

He shakes his head, shaking himself out of his funk but also steadfastly refusing to go. He’s made this far; he’ll see it through to the end. He throws you a smile; it doesn’t reach his eyes and your heart cracks a little.

Holding a hand out to you, Harry states, “Come with me, I want to show you something.”

The room he enters is one he has told you about countless times; describing it with so much detail that as you enter the room behind him you feel as if you’ve already been inside.

It cannot be denied that the tapestry is nothing short of piece of art. It cannot be ignored that the depth of detail to the Black family tree is not breathtaking, but at the same time it is so utterly heartbreaking to see the scorch marks litter the walls. The consequence of turning against one’s own family, you think as you step further into the room, taking in its beauty but also its darkness.

“The noble house of Black,” Harry spits, gesturing to four walls, pointing at each scorch mark before settling on the one that once showed the portrait of his beloved godfather.

“He got out,” He states brokenly, “He left his blood family to live with his found family. He had a life ahead of him. He had my father, he had Remus. He had his family, and it was all taken away in one night. In one night, Sirius lost his best friend and then his freedom.

“And all I feel when I think about Sirius is anger. At how he was treated. He was good, (Y/N),” Harry states, his tone pleading, full of emotion, “He was good, and he was treated like shit. His real family didn’t care but his found family did and then he lost all of it.”

“He found you, Harry,” You remind him, “Sirius found you. You didn’t have half as long with him than what you should have, but he made sure to be involved in your life. After the Triwizard Tournament and you had come back with Cedric, Sirius would not leave your side in the hospital. I remember seeing him every morning and he would stay every night. He loved you, Harry – remember that.”

“And what did I do?” Harry laughs, “I got him killed. Some godson I am.”

“Harry, you are not to blame for Sirius’ death.”

He scoffs, disbelief and derision echoing off the walls. You stalk over the green eyed man, your determination growing with every step. You grab his face in both your hands, bringing his face to your level, “Listen to me, Potter. Are you listening?”

He nods, eyes wide and voice silent.

“Good,” You smirk before turning serious. “You are not to blame for Sirius’ death. He knew what was happening in the Department of Mysteries. He knew that there was a chance he was not going to come out of there alive and he still went in to find you, to protect you.”

“If I had paid more attention to what Voldemort showed me though… I could have figured out it was fake…”

You shake your head, “You were a sixteen year old boy, barely trained in occlumency and legilimency. You weren’t to know that what you had seen was fake. All you saw, Harry, was someone you care about being tortured. You acted on instinct.”

“Foolish instinct,” He argues.

You roll your eyes, “Not foolish at all. More brave than foolish.”

Harry remains silent; letting your words sink into his skin, binding them to his bones. It isn’t going to be as simple as one speech and all is forgiven, it is going to take time to forgive himself for the death of his godfather. There is always going to be an element of himself that believes strongly that he was the cause of Sirius’ death; if he hadn’t acted so rashly, if he had stopped to think things through, to go over exactly what Voldemort had shown him, Harry might have been able to delay Sirius’ death.

If, if, if.

If, if, if. He repeats that word; hindsight is a wonderful thing. If he had done this, if he had done that. Hindsight was going to be the death of him.

Harry focuses his attention back on you and the warmth of your hands on either side of his face. Gently, Harry places his hands on top of yours, “Can you let go of me now?”

You smile before pursing your lips, pretending to think through the answer. “I don’t know,” You ponder, “Are you going to continue to argue with me?”

“Probably,” Harry admits, “But I’m ready to go now.”

Harry lets his hands drop from yours, his eyes running over your face before stepping back. Your hands drop to your sides, clenching as if they wished to be touching him some more. His face feels cold now that you’ve let him go, as if all the warmth his body carried was in your hands.

“Do you think you’ll come back?” You ask, unable to help yourself.

Harry pauses, closing the door to the Black family tree behind him. He looks up and down the hallway; thinking of the memories he has cherished over the years. He had Sirius in his life for far shorted than he deserved, but he had Grimmauld Place to help him discover the man he idolised.

Meeting your stare, he nods. “I think I will eventually.”

Hogwarts School for Witchcraft and Wizardry, Scottish Highlands, December.

It didn’t matter how long it had been since your last visit; it didn’t matter how long it had been since you roamed the corridors of the place you once considered your second home, seeing Hogwarts School for Witchcraft and Wizardry rise out of the Scottish Highlands would never be something you could get used to.

From your spot in Hogsmeade, you can just make out the turrets of Gryffindor and Ravenclaw towers. Slight unease spreads through your chest as you think back to the last time you had been at the school; still a student, hurling curses and jinxes at any Death Eater that happened by you.

Reflexively, you curl your hands into fists, your fingernails biting into the soft flesh of your palms. You gasp slightly as the pain; your mind becoming clearer and your focus becoming sharper. Harry’s hand takes yours; unfurling your fingers and replacing them with him, tangling your hands together.

“(Y/N), are you okay?”

You take a deep breath; mentally working through the exercises given to you by your therapist,. Shakily, you smile at Harry, “I’m okay, Harry, don’t worry about me. How are you feeling?”

His eyebrows furrow as he squeezes your hand. “I’ll always worry about you,” He says gently before continuing, “I’ll be okay though. I have you.”

You smile weakly; letting yourself be led through the well-worn path from Hogsmeade to the school. Small conversation is made; Harry bringing up happier memories of your education at the magical castle. The time when Ron received a Howler from his mother; the time when Hermione punched Draco Malfoy in the face.

Happier times now turned to memories; each one tinted with age.

Hogwarts soon looms in front of you both. Harry’s hand tightens on yours, fingers squeezing to the point of cutting off blood flow as he leads you into the grounds of the school.

It feels like coming home, but it also feels like facing your worst enemy. The Battle of Hogwarts had been hard on everyone who found themselves there; it had been hard for students and teachers. You would never forget the screams and the sound of breaking stone. It would be a long while until the sight of dead bodies could be scrubbed from your mind.

“Mr. Potter,” McGonagall greets from the stairs; voice warm and fond, “To what do we the pleasure of this visit with Miss (Y/L/N)?”

“I was hoping to walk the school and its grounds for a bit, Professor. If you don’t mind, that is. I’m trying to get better,” Harry states; sincerity ringing in his voice so much so that even McGonagall looked to be taken aback by his words.

She nods; finding her voice but needing to clear her throat first of all the emotion he had brought up, “Of course, Potter. Take as long as you need.”

Harry smiles at the beloved Professor gratefully, stretching out a hand towards you. You take it, resisting the urge to tangle your fingers together as Harry leads you to the Great Hall. “Where do you want to start?” You ask; eyes scanning the familiar walls, lingering on the Gryffindor table.

“I don’t know,” Harry admits, sounding lost as his eyes dance around the repaired room.

“It’s strange for me too,” You whisper, voice loud in the cavernous hall.

“It was entirely destroyed,” Harry recalls, sweeping his gaze over the large wall of windows by the Ravenclaw table.

You hope up on the closest table, crossing your legs as you watch Harry work through it all in his mind. He hadn’t been in the hall too long, but even that was long enough to have to branded into your memories.

“The tables were pushed back against the wall,” He states, gesturing to both walls before sweeping his hands above the floor, “And bodies were laid out on the floor, resting on blankets and towels,” Harry turns towards the staff table, pointing to a flagstone just in front of it, “That was where Fred laid – Molly and George crying over his body,” Harry spins, his finger now pointing back in the direction of the Ravenclaw table, “Remus and Tonks rested there. Teddy, my Godson, now an orphan… like me.”

“So many lives lost,” He whispers brokenly; eyes lined with tears that won’t fall, no matter how sad or broken he feels.

You slip off the table, going to his side and clutching his hand. “We lost a lot that day,” You whisper, “There isn’t a person here who doesn’t feel that same loss, Harry.”

“I was terrified of finding you laid out in the Great Hall,” Harry admits though not for his own good; he’s coming too close to admitting his feelings for you, but this is something he had never told a living soul, and he would be damned if he wasn’t going to tell you.

“What?” You ask, all thoughts emptying out of your head as you focus on Harry entirely.

“I was terrified of finding you in the Great Hall. I was so scared that I even hesitated at the door, wondering whether to walk in or walk away. I have dealt with a lot, and will continue to deal with a lot, but if there is one thing I cannot cope with the idea of, it is you hurt or worse,” He takes a deep breath, “The Battle of Hogwarts brought that out of me.”

“I’m here, Harry,” You reassure, “I’m here and I’m whole.”

“I know that now, but then I didn’t and even thinking of it drives me close to madness.”

“I wouldn’t leave without saying anything,” You laugh, “You know that Harry.”

Harry laughs, but there’s no heart to it. “I have you now, that’s something.”

Your heart skips a beat; thudding in your chest so loud you believe that it is entirely possible that Harry could hear it pounding away in your chest. You lean in, hiding your face in Harry’s shoulder – a rare moment of tenderness from both of you. Harry’s hand slips from yours to wrap around your waist, holding you to his body.

Hiding your smile in Harry’s shoulder, you murmur as loud as you dare, “You have me now, Harry. You have me forever.”

Neither of you make it further around the grounds of the castle; sticking to its interiors, wandering the corridors when students are firmly placed in classrooms, not wanting to be a distraction to their education.

Harry’s words continue to play through your mind; how he would not be able to cope if he lost you too. It makes this all more important for you, helping him come to terms with what he has experienced in such a short amount of time.

However, a small part of you rejoices in his admission, the words echoing in your head with a hint of hope. A hope that Harry may feel the same as you after all.

Hogwarts is left with a wave to McGonagall and a promise to write soon. Harry’s muscles relax the further he gets from the castle; the tension leeching away as he breathes in fresh air and Hogsmeade comes into view. He adored Hogwarts; it was his home, but he had to admit that it would be a while before he could face the whole castle without wanting to scream at the walls.

It’s a start however, Harry thinks as he grabs your hands and apparates the two of you back to his flat. It’s a start, he thinks, and now for the rest of it.

Little Hangleton, England, January.

Little Hangleton resides six miles from its paired village Great Hangleton. Little Hangleton was very much a village that was powered through gossip; the rumour mill only grew upon the deaths of the Riddle family. By the time an arrest had been made, the town had become judge, jury and executioner – sentencing poor Frank Bryce to a life of social exclusion even after being proven innocent.

Little Hangleton is made up of one main high street; five or six shops with a pub near the middle. It has a small village green where the local cricket team likes to practice every Saturday morning. It isn’t an extraordinary village; plain in comparison to other dwellings, but it’s history with the Riddle family would go down in wizarding lore until the end of days.

Harry continues to hold onto your hand long after you apparate into the village, landing in side street rather than in the high street as not to attract too much attention from the villagers. You refuse to be the first to let go; admitting to yourself that you rather like the way his hands fits in yours, how it feels like a steady anchor holding you in place.

Taking one look at the dark haired man next to you, you knew in your gut that this was going to be a hard day for him. Harry doesn’t talk about his nightmares often, but form what he has told you, this picturesque village features enough that you can see the tension line Harry’s jawline.

Nudging his shoulder, you smile softly, “I’m here. I’m not going anywhere.”

Harry’s hand tightens on yours. He doesn’t reply verbally; nods his head and focuses on finding his destination. He can’t verbalise his gratefulness; he cannot put it into words just what this means to him because Harry is fairly certain there are no words to cover the scope of what he feels for you in this very moment.

He knew he was asking a lot of you to keep doing this; to visit these places and relive his darkest times with him. He knew it affected you more than you admitted, but he still was selfishly grateful you choose to come every time.

He thinks that he wouldn’t have been as half as productive with his feelings if it wasn’t for you. Harry’s feelings for you only having grown through these visits; he remains in awe of you, as he always has been, but now he can no longer deny himself the depth of his love for you. To deny himself that would be a grievous crime.

However, even Harry is aware that he is nowhere ready to confront the idea of a relationship. In the last few months, he has only been able to accept that Sirius’ death and your injuries at the Battle of Hogwarts were not his fault.

He has to keep working on himself; he has to keep healing so he can be worthy of a love like his parents had.

So for now, Harry is more than content to hold your hand with each apparition, to savour the way your hand fits in his perfectly and how each squeeze of your fingers sets his heart racing.

For now, Harry is happy to remain in the throes of puppy love, but still eager for the day when he can proclaim his love for you in the hopes that you feel the same.

Such thoughts are thrown out of his head when his eyes catch the sign for graveyard. His steps falter, before coming to a brief stop by the sign. Your free hand touches his arm and Harry turns to you, seeing the question reflected in your eyes.

“Are you ready?” He asks, voicing the unspoken question.

You nod, “Ready when you are.”

The graveyard looks just as it did all those years ago; dark and miserable.

You shiver as Harry pushes open the creaky metal gate. He holds the gate open for you out of politeness, but he does not return your smile of gratitude. Harry keeps his facial expression neutral as he turns to face the memories that still plague him all these years later.

His eyes run over the gravestones as he puts one wary foot in front of the other. You follow behind him timidly, footsteps slower as you too read over the names written in marble, granite, limestone.

It doesn’t take long to find the place. Harry’s feet take him there automatically despite the fact that the last time he was here, he had been apparated in and did not walk out.

The Reaper stands proudly among the gravestones; his scythe crossed against his body in readiness. Harry stills, coming to a stop in front of it. He tilts his face; staring into the faceless stone hood of the figure that had him trapped like prey all those years ago.

Harry doesn’t turn from the figure as he points directly behind him. “That is where he killed Cedric,” He states bluntly, hearing the thud the Hufflepuff’s body made as he landed lifeless at Harry’s side.

Your eyes leave Harry; body tensing as you make eye contact with the patch of grass that would be the last thing to touch Cedric’s body.

Harry finally turns; gaining control of the anger and upset that had been raging in his body since landing at the graveyard gates. He needs to approach this carefully; he needs to approach all of this carefully, so he doesn’t fall back into the dark pit he found himself in months ago.

Harry gestures to the centre of the small copse and then to the Reaper, “That is where I had to watch as Voldemort rose again.”

“Oh Harry…” You whisper, voice breaking as you say his name.

Harry’s eyes shutter closed, and his bottom lip begins to wobble. He had been fourteen years old; he had not had his first kiss and yet, he had to duel the darkest wizard to have been produced in a century.

“I thought I was going to die that night,” He confesses after a moment; opening his eyes to once again focus on the faceless depiction of Death himself. “I thought I was going to die, and there was nothing I could do about it.”

Resolve steels your nerves and once again, your feet find their way to Harry.

“You did make it out, Harry. You made it out alive.”

“Two of us went in, (Y/N).”

“It can’t be ignored,” You start, “Cedric’s death was an utter tragedy; completely unexpected and blindsided everyone in the school, but you cannot blame yourself for this, Harry. Cedric died at the hands of a madman – not you.”

“I could have done something!” He screams, finally losing all grip on his temper, “I should have done something. Instead, as Wormtail murdered Cedric, all I did was shout his name as if it was going to help. I did nothing, I as good as murdered him.”

Breath leaves your body in one fell swoop; you had never seen Harry like this. He runs both hands through his hair in frustration as he tries to get a hold on his temper, reigning it in. You remain silent as Harry works to control himself; you watch him pace the small copse, flattening the green grass under his feet.

“I’m sorry,” Harry whispers, breaking the silence, “I didn’t mean to shout at you.”

“Harry,” You sigh, “I am more than capable of handling you shouting at me.”

“You’ve done nothing wrong though, and I just take everything out on you.”

You laugh, short and sweet, “I think this is the first time you’ve ever shouted at me, Potter.”

He smiles though it doesn’t reach his eyes. “I try not to make a habit of shouting at my friends,” Harry states, throwing you a look that states the obvious.

Wringing your hands together, you brace yourself for your next words. Meeting Harry’s stare, fixing your gaze on him, you politely demand, “Tell me more about that night, Harry.”

So he does.

It comes rushing out of him in a torrent; words flying so fast that his speech gets muddled up and he sometimes has to say his sentences again. For so long he has been holding this in; there are very few people who know what happened that night in this very graveyard and out of those, many are dead or imprisoned so Harry has been left to deal with the pain.

It feels like a confession. It feels as if he is seeking forgiveness from his crimes; seeking repentance from a priest of his choosing because he needs to get it out, he needs to know whether penance is possible for the sins committed that night.

Harry feels as if a weight is being lifted off his chest as he tells you about duelling Voldemort and the spell that had taken place beforehand. Harry seeks solace in your comforting gaze and reassuring smile as his voice breaks when he speaks of his parents, not having seen them in any physical form since that night with the Mirror of Erised.

Once he starts, he finds it hard to stop. He stutters over his feelings over Cedric’s death, pausing once in a while to let you interject a thought and for the first time since starting this exercise, since asking you to come along with him, Harry feels as if it is starting to work.

Eventually, his voice falls quiet as does his mind.

“How do you feel?” You ask; an expected question that accompanies each location visited.

Harry nods, “Better. Happy to have finally said what happened that night.”

“I’m glad you trusted me enough to tell you.”

“I trust you with my life,” He states honestly and plainly.

You bite your lip, averting your gaze to wander across the dark graveyard once more before finally turning to face Harry. “Are you ready?”

Harry nods: more than happy to leave this place and never return. What happened in Little Hangleton will always remain a heartbreaking tragedy; a life cruelly taken before it even got the chance to begin. The village would always be stained with such misfortune, but now, Harry feels that part of his life come to a close.

As Harry reaches for your hand, readying himself to apparate you back to your flat, his heart soars at the words you utter with conviction.

“You’re a good man, Harry.”

--------

Landing back at his flat, Harry takes a seat on his couch and hangs in his head in his hands. He had dropped you off at your flat; needing to be alone to deal with the emotions that had been threatening to suffocate him from the inside out. Whilst Harry had accepted that he played no part in Cedric’s death, he still had to confront the magnitude of what had happened to himself.

It hits him all at once; the scale of what he had been through throughout his education. From the ages of eleven to eighteen, Harry hadn’t seen a school year through without injury or battle. It’s as he sits there that he realises the extent to which he was used by the headmaster he looked up to; used as a pawn to further the game of chess being played by Dumbledore and Voldemort.

The waves never cease; his parents, Sirius, Fred, Remus, Tonks, Mad-Eye Moody, and Cedric.

No tears fall; he isn’t sure he has the capacity to cry anymore. Tears haven’t fallen since they fell out relief for the end of the war, but out of sadness for the deaths of Fred, Remus, and Tonks.

Sitting on his couch, shivers overtake his body. His teeth chattering as he reaches for the blanket kept across the back of his couch, wrapping it around his shoulders. Harry bites back the scream that is slowly crawling up his throat; he pushes it down as he fights for control of his mind.

Collecting his thoughts, Harry comes to a conclusion.

He needs to return to where it all began.

Godric’s Hollow, West Country, England, March.

Spring blooms real and true, and Harry feels ready enough to return to Godric’s Hollow. Harry could count on one hand how many times he has stepped foot in the village his parents once called home. He had been born in Godric’s Hollow; at the end of July to two loving parents who adored him just as much as they adored each other.

Out of respect for James and Lily Potter – murdered at the age of twenty-one – the house in which they lived had never been repaired. The thatched roof remains caved in; a large hole in the middle of it, letting the elements now batter the house.

It had been twenty-two years since Harry had stepped foot inside the house he was born in. It had been five years since he stood outside of it with Hermione; only beginning to feel the grief for the parents he never truly knew.

It was this that had plagued Harry from the moment he turned eleven and arrived at Hogwarts. How does he grieve for those he never truly knew?

As crass as it is to say, Harry didn’t know his parents outside his need for food, comfort, and love. The memories of his mother and father are so clouded; he can no longer tell whether they are his own or whether he’s simply simulated a story told to him by family friends.

He was fifteen months old when they were murdered. He was fifteen months old and barely aware of his own shadow.

Whilst he hadn’t visited the house much – it being too painful to see the sight of his parent’s murder – he had visited their graves in the years that have passed.

With you in tow, Harry leads you down the worn, familiar path. He slows his pace every now and then; warning you of an upcoming dip that may make you lose your balance.

All too soon, however, you stand in front of the grave of James and Lily Potter.

Quietly, he asks, “How do I grieve my parents when I never knew them?”

Your heart breaks for him; unable to stop yourself, you wrap an arm around his waist offering any form of comfort you can. Shakily, you answer, “I guess you can mourn what could have been or you grieve the fact that they were so young. Either way, Harry, they’re never going to leave you.”

“I know that,” He whispers; gaze fixed on the grave of his parents, “All I know of them is what I’ve been told. I feel as if my memories have been tainted, and I know that they all mean well, but sometimes-”

He cuts himself off with a huff; kneeling down and drawing out his wand. Silently, Harry conjures a bouquet of Orchids, Chrysanthemums and Lilies and then bows his head in silent prayer, continuing to grieve the parents he would never know.

You place your hand on his shoulder, “Sometimes you what, Harry?”

He sighs, “Sometimes I wish they would stop. I was so young when they died – any memories I have of them are practically gone but sometimes I have these flashes. I have no idea whether they’re real or not, but I feel as if they are. Yet, when friends tell me stories of what it was like to go to school with them or to fight alongside them, it’s like they’re pushing they’re version of James and Lily Potter onto me. Does that make sense?”

Squeezing his shoulder, you answer, “It makes perfect sense. The James and Lily you knew is different from what Sirius knew or what McGonagall knew.”

“I just worry that the more stories I hear, the quicker I lose what I know of them.”

“I don’t think that’s possible, Harry.”

“You don’t?” He asks, shifting to his feet and facing you.

You shake your head, “I don’t. I think you’re going to remember your parents for the rest of your life; their morals and values make up yours, Harry. You might not think, but you are a lot more like them than you realise.”

Harry bows his head, feeling the familiar burn of tears at the back of his throat. He clamps his mouth shut, begging the feeling to go away. Quietly, almost ashamedly, Harry asks, “Do you think they would be proud of me?”

Then and there, your heart breaks, cleaving itself in two for the man standing before you. It’s the only dream of a child; to make their parents proud, but what about children who do not have parents – who grew up in a home that did not cherish them like it should have?

Silver lines your eyes; tears threatening to make an appearance as you reach for Harry’s hands, pulling him into a hug. Against his shoulder, you state with conviction, “They would be extremely proud of you, Harry. So proud of you it would shine out of them.”

Harry sniffles; ducking down somewhat to tuck his head against your neck, hiding his face in the junction between your neck and shoulder. From the outside, it looks as if two lovers are embracing, unable to keep their hands off the other for too long. However, you know that Harry is trying his best to maintain his composure, to try and gets to grips with the emotions that follow never knowing the ones who were supposed to raise you.

Minutes pass and neither of you move; neither of you willing to be the one to break this moment, but for the day to progress, you need to step away from the only man you have ever loved.

Releasing Harry, you send what you hope is a reassuring smile in his direction, “Come on, Harry,” You prompt, “Show me the rest of Godric’s Hollow?”

Framing it as a question, you offer Harry the choice. He is in control of this moment; h can choose whether he shows you the rest of the wizarding village or whether the two of you apparate back to his flat and spend the rest of the day mooching about.

Harry smiles: it’s watery, but fixed as he nods, stepping around you to lead you out of the graveyard.

Hands brush every now and then as the both of you wander back to the high street. A simple brush of hands, a simple twitch of fingers and your heart would start to race, practically shouting for Harry to take your hand and tangle your fingers together.

“I think I’m going to live here,” Harry murmurs; eyes scanning the high street.

“Are you sure?” You ask; worried not only for the fact that you may miss him while you remain in London, but also for any potential setback this may cause him.

Harry nods; his eyes now focused on a small café straight across the road from where you stand. He gestures towards it with an open hand, “Let me explain over some food.”

The bell above the door tinkles as you follow Harry inside. He chooses a table on the left hand side of the shop; sitting at the seat that faces the window and the door. It’s with stark realisation that you come to see that he’s chosen this exact spot so he can have eyes on each entrance and exit point.

You sigh as you sit across from him; old habits die hard, you guess.

Menus are placed in front of you by a teenaged witch looking as if she would rather be anywhere else but here. Her eyes widen slightly as she takes in Harry’s form; the menu in her hand shaking as she places it down before him.

You bite your lip to repress the ever-growing smile on your face as you watch the waitress grow flustered under Harry’s smile and green eyes. She walks away in a daze after having taken your drink orders – coffee for Harry, Yorkshire Tea for you.

You shake your head fondly at the young witches departing figure; noting how she bumps into numerous tables before making it safely to the kitchen. Harry follows your gaze, wanting to know what’s taken your attention from him, “What is it?”

You shift your gaze back to the wizard, “You still don’t see the effect you have on people, do you?”

Harry frowns; his hand reaching up to touch his forehead self-consciously. He had grown his hair longer in order to cover the scar that mars the centre of his forehead; his black hair now fell around his head in curls he didn’t know he had until you had found an old picture of his father. The glasses and the curls along with the smile that could melt even the coldest of hearts; he was the spit image of his father.

“Not your scar, Harry, nor your name. I meant how you look; you have to know you’re handsome.”

Blush paints Harry’s cheeks as your words settle. The last thing he expected from today was to be told he was attractive; least of all, from you. He’s never had the chance before; to act upon his feelings for you. He realised just what he felt for you at the end of Sixth Year, and then the war happened, and he absolutely refused to let anything happen to you. He couldn’t tell you his feelings for you should it put a target on your back, and if anything happened to you, he would never forgive himself.

He laughs, shaking his head, “You’re a flatterer.”

You hold your hands up in playful surrender, “Only speaking the truth. You’ll see it one day.”

“One day,” He promises; eyes earnest as they gaze into yours.

It’s too much; just like that, it’s too much and you have to avert your stare before you end up blurting your inner most thoughts and scaring him away for good. Clearing your throat, you wait for the teenage waitress to place your drinks in front of you before you change the subject, “Why do you want to move here?”

Harry shrugs, picking up his coffee and taking a long drink, thinking over his words. “I think,” He begins, “I want to be close to them, but I also want to start carving out my life properly and this place is so peaceful. It’s so peaceful and it’s beautiful. I think it’s one of those places that if I don’t move here now, I’ll still move later on.”

You nod, “I get that. It is gorgeous here.”

Harry hums, “I’d still be in London every week.”

“You’d commute?” You ask, puzzled in terms of train schedules.

Harry barks out a laugh that turns into silent shaking of his shoulders as the teenage waitress returns, her pad in hand as she waits for your food order. Harry continues to repress his laughter throughout his order. As the waitress walks away, you fix Harry with an unimpressed stare. “Are you going to let me in on the joke?”

Harry smiles at you; as in, he really smiles at you. He beams as he whispers somewhat in awe, “I love you. You’re one of the smartest witches I know, and you still forget about the fact that we can apparate.”

You reel back in your chair, knees knocking into the table as the air leaves your body in a single breath. “What? What did you say first?”

Harry’s smile, if possible, grows as he shrugs his shoulders, “I love you.”

“Since when?” You demand, wondering how on earth he could discuss something as important as this as nonchalantly as one would discuss the weather.

“Sixth Year,” He confesses, blush beginning to paint his cheeks.

“That long?” You ask, voice hushed, “Why didn’t you say anything sooner?”

Harry finally frowns, finger tracing the lip of his coffee cup, “There was a war, and then I wasn’t in the right frame of mind.”

Of course he wasn’t. Of course he wasn’t in the right frame of mind to confess his love for you, you admonish yourself. He had defeated the Dark lord and then had to cope with the survival guilt for years. It had only been in the last year that he finally let himself let go of the guilt surrounding the casualties of war.

“I love you too,” You admit, chewing on the inside of your cheek from nerves.

“You do?” Harry asks, about as breathless as you were when he confessed only moments ago.

“I do,” You confirm, smiling.

It isn’t much in the way of confessions, but the look on Harry’s face says it all. His green eyes remain bright and the smile wide on his face even as the waitress returns with your food. He looks as if no wrong could be done in that moment; the food could be the worst he has ever eaten but it wouldn’t matter.

You love him.

You love him as he loves you, and suddenly it all makes sense. His motivations through the war; not only wanting to rid the world of Voldemort but wanting to secure a safe future in which he can love you.

The food is eaten quickly; the both of you rushing to make it outside where you can talk more, and in private.

The bill is paid. The waitress wanders back to the till; stunned at the sight of Harry’s smile – and you couldn’t blame her.

Harry stands from his seat, reaching for his jacket and waiting patiently for you. Electricity thrums between you; holding promises of more to come, the headiness of it having you gripping the table tightly as you rise to your feet. One look at Harry’s face and you know he’s feeling it too.

Pausing outside the small café, you hold your hand out for Harry to take.

A soft breeze blows through Godric’s Hollow, disturbing your hair and the trees around you. Harry holds onto your hand tightly as the both of you begin to wander down the high street; the blossoms of the trees fluttering around you as they fall to the floor. Harry inhales deeply; the floral of the blossoms mixed with the sweetness of your perfume providing the perfect backdrop to his future.

Harry’s Flat, London, England, September.

Healing is a process. It is neither quick nor slow; it follows its own pace.

Through this process, Harry has realised that he is in fact getting better. He has his bad days; days where he seldom leaves his bedroom and refuses to stare at anything but the wall.

However, those days are becoming scarcer. Harry can sometimes go weeks before he has an episode that leaves him bedbound, and for that, he is proud of himself.

He doesn’t do it alone; he has you by his side through it all as you both prepare for the move to Godric’s Hollow. For both the good and the bad days.

********

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537 notes · View notes

bokettochild · 3 years

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Fic request! Legend and Ravio being best buds and being there for each other? Or like just them getting along. Platonic cuddling? I love them both.

Slight self projection on this one, but oh well!

I really like writing the dynamic for these two! But i would like to clarify that I write it as being strictly platonic.

Yes, Ravio does kiss Legend on occasion. But Ravio is a toucher, and that's just how he loves! For him, that's normal, that's something you do to those you love, not just in couples :)

Legend isn't great about physical touch, mostly because he's unaccustomed to it. He loves it, he just doesn't know how to ask for it or receive it most of the time.

And with that cleared up, on to the fic!!!

Mr. Hero was acting weird again.

His family had come back to visit again, and while many of them were wrapped in bandages and sporting some rather nasty wound, Mr. Hero seemed to be relatively well off from the fight. He wasn’t untouched, this was Mr. Hero after all, but he wasn’t as poorly as some of the others, which is why it was so odd for Ravio to find him curled up on the couch in their living room when he’d thought that everyone had gone to visit the local village.

They’d talked about it over breakfast. They’d arrived yesterday and hadn’t had time to restock in a while. The worse injuries were a broken arm on Mr. Smithy’s part, and that in no way hampered them from being able to do a run to the village, and it seemed many of Mr. Hero’s family saw visiting towns and villages as something of a treat.

They had been so eager over breakfast, talking over each other while Mr. Hero had rolled his eyes and pushed Tune- Wind back into his seat, scolding the champion for chewing with his mouth open and generally just correcting table manners and keeping people under control during the meal. Typical Mr. Hero, fussing over everything being right but pretending not to care, Ravio wouldn’t be surprised if the next time he sees them all they all eat like they’re in a castle, Mr. Hero’s just the kind of person to subtly train them all to behave lest they be faces with his flashing indigo gaze.

But he really would have thought, what with how everyone had chattered, that Mr. Hero would be with them all, leading them through the village and haggling with shopkeepers on the prices of potions and food. Yet here he sits, curled on their couch with that bulky quilt he likes so much thrown over his shoulders. Mr. Hero hasn’t bothered to fix his hair or tuck it under his cap, and it tumbles down his shoulders in a messy tangle as the Hylian stares unseeing at the far wall.

Ravio pauses in the entryway to the living room, his cup of cider still on one hand, and the book he’d been hoping to read in the other, heart torn over walking back into the kitchen and asking why Mr. Hero isn’t with his family. The slight shudder that runs across Mr. Hero's shoulders is all he needs as an answer and it’s without a second thought that the merchant strides across the room to settle on the couch beside his housemate, eyes bright and smile disarming as he looks over to Mr. Hero.

Dull violet meets his own green as Mr. Hero pauses and sighs, gaze shifting back down to the ground.

Oh. Oh, this is bad.

No snark, no dismissal, no ‘Ravio, I’m not in the mood’. Mr. Hero is at a stage where he is simply accepting things, and that’s never good!

“Why the long face?” He prods gently, settling himself on the couch as Mr. Hero moves slightly to accommodate him.

Okay, that’s even worse. Mr. Hero is being accommodating.

Oh Lolia, is he dying?

“Enervated.” Mr. Hero drawls, and Ravio is now officially freaking out. The big words have come out, the big words that he doesn’t know the definition of. His gaze trails back over to his book.

Most people don’t consider reading a thesaurus a past-time, and Ravio never would have considered it before moving in with Mr. Hero, but if he wants to understand the hero than he needs to know all the words that will crop up in his vocabulary anytime he is especially tired or bored.”

“E-enerv-”

“Tired.” Mr. Hero clarifies, shifting in place and drawing the blanket tighter around is shoulders.

Sharp green eyes watch his movements. It’s autumn and a slight chill has pervaded the air, but there really isn’t any need for the heavy blanket in this weather. Maybe a shawl or afghan of some sort, but the thickest and heaviest blanket in the entire house? That’s just plain overkill!

“Just tired?” He doesn’t even bother pretending to respect Mr. Hero’s space as he reaches out to rest his hand on his housemate’s forehead, gently shifting to touch the vet’s cheek. Rather than shake him off, Mr. Hero gently leans into the touch, eyes fluttering closed gently as a breath whistle from his lips. Ravio frowns as he pulls back.

Mr. Hero is warm, but not unhealthily so, and it can probably be blamed on the heavy quilt he’s got throw over his shoulders.

The merchant quirks a brow. “Are you cold?”

Mr. Hero’s face twitches oddly, eyes darting up to meet Ravio’s before drifting back down; blank and tired in a way they often are after a long day. But today has not been a long day, he reminds himself, and Mr. Hero must have been in here since finishing dishes with him this morning.

“Yes.” Mr. Hero murmurs softly, more at the folds of his blanket then at Ravio. “But not...outside?”

And that is... that is confusing.

“I don’t understand.” He half wishes for his hood and robe, but he’d only just finished cleaning and he hasn’t put them on again, so he plucks instead at the edge of his scarf, similar to what Mr. Captain Hero Sir does when he’s anxious.

Mr. Hero huffs a breath. “I wouldn’t expect you to. Glad you don’t.”

He doesn’t like the blankness of Mr. Hero's face or the heaviness of his words. “Can you explain it to me?”

If there’s one thing that brings light into his friend’s eyes, it’s teaching. Mr. Hero loves to share his knowledge, and Ravio has sat contentedly through a dozen lectures on bee-keeping and orchard work or weapons care and traveling precautions and any number of other things. All he ever needs is a cup of cider and a warm nook to bundle himself away while Mr. Hero talks. Goodness knows he chatters quite a bit himself; Mr. Hero deserves to have an audience on occasion too, and he always has such interesting things to say that Ravio never minds listening.

But Mr. Hero’s eyes don’t light up with that glint of passion and his fingers don’t tap with barely contained energy. Quite the opposite. He curls in closer around himself, eyes clouded as he breaths heavily. “It’s like there’s somethin’ ‘side you that’s cold an’ empty. Like you swallowed ice or somethin’ cold like an’ it won’t melt. You can be toasty warm on the outside and it ne’er goes away, it’s jist-” The pink-haired Hylian’s ears flick as his nose twitches with pent up irritation. “It’s like you’re empty and no matter how much you eat or sleep or keep busy, it ne’er goes away.”

Understanding dawns with a heavy heart and tears pricking in his eyes. “I think that's called loneliness, Mr. Hero.”

Mr. Hero’s eyes glisten as he turns away. “’m not lonely. There’s eight people on my tail on the day to day an’ I can’t lose ‘em even if I tried.”

The tight ball Mr. Hero is curled into could be defensive or self-comforting, and he can’t tell which, but Mr. Hero's grip on his blanket laden shoulders is too tight to be anything short of strained.

“Being with people doesn’t mean you aren’t lonely.” Ravio’s voice comes softer than he means it too.

Mr. Hero once complained that his own voice was trapped in the stage of squeaking and breaking, but Ravio’s could drop low ‘till it was nothing but a deep vibration. He’s teased Mr. Hero about it more than once, but he finds that it’s also effective at making the other boy calm. Mr. Hero loosens so now, eyes still blank as Ravio stares at them, hoping that they’ll turn to meet his gaze. “You can feel lonely in the middle of a full kingdom.”

He knows. He remembers hiding in his big room in the castle and wishing that it wasn’t so cold and empty and that someone would look at him and see something other than a cowardly advisor. He'd wanted someone to look at him and see a friend, or a brother or a loved one. He’d wanted to matter and be safe in the warmth that was a real home.

Mr. Hero gave him that. Mr. Hero’s house, with its big apple tree and buzzing bees, it’s pokey little kitchen and creaky staircase, the blasted rocker and the freaky masks on the wall, all of it makes this house a home that is so distinctly Mr. Hero's, yet somehow also his own.

He can see it in the knitting needles stashed in their basket by the couch. In the mugs that he’s left empty on bookshelves and table tops. He sees himself in the drawing of the curtains to let in sunlight, and the organization of the items on the shelves and the wall.

This is their home, something that is both of them, and it’s always felt warm and fulfilling to him.

He’d never realized that Mr. Hero might not feel the same...

It’s on impulse, and the fact that Mr. Hero doesn’t push him away speaks volumes, but Ravio scoots forwards and pulls the veteran hero over to rest against his chest, his arms wrapping tight around his friend as heavy breaths escape from them both.

“Is this better?” He whispers softly against the pink that curls beneath his chin and the fluttering breath of Mr. Hero.

There’s only a faint grunt from the hero in his arms, non-committal, but Mr. Hero isn’t complaining or pushing him away, so he doesn’t let him go either. Never mind that he’s almost pulled his friend on top of him, Mr. Hero needs a hug, and Lolia danggit! Ravio is going to give him the best one he’s capable of!

Mr. Hero’s breath evens out as he adjusts a few times, shifting but never pulling away, and Ravio takes that as a cue to make himself comfortable.

Short, pale fingers trail up to weave through curling pink locks that are still unbrushed from the night before. It’s silky under his touch, a testament to his friend’s alternate form, and he takes no small amount of pleasure in winding his fingers through it and gently tugging out the tangles. Mr. Hero only sighs under his ministrations.

“It’s okay to ask for hugs you know.” He teases softly, almost disappointed that he can’t see how his housemate blushes and stiffens, but Mr. Hero's ears give him away, red as they are, and a smile tugs across his face when he sees it. “I'm sure Mr. Chosen Hero would love to hug you, he seems like that kind of person. And Mr. Smithy always seems fond of that sort of thing. Why, even-”

“Shup.” Mr. Hero huffs, and Ravio grins as his eyes fall down to where his friend’s arms have wrapped around his waist, a messy head of pink lying against his chest and the full weight of hero and blanket pressing down on him.

He doesn’t respond, but he does go back to running his hands through Mr. Hero’s hair.

A tune comes to mind as he sits there, and he lets the melody drift through the room as he absently strokes Mr. Hero’s long pink hair, the book in his hands capturing his attention until soft squeaking snores begin to sound from the hero on his chest.

No one’s there to see the kiss he presses to the mess of petal pink, and when the others return from their trip, neither of the two bunnies is awake to say anything at all.

The heroes stop in the doorway, surprise and fondness taking over their faces at the sight of both of their hosts stretched out over the couch, Legend lying over the top of Ravio, one of the merchant’s hands still resting on Legend’s head while the other hangs down towards the floor, barely grasping the book he'd been reading (Wind makes a comment about reading a thesaurus being strange, but no one really questions it too much). Legend’s arms are still wrapped tight around Ravio’s waist, his cheek pressed against the merchant's chest as squeaking snores escape through parted lips.

They’ve never seen the veteran so peaceful, Time muses as he removed the book from Ravio’s hand and tucks the quilt tighter around the two, noting with surprise it’s weight. Neither hero nor merchant wake, although Ravio does shift in his sleep at the disturbance, but the two are out cold.

There’s the snap of a shutter and a faint coo as he looks up, single blue eye meeting Wild’s own, the champion smiling sheepishly from behind the slate, the image on the screen of him knelt beside the two boys, tucking them in on the couch. Time smiles at his cub. “I want a copy of that picture, you hear?”

“Yes sir.” The champion whispers in return.

#linked universe #linkeduniverse #lu ravio #lu legend #fluffics #linked universe fanfic #linked universe fic requests #lu time #lu wild #not ravio\i #do not tag as ship #thank you!

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