#YES come stand over me while i lay there prone and fuck around in my mouth in ways that hurt. young women with ptsd love that shit.

[hunybody]

me when i have to go to the dentist after 7 years of avoiding it but i am going to be so brave and strong and have a horrible ptsd time but again be so tough about it.

[viking-raider]

Quarantine: Warm Water *Cotton Candy Goodness!*

Summary: Henry’s sore from his Witcher workout, so you take care of him.

Pairing: Henry Cavill/You

Word Count: 2,225

Warnings: NONE - Cotton Candy Goodness (Yes, More cavities) Fluff, Kal, Very Small Angst, Domestic Kink

Inspiration: A one-shot by @the-soot-sprite​! and I’m just really feeling the small, sweet and domestic things a couple does for each other and together.

A/N: This is really starting to turn into a mini Series xD

When you returned from your run to the store, you found Henry lying stretched out on the couch, softly snoring, his arm slung over his eyes to shade them from the dying afternoon sun. You smiled at him, knowing he must have really worn himself out.

Even though you guys were still in quarantine, Henry was still doing his tough workouts for the Witcher. So, you let him rest and put all the groceries away. But, once that was finished, Henry was still sound asleep. You couldn't help, but tiptoe up to his prone body and gingerly fold up the hem of his blue tank top. You grinned impishly, carefully maneuvering yourself between his long legs and gently lowered your head to brush your lips against his flat stomach. Henry half moaned and half chuckled, in his sleep. He had some of the most sensitive skin you had ever encountered on a man before, and you sometimes loved torturing him about it.

Grinning, you pressed your lips to his belly and took a deep breath through your nose, before pushing it out past your lips, blowing a big raspberry against his stomach, just above his naval.

The muscles in Henry's stomach tensed against your lips, his abs becoming defined under the light dusting of hair that covered his torso, and he busted out laughing, a moment before he was even completely awake from his nap. He squirmed and thrashed as you blew another raspberry against his side and several other locations on his tummy, melting him into a flowing stream of laughter, his hands moving from trying to guard his stomach to gripping your shoulders.

“Babe!” Henry panted and giggled, a huge smile on his tired face. “Ba-Baby, p-pleasse!” He begged you, his feet kicking under your mouth's assault on his stomach. “Oh, fuck! Babe, I'm sore!” He gasped, out of breath.

You sat up, your own grin melting down into a frown, suddenly feeling bad. “I'm sorry, Puppy.” You whispered, gently rubbing away the wet spots on his stomach. “I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable.” You sighed, rubbing your palms up and down his torso, now feeling the tight knots from his hardcore workout.

“It's all right, baby.” Henry sighed, catching his breath and stared up at the ceiling. “You didn't know.” He added, softly.

You frowned harder at him, then pressed an extra gentle kiss to his tummy and got up off the couch, then climbed the stairs to your shared bedroom and into the master bathroom. You stood there for a moment, reconsidering the thought of starting a nice warm shower for Henry to step into, so he could ease his sore Witcher muscles.

“Hm.”

Pulling out a nice fluffy towel and laying it out on the counter, you hummed to yourself as you plugged the drain to the huge tub and started the tap. Smiling to yourself, you reached under the sink and pulled out two round objects and padded back downstairs to where Henry was now sitting up on the couch, trying to find something on the television.

“Which one?” You asked, holding out two different types of bath bombs to him.

“Um.” Henry frowned, brows drawing together as he looked at them, before picking the one in your right hand. “That one.” He said, blinking up at you.

“Okay.” You smiled, and went back up stairs, turning off the tap of the now full tub.

You took out a washcloth and set it on the edge of the tub, put Henry's two-in-one, Cypress and Cedar scented soap next to it, with the Chamomile and Lavender bath bomb. You even lit several candles, situating them around the rim of the sink and the shelf above the toilet. Satisfied, you removed your clothing and went back downstairs, knowing that being naked would instantly entice Henry into listening to you.

“What's going on, Babe?” Henry asked slowly, his eyes wide as he took in your naked beauty.

“Come upstairs with me, Hen.” You replied, in a silky voice and turned away from him.

Henry blindly turned the tv off and followed after you, like leading an animal back to their pen. “What's this, Nugget?” He asked, as you both entered the candle lit bathroom.

“We're going to take a bath.” You smiled at him, curling your fingers around the hem of his tank top.

Chuckling, Henry lifted his arms and let you take his tank top off. Setting his tank top aside, you gently pulled open the ties of his sweat pants and tugged them down his thick thighs, followed by his boxers. You rubbed your palms up and down his sides, pushing up on your toes to peck him on the lips, then moved away from him.

��In you go.” You told him, with a playful pat on the bum.

Giving you a sly smirk, Henry carefully stepped into the tub, moaning as he lowered his large frame into the hot water. He leaned back and stretched his legs out, opening them, so you could take your usual bath time spot between them.

But, you shook your head at him.

“Nope, you're the little duck in this rub-a-dub-tub.” You chuckled at him; he always referred to you as the 'little duck', when the two of you took a bath together, making him, of course, 'the big duck'.

Henry narrowed his eyes at you, but moved forward, so you could move in behind him, hugging your legs around his waist and wrapped your arms around his upper body to reach out and drop the bath bomb he picked into the water. Henry laughed, finally putting together all the puzzle pieces as he watched the bath bomb spin, bob and fizz out its fragrance and turned the water a purple color.

“You drew me a bath, to relax.” He sighed, looking over his shoulder at you.

“I did.” You smiled, hugging your arms around his torso and pressed your lips to the very base of his neck. “You need to relax and your muscles are sore, cause you're a hard worker, and you deserve to relax and not have to always work so hard.” You told him, rubbing your palms up and down his chest, gently kneading as you did.

“Thanks, love.” He whispered, touched and warmed at your effort to make him feel better.

Smiling softly at him and kissed his shoulder, you sat there like that with him, for several long minutes, cuddling in the hot and steamy purple water, the pleasing and relaxing scent of Lavender and Chamomile permeating in the warm mist around you. Grabbing a small cup, you had also set out while prepping Henry's bath, and filling it with the bath water, you carefully nudged Henry forward, so he could rest against you and tip his head back. You cupped your free hand against his forehead to keep the water out of his eyes and face, and carefully poured the cupful of water into his dark curls.

Pouring another cup of water into his hair, you let Henry sit back up and grabbed his shampoo, squeezing it into your hand, then gently started working the shampoo into his hair and scalp, going extra slow and massaging his scalp and head as you did. Henry moaned loudly as your fingers scrubbed deep into his hair, it almost felt like you were scrubbing and massaging his brain. He slowly melted, like the bath bomb bobbing between his bent knees; hunching forward and nodding off.

You smiled softly, hearing the change in his breathing. Gently leaning him back against you again, Henry barely stirred as you methodically rinsed out the shampoo, then grabbed the wash cloth, using the soap to lather it up and pushed him forward again, careful he didn't go completely forward. You used the soapy cloth to rub and massage Henry's neck and shoulders, spending several long minutes working at each location to untangle the knots his workout and regular stress had caused, then moved over the broad expanse of his back, dipping into the water to knead his hips, before moving on to his heavy arms.

You washed and massaged every inch of Henry's body you could reach, before rinsing the soap away, then leaned back, allowing his body to comfortably rest back against you. Your fingers trailing up and down his chest and nearly falling asleep yourself. Henry took a deep breath, his blue eyes blinking around the bathroom, the cooling water lapping at his chest as he shifted against you, sitting up.

“How long was I out?” He asked, blinking and glancing at the clock.

“Oh, about twenty minutes.” You chuckled and rested forward against his back, your cheek pressed to his shoulder. “Sleeping like a baby.” You teased him, kissing the side of his neck.

“It's like you bewitched me.” Henry chuckled back.

“Let's get out.” You whispered, feeling him struggle to keep his eyes open.

“Hmm.”

Was his reply, sluggishly standing up and stepping out of the tub, while you pulled the plug on the water and stepped out with him.

“Here.” You smirked, watching him fumbled with the towel. “You're one relaxed and sleepy, Puppy.” You cooed at him, taking the towel from him, unfolded it and started rubbing him dry.

“I feel like I've been drugged.” Henry lazily smiled back, his large body wavering for a moment, causing him to grab the edge of the sink, to stay upright.

“The wonders of hot water, a clean body and a solid massage.” You replied, rubbing the towel over his side as you moved around to his back.

“You know, what would make it a million times better?” He asked, yawning sleepily.

“Tell me.” You replied, maneuvering him yourself, so he sat down on the closed toilet lid.

“A snuggle, in a warm bed with the love of my life.” He mumbled and hummed, as you draped the towel over his head and stated to dry his dripping curls, like you were polishing something.

“I'll get you in bed with Kal, then.” You quipped, smirking as you finished drying his hair.

“It's going to get messed up.” He protested, as you started brushing his wild and fluffed up curls.

“Hush your face and enjoy it.” You tutted at him, taming his curls. “Arms up!” You sang out, picking up his spray on deodorant.

“I can't pick my eyelids up, and she wants me to put up my arms, Kal.” Henry commented to the Akita, who had come into the bathroom during his nap in the tub.

You giggled and grabbed the wrist of Henry's left arm and lifted it, then sprayed his armpit with the deodorant, before giving his right armpit the same treatment. “I love you to death, dearly and truly, but you're brushing your own teeth, yourself.” You told him, drying yourself off.

“Oh gosh, gone from the Witcher to the invalid with one bath.” You huffed playfully, at his whine. “I'll wet your toothbrush.” You said, taking the electric toothbrush from the cup it was stored in, wet it under the sink tap and put a dab of his Oral-B, charcoal toothpaste on it.

“That's all you're getting out of me, sir.” You told him, turning the toothbrush on and handing it to him. “Well, almost.” You poured a capful of mouthwash for him.

Both of you bathed, dried, hair tamed and teeth brushed, you directed your zombie-like boyfriend to his side of the bed and sat him down, then returned to the bathroom to blow out all the candles. You chuckled, finding Henry hunched over again, having dozed off in the minute it took you to blow the candles out. Shaking your head, you pulled down the blankets and gently pushed Henry over, to lay down on the bed.

“Ssshh.” You cooed at his sleepy whimper, then covered him up.

“Babe.” Henry mumbled, not even really awake.

“What, honey?” You whispered quietly back, not wanting to bother him, in case he was just mumbling in his sleep.

“I don't wanna snuggle with Kal.” He murmured, his brow creasing. “I wanna snuggle with you.”

A smile instantly spread across your face, he had been so tired and relaxed, that your Bear of a boyfriend, had completely missed your humor. “Okay.” You said softly, gently brushing your fingers over his wrinkled brow, smoothing the crease away. “I'll let him know, he has to get out of my spot.” You assured him.

“Okay.” He let out in a soft sigh, his entire body going slack against the mattress.

“Sorry, Bear.” You whispered to Kal, who sat at the foot of the bed.

You turned the lights out and crawled into bed with Henry, gliding your hand up his arm and kissed his cheek as he rolled over at your touch, wrapping his arm around your waist and hugged you against his body, tucking you beneath him as he pillowed his heavy head on your breast. You pulled the blankets over you both and carded your fingers through his damp hair, massaged the back of his neck and caressed the space between his shoulder-blades; slowly falling asleep yourself.

[a-small-batch-of-dragons]

Built on a Lie

Prompt: I like the possible idea of Janus being a absolutely crushed to find Roman bleeding out due to a bruised ego in his room after pof was uploaded. After all most Sander Sides Fans hated Roman after he mocked Janus's Name.

Thanks for the prompt, babe! I hope it’s what you wanted!

Read on Ao3

Pairings: arguably roceit i guess??? it’s just focused on them, can be platonic or romantic if you want. same with LAMP, DLAMP, DLAMPR

Warnings: sympathitic janus even if it might not seem like it, sympathetic feral protective remus, roman is a hurt boi

Word Count: 5010

The wedding is tough.

After the wedding is an ordeal.

After after the wedding…hurts.

The Mindscape is all but deserted. No one wants to come out to the common areas for risk of running into someone who they had…disagreements with or getting swept up in a painfully awkward conversation. Patton lingers in the kitchen, Virgil almost never opens his door, Logan works, and Remus, well…Remus is the only one still behaving as normal.

Janus is grateful for his consistency.

In all honesty, and oh, the irony, he doesn’t enjoy this. He doesn’t enjoy the others walking on eggshells constantly, nor does he thrill at how they seem to jump at everyone, not just him. His point was made. That is his job.

But he’s not so sure he fully anticipated the cost.

At the very least, Logan seems to get over their troubles first. He approaches Janus a few days after the wedding and offers one of his philosophy books. Janus accepts it gratefully and by the time he’s finished it, Logan starts talking again. It’s not the greatest thing for the Mindscape that Logan is willing to talk to the others again.

Patton comes around next, simply because he’s the kindest. Janus pities him a little for it. But sure enough, the common areas start to ring again, drawing Remus out from the depths to cause his chaos.

Virgil appears next, summoned by the repeated calling of Remus’s antics and Janus’s exasperation. And sometimes, well, sometimes it seems like they’re back in their hallway, with Patton and Logan looking on with the air of some bemused anthropologists.

All the Sides reemerge and start trying to figure out what’s going on except for Roman.

Roman is nowhere to be found.

“He…he just needs some more time, I’m sure.”

“Roman is prone to fits of dramatics. It is unsurprising that he chooses to have a repeat performance.”

“Princey’s a bit of an asshole, it’s gonna take him a while to own up to what he did.”

“Catch!”

Janus grunts and staggers under Remus’s weight, eventually getting them both with their feet back under them on the floor. He adjusts his hat and looks disapprovingly at the amount of slime Remus has managed to get all over himself.

“What were you even doing?”

“Exploring the precise relationship of viscera to ventricles inside the heart of a blue whale!” Remus shakes his sleeve. “They lied about how bit the veins and arteries are.”

“How did you—nevermind,” Janus sighs, “I don’t want to know. Now, will you answer my question or not?”

Remus shrugs. “Dunno. Not paying attention.”

“…Roman’s not or you’re not?”

“I’m not!” He flicks some slime at Janus’s hat. “But you should be!”

“Yes, well, when slime starts to emerge from every corner again, I’ll chase you down.”

“Ooh, promises, promises.”

Janus doesn’t hurl some of the slime at Remus as he sinks out.

Roman still hasn’t appeared and the others are starting to notice. Thomas isn’t exactly in a position to do a whole lot of things, but at the very least he’s not doing what he perhaps should have been capable of. Logan notices and at first, chalks it up to the fact that they are in a pandemic; lapses in peak physical and mental performance are not unexpected, but it quickly becomes clear that it’s a little more than that.

The Mindscape grows dimmer, more sluggish. Thomas doesn’t seem to want to do much of anything, let alone work.

“I don’t understand,” Patton mumbles one afternoon when they meet—sans Roman—to try and figure out what’s going on, “I know I’m having a few—um, it’s not Thomas’s feelings that are causing us problems.”

Janus doesn’t make a note of how Virgil quickly presses his arm against Patton’s shoulder.

“There are certain things that are to be expected under times of great stress,” Logan muses, “and certainly any pre-existing problems will be exacerbated, but…this was not anticipated.”

Remus cranks the chainsaw and sets about carving up a new slice of…whatever he’s working on. “We’re in a pandemic, Spectacles!”

“I am wildly aware.”

Virgil stares at the chainsaw—which is fair—then up to Remus. “You ever been in a pandemic before, Remus?”

“Nope!”

Virgil rolls his eyes. “Okay, so that makes sense. But L’s right, this feels…weird. Like we’re missing something pretty big.”

In unison, they all look towards Roman’s seat.

The room falls as quiet as it can with Remus’s chainsaw still in the background.

The big, red, overstuffed armchair looks…different, without Roman lounging in it. The blinds aren’t drawn but it looks like the coloring has faded significantly, as though it’s been out in the sun for far too long. The seams look as though they’re struggling and there’s a dark imprint on one of the arms.

It’s not a shock to Janus to discover he’s never really looked at the chair before.

“Has anyone heard from Roman,” Logan asks quietly, “since the wedding?”

Virgil shakes his head, glancing around. Patton looks down at his chest.

“You think this is Roman.” It’s not a question.

“HIs tantrums do not normally last for this long,” Logan continues, adjusting his tie, “and whilst I admit that perhaps our circumstances have contributed more than I anticipated, I do not believe that is how Roman feels.”

“Princey has been away for a really long time.”

“Thomas is starting to get hurt by it,” Patton mumbles, laying a hand on his chest, “I can—I’m starting to feel it a little.”

“So we need to get Princey’s head out of his ass again.”

Logan sighs. “Most likely.”

“I didn’t want to rush it,” Patton says, glancing at Janus, “but you guys are right. I think he’s being selfish now.”

At the word ‘selfish,’ Remus freezes.

The chainsaw splutters and dies to the floor with a heavy clunk.

“Remus,” Patton scolds, “be careful with the…”

He trails off when he notices what the rest of them have.

Remus is standing completely still—an impossibility for Remus—his head tilted back, eyes fixed on a point in the ceiling. His nose quivers, almost like a bloodhound.

His nose twitches.

His lip curls up into a snarl.

His morning star appears in his hand with a growl as he tears off toward the stairs.

“Remus? Remus!”

“Wait!”

“What the fuck is going on?”

“Remus!”

Janus closes his eyes, reaching out to see if he can tell where Remus is going. His eyes shoot open.

“Roman’s room. Now.”

Virgil grabs Logan and Patton and sinks out.

Janus tries to appear in Roman’s room only to hit something burning cold. He hisses and flinches away from it, only to realize that he hasn’t materialized properly and is stuck. The burning cold reaches further, further, into his scales, digging under them, until Janus yanks himself away and appears, panting, in the hallway outside Roman’s door.

Virgil appears too, still holding the others. “What the fuck was that?”

“Did he block us out?”

“None of us have the ability to do that, other than Thomas.”

“Did he get Thomas to block us out?”

“I don’t know!”

A loud crash jerks their attention to Remus. He raises his morning star again and drives the spikes deep into the bright red of Roman’s door.

…that isn’t nearly as bright as it should be.

Remus snarls again and wails against the door. The wood starts to creak and buckle under the onslaught. He hefts the weapon again and shatters the door with a thunderous crack.

The morning star is hastily flung aside as Remus claws at the splintered wood, yanking it away from the hole he’s made.

The door groans and yields.

Remus rushes through, Virgil on his heels. Patton and Logan attempt to follow only to run smack into both of them.

“Why’d you stop, kiddos, we can’t—“

“Let us through, why did you—“

When those two fight their way through and into silence, Janus sighs and gingerly steps through, nudging Logan and Virgil aside to look at what’s got them so shocked. Roman in the middle of a sobbing mess of tissues, probably, or an empty room signifying he’s gone off on some quest in the Imagination, or even a pouting Roman glaring at them for ruining his door.

He gets around Virgil’s shoulder and his blood runs cold. Burning cold.

If they weren’t in Roman’s room, he’s not sure he’d be able to recognize this as Roman.

His pristine white costume is stained an ugly brown. The gold trimmings fall limply off, hating on by barely a thread. His hair sticks to the floor in horrid, matted clumps. His hands are speckled and stained with more blood, some congealed and crusted from the puddle on the floor. His legs bend at awkward and uncomfortable angles. One of his arms is stretched away from, reaching for something.

Or anything.

They dare not move. They dare hardly breathe.

Remus takes a step forward. Then another. Then another. He circles the body on the floor, not caring about stepping in the blood, crouching down on the far side. His face is drawn, paler than Janus has ever seen it go, he looks sick.

If…if Remus looks this bad—

Remus looks up at the others. His face darkens.

“Explain,” he whispers, his voice low and soft and dangerous, “now.”

No one can find words to even try.

When no one says anything, Remus crouches down and, with a tenderness that shocks Janus, lays his hand on Roman’s side.

“Roman,” he whispers, almost inaudibly, “Roman, can you hear me?”

“...Re?”

“Yeah, Ro-Bro, it’s—it’s me.”

“Wha’re you…here?”

“I wasn’t paying attention,” Remus growls, looking up at them again, “maybe no one was.”

“’S fine.”

“Roman, it is about the furthest from fine that it could be.”

“…’ve had worse.”

“…okay I was wrong. That is the furthest from fine it could be.”

Judging by the way Roman’s body slumps, his eyes must fall closed again. “You c’n go. D’n’t have to stay.”

“Not on your life.”

“’S fine, Re,” Roman slurs, “the others will…wonder where you are.”

Remus stiffens. His hand tenses on Roman’s side.

“No,” he says softly, “they won’t.”

Roman twitches, his head rolling up. “‘M sorry, Re.”

“What the absolute fuck are you apologizing to me for?”

“Thought they’d…care.” Roman’s head waivers and drop back down. “‘Bout you.”

Patton can’t stifle his whimper.

Roman twitches again. “Wha…”

“They’re not gonna wonder where I am,” Remus growls, “because they’re here.”

Roman’s going to panic. He’s going to freak out and they’ll have to reassure him. Or Roman’s going to be angry and they’ll have to stop him from hurting himself. Or he won’t believe Remus and that…that might be the worst.

…Janus should really stop thinking that.

“Why?”

“Why what?”

“Why’re they here, Re,” Roman mumbles, his body sagging to the floor again, “‘m I late for s’mething?”

Remus snarls and Roman flinches.

“Don’ be mad, Re, please, ‘m sorry—“

“I’m not mad at you, Roman.”

“But you’re mad.”

“No.” Remus stares at them, his voice still even and soft. “I’m enraged.”

Before they can say anything, Roman hisses and jerks. Remus’s hands instantly flit to Roman, searching for whatever’s hurt him.

“What’s happening, Ro,” he growls, “whose ass do I need to kick?”

“You can’t,” Roman wheezes, “can’ stop it.”

“The hell I can.”

“No, you—you actually can’t,” Roman says, reaching for Remus’s hand, “help—help me sit up?”

“Ro, you’re—I don’t know if that’s a good idea.”

“’S fine.”

“I don’t think it is!”

“Please?”

Remus sighs, gingerly wrapping his arms around Roman’s bruised and bloody body. “Come on then.”

Roman’s costume clings to the floor and his back as they sit up, the stain darkening and drying on the belly of his tunic. His head lolls against Remus’s chest, breathing heavily for a moment before he finally looks up.

Oh, his face…

It’s an absolute mess. Blood and salt and other things Janus couldn’t hope to figure out cling to every scrap of skin they can as he squints at them.

“You broke my door.”

“You were in trouble,” Remus replies easily, hoisting Roman to sit properly.

Roman sighs, his breath rattling. “Did I miss a meeting?”

“We…” Logan swallows. “We just came from one.”

“Oh.” Roman closes his eyes. “I’ll…gimme a minute, I’ll—“

“You’re not going anywhere.”

“I gotta do the meeting, Re.”

“The hell you do.”

“You—you don’t have to worry about the meeting, Roman,” Logan says firmly, taking a step closer, “we—what happened to you?”

“What d’you mean?”

“What does he mean?” Virgil explodes. “Roman, what the fuck is wrong with you?”

Roman hisses again. “Don’ have to shout, Virgil.”

“Of fucking course I have to shout! Look at you!”

“I believe that might be more of a reason not to shout,” Logan says quietly. Virgil huffs, balling his hands up into fists.

“What the fuck happened, Roman,” Virgil repeats, “and don’t pretend like you don’t know what we’re talking about.”

Roman sighs again, something whistling, what happened to him?—and sits up away from Remus. “I can’ shout, come closer.”

Logan and Virgil immediately walk forward, crouching down a respectful distance away. Patton takes a moment longer, creeping forward and reaching out a trembling hand toward Roman.

“K-kiddo,” he mumbles, “I’m so—so sorry, I didn’t know—“

“’S okay,” Roman slurs, leaning back against Remus, “’s okay, Pat.”

“Patton?” Logan turns. “What do you know?”

“Yeah, Patton,” Remus growls, “why don’t you tell us.”

Patton shrinks back. “I—I—“

“Shh,” Roman mumbles, clumsily patting Remus’s hand, “don’ do that, ’s okay.”

“No, Roman, it’s not.”

“...kiddo?”

Roman nods.

Patton takes a deep breath. “You guys know that—how Roman gets hurt sometimes when Thomas does something that, uh, doesn’t turn out great?”

“We all get hurt, Pat,” Virgil says, “that doesn’t explain this.”

As if on cue, Roman hisses again.

“No, no, Virgil,” Patton mumbles, “it’s—Roman’s the only one who gets physically hurt when this stuff happens.”

Logan’s eyes widen as he looks at Roman’s injuries. “Of course…”

Despite everything, Roman smiles tiredly up at him. “Figure it out?”

“You’re the Ego,” Logan mumbles, “and thus it follows that you would get…bruised.”

“Wait, that’s a literal thing?”

“Apparently so.”

“Jeez, Princey,” Virgil mumbles, “you coulda told me.”

“You were busy, didn’t wanna give you anything else to worry ‘bout.”

“That’s not—Roman—“

“But Thomas has been inside,” Logan interjects quickly, “alone, he hasn’t—we haven’t done anything since the pandemic began.”

“It’s a pandemic, Lo,” Roman says, “no one’s doing much of anything…besides staying inside, reading things, watching things…”

“So how is this happening to you, Roman,” Patton says, wringing his hands, “what—what’s doing this to Thomas?”

“Fuck,” Virgil says, burying his hands in his hair, “Princey has this been happening to you since the wedding?”

“Mm,” Roman hums, leaning heavily against Remus.

“People are watching the video,” Logan whispers, “and they’re—well, they’re talking about it.”

“Are they—are they still saying Thomas should’ve…” Paton gulps. “Done something different?”

Logan shakes his head. “I’m sure they are but Thomas…Thomas hasn’t been looking at the comments from the video, not really. Virgil and I have specifically told him not to.”

“So then why is Thomas still being hurt by it? Why are people still attacking Thomas?”

“Not—“ their heads all jerk around to look at Roman— “not Thomas.”

He waves a hand at himself.

“Wouldn’t be like this if it were them attacking Thomas.”

“Then what—“

“They’re attacking you?” Virgil’s eyes go wide as they scan over Roman’s injuries. “Directly?”

“Mm.”

“Oh, kiddo—“

“Princey, what the hell—“

“Why didn’t you tell us? We could’ve—“

“What for?”

In response, Roman’s eyes raise slowly, and look at Janus.

Everyone else follows, looking back toward the door, realizing that Janus hadn’t moved closer with the rest of them.

Roman’s gaze isn’t cold, but it makes him feel cold.

Oh.

Oh.

Oh, no.

“My name,” Janus breathes, “it’s…they’re mad at you because of me.”

“Told you,” Roman slurs as his eyes close again, “gotta come closer. Can’ shout like this.”

Janus swallows heavily, his throat dry, clutching his cloak tightly around him as he edges closer. Roman mumbles to himself until Janus is close enough to hear him.

“There we go…” He cracks a bloodied eye open. “You’re right. They’re angry at me. Rightfully so, but…yeah.”

“Because you made fun of my name?”

They all rush forward as Roman keens, his hand flying to his gut and hissing.

“Fuck, Princey, is it—is it still happening?”

“Mhm.”

“How do we—how do we stop it?”

“Can’t,” Roman mumbles, “wasn’t lying. Nothing you can do. Not until it’s over.”

“It’s been ages since the wedding, Roman, how much longer is this going to go on?”

Roman makes a vague noise of ‘I don’t know.’

“But—but—“ Logan looks frantically back and forth between them— “surely they can’t all be angry at you, that would be—“

“They’re not,” Roman mumbles, “not all of them, but it’s—it’s most of them.”

“How is that possible?”

“Some of them really don’t like me—“ Roman hisses again— “some of them really like J-Janus or Remus or…or Logan, or Patton—“

“What?”

“What does that have to do with—“

“And some of them just think that it’s—what I did was—“ Roman stifles a whimper, biting his lip— “really bad.”

“But then why…why aren’t the rest of us being affected like this?”

“You’re not the Ego.”

Remus snarls again as Roman jerks, a new bruise blooming on the underside of his neck.

“…ow.”

“We have to get you cleaned up,” Logan mutters shakily, trying to stand.

“Not much point right now,” Roman sighs, absentmindedly nuzzling into Remus, who tightens his grip protectively around Roman, “‘m just gonna get all messy again.”

“Not if we stay with you,” Logan promises, “not if we help.”

“…don’ have to.”

“What the hell are you—“ Virgil shakes his head. “Of course, we’re gonna help you, Roman.”

Roman just looks at them and closes his eyes.

“Ro—kiddo,” Patton says, reaching out for him, “why don’t you believe us?”

“You haven’t exactly…done that before.”

“We didn’t know!”

“You did.”

Patton’s retort dies in his throat. He looks desperately around for something, anything—

Janus is in shock.

Roman…oh, Roman…Janus knew Roman was the Ego, but he didn’t—he hadn’t—

Fuck, were the bruises from what he said still there? Not—not just that awful, awful thing about comparing Roman to Remus, but…from before?

How many times had Janus hurt Roman…and hadn’t cared?

“…I’m sorry, Roman,” Logan murmurs, breaking the silence, “will you let me help now?”

Roman looks up at him. “I’ve been awful to you,” he mumbles, “you don’—don’ have to apologize.”

“Yes, I do,” Logan says, “because you’ve been wonderful to me too…and I am not blameless in this either.”

“But they don’t know that.”

“I do,” Logan says firmly, “and they will.”

The smallest smile tugs at the corners of Roman’s mouth as Logan stands up to go fetch the first aid kit.

“Princey, I—Roman,” Virgil stammers, “fuck, you—oh my god—“

“I’ve been awful to you too, Virgil.”

“And I’ve been fucking worse right back!” Virgil squeezes his hands tight. “And I—you’re the only one who gets yelled at for it. Fuck, I’m—I’m so fucking sorry, I’m gonna—can I help too?”

“…if you want.”

“I’m gonna go help Logan get the shit,” Virgil mutters, getting to his feet and tearing out after Logan.

“…oh, kiddo…”

Patton’s eyes begin to tear up.

“I thought—I thought you needed more time—“

“Don’t beat yourself up over it, Pat,” Roman manages, “it’s not fun, trust me.”

Patton’s laugh comes out more like a sob.

“I won’t hold it against you, and you can—“ Roman hisses again— “help if you want.”

“Do you think you can drink something?”

“…I’ll try.”

Patton’s gone in a flash.

Janus looks at Remus. Remus glares at him and pulls Roman closer.

“…we should…try and get some of that off,” Janus tries, “so we can see what, um…”

Remus’s stony silence as Roman starts to drift again cuts off Janus’s words.

“…Remus…”

“You are very, very lucky,” Remus whispers, cutting him off, “that I’m not about to leave my brother’s side for a long time.”

Janus nods.

“Start on the buttons,” Remus says, “at his wrists. I’m not sure how much of this we can save.”

He immediately sets to work, trying to communicate how sorry, sorry, sorry he is with every gentle brush of his fingers against Roman’s skin. Remus summons something for them to lean Roman against as they start to gingerly remove the tunic. It’s worse than Janus thought.

Roman is one big pulsing wound, little nicks here and there and varying shades of purple, red, green, yellow, all coming from one massive sore in the center of him. As they watch, more injuries appear, little bruises that make his breath hitch, and occasionally a small swipe along his ribs. As Janus works the cuff over his wrist, one of his fingers blackens and swells as it breaks.

“Oh, Roman…”

“Sit up, Ro,” Remus whispers tenderly, peeling and unsticking the tunic from his back, “okay, there we go. Are most of them…up here?”

“They all look to be coming from…that,” Janus says, indicating the giant wound, “so…”

And indeed, as they watch, Roman keens again and the wound deepens, more blood beginning to trickle out.

“Are all of these—“ Janus indicates the injuries littering Roman’s body— “comments?”

“Mm.”

“Then what—why is this one…?”

Roman’s eyes drift closed and his head lolls back.

“’Oh, Roman, thank god you don't have a mustache.”

No.

No.

“’Otherwise, between you and Remus—‘” Roman winces as the wound digs deeper— “‘I wouldn't know who the evil twin is.’”

…no…

Janus reaches out a trembling hand and lays it next to the wound. It’s���it’s warm under his touch but…wrong.

A snarl jerks his hand back and he looks up to see Remus glaring at him.

“Remus—“

“Save it.” Remus glances toward the door. “The others will be back in a moment anyway.”

Sure enough, Logan and Virgil bust through the broken door, their hands full. Logan immediately sweeps his gaze over Roman and kneels down, reaching out.

“May I touch you, Roman?”

“Mm.”

“Thank you.” Logan slots a hand gently behind Roman’s hand. “We’re going to try and get the blood off of you first, alright?”

“Mm.”

“This might sting,” Logan cautions, starting to rub an antiseptic towel down Roman’s arm, “my apologies.”

Virgil takes another one and carefully cleans Roman’s other arm, mindful of his broken finger. As they work, Patton reappears, holding a bottle of water and a glass of juice.

“Come on, kiddo,” he says softly, taking Logan’s place behind Roman’s head, “drink this for me?”

Roman manages a few sips of each.

“Good job, kiddo, there you go…” Patton glances down. “Does it seem to be stopping at all?”

As if it can hear him, the wound starts to bleed again.

“Oh, Roman…”

Logan glances between the wound and Janus, his brow furrowed.

Please, Logan, for once…don’t be so smart.

The way Logan’s eyes widen and narrow say that it’s too late.

“This one seems to be the origin,” Logan says instead, turning away, “all the others seem to stem from it.”

“Okay,” Virgil mutters, “so what’s that one?”

Janus’s mouth runs dry as Logan turns to him expectantly.

“Well,” Remus growls, “go on.”

“I don’t—what if it just makes it worse?”

“That didn’t stop you before.”

“I didn’t—“

“Oh, shut up,” Remus cuts him off, “you knew. You knew.”

“Remus—“

“You wanna know how I know that?” Remus draws away from Roman just enough to clench his fists. “Because I found you after the wedding. You were all curled up on the floor and you were so upset.”

Roman stirs. “…Re…”

“And I asked you why, and you said it was because Roman made fun of your name,” Remus continues, “and I thought: ‘huh, that feels a little weird. Where have I heard that before?’”

Patton shrinks out of Remus’s line of sight.

“Then I remembered! The courtroom,” Remus continues, a manic smile on his face, “and your little plan to make sure Roman felt like he had no idea what was going on.”

“…J, what is he talking about?”

“Oh, he’s not going to tell you,” Remus says, “but I will.”

“Remus—“

“You said that you knew Roman,” Remus says, talking right over him, “and you knew that if you pushed him in the right direction, you’d be able to get him to listen to you easily.”

Even Logan pauses.

“Do you remember what you said, Janny?” Remus’s eyes bore into Janus’s mind. “Do you?”

“…Remus, please.”

Remus’s grin drops.

“You said,” he whispers, “that if you just fucked with his name, he’d be in the palm of your hand.”

And he was.

"Conveniently, everyone seems to have forgotten that. Forgotten what you did. Or they don't care."

Remus tightens his grip on Roman. 

"But not me."

Guilt presses hot and thick against Janus’s throat. Unbidden, huge, fat tears start to form in his eyes as he stares at the wound on Roman’s gasping chest. Distantly, he thinks he can hear the others muttering but all he can think about is how much of this is a lie.

Roman isn’t the evil twin.

Roman isn’t Remus.

Roman isn’t stupid.

Roman isn’t worthless.

Roman isn’t a toy or a puppet or a tool.

Roman isn’t selfish or greedy or arrogant.

Roman is hurt and scared and Janus is so, so sorry.

He lets out a growl of his own and presses his hand hard to the wound.

Lie. Lie.

This is a lie.

Truth is hard and unyielding and painful but nothing is more painful than knowing that all of this is built on a lie.

Janus grits his teeth and concentrates, his hands trembling as he presses it against the wound, searching, searching for—

There.

He closes his fist around the lie and yanks, pulling the words and the hurt and the ache out of Roman’s chest in a bright flash.

When it’s gone, Roman’s chest is heaving, bruises still littering his torso, but the big wound is nowhere to be seen.

Panting, Janus clenches his fist until the lie shatters into pieces, the shard disappearing into harmless puffs of air.

He looks back.

Logan and Patton are staring at him open-mouthed. Virgil has his hands bunched up in his hoodie. Remus just stares at him, his face unreadable.

And Roman…

Roman looks up at him, panting too, but it doesn’t feel quite so wrong anymore.

“I can’t promise that this one won’t hurt you ever anymore,” he vows, “but I can promise that it will never have that much power again.”

Roman reaches out a hand. Janus lets him pull him closer.

“For what it’s worth,” he says, “I’m sorry.”

Janus huffs. “I can also promise that you’re not nearly as sorry as I am.”

They let their eyes fall closed as Janus’s hands steady Roman, landing lightly on his sides and just resting there. Roman tips forward and his forehead lands against Janus’s.

For a second, the room just breathes.

“Can we clean you up,” Janus whispers, “the rest of the way?”

“L-Logan?”

“I’m right here, Roman,” Logan says instantly, “what do you need?”

“Can I—wanna sleep.”

“I don’t think you’ve got a concussion, so that should be alright…” Logan glances at Patton. “Let��s have you drink a little more and then you can rest, hmm?”

“Okay.”

“Come on, kiddo,” Patton coaxes, “here we go…”

As Virgil and Logan set about cleaning again, Janus runs his hands slowly over every injury he can, plucking out what little lies there are and sending them away. He can tell by the weight of Remus’s stare on him that he’s not in the clear yet, but the way Roman starts to sag slowly makes it easier.

“Alright,” Logan murmurs after a while, “I think that’s all we can do.”

“…sleep?”

“Yes, Roman, you can sleep now. Would you like us to help you to your bed?”

Roman blinks, his hand reaching out for— “Re?”

“I gotcha, Ro-Bro.”

“Re…” Roman mumbles sleepily as he all but collapses into Remus.

“…yeah I’m okay with that.”

Logan jerks his head towards Roman’s mattress. Together, they drag it down to the floor and help Remus get Roman onto it. Logan murmurs that he’s going to go put the first aid kit away, but that he’ll be right back. Patton gathers up the glasses and leaves with the same promise.

Virgil glances back and forth between Remus and Janus.

“…you guys remember that this is about what Roman needs, right?”

“Yes.”

“Yeah.”

“Okay good.”

Virgil reaches out to brush a little of Roman’s hair out of his face.

“Well, I’m not going anywhere.”

“Neither am I.”

Logan and Patton reappear at the door and slot themselves in around the mattress. Remus looks at Janus.

Janus deliberately sits between Roman and the door, something he’s seen Remus do too many times.

Remus nods.

This conversation is far from over, but right now…

Right now, Roman mumbles sleepily and grabs onto Remus’s sleeve.

There is truly so much that they never see, isn’t there? Logan wasn’t wrong, the amount of Roman that’s never been on camera is truly staggering.

Janus has let that lie of omission cause too much damage for too long.

Right now, he’s got work to do.

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[stevenbasic]

“Wh-wh-where am I..??” I blurted, starting to sit up as I woke, on some strange bed in what looked like my office.

“Shh Shh Shh…” came Morgan’s voice, along with her hand on my chest, holding me back, “You are okay, you are the safe. Relax..."

My mind swirled in confusion. Last thing I remember I had been lap-swaddled by Melissa, in her office, and Morgan had come to take me to an exam room. Did I pass out? I hadn’t been feeling well, still, after my vitamin booster injection late yesterday afternoon, administered by Morgan and another of my APRNs, Vida, and today had been reeling from some upsetting news. It was just coming back to me, as Morgan’s strong hand laid me back down, gently but firmly: my car was gone! Taken, repossessed by my wife! And, with all the construction, the only way to get to my apartment was going to be - oh my god! - up a new little spiral staircase in Melissa’s office.

Settling back in this - what is this? Our emergency cot? - bed, apparently newly set up for me in my office, I felt the stirrings of another panic attack coming on. That’s what happened, right? That’s why I passed out? A panic attack?

“There there, good boy, lay down…” urged my new employee, nurse Morgan, her voice low, husky, “I am here.”

“B-b-but…” I began, eyes looking up at her. She was a handsome woman, big. Blonde, Slavic features, sparkling eyes, dimpled cheeks. A broad face, and broader shoulders, she radiated strength and warmth and jesus christ her tits are enormous. Sitting to my right, next to the low, fold-up cot - she had pulled a chair over - her huge Hungarian bosom hovered right near my face. She was wearing a tight, floral dress, slightly off the shoulder. Her strong arms were bare.

“No buts,” she told me, a stern, matronly sense of care solid in her voice, “You rest. I check you.” Her hand remained on my chest, holding me still. I was wrapped in the thin comforter from my bed upstairs, still, and naked underneath.  Apparently I was not going anywhere.

I was so confused, though. “How did we get here?” I asked, taking the moment to glance around the room. Again, we were in my office. She had closed the blinds to the window, and though it was still - I hoped, not knowing how long I’d been out - morning, the light in the room was low. “a-and weren’t we going to an exam room?”

“This more private,” Morgan replied, “away from the prying eyes, yes?” She smiled down at me, patiently, her right hand now slowly rubbing my chest, her left brushing messy hair from my forehead. “You do not want your girls seeing you…like this?”

Very fucking true.

I noticed the blood pressure monitor stand in the room behind her; a stethoscope hung from her corded neck.

“You are fine, one-twenty-two over eighty-four, only slightly high,” she explained, watching my face. I noticed that my arms had been taken out from under my blanket, apparently to get a reading. So she’d checked my blood pressure, what else had she done? Though I didn’t see our wheelchair, I was assuming I’d been wheeled here while I was unconscious. Right?

Her right hand went to the blanket, to peel it away from my naked chest. “H-hey..!” I exclaimed, clutching it up higher, towards my throat.

“Hush, now, quiet,” Morgan scolded, pausing, “I need to do the physical exam.” She moved again to open the blanket; I gripped it only tighter.

”sh-shouldn’t we have someone else in room?” I tried, thinking of…I dunno. “In case someon-“

“This is private time,” Morgan countered, that slight, confident smile on her lips again. She was moving my hands away, now, “Just you and me…”

Alarm bells, like a distant warning, rang. But did I heed them? Nope. “o-o-okay…” I agreed, putting my care in the hands of this big woman.

Dutifully, she peeled down the blanket a bit, exposing more of my rail-thin chest. Tucking hair behind her ears and silently putting the buds of her stethoscope in, she placed the bell of the stethoscope first on her own skin, her throat. “To warm it up,” she offered with a sympathetic smile, after a couple moments. Then she removed it from herself, covered it with a long, humid breath - hahhhhhhhhhh - to warm it some more, and laid it on my chest. I was quiet myself as she began.

“I can hear your heart,” she smiled, looking down on me, biting her lower lip. I watched her face as she listened, the moment suddenly more intimate. Longer than she needed she took, evaluating my beats, the rushing sound of my valves opening and closing, the “lub dub” of the human heart. “No murmur, no defect, no problem,” she finally spoke, moving the drum a few inches across my chest. “Heartbeat just a little fast,” she reported, her smile curling just a bit, “You are the excited?”

Unconsciously, my eyes had flitted briefly down to her enormous left breast, which was hovering just north of my face. This woman was a pediatric nurse by training, working with premature infants in the past. The things would have been smaller than her tit by threefold, I’d found myself thinking.

Excited?

My eyes were back on her face.

“Breathe deep,” she instructed me, before I could answer, listening to my lungs fill as I complied: breath in, breath out. She moved the scope drum a bit. “Again.” I repeated: breath in, breath out.

“Little lungs,” she said, with a little cluck of tsk-tsk, “weak.  Not big lungs, like me.” At that, her huge chest expanded with a big inhale, stretching the top of her dress even more tautly. My eyes goggled. “Deep breath,” she directed, and once again I obeyed, best I could. Good god! She listened, smiling at my discomfit, and moved on.

She went to pull down my blanket a bit more, and saw me tense again. “I need to listen to the intestine, to the gut,” she explained. Still reeling from watching her huge European chest nearly burst through her top, I gave no argument, and, uh…

Her stethoscope was now on my abdomen, bell-to-belly, and her free left hand still caressed my hair, for comfort. Her attentions, the slow movement of the stethoscope drum again lingered longer than necessary, drifting over my sensitive skin, caressing the lower parts of my stomach and-

Oh god, no.

I closed my eyes, clamping them shut in concentration. Don’t get hard.

“Do you want to know what I did at the Evolution?” I heard her say, as her stethoscope came to rest near my navel, the skin of her hand and wrist warm against my pallid flesh. Vida had explained, yesterday, a bit of Morgan’s history, her experience. After time in the NICU, in her home country (Hungary, if I remembered her application..?) she worked with a research team at Evolution Pharmaceuticals, the company that was soon to begin clinical trials of their new supplement here at our practice. We were being given tons of money and resources for it, from the company and various outside sources, and we needed the cash to stay financially afloat. But already I’d felt its looming shadow blanketing us and I secretly regretted ever getting into bed with them. And it was too late to back out now.

Without an answer from me, Morgan continued. “My job was the care for our littlest study subjects, holding their small bodies in my arms,” she began. Her voice sounded wistful. “They get cold so easy, they need the big woman body, keep them warm,” she said, obviously recalling tender times with her patients, “Some of them heads fit in my hand...” The bell of the stethoscope left my belly.

I was confused, a bit, suddenly. This was a supplement for women, right? Adult women? I opened my eyes and looked up at her. “I, uh, didn’t know Evolution was working with pediatrics, had children in their studies..?”

“Who say anything about children?” Morgan replied plainly,

Removing the earpieces of the stethoscope from her ears, folding the tubing with both hands, she placed the stethoscope to the side.

Before I could reply, ask another question, Morgan was speaking again. She'd turned to the side, a bit, swiveled at the waist and digging into an exam bag she’d brought with her. I took the furtive, covert moment to look at her again, appreciate the size and power of her hourglass torso, sheathed in her tight floral dress.

Stop it stop it stop it, I chastised myself, You're getting hard. The blanket covered me, now, merely from the waist down.

“I have weighed you already,” she told me, immediately bringing me more questions. How did she-?? “Now we must measure you.”

“How much did I w-weigh?” I asked, as a cloth measuring tape came from her bag. I could only picture-

“I held you, on scale,” she said, confirming my fears herself as she stretched the tape over me, head to toe, as I lay prone on the cot below her, “then myself, alone.” She took her measurement, and turned back to me, looked me in the eyes. “You are the 5’3”, 112 pounds. Me 198…”

Gulp. I’m still shrinking.

“…six feet tall.”

The image of this blonde, brute beauty holding me in her arms, weighing us, was too much for me to handle. I began to shiver and think of what her smile would have looked like when she realized-

“Eighty-six pounds,” she affirmed, in her strong Slavic accent, returning the measuring tape to her bag, “39 kilogram. I weigh that much more than you.”

My shivers became trembles as it began to set in, and she watched me as it did. I was still losing weight, height, becoming smaller and weaker, and the size difference between she and I was already terrifying. Morgan - a tall, strong woman - had more than eighty pounds on me, and eight inches. I could only think of Melissa, who was taller still. Twice my weight? More than a foot? If not now, soon? Was that possible??

“Yes,” Morgan spoke, as if answering my silent questions, “you are so thin, so small.” As she gazed down at me her hand glided over my chest, down to my belly in a gentle caress. My loins immediately seized and - good christ, no - my cock surged thick. If she saw it, though, through the thin blanket, she said nothing. “You will need the warming too, soon. Like my other babies.”

She smiled down on me and I gazed up at her with what I am sure was a maelstrom of emotions and feelings plain on my face: fear, confusion, uncertainty. She let them play out, inside me, watching me irrationally imagine myself small like a needy infant, needing to cling to her huge body for heat. My muddled panic electrified the air between us as her huge left breast was slowly coming closer to my face.

“You ask earlier, how you get here?” she enjoined, finally, as my eyes struggled to not just stare at her enormous chest, at the outline of the bra I could see through her top, the extra bulge of breast which it struggled to contain, “how you come from Melissa office, to here?” I could feel the warmth of her breast, her gentle body heat already. “Do you know?”

“I…I…”

I had assumed it was a wheelchair, though…now I remember Morgan holding her arms out to me, when Melissa had stood with me in her own embrace from her couch. I thought of our height difference, my weight. I considered Morgan’s strong, strong arms, her back and shoulders and thighs, and I began to shiver anew, picturing-

“Yes. I carried you like the child in my arms,” she declared, “through hallways, past all.” She watched my face, seemed to be drinking in my shame, savoring it. “The women see, they watch. They see their man being carried, like child, by nurse.”

“M-M-Morgan..?” I stammered, not knowing what I was asking, not knowing what I wanted to say. The massive shelf of her bosom hung over me.

“You are…so little, you must get so cold…” she said, her husky voice dropping lower. I felt her hand reach lower, open my blanket. The cooler space of the room washed over me, settling on my naked hips. I cringed in humiliation as I felt my cock spring free, bobbing hugely in the air above my belly.

“Oooo it is the true!” she suddenly sang, her voice brightening in surprise, “Down here you are not so little, you are the big!” She giggled, a strangely girlish laugh from such a big woman. “Here, I don’t mind the big,” she continued, considering me, looking at me, examining it in all its brutish glory. I grimaced in indignity. The thing had become a beast. Always large, it now seemed to dominate my frame when erect, now that I had shriveled and waned behind it. Thin hips, meager thighs, monstrous boner.

“Man is good small,” Morgan explained, abruptly taking hold of my cock, grasping it by its thickly-veined shaft in her large, strong hand. Stars flashed in my eyes, and I swooned. “But big here is good,” she said, “It take all of your blood, make you dim, like the stupid child.” She began to stroke it, slowly, up and down. “Make it easy for the woman to do this…”

“M-Morgan, no…” I protested, my voice sounding weaker than it should. What was she doing? I was married, she worked for me! Anyone could walk in! And then there was Melissa…. But my objection? I heard it myself, sounding less-than-fervent.

“Shhhh it is the okay,” she purred, the warmth of her body, the soft touch of her hand entrancing me, “Let me give you release. You need woman for that.”

I groaned, shuddered, and lay back silent. I tried to look up into her face but at this point could succeed in nothing but staring up at the undersides of her giant rack, two twin bulges which dwarfed me below them.

“I hear Melissa talk to you, hm? About becoming dependent on woman, surrounded by woman?” she asked, as slowly she took to her task, “She tell you, yes? She tell you how many men like that? How many many men now want the big mommy-woman, fleshy and soft, to be cared for, fed by them. Yes, yes they do…”

Her hand, tender but firm, slid up and down my cock at a perfect, gentle pace…but one with an obvious goal in mind. I could do nothing but lay there, paralyzed, helpless below her bulk and - ‘to be cared for, fed by them’ - picture her breasts, now, naked in maternal, monumental grandeur above me. Each would be larger than my head, and the thought stirred my arousal further. I felt my loins, my belly start to tremble.

“But do you know how many men also fantasy of being held by women in other ways, in ways not so gentle,” she continued, “hurt by women, crushed by women?”

Her huge left breast was now scant moments, centimeters away from my trembling face. I whined, quivering below it, faced by it as the hand working my shaft became more insistent. She held her breast there, letting me appreciate its sheer mass, how it dwarfed my head. “Oh my god…” I heard myself croak.

“Suffocation,” she said, finally, as she slowly lowered her boob down, pressing onto my nose, squashing onto my mouth, my eyes. It eclipsed my cheeks, my forehead, my chin. “Suffocated by woman, smothered by woman?” she breathed, her voice betraying her own deep arousal now, “Is that your fantasy too, little man? Do you fantasy about that?”

As if overcome, finally, herself, she began to jerk me off in earnest now, her hand moving faster and faster.

“Come for me, come my little man,” she ordered, as the soft weight of her huge, pillowy left breast lay now fully on my face, completely covering it, squashing me, keeping me from drawing breath. “Feel yourself tiny, under woman’s giant breast,” she said, unrelenting even as she felt my limbs go rigid, my hands grip the thin cushion below me. My climax was almost there, if I didn’t pass out first. “Feel how easy it be for her to do the smother, crush you,” she snarled, “Feel how easy for her it would be to just make…you…dead.”

With a whimpering groan I came, in a soul-draining explosion, into her hand, my face buried in her tit.

========================================

many thanks to the almighty Joshua67 for the sketch. My god the dude's good.

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[snowgoldwaylon]

You Call That Sneaky?? - Dimitri Belikov X Reader

Not all goes as planned when Y/N and Belikov fly the bird.

TW: Strong language, use of gunship/death.

"Belikov, we need covering fire!" is what you heard come through his comms attached to his collar. It was Adler, they were in a pretty tight place. You quickly pulled the missiles online and hit "launch sequence" on the AC-31 Gunship.

Belikov flipped some switches, pulled back on the yoke and held it steady. He looked back at you and gave the nod. You quickly got on the radios to let them know the danger.

"Y/N to Adler, danger close. I repeat danger close. AC-31 out!" You warned them.

You set off the first round of just bullets, and quickly switched to bursts of incendiary rounds.

"Shot out!" You called, hitting a direct target.

The place was practically crawling with enemies, and you needed to clear extraction to bring the team up. They originally came here to collect some potential information regarding Robert Aldrich.

You needed to take him out because he was leaking sensitive information to Perseus, and his trail went cold after Bell was able to crack his spy ring.

So, of course hotshot Adler loaded himself, Woods, and Mason up and hauled their cookies all the way to the Border of Colorado.

They snuck around, maintaining stealth. You and Belikov controlled the bird, and flew around for sweep and cover protection. But, as they snuck up on a meeting, it was all revealed.

Turns out, it was a set up. And it really pissed off Frank. It pissed him off so much, he ended up losing his temper, and reached for a conveniently well place grenade launcher.

To sum it up, Frank fucked up. Because now the three man dream team went up against well over 200 enemies. So, here you were. You layed multiple rounds out until slowly but surely all the white in the thermal sights faded.

"We are clear Belikov! We are heading to the Southeast ridge, hooking up there!" Mason said into the radio.

"We got you guys, don't even worry. Y/N here will keep you safe!" Belikov said, looking over at you and winking.

You felt yourself blush, and quickly turned back to the controls.

"Well, looks like Woods owes all of us a drink after this shit show. You are sleeping on the couch tonight!" Adler yelled.

"Hey fuck you, I'll sleep there with your mom!" Frank retorted.

Man, the conversations between them never got old. You loved the time spent with the team.

You and Belikov pulled the helicopter over the ridge, where the team was going to hook up. You got up from the cockpit, and readied three a long, safety rope with three hookup points for the boys.

You dropped it over and it fell. You watched as they all attached, and you hit the botton for the rope to start slowly retracting.

You made sure they got in one by one, for the safety of everyone. You went back up to the co pilot seat and strapped in.

"Belikov, we are clear! Boys, headphones on!" You shouted.

They all put the headphones on, and started to relax a little.

"Good job as my helper today, Y/N. Soon, you'll be able to fly by yourself. And when that day comes, you'll feel so full and accomplished you'll burst! And that'll be the day I take you out for party." Belikov said, flashing you a dazzling smile.

"Well thank you, Dimitri. And you better! We've talked about this since I first started flying!" You said, Watching the skys.

"Of course, anything for you. You are amazing in everyway possible." He winked at you.

You felt like you were in a daze, until you heard a familiar, yet worrying ding. You immediately sighed, knowing exactly what that ding met.

"Fuck, of course! Dimitri I thought you said you filled up before we left!" You said.

Belikov shot you a "oh shit I completely forgot face" and shrugged.

"The beauty of Adler's face had me distracted. I must have forgotten." He said.

"Finally, someone that appreciates this handsome face." Adler mumbled to himself.

"Well, what now? We'll never make it past the summit if we don't fuel up!" Mason cried.

You turned, looking back at them.

"What happens now, is either Dimitri or I have to go outside and hang off the ledge. While doing that, one of us will have to quickly connect the emergency fuel so it can atleast get us back to a drop zone." You spoke calmly, turning to him.

"But, since Belikov did it last time, it's my turn. I will go do this real quick, prepare for a stop at a fueling station. It looks like I'm reading one about 20 clicks North." You said, slipping on gear.

"Y/N, are you sure about this? I can do it while you fly, come now. Don't be stupid, nyet!" Belikov said.

You looked back, and gave him a thumbs up.

"No, I can do it. It's only fair, don't worry I got this. It'll be quick and easy!" You said, slipping an emergency parachute on just in case.

Adler, Woods, and Mason all watched as you geared up, stepping towards the opening of the heli.

"Y/N, your fuckin' nuts. Do you need any help?" Woods questioned.

You looked back at him, and nodded yes. He got up and came over to you.

"I need you to hold onto my feet until I tell you to let go. I need to start off with a good grip, or else I'll go splat." You said.

He nodded, and you went prone. You hung halfway out, and grabbed onto the support handles. Woods grabbed your feet and secured you.

You clipped your belt to the safety clamp and gave Woods a 'hold steady' hand signal. But, to him it apparently looked like a thumbs up. So, out of routine, he carefully let your feet go.

Immediately, the strong winds pulled your body out of the side, and left you hanging by your harness. The wind whipped and slashed at your skin like tiny, ice cold daggers as you desperately tried to reach for the handles.

Everyone on board started freaking out. Belikov went to make an emergency landing, but there were too many trees. He looked and looked for the best spot possible, and finally spotted a clearing.

You were screaming, yelling and crying. You felt the harness behind to tick and tear. It was going to bust at the seams at any moment, and you were still in the air.

You hung from the clip in the middle of your chest, trying to use your feet to kick back to the side.

Adler was trying to reach you with his arm, but it wasn't happening. You were just out of reach by a few feet. You were out of options.

"Y/N!!! Hang on, we almost have you!!" Mason shouted, quickly throwing together a rope to secure you with.

"What the hell did you do idyot?? I can't land, we are right over Soviet territory!" Belikov wretched out.

He dropped lower to land, but not fast enough. By time he dropped almost enough, is when your harness finally tore straight in half. The clip broke from the force, and you dropped straight down, backwards.

You screamed as you felt the force of the fall practically crush you. You were able to turn to your stomach, and quickly reach for the string used for the parachute.

You fumbled to find out, but when you did you yanked. Relief swept over you when it deployed, and slowly descended down to a platform.

"Her chute deployed, but it's heading straight to the middle of that warehouse it looks like!" Mason yelled.

Belikov channeled your radio, worry racing through him.

"Y/N? Y/N can you hear this? If so, I landed just a few clicks West of you. This is heavily guarded compound!" Belikov spoke into it.

You landed with a thud, and you quickly switched it on, ripping off the vest. You quickly took cover behind a fallen log, looking all around at your surroundings.

"I can see, and that little stunt just sent out a whole fucking search party. They have dogs, please tell me you have a plan." You said, finally throwing the vest to the ground.

Adler came on the radio next.

"Y/N, the best thing for you to do is to try and sneak around to the West side of the compound. We are going to push to you so you'll be safe. Do NOT draw any attention to you. Meet me at the blue warehouse." Was what he said.

"Blue warehouse, got it." Was all you said, clicking it off. You reached for a sharp looking rock you found on the ground, and got up to slowly look around.

You determined the best path to the warehouse, and set off. You were hurt, scared, and shaking. You could feel the adrenaline move through your body, and you almost couldn't think.

You weren't mad at Woods, you knew it was an accident. But right now.....All you wanted was to be in the arms of Dimitri Belikov. You decided now, after you got back to the heli you were going to say how you felt.

You were ready, and nearly dying really helped you decide. You just hoped he felt the same way.

Meanwhile, back with Belikov he was ready to kill. He assembled his trusty AK-47 and was ready to full send it to you. His heart was in a panic, he felt like he was going to have a heart attack.

"Belikov, Y/N is going to be just find. Adler will go get her, and then you'll get us home. Everything will work out, I promise." Mason said, trying to get Belikov to calm down.

Belikov looked to Mason with tears in his eyes. He couldn't stand the though of you out there, alone with no weapon. But knowing you, he knew you found something. That's what he loved about you, and many other things.

"I know, but she is worth a lot to me. I love her." Belikov sobbed.

Mason picked up on his distress, and he opened his arms for Belikov.

Belikov accepted the hug, and Mason patted his back.

"This will be over in a few minutes. Adler and Y/N will be back in no time, I promise." Was what Mason said.

Meanwhile, Frank fueled up the heli. The plan was to pick you up, and book it back home. Nobody wanted to be here more than they had to be.

Back with you, you approached a small fire. Around the fire was a few enemies, asleep. One was in a chair, the other on the ground, and the last against a barrell, hat pulled over his eyes.

You went to step around the group and take a right, but you smacked right into the frame of an old truck. This ended up setting off the panic alarm. You dove behind another old car and held still, as you heard them all shoot up from slumber.

You heard guns cock, and your heart sank. You swallowed hard, and leaned your head back against a car, looking up. They all started looking around, you heard the footsteps.

You fully accepted that you were doing to die. How the hell were you supposed to fight four people off with a sharp rock, while they had full automatic weapons.

You felt no hope, until you saw familiar sunglasses. Adler sat up on the ridge above you, waving you to follow him. Your eyes went wide, but you moved when he signaled.

That was, until you ran right into a person. You looked up at him, and he began to yell in Russian. He pulled his gun on you, but you tackled him quickly. You subdued him somehow, and grabbed his AK.

But you and Adler both spotted a flare in the distance. The screaming of the base alarm system filled your ears.

"Y/N, let's go! Just run, we are right up here!" Adler yelled, taking your hand.

You both sprinted full speed up the ridge side, with the entire army base on your heels. Adler radioed in, and finally you saw the heli in the distance.

"Be ready to go! We have the entire base on our ass, we're about 100 feet from you!" Is what Adler shouted.

You heard the blades begin to spin, it was ready to go. You both gave it all you had ad bullets zipped and flew past your head at incredible speed.

You came to the last few steps, and booked it. You both dove into the side, and Mason slammed it closed. The helicopter took off at full speeds, while bullets hit the side, making a panging sound.

You huffed and puffed on the ground, completely spread out. You suddenly felt arms around you, and a head in your neck.

It was Belikov, you recognized his smell from anywhere. You looked at him, lifting his face. You gave him a big smile and wiped his tears away.

"Hey its alright, I'm here. I'm safe, thanks to Doc." You chuckled.

Belikov took your face in his hands, and tucked your stray hair away.

"I thought I lost you. Y/N, I love you. I realized that tonight, after thinking you were dead. I always have, and will." He said, a tear falling from his eye.

You choked up, and rested your forehead against his. Your hand stroked his face, as you leaned in.

"And the same as I, Dimitri. Now, kissing me you fool." You said with a laugh.

You locked lips. It felt like fireworks and sparklers went off in your brain. It was everything you ever wanted.

After pulling away from the kiss, Belikov pulled you to his chest, and held you there all the way back. He looked down at you, and lost it laughing.

"What's so funny huh?" You questioned.

"No offense Y/N but, you call that sneaky? Tripping right into an enemy?"

[aceofspadegrass]

What? What’s that I see? Is it- is it another heist fic??!? :O

Heisting Yet Again

Characters: Aguni Morizono, Hatter, Niragi Suguru, Last Boss, Chishiya Shuntaro, @a-simp-20 , @niragis-right-hand-rabbit , and your local bread pentagon, Me

Genre: Crack. We're fucking heisting again.

2.3k words

Well what do you know! There is :0!!! Looks like we're at it again guys, causing havoc to Hatter and having fun while we're doing it!

And look, there's even a guest joining us! How fancy! What have we stolen today folks? Well, guess you'll have to find out!

Hatter thought they were gone for good after they stole his precious couch. It was peaceful at the Beach, as peaceful as it could get anyways, and the days were going by swimmingly. He even got a new couch to replace his old couch, which soon became just as loved as his previous couch. He still hadn’t forgotten the robbery, of course, and if he ever saw those three ever again he’d give them a stern talking to before he set the militants loose on their asses. They were traitors after all, and everyone knew what he did to traitors.

If they were smart, they’d stay out of the way of the Beach’s wrath. Hatter was sure they’d try to evade him and anyone with the bracelet that noted them as members, but there was only so much of them compared to the hundreds of people under his beck and call that could bring them kicking and screaming back to his land. Why come back to the place they had forsaken except to die, after all.

But alas, he was sorely mistaken in that thought, as he wakes up in bed to light humming, and rather itchy wrists. He tugs his hand closer to his core without making a sound, the coarse and familiar feel of rope around his wrist telling him all he needed. For good measure he tries to pull his legs, but his ankles seemed to be under the same type of bounds.

The humming continues on, undeterred, as if they knew Hatter was unable to do anything. He turns his head, and in the darkness of the room he can make out a vague silhouette trodding around his room without a care in the world, and the song was somewhat recognizable, but nothing Hatter could name.

Keeping his cool, he whistles to catch their attention, the person yelping and whipping around. That earns a chuckle out of him, followed by an annoyed whine by the other.

“ That was mean, you know! You scared me!” They whined, Hatter still chuckling.

“ Aww, but it was necessary! So! Do tell, dear, what are you doing in my room, hm? I’m in quite a predicament here-“ He tugs again at the coarse rope that bounded his arm to the bed, “ And while I don’t mind whatever comes to be in bed between me and my partner, I don’t believe I’ve ever met you~ Or have I? I’m sure you look lovely in the light.” He purrs in an inquisitive manner. The person just stays still, and from what limited light Hatter had, they were actually fidgeting a little, as if willing to walk out and leave him there.

He had to tread lightly. Whoever this was, they couldn’t be here for a rousing game of Bed Twister, seeing as he was still dressed and there was not a single inch of mood lighting. Scandalous to just do it without even a little festivities and scenery slapped in, with only ropes to keep him company.

“ Well, actually that’s just so I don’t, like…. die. Anyways, it was nice talking to you, but I have things to do!” The person approaches, and Hatter tries to get a glimpse of their face, of anything recognizable. He only gasps as they get closer and the only thing he picks up is a closed unslutty version of his kimono and an obviously printed picture of… wait is that his face? Was his rope tying captor wearing his iconic face and kimono? In his room?

“ Oh, is that what I think it is? I dare say, I wasn’t aware you liked me that much that you’d imitate me~ I’m flattered~” The person actually snorts at that, and pats his entire face with their unnaturally cold hand, fingers splayed and in short bursts, Hatter not expecting it and jerking his head away with a laugh. “ Oh my, what did you do earlier to make them that cold-” “ Exist! Anyways, here you go!” They chirp, and there’s a faint quack noise as something is plopped on his chest and they walk away, Hatter watching them go with a pout.

“ I do think you’re forgetting something, what are you to do about my rather…… prone position?~ You can not simply leave me like this!” “ Uuuhhhhh…….. get that cool steak-looking guy to help! Okay bye, have fun!” They call out to him before opening the door and starting to leave, Hatter getting only the barest glimpse of the back of their head.

Only, this also lets him get a glimpse of whatever was placed on him, and once he saw the tiny goose on his chest coming up to his face, honking softly, he can only lay there bound like a prisoner as it comes closer with murder in its eyes before the light was snatched like his couch.

" Oh sweet toma- AH IT'S GOT MY NOSE-"

Morning comes, and Aguni comes in to Hatter’s face being used as a nest, the goose happily settled over his eyes. Aguni pauses for a second, confused, the goose napping.

“ Uhh…. should I come back later-“ “ Oh, Aguni, a little help here? I have been ravaged like no other!” Hatter calls out the moment he hears Aguni, the man coming over and looking down at his friend, Hatter’s wrists still tied to the corners. He quickly gets to work untying them, Hatter shooting up the moment he was free, the goose honking as it was launched off Hatter’s face and left to fall down onto his lap. Hatter pushes it off of him, not at all caring at the moment of its safety in favour of his own, taking off the covers and untying his poor ankles free. Aguni watches from the side of the bed with folded arms, Hatter getting up and rubbing his sore wrists with a frown.

“ Oh, you wouldn’t believe the horror last night!” “ Did another one set you up?” Hatter shakes his head, and wanders around the room and making sure everything was still in place. “ Even worse! I woke up to such a position, and without something there to keep warm in bed, and yet someone was here with me! Imitating my looks, but without the sexy factor, can you believe the horror? Oh, woe! I didn’t think it was possible!” Hatter held the back of his hand to his forehead, dramatically dipping back as if to faint. He remains on his feet, and smiles a little when Aguni puts a supporting hand on his back to help him back to a normal stand, Hatter looking at him with a now serious glint. “ I do believe they’re back, Aguni.”

Aguni cocks an eyebrow, face staying stoic. “ The ones that stole your couch?” “ That’s the one! I’m sure of it! After all, why else would they come in here and take the time to assure I could not apprehend them myself? They’re here to steal something.” Hatter grabs Aguni’s shoulders, staring deep into his eyes as his face falls into a crazed smile. “ Death to traitors, after all. We need to find them before they get away.” Aguni nods slowly, and Hatter lets go, pushing Aguni away as he marches out of his room with a totally not unhinged giggle. Aguni rolls his eyes and follows after, Hatter marching his way down and knocking on all of the executive’s doors to wake them up. There was no time to waste after all!

It takes a while, but eventually everyone is up, sitting or standing where they preferred, Hatter briefing all of them on the situation at hand. Niragi looked rather annoyed, leaning back in his seat and combing what hairs he didn’t managed to pull up into his bun out of his face.

“ Why the fuck would they come back? That’s a fucking death wish if I’ve ever seen one.” Niragi groans. “ It’s fucking too early for this." “ Well, who’s to say they haven’t already left? Didn’t you say that this….. imposter of yours entered your room possibly hours before? It would be stupid to stay this long.” Chishiya says with that all knowing tone in his voice, Hatter nodding.

“ Yes, but there’s a chance they haven’t! They must’ve been scouting out what to take next before the actual heist!” Hatter rebukes, and gives Chishiya a warning glance when Chishiya looks unconvinced.

“ So you need us to patrol the entire Beach for them, got it. Let’s go, time’s wasting.” Aguni gets up, looking at Niragi and Last Boss, Niragi getting up with a grunt and grabbing his gun. The three of them leave, and Hatter soon shoos the rest of them out to help search the entire Beach again for the three musketeers and see if anything looked out of place.

Hours pass, and yet when they regroup, nobody could offer anything of use. Ann even questioned if they were even there to take anything, but Hatter had a hunch, he just felt it in his bones. So they separate once more, Hatter making sure to comb every single place in his domain. How dare they, really, coming back here to try their luck once more.

The sound of what at first sounded like gunshots catches his attention, but he dismisses it at first, believing the militants were just doing something. Then when he hears it again followed by terrified yells, he looks up towards the source, only to see a rather giant grey dinosaur with an orange beak.

“ Hah….?” Hatter comes over to take a close look, and the dinosaur was in fact not a dinosaur, but might as well be one, the bird looking at Hatter’s direction and fluffing up its wings. Hatter stares at the massive grey mass of feather and the tiny crown that seemed to be held by a thin string around its head, the bird raising its head and making that gun-like sound again.

“ Oh, well then hello to you too- Where did you come from-“ Hatter takes another step closer, and the bird just bows its head with a head shake and then wanders off, Hatter watching it go. People around it were catering away, staring at the beast of a bird and giving it distance.

“ Strange bird….” Hatter mutters, watching it wander away. Something in his gut begged him to follow, and Hatter was a man of will, so he starts to follow this creature wherever it was heading.

It was good that he did, as he sees a very familiar trio of people, one of which was still wearing his face and kimono. The other two were wearing normal clothes, one in a different robe and petting the giant bird with a fond smile while the other was more modestly in simple street wear and a head covering. “ Hey! There you are!” Hatter calls out, and they all look in his direction.

“ Oh hewwo!” The one wearing his face waves to him, the other two waving as well. “ Don’t worry, we’re just gonna…… RUN! Go go go!” They gesture away from Hatter in three rapid hand motions. They’re all running away as fast as they could, and Hatter was not about to let them get away, chasing after them as fast as he could. With how he generally appeared, he looked like he wouldn’t have much stamina, but they have also never taken him to bed on a good day.

And today was gonna be a fucking beautiful day.

The three were still within Beach territory and therefore still had people to deal with, even if they had congregated in a less populated area, and Hatter pretty much knew the layout like the back of his hand. They ran through the space, Hatter having to move this way and that to keep them within sight. That bird was actually following them rather obediently, seeming content, Hatter internally thanking the bird for leading him to their little meetup spot.

Niragi and Last Boss appear around the corner just as they were coming up, Niragi laughing and raising his gun, fully intent on shooting them down. Even Last Boss got ready to attack, grabbing ahold of his sword.

“ Oh hi there you two!” The woman that was petting the bird earlier greets. The third of their little squad immediately just separates from the group to avoid Niragi and Last Boss altogether, the remaining two still running head on towards them.

“ Hah! You think that’s gonna stop me? I’m gonna shoot you right-“ He doesn’t get to finish as the girl leaps up and grabs his head to pull it closer, giving him a kiss right there on his cheek and slipping past the crispy raisin cake.

“ Bye you sexy giraffe! Stay sexy!” She calls out as she runs off, the second somehow slipping past the two militants along with the bird.

“ Remember to practice safety procedures you two! Don’t let your ankles get eaten!” The other yells, Hatter rushing past them as they stood there stunned by the act that just occurred.

Hatter was intent on catching them, and yet they seemingly had too much energy and nothing in their hands. Perhaps it was something small, like all the bathroom mints, or maybe even a hidden pistol underneath their clothes. Either way he had to stop them and put an end to them.

They make it out to where the cars where, and Hatter finally sees just what they stole:

“ Hey! That’s my wine cabinet!” Hatter yells, absolutely appalled by this egregious crime, the poor cabinet strapped onto a new car like it was nothing more than a box of wood as the three infiltrators climb in, the bird joining in the backseat. The one wearing the head covering peeks out with a smile. “ Oh, that’s not all! We also took all of your instant pancake mixes I hope you don’t mind!”

“ Excuse me, I do mind, thank you very little!”

The driver, now the woman that had kissed Niragi’s cheek like no big deal, pokes her head out and waves.

“ Oh well! See you later! This was fun!” She shouts before the engine rumbles to life and they peel away with his cabinet.

“ Oh you three……!” Hatter stares as they drive away with their second successful heist, shaking his head in disbelief and thinly veiling anger in his smile. “ You three are in for it now!~”

[mydisasteracademia]

Random LOV Headcanons

• Repeating something from my book “Did My Time”, due to the damage to Dabi’s body, he needs to use eyedrops multiple times a day. The amount depends on whether or not he uses his Quirk a lot; if he uses it more, he’ll need to practically drown his eyes with special medicated eyedrops to help with the dry-eye.

Adding onto this, due to his body’s natural affinity for the cold, he prefers cold things more than hot, because he has a worse reaction to hot/spicy things compared to other people (just like his mother). Yes, this means I HC him to absolutely never get brain freeze. The others are always jealous of him whenever he chugs a Slurpee in one go.

His burnt, scarred skin is extremely sensitive, especially to scents and scented lotions. He’s found that ointment works to keep things moist, but that also means he needs to be constantly re-applying it every time it dries, given that his Quirk is constantly drying out his skin to the point of damage. Every time his staples tug, even a little, it’s really painful and he’s prone to bleeding.

He does have a bit of a protective instinct, but only over those he deems weaker than him (and let’s be honest, he already has a lot of trouble with his own self-image, so that list might be shorter than you’d think). Definitely has an ‘irritated older sibling to hyperactive younger sibling’ relationship with Toga once they start to get closer. Gets unnecessarily competitive with others he considers stronger than himself, even if he himself doesn’t immediately realize what he’s doing.

Due to his Quirk being dangerous to himself, he can smell off, and he gets very touchy about it. Having grown up in a wealthy family, he can get very insecure at his bedraggled appearance and smell. He literally smells like burnt flesh all the time, and it lingers on his own body and his clothing. Due to this, he always hits up a laundromat to wash his clothes a few times a week, using money he’s picked off of wealthier victims of his. Really lays on the cologne to mask his natural corpse smell (and usually ends up smelling like pine trees, smoke, and something vaguely rotting).

Dabi is incredibly touch-starved, given that most people look at him and recoil in horror. He’s more like a cat, though. If you give him too much attention, he gets annoyed, but if he happens to rest his arm on your head or shoulder, that’s his way of subtly asking for positive attention. Depending on who’s doing it, he won’t immediately shove someone away if they decide to hug him. He’s a bit iffy with touch, and the fear of accidentally hurting someone he’s close to with his own Quirk messes with his head a lot. He can be a bit of an attention whore, given his fucked-up childhood, and when he gets praise it can put him in a good mood for a while. He really internalizes negative attention and can brood about not being good enough for a long time though. Won’t admit it, but he lives for headpats. Please give him headpats. He deserves headpats. Just watch out for the hair dye.

• Shigaraki’s Quirk does affect his body, though not by quickly decaying him like he does other things. Instead it’s more of a ‘slow-burn’ decay, and his constant itching is one side-effect of that. Since his body is constantly breaking down (his scratching gets rid of a lot of dead skin on the surface), his skin is incredibly sensitive and he can’t use most face/skin products because it damages him even more and he reacts horribly to it. So far he hasn’t found a brand that can help with his marred skin. Adding to this, he can’t stand spicy foods because it aggravates his decaying body.

Since his body is in a constant state of death and dying, this means he can smell off on even good days. It could be described as musty or ‘stale’, and since he’s extremely sensitive to scents and lotions/creams, he can’t exactly just use any old cologne to mask it.

Sometimes his throat gets super dry and he chokes on debris from his own mouth and throat. He needs to constantly hydrate to keep things from getting a bit too dusty. This means he prefers wet/moist foods over dry, and if he eats anything dry he’ll have a drink to go with it. At Kurogiri’s insistence, he always has a few bottles of water in his room at a time so he doesn’t have to get up in the night to go to a working sink for a drink.

This boy is so touch-starved. Whenever someone of the League hugs him, he acts huffy about it, but he doesn’t shove them off (unless it’s Dabi giving him a noogie, then he threatens death, much to the taller one’s amusement). He secretly craves touching other people. He’s terrified of accidentally dusting someone he cares about again (his family’s deaths haunt his dreams more nights than not), but if someone hugs him he just kind of melts into it. Someone please hug this boy. He needs headpats and positive reinforcement.

• Spinner absolutely loves sunning himself on rocks during summer. Whenever the weather is hot and it’s sunny, if he has a day off you’ll find him chilling outside on a rock just soaking up the sun.

Adding onto this, he really loves humid, hot weather. While the rest of the League (especially Dabi) is suffering, he’s just vibing with the weather.

And he sheds. Usually a few times a year, but it’s not uncommon to see large swaths of translucent white patches left behind. This can annoy the League, but to his credit, Spinner tries to keep it on the down-low. More than once he’s tried inconspicuously rubbing his arm or cheek against Shigaraki to try and help get the dead skin off. (He gets really irritated, but it helps with the itching a bit, so he doesn’t really complain unless he’s trying to concentrate on something.)

• Compress will casually swipe up random items that the League leaves around and later might give them back depending on what it is. The other members can get varying levels of annoyed at this, but they don’t get too beat up about it considering Compress’s Quirk and personality. (This is how Toga lost her favorite lip gloss. She didn’t stop pouting for a week until Twice bought her another one.)

When he gets anxious or bored, he often resorts to simple hand tricks to keep himself entertained: fiddling around with his marbles, practicing simple card tricks, or practicing magic.

• Toga loves horror. Almost any horror. Especially guro. During movie nights with the League, as long as the movie has some form of mutilation and/or blood, she’s giving it her full attention. Adding to this, she really loves anything written by Junji Ito and has read Tomie about twenty times. Despite this, she has a soft spot for cutesy things and her aesthetic is Gurokawa. She definitely has a Gloomy Bear plush or two.

She definitely has a fondness for beauty products, given that she’s still just a normal girl despite her Quirk. This fact can make her really insecure, and she’s prone to depressive episodes just like anyone else in the League where she does herself up real pretty just to try and feel more ‘in tune’ with her femininity and less like the monster her parents saw her as. Magne helped with this a lot in the past, but now that she’s gone she relies more on the others to help cheer her up.

She is not above forcing the other League members into spa days. Shigaraki is the only one who doesn’t have to get a facial, though she does insist on painting his nails and doing his hair.

• Kurogiri’s mist/fog can get blown away quicker than he can create more, but only by a very strong wind. It’s hilarious. Shigaraki can’t stop teasing him for it.

Is not above using his Quirk to forcefully separate two squabbling parties, especially in the bar hideout.

When he’s bored, he does bar tricks, much to Toga’s delight.

Since quite a few League members are under drinking age, he always makes sure to have sparkling cider on hand.

He carries snacks and a first-aid kit every time the League goes out on a mission -- especially when it’s Shigaraki heading out. He really does care for the man and will be the first to hand him ointment whenever his skin gets really crumbly or damaged.

Has come to reluctantly see the League as people he worries for. That’s the closest to “hm yes these are my children now I must protect” that you’ll get.

He misses Magne for how sensible she could be. He appreciates Compress’s overall chill vibe and his being the voice of reason among their little group of mass murderers.

• Kurogiri and Magne were the League’s parental figures. You can’t fight me on this. (Kurogiri reluctantly, Magne enthusiastically.) Compress was more like the outgoing uncle that has a sense of humor nobody can really understand at first and was definitely a theater major in college.

• Shigaraki and Dabi love chicken nuggets. Every time someone brings home fast food, you can bet your ass they’ll have ordered like a fifty-piece chicken nugget meal from wherever sells that. Constantly have to deal with each other trying to swipe the other’s nuggets when they finish their own.

• Twice loves Vine compilations and can recite a worrying number of them from memory. He gets a kick out of the “A Bagel, Two Bagels” one for how much he relates to it.

• Before she died, Magne loved when Toga begged her to help her with makeup. It helped with her dysphoria when Toga would doll her up.

She loved window-shopping and imagining herself wearing some of the stylish clothes in shop windows.

Despite her cruel persona towards her enemies, Magne had a soft spot for elegant-cute things, kinda like Toga but a little less bloody.

• Muscular always challenges the other League members to arm-wrestling when he’s around. He always wins. The others have learnt not to accept his challenges, lest they want bruises/sprains.

• Mustard is very childish in his tastes. He loves chicken nuggets and mac n’ cheese. Provokes people by pulling his lower eyelid down and sticking his tongue at them. I can definitely imagine him muttering “Eat my shorts” or “Don’t have a cow, man” whenever another member is angry about something.

• In this household we pretend that Moonfish does not exist.

• If the League had Switches, you bet your ass they play Animal Crossing on them.

Toga would go for a ‘Aika Village’ aesthetic, all gloomy and creepy but with an undeniably cute element to it. Definitely wears pastels and gothic-themed clothing.

Shigaraki models his after his favorite RPG and hunts down NPCs that fit the personalities of the various characters. His favorite characters tend to be dogs. Will not hesitate to kick out any animal who fails his ‘vibe check’. Surprisingly, this game can calm him down almost as well as an RPG. Joycon drift is the bane of his existence.

Compress uses only the most glamorous, expensive items on his island. Outright refuses to use dirt paths. Uses only Snooty villagers.

Dabi wants his island to look the best and is uncharacteristically stern about how his island looks. Everything is very neat and streamlined (and he has an outdoor gym near his player’s home). Will physically fight anyone who tries to ruin it by littering or messing around on it. He has a rivalry with Compress about whose island looks the best.

Spinner doesn’t really care about how his island looks. He just wants to max out his encyclopedias. Shigaraki once caught him up at 3 AM because he was trying to catch a spider crab.

Kurogiri doesn’t play it that often, so his island is fairly undeveloped. Doesn’t really care about it, considering his responsibilities to the League overpower a video game.

Muscular doesn’t care about it at all and doesn’t play.

Mustard made his island look like something out of Harvest Moon or Stardew Valley; a town area, a forest, and even a beach.

[amedetoiles]

In another installment of things I should absolutely not be adding to my already large collection of unfinished google docs, I once more have absolutely no self control, so about that post on wedding planner!WWX.....

Set in the same verse as this. Very on brand of me to start writing a sequel for a fic I have yet to finish. Post-canon, post-reconciliation, and WQ is alive because I say so.

---

In retrospect, Jiang Cheng probably should have predicted this.

Jiang Cheng has grown up with Wei Wuxian. He knows exactly the level of ridiculousness his brother can reach. Nearly all of his childhood was dedicated to learning this exact fact. Compounded with that is how fully Wei Wuxian always throws himself into any project that catches his brother’s attention. For a long time, that had been a-jie’s wedding.

All those late nights he and Wei Wuxian had spent planning together, mapping out detailed seating charts, and designing elaborate challenges for the groom. Wei Wuxian, practically delirious with childish excitement, had proposed and demanded in equal measure extravagance after extravagance because their sister only deserved the very best in the world.

Even still, Jiang Cheng can’t say that he had expected exactly... this.

Three days after Jiang Cheng and Wen Qing tell their family about their betrothal, Wei Wuxian bursts into Jiang Cheng’s office mid-morning, his hair still uncombed and sticking out in multiple directions. His arms are full of scrolls, which he proceeds to unceremoniously dump across Jiang Cheng’s desk.

Wei Wuxian ignores Jiang Cheng’s indignant squawking and speaks rapidly, all of his words running together, and practically vibrating on his feet with a frenzy that brings Jiang Cheng abruptly back to their childhood, laying on the floor of their shared room with scrolls strewn all around them and listening while Wei Wuxian raves enthusiastically about his latest idea for a challenge.

Lan Wangji stands at the doorway, alternating between looking worried that Wei Wuxian might asphyxiate with how fast he is speaking and giving Jiang Cheng a look that says this is under no uncertain terms completely Jiang Cheng’s fault as usual.

(In the three years since his brother married Lan Wangji, Jiang Cheng and Lan Wangji have formed an extremely respectful and productive relationship of tolerating each other’s presence for the exact minimum duration it takes to make Wei Wuxian happy. It is still too long for either of them.)

“The Mao and Guo sects are still feuding so they need to be seated as far apart as possible,” Wei Wuxian is saying, barely pausing for breath as he flits from topic to topic with a speed that leaves Jiang Cheng feeling faintly dizzy. “Fan shushu says he will share his recipe for Qing-jie’s xi bing. The head of the lotus harvesters will arrange to have water lilies transported from the southern borders. I have some designs for the invitations that you and Qing-jie can take a look at. And – Oh!”

Wei Wuxian’s eyes light up suddenly with an unholy fervor that has never, ever boded well for Jiang Cheng, and then Wei Wuxian turns, calls I have to go! over his shoulder, and leaves as quickly as he came. Lan Wangji makes sure to shoot Jiang Cheng one final accusatory glare before following after his husband because Wei Wuxian couldn’t have married someone that wasn’t a huge petty bitch.

Jiang Cheng sits, shocked still, his desk looking like a storm had blown by, and stares at the empty space where his brother was just standing.

He may have slightly miscalculated.

---

A month later, Jiang Cheng contemplates taking Wen Qing and running away to a deserted mountain. (Who says Wei Wuxian is the only one allowed to do that anyway? At least his mountain won’t be prone to murder.)

He won’t of course. He is the Jiang sect leader, and since his birth, his wedding has always been expected to have the pomp and circumstance befitting that of a leader of a great sect. He would never run out on that responsibility no matter how fucking crazy Wei Wuxian is driving him.

But Jiang Cheng does think about it, very wistfully.

He even brings it up half-seriously with Wen Qing one morning after a disciple comes to inform him that Wei Wuxian had had his schedule completely cleared without Jiang Cheng’s knowledge or permission. Jiang Cheng is now expected to meet his brother at the gate in a quarter shichen’s time for who knows what because his brother is as obnoxiously forthcoming as he has always been.

Wen Qing laughs at him because she is terrible, and he has clearly made a huge mistake.

She also presses a light kiss to his cheek and promises to threaten Wei Wuxian with needles later if he doesn’t sit the fuck down and rest before leaving to have tea with Luo Qingyang because she’s also pretty fantastic, and Jiang Cheng has made the best decision of his life.

Even if it means standing in the middle of the tailor shop while Wei Wuxian darts around him like a deranged bird, dangling various fabric samples in front of Jiang Cheng, frowning for some obscure reason he doesn’t deign to tell Jiang Cheng because who cares what Jiang Cheng thinks about his own wedding, tossing the piece of fabric onto the growing no pile, and then picking up yet another.

On the eleventh turn of this, Jiang Cheng feels a sharp throb against his temple and takes a deep slow breath, then another, and another, so he doesn’t scream, or strangle his brother with the fabrics.

“You do realize that this is my fucking wedding?” Jiang Cheng growls with frustration.

“Of course,” Wei Wuxian says immediately, nodding in a way that feels like he’s actually taking Jiang Cheng seriously even as he picks up yet another fabric sample. Jiang Cheng bites his tongue to keep himself from shouting and glares.

Wei Wuxian continues before Jiang Cheng can speak (yell), moving to hold the fabric against Jiang Cheng’s face, “But you’re my little brother.”

Jiang Cheng blinks, opens his mouth and then closes it. His throat feels suddenly inexplicably tight. An embarrassing warmth expands rapidly beneath his rib cage, and he thinks he might actually choke on it.

He looks at the fabric instead of his brother’s face because he will not cry. The red silk is a shade lighter than Wei Wuxian’s customary color and of exceptionally high quality. (That Wei Wuxian has been choosing from the most expensive of silks has not escaped Jiang Cheng’s attention. He has been trying and failing to not have feelings about this.) The patterning is beautiful, the soft, gentle swirls reminiscent of the lakes surrounding Yunmeng.

It isn’t something Jiang Cheng would have chosen on his first glance through. It is, he realizes with a swoop in his stomach, something a-jie might have picked out.

Jiang Cheng has, until now, avoided thinking too hard about all the empty spaces at his wedding, still riding the steady wonder that fills him every time he looks at the comb tucked neatly against Wen Qing’s hair. And after these last few years of having his brother beside him again, of their misshapen family relearning to fit together with all its new pieces, it is almost, almost, unfamiliar to feel that old aching loss rise within him.

He wonders how much of Wei Wuxian’s frenzied insanity is because he is feeling it too.

After all, Jiang Cheng remembers the months of spreading himself thin between sect obligations and wedding preparations, of tracking down the finest fabrics and jewelry that Jiang and Jin gold could buy in between meetings and conferences, of trying and trying and trying to make up for an absence that creased the edges of a-jie’s eyes in sorrow, even when she stood, radiant in red and gold on her wedding day.

“Jiang Cheng?” Wei Wuxian asks, his voice and gaze softening with concern.

Jiang Cheng swallows several times, his eyes prickling along with his nose, and he stares at the spot above Wei Wuxian’s head. You don’t have to do this, he wants to say. You don’t need to do this. “It isn’t atrocious I guess,” is what comes out.

Even in his periphery, he can see Wei Wuxian’s eyes crinkle with a familiar fondness. His brother nods and lays the fabric gently down on what Jiang Cheng supposes is now the yes pile.

“As expected of Jiang zongzhu,” Wei Wuxian says in a teasing tone that he only uses when he wants to piss off Jiang Cheng.

“Shut up,” Jiang Cheng says swiftly, without any heat. Then, adds, “Yiling Laozu.”

Wei Wuxian laughs and shoves him. “Fuck off,” he says, but he’s smiling as he turns and picks up the next sample, and Jiang Cheng feels his own lips curve in an answering smile.

Okay, he thinks. Okay. He can do this.

He can let his brother have this. Maybe they can both have this.

[solarianvoidthearoace]

Excerpt#1 from my JuPeter Vampire!AU

CN/TW: Alcohol mention, swearing, blood mention, gun threat, pub ambience (drunk background characters), minor emotional breakdown, Nureyev-typical (I hope, at least) flirting

Sinking deeper onto the table, ignoring his warming beer, Juno didn’t catch the heels drawing closer from his blind side.

“What’s a place like this doing with a wonderful lady like you?”, a soft, melodic voice carried over the chatter and ambience of the tavern. Groaning, Juno rightened himself,

“Place ain’t doing anything. And whatever you’re about to say next, no. No, I can get my own drink; yes, that seat is taken; no, I won’t be lonely tonight. And most of all, yes, you can fuck off.” His eye finally dragged higher than the edge of the table, focusing on a slim man clad in dark maroon, accentuated with the embroidery of roses. Letting his gaze wander higher, Juno froze in his seat.

“Hello Juno”, and promptly the man sat opposite him after all. Sucking in a deep breath, Juno felt his back go rigid,

“From the get-up I take it it’s Rose.” The man gave a short laugh, almost painfully stilted, and waved him off,

“Oh no, goodness no, I’m well known in this town. I just happen to be just back from a business trip. I mean, sure, I don’t go by the name of my grandfather, it’s Ransom for me, but asking around for me would actually get you somewhere in this particular town.“ Juno’s eyes narrowed,

“And why would that be? Last I remember you weren’t exactly an involved member of society.” Ransom waved the question away,

“I will be around to answer those questions you like to puzzle out so much. Atop the closest hill is the Nureyev estate and manor, after all. The more interesting, and I figure time-sensitive, question would be… what are you doing here, detective?” Juno tried not to get hung up on the casual use of the man’s birth name he had seemed so secretive about.

“You wouldn’t believe me if I said I was recuperating after a long job gone sour, would you?”, Ransom just tilted his head, in an almost bored gesture if Juno hadn’t known him.

“Right… It’s true, though”, Juno sighed and focused on the warm stale beer in his stein,

“I’m waiting for a pay-out and the way I know the Registry there might be one last job attached, so I didn’t want to get too comfortable in any area just yet. It’s not like I can go back to Hyperion. Rita, you remember her, is with me as well.” Ransom tilted his head the other way, resting it on his palm,

“So you finally did uproot yourself. Well, I don’t think it’s any difference to you but there isn’t any use hiding it either, this is the town I had been talking about back when we… when we were”, he simply finished. Juno raised a brow, he might have to pay more attention to this town Rita and he were staying in during daylight.

“What sort of job do you think you’ll have to do to bail yourself out for good?” Apparently the silence at their table had gone on too long for Ransom’s taste.

“Depends on whether this area is prone to vampires, if you remember my actual profession.” Ransom tensed under his utter boredom, short enough most people would have missed it. Most, except for Juno Steel.

“Yea, I know, the entire time you dragged me along fighting off that witch Miasma, not a single vampire. I’m well aware I must seem rather lousy.”

Before Ransom could answer, the upcoming praise of Juno’s professional skills already readable on his face, a crash resounded from the bar.

Some drunkard apparently hadn’t just crashed his almost-empty stein, attempting to swap it with some other patron’s, he also managed to drag his arm through the shards and add his blood to the seeping puddle of beer. The bar-dame and apparently owner of the place seemed ready to swear up a storm, which made Juno tense. Still, his suddenly drawn-up shoulders were nothing compared to Ransom.

The man went rigid, his jaws clenched and his hands cramped around the edge of the table. When he opened his eyes after a deep breath, prying his fingers from the wooden tabletop, Juno caught a glimpse of his pupils being dilated.

His inquiry whether Ransom felt okay didn’t make it past his lips before the man had abandoned the table and shoved his way to the back-entrance. Even more confused than he was to see Ransom in this town in the first place, Juno slowly got up and went to pay his tab.

Whatever was up with his former… his past… with Ransom, Juno decided to leave the tavern out the front and round its outside, wandering casually to the alleyway where the back-entrance lead.

What he saw there made him grasp for his holster, as well as the stake he usually would have carried strapped to his thigh. While his left hand came up empty, he did manage to aim his revolver at the silhouette. The silhouette that was hunched slightly, in the shifting shadows of the alleyway, grasping at something small. Whatever it was, the figure stood cradling it with something vicious dripping from their face.

Sending up a quick prayer to whoever listened, that today may be a day his aim wasn’t as shot as it still was on some days, Juno steadied his revolver with his left. Having been a vampire hunter as long as he was, Juno could distinguish the way blood flowed and dripped even in twilight conditions.

“Don’t move!”, he clicked the safety off his revolver now that he had the thing’s attention,

“Hands up! Slowly!” The figure complied, raising their hands and showing off what they were holding. A flask glinted in the sparse light. Or maybe it was small enough to count as a vial. Calming down that they weren’t armed beyond their obvious nature, Juno scanned the rest of the alleyway. The two of them were alone, no body laying nearby either. Taking that in, Juno remembered himself. Why he was standing in this alleyway in the first place.

“He said he’s known well enough around here, didn’t he?”, he muttered to himself, not that he had any illusion it would pass by the predator’s hearing. Then, louder, directed at them again,

“Where is Ransom? He left out that backdoor!”

“So you sneaking in and out of doors is fine but woe is me when someone else leaves you behind?”, the figure laughed so mirthlessly it send chills through Juno.

“That’s not… He looked ill, sick somehow. And while I know he can fend for himself he never believed me about your kind. I’m not taking chances, letting a vampire go when they might have attacked a friend of mine.” The silhouette perked up at that,

“Friend of yours? Were the two of you friendly, recently?”, a teasing lilt replacing that mirthlessness.

“Whatever”, Juno snapped,

“He’s sick, you’re dangerous, I’m armed. Should be all that matters.” The figure shrugged, their hands still over their head,

“Have it your way. Silver bullets, I take it? You do know a crossbow is more versatile in regards to ammunition a hunter might need?”, they sounded as if they were trying for smalltalk. Except their voice was pressed, somehow, as if they were altering their cadence, practiced but forcefully disguising their voice.

“What’s it to you?”, Juno stepped towards them. Just a precaution, he told himself, in case his aim might falter for real. Curiously enough, they copied the length of his gait and stepped away. Before Juno could do more than huff, they spoke up,

“If we are to continue this little chat, may I ask that I be allowed to wipe my face? I’m sure you can see I happened to spill some of my nutrition.”

Juno faltered, his revolver sinking just a bit. How was this vampire so casual about being caught in the act of drinking blood? Sure, it was from a vial, might not even be human, but they hadn’t tried deflecting at all.

“You know what? I’m hopefully out of the job by the end of this week anyway, and since you seem more interested in chatting away…”, Juno sighed, clicking the safety back in place. That, as he was immediately made aware, had been a mistake. The vampire was on him in a blink. Juno was turned around, his chest and cheek pressed to the nearest wall, before he managed to get so much as another glimpse at the vampire that had finally left the shadows.

“You trust some vampire in a dingy back alley not to rip your throat out, just because you tell him you’re about to retire anyway? My my, and here I was thinking your sense for self-preservation had improved, it being a requirement for vampire hunters and all that”, it was a growl, low and hinting at danger yet to come.

And quite frankly, too close - for a vampire of all beings - to Juno’s jugular for him to be comfortable with it. Except for one little detail. Juno’s brain slowly catching up on these off-hand remarks the vampire had thrown at him.

“Nurey-?”, he was broken off by the man’s lips on his cheek.

“I’m not sorry you found out like this, if I’m being honest. Even though I probably should have attempted a fight to scare you off and to get away without you connecting the dots”, his arm across Juno’s throat loosened the same moment his head sagged onto the hunter’s shoulder,

“Juno?” The hunter had fallen silent, even though he did relax into the man’s half-embrace. After a moment, he felt Juno shudder and slump. Concerned, he maneuvered Juno to turn in his arms, to face him, but before he could so much as replace his hands on the hunter’s shoulders, Juno had fallen into him.

With Juno pressed even closer to him, he felt that shudder again and realised it was sobs wracking through the hunter.

[aks3raao1]

Danganronpa shorts: Luck in a mansion

It was a rather cloudy day when Kazuichi had an idea. A rather strange and disastrous idea, if I, Hajime Hinata, were being honest.

"So, let's go to this mansion! I heard it was scientifically interesting!"

Kazuichi Soda was a rather cowardly man and his defining characteristic was crushing over a woman (and making her uncomfortable with his advances) who would never return his feelings. He was truly hopeless in that regard and prone to fits of jealousy towards anyone who got close to her.

However, he had another side to him. He was also the Ultimate Mechanic and had been accepted by Hope's Peak for that reason. Thus, whenever he came upon a machine, his first instinct was to attempt to open it up and see how it worked. I suppose his fascination with machines in this manner is somewhat similar to Nagito's fascination with hope.

Speaking of which—

"What a hopeful idea, Kazuichi! I am sure the scientific mysteries of the mansion would give rise to hope when solved by someone as great as you!" Nagito Komaeda said, a little starry eyed. Well, that wasn't unexpected since he appeared to try and find hope....virtually everywhere.

However, it was an unspoken thing in our class that we are likelier to be less confident in things after Nagito's over blown praises than more confident unless it benefited the person being praised.

Now, it benefitted Kazuichi.

"Yeah, we all might find something for ourselves too!!! Besides it would be a fun outing!!!"

"Your hope for this outing is so beautiful, Kazuichi, I am sure it will turn out as the Ultimate Outing!" Nagito went on, ecstatic.

"Errr, yeah," Kazuichi looked mildly uncomfortable at that and I swallowed a retort of, "A taste of your own medicine, huh?" and instead said,

"Well, happy outing, you too, then."

"Wait no, you are coming with us as well," Kazuichi said, "No way in hell am I going with this weirdo alone."

I wonder what made him think that I wanted to go alone with two weirdos who were drunk on their respective obsessions. Atleast Kazuichi was less likelier to murder people due to said obsession but still.

"So Hajime is in," Kazuichi said, not waiting for my answer.

"Wait, I never said—"

"—however it appears that you need four people according to the ticket, Kazuichi, so it appears that you need to invite another person," Nagito said, completely ignoring me and looking over the paper Kazuichi was clutching in his hand.

"I do, yes," Kazuichi said, "Miss Sonia would you—"

She pretended as if he did not exist.

Downtrodden Kazuichi went on, "I can kick out Nagito if you want—"

Still no response.

Utterly crushed, Kazuichi turned back to us.

"So.....," his enthusiasm was noticeably less than before, "I...."

"Don't give up hope, Kazuichi! I am sure something would turn up for you at the mansion!"

This caused me to feel like Nagito just wanted to go to that super mysterious mansion. Well, I suppose my own curiosity had been spiked as well due to the ambiguous way Kazuichi framed it.

"You think?" Kazuichi said, looking slightly more hopeful.

"Absolutely! There's hope in that mansion!"

Slightly uncomfortable, Kazuichi scratched his neck.

"Well, I suppose I can't turn this down......but we need another person."

He looked around the place and I sent a silent prayer to the unfortunate person who would grab his eye.

"Hey, Fuyuhiko—!"

Now I felt sorry for Kazuichi.

Fuyuhiko Kuzuryu was the Ultimate Yakuza and rather foul mouthed and brash despite his small stature. He was also the last person who would get dragged into such a thing.

Or so had I thought, woefully underestimating Kazuichi's persuasion skills.

"What is it?" Fuyuhiko snapped, "What do you want?"

"Hey, want to go with us to this mansion?" Kazuichi said, walking over and sitting down in front of him with a wide shark like grin.

"...who's us?" Fuyuhiko said.

"Hajime, me and Nagito."

"....I am not going."

"Why, do you want to make out with Peko or something?"

"No, what the fuck."

"Come on, please, we just need another member and you are perfect for that."

"I said I am not going—"

Kazuichi proceeded to whine and annoy the living hell out of Fuyuhiko for the next one hour, causing him to give in. Evidently, his dedication to machines was more than his personal pride.

~

A day later, we were all standing in front of the mansion.

The weather was still cloudy. The weather forecast hadn't informed us about any rain, but considering that Nagito was tagging along.....well anything was possible. Already he was sporting bandaged arms when he had arrived today and seemed apprehensive to go with us. However Kazuichi had dragged him along anyways, with a, "No backsies."

I had asked him about the bandaged arms and his reply had been,

"Ahaha, it's the bad luck for the good luck that an Ultimate would invite such a worthless person like me........all I would do is bring along bad luck, however I am sure the Ultimates can overcome that."

If just going on a fun trip punished him in this manner, I suppose I can see why he is the way he is. In a way. I don't think I will ever come close to understanding Nagito Komaeda.

"So, we are staying here for a week, okay?" Kazuichi said, bringing out the keys. They were huge and fit for such an ancient mansion like this.

He unlocked the door. We pushed it together, causing it to swing back with a groan.

Silence.

That was the first thing I noted about this place. How absolutely silent it was.

The next thing I noticed was how dark it was.

Fuyuhiko took out a lighter to light the torches, looking creeped out himself.

"Oi, Kazuichi, I thought this was a scientific mystery, not a test of courage in a haunted house," he said, grumbling.

"...a scientific mystery is what they called it," Kazuichi said, looking confused himself.

"Ah, I am sure we can use science to investigate a paranormal mystery! If it can be solved using science, then it makes it a scientific mystery!" Nagito pointed out.

"I suppose so."

"I still have a bad feeling about this place.....," I muttered, going to help Fuyuhiko with the lights, "Besides, do we have a map?"

"Right in front of you, Hajime," Nagito chirped and I turned around to see that indeed, there was a map right in front of me.

"It looks like your hidden Talent could be Ultimate Map Summoner," he joked next, going to check the map in question.

"Lay off that already."

I might have forgotten my Ultimate Talent but that didn't give him the permission to rub it into my face at every turn.

Kazuichi used the light of the torches to check the keys.

"The numbers inscribed on the keys correspond to that on the map," Nagito spoke. This guy had some seriously good skills of observation. For a brief moment, I wondered why he isn't the Ultimate Detective instead.

"I see," Kazuichi went to check the map as well and began matching the keys to the map, "The map is incomplete....it looks too small for such a huge place.....wait, it's burnt off at the end."

"....ah."

Having finished lighting the torches, Fuyuhiko and I went to check the map in question as well. To allow Fuyuhiko to see it, Nagito moved back.

"Well, I am sure Ultimates such as yourselves would be able to figure out the rest of the map."

"Dude, we none of us are the Ultimate Mansion Map Imaginer over here," Kazuichi said, rolling his eyes.

Nagito looked at me.

"Definitely not," I said, "The map is extremely weird."

"I wonder which dumbass thought it would be a great idea to burn this map off," Fuyuhiko grumbled, "This better not be a prank Kazuichi."

"Why don't the lot of you believe me," Kazuichi spoke, "I saw this place at the same time as you all did. I originally got the ticket from my uncle who asked me to visit this place with three other people."

"Highly suspicious uncle, I see," Fuyuhiko said, "Well it would be the best to explore what areas we can explore and keep our stuff in the bedrooms."

"There are two bedrooms," I said squinting at the map, "Or that's what I can get from this map anyways."

"Well then we have to share it!" Kazuichi said, most cheerfully.

".....what," the rest of us chorused.

None of us had ever heard such a suggestion before.

".....share one bedroom between us, isn't that the most obvious conclusion?" Kazuichi tried again.

"I am too worthless to—," Nagito started up.

"We aren't that chummy—," Fuyuhiko spoke up.

"...sounds rather embarassing," I said.

Faced with our combined refusal, Kazuichi took a step back in exasperation.

"Then do you all geniuses have a better idea????"

"Yes," Fuyuhiko spoke before any of us could, "Explore the mansion and find atleast two more bedrooms."

".......you guys are so dedicated to being tsundere that it's honestly really sad," Kazuichi said, checking the keys again.

"Hey, what was that for—," I started.

"How fucking dare you," Fuyuhiko growled.

".....Uh, since none of us want to share rooms, I suppose we should split up and search? After all, it would be troublesome if we got lost," Nagito said, trying to quell us. It worked, apparently since Kazuichi nodded appreciatively.

"Nagito and Hajime can go together," he said, giving half the keys to me, "And Fuyuhiko can come with me."

Suffice to say, neither Fuyuhiko nor I were too happy about our respective partners, however we chose not to argue.

Kazuichi pushed open the door to the entrance hall which had electric lights on for some reason.

"Let's go."

~~~~~~

"It would be rather interesting if your hidden Talent could come into play here," Nagito said while we searched the kitchen. It was, shockingly enough, filled with modern amenities, which caused me to wonder what the hell was up with the first corridor. It was probably for show, though. And Nagito was still hung over my Talent since we started walking together, making me wish I had brought a duct tape to seal his mouth with.

"I don't see why you are so obsessed with my Talent," I said, searching the microwave. It had a single roasted chicken. It looked rather appetizing.

"What, don't you want to know what Talent got you into Hope's Peak? Maybe your hidden Talent is Ultimate Amnesia for all we know...."

"That's a mental disorder, not something to excel at," I grumbled, taking the chicken out.

"Hm...?" Nagito appeared to have caught smell of the roasted chicken and came over, ".......how odd."

"Well—," my sentence remained incomplete as a light came out of the open microwave and sucked Nagito to God knows where like something out of a sci fi movie.

The chicken dropped from my hand in shock.

"NAGITO?????"

~~~~~~

Fuyuhiko Kuzuryu with anyone who wasn't Peko Pekoyama happened to make a rather caustic pair.

Especially right now, when he was searching a bedroom that resembled that of a hospital with Kazuichi Souda. Kazuichi had been needling him on tips to get a girl (Sonia Nevermind, the Ultimate Princess) to like him, because apparently he was supposed to be an expert on that somehow since he had Peko. He tried to explain that they had just been raised from birth and that they were best friends for that reason. Kazuichi looked downtrodden at that, prompting him to ask whether he had brought him along just to question that.

"Well," he said rather shamelessly, "I can't ask Hajime or Nagito for that, can I?"

Fuyuhiko felt the beginnings of a severe migraine in his head.

He would have to use all his patience in the following week to not murder this guy on spot.

"GUYS—," a rather shrill voice rang out, causing the both of them to jump and bump their heads against one another.

Hajime had come and he was looking extremely frightened and entirely out of his element. Hajime was someone who was extremely likely to faint at shocking events and tended to react strongly to abnormal things, so it was not a shock to see him freaked out. However, what was a shock was the absence of the cotton candy haired guy running after him in attempts of placating him.

Which led Fuyuhiko to assume that the reason was definitely Nagito.

"What happened?" he asked.

"Nagito got sucked inside a microwave and disappeared," Hajime said, panting.

".....pardon the fuck?"

".....This must be the scientific mystery they talked about in the brochure," Kazuichi said, eyes wide in excitement and slight fear, "Nagito's luck caused him to find it."

~~

It was a bland tasteless white room, whiter than even his own hair. Equipment was scattered around on the metal tables. Cupboards overflowed with bundles of paper and files. There was a projector at the far corner of the room.

Nagito Komaeda groggily rubbed at his face with his hands.

Ultimate Luck was truly something.

He turned his throbbing head around to check behind him. There was a gramaphone's trumpet there, sitting innocently. However, he was perfectly aware of exactly how innocent it was.

He looked at the room again. It was huge and there were no doors nor windows. It was, to say, an entirely sealed room apart from the gramaphone record that he assumed served as the pathway from the kitchen's microwave to this room.

He closed his eyes and exhaled.

[1/2]

Kazuichi is hopeless beyond sjjsjwjwjw

[incorrect-ikevamp-quotes]

hiya !! i love you lots and lots !!💖 all your writing is absolute gold 🥺💕💕💕 your answers are so detailed and sweet, makes my heart go doki doki — if you’re still taking requests & it’s not too much trouble could i ask for C U Y for mozart perhaps ? many a thank 💖💕💖💕💖💕

Hello!! Omg of course you can sweetheart, thank you for such sweet praise! I do my best, I hope you enjoy these answers for our dearest Mozart~ 💖💖💖 Ily3!! it’s always a pleasure to see you!!! :D 💕💕💕

I placed a cut before the last one because it was long, but all you need to do is click to see the rest! All wholesome, no content warnings ;)

(These are so long you can hear the Mozart stan in me OTL the limit of my Wolfie love does not exist)

Fluffy ABC Headcanons listed here for requests!

C = Cuddling (how does he like to cuddle?)

(Awwwww shit, I’m softe ;-;)

Mozart tends to be a very private man about his love, so I don’t see him cuddling too much in any kind of public space. The only exception to this rule, however, is that blasted carriage! Though he’s a little mortified he needs comforting, he will melt into MC’s arms when they have a particularly bumpy/bad carriage ride. Usually he’ll try to content himself with holding her hand, or just chatting with her--leaning his head close to her shoulder. But she seems to sense how overwhelmed he is this time; how his hands are locked together to conceal their shaking, his jaw visibly tightening. She’ll draw him into her, settling his head against her shoulder/chest--right where he can hear her heartbeat. He’ll freeze at first before he sinks into her embrace, arms wrapping around her waist. His ears are burning with color, his fair skin easily revealing a blush, but she knows now isn’t the time to tease him about it. His breathing will calm bit by bit, and he’ll settle quickly as his grip around her tightens a little. He’s pouting but it’s clear just how much he needed this, murmuring “Danke, Meine Liebe.” She just drops a kiss to the side of his head, signalling there’s no need for any shyness or thanks, she’s happy to do it after all c;

Another way I see them cuddling is at night in their bed no sexy times, get your head out of the gutter kids. Usually he’ll be doing revisions and composing well into the night, mulling over possible adjustments and melodies single-mindedly. He’ll be sitting up against the headboard, sheet music in his lap as he reviews each page. He loves it when she just climbs into bed and settles against him; whether that means fully climbing into his arms and resting against his chest, or just laying her head against his stomach/lap. He’ll smile fondly and stroke her hair, letting the smooth texture calm him into clarity as she dozes off. These are the moments when inspiration finds him most powerfully, the lovely sight of his muse working wonders.

U = Upset (how does he act when she’s upset?)

Oh my god send help, send help he needs some milk!!! 

All jokes aside, I truly think Mozart is at a loss at the sight of her upset ;-;. If he’s not the source of the distress, he immediately goes into comfort and resolution mode. He will try to calm her with all the sensitivity she deserves, offering a hanky and holding her close if she’s crying. He hates to see her cry, but he also understands that in this moment she needs to let it all out, to just feel it through before they can do the work of fixing things. He'll murmur sweet nothings--not that he wants her to stop crying--but that he’s here for her, that it’s all going to be okay and that’s a promise. When she’s ready to talk or feeling up to sharing he will listen intently, silent as a grave, until she’s communicated her feelings. 

When she feels heard and comforted, only then will he ask her to wait a moment. He’ll return with freshly made hot cocoa--only the best for Meine Liebe--and hopes the warmth will be able to help soothe her further, focusing her senses elsewhere. If she wants it, he will play music for as long as it takes to relieve any stress/crying headaches. When she manages to fall asleep from the exhaustion, he’ll tuck her into bed and hold her close. He will turn off the lights, but by no means is he going to sleep. He will spend another few hours seething with rage at whoever/whatever it was that hurt her so that she doesn’t have to see him like that (he doesn’t want to distress her further). Or, if it’s something more abstract, he will spend that time trying to puzzle out a solution.

If she’s only mildly upset, he’ll call Schelm to the balcony and hope the fluffy friend will be able to take her mind off of things. He’ll hug her close and rock her gently, pressing a kiss to the top of her head, waiting until she just relaxes against him. As mentioned before, he’ll make hot cocoa, play music, ask her about the flowers she’s tending; just about anything he knows will make her perk up in an instant. He’s pretty simple and straightforward, but it’s because he pays attention to what works and he’s sincere--he’s very consistent in his affection. From afar it’s obvious he’s concerned because he will smile very gently at her, and whenever she turns around his face drops to his neutral/thoughtful expression; you can hear the cogs in his brain moving. It would be funny if the poor guy wasn’t so worried HAHA

Now then, here comes the real doozy. While it happens less and less the deeper they get into their relationship (their understanding of how the other works solidifies into trust), now and again Mozart pulls a stupid. He will know immediately when he’s fucked up because her expression tightens and shuts down, concealing every feeling from him. (She's hyperaware that she can sometimes be more irrational than him, so she locks down her thoughts and emotions.) 

She’ll walk away because she doesn’t want to explode and needs a moment to just calm down, reassess. He knows she needs time--and so does he to figure out a proper way to apologize--but fuck if those few days don’t make him wither in self-loathing. He hates it when he says things he doesn’t mean, things that were remnants of a bygone era because they were sentiments that deserved to die. He hates that when he gets stressed out he is prone to verbally lashing out; and he needs to learn how to work at a reasonable pace instead of doing too much and hating every second of his life. He needs to find balance, both for his own sake and because he can’t stand that look. The look that says “not you, too. Please, don’t.” You want the quickest way to gut Mozart? There you have it. Part of it was that she had given him that same look when he first yelled at/intimidated her in that first week at the mansion, and it’s still something he deeply regrets doing. He shouldn’t have frightened her when she was already scared out of her wits and threatened by Arthur.  The mere prospect of stooping to that level makes him nauseous and angry he would ever act with such indiscretion; he expects better of himself and he intends to be better than that. He may be a vampire now, but that doesn’t give him grounds to be a monster.

He doesn’t know squat about how to love someone, and maybe he doesn’t even deserve to be with her--but he’ll be damned if he hurts her without trying to amend what he’s done. When she’s calmed down she’ll return to him and try to apologize for the distance, but he won’t let her. He’ll tell her if anyone needs to apologize it’s him, and that he really does feel horrible about what he said. He’s going to promise to be more careful about his workload from now on, since that tends to be what makes him snap. But more importantly, he’s going to try to amend the behavior regardless of that. Anything that hurts her isn’t worth doing; he firmly believes that.

MC doesn’t worry too much after the few times it happens because he crushes the behavior in its tracks very, very quickly in the aftermath.

Y = Yes (how would he propose to her?)

Honestly? Mozart is the type to be a classic romantic when it comes to proposing to his beloved. While one can argue he really only takes music seriously, the same can be said for the person he has chosen to hold dear to his heart. He will spare no expense--no extravagance--in the process of wooing her. He believes that he needs to offer a proposal worthy of her and nothing less if he should seek to secure her hand in marriage. 

He pulls out all the stops. He plans it all out to the minute. Buys her the perfect dress, rouge and assorted accessories, and tells her to prepare to enjoy herself all night--no other plans. She agrees easily, though she’s a little flustered by how much he’s spoiling her. When the time comes for them to head out he enters her room with an enormous bouquet of roses, and she’s just speechless as she seeks to soak them in a vase before they go. Dressed to the nines, he escorts her to a lovely restaurant where they dine together. She’s sparkling in her attire, nothing short of dazzling; it’s not just the champagne that’s bringing a light blush to his face. He spends most of that night psyching himself up, working to seem normal, and losing himself in her beauty. Not that he doubted his course of action before this moment--it just strikes him even more deeply how precious she is to him. He would never be here, smiling and laughing and enjoying himself, if it wasn’t for her.

And more than anything, he doesn’t want to give her up to anyone else. He wants to be the one to spoil her like this, wants to be the person she goes to first when she needs something. He wants to be the only one to know her most intimate thoughts and desires. He wants to be the one to make her smile like this, to make delight shimmer in those eyes--to be on the receiving end of such excited chatter. Every part of her is so very dear to him; the mere thought of giving her up makes him feel like he’s been hollowed out.

After dinner, he takes her to a concert hall he had rented out for the occasion. He plays a moving collection of pieces that she inspired (only the best) since coming to the mansion, since she filled his life with so much color. She’s already in tears at this point, and his heart aches at the sight of her eyes glistening--as moved as he is by music, one of their greatest commonalities.

He dries her tears gently with a hanky when it’s over, rising from the bench and coaxing her up with him. When she gazes at him in question, he drops to one knee and reveals the ring that has been heavy in his coat pocket all night. He considered a more extensive appeal, but something about rehearsing a proposal felt wrong, felt too wooden. Instead, he went with the words that were resounding from deep within his heart, the feeling that had brought him to this moment.

“Meine Liebe, you are the only reason my music can continue to thrive. But more importantly,” he presses a light kiss to her hand, squeezing it gently, “You are the only reason I can thrive as surely as my music does. I spent so long lost to myself; I had forgotten why I loved what I did in the first place.” His eyes are lowered, remnants of a surpassed shame lingering in his features. “If not for you, I suspect I’d still be ripping up half-filled scores, half-mad with frustration.” 

“Wolf…” her voice is soft, but full of sympathy. It was that tender heart that saved him, that made him really able to live again.

“The prospect of life without you...I can’t imagine it anymore. I want to be the one to make you smile for the rest of your life, to ensure that these tears can only ever be happy ones. Will you make me the happiest man alive in return? Will you marry me?”

Needless to say MC goes straight back to crying after managing a breathless yes, and Mozart sags with relief before pulling her tight into his arms. He slips the ring onto her finger with no shortage of pride, as perfect on her hand as he’d imagined it would be. 

Following his proposal, Mozart is even more smitten than ever. Whenever he wakes up before she does, he’ll gently take her left hand and marvel at the sight of the ring throwing rainbows in the morning light, sighing blissfully. When MC stops by to bring him Rouge/Blanc or coffee and a snack during the day, he has to bite the inside of his cheek to keep from smiling at the sight of it. “It’s nothing, MC!!! Composing is just...going well today...” Somebody help him his uwus are spilling everywhere

Mozart be like: look at me. serotonin is stored within the MC.

[lykaokrios]

Perfectly Fine - M!De Sardet x Vasco

Fandom: Greedfall

Paring: Captain Vasco x M!De Sardet

Word Count: 1,658

Description:  Vasco is battling with feelings he most certainly doesn't have for De Sardet, until it all comes spilling out.

Warnings: Mild swearing

My AO3

Vasco wasn’t a man prone to rash emotion. Usually able to keep his head steady in most situations; else he’d make a poor captain. Annoyed? Yes. Miffed? Of course.  But angry? Very rarely.

But anger had seemed to slither into his veins the longer he was on land. It was the land’s doing of course. Being too far from sea. It had nothing to do with the handsome noble he found himself following.

It was never anger AT De Sardet. But anger at situations and people around him. The more he… became friendly with the man the more things that seemed to tick him off.

And it most certainly didn’t have anything to do with the way said man made his heart quicken. With the way he looked at him. With the feelings he refused to acknowledge as anything more than mere attraction. A battle he was sorely losing.

The idea of being in love with a noble seemed crazy. Being in love with the nephew of a Prince however, seemed absolutely insane. Even if he was willing to accept his own feelings, which he wasn’t, there was no way De Sardet would reciprocate. And even if he did, which he wouldn’t, it wasn’t like he was in any position to be with him. He was the Legate of the Congregation, nephew of the prince, cousin of the governor, and he was in line for the fucking throne. As if he could be with a Naut even if he wished to be.

But no. Those thoughts certainly never bothered him. They rarely crossed his mind. And never had he taken that anger out on the next battle they fell into or looked to the bottom of a bottle of whiskey for the answer to this problem.

If he just wasn’t so… caring. If he just didn’t look at him so.. fondly. Vasco concludes that must be it. While the Nauts are a close family, you were set to your own devices to figure things out fairly early. They said that’s how you grow, how you show who you’re going to be. There was no motherly or fatherly roles, just mentors. They cared in their own ways. But never anything outright.

But De Sardet. He often wore his heart on his sleeve. A trait Vasco first saw as a weakness. Caring for too many people. Trying to help too many people, all out of sense of doing the right thing. But over time he found himself enamored with the ideals of the man. The way he tried to maintain peace with everyone. How he wanted to think the best of all parties. The way he took everyone’s voice into account.

The way he easily built friendships as their little crew expanded. How he’d drop everything to help one of them. The day Vasco had asked for his help, he immediately started planning, and had the file to him within 24 hours. It was an odd feeling, having someone in his life that would risk their life and reputation just to make him feel more whole.

The Nauts had long told them that who they were before didn’t matter. To just forget it. But it mattered to Vasco. And because it mattered to him, De Sardet decided it mattered to him as well.

The day Vasco went down in battle, De Sardet was to him in moments, standing over him warding off the attackers with a fierceness he’d never seen. After a pile of corpses lay before them, he swiftly turned to Vasco to check on him. Calloused hands moving impossibly soft across his face, blue-green eyes full of worry staring into his soul.

De Sardet had the eyes of the ocean. Their color reminded Vasco of the waters surrounding the Naut island. The water he grew up splashing in with the other children, swimming in and training in as he grew, and the water he returned to happily each time he made it back. A beautiful blue-green. The storm that seemed to wage in them when he was angry, the calmness in them when he was happy. The captain felt like he could happily get lost in them every time they were trained on his own golden eyes.

Not that his other features were easy to ignore. It would take a blind man to not notice how handsome the legate was. A rugged rough masculine build. Strong jaw, strong frame, a dusting of facial hair. A smile that made him weak in the knees each time it was directed at him. Unfortunately, Vasco wasn’t the only one that noticed.

He knew there would be nothing between himself and the legate, as he continued to remind himself. Others enjoying his features, flirting with him, or attempting to seduce him wasn’t to be of Vasco’s concern. The man could do as he liked.

Not that those people didn’t infuriate the captain to no end. He often just scoffed at their attempts, or focused on maintaining as neutral of an expression as he could manage. A task he didn’t seem to be that good at, if Kurt’s reactions were anything to go by.

“You looked as if you were ready to kill that man,” Kurt states simply as the two of them follow behind the legate as they leave the half Brothel half gambling ring basement of San Matheus.

“No clue what you are on about,” Vasco responds sternly, fighting down the anger still flowing through his veins.

“Either you have a history with that prostitute and you don’t like him, or you don’t like how he talked to De Sardet I’d wager by that reaction,” Kurt pushes.

“I’m perfectly fine,” Vasco still insists, clenching his hands as they walk, his eyes trained on the design on the back of De Sardet’s cape.

“Man was just doin’ his job. Green-blood seemed interested anyway,” Kurt teases.

“He did not!” Vasco hisses, whipping around to face Kurt. His fists clenched and his chest heaving. “The man should be able to see he is an important diplomat doing a job, and fucking watched his mouth. He didn’t immediately need to try to climb him like the fucking mast.”

“Vasco?” De Sardet stops walking to turn back to his companions, his expression confused. “Is everything alright with you two?”

“Perfectly fine,” Vasco responds back through gritted teeth.

Looking unconvinced, the legate’s gaze turns to his old weapons-master, “Kurt?”

Kurt lets out a laugh before reaching out to grab the Naut on the shoulder, a move Vasco refutes, shaking his hand off of him. “I’m just havin’ a bit of fun with him, and he took it seriously.”

Crossing the distance between them, De Sardet approaches Vasco, noticing the obvious tension in his body.

“Kurt, please give us a moment to speak,” he says, placing a hand to Vasco’s chest as he backs the man into an a nearby empty alleyway. “What happened?”

In that moment, the dirt road suddenly got far more interesting for the Naut captain. His eyes trained to one specific boot print in the dirt as he tries to mumble a lame response.

“Vasco.”

“He was just… teasing me a bit, nothing more nothing less,” he insists.

“What did he say that got you that riled up? I’ve never seen you this agitated. Then again… you were agitated before this. What is going on?”

Vasco remains silent, just kicking his own boot in the dirt. His body still tensed, but now he’s not sure if it’s previous anger or how close he now found himself to the other man.

After a few moments of silence, De Sardet grabs ahold of both sides of Vasco’s uniform and shoves him back into the brick wall behind, causing the Naut to immediately look up into his eyes in shock. “Vasco.”

Before he can formulate an answer, he finds himself crashing his lips to the legate’s. De Sardet jumps at the the initial contact, but quickly deepens the kiss between them. Vasco’s arms wrap around him, his hands gripping his cape as a growl escapes his throat.

De Sardet knocks his hat off as his hands go to the Naut’s hair, quickly freeing it from its tie. His hands sink in his long brunette hair as they pull each other impossibly closer.

And seemingly as quick as it began, they’re pulling back gasping for a breath. A chuckle from De Sardet as Vasco’s eyes desperately search his.

“I’ve been wanting to do that for months,” the legate admits softly. “But was that just to distract me from my questions or…?”

“Or,” Vasco responds immediately, cursing himself at the dumb response as he earns another chuckle. He can feel his cheeks flushed, and his mind feels scrambled.

“What were you angry about?”

At this point, Vasco decides it’s time to just answer truthfully. If there was any chance… “He was teasing me about my anger from the interrogation.”

“He was teasing you for being angry in the brothel? You seemed angry, but I assumed you just didn’t like how unhelpful he was being.”

“I was… aggravated… at his advances,” he admits. “At you.”

“You were upset that the worker tried to seduce me?”

“Aye.”

Another chuckle. And with that Vasco can feel his cheeks heating ever further, “Sea and love both share a bitter bite… the sea seizes. Love seizes. Love scalds us, and the seas scalds us. For neither are free from tempest might.”

De Sardet looks back at him curiously, the sea in his eyes calm as he finds himself staring into them.

“A poem?”

“Yes… uh.. a poem I read and which I was trying to remember. It makes me think of you… of us,” he admits. “I- would you… want to spend some time alone together?”

A gentle smile spreads across De Sardet’s face, his hand moving to Vasco’s cheek as he strokes it gently, “I thought you’d never ask.”

[cagestark]

Introduction to Ink//2

Part One | Part Two | Part Three | Chapter Four

About this: nff, fem!Tony. College AU. Discussion of past kidnapping. 

-

There’s the eight of them: himself, Nat, Steve, Clint, Thor, Wanda, Bruce, and Toni. Natasha has an incredible firepit, all expensive paving stones and matching brick inlaid into the foundation of the patio. Bucky drags his chair back an extra few feet until he can barely feel the warmth of the flames; he doesn’t care for fire.

Toni is seated across from him, her figure sometimes lost to the flames and shimmering smoke when someone stokes the fire or adds a new log. It’s a mercy and a crime to lose sight of her, her tanned skin glowing orange, the flickering flame enhancing the shadow of her cheekbones and jaw and the modest arch of her breasts. They’d barely be palmfuls to him, easy for him to cup and flick his thumbs over her nipples.

Fucking hell, he thinks, shifting in his seat. Thinking that kind of pornographic bullshit about a girl he’s barely spoken to is perverse at best. To distract himself from the sight of her and the growing tingle in his groin, he reaches for the pack of cigarettes beside his chair and lights one up.

Around the fire, conversation never ceases. Thor, evidence provided by his deep tan, has been on the west coast and brought home with him a collection of stories with each wilder than the last. The group gets a kick out of teasing Toni for her horrified reactions, the collective good-natured laughter of the group drawing his eyes back to her, reluctantly. She flushes each time, gritting her teeth and rolling her eyes.

“Come on, T, your turn to tell a story,” Nat goads, trying to draw the reclusive girl into the conversation. All eyes turn to her. Bucky catches her heavy gaze on him before she looks down at her lap where her hands are clenched tightly together. “You’ve told me some. Tell them about your Uncle Obie—”

“I’d rather not,” Toni mutters dryly.

“Oh, please? Please, please, please?” Natasha slips from her perch on Steve’s lap to kneel dramatically at Toni’s feet, her hands clasped together in beseechment. God, she’s so much fucking looser when she’s drunk. Less Macbethian rigidity and more Midsummer Night’s Dream-esque silliness. Murmurs rise up around the fire as the others chime in, hoping the chip away at the girl’s reserved exterior.

“Isn’t the point of a party to distract yourself from the mundane and unsavory aspects of your life?” Toni wonders, reaching out to pat at Natasha’s hair, red as the flames. (Clint boos, but at least this time Toni’s lips quirk upwards in a smirk. She’s learning to take pleasure in Clint’s disappointment. She’ll fit into their friend group fine, thinks Bucky fondly).

Nat leans up, pressed flush against Toni’s side. She cups a hand around Toni’s ear as if to give them privacy, only she’s cupping it the wrong way, directing the sound of her stage whisper towards the rest of the group when she says: “Isn’t Bucky distracting you enough?”

Bucky drops his cigarette, flinching to wipe it away from where it lands on his jeans before it can burn a hole through them. The circle grows quiet, the sound of the fire as it crackles nearly deafening in the awkward silence. Toni’s gaze flicker to Bucky—an instinct thanks to Natasha saying his name—and those dark eyes grow wide like moons, her entire face flushing with a cocktail of embarrassment and anger. Nat gapes, suddenly aware of her faux pass, but she has no time to remedy it before Toni is standing.

“I’m going to go—get a drink,” she mutters, turning away and disappearing inside the house.

“Damn it,” Nat sighs. Steve reaches out to coax her back into his lap.

“Great one,” Bucky snaps. He reaches down to pick up his cigarette from the patio, tucking it back into his mouth. No use wasting it. “Really. Can we all give Natasha a round of applause, please?”

“Lay off, Buck,” Steve says with a frown. Even in the safe circlet of his arms, Natasha’s frown is heavy.

“I’m sorry, it just came out,” she says. “She’s been staring at you all day.”

“Toni and Bucky?” Sam says, eyebrows high. “I wouldn’t have seen that coming.”

“Not like that you dumbass. She can’t stop looking because she thinks I’m a circus freak,” says Bucky. “And you embarrassed the both of us. Anybody else says another word about it and I’m out of here.”

“Hey,” Clint says fondly, leaning out to lay one of his broad palms on Bucky’s shoulder. With exaggerated coolheadedness, he suggests: “Chill the fuck out.”

While the two of them begin to trade biting comments much to the amused delight of the rest of the circle, Steve presses a comforting kiss to Natasha’s temple and murmurs in her ear, “How much have you had to drink tonight?”

Natasha turns her head into the side of his neck to hide from the rest of their friends, lets her quirking lips brush against Steve’s skin as she murmurs, “ Nothing .”

The patio door opens. Toni appears, cheeks still a little red, with a beer in her hand. Brave little thing, Bucky thinks to himself watching as she returns to her seat and smoothly uses the metal arm of the patio chair to pop the cap off like some kind of expert. She takes a long sip, resolutely looking into the fire as if she can sense everyone’s eyes on her.

“So,” she says at last. “My Uncle had me kidnapped.”

A long moment of silence.

Then, from Clint: “What the fuck . While you were in the kitchen?”

-

The group’s drunkenness makes them the perfect audience. There are gasps and exclamations and No fucking way’s! as Toni relays a story that’s dramatic and horrifying and apparently entirely true: how a group of hired men had killed one of Toni’s bodyguards and carried the girl off; how her own father hadn’t been willing to pay the ransom; how she had escaped thanks to her own inventiveness only to be picked up by her Uncle Obie, who instead of driving them home, had driven deeper into nowhere. She’d put the puzzle pieces together and thrown herself from the moving car and spent 8 hours walking through the woods before she’d found civilization and returned home. Apparently Uncle Obie is serving a life sentence in Attica.

“That’s trauma. That’s like, first-class trauma. That’s not carry-on, either. You need to have that trauma luggage checked,” Clint rambles, though everybody is making noises of agreement. “Wait, I’m not the authority on childhood trauma. Wanda?”

“Trauma,” she decides concisely. Her face hasn’t yet returned to its normal color, not since Howard refused to pay the ten-million-dollar ransom.

“Hey,” Toni says, grinning. The bottle she’d brought out from the kitchen is empty now, and since it’s completion, she’s been noticeably looser. Light weight, Bucky thinks, the corners of his lips quirking up around his latest cigarette. “I warned you! Honestly, though, it wasn’t that bad. Not my worst kidnapping by far.”

“Please, no more,” says Wanda.

“No more,” Toni agrees. The two girls’ chairs are close enough that Toni can lean and rest her head on Wanda’s shoulder, the most outgoing and affectionate she’s been all night. Bucky isn’t going to be fucking jealous of Wanda’s bony shoulder.

“Should we break out some glow sticks and play more pong?” Natasha suggests. “I’m losing my buzz.”

Steve makes a face from behind her, probably not eager to see his girlfriend slip back into the verbacious phase of drunkenness, but everyone else promptly agrees, standing to vacate their chairs.

“Dibs on Bucky as my partner!” Clint shouts.

“I’m sitting out,” Bucky says. Everyone boos. “I’ll play the winner, okay?” Everyone cheers.

Natasha’s property is huge, so Bucky lets himself skirt along the edge of the woods, staying within the glow of the fairy lights but walking far enough away that he loses sight of his friends and can only hear their shouts and laughter carried on the wind. It’s become cool enough that he shrugs his jacket back on, his black on black ensemble probably helping him blend into the darkness whenever he steps into the treeline.

Ever since Becca died and Bucky moved upstate to be with his ma, Bucky has been prone to episodes of melancholy. He used to be a party animal when he’d first met Steve and Nat; they’d become thick as thieves partying together and watching out for each other. Now he can’t make it through a party without feeling the urge to wander off and away, to detach himself physically the way he so often feels emotionally. Finding a sturdy tree, he lets himself rest against it, head pressed against the rough bark, eyes closed (though he can see the glow of the lights through his eyelids).

“Oh shit—” There comes the violent cracking of sticks and the sound of a body tumbling. Heart pounding from the sudden shout, it only takes a few steps for him to find Toni on the ground, her skirt in a pool around her slim body, dark hair wreathed in gold from the lights above them. She looks up at him, flushed. “I hate nature. Really. And I’m pretty sure that the feeling is mutual.”

“Are you okay?” Bucky rasps, reaching one of his hands down even though his heart is in his throat. She hesitates at the sight of it before reaching out and tucking her smaller hand into his own and letting him gently pull her up from the ground. “You didn’t twist somethin’ did you?”

“Just my pride. Wait, you said twisted not destroyed.”

“Happens to the best of us. And to Clint, too.”

“Clint more often than others?” she asks. This close, the size difference between them is enough to go to his head and to his gut: she must barely be past five feet tall, slim and willowy and nothing like the girls he usually dates. Then again, he’s probably the last kind of guy she’d ever date. Still, she’s fucking pretty: those dark, big eyes with pinpoints of light in the pupils since she’s got her head tilted up to look at him, her mouth full and wide, chin pointed.

Bucky clears his throat, already having forgotten her question. “What are you doin’ out here?”

Toni sets her jaw. “I came to find you.”

“Oh?”

“Yes, I—wanted to apologize.”

Bucky blinks. “What for?”

She waves a hand back towards the distant sound of their friends. “For today. I didn’t treat you very, very, god, what’s the word. Does being drunk always feel like this, feel like my brain is scrambled eggs? Anyway, I came off like a real bitch.”

“Nah,” says Bucky, even if it’s a little true. He raises his chin, puts the honeycomb on his neck on display just to watch her eyes be drawn to it, her mouth parting a little. “I’m used to it, kid. Lookin’ the way I do. I understand.”

“That’s not right, though,” Toni is quick to supply. She still has her eyes on his throat. “It’s your body. Obviously. Also I'm not a kid, I'm twenty-two with a doctorate in engineering. I just, I’ve only ever seen one tattoo before. Excluding TV. It was like, this big? Maybe a little smaller. Of a peony, I think, maybe paeonia lactiflora , something in the paeonia family, anyway. I’ve just never seen anyone who looked like you before.”

Bucky doesn’t wince, but it’s a close call. “I get it.”

“You look so—” Bucky prepares himself for some kind of noun or adjective that he’ll have to swallow down like the most bitter medicine, grit his teeth and accept. Based on her expression, she’s still struggling to find the words she wants, her expression open and almost-awed in a way that makes him feel like he’s standing on the ridge of a tree root liable to fall over any moment. “You look like art.”

Whatever Bucky was expecting—it wasn’t that. She means it, too. He can tell. The shell she’s fortified around herself all night has cracked, and inside he can see the embryonic hints of a girl very young (though not nearly as young as he had thought, thank god), whose life until recently has been forcefully closed off and punctuated with moments of real terror. She isn’t horrified. She’s awed. She’s intrigued. She’s curious.

On a whim, Bucky shrugs off his jacket. It’s intoxicating to see her expression change: the eyes widen, the mouth parts, all at the sight of him alone. It’s a heady power that he isn’t used to feeling. But does the power belong to him, or is it simply washing over him? Maybe this slip of a girl is really the one with the power, power that he feels helpless to bend to.

Holding out a hand, he feels something like a princess offering his knuckles for her to kiss. She reaches out on instinct, stopping just shy of his skin to look up in question. The area beneath her slim fingers buzzes like the air before a lightning strike. He nods, willing to be struck.

Fingers with calloused tips brush from his first knuckle down over the letter (H, HATE across his left proximal digits and LOVE across the right ones). He holds his breath, begging his hand not to tremble at her touch as she trails her burning fingers up over the hill of his knuckle and down into the valley where the skin is thin and sensitive.

“I can’t even feel it,” Toni mutters. “Which, I mean, I knew. The ink penetrates all the way down to the dermis to avoid the keratinization process, but it’s just—I thought I would feel it.”

More breathless than he’d like to be: “Not sure what all that means. Sometimes you can feel them, though. When they don’t heal right.”

She looks up at him with wide, glittering eyes. “Is that so?”

Bucky nods. She hums, turning her eyes back to his hand where she runs her fingers over the ivy along the back, mussing the soft thin hairs that grow there. His throat clicks when he swallows, but he doesn’t think she can hear it, not over the screech of the evening insects and not through the trance she seems to be in, turning his hand this way and that way, coaxing it into supination so she can follow the trail of leaves.

She drags the tip of her fingernail gently down the center of his palm and he can’t help but shudder. There’s a dangerous heat blooming in his gut and several inches lower the tell tale feeling of blood rushing south. Thank God his jeans are tight enough to pin his cock close to his body.

“Why nothing here?” she asks, tapping the center of his palm just over his head line.

“They don’t take as well.”

“Thicker skin,” says Toni. “Epithelium on the palms and soles can be three times thicker than your average layer epithelial tissue. That must make it difficult to get to the dermis.”

“You learn that at school?”

“No; I’m at NYU for physics. But I read a lot.” She moves on from his palm, tracing the ivy down his forearm. The skin is so sensitive that he can’t hide the goosebumps that bloom or the way his body shivers. She doesn’t remark on it, but her eyes do flicker up to gauge his expression. Fuck, she must see right through him. He’s got no idea what he looks like, but if it’s anything like how he feels (and his ma always did say that he was an open book), then she knows everything in a single glance. How infatuated he is. How attracted he is.

She shivers. He reaches down to pick up his jacket and offers it to her, the both of them laughing when she slips it on and has to push the sleeves up. It shouldn’t feel so good to see her in his clothes, but it does. Jesus, it does.

With firmness, she guides his arm outward away from his side so that she can see the entire upper portion of the sleeve, the portrait of Strazza’s the Veiled Virgin. The way she moves him, twists him this way and that way has his cock aching. I’d take orders from her all day long , he thinks to himself, wishing he could reach down and adjust himself without drawing attention to his aching hard on. All night, too.

On his right arm, she repeats many of the same gestures, tracing the hills and valleys of his knuckles, examining his pale, unmarked palms, tracing the veins up his forearms, pausing to scratch gently at one of the dotted geometric shapes on his bicep. It’s torture to stand there and feel her touch on him, her eager, intoxicated eyes eating up his skin. You look like art, she had said. Under her hands, he feels like it.

When she runs into the sleeve of his t-shirt, she coaxes it back, trying to follow the trail of a chain. She makes a soft, unhappy sound when she can’t expose any more skin. It makes him swallow on reflex, bicep tightening under her hand as a thought comes to him. He opens his mouth to offer but shuts it again quickly.

“What?” she asks, looking up at the motion in the corner of her eye.

“Nothing.”

“Wh-at?”

“I was just—I’ll take it off for you. If you want to keep looking.”

Her eyes get heavy-lidded, roaming over his face as she searches for something. Somehow, she looks even drunker than she did moments ago when he first found her sprawled out on the ground. Not that he blames her; he hasn’t had a drink since the bonfire began, but he still feels drunk enough without it. Then he realizes why: she isn't drunk, she's turned on. The way she's shifting and can't stand still, thighs pressing together tight. This is turning her on, and that thought is nearly enough to bring him to his knees.

“Okay,” she says. She pokes his shoulder, her aim affected. “I want to see where this one ends.”

Bucky steps back to give himself the room needed to take off his shirt, though Toni seems to sway towards him. Like he’s got a gravitational pull, like she’s fallen too deep into his atmosphere to pull away now. With a shaking breath, he reaches for the neck of the shirt and tugs it off over his head, losing sight of her for just a moment.

She takes him in. His chest isn’t as saturated as his arms are. The honeycomb runs down to his collar bones before the lines begin to break down, reassemble into sheet music. Strict black and white linework that uses his own pale skin as the paper of the page. The chain that led up over his shoulder curves around his back to knot itself around the middle of his backpiece. From the base of his sternum down to the V of his hips, he is bare. Planning something big, he thinks, though he only has half-formed ideas.

Through each of his pale pink nipples are barbells.

“Good God,” Toni mutters under her breath. She places a burning palm on one of his bare shoulders so that she can lean in and remark, “Why would you do that? Didn’t that hurt?”

She’s so close that he can feel her breath fan across his chest. God, to reach out and tangle his fingers in her dark hair and draw her mouth those last six inches, to feel the soft rasp of her tongue over his sensitive nipples. He nearly groans at the thought. His nipples tighten under the attention of her gaze, aching in the best way.

“It all hurt,” Bucky rasps. The bite of the piercing needles, the sting of the tattoo gun—all of it had given him a sense of euphoria. A sense of pride in his body the likes of which he hadn’t had when he was young and insecure. “I guess I liked it anyway.”

She draws her fingers over the lines of his clavicles before turning her hand over so that the soft backs of her fingers trail down one defined pec. Maybe she tries to avoid it, her spatial reasoning fucked thanks to the beers she's had, but her pinky drags over his nipple. He does groan this time, the brief spike of pleasure going straight to his aching cock. One of his own hands drops, almost grabs his erection on instinct before he wills it away, reaching out to grip at a nearby low treebranch.

Toni pulls back like she’s been burned. “Sorry,” she says. “Did that hurt?”

Bucky clears his throat but doesn’t trust his voice. Instead, he shakes his head in the negative. She resumes her teasing touches, asking him to turn this way and that way, giving a delighted laugh at the spinal column tattooed from the nape of his neck down. Anatomically correct, she says. Though some of the cervical vertebrae are missing.

Every word she says goes straight to his cock whether it's about intervertebral disc space or whatever else. With his back to her and her attention on the tattoos there, he lets his hand drop as covertly as possible, rubbing without mercy at his confined cock, desperately willing the thing away. The rough touch nearly brings him to the brink, he’s that fucking close, innervated by every drag of her fingers, every press of her palm, every scratch of her curious fingernails. His head falls back, eyes shut tight against the lights above them, wondering if he can hide cumming in his pants long enough to get back to the house, say goodbye, and scram.

He pulls his hand back just as he feels the firm pressure of her turning him to face her, but this time there is no avoiding it. Her eyes have fallen naturally to the lines of ink peeking just over the waistband of his jeans. But centered in between and six inches lower is a bulge that can’t be disguised as anything but what it is. Bucky winces, reaching up to drag one palm against his forehead. This is probably the most embarrassing thing that has ever happened to him, and Jesus, when Toni tells Nat about how Bucky coaxed her to feel him up and then popped a stiffie over it, the redhead will kill him.

When Toni speaks, her voice is an octave lower, letting one thumb brush against the flash of ink on his right hip. “Should—I mean...should you take your pants off?”

Bucky blinks. That was the last thing he expected to hear come from her mouth. “I...don’t think that’s a good idea.”

Toni’s face crumples a little. “Right. Sorry. I misread things. My therapist says I struggle with social cues.”

“Hey, that ain’t it,” says Bucky. He doesn’t like that look on her face, that burned, insecure expression. He’ll wipe the expression right off of her even if it means he embarrasses himself further. “It’s just been a long time since—Jesus, Buck, don’t say that. I mean that I’m not really known for my self control, and I don’t want you to do anything you’ll regret.”

“I can’t fathom a world right now where I’d regret you taking your pants off.”

“You can’t fathom it right now. But what about later when you sober up, huh?”

Toni rolls her eyes and crosses her arms over her thin chest, the picture of childish petulance. “Oh come on. I’m not that drunk. Look, I’m an adult and you’re an adult. I’d really like to—to touch you, and correct me if I'm wrong but you seem like you’re receptive.”

Bucky’s cock supports the idea, twitching towards her. Fucking traitor. He steps back to put distance between them, to stop breathing her in and feeling the heat of her and to maybe clear his fucking head. It’s no wonder if he doesn’t have the oxygen to use his brain when all the blood has gone right to his dick.

“Toni,” he rasps lowly. “Come on, honey. Don’t do me like this. I’m trying to be good here.”

“I like the way you say my name,” she says, taking a step forward to make up for the distance he tries to put between them. Her face is a helpless mix between arousal and innocence: eyes heavy and pupils huge, cheeks flushed, mouth parted. She can’t have any idea what she’s doing to him, what she’s been doing to him since he saw her head ducked over a textbook in the middle of a raging party.

His back hits a tree, the rough bark scratching at his bare skin. He lets his head fall back, working to keep his breathing stable. “Toni. You should go back to the house.”

She pursues him with a single-minded intensity. He feels frozen under her eyes, just one of Medusa’s admirers helpless to look away. She’s so short that when she presses herself flush against him, his cock is nestled against her belly. The pressure makes his head spin even as he presses his hips backward, pinning himself to the tree to keep from grinding against the firmness of her body.

“I don’t have any practice,” she says, placing a palm against his sternum and dragging it down, down, down until it cups his clothed cock, hand looking downright dainty against him. He sees stars behind his eyes, cock jerking beneath her grip even though she is being far too gentle. “But I’m well versed in the theory, and I think you’ll find I’m a quick learner.”

If she thought that would seduce him, she is both right and wrong. A tiny primitive part of his brain revels in confirmation of what he already expected—if she’d barely seen tattoos in person, of course she didn’t have any sexual experience. He would be the first, the one to stain her like ink across her skin. His cock would touch places inside of her that hadn’t ever been touched. There is a darkness in him that would revel in splitting her open, in being the first to make her cum with his fingers and mouth and cock.

But there’s no fucking way he’d ever even voice those thoughts, much less give into them. What kind of a person is he to be aroused by the thought of taking her virginity, of taking advantage of her drunken state and lack of experience?

His fingers wrap all the way around her wrist when he pulls her away. With firmness, bending down so that they are nearly nose to nose, he says: “ No . I’m not that kind of guy. You want me so bad? Come find me when you’re sober.”

Toni staggers away from him, nearly upending herself. Her face is pale, and she looks a little like she’s going to be sick. “Right. You’re right. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to—I know what no means.”

“I know you do,” Bucky says softly. He lets his hand fall, fingertips brushing against the pale skin above his waistband, above his aching cock. Her eyes track the movement, throat bobbing while she swallows. Fuck, that hungry look on her face is almost too much. She’s hungry for it even if she’s never had it, even if she hardly knows what she wants. “You couldn’t take advantage of me if you tried. Trust me. I just—I ain’t gonna take advantage of you neither.”

Her eyes roll. “My hero. Thanks. Can’t believe I’m going back to the party with sticky panties. That’s really uncomfortable, you know.”

Bucky groans. “Don’t tell me nothing about your panties.”

“At least we’re both suffering,” she says with a vindictive smile. She jerks a thumb towards the sound of their friends’ voices just as a cheer rises up, echoed by the angry shouts of someone losing and demanding a rematch. “Are you coming? We can walk back together.”

Shifting, Bucky reaches down and adjusts himself. “I’ll be there as soon as I can walk.”

He watches as she walks away, her hair and dark skirt blending into the darkness until he loses sight of her completely. Bucky lets out a long breath. Is he the stupidest man in the world or the strongest? Maybe both. Turning her down had taken everything in him, and a part of him knew that come morning when she sobered up she would probably avoid his presence, avert her eyes from his gaze, embarrassed of how she had come on to him. To someone like him.

But just then? She had wanted him. Wanted to touch him. Touching him had made her wet. The thought has him groaning. In solitude, he can let one hand drop without guilt to grope as his aching erection. There’s no chance that it will go away on its own, not when his every waking thought is her. There’s only one way to be able to return to the party with some semblance of normality.

Bucky unfastens his belt and then the button of his jeans. He slides the zipper down and his cock bulges free, still covered in his dark boxer-briefs. The head of him has wet the fabric, steady precum leaking from the tip and he presses his thumb against it until the pleasure threatens to slip into pain, his balls throbbing with a load the likes of which will probably set a new personal record for him.

Reaching past the waistband, he draws his cock free. The first touch of the cooling night air has him letting out a noise from low in his throat. Widening his stance as best as he can with his jeans still on, he lets one hand drop down to cup his balls. They’re firm, ready to draw up at a moment’s notice. His fingers wrap around the shaft giving one long, tight stroke. He usually likes lube, but as much as he’s leaking, he can make do without it.

“ Fuck ,” he mutters, eyes rolling in relief.

That’s the moment when Toni comes barreling through the trees again, freezing at the sight of him half-naked with his cock in hand.

[ashittyfanficblog]

Twisted Love (Shigaraki)

A sequel to Unexpected

Warnings: nsfw, degradation, slave,pet/master, DOM!f!reader, ropes

Sneaking around with Shigaraki had it's perks. He was getting a rep of being a big baddie, boldly attacking some kid in the middle of the mall. You had to give it to him, he had that flair for the dramatics and insanity to pull it off without much trouble. That crazy ass was someone you considered yours.

Ever since you joined him (never officially, you had your own shit to do), you'd been getting a taste of how hot his demented personality could be. The focus with which he could push himself and his merry gang of villains, the ease with which he could zero in onto your hunger and your own desires. But he was a little shit too. A whiny boy prone to temper tantrums and you were always ready to put him in his place. Shigaraki needed a firm hand to keep him from going overboard when working, even firmer one in the bedroom and you were happy to provide one of them.

Seeing Shigaraki on his knees, rope criss-crossed over his arms, holding them bound and safely away from you behind his back and those pretty, pretty eyes staring up at you. A black collar sat pretty around his slender neck with a chain attached. It was wonderful. You reached out to caress the side of his face but had to snatch your hand away. Your eyes narrowed, lips twisting. That same hand cut through the air, making contact with his cheek. The sound of the slap and his grunt made you smile but what really made you happy was his pained gasp when you grabbed him by the face, making him look at you.

"Tsk, such a naughty mutt." Your voice was deceptively sweet. "You're a filthy little mongrel, aren't you? Do you know what dog's like you get? A muzzle. Do you want that?"

"No."

"Will you behave like a good little boy then?"

"Yes." Shigaraki growled, casting his eyes away from yours.

"Good. Now, come."

You tugged on the chain, walking towards your favorite wingback chair. Shigaraki shuffled behind you, stopping once you settled into the chair, legs crossed. A pat of your hand to your thigh had Shigaraki leaning his head on it and you softly dragged your fingers through his hair, nails gentle against his scalp.

"Kiss my thighs."

Shigaraki did not hesitate. His lips were dry but very pleasant on your skin. He did not leave an inch untouched, leaving traces of moisture from his tongue. First one thigh, then another, then the insides. You even allowed him to leave one mark with his teeth, feeling generous. Shigaraki was acting like a good, obedient boy and you couldn't help but let praise seep from your smiling mouth. Crimson eyes looked up from between your legs, half closed and clouded with lust.

"You're being such a good boy." You purr, pushing his face into your clothed crotch. You hear Shigaraki inhale deeply, moving his face over your panties. His tongue and mouth soon start doing what they do best. "Does my good boy want a reward?"

"Please, mistress." His voice is a low grumble but still holds a note of a softest, sweetest plea. "Let me eat your pussy."

"You'll have to work for it, baby."

The moment the last word leaves your mouth, Shigaraki is kissing, licking and sucking at you. His teeth harmlessly glance off of the fabric, leaving behind tingles and spit. You spread your legs, giving him space for his chest and shoulders to lean against while he used his teeth to move your panties to the side. You had to give it to him, Shigaraki could do anything once his mind was set.

Shigaraki dragged his nose between your wet lower lips, tongue dragging back up to tease your clit until it peeked out of the hood. His lips wrap around it and he sucks until you're seeing stars. Shigaraki is a messy eater, he slurps and moans, smears your juices all over his face. The less sounds you make, more erratic he becomes. He tries so hard to make you moan, to hear your voice break but you know this game by heart and you won't give in until you are willing to reward him. You come with a sigh, thighs clamping down around his head and one hand pressing his head to your cunt as you ride it out.

Shigaraki gasps, wide eyed when you release him, looking up at your smug face. He looks very innocent in that moment and you bend down, kissing his face before licking up into his mouth, sucking on his tongue until he is, once again, breathless mess of a man. You push Shigaraki down, watch the precum roll down his pretty dick. Your foot touches him, gently rubbing the tip then gliding down the side to his balls. Shigaraki looks ready to burst and your foot presses down on him until his dick is pressed to his abdomen. You don't stop rubbing him, catch him between your first two toes.

"Look at you. What would your minions say if they could see you like this? On your back, moaning like a little slut?" You grind down gently with your heel and grin when a whimper leaves Shigaraki's mouth. "Did any of them fuck you like this? Bet you would love Dabi to fuck your ass. He wouldn't be gentle, you know. He'd have you crying, baby. You're a freak like that."

"I only let you fuck me."

"Aw, how cute. Does my cute little bitch want me to ride him?"

"Yes!" Shigaraki cries out, eyes wild. "Please ride my worthless dick, I've been such a good slut!"

Your lips purse and you remove your foot. It is slick with his precum and you mindlessly wipe it off of his thigh before standing up. Your feet are beside his hips and you kneel down, taking Shigaraki's dick in your hand, guiding him to your wet heat. Shigaraki sobs as you sink down in one move, taking all of him. You barely give yourself or him time to adjust before you're riding him at a brutal pace. His hips snap up out of rhythm and you know he will cum soon.

Shigaraki is louder the closer he gets and you clench around him each time you take him fully. He comes with a grunt, teeth gritted. You don't stop tough. You continue riding him until you cum, even going a bit further just to hear his tortured whines. After a while, you stop, just sitting on top of his dick, catching your breath. You climb off, feeling his cum slowly drip down your thighs but you prioritized removing the ropes, gently rubbing back circulation into his arms and putting gloves on his hands. You help Shigaraki into bed then get a wet cloth from the bathroom to clean him up, all the while talking with him.

Shigaraki gives a sleepy hum, curling on his side after drinking some water. You smile and lay down behind him, spooning him. Your Quirk takes away the strain from Shigaraki's muscles, making it even easier for him to fall asleep. You're not far behind him. You kiss his shoulder and close your eyes, feeling warm and satiated.

[subtlereferencetomyinterests]

5 times Logan helped his partners get their shit together +1 time they returned the favor

ao3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22854292

MasterPost

relationships: Logan-Centric DLAMPR (platonic creativitwins)

warnings: Remus-typical conversation topics (Teeth circa 2007, puke, crushing vids), food mention, minor injury and blood, panic attacks (kinda?), overworking, bad self-care habits, fluffy fluffy fluff.

Feedback Is Welcomed!

1- Deceit

Deceit paced about his new room, picking up and moving large boxes in repetition and yet refusing to begin unpacking. He assumed his most comfortable form with all of his arms out, as he would usually in his old room. The others had assured him that they didn’t find it disconcerting, but even just being on this side of the mindscape made him self-conscious. He moved another box compulsively.

It had been a month and a half since Deceit and Remus had finally been “accepted”, and it still felt surreal. Everyday he felt another barrier crumble with his new… partners? That was also odd to think about. He was constantly replaying the scene of Patton in front of him, after they’d steadily built a rapport, absolutely distraught with remorse. Taking his hand. Letting him and Remus into the life the others had built.

But the more he thought about it, the more he realized how steady the progress was. He’d been dating Remus for ages, and of course there was the half-year ago that Virgil started speaking to him again. He’d never been on particularly bad terms with Logan and Roman… Perhaps it was merely an inevitability he hadn’t recognized, or more likely refused to wish for. 

And yeah, he'd taken his sweet time switching over. He’d “moved in” weeks ago, but hadn’t yet had the will to unpack. Everytime he started, he stopped, the feeling that he didn’t have the right to claim the space. Because he had to keep it in his head that it could all be taken away, even after he continued to be assured by his partners otherwise.  But he was here now. He was here, and he was seen, his input listened to, he had the focus he’d been vying for finally. It was terrifying.

The conscious, of which previously Deceit had only had occasional glimpses when he visited, was just plain exposing. The snake wondered how Virgil of all people could have handled this living here when he moved, and then cringed at the thought. It spoke to how bad things were before, he supposed. Anything is better than living in the unconscious. It… didn’t bring out the best in anyone.

Deceit shook his head. It was the past, they'd all agreed. Things had changed, were changing.

Looking down, Dee realized a pair of his hands had been carefully shredding the cardboard lip of one of his boxes into neat little strips. Fuck. So much for reusing that one. He exhaled deeply, tipping his head back as though to clear it like an Etch-A-Sketch. He let his eyes lay closed for a moment before the sound of his opened door creaking wider broke the silence.

"Deceit? Are you quite alright?" 

Deceit spun around to see who had spoken. Logan stood in the half open doorway, hands folded in front of himself and head tilted a bit in confusion. Deceit did not find that expression cute on him, not at all. 

"I'm just peachy, and you?" The side lied with a sharp-toothed grin. Logan frowned a bit, and yeah, Deceit hadn't expected him to believe that, but call it a force of habit. 

"Falsehood. You have been staring into space for approximately five minutes. Do you require assistance unpacking?" Logan nodded to the mass of boxes. Deceit crossed a few of his arms.

"This conversation is obviously best had with you standing in my doorway like the absolute worst doorstop," He said dryly, "Why are you here?"

Logan seemed confused, hesitant before stepping fully inside. He looked around at the barren room quickly, probably noting that the only things in there other than the boxes were the bed, bookshelf, and desk. 

"I wanted to see how you were adjusting. I presume not well, given that your room has not changed since you first moved in over a month ago."

"You presume wrong."

"No, I don’t."

"No," Deceit smirked, showing gleaming white fangs, "you don't."

Logan nodded, and dropped the pretense of hesitance and took to opening and unpacking a box filled with philosophy books. To his credit, Deceit resisted the urge to snap at him and just accept the help. Character Development, he thought to himself with amusement, as the other began arranging the tomes on the expansive bookshelf.

"Would you like them arranged by the author's last name or by subject matter?" Logan asked,  without looking back at Deceit.

Deceit wondered if the helpfulness was another perk of the conscious. He then wondered if that was just one of the many nice things about Logan specifically. Then he stopped wondering because he remembered that questions usually needed answers.

"Um, just last name is fine." 

A few minutes passed in relative silence, Logan occasionally asking about some of Deceit's numerous psychology books as he moved on to the next box. It was nice to be around someone who didn't groan and walk away when he shared his thoughts on such subjects, not that he didn’t understand why most others did that. 

When it began to feel awkward just leaning against the wall while someone else did all his unpacking, Deceit began to empty boxes into the closet (Literally. He upended boxes of clothing before grabbing three or four at a time and arranging them on hangers). Logan, finished with the books, glanced over at Dee with a curious look.

"So. How are you feeling?" Logan asked, and Deceit could tell he wasn’t used to willingly asking questions like that. He wasn’t sure if he appreciated the concern or was annoyed yet.

"I thought feelings weren't your department, Teach?" 

"I'm being serious." There was a beat. Deceit sucked in a breath, regretful for his instinctive bitchiness. He turned away from Logan and started organizing the sizable portion of his wardrobe made of cloaks. Hesitantly, and with an amount of secrecy remaining, Deceit spoke. 

"Well, it's… good to be out of the dark, so to speak. Honestly, I'm still sort of reeling…" Since when did not lying get so hard?

"But?" 

Deceit paused again, finished with the clothes and taking a moment to fidget uncertainly. He spun around to set up his decorative houseplants, sighing.

"I feel exposed," Deceit said suddenly. Logan looked up from where he was organizing various items, tilting his head in that cute, confused expression he was prone to. Except not cute, because Deceit was not weak to such frivolous feelings at all.

"That’s absurd, You wear the most clothing out of any of us, down to the gloves-"

"Not literally, Amelia Bedelia," He snapped, twirling a heat lamp between a few of his hands. "I mean in a mental sense. You must know what I’m talking about, it's like being monitored." 

Logan seemed thoughtful, coming to sit on the edge of the bed. Deceit placed the lamp on a bedside table (lest he smash it against his wall while he gestured, which wasn’t unlikely), and sat beside him. 

"I would liken it more to being at the ready for consultation; being at attention. You are here because you have something to contribute that could be crucial to solving a problem. You will get used to it, you’ll probably even appreciate it at some point. For now, though, you would benefit from distractions. I would recommend spending time in the Commons. With Us." Logan smiled softly for a moment, "Around all the others, things seem to get easier. For me, at least."

Deceit stared at him, surprised at the tenderness with which Logan spoke. Looking around, the side noticed that the new room- his room- was now full of all his belongings. The boxes were piled up in the corner, and with a snap they popped away to nothingness. In fact, he could probably have just unpacked with a snap. Logan obviously knew that, too, but he still did it by hand.

Huh.

"Well, it appears you're all settled now. I should go, before your room begins to take on its effects, like ours do." Logan said, standing abruptly. Deceit noticed that he looked rather sheepish, and then realized that he hadn't spoken since Logan's small speech.

"Yes, uh- it appears that way. Thank you, by the way, for… helping me unpack." 

"It was my pleasure." Logan said with a small smile. All of his smiles were small, a bit reserved, but so surprisingly warm. A lot of things about him were like that, Deceit thought. Including the way he gave the snake a quick peck on the cheek before righting himself again, looking unaffected save for the small pink tinge to his countenance. 

“Disgusting,” Deceit said, a smirk on his face.

Logan nodded a bit to himself, looking over his shoulder before he left.

"I'll see you soon." It wasn't a question. And with that, Logan closed the door and was gone. 

Deceit sighed, not a tad dreamily at all, thank you very much.

He supposed that living here wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world.

2- Patton

Patton flitted about the kitchen with ease, humming a little tune and batting his fingers along the counter-tops as he prepared dinner. The first dinner that he'd officially serve for his whole, recently expanded family. He didn’t notice it at first, figuring that over the time they’d grown closer they must have all eaten together, before it hit him just how different all their schedule’s were; it wasn’t often that dinner included all of them before either. Breakfast, sure, but breakfast was easy- there were no stakes! 

He was being silly, he knew that. It was just dinner, nothing special. It wasn't even like making more food was hard, given that Pat could conjure ingredients at will (and they hardly needed to eat, anyway), but it felt monumental. This had to be perfect, this meal had to embody all the remorse the fatherly side felt for his treatment of the others. They could swear up and down that they’d moved on, and he wanted to move on, but he couldn’t quite believe it. Not yet. He couldn’t let himself have it that easy. They were his family now, they had to know just how much he loved them after everything.

Patton slumped against a counter, pulling his hands down his face. Why were things so stressful? There was a time when it was all simple and easy- he was sure of it. Why couldn’t things just be okay after they all agreed it would be, why did he still have to feel like-

Someone cleared their throat behind him.

Patton spun around quickly, putting on a smile.

“Logan!” Patton exclaimed, “I’m a little busy right now, Kiddo. How can I help ya?”

Logan raised an eyebrow.

“I am not the one in need of help, Patton."

"What do you mean, honey? Is somebody hurt?" Pat asked with a gasp. Logan only smiled a bit, an odd and uncomfortable kind of smile that made Patton feel suddenly guilty.

"No, nothing like that.” Logan assured him, “Do you want any- I mean, I am feeling rather restless. Would you mind if I assisted in tonight's dinner preparations?" 

"Oh!" Patton seemed caught off guard, but quickly recovered, "Of course!" Relief laced his voice.

It was only after Logan got started carefully cutting bell peppers that Patton realized what had happened. He glanced over at the taller side, feeling a sudden and intense surge of appreciation for the help (and maybe a bit of embarrassment at how he hadn’t caught on to the obvious front immediately). It wasn't out of the ordinary; all of Patton's emotions were intense, especially those he felt for his partners. 

Patton realized he'd been staring when Logan looked over at him, cocking his head to the side. 

"What's on your mind, dear?" 

Patton leaned against the counter, shoulders slumping. Logan was almost as impossible to lie to as Deceit.

"Oh, I'm just a bit nervous, Lo."

"That's understandable."

"Is it?"

"Of course. You're putting a lot of pressure on yourself because this is the first time that all six of us are having dinner together as part of… This," Logan gestured between himself and Patton, and then more generally around the room, "You want it to be perfect. But, you know that perfection is unattainable, darling." 

Patton felt immediately flustered at the accurate summary. This man could read him like a book.

Logan quickly washed and dried his hands as he finished with the peppers, coming to stand in front of Patton. Instinctively, the emotional side leaned into him.

"You're right, as usual." He admitted into Logan's shoulder. Logan chuckled lightly, fastening his arms around Patton's waist.

"You know how much I love to hear that."

Patton grinned and giggled against Logan’s collarbone, his mood lifting considerably.

"Mhm!" 

"We should probably get back to work, though, if you’re ready." Logan reminded gently after a moment, slipping his arms down to entwine his fingers with Patton's.

"Yeah, good idea." 

They worked together in comfortable silence for a while, movements well-practiced and precise. Shifting to the side as the other reached to get an ingredient, ducking down as a pot was carried over head, as they worked in tandem for the millionth time.. Well, the figurative millionth, as Logan would specify. 

The two were waiting now, as the food cooked. It was Logan that spoke first.

"Oh, and for what it's worth, Pat?" 

"Hm?"

"Don't be so hard on yourself. You certainly shouldn't worry about the others judging your food, because I'm sure that Remus' standards at the very least aren't particularly high. As the kids would say," he pushed his glasses up on his nose, smirking, "That Gremlin man has trash taste."

Patton couldn’t help it, he launched into a giggling fit at Logan’s use of, as Virgil would say, ``Tumblr Talk”. He couldn’t even get it together to scold Logan for the insult. When he finally calmed down, he looked up to find a very proud looking Logan. Patton smiled as wide as he could, brighter than the sun, and wrapped his arms around Logan again. 

“Thank you,” Spoken as quietly as Patton could manage, with tremendous weight behind it. 

3- Roman

He didn’t notice it at first; the splintering of the glass casing surrounding the dark ink, the cracks forming in his ornate and elaborately decorated pen. Roman had to keep working, he’d gotten into a groove and he knew that this time he could get the story right, if only his damned hand could move as fast as his thoughts. If he stopped, it could be weeks before he found the motivation to work like this again. He lingered a second too long between sentences, and immediately a blotch of void-black liquid pooled on the paper. The creative side growled,clenching his fist in frustration. 

And the pen shattered.

Roman cursed loudly, pulling his hand away to hold it over the wastebasket by his desk (Which was already filled to the brim with discarded and crumpled drafts). Needle-sharp shards of glass had embedded themselves in his hand, the blood flowing around them barely visible through the dark ink. Roman’s breath shook as he hazarded a glance at his papers. They were soaked through with ink and blood, completely unsalvageable.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck fuckfuckfuck.” The side chanted, feeling tears of frustration and pain prick at the corners of his eyes. Hours of work, all wasted. He began frantically knocking the remnants of the pen and ruined papers into the overflowing wastebasket with his uninjured hand, cradling the other close to his chest. Alas, the papers below it were already botched up as well. Nothing remained of his efforts. A sound akin to a growl-sob escaped his throat.

And then footsteps stopped right outside of his door, and his breath hitched.

“Roman?” The door was pushed gingerly open, revealing a very concerned looking Logan. 

“What’s up, specs?” He said, feigning a superior smile. Roman tried to hide his obviously injured hand. There wasn’t a chance he was telling Logan, of all people, what had happened. After all, he was the side to insist that Roman take more breaks, as though it wouldn’t mess up his flow entirely. Yeah, he did not want to deal with the incessant reminder that Logan ‘told him so’. 

But Logan already had That Look on his face. That studying, prying look that got under Roman’s skin and saw through him with perfect clarity. It was as annoying as it was hot.

“Roman, let me see your hand."

Roman held out his undamaged hand and smirked.

“What’cha looking for, Microsoft Nerd?”

“You’ve used that nickname before," Logan walked into the room, stopping mere inches from Roman. "Show me your hand.”

Roman grumbled, tossing out his arm with more force and flair than necessary. Logan deftly caught his wrist and held it in place, careful not to press against the injured areas as he scrutinized the appendage. He sighed, locking eyes with Roman and wearing that "I’m not mad I’m just disappointed/concerned" look. That meant trouble. Wordlessly, Logan took Roman’s uninjured hand in his and led the trait over to the bathroom, sitting him down on the edge of the ornate tub that fills half the room. The side then arranged an array of first aid items on the counter around the sink, including a harsh-looking disinfected that Roman winced at the sight of. 

“So.” Roman muttered, kicking his legs.

“So?” Logan replied, sterilizing a pair of tweezers. Roman groaned, throwing his head back melodramatically.

“Aren’t you gonna lecture me, Bill Gay-tes? You're being weirdly quiet." 

"So you admit you need to be lectured for something?" 

Roman scoffed in offense, "Well, I just meant- You're always going on about something that I did, even if I was just-" Roman cut himself off with a sharp hiss of pain as Logan began picking the glass out of his hand with the tweezers, methodical as always. 

"Apologies, this is going to hurt."

"Yeah, thanks for the forewarning- fuck!"

Logan made short work of the shards of glass, pausing to examine the rest of the medical supplies.

"I think you already know what I'm going to say, Roman." He answered, finally.

"You're gonna say it anyway though, huh, Dweeb?" 

"Yes, as it clearly bears repeating." Logan had now moved on to cleaning and wrapping Roman's hand with immense care, "You are overworking yourself, Roman. You need to take a break. You’re going to hurt yourself… again.

“I can… understand how it feels when you get the figurative ball rolling on a project. But your health is more important than whatever it is that you are working on. You can’t keep doing this, I- I’m worried about you.” He hid his eyes as he focused on bandaging Roman’s hand, drawing in a deep breath. “Now, I suggest we give you a change of scenery before you drive yourself mad.” 

Roman was pulled to his feet, suddenly nose to nose with Logan (who looked, now that he could see his face, much more distressed). Roman reached up tentatively and he realized with a jolt of embarrassment that he was crying, just a little. He pressed his hands to his face. The bandaged one smarted a little, though it was much less painful than before. He knew that Logan was right, but he desperately needed to restart the story he had completely destroyed. The thought of starting over was impossibly daunting in the emotional state he was in, but he couldn’t dream of putting it off, either. But, then again… 

“Fine. I suppose I could part with my work for a few minutes; my writing hand needs time to recover, after all.” Roman dried his tears, but still stubbornly refused eye-contact.

Logan smiled, knowing full well that they were all ambidextrous. 

“Would you like to point out the various plot holes in The Princess and The Frog with me?”

“Oh, you know me too well.”

4- Remus

The common room was unusually empty. There was no Patton skipping around the kitchen cooking, or cozied up watching Parks and Rec on the TV. There was no Roman twirling and singing loudly while tidying, or ‘looking for inspiration’. There weren’t even any signs of Virgil or Deceit curled up in their chairs, listening to music while drawing and reading dusty old moral philosophy books, respectively. There was, however, a Logan entering stage left.

Remus glanced over at him quickly, and then bit his tongue. Literally. He was curled up in a tight little ball in one corner of the couch, mindlessly gouging deep slashes into its arm with his clawed fingers. He fitfully acknowledged Logan’s presence with a nod as the bespectacled side surveyed his surroundings. The energy of the common spaces was always neutral- it had to be- but Remus could feel the air around him tremble with excitement, hysteria, and millions of rushing thoughts and feelings as the power of his aura pushed outwards unnaturally. Internally, he fought to keep it all in, simultaneously dreading being alone and being around someone he’d inevitably upset.

“Have you heard of crushing videos? That’s when someone puts small animals on a glass table- Oh! with a camera underneath, of course- and they’re wearing big heels and- and can you guess what they do?” Remus blurted, giving a somewhat manic grin to Logan. The trait seemed to have finished assessing the situation and took a seat beside Remus, turning to face him. Well, that was unexpected.

“Yes, quite awful. Although, they’re usually quite hard to find.” Logan added without hesitation, or seemingly any concern. Remus almost felt relieved, before his brain immediately discarded the subject as soon as Logan tried to engage with it and scrambled to find something new. Something worse.

“Have you seen the movie Teeth, circa 2007?”

“Yes, I found it highly unrealistic. It had quite a satisfying- if a bit twisted- ending.”

Well, there goes that topic.

"What do you think it would be like to vomit and then have to re-eat it?" Surely that would cross a line. Fuck, why was he like this?

"Unpleasant, most likely." Logan wrinkled his nose slightly, but made no move to further the distance between himself and Remus. "The acidity would damage the enamel on your teeth, of course. Which is also why you shouldn't drink excessive amounts of lemon juice." 

"Why are you still here?" Remus snapped, the words coming out harsher than intended. Logan blinked at him in surprise.

"Do you want me to leave?"

"No!" Remus cried. He lurched across the couch, before pulling himself back (he'd been trying very hard to respect personal space; he hardly wanted to upset his new partners, if it could at all be avoided). “But, it doesn't make any sense. You should be upset, you should have already wanted to leave- fuck, I just keep- I make people uncomfortable. It’s what I do.”

Logan glanced around the room and nodded.

“I figured that's why it's so empty. It is odd how your powers are affecting the common space. The others can be… easily stressed.”

"It's not their fault! It's. It's me. But I didn't mean to!" Remus felt himself clawing the couch again, remembering how the room had emptied. Concerned looks shot towards him, because of course everyone could feel the room changing in a way it never should. They were trying to talk to him, help him, but the second he tried to speak out tumbled a disgusting stream of consciousness. As he was listing the crimes of Albert Fish, finally even Patton left, looking shaky and worried and apologizing quickly. Pat had spoken rapidly, much like Remus, and wow, had it really gotten that bad in here? Remus couldn't quite believe the apology, couldn't rid himself of the thought that if he didn't shove them away, they'd only keep pretending to be happy he was there. He couldn't stop. 

“Of course, it’s hardly anyone's fault. You clearly have a lot on your mind.” That managed to break Remus away from the spiraling thoughts (at least temporarily). 

"I guess so," He muttered, eyes downcast, "It's probably because I know I shouldn't be here. I feel it deep down, like a throbbing, oozing, pus-filled wound. I thought-" he broke off, for once unwilling to speak his mind as tears blurred his vision. 

"What do you think?" Logan prompted politely. 

"I thought that maybe, if everyone kept telling me that I could change, eventually I would." Remus was staring intently at the ground, tears spilling down his face. "But I'm just the same. I'm not- I'm not good like the rest of you! Dee and Virge got to be better, but I'm still… Wrong." He was desperately trying to keep the tremors out of his voice, but he was painfully aware of every waver and crack in his voice as he spoke. 

Without a moment's thought, an arm looped around Remus' waist and pulled him closer. Remus pressed against the other’s side instinctively, hands curling in the fabric of his shirt (careful not to tear it, of course). His words must have really struck a chord to elicit such a physical response from Logan of all people, something that was both worrying and weirdly comforting.

They stayed like that for a few minutes, cuddled together in the corner of the couch. After a while, the energy in the common room returned to its usual neutrality. When Logan finally broke the silence, Remus could hear him trying to keep the shake from his voice.

"Just so you know, we would not have invited you into this relationship if we expected you to be a different person. At least, that's the case for myself, though I’m sure the others would agree. You are here because you’re wanted here, Remus." 

Remus grinned, exposing stained fangs. He looked more tired than his usual self, but the mischievous sparkle had returned to his eyes.

"Love you too, you Sexy Pocket Square."

“Thank you?”

5- Virgil

Virgil pulled his headphones on, sinking into the music of Pierce The Veil. It was uncomfortably loud in his ears, but he didn’t mind much. He was tense, that was obvious. Every few minutes, he felt himself relax just a bit, but there was always just a little more tension in him, like there was one taut muscle he just couldn’t pinpoint and pull loose. Virgil let his eyes fall closed for just a moment, breathing deeply. 4-7-8, 4-7-8.

Yeah, no, that was not helping. Virgil’s eyes popped back open and he slid one of the headphones behind his ear, breaking the immersion but maintaining awareness. He pressed his back to the wall harder, eyes darting around the room. Nothing was wrong, which was exactly why everything was wrong. Everything was just a little off, just a little strange and bad, and the anxious side had no idea what it was that caused the wrongness.

Well, that wasn’t entirely true; It was just commonplace anxiety. Which, in Virgil’s opinion, made it all the more distressing. He knew it wasn’t going away, not when he tried to make it. It would stop when it stopped, or didn’t, with Virgil helpless to control it. He took off his headphones. He put them back on. Off, on, off, on. Eyes closed, eyes open, eyes closed, eyes open. Nothing worked. He gingerly placed a hand over his chest, feeling the intense pounding of his heart. With a deep, shuddering breath, Virgil drew himself to his feet to go make some tea. Tea was good, safe, easy, understandable. He could make tea.

The anxious side wobbled on his feet, feeling dizzy and unfocused, as though reality was slipping through his fingers like frigid water. Another breath followed by a shudder and gently opened the door and walked slowly down the mindscape stairs. Had he always walked like this? Was that how he was supposed to move his arms? There was no way the stairs were always this steep.

Entering the kitchen, it took Virgil five full minutes to gather the energy to remember where the tea was. It took another eight to set up the mug and put on the kettle, stare at the kettle for a while, and realize it wasn’t turned on. Finally, determining that the water was in fact boiling, Virgil hopped up onto the counter to wait, sitting criss-cross. 

A few more minutes passed, and Virgil began to notice that the silence was the very purposeful kind; the kind of quiet that was achieved by another presence deliberately being as silent as possible. He finally managed to focus his eyes on the table, at which sat one very confused looking Logan. 

“When did you get here?” Virgil asked, internally cringing at the way his voice felt in his ears. 

“Well, that can’t be good,” Logan replied, tipping his head to the side, “Are you alright?” 

Fuck, he was right. Virgil was getting everything just a little wrong, of course Logan noticed it! Like hell he’d admit it, though. This had happened before, he could manage this on his own. 

“I’m fine.” Virgil lied, catching the kettle as it began to shriek and pouring his tea.

“That’s funny,” Logan mused, looking back to his book, “I could have sworn you represented Anxiety, not Deceit.” 

“Ha Ha.” 

Virgil was spacing out again as the tea steeped, but it seemed Logan wasn't ready to drop the conversation. He snapped his book shut and he made his way across the room to stand in front of Virgil, keeping a respectful distance. The side’s hands were at his hips, his expression vaguely appraising. After a minute, Virgil began to squirm under the steady gaze.

“What?"

“You are extremely anxious.”

“No shit, L, what do you think I do here?”

Logan sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. Virgil immediately felt guilty for his biting tone.

“Maybe… I’m a little more on edge than usual.” Virgil admitted sheepishly, hopping off the counter to finish preparing the freshly brewed tea. Logan just hummed, staying quiet. An offering. 

“I have no idea why, though,” The trait continued, picking at the frayed edge of his hoodie, “Everything feels wrong, and I don’t even know why.” Virgil's inability to articulate the feeling chewed at him, making him curl his toes in his shoes. 

From behind, Logan gave an intake of breath as though to speak before cutting himself off. Virgil figured this was another prompt to vent, and hesitantly continued. 

“So… I’m just trying to find some way to calm down? But everything I do just makes it worse. And it’s not new or anything, I just… it’s the kinda thing you don’t get used to, ya know? It comes out of nowhere and just fucks up my whole day. It’s like, I dunno- coming home and everything in your house is shifted one inch to the left, or whatever. It’s surreal, I guess.” Virgil sighed, pushing his violet bangs out of his eyes and leaning back against the counter. He took an experimental sip of tea and found it just cooled enough to endure. Something in his chest settled a little. A bit of normalcy crept it's way back into his vision. 

Logan leaned next to him silently, looking to Virgil for permission before entwining their hands. Virgil drank his tea and let himself breathe for a moment. There was still a slight shake to his movements, but his heart had slowed and his head cleared a little. A small smile crossed his lips. 

“How the hell did you do that?” 

“I have no idea what you’re talking about, Starlight.” Logan replied, ducking his head to hide his satisfied smile.

And the world felt a little more right.

+1 

Logan slid his glasses off his face, closing his eyes and groaning. He pushed his fingers against his eyelids and watched the dizzying bursts of color that kaleidoscoped across the darkness. He let his shoulders fall. He let himself stay like that for a few minutes, as though the insignificant little break could compare to a full night’s rest. Unsurprisingly, it only served to tire him more. 

His glasses fell back into place and his hands resumed their positions at the sleek keyboard. Logan’s fingers hovered just above the keys, staring blankly at the spreadsheets laid out before him. His eyes glanced across the words uncomprehendingly. For a moment, he had the ridiculous thought that he had, in fact, never known how to read in the first place. The confusion was quickly replaced by a wave of frustration at his very humanoid need for sleep, which was then followed by an overwhelming surge exhaustion. It was the kind of tired that sunk down into your bones and made all of your limbs weigh as much as lead. Figuratively, of course.

Logan didn’t realize he was drifting off, head in hand, until a sharp knocking on his door startled him awake. He took a moment to push his hair back before calling out. 

“Who is it?” 

“Tis I, the handsome and valiant- Ow!" The drawling voice was cut off by a dull thudding sound.

"Take it down a notch, Ssshakessspeare," a second voice hissed in a poorly contained whisper, "Thisss iss ssssserious, you extra bitch." 

Logan sighed, torn between feeling annoyed or feeling endeared. He stood and opened his door to find Roman and Deceit, standing side by side in the darkened hallway. Roman's hands were on his hips and his expression was challenging, while Deceit had all of his arms folded behind his back with a tired, exasperated smile. Logan felt guilt welling up in his chest, and quickly fought to suppress it.

“Can I help you? I'm very busy at the moment. there's some work I ought’ve finished last week that’s been stressing me.”

Deceit quirked a brow at that, a chuckle creeping into his words:

"Oh, it's obvious that you're stressed, Honey, you just uttered four consecutive contractions." 

Logan felt his face heat, prompting another, rather derisive laugh from Deceit. The logical trait cleared his throat.

“I really need to be getting back to work.”

“Aha!” Roman exclaimed, louder than necessary, “Hippocrates!”

“Hypocrite, my love.” Deceit corrected.

“Hypocrite!”

Logan pinched the bridge of his nose, sensing an argument brewing. He really did not have the time, or the energy, to fight. In fact, Logan noticed he was leaning fairly heavily on the framework for support.  

“What’re- What are you talking about?”

“I believe he’s talking about the fact that you recently delivered a few heartfelt lectures on the dangers of bad self care habits to some particularly grateful sides, and now they’re here to return the favor,” Deceit’s smirk widened in that infuriating way of his as he spoke, “You hypocrite.” 

With a sigh, Logan righted himself and offered the two a half-hearted glare.

"I don't suppose you would leave if I just promised to go to bed when you left?"

"Not a chance!" Roman called in unison with Deceit murmuring "I know when you're lying, love." 

After offering a few feeble arguments about the importance of his work to the creative process, Logan let the two loop and arm each around his waist and usher him down the hallway. If they insisted on holding him hostage for an hour or so, then fine. He could slip away when they inevitably got distracted and return to his work and totally not pass out at his desk.

"We're back, my Loves! Oh, and Remus, I guess." Roman exclaimed, a bit louder than Logan's liking. The latter inspected the scene before him with a mixture of appreciation, affection, and immense frustration. Remus was balanced precariously on the arm of the couch, grinning up at them and- miraculously- fully clothed. Beside him was Virgil, curled into one corner of the couch with his arms looped around Remus' waist to keep him from falling over. He wore a sleepy smile as he looked at Logan (whose reserve was already crumbling). Even worse (better?), just returning into the room with a tray full of various cups of tea, coffee, and hot chocolate, was Patton. He turned to give Logan a smile brighter than the sun upon noticing him (figuratively).

"Heya! Cookies are almost ready,” He greeted, beginning to hand out the beverages.  Roman and Deceit took their places in the steadily building cuddle pile, but Logan remained stiffly where he was. 

“What are all of you doing?”

“We’re holding you hostage and watching nature documentaries until you fall asleep, because we love you,” Virgil explained, “Bitch.” he added for good measure. 

Remus toppled off the arm of the couch into the others, opening his arms invitingly. 

“If you don’t come lie down with us on this couch right now there will be blood, and tears.”

Logan took a tentative step forward. And another. 

He supposed the schedule could come a bit late this week.

[chelsfic]

You’ll never break the chain - Donald Pierce x Tracker!Reader - Logan Fanfic

Boyd Holbrook Masterlist

Warnings: Unhealthy! Relationship! Dynamic! (This is fiction, please!), Power dynamic (captor/captive relationship), Stockholm Syndrome, Dark, What have I done?, Mentions smut, Angst!

Summary: Donnie returns to work after his medical leave and needs to do some damage control--which involves ignoring our tracker and making her feel bad--damnit!

A/N: I owe so much of everything I write to my engaged readers. You guys inspire me so much. @lackofhonor particularly inspired the scene where Donnie confronts Riley... And I *know* someone suggested the teleporting mutant to me and I can’t recall who it was!! Please let me know so I can give you credit!!

---

Donald leans back in the Land Rover’s passenger seat, watching the scene behind the windshield play out with seemingly bored, heavy-lidded eyes. He keeps his expression carefully schooled as Riley--your new handler--unlocks the back of the tactical van and pulls you out of the cage. The guy manhandles you, shoving you roughly and getting up in your face with his orders. He’s clearly chosen intimidation as his handling style and, well, Donnie can’t exactly fault him. Sure is a hell of a lot less complicated than the mess he’s made of things.

He feels DeWitt’s eyes on him from the driver’s seat, watchful...observant. Wondering if the boss is still soft for the mutant. Fuck. It’s been a month. A month since the injury. A month since you made your little scene on the roadside, clinging to his prone form as the Reavers tried to drag him back to the vehicles, raving and lashing out at anyone who tried to pull you away. They knew he was fucking you. They knew the boss had a soft spot for the little tracker. But none of the men knew the precise extent of things until that day. Hence the medical leave...the new handler...the distance. This is damage control.

He keeps his face inscrutable from behind tinted sunglasses, and he sees the moment your eyes land on him. He sees the recognition, the affection...the hope in your eyes. And he watches as it falters and wilts. Riley grabs your jaw, forcing you to face him as he spits words into your face. You’re trembling. How the fuck have they been managing to get anything out of you the last few weeks with these tactics?

Donnie isn’t perfect. He isn’t even a good man. But he tries more since meeting you...since keeping you. Riley, his...replacement, is another thing altogether. Donnie clenches his fists as he watches the man grab you by the arms and shake you when you don’t produce immediate results. How different are we, really, though? His mind drifts back to memories that send a sinking wave of shame to his heart.

---

You’re sitting cross-legged in the dust, head in your hands, straining against your exhausted powers in desperation. You can feel Donnie’s aggravation like a tangible thing, a suffocating weight on your chest, but it’s been hours of pursuit and you just can’t anymore.

“I’m sorry, Donnie.”

He growls in frustration, aiming a heavy-booted kick into the dirt at your feet that sends you scrambling backwards.

“Get up,” he hisses, his mouth twisting into an ugly grimace. You stand up, dusting the dirt from your pants and walking warily over to him. Without warning he grabs you by your ponytail, digging the fingers of his robotic hand into your hair and twisting painfully. 

He lowers his face to yours and you hear all the intensity of the contempt he feels for your kind dripping from his words, “This piece of shit injured one of my men. You been sendin’ us on a wild goddamn goose chase all day. What is this, mutie? You turnin’ on me?”

His hand twists harder in your hair and tears are streaming from your eyes as you shake your head, denying his words.

“Then. Do. Your fuckin’. Job.”

He releases you and watches you shake like a leaf. And inside, he feels nothing...nothing but rage.

In the end you successfully track the teleporting mutant clear across Texas to an abandoned cabin in the heart of a Louisiana swampland. Donnie and his men apprehend their exhausted quarry while you lay on your side in the back of the van, holding your aching head in your hands and keening with the pain. When Donnie sees the state you’re in he slides into the cage and gathers you into his lap. Now that the fury of the chase has passed he feels guilt creep in like a punch to the cut.

“Shhh, baby. You’re alright now. I got you. Donnie’s got you.”

---

When the asshole shoves you to the ground Donnie has finally had enough. He swings open the door to the Landrover and jumps out, stalking toward Riley with a feral grace that belies his still-healing ribs and the headache pulsing behind his eyes.

“Gimme your sidearm,” he snarls with an edge to his voice that brooks no argument.

Riley’s eyes widen but he reaches for the pistol on his hip, wordlessly handing over the gun. Donnie’s no fool. He knows that Riley’s been sneering behind his back and egging the other reavers on in their disrespect of him. It ends now. He takes the gun in his hands, pointedly refusing to turn his gaze in your direction. He can just see you in the corner of his eye, still lying in the dirt where Riley pushed you. Instead he trains his focus on the weapon in his hands, quickly and efficiently taking it apart and putting it back together as he speaks.

“As Riley, here, is well aware: mutants... are... our enemy,” he lets the words out in a slow drawl, locking eyes with every man around him in turn. “The enemy is powerful. Deadly. Not to be underestimated. If we falter--just once, just for a second--it could mean death. Now, I know some of you think I’ve gone soft on this little mutie--” 

He bends down and hauls you up to your feet, holding you with your back to his chest and pressing the gun’s muzzle to your temple. He feels your body instinctively leaning into his despite the danger and a splinter of some unthinkable emotion pierces his chest. He ignores it. He ignores the way your little hands wrap around his forearm; he ignores the way you try to pull your head away from the gun. He ignores you. Entirely.

“--What you fail to understand is that our little tracker is a tool just like this gun. If we keep it in working order, if we take care of it, if we understand how it works...it will operate effectively. If we neglect and abuse our tools they will fail.”

He lowers the gun from your head, gives you a reassuring squeeze with the arm wrapped around you, and then fires into the ground at Riley’s feet.

“Do you understand?” he asks with his voice pitched dangerously low.

“Yes, sir,” Riley responds automatically, but his eyes linger impudently on Donnie’s, his face set in fury. 

“Good,” Donald replies, dropping his grip from you like you’re some vile thing. He pushes you towards Riley and turns back to the Land Rover without a second glance, “Let’s find this fucker.”

---

Why did you think things would get better?

The question rattles through your brain as Riley frogmarches you through the underground parking garage. The sounds of car doors slamming echo off the concrete walls as the other reavers unload. You can’t help but crane your neck trying to catch another glimpse of Donnie. And there he is, running a hand through his perfect blond hair and studiously ignoring you. He looks good--healthy, rested. You ache to pull away from this brute and run into his arms. 

How many times have you imagined your reunion? He would come to your cell and make slow, deliberate love to you, his massive body dwarfing yours as he grinds you into the tiny mattress. Or he’d take you out on a mission and drag you behind the van while the others chase down your quarry. He’d push you to your knees and you’d be panting, salivating for it as he slowly presses his cock past your lips and down your throat. He’d run his fingers through your hair and call you a good girl as he fucks your mouth. Or he’d take you from behind up against the wall of the supply closet...or he’d use his hand to torture your cunt, edging you for an eternity before finally dipping his sweet lips between your legs and sending you over the top...or he’d simply kiss you with all of the love and passion he’s kept hidden from you all this time… 

Somehow you’d thought that after hearing him say the words, finally admitting his love, that things would change for the better. All this time you’ve been patiently awaiting the end of his medical leave--enduring the numbing boredom of your cell and Riley’s angry cruelty--believing that Donnie would come back and finally tell you that he wants to be with you. Really with you. That he’s come up with a plan to get you away somewhere. Somewhere safe. Somewhere without experiments and locking cell doors and punishments. Somewhere you can be together…But the cold indifference you saw in Donnie’s eyes today killed your last hope. He’ll never let you go. He’ll never change.

Riley drags you out of the garage, watching your eyes stay glued to Donnie’s form as he pulls you along.

Once he has you in the elevator he turns on you with a sneer, “Looks like you’re not daddy’s golden girl anymore, huh, mutie?”

Mutie. He says it like the vile slur that it is. But you recall all the times you’ve heard that same word fall from Donnie’s lips as something close to an endearment. My mutie. Little mutie. Good mutie. You feel a hollow ache in your stomach recalling how quickly he’d shoved you away before, like he couldn’t stand to touch you. He has to be faking this indifference. Because if he’s truly lost to you then what else is there?

Your feelings must show on your face because Riley laughs cruelly and uses his short, bulky frame to crowd you into the wall, his meaty hand groping your breasts as his breath rasps against your ear, “Don’t look so sad. I can be your new daddy.”

Note: I really agonized and struggled to write this one and, in the end, I’m just meh about it. I hope you liked it!!

Tags:

@nothing-but-a-comedy @ionlyjoinedforboydholbrook @theplumsoldier @meri47 @lackofhonor @sabinemorans 

I feel like I’m probably forgetting some people that asked to be tagged...