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odoraful · 3 months

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𝐄𝐕𝐄𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐐𝐔𝐈𝐄𝐓

wriothesley has been hesitant to tell you about his past, afraid that it will tarnish your view of him. reconciling with this is no easy task, but he has you by his side to guide him

content: wriothesley x gn!reader; established relationship; 'baby' pet name; reader and wriothesley live together; nightmare sequence; mentions of blood; spoilers to wrio story quest!; reader doesn't know the full truth of wriothesley's past; wriothesley worried about how good of a partner he is :( ; hurt/comfort; reverse comfort; 4k words

a/n: i just wanna gently hold wriothesley and tell him that he's doing so well <3 also i give full credit to critical role and the wonderful talisen jaffe for the quote "pain doesn't make people, it's love that makes people"

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Before opening his eyes, Wriothesley smelled iron. Pungent and pervasive. It filled his nostrils and sunk unpleasantly in his churning stomach. He knew he was lying on his back on a cold, hard surface, but that was about as much information he was certain about. Where he was or how he ended up in this state escaped him.

He tested his other senses. Every swallow of saliva went down like sand in his throat. His fingers were limp as he tried squeezing them into fists, the strength siphoned out of him. Slowly regaining some sense of himself again, he could finally label what the scent was. Blood.

At that realisation, he peeled opened his eyes, dreading the scene he would find himself in. A scene he knew that would be painfully similar to memories he quashed a long time ago. He grimly thought whether the blood would be trailing from his hands, or already dried up beneath him, a red dye stained on the floorboards. The lights above accosted him, dazzling his vision. Fontainian households were always so bright, and it didn’t help that the walls of them were white too. But, even then, there were always nooks and crannies shrouded in darkness. Wriothesley found that the more glittering lights there were, the darker the shadows they casted.

He sat up with a groan, his body the weight of bricks. Looking around, there was no such scene he imagined before him. The room he was in was… ordinary. Pristine white walls lined with book shelves against spotless light timber flooring. A fireplace was tucked between two shelves, where the hearth held blackened remnants of burned wood. Wriothesley was situated on the floor between the fireplace and two brown cushioned sofas facing each other separated by a low table. He swore there were other furnishings in the room, but for some reason he couldn’t focus on them. The edges of his vision blurred and he couldn’t make out any other details besides what was most salient.

It wasn’t necessary though.

He knew where he was.

He was almost even in the exact spot they found him slumped in when he was a boy. Back rested against a bookshelf, hollow eyes gazing into the distance. The officers were unable to hide the pure shock on their faces at the grisly tableau in front of them.

Bile rose in Wriothesley’s throat. Despite there being no evidence of violence, the scent of blood lingered in the air, filling his lungs. He went to stand, the movement ungraceful and slow, as if he were swimming in the ocean with thick layers of clothing on. Lying on the floor wouldn’t do well for his nausea. He walked towards to sofa to sit and assess this situation. Sinking into the cushions, he rubbed his temples with his hands.

He thought this house had long since been torn down. How had he been taken back to his old home? His mind sharply retracted those words. No, he wouldn’t call it that. Home was a place of safety and love, but the place he grew up in was built on a foundation of lies and malice. The only small glimmer of home he could recall was his bonds with his siblings.

“█████.”

A voice whispered from just beside his ear, as if speaking a secret.

Wriothesley’s skin prickled. His head snapped around, but he was only met with empty space.

Impossible, he thought. No one who should know that name. He buried it a long time ago when he was handcuffed to the bed in that emergency ward. Perhaps his mind was playing tricks on him. Digging up memories of his past.

“█████, where did you go?”

This time, a different, more louder voice came from the opposite direction. Wriothesley could make out its qualities—young and wistful. It was that of a child.

Wriothesley was not often scared. When someone like him had seen both the worst and best of what life had to offer, he was seldom caught off guard. Even backed into a corner, there was always a way out for him. A few carefully chosen words was his preferred method, but now, his tongue felt heavy in his mouth. Hearing that name being said aloud chilled him to his bones. The colour drew from his face, skin turning ghast-like. He was terrified.

“You left without saying goodbye.”

A young girl sniffled, sounding on the verge of tears. Wriothesley scanned the room frantically, trying to find the source of the voices.

“Why did you leave us?”

A young boy this time. Familiarity clawed at the back of Wriothesley’s mind. His eyes bulged in horror.

“█████, we miss you.”

“You said we would play together.”

“They took some of us away.”

“█████, will you ever come back?”

Wriothesley covered his ears, but it did little to quiet the ceaseless voices. Multiple of them spoke at once, rising in urgency, surging around him. Overlapping and defeaning, burrowing into his skull no matter how hard he squeezed and squeezed his ears shut. He was backed into a corner with no way out. He screamed in his head, roaring in agony. He couldn’t stay here, he needed out.

Hearing the pleading of his own mind, Wriothesley jolted awake.

Like a conductor ending a symphony with the close of their hand, the cacophony of voices abruptly stopped.

Void-like silence met him in the waking world.

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He felt his heart lodged in his throat, as if he had been pushed off the tallest point of the Palais Mermonia. Steadying his shallow breathing, he pushed his back further into the bedsheets, trying to ground himself.

Just a dream, just a dream. He repeated, sighing loudly. His bedroom had never been a more welcome sight as he sat up, careful not to awake his resting partner. At least, that’s where you should have been. There was no weight of your body beside him. He swept a hand over the bed, and made contact only with the sheets and crumpled quilt blanket.

Still reeling from the terrors of his dream, Wriothesley’s mind drew the worse conclusions. Had you been taken? Had you left him? Panicked, he began to call out your name. His voice was hoarse, but he was glad he could speak after being robbed of it in his dream.

A triangle of yellow light cut into the darkness of the room as the door cracked opened. Relief flooded him seeing you standing there, wrapped in a fluffy robe, hair ruffled.

“Baby, is everything alright?” You asked softly, approaching the bed.

Wriothesley’s chest rose and fell in quick intervals. His body arched over like a crooked branch, shivering ever so slightly. Alarms blared inside you. You had never seen him in this state before.

“I- I thought you had gone somewhere,” he said, voice quavering.

The mattress dipped as you sat atop, kneeling beside him. “I didn’t leave.” You lay a hand on him, watching closely at his expression with a furrowed brow. “I’m here, I’m here,” you soothed gently, rubbing small circles into his shoulder.

He gave into your touch, his posture easing. Seeing him slowly relax, you raised your hands to cradle his face. Warmth radiated through him, expelling whatever anxieties had possessed him. His breath shuddered. Immediately, he nuzzled into your touch, burying his face in the faint scent of soap and lilies. He could stay here forever. It would be all he needed to revitalise his senses and keep him alive. He covered one of your hands with his own, encompassing it completely. His calloused fingers slid between yours—a sensation that contrasted against the softness of his lips as he kissed the inside of your palm. A feather-like touch that caused the butterflies in your stomach to flutter.

“I was just in the bathroom.” You reassured him. Wriothesley hummed in response. “Did something happen?”

He hesitated, wondering how much he should tell you.

“I just had a nightmare.” His voice was muffled, lips grazing your skin as he spoke. “It was nothing, really.”

You gently turned his head towards yours, prompting him to focus on you. “It doesn’t seem like nothing to me.”

His heart stung at the pure concern on your face. Different from the times when you tended to him when he injured himself whilst boxing, or when you saw him passed out at his desk from his persistent workload. There was desperation layered in your knitted brows and parted lips.

“Let me get you a glass of water.” You said, caressing his face. Hints of stubble brushed under the pads of your thumbs. “You’ll feel a little better after being hydrated.”

Coldness returned to his cheeks as you pulled away. You couldn’t even turn around before Wriothesley’s hands were on you once again. He snaked his arms around your waist, embracing you tightly.

“Don’t go.” He rasped. “Please, stay with me.”

His pleading tugged at your heartstrings. As much as you wanted to stay in his arms, you could tell from his voice just how dry his throat was. “I won’t be far from you. I’ll be gone only for a moment.” You kissed his forehead, sealing your promise.

You waited until he loosened his hold on you (albeit begrudgingly), and hurried out of the room to fetch some water. Wriothesley leaned against the bedhead. His head was clearer now, and he tuned his hearing to the far-away whir of machinery in the Fortress.

He was glad to have a shared room with you away from his working environment. This was an entirely new floor he had extended above his office. The design of which began after he had seen you curled up in sleep on one of his chairs, waiting for him to finish his duties for the day. Resting somewhere backgrounded by piles of administrative paperwork didn’t make for the most relaxing setting. And so, he swiftly drafted plans to create private quarters for the two of you.

After a long day, he would head straight upstairs to meet you. You’d be there snuggled on the lounge with a novel, and his footfalls would be enough for you to abandon your book on the table and rush over to the door. Now, while the sun could not be seen in the stronghold beneath the waves, it found its place with you. In the way your smile beamed and eyes twinkled as you greeted him. You were so, so bright, and yet he could never look away. At first, it almost startled him how easy you gave your love to him. There was no ulterior motive with you. You loved him wholly.

He sadly wondered how quickly your glimmer would fade if he revealed parts of him that had never seen the light.

The tapping of your slippers approached the door, and you entered with a glass and pitcher of water. Placing them both on the bedside table, you poured water into the glass and handed it to him. Wriothesley didn’t realise how parched he was until he took the first sip. Eagerly chugging the rest down, he you in the corner of his eye, chewing on your bottom lip. You were on the cusp of saying something.

“Do you want to talk about it?” You asked, taking the empty glass from his hands and putting it to the side.

“Your dream that is…” You faltered through your words. “You don’t have to if you don’t want to, but you seemed upset when you woke up.”

More than upset, you thought to yourself, afraid.

Wriothesley reached out for you wrist. You let him guide you into bed, slipping under the blankets. He pulled you in closer, arm draped around your waist, until your bodies were flush with each other. Your expectant gaze fell on him. He plastered on an assuring smile, but couldn’t quite draw the corners of his lips up to reach his eyes.

“I was only a bit shaken,” he replied, keeping his tone light. “It had things relating to my past. My subconscious must have it out for me for not letting me get a good night’s rest.” Hopefully that was enough to mollify the true contents of his dream.

You toyed with the edge of the blanket. Wriothesley’s past was something he didn’t divulge in too much detail. Even after being together for some time, all you knew was that his childhood was a difficult time, and he had to run away from his foster parents home. You had a good sense that he no longer wished to recall these events from the way he was quick to brush off the topic. It was hard for you to balance between wanting to know more, and also respecting his privacy.

“You know that you can tell me about anything that’s bothering you, right?”

Your eyes never left his, watching the way they brimmed with fondness as he answered.

“Of course I know that baby, it’s just that…” His eyes casted downwards.

In his line of work, keeping up a poker-face meant keeping things under control. However, with you, he never hid his true emotions, and you saw conflict dance across his features.

“I’m worried it might change how you see me,” he confessed, fidgeting with his fingers as if he were itching to move.

“Wriothesley,” you covered a hand over his, halting his movement, “nothing will make me change the way I see you now. You aren’t the same person as you were back when you were young.”

Those words settled in his mind, prodding at the uncertainties he had about opening up. You continued,

“You can share anything about your past with me. And, what is it they say…” You tried to recall a line you had read recently. “A burden shared is a burden halved?”

He couldn’t fight back a smile, teeth peeking out from beneath his lips. “Putting those philosophical books you’re reading to use?”

“Actually, it’s a collection of poetry from Mondstadt.” You corrected, pursing your lips smugly.

He breathed a laugh, spirits lightening at how endearing his partner was.

From the day he selected a new name for himself, he chose to begin anew. Although he knew that nothing in his past constituted any part of his life now, it still clung to him. A fog clouding his mind during moments of solitude, drawing out doubts that stumbled into the open. If he did tell you the full truth, would you see him as nothing more than someone raised in a loveless place? Who was pushed to do what many considered unthinkable? Running a hand through his hair, he exhaled slowly—ruminating.

You calmly awaited his next words, knowing that you would accept both if he chose to tell you or not.

Wriothesley spoke again,

“I mentioned to you before that I didn’t have the most… peaceful childhood.”

You nodded, grim at the thought of what those adults had done to those innocent children. “Mmm, you told me about your foster parents, and how you ran away from them.”

“Yes, but that’s not the whole truth.”

Pausing, he steeled himself. He caught on a thread that had long since been loose and began to unravel his past.

“After I escaped, I couldn’t shake off the guilt of abandoning my siblings, but there was also no way I could stay in that household after what I had learned.”

He recounted the story in the same way one would read aloud an article published by The Steambird. So separated from his past that he had little inflection in his tone. Even so, you saw a flare of emotion in Wriothesley’s eyes.

“So, I tried to keep myself alive and tried to get stronger, so that I could return and protect them.”

“Archons,” he bowed his head, dark hair falling over his brows, “I don’t even know how much time passed out there, everything seemed to blend together.”

You felt an ache in your chest, like someone had tightly gripped your heart. “I can’t imagine how tough it must have been.” Picturing a younger Wriothesley in your head, frightened and alone, made you shiver.

“Mmm,” he hummed. “It was.” He returned a sad smile to you, though regret laced his words. “I wouldn’t wish that life for anybody, but I did learn a lot.”

“I snuck back into the house after a while of being on the streets. I-“ He rubbed his temple with his free hand, unable to find the right words. “One of my siblings told me that while I was gone, a few of them had been… adopted into other families.”

Your skin turned cold, knowing exactly what that meant.

“I-I think I heard their voices in my dream.” His voice wavered, face scrunching up as he remembered those ghostly voices in that empty room. “They were asking why I left them there, wondering where I was.”

You squeezed his hand. “But you did return. You swore that you would come back for them and you did,” you asserted.

Shaking his head, he turned his hand over to interlock your fingers with his. “Perhaps I was too late.”

“I found my foster parents sitting happily in the drawing room, and suddenly, I felt so, so angry.” His expression turned sombre, staring down at the blanket covering you two. “At them, at myself, at the world, and something snapped in me and I did the only thing I felt I could do in that moment.”

A heaviness tugged down on his chest as if in protest at the continuation of his sentence. But, there would be no hiding it now. He swallowed thickly.

“I killed them.”

The words left his lips in a whisper, and hung in the space between you.

You stilled. The faint beating of your heart could be felt between your hand in his.

Sensing your stiffness, Wriothesley forced himself to look at you, searching your face in the hopes of finding any kind of reaction. He half expected you to pull away in terror. Disillusioned at the fact that your partner was a murderer. But, he found no such revulsion. Instead, your eyes glossy with tears captured a sadness so sincere and profound that his heart shattered into pieces, piercing him from the inside out.

“It was a long time ago.” With every word he spoke, the shards seemed to dig deeper. “And I definitely don’t associate myself with that person anymore.”

“But, I understand if this changes how you see me. If you need time away-”

“Don’t say that,” you interrupted, shaking your head fervently.

You blinked, tears lining your lower lashes. The sight of your partner blurred slightly in your vision, his face contorted in pain. You understood. The distance he wanted to put between you was merely a façade. Buried beneath it was a wordless plea for you to stay. He had bared everything to you, and you would not let him hurt by himself any longer.

“It doesn’t change how I feel towards you.” Determination rose in your cracked voice. “You were so young. No child should ever be placed in a position like that.”

Surely, there must be some part of him that agreed. Some part that would allow forgiveness. Wriothesley’s gaze flicked between your eyes, lost in your expression, as was you in his. A muscle in his jaw twitched.

“I-I can’t be the one to say whether it was the right thing to do,” you continued, “but what I do know is that you were just a child who needed to survive and wanted to protect those you cared about.”

How many people had treated him with kindness as a child? It upset you to think of all the adults that turned their backs on him. Reducing his character to only what they saw on a case report. Likely considering him to be nothing more than a psychopath. Your pulse thumped in your ears at the injustice of it.

“You are not who you were in the past.” You said slowly, enunciating every word. “Pain doesn’t make people, Wriothesley. It’s love that makes people.”

His expression melted softly. The creases between his brows smoothing.

“And I know that you love and care so strongly, you’ve shown me that every single day.”

Icy blue eyes held so much affection as he stared back at you—transfixed. Now more than ever did he believe you were the sun to him. Basking in your warmth, feeling the comfort of it tingle his skin. What you had said to him had begun to sink in. However, while he couldn’t refute your words, the mindset he had formed could not be altered in a single moment. Perhaps he would not completely believe your words now, but that was alright. You would be there by his side every day to remind him.

Clearing his throat, Wriothesley tested out if his voice was still fit to speak. Though this room was private to the two of you, he spoke quietly, as if he craved only your attention.

“When I was serving my sentence here, I always dreamed about what my new home would be."

He recalled the confinement of his cell, and how his mind would drift from counting the bolts in the metal wall to imagining a new life for himself. Wanting a place that was safe and people he felt at peace with felt like a mirage to him. However, if he could go back in time and speak to his younger self in that cell, he would tell him that things would turn out alright. The journey would not be without difficulties, but he would finally be in a place where he no longer had to look over his shoulder, fearing for his safety. And, he would be with someone who would be proud to call him their love.

“I think I found it here, with you.”

He took the chance to close the distance between you two. His forehead rested against yours. You closed your eyes.

“I love you, Wriothesley,” you whispered, instinctively.

His breath caught in his throat. How fortunate he was to have you in his life. Not only to receive your endless love, but to learn just how capable of loving he is.

He whispered back in reply, his breath gently fanning across your cheeks. “I love you too.”

Neither of you broke away, staying in this position for a moment. Everything had been untangled before you, and a odd mixture of both sorrow and solace stirred inside you. Sorrow at listening to what Wriothesley had gone through as a boy, and solace at how tender the man before you was, his hair tickling against your forehead.

You continued to speak softly to each other for a while longer. The conversation floated from his time at the Fortress to how he became its administrator. As he spoke, the accuracy of the quote you shared before was confirmed in the inexplicable lightness he felt in his chest. A burden shared is a burden halved, he recited to himself.

Time drew on, and you both sensed that if you didn’t sleep now, you’d be up until the Fortress’ inmates began their morning shifts. Curling up beside each other, you asked to play big spoon this time so he could fall asleep easier. Though he was taller in stature to you, you insisted on it. If it were a different day, he probably would have put up a greater fight, but there was little argument in him now at the chance of being wrapped up in your arms. He was lulled to rest by your rhythmic inhales and exhales. The night quietened, and no more voices followed him in slumber.

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post a/n: thank you for making it to the hidden easter egg author note haha, i appreciate you greatly, and i hope it was an enjoyable read!!! 🥺 i just wanted to yap about my thought process writing this piece. you definitely don't have to read all this, it's primarily for my own notetaking! <3

i felt like this was probably one of the hardest pieces i've written so far (?) i found it tough to build up that tension of reader not knowing wriothesley's full past and him still grappling with his actions as a young boy, and even what that dialogue would look like! i had to step away and come back a few times just so i could look at this with a fresh pair of eyes. it may not be perfect but i'm glad to have finished this! :')

#odorawrites #genshin wriothesley x reader #wriothesley x reader #wriothesley x you #wriothesley x y/n #genshin x reader #genshin impact wriothesley #genshin wriothesley #wriothesley genshin #wriothesley

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queenshelby · 8 months

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MINI SERIES: THE SLAVE

PART THREE OF THE DARK & SEXY SERIES

NOTE: This is a series of one shots and mini series for Cillian Murphy & Tommy Shelby in which he acts totally off-canon. Most of these shots are very dark in nature and you should read their individual warnings. All of these shots are requests from readers. Co-written with @darkshelbyfiction! ALL CHARACTERS ARE OVER 18. MINORS DNI.

PAIRING: TOMMY SHELBY X VIRGIN READER

WARNING: NON-CONSENSUAL LOSS OF VIRGINITY, CAPTURED READER, SLAVE READER, TOMMY GETTING OFF ON PAIN

NOTE: AGAIN THIS WAS A REQUEST AND I FELT A LITTLE UNCOMFORTABLE PUBLISHING IT...VERY DARK!

It had been two days since you were brought to Birmingham from your home country after promises of prosperity and wealth.

But the cost for this was higher than you ever imagined when you were sold, by your very own father, as property to the highest bidder.

Now you had arrived at Thomas Shelby's estate, which stood majestically against the backdrop of lush greenery and manicured gardens. The mansion, built centuries ago, seemed to command the landscape around it, much like how its owner commanded people within it.

A maid named Nadia greeted you at the entrance, leading you up the grand staircase that spiraled upwards into a series of breathtaking domed ceilings and magnificent chandeliers. Each room presented an extravagant spectacle of artistry and craftsmanship; it was as if every corner had been meticulously designed to overwhelm even the most jaded observer.

Despite the opulence surrounding you, something felt unsettling about the silence that enveloped the house. As far as you could tell, there was no one else here except the maids and yourself. This was not just a house, but a fortress - an impregnable bastion constructed on foundations of isolation and distance.

"This way," intoned the maid, gesturing down a long hallway lined with oil paintings depicting scenes of aristocratic splendor. The air smelled stale - it had been many years since anyone had breathed life into this grand edifice.

"I will show you to your room," whispered Nadia, casting a furtive glance over her shoulder.

As she walked ahead, you noticed her movements were careful, almost rehearsed, as if she had done this countless times before.

Her gait betrayed an unnatural rhythm, a pattern formed by habituation rather than choice.

She knew the layout of the house inside out, each twist and turn etched into her memory like grooves on an old vinyl record.

You followed her silently, allowing the grandeur of the mansion to wash over you.

Every now and then, you caught glimpses of your reflection in the polished marble floors, a ghostly image of yourself trapped between reality and illusion. You found yourself feeling strangely calm and collected, despite the circumstances that led you here.

Nadia finally stopped outside a door adorned with intricate carvings and gestured you into a room without windows.

"This is where you will sleep and perform your duties," she said, her voice devoid of emotion. There was something eerie about the maid, an unspoken understanding between her and the master of the house.

Slowly stepping into the dimly lit chamber, you took note of the opulent surroundings: velvet curtains hung from gold-plated rails, plush rugs lay scattered across the polished hardwood floor, and delicate porcelain vases filled with fresh flowers graced every surface.

However, the abundance of luxury did little to ease the unease that settled deep within your gut.

The maid turned abruptly, locking eyes with you. "At night, the room will be locked securely so don't attempt to leave. If you need anything, ring the bell by the bedside table," she told you before fluffing up some of the cushions on the bed.

"I never..." You trailed off, swallowing back tears that threatened to betray your bravado. You forced yourself to maintain eye contact with the maid, knowing full well that any sign of weakness would be exploited mercilessly. "I have not done anything like this before. I was told that I had to because a lot of money was paid for my services, but understand please that I have no experience," you then stammered, knowing full well that you had been purchased to perform sexual acts for your benefactor.

"The fact that you are so innocent, and young is precisely why Mr. Shelby has purchased you," Nadia responded coldly, turning away to adjust a lamp on the nightstand.

"Now, let me explain to you what is expected of you around here," she continued, softening her tone slightly.

Your heart pounded wildly in your chest, and your palms slickened with sweat, though you managed to nod affirmatively, meeting her gaze steadily. "Firstly, you must address Mr. Shelby as 'Sir' at all times. Do not forget," she warned sternly.

You swallowed hard, nodding again.

"You will be allowed to leave your room with another maid, between eight o'clock in the morning and eight o'clock in the evening, but not otherwise unless Mr. Shelby is with you," Nadia explained, adjusting a silk pillow propped by the headboard.

You tried to picture a day spent in confinement, the mere thought sending shivers down your spine.

"Mr. Shelby will inform you directly when he requires your services. Most often he will come here to use you for his pleasure, and he usually expects to be attended to at least twice per day, occasionally more often. You should prepare yourself mentally and physically for his needs because it can get quite overwhelming sometimes," Nadia explained and your breath hitched, but you managed to control the panic rising within you.

"And if I refuse?" you asked, causing Nadia to pause and look at you. "Refusal is not an option. Mr. Shelby doesn't tolerate disobedience. You must do whatever he asks."

Your hands shook involuntarily, but you clenched them into fists to prevent further trembling. You nodded weakly, fighting back tears.

"What he wants...is it...painful?" What you didn't know, what you couldn't comprehend, was whether the physical pain of intimacy would be more bearable than the emotional agony of submitting to someone else's whims.

"Sometimes, but he's gentle enough," Nadia replied matter-of-factly. "Now, you must get ready for tonight. He will be visiting you at 8 o'clock and expects you to wear nothing but a pair of undergarments of your choice," Nadia said before directing you to your wardrobe. "You will lie on the bed and wait for him, understood?" she asked and, again, you nodded.

"I will be back after he is done with you to change the sheets and provide food and water," Nadia then finally explained before she left you alone in the darkness, save for the faint glow of your bedside lamp. You heard the key turn in the lock, sealing you in the room. You sat on the edge of the bed, trying to process everything she told you.

On the bedside table you found a bottle of lubrication next to a bottle of painkillers, both small comforts in the face of the reality of your situation and, when you looked around the room, you also found other items such as restraints hanging neatly from hooks in the wall. You shivered, feeling your anxiety rise.

Then, just before 8 o'clock, there was a knock on the door. You flinched, jumping to your feet and nearly knocking over the lamp.

"It's time," Nadia called through the door. You took a deep breath, gathering your courage.

You stripped off your clothes, leaving you naked in the dim light of the room. You pulled on a pair of cotton panties, their thin fabric barely covering the shame you felt.

You then laid down beneath the thin sheets and waited for your new master's arrival. The tension mounted as the seconds ticked by, the sound of footsteps echoing loudly in the silent mansion.

There was a creak of the door opening, and an intimidating figure emerged from the shadows. His presence loomed large, filling the space with an aura of dominance and power. He wore only a robe, his toned body visible underneath. You bit your lip nervously, unable to tear your gaze away from those imposing features.

Thomas Shelby, you reminded yourself – a name that would forever haunt your dreams. His cold blue eyes swept over you, assessing your worth.

You stared back, holding his gaze, refusing to cower.

"Welcome, Love," he rasped, his voice like gravel underfoot, but you remained silent, swallowing the lump in your throat. He moved closer, looming over you like a storm cloud, his scent of sandalwood and spice filling your nostrils.

"I trust Nadia has briefed you on your duties?" he queried, reaching out to stroke your cheek.

Your skin recoiled at his touch, but you refused to pull away.

"Yes, she did," you mumbled hesitantly, your voice cracking under his scrutiny. He studied you carefully, tracing the lines of your jaw with his fingers.

"Good girl," he crooned softly, a strange sense of pride swelling within you. Your resolve wavered at the compliment, but you steeled yourself, reminding yourself of the reality of your situation as he touched some of your bare skin not covered by the white sheet.

"Relax Love," he then said softly as the heat of his hand seared through your skin, sending quivers up your spine. "You will get used to this after a while," he went on to say and his voice was comforting, yet the words stung like venom.

Your breath quickened, chest rising and falling in rapid succession, and your hands instinctively curled into fists beneath the thin white sheet covering you. You wanted to scream, but instead, you simply nodded, unable to find any words to respond.

Thomas looked at you, his eyes appraising your form beneath the covers. "I am going to have a look at you now, eh" he said suddenly, reaching down to lift the edge of the sheet away from your body.

You squirmed and turned red, trying to cover yourself. But he pushed your hands aside gently, staring at you with a mixture of lust and admiration. "I cannot wait to feel your tight little cunt squeeze around my cock when I claim you," he whispered, running his fingertips along your inner thigh, causing you to shiver uncomfortably.

"But first, let me have a look at this little virgin hole of yours, eh?" the man said and his words sent a wave of unease coursing through your veins. You could feel the sweat trickling down your face, mingling with the tears pooling in your eyes. You bit your lip, struggling to contain the sobs threatening to erupt from inside you.

With a gentle tug, he pulled your panties down just enough to expose your slit and your heart pounded against your chest almost painfully.

"I have been told that your opening is particularly small" he murmured, trailing his fingers over your slit before parting your labia slightly, exposing your tiny clit.

"Ow!" you gasped, wincing at the sudden stretch caused by his fingers.

"You do have a tight opening indeed," he grinned wickedly, licking his lips.

Thomas gazed at it with fascination, reaching between your thighs. You tried to close your legs, but he firmly held them open, pressing a dry finger against your entrance, probing it gently.

"Look at that," he breathed, leaning forward to get a better view. "It's barely opened up yet," Tommy groaned as he probed deeper, widening your opening until he found your hymen—a thin membrane that separated you from being fully broken. His fingers brushed against it, sending stinging pain shooting through your core as he toyed with your opening.

"Now, be a good girl and hold still for me," he cooed, pressing the tips of one of his fingers against your entrance. "I need to stretch you out a bit, ready for later," he went on to say as his finger pressed harder, forcing its way into your most intimate space. It felt too big, too foreign. The pain was excruciating, but you did your best not to make a sound.

"There we go," he muttered, thrusting deeper until his entire pointer finger filled you up. "That's a good girl. Now, let's see if I can get a second one in there," he told you before reaching for the bottle of lubrication he kept on the nightstand and squirting the viscous liquid onto two of his fingers.

"Hold still for me," he reminded you before swiping his fingers across your outer lips and then pushing not one but two fingers right into you.

You cried out and arched your back, biting into your own fist to stop any louder sounds from escaping.

"Shh," Thomas hushed you, rubbing soothing circles into your hipbone as he pumped his fingers in and out of you.

His fingers felt cold and slimy inside you, sliding easily past your resistance, tearing at your hymen with each thrust.

You closed your eyes tightly, gritting your teeth as the sensation of being stretched and torn overwhelmed you.

The sight of his fingers stretching you like this turned him on; he couldn't help but groan and squeeze harder, making sure you knew exactly what he was doing to you.

"Such a good girl," he praised between grunts, watching your petals pulse around his digits, growing wetter and slicker with every stroke.

"See how hard you make me?" he moaned, opening his robe and grabbing hold of his erection, stroking it firmly. "I really want to fuck you now," he determined before he withdrew his fingers from you, leaving you feeling empty and exposed.

"Now be a good girl and turn over and lay flat on your stomach, face down against pillow," he commanded gruffly, pushing your upper body onto the mattress.

You hesitated, wanting to turn over and hide your nakedness, but fear of displeasing him kept you lying facedown.

"I am going to use some lubrication, but it is going to hurt a lot more if you don't relax Love," he warned sharply, pulling your waist upwards and spreading your legs apart.

As you lay on your stomach and your heart hammered against your chest. The thought of being penetrated by him sent chills down your spine. You squeezed your eyes shut, hoping to block out the inevitable.

You whimpered softly, trying to prepare yourself for what was to come, and Tommy smeared a generous amount of lube onto his cock, coating it in a thick layer of slippery fluid. You flinched in anticipation as he positioned himself between your legs.

"This might hurt a bit for the first few days, but you will get used to it after a while. The more we do it, the easier it will get," he said while aligning himself with your entry point.

"Now," he continued, his tone stern. "I want you to stay completely still when I penetrate you," he added, applying another dollop of lube to his shaft.

You remained silent, swallowing loudly as you attempted to gather your courage. You could hear your own heartbeat echoing in your ears; the rhythmic, thunderous pounding was deafening.

"Do you understand?" he asked quietly and you nodded. Your muscles tensed, ready to endure whatever came next.

Thomas placed the head of his penis at your entrance, teasing you with a slow push. You exhaled loudly, gripping the sheets in your fists.

"Relax and let me in," Thomas urged you, nudging the tip of his member against your entrance. "That's it," he sighed, feeling your body yield under his command. His cock slid into you, stretching you wide open, and the friction of entering you caused a shudder to ripple through his body.

"Ah," he groaned, reveling in the exquisite sensation of being enveloped by your warm, tight channel. "Such a good girl," he groaned as he savored the moment, basking in the sensations that coursed through him. Then, he began to thrust, filling you up inch by agonizing inch until every last millimeter of his erection was buried deep within you.

"So tight," he groaned, bucking into you with a force that seemed to shake the entire bed. "Fuck, you're so goddamn tight."

"You are going to be such a good little whore for me, eh?" Tommy murmured into your ear, his hot breath tickling your neck.

"You will take my cock many times a day, love," he growled, his words a dark promise that sent a chill down your spine. "In the morning, afternoon, and evening."

You swallowed loudly, unable to meet his gaze. Your heart hammered wildly against your chest, and you struggled to suppress the sob that threatened to escape.

"Every time I come through that door, you'll be ready for me, won't you?" he asked, his grip tightening around your hip.

"Because I'm going to fuck you whenever I want, Love." Tommy snarled, punctuating his words with hard thrusts.

For almost an hour, he used you like this, treating you like a rag doll that belonged to him alone until, finally, he was ready to ejaculate inside your raw opening.

"I am going to cum inside you now, Love," he informed you, his cock twitching violently against your vaginal wall.

"Do you want me to fill you up with my seed?" he asked you, his voice laced with lust, his fingers tightening around your hips.

"Yes, sir," you managed to reply, your voice hoarse with exhaustion.

He smiled down at you, satisfaction shining in his eyes. "Good girl," he praised, pumping his cock a few more times before letting out a guttural yell and filling you up with his essence.

As he collapsed next to you, panting heavily, you could feel his warmth radiating into your channel.

The remnants of his semen trickled down your leg, leaving a sticky trail behind.

"That was a lovely experience, wasn't it?" Tom said, his voice still coarse from exertion. "Now rest. I am going to fuck you again when I come back from my business deal tonight" he added, his gaze lingering on your tender, swollen lips.

He moved his hands to cup your breasts, palming them gently before pinching your nipples.

"You are going to learn to enjoy it Love," he whispered, his voice harsh and commanding. "And when you do," he paused, his breath hot against your cheek, "you are going to beg me for more," he determined before putting his robe back on and calling one of the maids to help you clean up.

#cillian murphy smut #cillian murphy #tommy shelby #cillian murphy x y/n #cillian murphy x reader #cillian murphy x you #cillian murphy imagine #peaky blinders #tommy shelby smut #tommy shelby x reader #thomas shelby x reader #thomas shelby fanfic #thomas shelby #thomas shelby imagine #tommy shelby imagine #tommy shelby fanfiction #thomas shelby smut

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luna-rainbow · 1 year

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On Steve Rogers, loss, and loneliness

Unlike some of the other characters, Steve's hurt isn't as plain to the eye. His demeanour is usually one of stoicism and optimism, and it is easy to forget that his story is steeped in loss and loneliness.

Steve's introduction highlighted how alone he was - an orphan, armed with a list of ailments, and hiding behind a newspaper to avoid small chat with other recruits. When rejected by the recruitment centre, Steve shrugs and heads to watch a movie - alone.

Steve is a loner, we are shown, and then just as abruptly - perhaps just like the way it had happened many years ago - Bucky crashes into Steve's world and hooks an arm around his shoulders and noisily talks about an expo and dispels all of Steve's melancholic air. Steve is a loner, except for Bucky.

But Bucky is now leaving to go to war.

Steve is used to being stoic, because there were no adults around him to spoil him. He is used to being buoyant, because Sarah taught him how to pick himself up and carry on. Steve is used facing the empty house and lonely silence -- except for Bucky, who filled his room with chatter, "We can put the couch cushions on the floor, like when we were kids."

So when we hear the anxious strain in his voice as he is informed by Bucky that he is leaving -- it also becomes plain that Steve is also used to loss, or the threat of loss shadowing him, everyday.

In his short life, he has already lost so much. He has lost his health (my thought is he was probably healthier in his early childhood until he caught scarlet fever, and then his health got a lot worse after that). He has lost his father, and all the security of having a family breadwinner. He has lost his mother - to long hours of work and eventually to the disease she was battling against.

What he dreads would happen, does happen. Life seems to have a way of chasing him down like that. Sarah gets sick, and his fear of coming home to find her gone...one day inevitably comes true.

At his darkest moment, Bucky squeezes his shoulder and promises, "You don't have to do it (alone). I'm with you to the end of the line."

It's just enough for Steve to square his shoulders and push on, as Sarah had always taught him to do. Deep inside - possibly buried so deep that he can barely put it into words, he knows that he pulled through because "Even when I had nothing, I had Bucky."

I'm going to pause here and emphasise how deeply lonely (and young) Steve was, and how, naturally, the only stable presence — ie Bucky — in his life, through periods of terrible grief and uncertainty, is going to be such a deep-rooted emotional foundation for him (regardless of how you ship).

When the draft does come for Bucky, it's not just Bucky who's unhappy, it's Steve who's also aghast. Suddenly, the possibility of losing his last bastion looms over him, and he remembers the fear and anxiety and the devastating grief of losing Sarah. But it is also a war that needs fighting - so he comes up with a solution: sign himself up. He can't keep Bucky from the war, but he wants to fight alongside him. Besides Bucky, what else does he have to lose?

"Men are laying down their lives, I have no right to do any less. That's what you don't understand, Bucky."

He says this angrily, because the words he can't say aloud are, "You are laying down your life, Bucky, and I might never see you again, and I can't go through all that again, not by myself."

When he hears about the 107th being captured, he has to go. He is saving Bucky, sure, but he is also saving himself, because the pillar, the lifebuoy, the harness that has kept him afloat all those years is Bucky, and he's terrified of sinking.

The serum makes him taller and more women pause to smile at him, but he is still incredibly alone. He sits alone during break, he draws alone in his book, he runs off alone and none of the USO girls even notices until it's his turn on stage.

But Bucky notices him immediately, and says, "I thought you were smaller," and, "Did it hurt?"

Steve doesn't really believe in miracles. His whole life feels like one bad luck after another, even if he forces one foot in front of another and keeps marching on. But maybe at that moment, he feels like Bucky is his miracle. Bucky, who always seems to notice when he's alone and pulls him into his social circle. Bucky, who had seen him lose his dad and Sarah and promised him the end of the line. Bucky, who he - and all the commanders - thought was dead, pulls through and gives him another promise - that he would follow the little guy back into war.

When Steve is finally thrust into the frontline, the losses keeps mounting, man after man are falling, condolence letter after letter is being written. And then towards the end of 1944, the tides seem to finally turn. German forces are waning, the Allied forces are advancing, and quietly, secretly, Steve dreams of home.

And that dream dies with Bucky.

"Honour the dignity of his choice," he is told, but he can't shake off the guilt.

He pushes himself forward, step by dragging step. Nazi Germany is falling. He is taking down Hydra with his own hands…and at the end, he buries them all in the ocean with himself.

His is sinking, but he isn’t afraid, because he is going where all the people who mattered are waiting.

And he is denied even that.

He opens his eyes to a world he doesn’t recognise. They tell him they had won the war.

But no one wants to speak with him about what was lost.

A folder of old photos, the museum of unmoving murals, the silent movies of a smile he would never see again.

He thought he had lost all there was to lose, but somehow life always seem to find something else to take.

What we see of off-duty Steve in the modern world is once again a figure of loneliness. He goes to the gym alone, he goes for a ride on the train alone, he sits at the cafe alone, he goes for runs alone, he goes to the museum alone.

Only during those solitary moments he could truly be Steve Rogers, instead of trying to meet everyone's expectations of Captain America. He is just shy of 27 years old, but suddenly, he can no longer lay claim to youth. Only a dream ago he was "just a kid from Brooklyn", and now he's an "old-fashioned" (as per Coulson) "older fellow" (as per Tony).

He's in the history books, he's on the television, he's in the classrooms; everyone knows of Captain America, but Steve Rogers is lost.

He had been willing to lose his life on the Valkyrie, but what he lost was every living connection and his own identity.

"Must have freaked you out, coming home after the whole defrosting thing," the friendly man says to him on their first meeting, but Sam only knows half of it.

The too soft bed and the too quiet room is one thing, the unshakeable nightmares another, but the worst of it is -- this isn't home.

He is marooned in a place that bears eerie resemblance to the world he knew, without being familiar.

Until the moment Bucky's mask comes off.

It's like the anchor dropping. He's now got a connection tethering him to this strange place, someone with "shared experience" that means he is no longer alone, and he is no longer a ghost forgotten by the seventy years of lost time.

"He doesn't know you."

"He will."

He has to believe that Bucky will, because Bucky is proof that Steve Rogers exists.

And once again, Bucky is his miracle. On the brink of killing them both, Bucky reels back from his brainwashing and hauls them both to safety.

Even if Bucky leaves after that, he's left behind something Steve hasn't had for a long time -- hope, and belonging.

"Family, stability. The guy who wanted all that went in the ice seventy-five years ago," he says to Tony as he prepares to meet the ragged team of enhanced people that is to become the Avengers. "I'm home."

Stoic and buoyant as he has always been, Steve sets to work building that home for himself. Gradually, we see Steve open up. He forms new connections and new friendships, he talks about his vulnerabilities with people he trusts, and he reclaims his own identity. He looks for Bucky, and waits until Bucky is ready to build that home for himself.

Until it is once again blown apart by the end of Infinity War - he loses not just Bucky, the anchor to his past, but the new family he has made apart from Natasha.

That's why it makes sense that Steve, not Tony, is the one working so hard to reverse the Snap. His family was 5 years ago, Tony's family is now. The people who rallied behind Steve and not Captain America, the people who followed him after he dropped the shield, the people with whom he no longer needed to be endlessly lonely and tirelessly stoic and who loved him for who Steve Rogers was, they all vanished in the Snap.

So even if there was only a small hope, Steve wants them back.

And that's why his decision to leave everything he had built, the sacrifices he had made to bring them back, in order to go into a life of incredibly loneliness and deception is still the dumbest narrative faux pas in the MCU.

#steve rogers #steve rogers meta #bucky barnes #stucky #stucky meta #long post #this got away from me and is super long sorry #anti endgame #as always

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mikichko · 20 days

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invisible red line pairing: john price x transmasc!reader cw: not a totally neutral reader as it's modeled after someone, pure fluff :) a/n: xavi (@buttdumplin) was one of the first people I met when I first joined this fandom and he's easily become one of my close friends. it's a little crazy to think that posting about some men would introduce me to one of my favorite people here. this piece is a gift to xavi as a way to thank him for the incredible friendship and kinship we share. xavito, yo se que nada que yo hago o escribo podrá encapsular todo el cariño y agradecimiento que yo tengo hacia ti. pero espero que con esta escritura sientas un poquito del cariño y amor que tu amistad me trae a mi 💕

Nothing else makes the world feel the way it does when John has his hands on you. Hand in hand, on the small of your back, on your hip pulling you to him, or on your chin tilting you up to meet his lips. He can’t name it, can’t quite place his fingers on the why, only knows there’s a comfort it provides. The noise of the world dampens with you in his arms, the flat of his palms on you. There are no threats to prepare for, no problems that need solving. It’s all tranquil here with you.

It’s what has him questioning his beliefs, pondering the idea of fate. John’s not a religious man. Not one to let others reap the glory of his hard work. It’s why he despises fate, it undermines him. He sneers at the mere idea of a predetermined life, one with a path set for him to follow. Like a mindless drone tethered to a track, no choice in which way it bends and curves into.

No, John Price has made every decision with intent. Has meticulously picked every single block used to build up his life. Molded the ones that had been damaged by incompetence and betrayals into solid rock for his foundation. He’s taken every step intentionally, navigated the turbulent waters to land himself right where he’s wanted. The stars had done nothing for him, he’d clawed his way there himself.

And yet, here’s an anomaly he hadn’t accounted for. A soft sweet boy to temper out his rough edges. To run his hands over John’s brows and try to smooth out the wrinkles brought on by years of worry. Who pressed kisses to his cheek like they were something precious to him. Like John is worth something.

When he’s at the receiving end of such care John has to wonder who sent him such a sweet thing.

He knows he hasn’t earned it. Knows his hands have dripped blood, some of which had been wrongly spilled. Liquid sin staining the ivory of his hands before returning to the dirt. Hands like his should not be near his sweet boy. Should not be sullying his skin.

But years of restraint, bound to militaristic standards, years of depriving himself have made him hungry. He can’t help but chase selfishly for your touch, to bury his nose into you and breathe deeply, have his senses overwhelmed by you. Let himself be pressed so close to you it makes you squeal. He bats away your hands when you protest that you’ll hurt him, just pulls you closer onto him.

It’s pressed closely to you, your head laying on his chest, your warmth seeping into him and the cushions of the couch, that he thinks about fate again. He entertains the idea of the stars for once. Wondered for a split second if it was fate that he’d meet you or if he somehow clawed that to him as well.

- ooooo fancy flashback -

He thinks the universe is fucking with him when he spots you. Bitterness rising in the back of his throat as he watches from down the aisle. The laughter of the boys still rings in the back of his head, trading joyous stories of families with each other. It’s the one thing he’d neglected in this life. Any semblance of a family forgotten, problems needed solving and John made the sacrifice. For the greater good, he tells himself, it had to be done.

It’s what he mutters to himself whenever he remembers the chill of his flat back home. What he repeats when he wakes up to the chill of the air creeping up underneath his sheets, the bed empty next to him.

It’s cruel for the universe to tempt him here. With a boy he just knows is a match for him, hidden away in a city in some landlocked piece of America. Kept secret from him by oceans, borders, and the vastness of America. Yet, here you are within reach. He tightens his hand on the handle of the six pack, the least offensive one he could find, and just watches.

You're oblivious to the turmoil he’s in. Unaware of the silent battle that rages within him as his body fights to step towards you but his mind keeps him locked in place. All while you compare shaving cream brands for god’s sake. It’d be ridiculous if John hadn’t been starving for someone like you. If his mouth hadn’t dried, if his brain was still working the way it should.

His feet only move when you float into the next aisle, mind, and body intent on keeping his eyes on you. He still keeps his distance, fiddling with the containers on his end of the aisle. The unfamiliarity of the products throws him for a moment, what the hell is sofrito? You thrive in it, grabbing what he assumes are your essentials seeing how you pick them while barely glancing at them.

The casualness of your shopping is what gives him his opening. Your fingers grasp the long neck of a glass bottle, pulling it to you with ease. But, for whatever reason, it slips through your fingers and hurtles through the floor. John’s body moves on autopilot, the same it did when Soap had hurtled a knife towards an insubordinate officer. Soap had thrown it as a fear tactic, path angled to avoid harm. But he knows the bottle will absolutely shatter, shards cutting through the fabric of your pants, piercing skin, and staining the fabric with your own crimson life. He can’t have that.

He catches it before it makes contact with the ground, hand hovering a few centimeters above the ground before he straightens himself.

“Careful with glass sweetheart. Can’t have pretty things like you damaged.”

Your widened eyes blink before your face transforms in front of him. Your beautifully surprised expression morphs into a scowl, hand adjusting the grip on the basket.

“I’m not a girl.”

John can only raise an eyebrow at you, eyes running over you without permission. He’s well aware.

“Didn’t take you for one lad.”

He lets it sit out in the open for a moment to gauge your response. You merely blink, the scowl easing a bit, the creases between your eyebrows dropping from three to one. Not what you were expecting. Well, you weren’t either, soft face hiding a rather fiery attitude from the looks of it. Someone had definitely put you here for him.

He offers you the bottle, “Trying to tell me that lads can’t be sweet too? Can’t be pretty?”

It’s been years but he’s been around his boys enough. Kept his wit about him, clearly something that’ll help him win your favor. Likes the way his questions make your lips press inward, like you’re fighting a smile. He lets his eyes roam over you again.

You lick your lips before responding, “Sorry. Just force of habit.”

John hums, “Nothing to be sorry for love. Like the boys who stand their ground.”

He sees you sway a little, shuffle backward just a little as you try to work out the meaning of his words. Your little inhale tells him you’re enjoying the attention. But you’re still fiddling with the basket, curling and uncurling your fingers on the handles. He doesn’t prod for a response, lets his eyes drift to the contents of your basket. It’s not the what that catches his attention, emboldens him a little more, but just how much of each item there is. He’s no expert but the mere fact you’ve got a basket tells John you’re not shopping for two. The lack of a band on your finger and objections to his comments fill in the rest of the gaps for him.

He can’t help himself, “Feel like I owe you something as an apology, for making you feel there was any need for clarification.”

He watches the silent battle you have, gnawing on your lip as you mull over his proposition. Your eyes flick down to the pack in his hand, “If that’s what you’re offering to share I think I’ll pass.”

He grins back at you, hip cocking a bit while he looks down at you, “Can always take you somewhere acceptable for your more refined palette.”

You huff out a laugh, your basket finally landing in the ownership of your left hand. “Sorry sir, I’m not one for too many outings. More of a homebody.” You smile politely before your turn and start moving away from him.

He tries not to dwell too much on the energy that shoots up his spine at your use of sir. Doesn’t even think twice before he follows behind you.

“Bit of a homebody myself love. Just a bit further from mine at the moment.”

“That why you have that pack of piss in your hands?”

He shrugs at your back, “Not too familiar with these plains, makes it difficult to find good liquor.”

You snort at that, “Guess you need a local to show you where to find the good stuff.”

He comes to a stop right behind you, grinning at you as you turn to face him again, “That a yes to my offer then?”

Your shrug, attempt nonchalance, “We’ll see how movie night goes.”

Somehow he doesn’t fuck it up. He sees you once, investigated thoroughly by the black void that greets him at the door. He sees you again, a third time, and more. He beds you, marks you, and finally claims you as his own. You had him claimed since the beginning.

- ooooo back to the present -

He tightens his grip on you just a little, pressing a kiss to your forehead. The prickly sensation causes you to stir, eyes blinking slowly as you gain awareness of where you are. He hooks his fingers into the fabric to secure you to him.

“Everything okay?” You mumble out sleepily.

He gives you another kiss, you hum happily against his chest.

“Got you in my arms sweetheart, everything's perfect.”

#.mine #.price #.cod #kept the little “fancy time skip” because they made xavi laugh #i had a really fun time with this #also i know this is an hour late i am so so so so so so sorry #john price x male reader #john price x trans reader #price x male reader #price x trans reader

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little-pondhead · 1 year

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[inspired roughly by this post. My brain snails started going nuts so I thought it'd be easier to post this separately :)]

…

It was a lovely day in Gotham. Well, as lovely as it could be. The sun was up, peeking through the overhead cloud cover and making the buildings gleam in the rare sunlight. The air was fresher than usual, and faucets ran clear of strange and unusual toxins.

Somewhere in the Upper East Side, in a little neighborhood tucked away from the rest of the city, marched around the new boss of the area. She was a young girl, just barely in high school. But despite it being the middle of a work day, she wandered around her chosen streets, content to do whatever she wanted. Above her, a pair of siblings watched on and discussed the unique situation.

"So let me get this straight: that fourteen-year-old goth girl is a crime boss?"

Mia smiled at Leon, her older brother, and his dumbfounded expression as they rested on her balcony. "She's fifteen, actually. Her birthday just passed. We all got together and threw a block party for her!"

"You know how insane that sounds, right?" Leon turned to her, a bit miffed that she dared to say those words to his face. "She's a kid. Why do you all listen to her?"

Mia shrugged and sipped her beer. "She does good work. Holds her own pretty well, and the kid has connections. Good ones, too. That can be the difference between life and death in Gotham."

Leon rubbed his forehead in frustration. "I just don't get it. How did she end up in this line of work? Do child labor laws even apply here?? Why aren't the Bats doing anything?"

"Don't think about it too much, dipshit." Mia crushed her now-empty beer can in her hand and tucked it into a paper garbage bag hanging off of a hook on the balcony rail. A familiar set of green arrows was printed on the side.

"And now you're recycling?!" Leon realized. "When did you start doing that, Mia??"

The woman shrugged and got up, stretching. "Probably around the time Brambles absolutely reamed out Mrs. Zalinski for littering at the park."

"Wait, who's Brambles?" Leon scrambled upright and followed his sister inside.

Mia laughed. "Brambles is our fifteen-year-old crime boss!"

...

"I can't believe you got a cool name right off the bat," Danny grumbled, flopping onto Sam's bed face-first. Sam smirked and shoved him off with her foot. Danny just squawked and let himself ragdoll to the ground.

"It's your fault for not having a better gimmick." She said to his prone body. "Besides, it could've been worse."

"I think Inviso-Bill is the worst possible nickname for anyone." Danny groaned. "But you got something cool immediately. Who even thought up 'Brambles'? That's such a unique name!"

"Well the kids call you Grim; that's pretty cool."

Danny flopped over, twisting himself much farther than any human was supposed to just so he could glare at her face. "They only call me that cause one of the is obsessed with Harry Potter." He grumbled, pouting.

Sam just rolled her eyes and went back to sorting through piles of papers scattered all across her duvet. Since moving to Gotham several months ago, Sam had taken it upon herself to turn the experience into something useful rather than just moping all the time, as she originally wanted to. That 'something useful' had landed her as the newest crime boss in Gotham, with about a third of the Upper East Side as her current territory.

So many problems had popped up in the last year, and the group had decided that taking it on alone would never work. The GIW had been trying to close Amity's borders, Danny's parents had a scientific breakthrough, tensions in the Realms were high, etc. There was a lot on their plate! Sam's solution was to create a foothold in Gotham City. She would lay the foundations for Jazz to work in Arkham and forge a safer environment for the residents of Amity Park to sneak off to if the GIW went too far. She was essentially weaving a cushion for everyone to fall back on.

Danny, using the power of duplication, was splitting his focus between foiling his parent's plans and resolving issues with his rouges to create a united front. He was the main distraction, and Sam's own heavy hitter when she needed help establishing dominance.

Tucker planned to gather intel with the help of Technus and Jazz. They were trying to gather as much evidence as possible so they'd be in the clear when the whistle blew. The GIW would crash and burn, legally speaking. They were the bugs of the operation, spreading themselves thin and hoarding information like it was candy.

Dani was their wild card, their jester. She was keeping the JLD's attention focused solely on her and all the supernatural hijinks she was stirring up. When the time was right, she'd point them in the direction needed and let them loose. After winding them up so much, the hope was that the Justice League Dark would descend upon the GIW like hellfire.

But those were their future plans. Right now, Sam was in possession of specific files from Arkham Asylum and the GCPD. She was looking for anything to give her an edge in the upcoming meeting with a few other crime bosses. Some annual thing they host to renew Goonion contracts, see who's still alive, and examine how much the territory lines have changed. Stuff like that. Red Hood was supposed to be there, and she knew she needed an ironclad defense against him and his nosy colony of Bats.

Danny untwisted himself all of a sudden, making a weird face. "Sorry, got to go." He apologized. "Vlad just showed up to my house."

Sam waved him off. "Go, I'll be fine for today. Just be on time for the meeting on Friday. And I want you, not a double."

"You got it!" Danny did finger guns at her and promptly melted into a pile of green goo. Right on her bedroom floor!

Sam sighed and got up to throw a towel over the puddle. The ectoplasm would evaporate eventually, returning to the original Danny little by little. But for now, this would keep anyone from asking about it until it was all gone.

Sometimes she really hated living in student dorms. People always felt the need to burst into her room for no reason.

Who even made dorm rooms for high schoolers in the first place??

...

Jason couldn't help but stare at the new recruit.

Well, 'new recruit' wasn't exactly accurate. 'Potential to be the most headache-inducing supervillain' was more like it. Standing at a solid 5'10" with platform boots, Brambles, the newest crime lord who had taken over half of the Upper East Side in under four months, was almost tall enough to look him in the eye straight on. Which she tried to do anyways, tilting her chin up oh-so-slightly (in that stupid way aristocrats do when they want to look down at you) and glaring at him with open hostility.

Brambles was young, way too young to be in this line of business. At the start of the annual underground crime meeting (yes, they couldn't come up with a better name), she had announced that she was fifteen, went by she/her, and would snap the dick off of anyone who looked at her funny. Most everyone laughed at her, thinking it was an empty threat. Brambles proved it wasn't by sucker-punching a younger lieutenant who tried to get handsy with her five minutes into the meeting.

When the lieutenant's boss protested and threatened a gang war, Brambles had snapped her fingers and summoned what could only be a fucking pit demon from the depths of hell to threaten the man back. The creature looked like a teenager, just like Brambles, at first. But it was...off. The longer you looked, the worse it got.

It wore a draping black cloak that covered most of its body, with the ends turning to mist when it reached the floor. It had a pale, young face and white hair. Its eyes glowed just like Brambles', except they were a toxic green that made Jason's heart skip a beat in fear. The creature was snarling, with a fucking muzzle on it to keep its sharp teeth away from wandering fingers.

With a nod from Brambles, the creature bounded forward and knocked the guy to the floor, its arm elbow-deep into the guy's chest. The dude looked terrified, and a little sick "Would you rather lose a lieutenant or your life?" She had snarled, sounding almost a bit demonic herself. The other boss had backed down without another word, writing off his subordinate as dead and gone.

Instead of killing the guy, however, Brambles simply banished her little guard dog to a corner of the warehouse to play with its new toy in peace.

"Is she allowed to do that?" Someone whispered.

"They weren't unionized, so the Goonion won't say anything." Another answered.

It was the most awkward meeting in the history of the criminal underworld. No one even died since they were all focused on the newcomer.

Jason could feel a headache forming as the meeting came to an end. Brambles was still sitting in her chair. The creature had grown bored of its toy and was leaning against her, sprawled out lazily and barely flicking an ear at the onlookers in acknowledgment. A few people were idling around her, mostly women, trying to talk some big game and get on the kid's good side. Brambles was humoring them, taking tight control of the conversation when they got too prying.

Jason sighed. He knew he'd have to go over and have a talk with the kid, even if it was just for Bruce's files. He hauled himself upwards and stalked over. "Pardon me, ladies and gents, but I'm going to borrow the kiddo here for a moment."

The creature hissed at him, tensed at his approach. Brambles kept a tight grip on the back of its muzzle, keeping it grounded. The other criminals scattered like flies. They were the only two (three?) left in the warehouse within minutes.

Bramble rose to glare at him. "What." She spat. "If you're here to convince me not to get involved with anything, I will set Grim on your ass after lighting it on fire."

The creature, Grim, growled in agreement. The sound echoed strangely like he was hearing it from underwater.

"Relax, I'm not here to do any of that." Jason raised his hands in surrender, immediately abandoning that possible line of thought. "I'm just here to talk business. You're young, and while you don't want to admit it, inexperienced."

"Stop the fancy words, Red Hood." Brambles' eyes glowed again, and she released her hold on Grim's muzzle. "If you want to make a deal, say it to my face. If you're here to dig for information, either ask me or hit the road. I prefer honesty over flower talk, so tell me what you want before I take over your area, too."

Jason bristled. His vision was tinted green as he snapped, "What the fuck is your problem, kid?! I just wanted to make sure you were safe and not being forced to do this. I was even going to offer my support and protection if it was too much! I know you aren't going to stop, but that doesn't mean I want a kid to die just because they got into something they shouldn't and they think their fancy guard dog will always be there to protect them!"

Brambles' eyes stopped glowing, and her stare softened a bit. Grim went deadly still, just floating there, staring at Jason. His heart beat like crazy in his chest. What was he saying? It was all true, but he could've been nicer about it. Dick would've found a way to be nicer.

-krrrk- "Ibis, reporting in. I think you can trust him, guys. Even if he's a Bat, his connections and experience would be useful in our plans. Ibis out." -krrrk-

Jason flinched from the sudden noise, looking around to find the source. It sounded like it had come from everywhere, even inside his own helmet. Brambles immediately switched out her hostile look for an annoyed one, tapping an earpiece he hadn't noticed before.

"Ibis, you really have to stop opening up our comm lines to the public." She snapped, but there was no real heat to it. "And I thought I told you to stop eavesdropping!"

-krrrk- "Sorry, can't help it. I'm everywhere now! You shouldn't have given me this power." -krrrk-

Grim hissed.

-krrrk- "Don't hiss at me, young man! You were the one who suggested this!" -krrrk-

"I'm sorry, time out!" Jason made a T with his hands. The green from his vision had completely disappeared now. "What the FUCK is going on now?"

Brambles sighed, rubbing her temples. "You know what? Fine. We'll trust you. My name is Sam. Nice to meet you, Jason Todd."

Jason stepped back, immediately reaching for his gun. Grim darted forward and promptly flew through him, stealing all his weapons in one go. "I'm Danny!" Grim-Danny?-chirped in a human voice, giving him a shit-eating smile. "Sorry for the act, Mr. Hood. And sorry about the name drop, I'm the one that told them."

-krrrk- "I'm Tucker! There are more of us, but they're busy. I have literally so many questions for you, Mr. Hood." -krrrk-

"Now that introductions are over-Danny don't eat his smoke bombs, you're not gonna look like Dorathea-we'd like your help."

Jason squinted at them. "You understand this is all suspicious as fuck, right? And how did a pit demon find out who I am?"

-krrrk- "Yeah, we know. But lives are on the line here, and I think you'd really be a help!" -krrrk-

Brambles-Sam-sighed and pulled out a flash drive. "I was going to use this as leverage, but I guess it'll have to be useful in other ways." She tossed it to Jason, who numbly caught it. "Look over it if you want. If you don't, then just burn it. Do not try to plug it into the Batcomputer. Don't try to send it to the Batcomputer, either. A virus will target that specific IP address as soon as it makes contact. Any other computer is fine."

"Look it over, and we can go from there," Danny added, spinning in midair while chomping on one of Jason's knives. (His good one, too!) "And I'm not a pit demon, but I am dead. That's how I knew about you. Whatever brought you back to life gave the Realms a real headache for a while. It wasn't hard to look you up in the records."

"This is so much information. Lives are on the line? And two, three kids are dealing with it? By becoming crime bosses?"

-krrrk- "Technically, Sam's the only crime boss here. And that was kind of an accident. She was supposed to create a safe foothold in Gotham in case we needed to evacuate our town. But we all got cool nicknames out of it! And you're the only adult we've told this stuff to!" -krrrk-

"I'm what?"

"The only adult." Sam's unwavering gaze seemed to pierce his soul. "There are quite literally no other adults that can help, Red Hood. None that we trust, not really. Any adult intervention needs to be planned carefully so it doesn't backfire on us. We're trusting you here, Jason. Not only are you like us, which technically puts you in danger too, but you have power and connections to support a whole town of people the government wants to eradicate."

Jason looked at the little green flash drive in his hand. He didn't want to ask. "And this...?"

"A fruit basket," Sam said simply. "Originally, it was supposed to be blackmail. But instead, this is a present to show our goodwill and faith. To show you our skills. That drive contains information on other gangs, upcoming rogue attacks, chemical breakdowns of Joker Venom and Fear Gas, unfinished antidote formulas, etc. Tucker and his team scoured the underbelly of Gotham and gathered dirt on every single prominent figurehead. Including Bruce Wayne, should you choose to use it."

"I would never-"

"But you've thought about it." Danny cut in and scratched his neck. Jason's hands shook. "It's not a bad thing. It's just the nature of the dead. Wanting to right the wrongs left over from their time with the living. Even if you walk and breathe now, that doesn't mean desire disappears."

"The point is, we need help. Even if I'm loathe to admit it." Sam rolled her eyes, and suddenly, Jason didn't see a potential supervillain in the making. He saw a teenager trying her best, shouldering the responsibility of hundreds of people, both in Gotham and her hometown. Danny looked the same, no matter how other-worldly he was. What battles were they facing? Why weren't there any adults to turn to? What kind of lives were they leading if they immediately trusted a known crime lord with their lives upon the first meeting?

"I'll think about it." Jason finally said. Danny trilled in excitement, and some tension bled out of Sam's shoulders. "If the situation is bad enough, however, I'm calling in someone else for help."

Danny shrugged. "As long as it ain't Batman! I don't think he'll appreciate us smuggling a town of liminals into his city."

Sam poked Danny's shoulder, prompting him to look at her. "Let's go, before you break his brain with more info-dumping. Bye Red Hood!"

"Uh, yeah. Goodbye!" Jason stuttered. He watched the two kids walk towards the exit door, before shimmering out of sight before they even touched the handle.

What the fuck.

#danny phantom #dpxdc #kinda strayed away from the prompt #and that's why its a separate post not a reblog #long post #not beta read #no beta we die like danny #pondhead writes #this leans into more of a ‘Sam did it on purpose but said it was an accident’#Tucker read the vibes from all the way in Amity and the other two just roll with it #Tucker: we can trust him #Sam: here’s our entire life story then #Danny: I hope you don’t mind us info-dumping :)#Danny will eat anything #he’s a growing boy! (hopefully)#he wanted to look like Dorathea when she’s a dragon #I cannot stress enough I don’t know shit about dc #so if someone is already in charge of the upper east side #then shut up Sam is their boss now #not continuing please don’t ask I will cry #someone else is free to take over from here #it’s literally just brain vomit to get myself going

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planet-marz1 · 10 months

Text

Is It Over Now?

Summary: Still reeling from Joel's revelation, you find solace in someone new. Pairing: Joel x F!Reader Word Count: ~7.1k

Tags/Warnings:18+MDNI no use of y/n, jackson!joel, established relationship, angst, somewhat? happy ending, infidelity, joel just kinda sucks honestly,alcohol consumption, implied smut (not with joel), lots of joel tears, pet names (sweetheart), jealousy, insecurities, self doubt, reader is in her healing era, reader slaps a bitch (it's deserved, I swear)

A/N: Hi! This is the second, and final part of this series, though I have a few more drabbles & oneshots planned to write and post. This is dedicated to my love @kajashe 💗 and thank you to my beloved @ramblers-lets-get-ramblin for beta reading this for me! and yet another thank you to all of my friends who listened to me ramble on about this for the past several days in discord 💜

beautiful dividers by @/saradika

follow my fic updates blog @planetmarz1-notifs

| part i | series masterlist | main masterlist |

The passing weeks were a blur of emotional turmoil and quiet introspection. The once-familiar routines of life felt like a distant memory, replaced by a persistent ache that accompanied every moment of solitude. Your days were marked by the slow process of healing, a journey undertaken one painful step at a time.

Joel had respected your request for space, retreating to the refuge of his brother Tommy's home. The absence of his presence in your shared space only served as a constant reminder of the void that had opened up in your life. Jackson carried on with its daily rhythm, oblivious to the personal upheaval that had unfolded within its walls.

Nights were the hardest. The quiet darkness seemed to amplify the echoes of the past, and sleep became an elusive visitor. The couch where you had waited for Joel that fateful night became a throne of solitude, the cushions bearing silent witness to the nights spent wrestling with the fragments of a broken heart.

In moments of vulnerability, you allowed yourself to revisit the memories of the life you had built together. Photographs adorned the walls, frozen moments in time that now carried the weight of bittersweet nostalgia. The laughter, the shared dreams, and the quiet moments of connection—all now tainted by the knowledge of his betrayal.

The settlement's whispers reached your ears—a mix of sympathy, curiosity, and the well-intentioned attempts of friends trying to fill the void left by Joel's absence. Their concern was palpable, but the wounds were still fresh, the healing a slow and arduous process.

Alone in the quiet living room, the remnants of your shattered relationship lingered like ghosts in the air. The moon cast a cold glow through the window, illuminating the space where the truth had been laid bare. The weight of Joel's confession hung heavy in the room, and you were left grappling with a mix of emotions that threatened to consume you.

You sat on the couch, staring into the darkness outside, your mind racing to make sense of the betrayal. Every corner of the room seemed to echo with the whispers of the life you thought you knew, now tainted by the harsh reality of Joel's infidelity.

The silence was deafening, broken only by the distant sounds of the settlement outside. You replayed the moments leading up to this revelation, searching for signs you might have missed, clues that could have prepared you for the storm that had now engulfed your relationship.

The ache in your chest deepened, and you could feel the hot prickle of tears threatening to spill over. Anguish, betrayal, and confusion mingled in a tumultuous storm within you. You wanted answers, an explanation that could somehow make sense of the wreckage now surrounding you.

The clock on the wall ticked away the seconds, marking the passage of time in a world that suddenly felt unfamiliar. As you sat there in the quiet, you wondered how the foundation of your life had crumbled so swiftly, like sand slipping through your fingers.

Outside, the settlement continued its slumber, blissfully unaware of the personal cataclysm unfolding within your home. You needed time to process the truth, to navigate the emotional minefield that now lay before you.

The door creaked open, and Joel stepped back into the room, his eyes filled with regret. The air tensed as he hesitated, unsure of his place in this shattered reality. "I'm sorry," he whispered, his voice heavy with the weight of the words.

You looked up, your eyes meeting his. The distance between you felt insurmountable, a vast chasm that had opened up in the wake of his betrayal. "I need time to figure this out," you said, your voice steady despite the tempest of emotions within you.

Joel nodded, a silent acknowledgment of the consequences he had brought upon himself. As he left the room again, the door closing softly behind him, you were left alone with the wreckage of a love that had weathered countless storms, only to be undone by the tempest within.

So here you are now, at the Tipsy Bison, with its low hum of conversations and the comforting clink of glasses, served as a temporary escape from the turmoil within. The dimly lit bar offered a semblance of solace, a place to drown the sorrows that had become constant companions.

You sat alone at the bar, nursing a drink, the amber liquid reflecting the flickering candlelight. The weight of recent events lingered, a heavy burden you sought to momentarily cast aside. The soft music in the background provided a melancholic soundtrack to the evening.

As you stared into the depths of your drink, Noah took the seat next to you—a familiar face in the crowd, someone you'd seen around the settlement but never really paid much attention to. His attempts at small talk were met with your usual indifference. In the past, your loyalty to Joel had been unwavering, and the idea of entertaining advances from others never crossed your mind.

Tonight, however, the rules had shifted. The wounds of heartbreak were still raw, and the empty space beside you echoed the absence of a familiar presence. Noah persisted, undeterred by your initial disinterest.

"Rough night?" he asked, a half-smile playing on his lips.

You looked at him, a mixture of exhaustion and pain in your eyes. "You could say that."

Noah nodded, understanding glinting in his eyes. "Sometimes a drink is the only company we've got."

A subtle smile played on your lips as you reciprocated his banter. "Seems like you're here for more than just the drinks."

He chuckled, a warmth in his voice. "Well, it's not every night I get to share the bar with someone as intriguing as you, sweetheart"

The dance of flirtation continued, the bar becoming a stage where you and Noah played out a scene of shared laughter and camaraderie. The soft music provided a backdrop to the banter, a temporary escape from the weight that had settled on your shoulders.

Noah leaned in, his voice a low murmur. "You know, I've seen you around, but we've never really talked. What brings you here tonight?"

You sighed, a moment of vulnerability slipping through. "Just trying to forget for a little while, I guess."

He nodded, his gaze thoughtful. "Sometimes, a little distraction is all we need."

As the night wore on, the boundaries between reality and the fleeting connection blurred. Noah became a temporary ally in a battle against the memories that threatened to engulf you. In the shadows of the Tipsy Bison, you allowed yourself a momentary escape, a reprieve from the heartache that still clung to the edges of your world.

The hours passed in a haze of shared stories and laughter. Noah proved to be an unexpected source of comfort, his presence a balm to the wounds that had yet to fully heal. The Tipsy Bison became a refuge, a sanctuary where, for a brief moment, the weight of heartbreak was lifted.

As the night progressed, Noah's conversation turned more earnest, his gaze holding a sincerity that resonated with you. "You know," he said, his voice softened by the dim ambiance of the bar, "Sometimes it helps to talk about what's going on. You don't have to carry it all alone."

The vulnerability in his words echoed the vulnerability you had been avoiding. The temptation to open up, to share the burden, tugged at the edges of your restraint. "It's just been a tough time," you admitted, a hint of gratitude in your voice.

Noah nodded, his eyes filled with understanding. "I get that. Life has a way of throwing curveballs when we least expect it."

The moment stretched, the connection between you deepening. The bar, once a backdrop for distraction, now felt like a space where two people navigating the complexities of life found common ground.

As the night neared its end, Noah leaned in, his voice a whisper. "I'm not an expert in fixing things, but if you ever need someone to listen, I'm here."

His sincerity resonated, and you nodded appreciatively. "Thank you, Noah. It means more than you know."

The Tipsy Bison, with its flickering lights and the hum of conversations, witnessed a different side of you that night—a side that embraced vulnerability and sought solace in unexpected places. As you parted ways, the weight on your shoulders felt a bit lighter, and the bar's exit became a threshold to a world where healing, though uncertain, seemed a little more attainable.

The night air felt cool as you and Noah stepped out of the bar, the soft glow from the neon sign casting a gentle halo around you. The settlement slept in the quiet darkness, oblivious to the shared moments of connection that had unfolded within the bar's walls.

The walk back to your house was a journey through silent streets, the hushed conversations between you and Noah punctuated by the occasional rustle of leaves in the night breeze. The weight of the evening's revelations lingered, but in Noah's company, it felt less burdensome.

As you approached the front door, you turned to him, a newfound warmth in your eyes. "Do you want to come in? Maybe have another drink?" The invitation hung in the air, a testament to the unexpected bond that had formed between you.

Noah's response was a gentle smile "I'd like that," he said, his voice carrying a sense of genuine camaraderie.

The door opened with a soft creak, and the familiar comfort of your home greeted you both. The living room, once a witness to heartache, now seemed to hold the promise of shared moments and tentative healing.

You settled on the couch, the echoes of the night's laughter still lingering. The air felt charged with the unspoken, a connection that transcended the confines of mere friendship. As you poured another round of drinks, the silence between you felt comfortable, a space where words were unnecessary.

Noah's eyes met yours, and in that shared gaze, there was an understanding that words could not fully capture. The vulnerability of the evening had laid bare the complexities of your heart, and Noah, in his quiet way, seemed to offer a respite from the storm.

As the night unfolded, the connection deepened. Laughter, shared stories, and the gentle ebb and flow of conversation filled the room. In that unexpected companionship, you found solace—a reminder that, even in the aftermath of heartbreak, there were still moments of connection waiting to be discovered.

The time you two had spent together at the bar had been a catalyst for change, and now, in the quietude of your home, you allowed the night to unfold, unsure of where it might lead but grateful for the warmth that had found its way into the cracks of a wounded heart.

The ambiance in the room shifted subtly, the air thickening with a newfound energy that danced between you and Noah. The shared laughter and easy conversation took on a softer note, and the space on the couch seemed to shrink, drawing you both closer.

You caught Noah's gaze lingering, his eyes holding a warmth that went beyond mere camaraderie. The flickering candlelight cast a gentle glow on his features, highlighting the sincerity in his eyes. A charged silence settled between you, one that spoke volumes without the need for words.

As you sipped your drinks, the magnetic pull of the moment intensified. The shared vulnerability of the evening had forged a connection that transcended the ordinary, and in the quietude of the living room, the boundaries between friendship and something more blurred.

Noah's fingers traced absentminded patterns on the rim of his glass, and his gaze met yours with a subtle intensity. The unspoken tension hung in the air, a delicate dance that neither of you seemed eager to disrupt.

The air seemed to hum with anticipation as you leaned in, drawn by an invisible force that defied explanation. The room held its breath, and in that suspended moment, your lips brushed against each other in a gentle, tentative kiss.

Time seemed to stand still as the kiss deepened, the warmth of Noah's touch sending a current of electricity through you. The weight of heartbreak momentarily lifted, replaced by the promise of something new, something uncharted.

You don’t care about anything else but losing yourself in the feeling of being loved even if just for tonight. As the passion between you continues to escalate with each passing second, all thoughts of tomorrow fade away into oblivion leaving only this one perfect moment stretching out endlessly before the two of you like an eternal embrace.

The air in your home was filled with a mix of holiday scents — the piney aroma of the Christmas tree, the faint whiff of cinnamon from the candles scattered around the room. It was Christmas Eve, and the settlement was adorned with festive lights and decorations.

You stood in front of the mirror, adjusting the collar of the deep green dress you had chosen for the occasion. Despite the outward festivities, a quiet melancholy clung to you, a reminder of the heartbreak that still lingered beneath the surface.

As you finished getting ready, the soft knock on the door signaled Noah's arrival. His presence, a comforting constant in the weeks that followed that unexpected encounter, had become a source of solace. Tonight, however, the prospect of a Christmas party loomed, and the idea of celebrating seemed to clash with the healing wounds of your past.

Noah entered, a warm smile on his face as he took in your appearance. "You look stunning," he remarked, his eyes reflecting a mixture of admiration and concern.

You managed a small smile in return, the weight of your unspoken thoughts evident in your eyes. "Thanks, Noah. I'm just not sure I'm in the festive mood, you know?"

He approached and gently cupped your face, his thumb brushing away a stray tear. "I understand. But Maria insisted, and maybe being around people, even for a little while, might help."

Reluctantly, you nodded, acknowledging the truth in his words. Maria had been a steadfast presence in your life, offering support and encouragement as you navigated the aftermath of heartbreak. Tonight's Christmas party was her attempt to bring a glimmer of joy into your world.

Together, you and Noah made your way through the decorated streets toward the town center. The settlement buzzed with festive energy — laughter, music, and the scent of holiday treats wafting through the air. As you approached the venue, the warm glow of lights spilled from the windows, casting a welcoming glow.

The Christmas Eve party in town was in full swing, with the warm glow of lights and the spirited energy of the season enveloping the settlement. As you navigated the festive atmosphere with Noah at your side, the subtle shift in your mood was palpable. The healing process was slow, but the comfort of friends and the shared moments of celebration were working their magic.

As you entered the bustling venue, your eyes caught a familiar figure across the room — Joel. Time seemed to freeze for a moment, the shock of seeing him after weeks of absence coursing through your veins. His presence cast a shadow over the festive scene, and the room suddenly felt smaller, the air heavier with unspoken history.

Noah sensed your tension, his grip on your hand tightening in a silent reassurance. "Are you okay?" he asked, concern etched across his face.

You nodded, attempting to mask the surprise that rippled beneath the surface. "Yeah, I just… I didn't expect to see him here."

Noah glanced toward Joel, his expression thoughtful. "Do you want to leave? We can go somewhere quieter."

You considered the offer, but something in you resisted the impulse to retreat. "No, let's stay. I need to face this."

Together, you and Noah approached the gathering. As Joel noticed your presence, his eyes met yours, a mix of surprise and a hint of remorse flickering in his gaze. The air crackled with the unspoken tension of past wounds and unanswered questions.

Maria, ever perceptive, approached, greeting you with an exuberant hug, her eyes filled with warmth and understanding. Her warm smile faltered as she sensed the dynamics at play. "I didn't know he would be here. I'm sorry if this is uncomfortable for you."

You offered a tight smile, the weight of the situation settling around you. "It's okay, Maria. I can handle it."

The party unfolded with the spirited energy of the season — people dancing, laughter filling the air, and the exchange of heartfelt wishes. As you moved through the festivities, Noah's hand found yours, a subtle reassurance in the midst of the crowd.

The night progressed, and despite your initial hesitations, a subtle shift occurred. The music, the laughter, and the shared moments with friends began to chip away at the walls around your heart. The healing process was ongoing, and in the company of those who cared, the weight of heartbreak felt a little lighter.

A moment of stillness settled over the room. In that quiet pause, your eyes met Joel's once more. The unspoken history, the shattered pieces of a relationship, and the complexity of emotions were etched in that shared gaze. Noah's hand found yours again, a grounding force amidst the emotional storm.

As you navigated the remainder of the Christmas party, the unspoken tension with Joel remained, but in the company of friends and the warmth of the season, you found solace. The dance of emotions continued, and as the night unfolded, you carried with you a newfound resilience, a testament to the strength found in facing the unexpected and the hope that lingers in the aftermath of heartbreak.

Amidst the swirl of holiday festivities, your eyes inadvertently caught a glimpse of Veronica across the room. Her presence, unexpected yet inevitable in a close-knit settlement, stirred a complex mix of emotions within you. As she engaged in conversation with others, a subtle ache of self-doubt crept into your thoughts.

What did she have that made Joel cheat on me with her?

The question lingered, not born out of jealousy, but rather a yearning for understanding. The doubts festered like quiet shadows in the corners of your mind, threatening to overshadow the celebratory atmosphere.

Noah sensed the shift in your demeanor, his grip on your hand tightening as a silent gesture of support. "You okay?" he asked, concern etched on his face.

You forced a small smile, attempting to dispel the doubts that threatened to cloud the festive evening. "Yeah, just unexpected seeing her here, you know?"

Noah nodded in understanding, his gaze a reassuring anchor in the sea of emotions. "You're stronger than you think. Remember that."

As you continued to navigate the party, the glimpses of Veronica sparked moments of introspection. The dance of doubt and self-reflection unfolded, but amidst it all, a deeper truth emerged — the strength to confront insecurities and the resilience to rise above the echoes of past heartbreak.

Joel remained on the periphery, a figure in the background of the unfolding drama. The unspoken tension with Veronica echoed the complexities of relationships, and in the midst of the holiday cheer, you found a quiet resolve to focus on the present and the connections that mattered most.

As the party continued, a lingering curiosity pulled you toward Veronica. The desire for closure and understanding overshadowed the self-doubt that had surfaced. The pulsating beat of the Christmas music seemed to align with the tension in the air as you approached Veronica. The crowd hushed in the wake of your confrontation, and even the festive decorations couldn't quite drown out the charged atmosphere.

This is it, you thought, your fists clenched by your sides. Time to confront the source of this mess. "Veronica," you said, your voice edged with a simmering anger. "We need to talk."

She turned, a sly smile playing on her lips. "Well, look who decided to show up. Didn't think I'd see you here."

Hold it together, you reminded yourself, swallowing the initial surge of rage. She's not worth it. Ignoring the jab, you pressed on. "Cut the crap. What happened between you and Joel?"

Veronica chuckled, a snarky glint in her eyes. "Why don't you ask him? I'm sure he's got his version of the story."

Like I haven't already tried, you thought, frustration bubbling beneath the surface. But I want to hear it from her.Your patience wore thin, and a flash of anger ignited. "I'm asking you. What did you think you were doing?"

Veronica rolled her eyes, an unapologetic tone lacing her words. "Oh, please. Don't act clueless in all of this. Joel and I, we had our reasons."

Reasons? The word echoed in your mind, a bitter taste settling on your tongue. The retort stung, and you shot back,"What reasons could there possibly be to betray someone like that?"

Keep her on the defensive, you urged yourself. Make her face the consequences of her actions.

Veronica's smirk persisted, her snarky demeanor unyielding. "Maybe you should ask Joel what he was missing at home."

No. Don't let her deflect the blame. The anger surged again, a tempest threatening to consume reason.

The words hung in the air, a venomous revelation that fueled the anger within. The crowd around you seemed to blur as the confrontation intensified, each word exchanged an arrow that pierced through the facade of festive cheer.

Everyone knew, you mused bitterly. The whole damn town knew you and Joel were together.

As the exchange reached its peak, the energy between you and Veronica crackled with unresolved emotions. The pulsating beat of the music in the background seemed to align with the tension in the air, the crowd still hushed in the wake of your confrontation. Each word exchanged felt like a seismic tremor, shaking the foundations of the festive atmosphere.

"You're unbelievable," you seethed, the anger boiling over. "I hope you're proud of yourself." Stay strong, you reminded yourself, fighting against the torrent of emotions. You've got this.

Veronica shrugged, a nonchalant expression masking any hint of remorse. "I did what I wanted. Life's too short for regrets."

Regrets, the word echoed in your mind. Is she really that callous? Keep it together, you urged yourself, clenching your fists by your sides. Don't let her see how much she's getting to you.

Noah, sensing the escalating tension, remained by your side, a silent pillar of support. The confrontation with Veronica had become a battleground of emotions, a clash between hurt and defiance.

This is it. The moment of truth.

In a flash, the weight of anger, frustration, and betrayal coalesced into a surge of raw emotion. Without a second thought, your hand connected with Veronica's cheek in a resounding slap. The crowd, which had been observing in a stunned silence, erupted into gasps and whispers.

Veronica stumbled back, her hand on her cheek, eyes wide with a mixture of shock and indignation. The slap reverberated through the room, a cathartic release of the pent-up emotions that had been building since the revelation.

"You deserved that," you declared, your voice steady, though your heart pounded with the intensity of the moment.

As Noah guided you away from the charged atmosphere, the weight of the confrontation lingered. The Christmas party resumed its festive cheer, but the encounter with Veronica had become a defining chapter, a moment where you asserted your strength and reclaimed a sense of control in the aftermath of betrayal.

The brisk night air greeted you as you and Noah stepped out of the lively Christmas party. The settlement was adorned with a soft blanket of snow, and the crunch of each footstep echoed in the quiet winter night. The atmosphere outside was a stark contrast to the charged energy that had filled the party just moments before.

Noah kept a reassuring arm around you as you navigated the snowy path toward your house. The silence between you was a comforting one, a respite from the emotional turbulence of the evening. The distant sounds of laughter from the party gradually faded into the serene stillness of the snowy landscape.

The glow of the settlement's lights reflected off the pristine snow, casting a soft illumination on the familiar path. The events of the night lingered in the air, and as you reached your doorstep, you turned to Noah with a mixture of gratitude and exhaustion.

"Thanks for being there," you said, your voice carrying the weight of the emotions that had unfolded.

Noah nodded, his expression filled with understanding. "Anytime. You handled that with a lot of strength."

You managed a small smile, appreciating his support. "I just want to move forward, you know? Leave all this behind."

The snowflakes continued to fall, adding a sense of serenity to the moment. As you opened the door to your home, the warmth inside offered a stark contrast to the chilly night. The familiar surroundings provided a sense of solace, a haven away from the echoes of the confrontation.

The air in the room felt heavy with unspoken tension as you confronted Joel about his infidelity. The harsh reality of betrayal lingered, casting a shadow over the relationship you had thought was secure.

"Why, Joel?" you demanded, your voice a mix of pain and anger. "Who was it? Who did you cheat on me with?"

Joel hesitated, his eyes avoiding yours for a moment before meeting your gaze with a mixture of regret and guilt. "It was Veronica," he confessed, the weight of the revelation hanging in the air.

Veronica's name echoed in your mind, a face from the town, someone you had known, someone whose presence had been intertwined with your life in the settlement. The shock of the revelation was like a punch to the gut, and for a moment, the room seemed to spin.

"Veronica?" you repeated, your voice barely above a whisper. The name felt like a betrayal in itself, a person who had shared the same space as you, someone you had considered a part of the community.

Joel's expression shifted, a mix of remorse and desperation. "I messed up, It wasn't about her. It was about me, about the mistakes I made."

The words did little to ease the pain, and the room became a battleground of conflicting emotions. Anguish, betrayal, and disbelief swirled within you, a storm of feelings that threatened to overwhelm.

As you absorbed the revelation, the weight of the truth settled. Veronica, a name that had been a mere background detail in the tapestry of your life, now held a significance that cut deep. The confrontation with Joel had peeled back the layers of the facade, revealing a reality you had never anticipated.

In the midst of the emotional maelstrom, you took a step back, needing distance to process the harsh truth. The room, once a sanctuary, felt foreign and unwelcoming. The echoes of the revelation hung in the air, and as Joel sought words of apology, you grappled with the shattered pieces of a relationship that had crumbled in the wake of betrayal.

The weight of that night lingered in your thoughts. Veronica's presence, once a casual detail in the fabric of your life, had become a symbol of a painful chapter in your past. The journey of healing continued, marked by the scars of the confrontation and the resolve to move forward, one step at a time.

The soft murmur of pages turning and the hushed whispers of readers created a peaceful ambiance in the small settlement's library. As the librarian, you were engrossed in arranging the shelves when the door creaked open. A tall, rugged man entered, a hint of unfamiliarity etched into the lines of his face.

Joel, a newcomer to the community, you’d seen him around town with a young girl practically attached at his hip. He cast an assessing glance around the room before approaching the counter where you stood. His eyes, weathered and guarded, met yours as he cleared his throat, his voice gruff but not unkind. "I'm lookin' for books about space."

You looked up from your task, offering a warm smile. "Space, huh? Planning a journey to the stars?" you teased, trying to lighten the atmosphere.

Joel's lips twitched into a small smile, a rare expression on his usually stoic face. "Not exactly. Got a kid back home who's mighty interested in space. Wants to know everything there is."

Interest sparked in your eyes as you couldn't help but inquire, "Your daughter, then?"

He hesitated, a subtle shift in his gaze, but he didn't correct you. "Yeah, somethin' like that."

Your smile widened. "Well, you've come to the right place. We've got a stellar collection—pun intended."

Joel nodded, a silent acknowledgment of your attempt at humor. "Good to know."

As you led him through the aisles, the conversation flowed easily. He shared stories of Ellie, a girl he watched over, protected, and cared for deeply. The love in his words painted a vivid picture, and when you mentioned how wonderful it was that he and his "daughter" shared such interests, he didn't correct you.

"So, what's her favorite subject?" you asked, your tone playfully nudging towards the unspoken connection.

He chuckled, a soft warmth in his eyes. "Space, definitely. She's got a million questions about stars, planets, you name it."

You grinned, leaning slightly closer. "Well, Joel, it seems you've got a budding astronomer on your hands. Lucky for you, I'm an expert in celestial matters."

Joel's expression remained stoic, but there was a subtle glint of amusement in his eyes. "Is that so?"

You nodded, your gaze meeting his with a hint of mischief. "Absolutely. But my expertise doesn't come cheap. I'll need payment in the form of a good conversation and maybe a coffee sometime."

Joel's chuckle deepened, and a grin tugged at the corners of his lips. "Coffee, huh? You got yourself a deal."

As Joel left the library with a stack of books, you couldn't help but feel a sense of warmth. The door closed behind him, leaving you with the subtle hum of excitement and the gentle echo of playful banter that seemed to linger in the air. The library, once a quiet haven of solitude, now held the promise of a story unfolding—one with celestial wonders and perhaps a touch of romance.

in the quiet moments of reflection, your mind often wandered to the time when you and Joel first met. The memory used to bring a warm smile to your face—the genuine laughter, the shared dreams, the promise of a future entwined with his. But now, each recollection was tainted by the bitter sting of betrayal, and the nostalgia had become a source of pain.

As you sat alone in the dimly lit room, the flickering shadows seemed to mimic the turbulence within your heart. The memory of your first meeting played in your mind like a melancholy film—a reminder of the love that had once been untarnished. The weight of what had transpired since then pressed down on you, leaving a bitter aftertaste to a memory that had once been so sweet.

The soft hum of a distant song, a melody you both used to share, brought a wave of conflicting emotions. Your mind wandered back to that day—the laughter, the stolen glances, the electric feeling of a connection that transcended words. It was a time when you looked into his eyes and felt like you had found something extraordinary.

But now, those memories were haunted by the echoes of his infidelity, and the rose-tinted glasses you once wore shattered, revealing the painful truth beneath. The laughter had become an echo, the glances a cruel reminder, and the connection a frayed thread threatening to unravel.

In the midst of the emotional turmoil, you found yourself thinking, almost wistfully, about what life would have been like if you'd never met Joel. The thought was a bitter pill to swallow, a testament to the depth of the wounds inflicted.

You replayed the scenes of your shared history—the highs and the lows, the joy and the heartbreak. The almost-wish lingered in the recesses of your mind, a testament to the profound impact of betrayal on the once cherished memories.

Joel has shown up at your door, trying to extend a tentative olive branch, an attempt to breach the chasm that had widened between you. His words were carefully chosen, an apology that carried the weight of remorse. He expressed a longing for resolution, a desire to face the consequences of his actions and rebuild what had been lost. “Can I come in?” he says hesitantly, trying to gauge your emotional state.

Reluctantly you nod, and step aside, allowing him into the house.

The weight of Joel's confession hung in the air. The room steeped in a heavy silence, and charged with the weight of unresolved emotions as you and Joel sat facing each other. The revelation of his infidelity with Veronica had unearthed a raw vulnerability. It had left your relationship hanging in the balance.You needed answers that transcended the initial betrayal. You both needed to confront the difficult question of where to go from here.

"Why, Joel?" you questioned, your voice steady but edged with a yearning for understanding. "I get that you were lost, but why did you keep cheating with her after the first time? Why not just admit it to me after it happened once?"

Joel's gaze met yours, his eyes carrying the weight of guilt. He took a moment before responding, as if grappling with his own internal turmoil.

"I didn't know how to face it," he admitted, his voice tinged with regret. "The shame, the guilt—it overwhelmed me. And every time it happened again, the weight of that guilt just grew. I was trapped in a cycle, and I couldn't find a way out."

Your brow furrowed, a mix of frustration and disbelief settling within you. "So, instead of admitting your mistake and trying to make amends, you kept it a secret and continued to betray our relationship?"

Joel nodded, the admission heavy on his conscience. "I thought if I could just stop, if I could find a way to break free from that cycle, I could spare you the pain of knowing. But each time, I failed. It became a vicious cycle I couldn't escape."

The room seemed to close in as the gravity of his words sank in. The cycle of betrayal, a web of lies and shame, had perpetuated itself, leaving both of you ensnared in the consequences.

"But why?" you pressed, your voice a mixture of frustration and sadness. "Why not face the consequences and be honest with me? We could have worked through it together, Joel."

His eyes reflected the internal struggle, a war between the truth and the self-imposed isolation he had subjected himself to. "I was scared. Scared of losing you, scared of facing disappointment. It was a selfish choice, and I see that now."

The admission hung in the air, a painful acknowledgment of the choices that had led to the fracture of trust. The room, once a sanctuary, now felt like a battlefield of emotions.

"So, you kept hurting me to protect yourself," you whispered, the weight of the realization settling on your shoulders.

Joel's gaze remained fixed on the floor, his silence confirming the painful truth. The unraveling of the secrets and the depths of his struggles became a sobering reality, and as you navigated the aftermath of betrayal, the room seemed to echo with the weight of unspoken regrets and the yearning for a path forward.

The room felt like a suffocating space, each revelation adding weight to the heavy air. Joel's admission of infidelity hung between you, a chasm that seemed impossible to bridge. After a moment of tense silence, you found the strength to voice the truth that had been echoing in your heart.

After a moment, you gathered the courage to voice the question that lingered in the room like an unspoken specter. "What now, Joel? What does this mean for us?"

Joel looked up, his eyes meeting yours with a mix of desperation and remorse. "I messed up. I know I can't change the past, but I'm willing to do whatever it takes to make things right. If you're willing to give me another chance, I'll spend the rest of my life making it up to you."

Your gaze met his, and for a moment, the memories of a time when love flowed effortlessly between you resurfaced. There had been a time when you looked into his eyes and couldn’t imagine a future, a universe, where you didn’t stare into them for eternity. The love you had for him was one like no other, the strongest you’d ever felt for someone, for something.

But now, those eyes hold the weight of betrayal, and the road ahead seems uncertain. You took a deep breath, searching for the right words to navigate the delicate conversation.

The sincerity in his voice tugged at the frayed edges of your heart, but the wounds were fresh, and the scars of betrayal ran deep. The room seemed to hold its breath, awaiting your response.

"I can't, Joel," you said, your voice steady but laced with a profound sadness. "This-

It's too much. I can't see a way forward for us."

Joel's eyes pleaded with a mix of regret and desperation, but the gulf between you seemed insurmountable. "I messed up, I know I did, but I'm willing to do whatever it takes to make things right."

The sincerity in his voice clashed with the shattered trust, and you shook your head, tears welling in your eyes. "No, Joel. It's not just about saying sorry or making things right. It's not just about the mistake," you began, your voice measured but carrying the depth of your emotions.

"It's about the trust we had, and that trust has been shattered. This is a betrayal that cuts deep, and I don't think we can come back from it."

His face fell, the weight of realization settling in. "We've been through so much together. Please, don't end us because of one mistake."

The room seemed to close in as you grappled with the heartbreaking decision. "It's not just one mistake, Joel. It's a pattern of choices that shattered the foundation of trust we had. I can't continue a relationship where I constantly question if I'll be cheated on again.”

Joel's eyes glistened with unshed tears, and his voice wavered with a mix of remorse and desperation. "I'll change, I'll do anything to make this right. Just give me a chance."

But the echoes of his pleas couldn't drown out the resolute decision forming in your heart. "I'm sorry, Joel. It's best for both of us to move on. This is too much of a betrayal, and I need to prioritize my own well-being."

As you spoke those words, a heavy silence descended upon the room, punctuating the end of a chapter in your lives. The pain of parting, though agonizing, seemed to carry a semblance of closure. The room, once a space of shared dreams and memories, now bore witness to the painful conclusion of a relationship that had weathered too many storms.

He nodded, a somber acknowledgment of the consequences of his actions. "I know. I never meant to hurt you like this. If I could take it back, I would."

The air in the room hung heavy with the weight of a relationship on the precipice of its demise. Joel's desperate plea for forgiveness echoed in the silence, but the wounds were too fresh, and the trust too shattered to rebuild easily. You took a deep breath, a heaviness settling in your chest.

"Joel," you began, your voice steady but tinged with the pain of realization, "I appreciate your willingness to make amends, but the truth is, I can't see a way forward for us."

His eyes, once a source of comfort and love, now mirrored the anguish of a relationship slipping away. "I messed up, and I understand if you can't forgive me. But please, don't end us like this."

The sincerity in his voice tugged at the frayed edges of your heart, but you knew you couldn’t continue a relationship with him. You met his gaze, a mix of sadness and resolve in your eyes. "Joel, we had something special, something I cherished more than anything. But what we had is broken now. I can't ignore the betrayal, and I can't keep holding onto a past that's been tainted."

He reached for your hand, a desperate attempt to bridge the growing distance between you. "I'm willing to do whatever it takes, anything. I just can't imagine a future without you."

The weight of his words hung in the air, and for a moment, you allowed yourself to be transported back to a time when the future seemed boundless, and his gaze was a promise of forever. There was a time when you looked into his eyes and couldn't imagine a future where he wasn't a central part of it. But now, the love that had once felt unbreakable had shattered, leaving a void you weren't sure could be filled.

"I need to let go, Joel," you said, the weight of those words lingering in the room. "For my own sake, and for yours. We both need a chance to heal and find our own paths forward."

He nodded, a defeated acknowledgment of the reality you both faced. "I never thought we'd come to this," he admitted, his voice heavy with regret.

As the words settled, the room seemed to hold its breath. The love that had once been the anchor of your world now existed as a bittersweet memory. Joel, his gaze lowered, nodded with a heavy understanding.

"I won't forget what we had," he said, his voice breaking slightly. "I'll always love you."

And with that, you uttered the finality that had been hanging between you. "Goodbye, Joel."

The door closed behind him, marking the end of a chapter that had once been a love story. The room, once a sanctuary for shared dreams, now bore witness to the closing of a door that could no longer be left ajar. In the aftermath of goodbye, the echoes of a love that once lingered, a poignant reminder of the fragility of connection and the resilience required to forge a new path forward.

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loveinhawkins · 1 year

Text

you’re too young to be lost

Part 1 Part 2 ao3 (Complete)

Faintly, Dustin can hear Steve’s voice get calmer, but no less insistent.

“Eddie, what’s…? Okay, okay, I’m—”

The bathroom door clicks shut. Dustin strains to listen, but their voices are low and muffled; he can’t make out any words.

He sits up shakily, moves his leg with both hands so it’s stretched out in front of him. Remains on the last step, rests his head on one of his knees and just…

Breathes.

Footsteps, quick and light.

Steve.

Dustin doesn’t know when exactly he learned to tell who’s coming without looking, but he does remember thinking in The Upside Down that if everything was suddenly plunged into darkness, he’d still be able to know where Steve and Eddie were, just by listening to their footsteps.

Steve comes to a stop halfway down the stairs. Dustin hears him sigh, like he’s relieved and sad at the same time. Then he keeps walking, slower now, until Dustin can feel him sit down beside him, on the last step.

Dustin sniffs against his jeans. “Is Eddie okay?”

“He’ll be fine,” Steve replies, and he says it reassuringly, but Dustin can’t help noticing that it’s not exactly a ‘yes.’ “He wanted me to come check on you.”

And that’s said like it’s what Steve would’ve done anyway. Like it’s an absolute certainty.

A hand in Dustin’s hair, gently ruffling through it.

“C’mon, lemme help you up.”

Dustin takes Steve’s hand reluctantly although it turns out he needs the support, his bad foot still unsteady beneath him. He doesn’t get it; he’s walked on it by himself in far worse circumstances, had done so in The Upside Down while Steve… took care of Eddie. Sure, he thought he was going to throw up from the pain, but he still managed it.

“There you go,” Steve says, and he guides Dustin over to one of the couches in the living room. His voice lowers, as if talking to himself: “Okay, ice, elevation…”

He props Dustin’s foot up with a couple of cushions before heading off to the kitchen. When he returns, he’s holding an ice pack, all official looking, kind of like the ones the school nurse has on hand.

“Okay, twenty minutes with this on it,” he says, carefully pressing the ice to Dustin’s ankle, “then we’ll rinse, repeat in a few hours.”

Dustin nods.

Steve tilts his head a little, forehead creased—like he doesn’t know what to do in the face of Dustin’s uncharacteristic silence.

“Can I take a look at your neck? Wanna make sure it’s clean.”

Dustin nods again.

Steve’s motions when he cleans Dustin’s neck with antiseptic wipes are practised, steady—the air of someone who’s done this countless times before. He probably has, Dustin reasons.

“Yeah, speaking from experience,” Steve says, and his voice sounds like he’s trying very hard to keep things light, “you don’t wanna just slap make-up straight on there.” He moves closer, hisses through his teeth when all the foundation is removed. “Shit, Henderson.”

“It’s not that bad,” Dustin says. “It didn’t even bleed, really.”

Steve blows out a breath. “Dustin—”

“You’ve had worse.”

Much worse.

Steve stares at him. “That… that doesn’t make it all right.”

Dustin shrugs. Looks away. He thinks of saying, Figured I should finally pull my weight when it comes to taking hits, something along those lines, but he knows Steve would never hear him out.

He’s thought about it, though. Had an awful lot of time to reckon with it, while waiting for Eddie to wake up in hospital: the thought that Eddie had leapt into danger to keep him safe. That Steve, too, could’ve easily been in a hospital bed multiple times over the years—escaping that possibility by the skin of his teeth.

Starcourt. Steve yelling at him to go.

Your fault.

Steve sighs. “Hey, look at me?” When Dustin does, he says, both gentle and serious, “Did you ever think that maybe, like, the one silver lining to getting the shit knocked outta me was so that you wouldn’t have to?”

And his voice has got this tone, a patience beyond his years, like he’s explaining that’s just the way the world works.

It rankles Dustin. He remembers Mike admitting once that before Will disappeared, the angriest he’d probably ever felt was when Nancy came home from school crying—that it suddenly didn’t matter if she was older or not: just that she was his sister, and he wanted to fix the world for her.

He thinks he feels something close to that anger, now.

“That’s not fair,” he says. “You… you were a kid, too.”

You still are, he adds inside his head.

Because yes, he’s obviously always known that Steve’s older, but he equally knows that there’s not such a huge chasm between them. That Steve might try and carry himself like someone much older, like Hopper, but he shouldn’t be there yet, not even close—as if The Upside Down and everything else has forcibly pressed fast forward on his life.

Steve nods like he’s conceding the point. Then he says, “Yeah, but I got to be, what, twelve, thirteen, fourteen…” He trails off, counting the remaining years on his fingers. “All that without any alternate dimension shit.”

Dustin doesn’t think that’s all that good of a rebuttal. The thought must show on this face, because Steve chuckles and says, “How about we just agree that we’re both stubborn as fuck?”

Dustin tries to smile. “Yeah, okay.” He takes a deep breath. “I’m… I’m sorry, I… didn’t mean for Eddie to—” He glances down. “Didn’t mean to upset him.”

“You didn’t,” Steve says immediately and doesn’t back down even when Dustin shoots him a look of disbelief. “He’s… he was just scared for you, Dustin.”

His eyes linger on Dustin’s neck, the silent, ‘And so am I,’ made clear.

“Listen,” Steve continues after a pause, “remember when we went looking for your weird little slug? Dash or whatever.”

Dustin smiles and rolls his eyes. “Dart.”

“Sure, him. I think about that all the time, man.”

Dustin frowns in confusion. “You do?”

“Oh, yeah.” Steve’s eyes go a little distant for a moment, like he’s walking the railroad tracks all over again. “Just damn grateful I bumped into you, like, you can’t even… And I’m so, so glad you told me stuff.” He gives Dustin an earnest look, eyes imploring. “You can tell me anything. You know that, right?”

“I just…” Dustin swallows. “I just wanted it to be over,” he admits in a whisper.

And Steve smiles sadly, like he can already tell Dustin isn’t talking about Gates and Monsters.

“I know,” he says softly. “It’s not your fault other people are dicks, okay? It’s not your fault.”

And Dustin can hear the unspoken Please tell me as loud as anything.

He digs deep. Opens his mouth.

Talks.

He does his best not to falter, tries to recount it like he would if he was on the walkie, just bringing everyone up to speed.

But it’s hard. It’s so hard.

When he gets to exactly what had been said that led him to throw a punch, Steve goes very still. He doesn’t say anything, like he’s holding in his anger for Dustin’s sake.

Dustin almost wants to tell him not to bother, that his own fury has kept burning ever since he heard it. That they can be angry together.

But then he reaches getting pushed up against the bathroom wall, and he finds that breathing is becoming more and more difficult.

He feels another sharp twist of guilt—that the point is surely what had been said about Eddie—but he suddenly can’t help thinking about what might’ve… He can almost feel the knife against his throat.

Nothing happened, really.

But he… he could have—

“Hey, hey,” Steve says softly. “You’re okay, Dustin. You’re okay.” He cups the back of Dustin’s head, breathes in and out slowly, a guide for Dustin to catch his breath.

Dustin tips forward slightly, heaves out juddering breaths as Steve holds him up. Eventually, little by little, his breathing comes easier.

“That’s it,” Steve says. “That’s it, just… yeah, there you go.” He squeezes Dustin’s shoulders. “Just gonna take the ice off for now, okay?”

He says it with a quiet reassurance, like he’s also saying You don’t have to talk anymore, not if you don’t want to. I’m so damn proud of you.

Dustin finally manages a good, deep breath as Steve removes the ice pack. Steve must notice, because as he stands up, he gives Dustin a relieved kind of smile.

“I’ll be five minutes max, all right? Just sit tight.”

Dustin listens to Steve go up the stairs. He again tries to pick up on any conversation coming from above, but he can’t hear anything—and in the silence, soon finds himself in a losing battle with sleep.

The next thing he knows, he feels a gentle hand on his head. It’s Eddie: he can feel the bottom of his rings, the care taken to ensure that they never once catch in Dustin’s hair, no matter how boisterous his hugs are.

Dustin’s getting slowly lowered down until his cheek rests on a pillow. He must make an involuntary, sleepy noise at the movement, because he hears Eddie whisper, “Shh, s’only me.”

The almost silent sound of a blanket being unfolded, then placed over him. Warmth.

He just hears fragments of speech, like the sensation of nodding off in a car—knowing that it’s him rather than the radio fading in and out.

“… he asleep?”

“Yeah, I… thought he… must be exhausted…”

And then he loses track of all words, of everything.

A faucet running. Scrape of a pan being brought out of the cupboard. Clatter of bowls on the counter.

“… just feel like… never gonna…”

“I know. Look, I can… talked to… gonna go up to the school.”

“Since when have… ever fucking cared?”

“I know, but… trying my best here.”

“… I know you… shit, Steve, I’m sorry.”

Dustin keeps his eyes closed. He drifts back into consciousness, becomes aware of the entire conversation around him when he hears Eddie mutter, like he’s despairing at himself, “Just what the fuck did I think I was doing?”

The click of a burner on the stove being switched on.

Steve’s reply is slow and careful. “What do you mean?”

“Fuck, I don’t know. Hellfire. School. The whole fucking thing.”

“Eddie. Come on, you couldn’t have known that—”

“No, just let me—god, I might as well have painted the damn target on his back myself.”

Another click: the burner getting turned off.

“Eddie—”

“Don’t—I chose to—but he—” Eddie’s voice is growing increasingly strained. He inhales shakily. “Sometimes I wish I’d never—he’s just a kid, man, he shouldn’t have to—”

His voice breaks.

Dustin, ever so slowly, raises his head. Peeks over the top of the couch.

Eddie’s back is to him. He’s standing by the counter, shoulders shaking.

Steve is stepping away from the stove. He reaches Eddie, murmurs, “C’mere,” and just…

Holds onto him. Presses a kiss into his hair.

Dustin feigns sleep for another ten minutes or so, then begins to gradually ‘stir.’ Steve spots that he’s awake first, retrieves another ice pack for his ankle.

Eddie sits down on the other end of the couch, seems to make himself as small as possible in the corner—hunched up, staring as Wheel of Fortune plays on the T.V, as if suddenly fascinated by it.

Dustin repeatedly checks his watch, like that will make his allotted twenty minutes go any faster. When the time’s up, he immediately flings his ice pack off—“Oh sure, just get that all over the floor!” Steve calls from the kitchen, but he doesn’t sound all that concerned about it—and crawls gingerly over to Eddie.

It takes a few moments for Eddie to notice that Dustin’s moved; when he does, his eyebrows go up in surprise.

“Careful with your foot,” he says, too quiet.

“I’m fine.”

Silence. Eddie opens and closes his mouth a couple times, deliberating.

“Hey, um. Henderson, I’ve—been thinking, and it’s… it’s fine if you don’t want to, uh… I’ll understand if—”

“Shut up,” Dustin says, as firm and gentle as he can make it.

Because there’s no way he can listen to Eddie finish that thought, no way he can listen to Eddie even suggest the idea that anyone should regret knowing him—as if that’s even possible. As if Dustin ever could.

“Starting high school would’ve sucked without you.” Dustin says it with as much feeling as he can, tries to make it impossible for Eddie to argue. “Dude, you know the Party rules: friends for life. No take backs.”

Eddie exhales with a slight shudder, like he’s been winded. Then, voice a little hoarse, he says, “O-okay. Can I… make another rule, then?”

Dustin pauses. Nods.

“If you’re…” Eddie swallows. “If anything like this ever happens again, you’ve gotta tell someone. Me or Steve or your mom or… just. Someone. A-and you… you’ve gotta give the full picture, I don’t care how ugly it is. Just. Christ, all that matters is your safety, okay?”

“That’s not all that matters,” Dustin says impulsively, thinking of dirty looks towards Eddie, of poisonous words.

“Yeah, it is,” Eddie says, a finality to his tone, like he’s somehow heard Dustin’s thoughts. “Look, Dustin…” He sighs. “It’s not your job to—to defend me, got it? Trust me, it… it means so much that you’d… means more than you’ll ever know.” He gives a knowing, bittersweet smile. “But you can’t fix the whole world.”

“I can try.”

Eddie laughs, choked with emotion. “And that’s a goddamn admirable sentiment. But nothing’s worth you getting hurt.” He hesitates, then opens his arms, and Dustin shuffles forward into a hug. “I can’t fucking bear the thought of you—of you—”

“Okay,” Dustin says. Hears Eddie’s breathing hitch, and holds on tight. “I’m okay.”

Steve makes spaghetti and meatballs, balances his own bowl on his knees while he sits directly on the floor—occasionally looks over at Dustin and Eddie sitting sprawled across each other with a fond smile.

For all the past heaviness, the rest of the night is light. Dustin takes advantage of Eddie’s distraction when he’s shouting out answers to quiz shows and steals a couple of his meatballs—though he suspects Eddie knows and just lets him get away with it.

And then, as it gets late, he begins to doze off, leaning against Eddie’s side. Feels a pair of arms around him.

Sleeps.

When he wakes, he’s back to being laid out on his usual spot on the couch, tucked in with the blanket.

He turns his head to see that Steve and Eddie are sleeping on the floor, atop a mattress they must have somehow brought downstairs without waking him up.

While Eddie has his back to the couch, Steve is facing it. And Dustin can tell from how they’re mirroring each other, arms outstretched, that they must’ve fallen asleep holding hands.

He smiles. Keeps smiling when Steve wakes up and catches him looking. He watches as some sort of understanding lights up Steve’s eyes; he winks at Dustin, as if in gratitude.

“Too early still,” Steve says kindly. “Go back to sleep.”

Dustin almost does so without thinking, but…

“I’ll be late for school?”

Steve shakes his head. “Called in for you. Said you’re sick.”

And at hearing that, Dustin feels a sudden flood of relief. He sighs. “Thanks.”

Steve shakes his head as if to say it was nothing. He continues, voice low so as not to disturb Eddie, “Got a meeting with the principal on Monday. Told Mike and Lucas to be careful, but that dickhead’s getting suspended already.”

“You didn’t have to—”

“Shut up,” Steve says softly. “And… hey, we can talk it through later, but I think you should tell your mom. Thought we could go the meeting together.” He makes a face. “I know it’s not exactly gonna be, like, plain sailing, but… it’ll make things better, in the end. Trust me.”

Dustin pushes back the knee jerk discomfort around the thought of confiding in his mom, pushes back the instinct to not tell her anything. That belongs to the days of The Upside Down.

This is…

This is different.

And despite his initial misgivings, the idea of Steve and his mom being a united front makes him smile. They’ll be unstoppable, he thinks.

“Mm-hmm, trust you,” Dustin mumbles.

He knows there’ll still be a steep hill to climb; they can’t fix everything just like that. And yeah, the meeting might suck. But it kind of feels better already, that Steve and Eddie know. That he’s got a few days here, away from everything.

He listens to Steve yawning, to Eddie’s deep breathing, and lets them both lull him back to sleep.

#dustin henderson fic #steve and dustin #steddie with dustin’s pov #eddie and dustin #henderfam #steddie fic #steddie #steddie ficlet #steve x eddie #dustin henderson #steve harrington #eddie munson #thank u for the love on this ❤️

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blindbeta · 7 months

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hi, this is like, a REALLY oddly specific question, but i wanted to ask. would it be seen as wrong if i were to have my character's guide dog be in some way magical?

for more context on the specific situation, my characters are in a world where basically nothing is without some level of magic to it. my character has a guide dog, but i felt like it didn't fit the theme to have just. a normal dog? because i wouldn't put a normal dog somewhere else. the dog isn't like, telepathic or able to fix her blindness, (ive made it VERY clear to myself that at no point will i do that) i was mostly thinking something like the dog having some sort of elemental component to it, which would be a pretty common power in this world.

I just wanted to make sure it fit in with the rest of the characters in its world, instead of sticking out as just kinda being shoved in with no worldbuilding around it. there wouldn't really be 'normal' animals normally, so it feels like underdeveloped worldbuilding if i don't.

I'm worried though, that this is going to be wrong in the way that it'd seem... glamorizing? that's not what i intend, but I don't want it to come off as something in that vein. if that makes sense.

i hope this is like. sensible to ask about and not wasting your time. thank you so much, and thank you in general for running this blog, i think it's a really great resource.

I think having a magical guide dog is fine. You aren’t using the magic to erase the handler’s disability, as you mentioned. As long as you are actively working on that, it seems fine to me.

As long as the animal can make a good guide, be trained from infancy, and can navigate well, it doesn’t matter if they are a magical creature.

I list some qualities a guide should have in this post if it helps.

@moth-time created an excellent addition to this post in the notes:

i reread the guide linked by OP and now I'm thinking some kind of earth elemental or otherwise particularly magically heavy/stocky dog could be neat, bc it provides more stability than a regular dog (so more like a miniature horse). it could have a rocky/armored back that is easier to lean on than slippy dog skin, for example. Much like irl certain dog breeds are favored as guide dogs bc of breed specs, a magical universe could favor "earth elemental dogs" for same reason

you could have some magical component of the dog be helpful to the guided person, though i am struggling to come up with a good one for a blind guide dog. But for example a fire elemental therapy dog that can regulate it's body to be toasty warm and offer deep pressure and temperature therapy would be neat. It doesn't negate or "fix" the disability, but it's a little different/more magical while still recognizable

BlindBeta’s thoughts:

So I love this. An earth type dog would add excellent stabilization, orientation, and be additionally good at avoiding obstacles such as uneven ground. They could be great for balance and probably deep pressure therapy as well. Maybe they are favored as guide dogs because they are dependable, while also good at selective disobedience to keep a blind person safe, such as refusing to cross the street when it is dangerous (due to quiet cars or such). I could also see water or air type dogs being good alert dogs, perhaps.

Also not sure how common this is, but on this page about seizure alert dogs from the epilepsy foundation, it says some dogs are trained to put their body between the handler and the floor to cushion falls. Air type dogs might good at this because they are probably softer and could gently cushion a falling person without them hitting the floor.

I also had an idea that wood types might be more flexible and good assistance dogs for older adults, wheelchair users, etc. Like dog breeds, they have certain qualities that make them good at assistance, such as being depended on to retrieve any number of items, pull door handles, etc.

This is fun. I would love to see ideas from anyone else.

#blind #blind characters #writing blind characters #creating guide animals #guide animals #ask

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kittyadore · 1 year

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finding light in the shadows

—𝘴𝘦𝘦𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘴𝘩𝘦𝘭𝘵𝘦𝘳 𝘪𝘯 𝘦!1610 𝘔𝘪𝘭𝘦𝘴' 𝘢𝘱𝘢𝘳𝘵𝘮𝘦𝘯𝘵 𝘸𝘩𝘦𝘯 𝘢 𝘴𝘵𝘰𝘳𝘮 𝘬𝘯𝘰𝘤𝘬𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘱𝘰𝘸𝘦𝘳 𝘰𝘶𝘵 —𝘧𝘭𝘶𝘧𝘧 —𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘥 𝘤𝘰𝘶𝘯𝘵; 0,8𝘬 —𝘢/𝘯; hi lovelies, this ones quite short, but i promise more stuff coming soon. i missed you all so much and thank you for all the love and support !!

The wind howled outside, and rain pounded against the windows with relentless fury. Thunder rumbled in the distance, shaking the very foundation of your courage. You sat huddled in your darkened apartment, your heart racing, your palms sweaty. Fear gripped you tightly, as it always did when the sun set and the shadows grew long.

As the storm intensified, a sudden crack of lightning illuminated the night sky, followed by a deafening crash of thunder.In a singular moment, the electricity ceased its flow, plunging your surroundings into an abyss of total darkness. Tremors of panic coursed through you as you grappled with the unsettling realization that you could not endure another solitary minute in the darkness. With your parents absent, away from the city, the weight of self-reliance was pressed upon your shoulders.

Gathering the pieces of bravery you had left, you ventured into the empty corridor, your faltering steps a testament to your determination to escape the suffocating grip of the blackness. Each footfall echoed through the stillness as you sought solace and respite from the overwhelming void that threatened to consume you. Your heart pounded as you stumbled blindly, feeling your way along the cold, familiar walls. You hesitated, trembling, outside your neighbor's door, the faint glow of a candle flickering through the gap beneath it.

Taking a deep breath, you mustered the courage to knock gently. The door creaked open, revealing a dimly lit apartment and a concerned face peering at you through the crack. The sight of Miles, your neighbor, made you feel safer as his presence always brought a sense of calm.

"Miles," You stuttered, your voice quivering, "I... I'm terrified of the dark, and the relentless storm has robbed us of electricity. Can I stay with you until it comes back on?"

Miles' sight studied you for a moment, understanding dawning in his eyes. Without a word, he swung the door open wide, inviting you inside. You stepped hesitantly into his apartment, your heart still racing, but the reassurance of the soft candlelight began to ease your fear.

As you entered, Miles guided you to his cozy living room, where the gentle flicker of candlelight illuminated the space. The familiar scent filled the air, a comforting aroma that wrapped around you like a warm embrace.

"My parents aren't home now, so we are kinda on our own."he began, extending a welcoming gesture toward the couch "They should be back soon though." Surrendering to the plushness of the cushions, you felt a comforting wave of security envelop you. The storm continued to rage outside, but within the safety of Miles' apartment, you began to feel a glimmer of peace.

"I'm sorry for intruding," You murmured, your voice barely above a whisper.

Miles shook his head, a reassuring smile gracing his lips. "Nonsense. You're always welcome here. We all have our fears, and it's okay to seek comfort when we need it."

The boy moved toward a small bookshelf and returned with a thick blanket, draping it over your shivering shoulders. The warmth of the blanket, combined with his kind words, helped to calm your racing heart.

As you sat in the soft glow of the candles, Miles shared stories of his own fears and how he had overcome them. He spoke of the power of resilience and the strength that lay dormant within you, waiting to be awakened. His words became a beacon of hope in the darkness that threatened to consume you.

Hours passed, the storm gradually subsiding outside. The distant rumble of thunder was replaced by a gentle patter of rain, as if nature itself had heeded Miles' reassuring tales. The power remained out, but within the safety of his apartment, you found solace in the boy's company.

With renewed courage, you stood up, the blanket slipping from your shoulders. "Thank you, Miles," You said, your voice steady. "Your kindness and wisdom helped a lot. I think it's time for me to come back to my own apartment."

Miles nodded, his eyes filled with pride. "Remember, you are never alone. Whenever you need someone, or the darkness threatens to overwhelm you, I'll be here, ready to lend a helping hand."

Embracing the newfound strength within you, you stepped toward the door. As you turned the knob and faced the dark corridor once more, you knew that even in the absence of light, you carried a flickering flame of resilience within your heart.

As you ventured back into the shadows, you couldn't help but feel grateful for Miles and the courage he had inspired in you. Together, you had conquered the darkness, and from that day forward, you would never again let fear hold you captive.

The storm had passed, and the power would soon return, but the true source of light in your life had been illuminated that night — the unwavering kindness and support of a neighbor who had become a true friend.

And so, armed with newfound strength and resilience, you walked back into the embrace of your own place, ready to face the challenges that lay ahead, knowing that you was never truly alone in the darkness.

#miles x reader #across the spiderverse #earth 42 miles #miles morales #prowler miles #e1610 miles #miles morales x reader #miles morales fanfiction #across the spider verse spoilers #atsv x reader #atsv fanfiction #spiderman miles morales

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tailsbeth-writes · 25 days

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Heyyy! 💖 So many good prompts and I'm a very indecisive person, but how about 😴 + RWRB?

I know for a fact that I've mentioned Princess Diaries 2 in relation to Henry before a fic but let's pretend I'm super original 😅 read on Ao3 here 💤

Henry's never been to a slumber party before. It wasn't exactly a custom for royals when the people you mixed with were the prince of Sweden or some duke's boarding school brat. He fantasised about asking his parents for one after he and Beatrice watched the Princess Diaries 2 but alas his grandmother was not Julie Andrews and he never plucked up the courage.

Beatrice had arrived in New York the day before, her foundation’s concert series was hitting American shores so she used it as an excuse to visit her little brother. She enters the living room in cherry blossom printed pyjamas and bunny slippers Alex had bought her for visits.

‘I still think those are utterly ridiculous.’ Henry points to Beatrice's feet. Alex comes in behind her with sleeping bags piled high in his arms and sighs.

‘Quit shitting on my perfectly adorable gift and start helping me.’

Beatrice holds a hand over her mouth to keep a giggle in, Henry shoots her daggers before taking some of the sleeping bags. The three of them get to work making the living room look extra cosy, Alex and Henry nearly lose a fight with the air mattress but thankfully Beatrice saves them.

‘Bloody idiots,’ she whispers under her breath. The buzzer goes before the boys can reply, Nora and June have bags of groceries between them, there's a twizzler hanging out of Nora's mouth. Percy follows with a Louis Vuitton suitcase.

‘You know we're only here for a night, right?’ June asks, eyeing up the large case. Percy shakes his head, puts a finger in the air before crouching and opening up the case. Everyone gathers round and coos, it is filled to the brim with Korean skin care products.

An hour later, the six of them are deposited around the living room in pyjamas, with face masks on, gorging on pizza. Nora and Alex are debating which Disney movie to put on, Beatrice is painting Percy's nails and June is reading while using Henry’s shoulder as a cushion. Henry feels cosy, he can't help but think this is better than the Princess Diaries. Although he wouldn't mind the addition of Chris Pine.

#ficlet friday #slowly getting through them all!#red white and royal blue #rwrb #rwrb fanfic #firstprince #junora #henry fox mountchristen windsor #alex claremont diaz #beatrice fox mountchristen windsor #nora holleran #june claremont diaz #percy okonjo #tailsbeth writes

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pangtasias-atelier · 9 months

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Mistake Of A Mixture

Well, I had the idea of this outlined for like more than half a year and then I burntout but now I have regained the urge to write about fat eng-age men cause I genuinely do love the game. Unfortunately, the world building and story doesn't give much to write about lmao but fat men are fat men so it's all good.

Warning: This is a fetish story!

Gregory basks in the sweet plain joy of the Somniel's weather. Seated near the small lake, Gregory lays down on his stomach with his feet kicked up in the air. With the soft cushioning of a blanket underneath him, he leisurely passes his free time with a book. His eyes nearly dart from one edge of the page to the other; he flips from page to page rather hastily. The remnants of his snacks lay beside him on the picnic blanket, a couple plates of sweets practically licked clean by Gregory's own eager pleasure when it comes to eating. So engrossed in his reading that he doesn't pay much attention to the footsteps.

Only when the footsteps stop behind him does he bother to crane his head to look up.

Amber's golden blonde bangs greet him, the clumsy paladin leaning over to look at him upside down. "Hey Gregory! Whatcha up to?" Amber stands back up straight. All his teeth show as he smiles brightly at the sage.

"Uhh well,,," Gregory glances at his book; he closes the hardbound novel with a soft thud and pushes himself up. His book tucked under his arm, he lets out a small huff as he stands up. The soft grass crunches under his boots. Gregory dusts off nonexistent dust off of his preppy outfit, wishing to keep it pristine. His hand grazes against his small tummy. The cashmere vest has a small bump where his stomach is; the soft fabric outlines his beginner belly. His spine tingles as he brushes his belly. Trying not to glance down at himself, his face has a tint of a red hue to it, his face a bit warm despite the nice, fresh temperature.

“Let’s go on an adventure together!” Amber sticks out his hand.

“Thanks, but I’ll pass,” Gregory ignores Amber’s outstretched hand. “I’m not really one for adventuring, you know?”

Sliding on up to Gregory, Amber loops an arm around his shoulder. And his free hand reaches lower, a palm resting on Gregory's small tummy. “But you have to. I promise it'll help you slim down,”

"Hey, cut that out!" Gregory shoves the hand away. He also tugs at his vest, making sure that none of his belly can possibly be exposed. His face is impossibly red; the vibrant hue blankets his entire face, warming up his pale skin. However, Gregory also holds back the small moan that threatens to escape his lips, his legs close to buckling as he brings his thighs closer together. Gregory’s hands clench the soothingly soft fabric of his pants. He wills away the errant thoughts of being forcefully grabbed, of being praised and coddled on his weight, Gregory’s more freakish enjoyment of his extra bit of weight something the pudgy man wishes to keep a secret.

“See? You are embarrassed about your size! I always see how red and flustered you get when you realize how pudgy you are,” Amber reaches for Gregory’s hand and pulls him. "And I know just the thing to help you," He drags the confused Gregory behind him, the pudgy man following him from confusion.

Gregory follows him, but only for a dozen paces before taking back his hand. “Thanks but I’ll pass. I may be a sage, but I’d rather do things naturally instead of going on an adventure for some magical item,” Gregory starts heading off, Amber standing still with disappointment and shock, no one ever really turning down his adventuring without even at least hearing him out before. “Besides, going on some adventure sounds kinda dangerous and that's sort of not my thing, you know?" Gregory leaves the lake, heading towards the small camp setup close to the ridge to continue his reading somewhere else.

"Hmmm," Amber stares at Gregory's retreating pudgy form, his eyes colored the same as his namesake sparkling with the foundations of an idea. Gregory's size is apparent as he walks away, round, little love handles pressed against his vest and a portly ass that begins to wobble from the flab packed onto it. Amber takes note of Gregory's weight, the sage quickly packing on the pounds and probably not stopping anytime soon without his good pal Amber to help him.

"So he's afraid huh? Then I'll bring the potion to him," Ignoring every other single word from Gregory, such as his —albeit untruthful— statement about wishing to lose the weight naturally, Amber simply hears and focuses on what he wants, and knowing about Gregory's fear of pain gives the simple-minded, silly man an idea.

"You think you can keep a secret?" Without even bothering to ease the conversation, Amber quickly springs his plan into fruition upon seeing just the man he wants to see. The act first, think later Amber drags away Pandreo to his room.

"You have a confession? Of course I can keep a secret, but we should probably-"

“Nothing like that! I need some help, helping someone,”

“Someone feeling down? Cause you've got just the right man,”

Amber unlocks the door to his room and immediately locks it back up as soon as the two men enter. Things already set up, Amber has a small cauldron plus a tray of ingredients laid out. “Not quite, I need some help with magic. But hey! You're still just the right man for the job, you know?”

“Well what kind of spell is it?” Pandreo asks, taking a look at the various ingredients he's never used in such a combination before.

Amber pulls out and slams a book down on the table. “It’s a potion to help someone lose weight and even gain some muscle definition. I wanna help Gregory slim down a bit since he's been embarrassed about it. Even more than you,” As if to prove his point, Amber pokes a finger into Pandreo’s midsection.

The party loving priest has only the most minor amount of pudge on his once flat abdomen; his robes able to discreetly cover the extra bit of weight, Amber's finger sinks into the small bit of flab. “Fine. We have been partying quite a lot. And if this will help us have more parties then I'm all for your plan,” Pandreo rolls up his sleeves and stands right in front of the cauldron. “Read me the instructions and I'll get right to it,”

“Alright! With the two of us, this potion can't fail. Okay, first pour a liter of room temperature water,” Amber reads out the potion’s instructions, carelessly going through the steps and measurements. Pandreo listens wholeheartedly, doing exactly as Amber says without question. The potion making process goes as planned; the concoction surprisingly doesn't blow up or go inert, the potion turning a cool lavender at the very end of it just as the book describes.

Pandreo pours the small amount of still bubbling liquid into a vial, most of the cauldron’s contents turned into vapor. “Well, it looks good to me. You?”

Amber places the book back on the table. “It looks perfect. Now I just have to find a way to sneak this to Gregory,” Amber giddily smiles as he stares at the vial in his hand.

“H-hey you never mentioned that. You can't just use potions on people without consent!” Amber snatches the vial back out of Amber's hands.

“I promise not to use it without asking Gregory,” Despite his pouting, Amber does hold his hands up. “Legends never lie right? So I have to keep my promise if I want to be as great as the stories,”

Pandreo glares at Amber. His eyes dart between the potion and Amber's remorseful expression. “Fine. You just better keep your promise, Amber. And if Gregory doesn't want it, I'll gladly try some of that. But for now I have somewhere else to be,”

Amber's sad expression turns into utter glee the instant his door closes once more. Left all alone, he does everything he can to not burst into a dance. “A legend also has to lie when it comes to helping those in need,” Amber corks the vials and places it in one of his pockets. He fails to look at the potion’s final instructions on waiting a week's worth of time before using it, the book instead closed and securely hidden away in his room instead.

“I take it the pies came out just as you envisioned?” Vander asks. Currently washing dishes, he scrubs away at the last few dirtied objects, all of them used utensils and equipment to help with baking today's small gathering earlier in the day.

Gregory eagerly digs into the very last slice. A rather hearty slice at that, the portion equivalent to nearly a fifth of the sizable pie. “Even better actually. I made my usual recipe but something about how both pies came out…” Gregory takes yet another heaping bite of pie, finishing it all with a large gulp of sugary tea. “Amber really loved it too. I mean, I ate a lot but he might have eaten more than me,”

“I have little affinity for sweeter dishes but even I couldn't help but indulge in seconds,” Vander dries his hands with the dishes now washed. “Pandreo certainly enjoyed himself as well,”

Gregory stands up from his chair. His slightly larger tummy now presses against his shirt, the outline of his little potbelly visible from how much it stretches the fabric. “Yeah, though I could go for some more,” Gregory blushes, nervously laughing to himself before rummaging for other snacks to munch on.

Unbeknownst to both men, and Pandreo as well, Gregory's pies had been tainted by Amber, Gregory’s recipe aided by a helpful dose of magically created potion in hopes of aiding Pandreo and Gregory's bit of pudge and to give Vander and himself a more built, knightly figure. The potion already begins to take effect on all four men, the very beginning of the messed up concoction starting off rather noticeably for the two men who ingested a much larger portion.

“Aww I really like this shirt,” Amber tugs down the too small shirt the very best he can. Only the very next day after eating Gregory's pies, he glances down at the bundle of belly flab he has. “Some working out will help take care of this bloating,” Having gained more than two dozen pounds during a single night, the “small” bit of bloating that Amber has leaves him with his belly exposed, the visible tummy squeezed by his too tight unbuttoned pants that Amber only barely got up after much intensive struggling. His shirt rides up his little pot belly despite his constant effort to pull down his shirt.

“I'm sure the potion will kick in soon. Soon, I'll put even the most heroic knights to shame and no one will ever realize,” Amber heads out of his room with one final adjustment of his clothes; which still does nothing, Amber's extra weight nearly on full display as he heads out to the arena without a single care in the world. Amber heads out as delusionally as ever. The potion meant to reduce excess fat and build muscle—all while leaving those who didn't ingest the magical remedy completely clueless of the spell—the loyal knight is completely unaware of his improper usage.

“Oh Amber, there you are,”

Amber stops right before entering the Somniel’s arena, chubby face turning around upon hearing his name from his liege. “Prince Diamant! You wanna train with me? I was-” Amber stops himself the instant Diamant grabs him by the slightly pudgier arm.

“Nonsense, I came looking for you when I noticed you weren't at the cafe for your usual breakfast. It's been ages since you worked out,” Diamant pats his retainer's belly, dragging him away without much more of a word.

Amber's gut growls, his starter belly suddenly ravenous upon the mere mention of eating. Despite his pouting, he follows Diamant—who all too eagerly brings him along. “Hey! I always- well actually it has been awhile, but I'm not that bad about my training…” Amber sulks.

Diamant has Amber seated not long after whisking him away from even entering the arena. “Here, your usual is already ready for you,”

Amber's eyes widen upon the large spread of pancakes set in front of him. Squirming in his seat, he only just realizes that his potion may have been made incorrectly as he takes a bite of the syrup drenched breakfast.

Elsewhere, the originally intended recipient of Amber's potion is much less aware of the effects.

Gregory sits on the lakeside, his usual plush picnic blanket underneath him as he gorges on his lunch plus some extra. Still unaware of the potion, Gregory takes the added poundage in complete stride. He takes it all far better than most would, if anything. One hand resting on his now more substantial stomach which leaves Gregory red in the face from just how much it strains and stretches his vest, along with the pudge that his tight waistband digs into. A good chunk of Gregory's chunky body goes to his lower half; the bottom heavy sage’s ass stretching out his usually form fitting pants. Gregory's lower half serves as a nice cushion as he eats in complete comfort and enjoyment. He simply passes the day lazing away in pure comfort, Gregory barely able to hold back his whines upon constantly getting complimented over his figure accompanied by being brought more treats.

And the days go by, the potion’s effects continuing to take further and further hold on all four men as their bodies fatten and swell up with blubber.

Pandreo huffs as he finally gets a hold of Amber after no longer being fed more and more obscene amounts of dishes by Boucheron, all just for Pandreo to taste test. And if not Boucheron feeding him exorbitant amounts of food, he has to deal with the Divine One’s pampering and treats when Alear isn't with one of the other three men. Pandreo suffers from the effects much less than Amber with him eating less of the pie, much to Pandreo's joy, the now obese priest far thinner than Amber's whale-like state.

“You *huff*” Pandreo catches his breath from rushing so much to avoid getting whisked away to gorge on food. His rumbling stomach misses out on the needed calories. He rests his hand against the wall—right next to the closed door that's three times as wide than it used to be before Amber's mess of a potion. “You need to fix this right now,” Pandreo demands after regaining his breath. His clothes growing with his own body, the fabric lags behind his blubbery body. His usual Somniel attire is now the simplest pair of trousers along with a shirt. Pandreo's lower body is heftier than the rest of his rotund self; his thighs clearly struggle with waddling around, the blubbery columns for thunder thighs chafing against each other no matter how much clearance he tries to give them with each step he takes—the few he's allowed to take by the several men in the Somniel who wish to feed him. His blubbery shelf of an ass juts out behind him. The two sagging, rounded cheeks barely manage to stay contained in his pants, only becoming ever so slightly exposed as he walks. Pandreo's gut, while nowhere near as large as his voluptuous rear and thighs, manages to just sag to where the lowest roll of belly flab rests right atop his bloated fat pad even as it's tucked into his shirt. Pandreo's moobs spill out the plunging neckline of his shirt, the creamy upper portion of his breast fat visible like the outline of his puffy, bloated tits that press against the thin, breathable fabric.

Pandreo's glares at Amber's corpulent state is softened only by his bloated cheeks and flushed state.

Amber's face closely matches Pandreo's flushed, red face. Except food stains litter his fat round face instead of a glare. “This is *ugghhh* this is normal mmmphh…” With half lidded eyes, Amber shovels down the mountain of pancakes right in front of him. The multiple chairs creak underneath the entire bulk of his weight. Amber's skewers chunks of pancakes and crams them into his open mouth as he glances at Pandreo. Much more affected than Pandreo, Amber's corpulence is clearly nearing the last legs of mobility. His clothes are completely ineffective in covering up all his lard. Amber's shirt is nothing more than a glorified bra; the tarp for a shirt just barely goes past his engorged areolas, the two massive melons for tits that are larger than his head splaying down his massive gut with the lower portions of them exposed. The entirety of Amber's lap is taken up by his gut, the closest bit of the table to him also smothered by his stomach; his love handles resembling thighs in width alone, they even jiggle as he continues to reach for more food. Amber’s ass struggles to not tear his shorts, the elastic able to withstand his large, chunky thighs that he spreads out to make room for his gut and fat pad.

“Mmmm jussht some more time and then weight will go away with muscle,” Amber blatantly lies. He opens his mouth wide to shove the last bit of pancakes.

Pandreo huffs, crossing his arms for a moment before undoing the motion with how much he has to bend his much less flexible arms along with so much plush flab in the way. “Well give me the book so I can be sure,” Pandreo also looks forlornly at the empty plate of food as his stomach grumbles.

“I had to give it back. Was only borrowing it,” Amber shoves the now empty plate away, placing it with the other numerous plates before reaching for another one, Amber loudly grunting from the mild exertion.

“Alright then. Guess I'll just head out,” Pandreo says without another word. He does pick up his pants as he waddles out to prevent more of his large wobbling ass from spilling out.

Upon waddling out of Amber's room, Pandreo thankfully meets Boucheron. “Amber's almost out of food, and since he's so close to being immobile, I'm sure he'd love to be taken around the Somniel to glut out,” Pandreo practically pushes the men onto Amber, a quick excuse of going to eat with Vander getting them to leave him.

Much thinner than the other three, Vander still cannot avoid the fate he shares with them. At the onset of obesity, he generously fills out his suit. Somewhat top heavy, Vander’s broad pecs have turned into sizable hefty breasts that bulge against the multiple taut layers of clothes. He fills out his seat, refusing to use one of the chairs meant for him or the other much larger men. Completely unaware of the cause for his increasing weight, all Vander can do is go along with the ride with every single man denying Vander’s claims. Though he does enjoy himself, the rubbing and patting he does to his own belly noticeable along with how Vander amicably accepts each and every side platter offered to him just before he can get up to rest and digest his breakfast.

Vander turns away from his mostly eaten moderately sized omelet upon seeing Pandreo waving his way.

“Once Amber gets here, we need to go to his room. Trust me,” Pandreo whispers. His gut practically smothers against Vander's from leaning down.

The two men don't have to wait very long, both of them walking out—Pandreo waddling more so—as soon as Amber slowly waddles into the cafe with men by his side to help him. Both the men don't miss how they place Amber right next to Gregory, the green haired man looking nearly as fat as Amber's obese body. The two butterballs gladly gorge on the food given to them.

As soon as Vander and Pandreo make it to Amber's room—the two fat men just barely able to enter side by side with how ludicrous the Somniel has become under the potion’s effects—Pandreo locks the door behind them. “Amber used a potion to cause all of this,” Pandreo gestures at Vander.And at himself, grabbing as much of his gut as he can for good measure.

“And how do you know about this?” Vander questions. Vander instantly believes Pandreo.

“Cause I helped him make it,” Scavenging around the room Pandreo nearly howls upon finding the book but stops himself.

“You-”

“I didn't know! I mean, this wasn't what it was supposed to do. And also I didn't think he'd use it on anyone else much less sneak it into our food,” Pandreo slams a bag onto the table, a fresh batch of ingredients he picked earlier ready to make the potion correctly. “Besides, I'm trying to fix it. Now, this is the spell that I stupidly didn't double check him on,”

Vander peers at the book behind Pandreo, the two men reading the instructions. Vander's belly presses against Pandreo's jutting ass. “I will forgive you. If we fix this mess. So what did Amber mistakenly do?”

“Ugh, he didn't wait enough time for the potion to complete because we did everything right. Okay! We got this, watch me and just double check me, we have to get this right,”

The creation process goes just as smoothly as it did before; Vander and Pandreo read out each step and end up with a cool lavender tinted mixture like the spellbook describes.

“Now how long do we have to wait?” Vander asks as Pandreo corks the vial.

“Well about that…” Pandreo shoves the book in Vander's face to show him the time required for the spell to be stable enough to use.

“A week is certainly worrying. But the waiting will suffice if we can fully revert this nonsense,”

Pandreo places the book back. And before the two leave Amber's room, he hands over the potion. “Here, as thanks for helping and sorry. I'm never helping Amber with magic again after this,”

“I'll make sure to properly scold him after this,”

“Good, just make sure to use some of it on yourself as soon as a week passes, since I might end up immobile by the time it's ready,”

“Is it safe to ingest directly once ready?”

“Book says so and it's been right about everything else so far. Well, since everything is all set to be taken care of, we might as well enjoy ourselves before we fix this, right? Cause man am I starving,” Pandreo gladly heads back to the cafe with a hearty pat on his belly.

The mixture only needing time, the fattening men can do nothing but wait with so much time available to them. And with so much time and so many eager men in the Somniel to feed them, they constantly gorge on the food provided to them.

After the very first day, Vander and Pandreo find Amber in the very center of the Somniel’s plaza; the prodigiously wide man now immobile.

The two smaller men have also gained weight, enough to where they find themselves with different attire at their larger size. Vander now forgoes a suit entirely, a button up paired with suspenders that dig into his sizable belly that bounces and jiggles with each step he takes. And Pandreo’s clothes are even more snug and revealing against his even flabbier and bigger body.

By Amber’s side is Gregory, the nearly immobile man wide-eyed and red in the face. His mind not affected by the spell like all the men who didn't ingest the potion, Gregory is still aware of Amber's magically increasing weight that very much wasn't what he weighed a few days ago. He's also aware of his own growing size, his massive gut that reaches past his knees along with his blubbery fupa completely covering and hiding his growing arousal. It still doesn’t compare to his enormous thighs that leave him always out of breath the few times he waddles to go get his food when the mountains of platters aren’t being brought to him. Gregory’s clothes are nothing what they used to be. The multiple layers of clothes are instead replaced with practically tatters, an ill fitting shirt that serves as a too tight crop top and shorts with tears littered down the sides of them as his new outfit upon magically gaining more weight at the start of the day.

Pandreo leans over to Vander, both of them heftier than the day before. Pander’s gut squishes into Vander’s side. “Don't tell Gregory anything, Amber made this to use on him because of his weight specifically. Just act clueless,”

Gregory speaks up before either man can speak to him. “I asked around a bit and everyone just kind of claims that he's always been in the plaza. But wait a minute, why are all of us affected by this? Is that what's going to happen to us?” Despite his growing voice, his face also grows redder as the wheels in his brain churn like his hungry belly as he realizes his future. Turning back around, Gregory stares at Amber's immobilized figure. His eyes are practically glazed over as he reaches down at his gut, rubbing and groping his blubbery stomach.

“Unfortunately, neither of us can be certain on the cause of this,” Vander frowns as he stares at Amber’s immobile self, thinking about the possible truth of Gregory’s words.

The trio's conversation is cut short as Gregory doesn't even get to say another word to the two men with him getting whisked away by Mauvier and Alear to be fed some more. Meanwhile Diamant and Zelkov rest on Amber's body as they feed him copious amounts of food.

“He gained an immense amount of weight, did he not?” Vander nervously asks. The two's plan now seems to have a wrench in it.

“I mean, we did also gain quite a bit in just one day. Maybe it's getting faster? But you'll for sure be fine, we got this and then-” The two men's conversation is interrupted as Boucheron and Kagetsu take Pandreo away while Boucheron and Louis grab Vander to feed them like every other day before.

And the very next day, Vander and Pandreo find nothing amiss, everything just like yesterday. It takes the day after that for them to find Gregory immobilized.

Two immobile blobs in the plaza now, telling the two overly fattened men apart would be a chore for anyone unfamiliar. Thankfully, the Somniel's men are extremely familiar with all four growing men, all of them practically attached to one of them, pampering and praising them.

“We'll still be good, promise!” Pandreo's voice is more strained than before, Pandreo wheezing from the short trek l.

It only takes the very next day for Vander to find Pandreo's room completely vacated as if no one ever lived in it. And upon reaching the plaza, the three immobile blobs residing in it show why. Gazing at the three men, even just comparing Gregory and Amber to Pandreo show a clear difference, the two far from resembling what they looked like upon first being immobilized. Gregory and Amber being hand fed their very first day of becoming immobile, Pandreo doesn’t share the same structure. Isntead, so much poundage to keep fed and fattened, the orange haired man wakes up with a feeding tube in his mouth. And despite his muffled complaints, or because of his moans, the tube which feeds him throughout the entire day stays on without a single pause.

Thankfully for Vander, his own size is nowhere near comparable to the two blobs and recently immobilized man, his just above five hundred pound state much smaller than the multiple tonnage the other three have combined.

And he finds himself perfectly fine the subsequent day. And even the day after that, the only main change seeing all three men being permanently force fed with a tube—besides his even larger waistline that still allows him to move around. But not without some slight aid, Vander much more sluggish than he was even just a few days ago. His outfit is also different, the semi formal attire of his button up and suspenders replaced with the simple set of shirt and shorts that seem misplaced on Vander’s prim and proper self. Vander’s clothes no longer even make the attempt of fitting him, his gut slipping past the tight white fabric to show off his fuzzy happy trail, and his shorts cling to every inch of surface area of his wide awkward thighs and sagging ass. The rest of the day goes exactly the same as every other one, with copious amounts of food by his side. Most of it willingly eaten with his growing appetite for a growing body; a small chunk forcefully fed to him. Not that Vander complains about either situation, his mouth always opening upon seeing more food.

He does go to sleep with some concern, the worry mostly taken over by relief of only needing to wait a few hours after waking up to finally resolve the entire issue and regain their once built bodies.

Vander’s eyes flutter open, the bright sunlight hitting him directly in the eyes despite being quite certain he slept with the windows closed. “Mmmphh” Groggily opening his eyes, Vander's eyes shoot open as he sees the masses of lard in front of him. Vander can't even speak, his own feeding tube crammed into his mouth. Glancing all around, Vander can still move his arms the slightest amount, but the tube remains just out of reach. Unable to see his own enormity, he can clearly feel it, so much space taken up just by him and him alone. His immense figure is covered up by a tarp meant to mimic clothing, the dark heather gray sheet draped over his gut. And his gut covers and expansive amount of space, his stomach sprawled out in front of him and onto the cooling tile of the Somniel’s plaza, and what part that doesn’t rest on the ground is instead situated atop his own lard that is his thighs. Vander’s enormous chest—the two breasts larger than his flabby stomach once was a few days ago—rest and splay down his mattress of a gut. Vander thankfully feels that his ass is covered up, another similarly sized tarp of fabric draped over his backside. Though it covers up much more with him being less endowed in the lower half of his body compared to the gurgling, hungry mass of lard for a gut.

And yet, even Vander’s current state that has the unaffected men in the Somniel looking emaciated in comparison is nothing when faced with the enormity that is Pandreo, Gregory and Amber.

Able to see Pandreo's face—just barely with the distance between them from just how much space the two immobilized men take—Vander can make out Pandreo's half worried-half horny face as he guzzles down the fattening liquid slop that gushes down his feeding tube. Despite being smaller than Amber and Greogory, the difference between Pandreo’s and Vander’s bodies is a stark one; most of Pandreo’s weight goes to his lower half of his body, the immense pile of lard that is his ass jutting out behind him and rising as well from all the fat piled into it. Pandreo’s feet are sunken into his pile of fat for a body, the entire lower portion of his body completely incapable of moving a single inch. Not that he needs to with so many eager men helping him, Seadall tending to his gurgling stomach by rubbing it while Bunet brushes Pandreo’s hair, Pandreo’s conveniently serving as a wonderful chair with his blubbery backside to drape himself on. Pandreo can still move his hands, his arms completely out of the question. He can only move his hands the slightest bit before tiring himself out though, and he always gets assisted whenever he even thinks of trying to do so. Pandreo soon gives up the pointless motion, the fervor of his eating growing in intensity as the scarlet red blush on his bloated squirrel like cheeks.

Vander can meanwhile barely see Gregory’s face, only able to hazard a guess that it is his face by the mop of green hair. Unlike himself and Pandreo, Gregory’s body doesn’t bother with a tarp for covering up, all of his immensity on display, his blubber beginning to creep up and press up against Amber’s own girth. Gregory’s own body type closely mirrors Pandreo’s immensely bottom heavy self. Except most of Pandreo’s weight goes to his ass whereas Gregory’s blubbery roll riddled thighs that have them resembling more like recliners is where most of his weight goes to. The two enormous thighs have Gregory’s gut completely overtaken by them; the two cushiony legs spread out further than his gut which pools on his lap only to take up a fraction of the space. And both Mauvier and Rafal use Gregory’s thighs as they ought to be used—both men unable to properly straddle one thigh alone from their sheer width—as they rub as much of Gregory’s gut that they can reach. And Gregory eagerly allows himself to be treated like cattle. He chugs down the thick, fattening liquid with reckless abandon despite being the only one completely unaware of even the cause for his situation. He simply enjoys himself, allowed to indulge in his freakish ways that he desperately tried to hide earlier only for Amber to misunderstand.

Amber’s own face is completely hidden from his enormity. The absolute largest of the four, the nearly ton man is clearly affected by his own mistake the most. Although, the way Amber doesn’t even bother to hold back his deep, rumbling moans and pathetic mewls as he chugs down the two feeding tubes rapidly pouring food down his greedy gullet makes it obvious he sees no issue with his mistake. Completely top heavy, Amber’s stomach alone is the largest thing in the Somniel that isn’t a building—and at the upwardly spiraling rate he and the other three men are going, it may not take long for his shack for a stomach to surpass that. Amber’s bloated face sinks into his enormous body, his face framed all around by lard and more lard. And taking care of Amber is not one, not two, but three royals all sprawled over his corpulence. Diamant and Alfred gladly use Amber’s watery pool sized stomach as the finest bed in all of Elyos while Alear sits atop Amber’s tits that could easily crush the lithe dragon. And all three men absolutely tease and coo at him, Amber’s hunger spurred on by them.

But Vander is nowhere near the size of the three men as he tries and manages to sluggishly lift up his arms. Feeding tube still in his mouth, the object refuses to leave him, the thing magically enchanted to avoid ever going hungry for even a millisecond. So he does his best to speak, muffled noises choked out in an attempt to hopefully grab someone’s, anyone’s attention. But try as he might, Vander's muffled noises only devolve into muffled moans as he goes ignored, Boucheron and Louis tending to him upon seeing him rise from his slumber. The two men eagerly praise him, both of them proud of how fast the retired knight is catching up to the other three as they insist that he relax and not waste any more calories.

And so, Vander’s muffled moans fall on deaf ears that are all too happy to see all four men get fatter, of which they have countless days to enjoy their still growing bodies as they fill out more and more of the plaza each and every day. Though each of the men all too eagerly succumb to the pleasure of being fed and tended to, any thought of returning to their once mobile selves replaced with food, food, and more food.

The mixture no longer even resides with Vander, the potion left in his now vacant room waiting to be discovered.

#my writing #fat emblem #male weight gain #ssbhm #feeder emblem #fat fiction #maleweightgain

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whiterosesforher · 2 months

Text

dark moon pantheon series ; i

warnings: none

genre: (dark) fantasy, au, romance, drama, action, fanfiction

word count: 1,969 words

chapter synopsis: how their lives were before they met the guys that would cause them to be unworthy of their power, and how it all began.

a/n: this is an oc (named reader) x enhypen fanfiction based off of enhypen's current lore, slow updates because i'm busy in college, and english is not my first language neither am i good at it so please be nice. :'>

masterlist.

Inside the ethereal realm, where golden light shined through clouds that are as soft as silk, the palace of the gods stood tall in its glory. This was the domain of Zeus and Hera, the King and Queen of Gods, whose rule is as absolute as the stars that adorned the sky at night. Here, power is solely determined by birth rank, with the eldest blessed as the most powerful, the strength, skill, and power diminishing with each subsequent birth.

Each gods are given their rightful title during their teenage years, while the demigods in this realm are seen as the slightly more low form of life that can enter the heavens, most of the demigods here serve the more powerful ones, especially the twelve renowned Olympian Gods.

And inside the palace's study hall is where the first born of Zeus and Hera, a little girl named Venus, spend most of her time. Venus sat perched on a cushioned chair, her small frame dwarfed by the grand expanse of bookshelves that lined the walls and the study table in front of her. The air around was filled with the scent of parchment paper and ink. Beside her, her uncle Poseidon, the god of the sea, patiently guided her through the books she's reading.

Poseidon, with his ocean-blue eyes and flowing silver hair, had a presence both commanding and gentle. He was a stark contrast to Zeus, his older brother, who ruled with a firm and unyielding tyranny at hand. Poseidon’s voice, deep and resonant, carried a warmth that made Venus feel both safe and comfortable. Maybe that is also the reason why the young girl is attached and share a close bond with her uncle more than her own father.

"Remember, Venus," he said, pointing to a passage in the book before them, "knowledge is the foundation of power. Understanding the world through these words will prepare you to wield your strength wisely."

Venus nodded eagerly, her dark brown curls bobbing with the motion. Her brown eyes sparkled with curiosity and admiration for her uncle. She adored these lessons, not just for the wisdom she learn everytime, but also for the bond they shared. Poseidon had a way of making even the most complex ideas accessible and fascinating, and his frequent bouts of humor kept their sessions lively.

"And here," Poseidon continued, a playful twinkle in his eye, "is a story about a rather mischievous dolphin who—"

A gentle knock on the door interrupted them. Turning, Venus’ face lit up with a wide smile as her mother, Hera, entered the study hall. Hera, despite the weight of her pregnancy, moved with the grace and poise of a queen. Her presence was soothing, radiating of love and strength.

"Mother!" Venus exclaimed, her joy evident as she bounced off her chair and ran to embrace Hera.

Hera’s face softened, her eyes glowing with affection as she wrapped her arms around her daughter. "How is my little star?" she asked, her voice melodic.

Venus looked up at her mother, her eyes shining. "Uncle Poseidon is teaching me so much! Did you know that dolphins can be mischievous too?"

Poseidon chuckled, rising from his seat. "Indeed, they can," he said, walking over to join them. He placed a gentle hand on the little girl's shoulder, his expression one of fondness. "Venus is a quick learner, Hera. She has a sharp mind and boundless curiosity."

Hera smiled at her brother-in-law, a silent gratitude passing between them. "Thank you, Poseidon. Your guidance means the world to us." She then turned her attention back to Venus, her gaze tender. "I’m glad to see you enjoying your lessons, my dear. You are truly destined for great things."

Venus beamed at this, her heart swelling with pride and happiness because of her mother's praise. Hera once spoke again "Your sibling is due to join us soon, are you excited?"

Venus nodded eagerly, her curiosity piqued by the mention of her soon-to-be-born sibling. "Will they be as powerful as me?" she asked, her eyes wide with wonder.

Hera's smile faded quickly, replaced by a look of contemplation. "Power is a gift that naturally comes by birth rank, my dear," she explained, resting a hand on her swollen belly. "You are the eldest, and thus the most powerful. Your sibling will not share your level of power, but I am sure that they will have their own strengths and gifts."

Venus absorbed her mother's words, the concept of power and its distribution is still new to her, but she already feel a sense of responsibility. Thinking about this, she wants to be a guiding light for her sibling, just as her parents were for her.

The ethereal realm thrived off of the balance of power and knowledge. The gods, each with their domains and duties, created existence with their actions and decisions. For Venus, being the eldest means she is at the brink of inheriting a legacy that spanned the cosmos, whether she likes it or not.

Years passed in the ethereal realm, and the palace of the gods become even more blessed with the laughter and energy of Zeus and Hera’s four children. Venus, now a young teenager, had been joined by her younger siblings, Thana, Artaemia, and Halimede. The four sisters shared an unbreakable bond, their days filled with joy each time they're together.

On a bright and sunny day, the palace was alive with the sounds of their play. Venus darted through the marble halls as Thana, with a mischievous glint in her eye, kept pace, her laughter ringing clear. Artaemia, the youngest, whose hair and dress bounced with every step, chased after her older sisters, her face alight with the determination to catch one of them as she's the tag in this chasing game.

The three kids are playing all while their baby sister, Halimede is nestled peacefully sleeping in her crib. For she is nothing but a young baby for now.

“Catch us if you can, Artaemia!” Venus called, her voice a melody.

Artaemia’s little legs moved as fast as they could, her small hands reaching out in hopes of tagging one of her sisters. She giggled, her eyes sparkling with glee.

Their laughter echoed through the corridors as they pass by, their movements fluid and graceful. Finally, as they burst into the garden, the chase reached its end. The garden, a lush paradise of blooming flowers and greenery, was their sanctuary.

Artaemia, with a triumphant cry, lunged forward and caught Venus by the arm. “Got you!” she exclaimed, her voice breathless because of the activity but triumphant.

Venus collapsed onto the soft grass, pulling Thana and Artaemia down with her. They lay there, their chests heaving as they catch their breaths, their laughter mingling with the sweet scent of the flowers that surrounded them. It was truly a place for them.

“You’re getting faster, Artaemia,” Thana said, her voice filled with admiration towards her little sister “Soon, we won’t be able to escape you at all!”

Artaemia beamed, her cheeks flushed with pride. “Sure, I have the best teachers,” she replied.

They lay there for a while, making jokes and teasing each other as they usually do. The sky above was a canvas of brilliant blue, dotted with fluffy white clouds that drifted lazily across the horizon. The clouds seem to form different patterns and shapes that resemble things. Each of the girls had fun pointing at any cloud and saying out loud what they think that cloud resembles.

Suddenly, their playful banter was interrupted by the sound of voices. On the other side of the tall garden flower wall, two demigod maids were engaging in a hushed conversation.

“It’s been difficult these past few days,” one maid said, her voice filled with concern. “King Zeus is so stressed. The olympian council is suggesting of stripping him off his crown. They say he’s not leading well.”

The second maid sighed, her tone laced with frustration. “I agree with them. Zeus is a tyrant and an unjust leader. He doesn’t deserve this position. His rule has brought more fear to people than peace, and not just to the lowlife beings, to the gods and demigods here too!” They are right, Zeus has been and still is a tyrant leader. He is unjust, prideful, and only cares about himself, and while Venus is aware of this and agrees with the maids, she can't help but fear for the moment where the other gods all come to push their family towards downfall.

The sisters became as quiet as the air, laying still, hearts pounding as they listened. Venus’ face grew serious, her earlier laughter now replaced with worry. Thana and Artaemia looked to her for guidance, their eyes wide with concern.

“What do we do?” Thana whispered, her voice trembling slightly.

Venus took a deep breath, her mind racing. “We need to ask Mother or Uncle Poseidon,” she said quietly, her voice steady. “They for sure know what's going on.”

The three sisters rose quietly from the grass. As they made their way back to the palace, the garden’s beauty seemed a little dimmer, the weight of the overheard conversation casting a shadow over their hearts. Who knows how this will end?

But destiny is as playful as it can be, and everyone who has a pair of eyes can clearly see that this rebellion would not end well for the family that's been reigning all the other gods.

Later that night, under the soft glow of the moon peeking through the palace windows, Venus lay restless in her grand chamber. The ethereal realm was usually a place of peace, beauty and calm, but tonight, worry gnawed at her heart. Unable to bear the uncertainty any longer, she slipped out of her bed and made her way to her mother’s chambers.

Hera was seated by the window, her silhouette illuminated by the moonlight. Her father, Zeus, isn't in the room. Probably working again and doing his duties overtime in his own chamber where he busies himself with responsibilities. Hera turned as Venus entered, her expression softening as she saw her eldest daughter’s troubled face.

“Mother,” Venus began, her voice a whisper, “I need to talk to you.”

Hera motioned for her to sit beside her. Venus hesitated for a moment, but then sat, her hands nervously fiddling with the fabric of her nightgown.

“I overheard something today,” Venus said, her eyes downcast. “The maids were talking about Father. They said the council of gods is considering of stripping him off his crown. Is it true?”

Hera sighed, her eyes reflecting worry that matches her daughter's, “Yes, my dear, it is true. The council believes that your father’s leadership has become too harsh and unjust. They are concerned about the balance of power and the well-being of the realm.”

Venus’ heart sank. “Will this affect our family? Is there any way we can prevent it?”

Hera reached out and took Venus’s hands in hers, her touch warm and reassuring. “It will affect us, Venus. If your father is removed from power, it will cast a shadow over our family.”

Venus looked up, her eyes filled with a mix of fear and determination. “What can we do, Mother?”

“We must try to reconcile with the council,” Hera said calmly. “We will speak with them, listen to their concerns, and find a way to address them. Your father must show them that he can lead with wisdom and justice, not just strength.”

Tears welled up in Venus’s eyes. “I’m scared, Mother. I don’t want to lose everything.”

Hera pulled her daughter into a comforting embrace. “I know, my little star. But remember, we are a family. We will face this together. Your father is a powerful god, and we would get through this trial.”

Venus clung to her mother, somehow finding peace in her words. She felt a glimmer of hope at that moment. Everything will be fine, hopefully.

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