#also I had to do exercise early because I was still getting adrenaline out of nowhere like holy shit

[lesbianneopolitan]

my mood has been a SUGAR RUSH

[marveliter]

Sunrise | Doc Ock

Summary: You like to jog in the very early mornings, and at the end of your runs you watch the sunrise along the harbor. However, after one morning jog, you find an unexpected buddy with four robotic tentacles to watch the sunrise with. 

A/N: I have a bad case of Doc Ock brain rot. I love this man and his personality, character, omg did I have a new comfort character hella fast after NWH. Also, this takes place in the Raimi universe! No warnings except some CPR happening! Fluff! Set in fall! Also, im calling the actuators tentacles for this post! Enjoy :) 

You weren’t crazy, you just so happen to love exercising. . .at the ass crack of dawn, but still, you’re not crazy.        Your friends always joked you were, mostly because they didn’t get out. You didn’t ridicule them for it, you laughed with them. You loved running. Well, you loved the sunrises.        Every time you went out jogging, you always anticipated the end of your run to watch the sun rise over the horizon of the ocean. It was beautiful. To see every color of sunrise blossom into the sky and reflect off the ocean was like watching the heavens open up. The way the pink blended into the blue, casting a purple glow for the clouds over New York--beautiful. There was always something about sunrises that made you look at how beautiful the world was, even when it all felt like it was going to shit. 

      You also did find the emptiness of the city peaceful and quiet, even though your headphones were blasting rock music to keep a pace. The buildings also had a navy tint to their windows, reflecting the night sky. The longer you ran to the harbor to watch the sunrise, the more the navy was beginning to fade, and all the stars were beginning to disappear. You loved it. It was also chilly. Your breath turned to fog when you exhaled. Inhale crisp autumn air, exhale a warm fluffy white cloud. You could smell frost some mornings, which excited you even more when it hung in the air, the best time to run.        However, you weren’t going to love the autumn air that one fateful morning when you saw the body of a man lying in the shore of the harbor. 

      But for now, you were coming up on the pier, the head of the sun just starting to break through. This was your cool down. Deep breaths in, hold it, exhale until your lungs felt flat. Deep inhale, hold, let it out.        You did this at the edge of the pier, gloved hands on your hips before they went to fix your fuzzball hat on your head. Your music was still blasting in your ears, but you took your earbuds out when you felt like you had finally caught your breath. You liked watching the sunrise in silence. Of course, the bustling city behind you would sort of wake up, but nothing you couldn’t block out. 

      You sat down on the end of the pier, underneath you was wet sand, some clam shells, and the water gently brushing up not too close to the wooden poles supporting the dock.        It was also something to do while you waited for the sun to wake up. You liked looking around at the glass bottles and lost items in the sand from those who have been at the harbor. You sighed in peace as your eyes went to the sandy floor below you and the pier. 

      There was a watch half-buried in the sand, a lady’s purse that looked like it had been stuck in the ocean for a while as it had barnacles on it, a few hats missing an owner, and oh yeah, a big burly unconscious man with metal tentacles twitching out from his back. 

      Wait--what? 

      As you stared at the body a yard away from the pier, your eyes and brain finally made the connection that it was a human body, and your heart started to pound. Instead of freaking out, you jumped into action. Dropping from the pier, you ran with your tennis shoes hitting half-sand, half water. You got another sprint in running towards this man, and the closer you got, the more your adrenaline pumped.        You were slightly feared by the four robotic tentacles twitching from his back, so you stepped over them. The man was lying on his right shoulder. He was drenched from the ocean, frost had formed on his torn over coat, and his bare open chest was cold.        Thank God you were a nurse. You knew CPR, and though the man’s body was freezing from frost and the ocean, and you didn’t know how long he’d been out here, you had to try and help. His skin was blue from the cold, but he didn’t look like he was dead, decaying like a corpse. But he could be one soon if you didn’t do something. 

      You were trying to roll him on his back, but his weird metal tentacles were restraining him by doing so. They didn’t keep him from moving, but you were having a hard time trying to get them out of the way so you could do chest compressions. The man was big as well, tall by the looks of his long legs, and when you sort of had him on his back, in an unfortunate uncomfortable position, you placed your gloved hands on his chest and started pressing.        As you counted the compressions, you stared at the man’s face. He had a soft round face but big jaw, copper hair that was riddled with wet sand and a hooked nose. His lips were slightly parted, and his eyes were shut. The more you counted, the more you thought how the metal contraptions coming out from his back weren’t helping you save him. They twitched, but perhaps they were malfunctioning from the water. However, you didn’t notice how they started to sway in the sand. 

      “Come on,” you breathed, fear creeping into your throat. “Come on, come back, come back,” you whispered through gritted teeth.        All at once, the man coughed, and his metal tentacles sprang to life, targeted at you. You jumped back, landing your butt on wet sand, damping your leggings.        The man turned back over on his right, coughing up water and spitting into the sand as he groaned. All four tentacles were staring at you, claws opened, ready to attack. You could do nothing but stare at them with wide eyes and fear. Suddenly, you knew who this man was. You held your breath. But he was coughing and coughing, and when he finally took a deep breath in he shivered hard. His lips were nearly as blue as the morning sky fading away.        When the tentacles looked at the man, you leaned forward to touch him, hand out towards his shoulder. A metal claw grabbed you by the forearm, and you yelped, trying to pull away. 

      The man coughed and sniffed. “Wh. . .where are we?” he sounded so terribly stuffy. You needed to help him.        “S-Sir,” your voice trembled as you spoke. “I-I’m here t-to help you--”        He seemed nearly out of it, dark eyes opening and rolling into the back of his head, but still being conscious. “I. . .no. . .no help.” He was limp, and he was turning indigo by the second.        “You must’ve fallen into the ocean, I--I gave you CPR--you need help--”        “I don’t need help,” he growled, though it didn’t sound so intimidating due to his snotty stuffed up nose. “I. . .I d-d-don’t--” he shivered hard. 

      The metal claw was so cold you could feel it through all the layers you wore, and your crewneck underneath your coat was the thickest one. The rest of the claws whirred and clicked at you, waiting to attack. They sounded rigid, like they were trying to break off the frost and thin layer of ice in their edges.        “Let me help you,” you told him softly, eyeing the three other claws. “Tell them to let me go, and I’ll take you somewhere where no one can find you, and--and then. . .”        Well, you didn’t know what then, your first thought was turning him into the police, but the more you stared at the man, the more exhausted he seemed. He was very sick, no doubt about that, and besides being a nurse, helping, caring, had always a part of you.        You shook your wrist that was engulfed by the claw. That one wasn’t going to budge. 

      You reach your other hand out to the man touching his left shoulder before the claws could react. The claws looked as if they were going to pounce at you, but the man shivered under your touch. Your grip was firm but gentle, and when the man reacted, you brushed your gloved thumb against the frost on his coat. His eyes opened again, but his lids were heavy, just like the dark bags underneath them.        “It’s okay,” you whispered. “You’re safe now.”        You’re safe now.        It resonated in his ears like a melody. And that’s all he needed to hear. He melted even more under your endearing touch. His robotic arms wanted to disagree, to stay alert, but you could tell that they obeyed the silent, thoughtful command to lay back. The one claw around your wrist unlatched, throwing some frost that had gathered since it latched onto you. It creaked moving back. 

      “Can you sit up?” you ask the man as both hands tenderly pulled at his coat and shoulders. “Come on, you can do it,” you spoke soft, sweetly, trying to keep him at bay and trusting.        The man did his best to help you. His shoulders were so broad that you couldn’t sit him up all by yourself. He was weak, and oh so tired. The lower claws creaked and whirred as they moved behind him, helping him sit up. As you took in his face, you gently wiped sand off his cheek. There was a large metal waistband around his stomach that was colder than ice and had collected frost fast. His hair was covered in sand and frost, frozen in small strands. He was shivering badly. His coat, drenched and reeking of the ocean was going to be no help at all in keeping him warm. The most you could do was give him your fuzzball hat, and you hated that’s all you could do, but his hands were large, far too large to wear yours. He was so weak that he wasn’t even trying to wrap his arms around himself, but even then how could that help him? 

      “Can you tell me your name?” you ask him.        It takes a shiver and a few weak huffs, but he responds, “Octavius. . .O-Otto. . .Octa. . .”        He fell into your shoulder, but you caught him. Your chin was atop of his head, arms wrapped around his shoulders. The upper tentacles wrapped around you, their closed claws eyeing you, watching your next move. You ignored them and rubbed his arms with your gloved hands, soaking up cold ocean water and frost. You needed to get him up and out of here, fast.        “We need to get you out of here, Otto,” you told him. “I’ll help you, come on, I’ll help you stand.”        Once he could hold consciousness, he lowly but surely made his way on his feet, swaying softly side to side before you could put your arms around him. The metal claws helped him balance, but even then they were rickety and swaying just like Otto. 

      As you had your arms wrapped around his torso, standing on his right, letting him partially lean on you, a smidge of bright light sparked in your eyes. It hurt, but when you opened your eyes again, you saw the sun rising over the horizon line of the ocean. Otto was tired, but even if he strong enough to open his eyes and look.        The sky erupted into a bright pink, vibrant, and blended into orange downwards towards the horizon into the sun as it was slowly peeking over the water. There were some stars in the blue where it mixed in with the pink, fading into the atmosphere. The clouds were a soft lavender from the blue and the pink overlapping. You had never seen purple clouds before, and you smiled to yourself. It was beautiful. Probably the most beautiful sunrises you’ve ever seen after a run.        A streak of orange that began to grow from the sun crossed Otto’s face, illuminating his hooked nose, soft round face, and all the frosted curls that poked up and around his hair. He sniffed, reminding you that he was very ill, but when you tried to get him walking towards the wooden steps leading to the harbor, he stayed where he was, staring at the sunrise. Even the tentacles seemed amazed. 

      He shivered, a shaky exhale leaving his lips, “I. . .I d-don’t remember th-the last time I. . .I watched the s-s-sunrise.” His ribcage shook against yours.        You smiled at him, sad and sweet, but his eyes were still on the horizon, mesmerized by all the colors.        “Beautiful, right?” you ask, wanting him to keep talking. If he could walk and talk, that meant he was beginning to gain some function in order to walk back with you to your apartment. “I always watch them.”        Otto kept staring, watching. His dark eyes reflected the colors in his pupils. You could see the light bouncing off the lens of his eyes. Pupils large and content, unphased by the direct light in entering his eyes.        Yup, that looked like a concussion. But you knew how to help that. 

      “Come on, Otto,” you said softly, starting to lean towards the wooden steps of the harbor. “Let’s get you some help.”        He followed you this time, slowly along the sand, lower tentacles trying to balance him so he didn’t collapse on the ground or you.        “I’m s-so cold,” his teeth chattered. His eyes were plastered to the ground.        “I know.” you said tenderly, trying to warm up his back and arms. “You’ll be okay. You’re safe now.” 

[fightxxmexxshiggy]

HOT DAY AND A TIRED MAN

This fic is dedicated to @lovelyladyraven for being my first ever paid commission.

Shouta Aizawa x fem reader

Tw:dangerous situation, breeding, OVERSTIMULATION

Word count: 3.5k

This was not how you had planned to spend your day. Your boss had decided that the roof needed to be cleaned on the second hottest day this summer! Of course you were the only one who had just finished up their task so he sent you to do it by yourself with a promise of sending the next available person up to switch with you soon. Instead you had spent two hours cleaning up dirt and shining the vents on a roof that no one but maintenance workers ever set foot on! Once you had seen how much time had passed you went to the door with every intention of stomping down the stairs and clocking out, not willing to do overtime just to clean a roof. But the knob wouldn't turn no matter how hard you pulled. You banged on the door a few times only to realize that one of the idiots that you work with had locked the door. Quickly you took out your phone and called the store phone no answer, then your boss's phone no answer, then you called the two other coworkers who had been working with you today. Not a single person answered you! You went over to the side of the building that looked over the parking lot seeing that all their cars were already gone from their usual spots. The bastards had left for the day and left you locked on the roof with no way to go home or even get water. You tried for another 30 minutes to reach your boss and coworkers only for them to start rejecting your calls. They did this on purpose. You went and sat in the shade of the roof door access and took a few calming breaths. You knew that they weren't going to come back until tomorrow and you also knew that they probably expected you to sit up here and cry waiting till morning for them to come and "save" you. So instead you looked up the number for the local fire department. Once someone picked up you heard a deep gravelly voice through the speaker. 

"Fire station 6 what can I help you with?" 

The man seemed tired and kind of put out but instead of apologizing for bothering him like your brain was screaming at you to do, you cleared your throat and spoke. You gave him a detailed rundown of your situation and explained that you would have called the emergency line first except your boss's wife worked the police directory and if he was locking you on the roof like this you were afraid that his wife would just not send anyone to help you. It was a small town and things like that were constantly looked over as long as you knew the right people. He hummed in agreement.

" That's sad but true. I know your boss and his wife well enough that you're probably 100 percent right about what they would do and how they would cover this up. They've done it before. Me and a few guys will be there in about 20 minutes to come get you down. Just keep calm and do your best to stay out of the sun until then we don't need you getting any more dehydrated than you already are."

He gave a quick goodbye and hung up. You breathed a sigh of relief knowing that you had chosen correctly when you called the fire station. You sat in the shade and tried to put a face to the voice of the tired firefighter who would be coming to free you from your rooftop prison. Like a fool you had never asked his name. As you thought about it you started to get a bit lightheaded. It had definitely been too long since you had any water. The heat was starting to get to you now that your adrenaline had stopped pumping so hard. With nothing else to do you layed down as much in the shade as you could and did a breathing exercise. During your exercise you must have blacked out because the next thing you knew you were being carried down the stairs in a set of strong arms. 

The person carrying you was speaking to you but you couldn't make out what they were saying over the fog that was covering your brain. You knew the sound of that voice though. It was the tired firefighter but he sounded a whole lot less tired and a whole lot more angry. You really hoped he wasn't angry at you. Maybe you were too heavy and he was annoyed at having to lug you down the stairs. With a weak hand you reached up maybe to apologize somehow, but ended up cupping his cheek. His stubble felt funny in your already funny feeling hand. He stopped walking at the feeling of your hand on his face. You still couldn't open your eyes so instead you mumbled a garbled sorry and proceeded to pass back out going limp. The last thing you heard was the tired firefighter yelling at someone, maybe you?

You woke up again this time to the feeling of something plastic on your face. Opening your eyes was still a bit too much for you so you listened and tried to figure out what was going on. You vaguely remember the tired voice you had spoken to before you felt light headed and the feeling of being carried. As you listened you could make out the sounds of machines. Slowly you took stock of your body. You were sore and kinda warm but you could move a little bit. You breathed deeply, finally realizing that the plastic was an oxygen tube. You were definitely in the hospital then. After a few more minutes your eyes were in good enough condition that you opened them to look around the room. When you did you saw someone slumped in the chair in the corner. This was incredibly strange since you had no family in this town. Doing your best you cleared your throat preparing to ask who they were. At your sound the person's head shot up, eyes wide. 

It was a man with tired eyes and long black hair that was on the scruffy side; it easily matched the stubble of a beard on his chin and cheeks. He stood up definitely tall enough to tower over you even when you were standing up yourself. The man walked to your bedside and took a deep breath before speaking. 

"It's good to see you awake little one. I was beginning to think you weren't going to wake up. I'm the firefighter you spoke to asking for help when you were on the roof. I have a lot to explain to you but I'm gonna call the doctor in and have them look you over before anything else."

He called out into the hall after that and a doctor and a nurse bustled into the room within minutes. Your throat was too dry to answer their questions so you stuck to little nods and head shakes as they began to check your vitals and adjust your iv drip. Once they were sure you were stable enough you were once again left with your savior and no voice to thank him with. He came closer and pulled the chair along with him to settle in for your conversation. 

"So you've been out of it for about 3 days. You got sunstroke while you were on the roof and your boss had double locked the door to get in and the door to the roof which slowed us down in getting to you. Your boss and his wife and your 2 coworkers have all been arrested. It was your boss's idea though apparently he kept hitting on you but you didn't give him the time of day so he wanted to teach you a lesson. His wife had your name flagged so that if you had called for help it would have given a dispatcher a notification to ignore you as a false reporter. His wife found out about his interest in you and was planning on making sure you were stuck on that roof all night. Your coworkers just went along with it because they didn't want to deal with your boss's anger."

Hearing all this pissed you off beyond belief. They could have killed you all because you would be a man's mistress and the man's wife would rather hurt someone than confront her husband. He looked at your face and patted your knee knowing there was nothing he could say that would make you feel any better about this. You looked up at him and grabbed his hand and brought it to your forehead, touching his knuckles there before placing a kiss on them. You were kind of happy that you couldn't really talk just yet because the blush on this man's cheeks was well worth the dry throat. He poured you a cup of water and handed it to you. You gave him a small smile and drank it gratefully. 

Eventually you could speak some and the two of you formally introduced yourselves. He was Shouta Aizawa, the fire station chief and local fire safety instructor for this area. He hadn't felt right leaving you alone after he had gotten you off the roof and found that you lived alone in this town. He came off very blunt and serious but you could see his deep kindness in his actions. The doctors came back in, cutting your conversation short and making Shouta go back to his spot in the corner. After a few more checks the doctors cleared you to go home the following day as long as you had someone to watch over you for the next three days till your follow up appointment was. You frowned cause you did have any close friends who could do that for you. As you pondered over it you heard Shouta's voice over the doctor's. 

"If you don't have a problem I can have you stay over in the guestroom at my house. I was already on a temp leave due to watching over you here so it wouldn't be much different with you at my house."

This man with a deep whiskey voice truly had a heart of gold. Not one to look a gift horse in the mouth you readily agreed. After you had been up a few more hours and had a little bit to eat, Shouta left with the promise of a freshly cleaned room waiting for you tomorrow. You fell asleep that night feeling more cared for than you ever truly had. You woke up again slightly disoriented and thirsty but in much better condition than you had been the day prior. It was early so you took your time shaking the numbness out of your limbs and getting back your bearings. The nurse came in fussing about you standing with calling anyone to be a catcher for you. She stopped fussing though when she realized that you were indeed stable enough to walk to the bathroom alone. 

Shouta had called the nurses station around 10 to let them know he'd be there by 12. With a few puppy dog looks you had a shower chair and an orderly who helped wash your hair and walk you back to bed. They had given you some hospital pajamas that you happily wore instead of the ugly gowns you had woken up in. You were clean and relaxed by the time Shouta had arrived to sign you out of the hospital. A nurse came around with a wheelchair and wheeled you down to the exit while the car was brought around. Shouta opened the door for the backseat but instead of giving you a hand to climb in he leaned down and scooped you out of the chair. Once you had been sat comfortably on the seat he shut the door leaving you with a moment to appreciate just how strong his arms were.

The drive to Shouta's home was relatively quick as is the way of small towns. His house was nice and seemed to be a cozy ranch style. After pulling into the garage you tried to get out yourself only to be caught up against a hard chest as your legs gave out the moment they were made to take your full weight. You looked up to see an exasperated glare. Part of your brain filled with chastised thoughts as the other filled with dirty thoughts. You really had to be better behaved when It came to your savior and benefactor but with him being so sinfully attractive it was kinda hard to do. Once again you were carried by the tired man this time into his home and deposited on the lone couch in his living room. He sat on his coffee table and faced you with a sigh. 

"You're really gonna have to rely on me for a few days brat. Your body is trying to heal and you pushing it as you just did isn't doing the process any favors."

You sighed and agreed with him. After a short conversation about a few things you might need from the store and checking about any food allergies he got ready and  headed to the store. You sat alone watching tv before clicking into his YouTube app to see what he watched most. A loud laugh burst from your chest as you realized that most of his watch history was full of cat videos and a few interviews with a local late night radio host. You watched the radio hosts videos thoroughly entertained by his boisterous personality. The next thing you knew you were being shaken awake by Shouta having fallen asleep with videos still playing on the tv. He helped you up and walked you to the bathroom and waited outside before scooping you up yet again. He was making it so damn hard not to think dirty thoughts when he kept carrying you around as if you were a small animal or something. Like sir the butterflies are in the stomach now but they will quickly fly south if you keep being so quietly sexy. A few hours later you were lying in bed when your thoughts finally got the best of you and had you touching your pussy as images of Shouta glaring down at you with his arms crossed showed behind your eyelids.

You had no idea how loud you were being as you rubbed your clit harshly, trying to get to the finish line. As you came you choked out his name. While you panted and came down from your high Shouta made his way back to his room quietly. He leaned back against his door and made a call before laying in his bed to jerk his very hard, very neglected cock. His brain kept replaying the sounds you made, the way you choked out his name as you came, how a satisfied little smile curled on your lips after you reached the finish line. He came with a growl, satisfied but not. He was definitely going to end up in trouble by the end of the week and he couldn't find it in himself to care. The following two days followed the same pattern, spending the day together and spending the night getting off to thoughts of the other in separate rooms. Though you were surprised to find that Shouta regularly walked around the house in nothing but sweatpants holding a full mug of coffee. On the fourth day you had become well enough to no longer need to be carried or walked everywhere. You were a little confused by Shouta's attitude as he had been glaring at the space above your head for most of the day. Finally tired of him doing this, you confronted him about it. You were not expecting his answer in the slightest. 

"I've spent the last three nights hearing you play with your pussy while calling my name, I'm hard enough to hammer nails and I can't get out any over this energy cause I'm supposed to be watching out for you. All I wanna do is fuck you till you lose your mind. me glaring above your head has been me doing my best not to seduce you like an asshole."

He said everything in such a deadpan manner that you couldn't help but laugh. Once you caught your breath you grinned at him and pulled your shirt off over your head. Sitting on his couch with your tits hanging free and your nipples hardening in the cool air you proceeded to play with them. You were immediately picked up and taken to his room before being dropped on the bed. Never let it be said that the tired man couldn't move fast as you were stripped of your remaining clothes before he stripped himself bare. He pulled you to the edge of his bed by your ankles and dropped to his knees, a fierce smile on his lips. 

"Been wanting to taste this bratty pussy for days. Bet it's as sweet as it looks."

His first lick was long. From your hole all the way over your clit. The squeak you let out at the feeling only made him more hungry. He spent what felt like an endless amount of time licking and thrusting his tongue as deep into your pussy as he could. By the time he finally gave your clit some much needed attention his chin was covered in pussy juice and your hole was fluttering as if it was seeking to be filled. Shouta teased you with a few small licks over your clit, making you whine and beg him to give you more. His arms wrapped around your thighs as he locked eyes with you and sucked your clit into his mouth. He sucked hard making you scream and thrash wildly. Your hands were buried in his hair as you squirted into his mouth. Your hips only stayed on the bed because of his strong arms keeping you in place. When he finally released your clit pussy juice was steadily leaking from your still twitching hole. 

"Oh did I break you already? You were so bold before and now you're just a mess. Think you can take my cock or do you want me to tuck you in for a nap."

The shit eating grin on his face was enough for you to pull his hair and glare at him. He sat up and shoved your wrists above your head to hold in one of his large hands. Slowly he worked his fat dripping cock into your almost too tight pussy. You whined and moaned his name as he finally bottomed out hitting your back wall. He stretched you more than you ever had been before but it was so damn good. Shouta started slow, one hand gripping your thigh as he ignored your demands for him to speed up.

"You're gonna take what I give you like a good girl or I'll just pull out and cum all over you right now."

That shut you up except for the constant stream of moans that left your throat. Just as you were finally getting used to being split by such a thick cock he changed his rhythm. Fast pounding thrusts that knocked the breath from your lungs were nearly constant. You didn't have enough breath to scream so you sobbed. Your half words were incoherent except for "sho please." Shouta leaned down and whispered in your ear as his thrusts once again spread up. He bit your ear lobe before making you lose your mind. 

"Such a tight little hole. I can't believe I had the strength to ignore it for three days. I could have at least eaten it while you laid back and rested. God I'm gonna have you for breakfast tomorrow." 

The utter heat in his words threw you over the edge making you cum so hard you began to shake. He growled as your pussy clenched down on him. Shouta sunk his teeth into the pillow by your head before shoving his cock against your cervix and shooting his cum against it. As soon as he finished cuming he started to thrust again. No slow start this time, just hard pounding thrusts that made you wail in pleasure. It didn't take long for you to cum again but Shouta lasted longer this time entirely fucking his cum out of you before finally cuming inside again just as deep as the first time. 

He pulled out and laid down next to you before pulling you on to his chest. You both panted trying to breathe like normal human beings again. Right as your breathing evened out you heard a voice from the doorway. And looked up to see the blonde radio host trailing his eyes over the two of you.

"I told you you wouldn't make it till I got home sho."

[littlepadika]

hi angel 🥰 i’m just in the middle of rereading calling home !!!! i was just wondering, could you ever do a one shot of like sweet pea calming frankie during the middle of the night if he has like an anxiety attack or nightmare? i love the dynamic between those 2 and would love to see how sweet pea calms frankie 🥺

Hi bb sorry this took me a hot minute to get to. First off... i'm thrilled you are re reading my series! Hope you enjoy!

Warnings: PTSD, anxiety, comfort, fluff

AN: This is early in their relationship. Probably right after chapter 5. Therapy also referred to in this drabble

source: @uuuhshiny

You blinked up at the ceiling, sleep momentarily thinning. You heard low muttering beside you.

"Frankie?" You turned reaching over to his side of the bed. He was shaking and sweaty under your hand. "Frankie!" You sat up, this time going to the other side of the bed to flick on the bedside lamp. The dim yellow light revealed Frankie twitching and muttering incoherently. Sweat clung to his forehead. His mouth was pursed in between a frown and snarl. His jaw was clenched tight. His whole body was stiff as a board. He was deep in a nightmare. You heard him say something like "no no".

You had been over this scenario with Frankie. He advised you not to touch him when he was having nightmares in case he acted on instinct and accidentally hurt you. But now that it was real, you couldn't just watch him endure a nightmare like this.

"Hey... hey..." You stoked his arm with your fingers lightly. He jerked away from your touch with a grunt. When he turned his head you saw that there were tears in the corner of his eyes. "Oh, Frankie... Wake up please. Come on, baby. Please wake up." You just continued to slowly stroke his arm, his chest, eventually making your way up to his face. He seemed to be calming down.

Then he abruptly sat up, scooting away from you reflexively.

"Wha-What's..." He looked around the room and then trailed off when he saw you watching him, concern evident on your face. He wiped his wet eyes.

"Nightmare." You explained though you were sure he already knew.

"Did I hurt you?" He immediately asked, looking away in shame. His humiliation mixed toxically with his adrenaline and fear from the dream.

"No. You didn't hurt me." You answered quickly, pushing yourself up, but you resisted hugging him for fear he was still overstimulated. You offered your water bottle to him. "Do-do you want to talk about it?"

Frankie shook his head, looking down at his sweaty self. "It's the usual dream. The helicopter crash." He shuddered, trying to pull himself into the present and away from his distorted memory. He took a couple sips of water and then handed the bottle back to you. Mentally he did the exercises he had practiced. Name one thing you see: Sweet pea. Name one thing you hear: A passing car. Name one thing you feel: Soft sheets. Where are you? Home. Home. Home.

You waited patiently through all of this, giving Frankie space to speak when he was ready. He took a few deep ragged breaths, his fists clenched on the bed below you. Too scared to touch you yet. He worried that he may have scared you off. That now you would have seen that all of his demons were real.

"I'm sorry I woke you up, sweet pea." His gruff voice was dripping with guilt. You frowned, not in frustration at him but at the stigma that led him to feel so terrible about dreams he could not control.

"Frankie...you didn't bother me." You couldn't resist laying a hand over his bare stomach feeling him relax at your touch. "I'm glad I woke up. I want to comfort you."

He sniffed, new tears in his eyes. He was still looking away from you. You understood. It was such a vulnerable state for anyone, let alone someone who had endured as much rejection as Frankie had.

"Can I hold you? Is that okay?" You feel your own voice shake with emotion. Your power and your love was limited with him not in your arms. As much as you knew your voice could move mountains, you needed to console him with more than words.

"Yes. please." Frankie exhaled finally looking at you, his brown eyes misty and wanting. You wasted no time climbing over his legs and pulling his face into your neck. His arms linked around your back, holding you close.

His skin, that earlier vibrated like it was trying to break apart, settled under your touch. Solidifying enough so he could finally sense each part of his body. Hands, wrists, elbows, shoulders, and so on. He mentally listed each one as it related to you. Your hands on his head. Your chest on his chest. Your breath on his neck.

"I have you." You promised, knowing the words would help ground him. "I have you. I'm not going anywhere. Just be here with me."

"I'm so tired of this." He whispered into your warm embrace. "I just want to be better."

"I know." You sat back cupping his face in your hands, rubbing your thumb over that patch of grey in his beard.

"I was doing so well." He continued to beat himself up. He had been so pleased to have gone nearly a month without any nightmares or PTSD. He tried to think of something that could have triggered him but yesterday was a normal Thursday. He didn't drink. He didn't have a stressful customer at work. He had sex. He showered. Sometimes there was no trigger and that was the most unsettling type of episode.

Frankie ducked his head, resting his forehead in between your breasts. He wished he could crawl inside you and away from his thoughts. His PTSD made him nauseous and too hyper to sleep. He was both hyper-focused and dazed at the same time. Every nightmare always felt like an omen that things were going to get bad again. He was going to start craving and then eventually relapse.

You rubbed his back in slow circles trying to coax him into a more normal breathing rate. A minute passed, the only sounds were Frankie's rough breathing and your slower one.

"What else do you need?" You asked gently.

"Can you- can you light the candle please?" He requested in a muffled voice.

"Sure." You smiled, reaching over to his side of the bed and pulling out the lighter. Your candle, already well used, was soon flickering brightly. The floral scent you and Frankie loved, filled your brain making sleep slowly start to edge its way in. You could feel his breathing slow. "That better?"

"Mmhmm." He grumbled. Something about the scent grounded him to this chapter in his life; the one with you in it. He wasn't that lonely guy anymore. He wasn't in a war zone. He had everything he could ever dream of right in his arms... and yet... this still happened. "I'm sorry, sweet pea."

"What for?" You tousled his hair affectionally.

"For-for being messed up."

"Frankie..." You nudged his head up so you could kiss him deeply. You let him take the lead, pressing him tongue into your mouth and pulling you tighter against his chest. At your quiet moan he pulled back letting you finish your thought. You didn't care how many times you had to say it, touch it, kiss it into reality: Frankie was perfect the way he was.

"You aren't messed up." You murmured, holding his eyes with your earnest gaze. "You're strong. You're resilient and brave. I love you because of that. You're like... a phoenix. You rise from the ashes." Then you giggled. "Sorry I just thought of a hybrid between a catfish and a Phoenix."

"Ha." He laughed shakily, tightening his arms around you. "A fish on fire. Sounds about right."

"Or a bird with whiskers." You snorted.

He kissed you again, relishing your little giggles against his lips. You laced your hands with his.

"I'm here to remind you to be kind to yourself. Remember how far you've come. I'm so proud of you, Frankie."

Once again he reflected on how lucky he was to have you in the flesh. Your empathy amazed him. It had from day one but his awe grew monumentally tonight. You weren't scared. You saw all of his brokenness for what it was and you only loved him harder. He had to trust your vision of him when his own internal compass failed.

"You tired, little pea?" He chuckled when you yawned cutely, after trying to hold it in.

"No." You told a small lie, just to keep him from trying to put your needs first. You weren't going to sleep until you knew he felt safe. "How are you feeling? Be honest, please."

Frankie searched his body with another deep breath. "Better. I'm just really amped up from the adrenaline. But go back to sleep, little pea. I'll read or something.”

"Mmm read to me?" You asked holding back another yawn.

"Sure." He chuckled. You rolled off of him pulling the covers back over you both. Frankie grabbed his copy of The Invisible Life of Addie LaRue. You latched onto him like a koala bear and hung onto his deep voice. Frankie appreciated the weight of your arm on his stomach and head on his chest. You could hear his heartbeat below your ear slowing.

Frankie paused his quiet oration to peer down at your relaxed face and fluttering eye lids. "I love you, sweet pea."

"mmm love you too." You breathed in reply.

For the first time, Frankie was able to go back to sleep after his nightmare.

~~~~~~~~~~

My masterlist

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Frankie Morales Taglist: , @evildxad @a-skov @pasckles @goddessofsprings

[itsany62]

SteveTony - Canon Divergence

Here are some some Canon Divergence fics that I adore. Don't forget to leave kudos and nice comments in every fic! Enjoy!

Second Chance Lives, by raeldaza, 43 k >, Iron Man 2 AU.

Tony's gonna die of palladium poisoning anyway, why not join a pointless expedition to recover Captain America’s body? And after, well, why not dedicate his last few months to making sure an American hero settles into his new life? What else is he going to do, get drunk at parties?

Stick With Me, Baby, I’m the Fella You Came in With by Annie D (scaramouche), 10 k > words .

During the final battle with Ultron, Tony kisses Steve for the first time. Afterward, he makes it clear to Steve that he was just running on adrenaline and not thinking clearly. Steve seems to accept it, but the kiss nudges open a door of possibilities, and the situation escalates.

Say When by ann2who, 42 k > words, Iron Man 2 AU, Undercover AU.

Book 1 of the Say When series. An alternate version of Iron Man 2. What if Steve was unfrozen early? What if instead of Natasha, Steve got assigned to help Tony while the genius was slowly dying of palladium poisoning? What if he never revealed his identity to him until the very moment the Avengers first came together, forming a team?

Falling For You (Hook, Line, and Sinker) by FestiveFerret, 62 k > words, Long Distance Relationship.

After being thawed, Steve's adrift in the 21st century. There's nothing for him here, just the endless cycle of pre-packaged food, pointless training exercises, and long hours at the gym. But when he takes on a new project, it leads him to a new friend - one who might open up all kinds of new doors, new feelings, new experiences. Or might just break his heart.

hold your breath (now let’s go save the world) by janonny, 7 k > words, Canon Divergence - Avengers: Endgame (Movie), Fix-It.

In between a hell lot of guilt and repression, Tony goes to ridiculous lengths to avoid talking to Steve and Steve in turn tries to out-stubborn Tony. Then they come up with a way to save the world because that’s what they do.

The First Day of Spring by ShippersList, 18 k > words, Aftermath of Torture, Permanent Injury.

Tony Stark is a genius, philanthropist, playboy—and in a wheelchair. The terrorists didn’t only damage his heart, they also shattered his spine, leaving him brittle and broken.

There are many things in this new world Steve tries to understand, and Iron Man’s devotion to his bitter employer is just one of them. But when aliens attack New York, Steve is about to learn a great deal about the team’s evasive benefactor.

Won't Live in Regrets by GotTheSilver, 21 k > words, Avengers: Endgame (Movie) - Alternate 2012 Timeline.

2012 branching timeline.

*

Brushing the shattered glass off himself, Steve stands up, puts the sceptre back in the case and looks around. There’s no sign of his double, and Steve doesn’t understand how he’s ended up back with the sceptre when his double was so determined to get it. There’s an echo in his ear and he’s reminded he’s still linked to the rest of the team. “Stark? Anyone? What’s happening?”

“Tony had a minor incident,” comes Natasha’s voice in his ear. “He’s being looked at. Where are you?”

“Lower floor, I’ve still got the sceptre.”

“I thought that was going with SHIELD?”

“So did I.”

Yes, Just Like This by gottalovev, 35 k > words, Road Trips, IN SPACE!, Amnesia.

Tony wakes up in a hospital on another planet missing his memories of the last eleven years. It's now 2023, and he learns the Avengers saved half the universe. Unfortunately, not everything he forgot is good news.

(An Endgame Alternate Universe AND Civil-War fix-it and get together story, weaved through a space road trip with Steve, Carol and Nebula. Complete but cut in 5 chapters for ease of reading.)

Throw a Little Hot Rod Red in There by FestiveFerret, SirSapling, 55 k > words, Pre-Serum Steve Rogers.

Tony Stark was pretty sure that the absolute worst time to get asked out by an incredibly talented, good-looking artist, who likes to paint - and defend - Iron Man, is when he's dying of palladium poisoning.

Someone Reaching Back For Me by FestiveFerret, 17 k > words, Alternate Universe - No Powers, Pre-Serum Steve Rogers.

Steve is sickly, unemployed, broke, and homeless.

All he has left is a business card with a rather hard to get phone number on it.

Bright Things and Fair by sheron , 21k > words, 1970s, Canon Divergence - Avengers: Endgame (Movie).

The course of true love never did run smooth — and neither did time-travel to retrieve the Tesseract. When circumstances outside their control force Steve and Tony to spend more time together in the 1970, they do what two people with their history do under the circumstances: work together and try to get through it without unnecessary feelings getting in the way. Falling for each other is definitely a bad idea, isn't it?

Reject Your Reality (and Substitute My Own) by dapperanachronism, Robin_tCJ, 74 k > words, Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Café.

Single parent Tony Stark’s son is the most important thing in the world to him – the ONLY important thing in the universe. A hipster Brooklyn coffee-shop owner & veteran doesn’t even rank on the list – even if he is hot and funny and kind.

When he hears about the possibly-high-traffic-and-therefore-dangerous coffee shop moving in next door to Casey’s preschool, he does the only sensible thing he can think of – he confronts the owner and tries to convince him to open his shop elsewhere.

Of course, Steve Rogers is stubborn as hell, and it turns out he can make a mean cup of coffee.

It sounds like an ordinary kid-fic coffee shop AU, but look a little closer and nothing is quite what it seems.

What Could've Been by itsallAvengers, 11 k > words, Canon Divergence - Iron Man 2.

So. Tony's dying. Palladium poisoning is a shitty, painful way to go, but hey: at least it's his birthday party, right? A cool send off. Lots of alcohol and fun and girls and-

...And all Tony wants is Steve Rogers, the stupid Art Professor who used Tony for a booty call now and again and whom Tony had stupidly decided to start falling in love with. Whilst in the middle of getting slowly poisoned to death.

God, he wished his life was easier.

My Better Half, My Saving Grace by ChocolateCapCookie, 4 k > words, Fluff, Slice of Life.

The five different ways Steve Rogers loves Tony Stark

Cherry Ride by copperbadge, 12 k > words, Secret Identity, Iron Man 2.

A SHIELD agent named Roger Stevens told Tony that his nickname was "Cap". Tony didn't connect the dots until it was much, much too late.

ruin the friendship by parkrstark, 9 > words, Domestic Avengers, Getting Together.

5 times Tony flustered Steve...and the one time Steve flustered him.

Look at my eyes, Don't even know who I am. by Perlmutt, 30 k > words, Tarzan AU.

Deciding to take a break from the bustling city life, Tony found himself on a deserted island somewhere near the South American coast. Only JARVIS and DUM-E accompanied him here. This was the perfect place for him to clear his head and focus on his studies. The sun was warm, the sea beautiful and the animals peaceful. But in the jungle around him waited an adventure for him that he couldn't have dreamt of.

Because he was not alone. Blue eyes watched him.

A man as wild and untamed as the jungle around them…

Blue Days, Black Nights by janonny, 17 K > words, Canon Divergence - Avengers: Infinity War Part 1 (Movie).

Over the span of two years as a fugitive, Steve gets a little too attached to the flip phone, his only link to Tony. (Or the story where Steve is an overachiever, even when it comes to his brooding.)

Instinctual by mariana_oconnor, 17 k > words, Wolf pollen.

The true effects of the super soldier serum are top secret. Only a few people know the truth - the serum turned Steve Rogers into a werewolf. Steve still hasn't found a way to tell Tony, even though they've been in a relationship for months. He can't bring himself to explain that he's a monster.

But when they are clearing out an AIM base, that decision is taken out of his hands.

Fur Will Fly by janonny, 4 k > words, Canon Divergence - Avengers: Infinity War Part 1 (Movie), Cat Tony Stark, Dog Steve Rogers.

Thanos’ minions invades Earth. At this critical juncture, Steve and Tony get turned into a dog and cat respectively.

But that isn’t going to stop them from kicking ass.

Or from bickering with each other either.

given you a number, taken away your name by janonny, 4 k > words, Canon Divergence - Iron Man 2, Secret Identity.

As Tony behaves more erratically, S.H.I.E.L.D. sends in Steve as an undercover agent in S.I. to be Natasha’s back-up. Except Steve is really, really not cut out for this undercover business.

-

Before the lift’s doors closed, Stark suddenly grinned and said, “Call me Tony. Have a better rest of the day, big guy.”

Awkwardly, Steve lifted his free hand and waved as the doors slid shut between them.

What...what was he doing? Why was he waving? Steve hurriedly put his hand down and turned around sharply.

It Matters How This Ends by FestiveFerret, 4 k > words, Post-Captain America: Civil War (Movie).

“You said if I needed you, you’d be there,” Tony finally stuttered out.

“I did.” Steve’s eyes softened. “I meant it.”

You Can Guard My Life Anytime, Soldier by betheflame, 32 k > words, Lifeguard Steve.

Steve Rogers is the newest lifeguard at Tony Stark's Barnegat Beach Resort and Tony has some questions.

First, how is it legal for one human to be that hot?

Two, where does Steve disappear to on his days off - or, more specifically, who?

Finally, does that blush mean Steve likes Tony's flirting or is about to sue Tony for sexual harassment?

+++++++++

A story where Tony has his shit together and Steve *thinks* he does, but then he doesn't, and Tony helps put him back together again.

Gained in Translation by Annie D (scaramouche), 11 k > words, Post-Captain America: The Winter Soldier, Post-Iron Man 3.

Steve returns to New York and meets Tony for the first time since they’d parted ways after the Chitauri incident. It’s a little awkward at first, but they gain a new rhythm, which is mainly based on their ability to surprise each other and prove those first impressions inaccurate.

Set between Captain America: The Winter Soldier and Avengers: Age of Ultron.

A Forever Thing by midnightsnacks, 6 k > words, Canon Divergence - Post-Captain America: Civil War (Movie).

Tony jumped up, ready to throw his drink right into the strangers face when a strong hand grabbed his wrist and held him in place. He looked up into unforgettably bright eyes. So, not a stranger then.

Improvisation is key by nannersmelo, 2 k > words, Canon Divergence - Post-Captain America: Civil War (Movie).

“Happy,” he turned to the silent chauffeur, who startled in response, “do you still have it?”

Steve raised a brow to him, “Have what?”

“Oh, yes!” and he proceeded to search his pockets, until he pulled out a single wedding ring while beaming a smile from ear to ear, “I’ve been carrying this since 2012!”

If You Lived Here, You'd Be Home Now by vorkosigan, 12 k > words, Canon Divergence - Avengers (2012), Christmas Eve.

"Hold that thought," Tony said into his phone. "I apparently just got hit by a hitchhiker."

"You hit a hitchhiker?" Happy sounded horrified.

"What? Am I talking to a wall? I got hit by a hitchhiker."

Having just broken up with Pepper, Tony is driving to California on Christmas Eve. When he picks up a hitchhiker, he hardly expects him to be the former Captain America, defrosted and on the run from SHIELD.

some words build houses in your throat by only_more_love, 6 k > words, Canon Divergence - Avengers: Endgame (Movie).

The night before they travel back in time, Tony says what he needs to say.

[persephone-is-here-omg]

Part of the Job.

Pairing: Bruce Wayne/Reader.

Warnings: Smut. Oral, female receiving, slight choking, fingering, teasing. Alcohol.

Word Count: 4059.

Rating: 18+.

Masterlist.

More Bruce Wayne bullshit, hoes. And watch your backs, because if I give into the idea I have there’s gonna be a Bucky Barnes/Bruce Wayne/Reader fic coming your way and you won’t know what hit you.

"Bruce Wayne" The gruff voice at the other end of the line says as you examine the boutique box that had just been delivered at your door.

"Hey... Uhm... I think you sent a dress or something by mistake to my place" You say prodding him for information, but you know is not a mistake.

"Not by mistake, we have something to do tonight and I need you to wear that dress" Bruce informs you of your plans and you can't help but nod slowly, even though he can not see you do it.

"So, what if I have plans tonight?" You tease, hardly containing the glee in your voice "Maybe dinner or something, probably with a guy you wouldn't like"

If you had Bruce in front of you, you know you'd see him frown for a moment, just a short little second, then he'd look at you with those clear blue eyes of his, face completely neutral "I know you don't have any plans"

"You know, is kinda rude of you to just dispose of my time like this" You keep teasing, just pushing a little more.

"You knew what you were getting into and it didn't stop you. I'll be there at nine tonight" He says and hangs up.

You giggle and bite your lip, staring at the box still closed on your bed. You haven't even opened it yet, not that you don't trust Bruce's taste, you just wanted to give him shit about it first. You tell yourself he probably knows the sizes of every person that's ever come into his proximity, but still a part of you preens with pride at the idea of having so much of his atention. Not that you would ever admit it to him.

You open the box and look at the dress, is nice. Is a really nice dress, black with delicate beading details that make a swirling pattern on the sides, a deep v in the front that shows quite a bit of cleavage is kept together by a sheer mesh panel. When you turn it around you can see the low back and how the skirt is slightly longer at the back. 

You jump, a few hours later, as you come out of the bathroom wrapped in a fluffy black towel and find Bruce seated on the armchair in your room “God damn it” You mutter “What are you doing here so early?”

“Does the dress fit?” He asks, his intense gaze fixed on you.

Holding the towel tight around you and narrowing your eyes “You know it does and that is weird”

Bruce raises an eyebrow at you, the corner of his mouth raised just the tiniest bit “Is it?” The rest of the sentence is left unsaid, but you know what he's thinking about.

You roll your eyes “Where are we going, anyway? That you need me to dress like a showgirl”

“Remember that arms dealer I had been trailing?”

You nod.

“He frequents a clandestine casino, here, in Gotham. We are going there tonight” Bruce explains, fixing his tie.

“Oh, so we're wasting money tonight?”

“Mainly. There's some illegal fighting, too but I’ll only fight if I have to. They have a strict dress code, hence, the dress” He looks at you intently, then adds “You should wear that black coat over it. Is cold outside”

“Okay, daddy” You answer in a sarcastic tone “Now… Can you give me some space?”

The corner of his mouth lifts almost imperceptibly in amusement and you can almost hear his thoughts, then he stands and walks pass you and out of the room “Don’t take too long”

The door closes after Bruce and you walk towards your dresser, pull on a pair of panties and then sit down and start to get your makeup done, then your hair. Finally you put on the dress, paired with black, high heeled shoes and the coat Bruce suggested.

Bruce’s back is to you as you come out and clear your throat “I’m ready” You stand there as he turns around, his eyes moving slowly down your body, taking you in.

"Perfect" He says and walks over to you "Let's go"

Bruce opens the passenger side door for you and you look at him with a tilted head as he gets on the opposite side "I thought Alfred would be driving"

"Alfred's busy tonight"

"Busy, huh?" You nod and watch as he starts the car with calculated moves "And what did he say about my stitches?"

"He said you did a marvelous job" You beam at the praise "Thinks you should patch me up more often"

"He does?"

"Is what he said" Bruce counters and then starts driving.

Silence extends between the two of you as your eyes watch the city lights pass you by, then you turn your head and look at Bruce, see his eyes dart from the road to you, see his hand tighten on the gear shift. You realize you are going out of the city.

"So, B" You start and he turns his face again towards you, you know he wants to tell you not to call him 'B' he also knows you're not going to stop "What made you pick this dress? But, more importantly, can I keep it?"

"Is a nice dress and is yours" He answers, simply, to the point.

"I know is a nice dress, Bruce" You tilt your head and lean closer to him "But why did you pick it for me?"

Bruce drives out of the road and looks at you, one hand on the steering wheel and another on the gear shift "I knew it would look good on you and would fit into the place we're going" His knuckles are white, as if he's holding back from something, he lets go of the gear shift and places his hand around your neck loosely "And I like how you look in it, very much" He lets go of your neck and starts driving again, you squirm in your seat, bite your lip and take a deep, shaky breath, let your head rest against the seat.

You cross and then uncross your legs and Bruce grips your thigh firmly "Stop" He kneads your thigh but doesn't add anything else, his hand moves slowly up your thigh and stops right under the hem of your dress.

Bruce moves his hand back onto the gear shift and you turn your face to look at him, watch the tick in his jaw, think about telling him to park somewhere and just fuck you already, is what you both want. But you know Bruce and know he won't do it, he'd tell you to focus on tonight's mission and that you should take this as an exercise in delayed gratification. 

About twenty minutes later, he parks outside a rather inconspicous building, a man you assume works security approaches the car as Bruce rolls down the window on his side. He hands the man a small, black card and then the man steps back, Bruce gets out of the car and walks over to your side, opens the door for you and offers his hand for you take as you step out of the car. His hand finds the small of your back and you can feel how his thumb moves in a slow motion over your coat as he hands the keys of the car and guides you towards the door.

Once inside a very young girl takes your coats and Bruce's hand is back on your back, his skin is warm on yours, his hand is rough and calloused, and he guides you towards a poker table. When Bruce sits down you lean over his shoulder and kiss the corner of his mouth, it's a show after all and in this show, that's your part to play "I'll go get a drink, do you want something?"

He nods takes a moment to think and then says "Scotch, no ice, please" 

You walk away towards the bar, order red wine for you and scotch for Bruce, then head back to the table. You hand the glass to Bruce and stand right behind his chair, a hand casually draped over his shoulder as the game unfolds in front of you. Your fingers find their way into the hair at the nape of Bruce's neck, you start to play with it distractedly as you keep your eyes open, roaming around the room, locating possible way outs and security personel. You lean in again and whisper in Bruce's ear, pointing out all the possible exits, a flirty smile on your face as you explain to him. Your lips brushing against the shell of his ear. Bruce smiles, that cocky self-satisfied smile, the one from the tabloids and magazines. After a while, and after loosing a considerable amount of money and gaining some back, Bruce stands up and wraps his arms tightly around your waist, lips brushing against the corner of your jaw, you smile and caress his hair. 

"Lets go to the bar" Bruce directs "That's our guy" He has his arm around a girl that doesn't quite look of legal age and you turn to Bruce, almost as if he can read your mind he adds "I know. All these girls are way too young. We'll deal with it"

You make your way to the bar and sit on a stool, Bruce stands behind you, arms caging you in with your front to the bar, his lips meet your skin right at the point where your neck and shoulder meet, one of his hands moves down to your thigh and again the calloused pads of his fingers move up, stopping at the hem of your dress making your breath hitch "Focus" He whispers, but you know that he knows it is impossible for you to do that when he's touching you like that, it almost feels like this isn't part of facade. The bartender comes and Bruce orders the same two drinks. The guy sitting a couple of stools away turns to look at Bruce.

"Are you betting only?" He says and you follow Bruce's gaze toward him.

"So far, but I've heard about the fights" He sounds exactly as he should, too much money, too much time.

The guy smirks "You don't look like you need the money"

"I don't need the money" Bruce confirms "But I would enjoy a fight, work some stress off"

You know he can perfectly handle the kind of fighting that takes place here, but you still play up your part " Are you sure?"

He nods, starts walking and takes the jacket and tie off, handing them to you, then rolls the sleeves of his shirt up to the elbows and steps into the circle of people. He stands in the middle for a while and your gazes cross, then his oppenent walks in and the fight starts. Bruce dodges some hits and lets others land, if he wanted to this fight would be over already, but he's supposed to be playing the bored billionaire in search of some adrenaline. So he allows it to continue, even crashing against the onlookers a few times. It comes a point, though, where you can tell he's done with the game. There's a bruise blooming around one of his eyes and a small cut on his lower lip, he manages to make it look like something completely fortitous, but you know better, when he knocks his opponent out and gives you the smallest of smirks.

Bruce takes his tie and places untied around his neck, the jacket is drapped over his arm as he steers you towards the door "Lets get out of here" His hand rests just above your ass, his fingers spread wide, it reminds of just how big his hands are. The same girl that took your coats gives them back and as you step out the door the car stops right in front of you.

The drive back into the city is not really going back into the city, is towards Wayne Manor you realize. You don't say anything, instead let the anticipation course through your body, fill you with a buzzing energy that almost makes you shiver and your skin breaks out in goosebumps. Bruce steers right into the tunnel that leads to the cave, he drives as if he's in the other car, takes his curves really close and if it was anyone else you might get nervous but not with him. He parks seamlessly and perfectly and your door is open even before the car is fully parked. Your heel touches the ground and you're out as soon as it stops moving, you push the door closed without looking behind you, trying to give you time to get a hold of yourself.

You can hear Bruce's steps behind you, he's purposely keeping his distance, you stop in front of the computer, roll your neck and feel him cage you against the desk. He says nothing, he doesn't touch you, just stands there waiting until you turn around to face him. The space between you feels electric, buzzing with that undefinable energy right before something happens. Is in these moments that you realize just how tall he is, how big he is, you look up at him and he hauls you onto the desktop, sets you down on it and kisses you right away, his hand cups your jaw, it does it in that way that leaves no doubt who's the one in charge here. You like it. He uses his other hand to push your coat down, you pull your arms free and wrap them around his neck, move down his chest and undo the buttons of his shirt, pull it free from his slacks and place them on the broad span of his chest. 

Bruce pushes the straps of your dress down your arms, until your breasts are exposed and your nipples harden against the chilly air of the cave, his hands move towards your chest and cup your boobs. His thumbs circle your nipples and your back arches in response, you want to be closer to him with as little space possible between you, but he keeps his distance, watches your face intently.

"What?" You say, trying to hide the vulnerability in your voice. How exposed you feel when he looks at you like that.

Bruce moves one hand back to your jaw, makes sure you hold his gaze as he says "I like watching you. I like that little crease between your brows when you try to guess what I’m thinking" Then he's kissing you again, hard and hungry, teeth grazing your lower lip, his tongue slips inside your mouth and it feels all consuming. The kisses move to your jaw, down your neck, to your chest, his lips close around your nipple and Bruce sucks on it until it’s hard and aching, making your back arch, your nails dig on the exposed skin of his arms. He moves to the other side and this time bites the underside of your breast, moving in tandem as he tugs the skirt of your dress up, over your hips.

He uses both hands to rip your panties off, first one side then the other the sound reverberates through the cave and, after he's done, Bruce pulls them away and stuffs them inside the pocket of his pants. You feel exposed, vulnerable in a way that drives you wild, as you watch Bruce come down in front of you, between your thighs, your skin prickles with anticipation.

You shiver under the intensity of Bruce's gaze, unwavering as he looks at your face for a few seconds. Then his lips graze your thigh, is feather light at first, goosebumps break on your skin and you bring your hands to the edge of the desk, gripping it tightly. He sinks his teeth on the inside of your thigh and you hiss, it stings enough for you to know that it will leave a mark that will in time turn into a bruise. You bury one of your hands in his hair "B-Bruce" You stutter, feeling him move closer to your core "Oh, my God. You're enjoting this too much" You can't hear him, but you see his shoulders shake and narrow your eyes, open your mouth to give him some witty, smartass response but it dies before it even forms as his lips come into contact with your sex. A gasp comes out of you instead.

"Fuck" You breath. Bruce grasps your thighs and pulls you forward, to the edge of the desk. His tongue darts between your folds, following the edges of your slit, swirling around your clit. You close your hand around Bruce's dark hair and moan, long and drawn. His tongue delves inside you, then his lips close around your clit and suck. You toss your head back "Fuck" You repeat, he's reduced your vocabulary to one word and you can't form a complete thought, not when he is between your legs, face buried in you, lips pressed against your most intimate parts. You feel it start on your toes, that warm coil that tightens the more he works on you, feel it start to tug and tug, slowly at first, then all of a sudden until it releases and you cry out, thighs trembling, hands both pushing him away and holding him in place. Bruce works you through it, doesn't stop when you're coming down, he lets go of your thighs and stands up, brings his fingers to his mouth and sucks them.

You follow his hand with your eyes, barely register when he says "I didn't even had to wet my finger, you're so slick" His fingers circle your clit and make you jump, still reeling from your previous orgasm. The way he says it is almost mocking, it really just makes you want to slap him.

"G-god I hate you" You groan as he thrusts two of his fingers inside you and his shoulders shake almost silently again, moving in and out, scissoring and hooking. You move your hand to his sides and dig your nails in Bruce's skin, making him hiss, but it only makes him focus more on making you cum again, not that is going to take long. Your skin prickles with anticipation and you can feel how the orgasm builds deep in your belly. He curls his fingers once more, flicks your clit with his thumb again and you're cumming hard, letting your head fall into his shoulder, eyes closed tight and toes curling. He kisses the side of your head and you turn your face to kiss him, move your arms around his neck again, then drag them down his chest and drag your nails over his absm leaving red, angry marks in your wake.

You undo the button on his slacks, pull the zipper down and push your hand inside his boxers, wrap it warm and soft around his cock, keep your eyes fixed on his face, the way Bruce's mouth twitches as he groans your name, and pushes his pants and underwear down, just past his ass, leaving with more than enough space to move your hand up and down his cock. He groans your name again.

Bruce grasps your thighs once more, lowers his gaze and looks at your hand around his cock for a moment, until he decides it's been enough. He lets go of your thigh and instead wraps that hand around your neck firmly "Go on, guide me inside you" He orders, always in control. 

You do as he says and drag the tip of Bruce's cock inside you, your mouth agape as he fills you inch by inch. You cling to his sides again as he makes you hold his gaze, he pulls back halfway in, then starts thrusting inside once again, until he’s buried deep inside you. Bruce stays like that, then grinds against you, making you gasp against his lips. 

Bruce's hand is still firm around your throat when he starts moving, is a pace right in the middle, not too slow and not too fast, just in control. Always in control. He grinds into you every time he bottoms out, makes you gasp and dig your nails deeper on his sides. He doesn't let go of your neck, keeps you looking at his face. You move your hands down and grab Bruce's ass tightly, moan against his lips as he kisses your lips and thrusts harder. He reaches so deep into you it is hard to breath. Bruce leans over you as you let go of his ass and hold your weight on your elbows as he takes a nipple into his mouth, your walls clench around him and a moan of his name tumbles through your lips, you cross your ankles behind his back and whine "Please, please" That voice is almost unrecognizable to you, its small and pleading, makes your cheeks burn.

Bruce envelopes you with his arms, tightly secured around your waist and lifts you from the desk, there is a squeal and then a moan when he thrust hard, then he's sitting down on the chair and his hands are gripping your hips, encouraging you to move and ride him. You oblige, there's no way you could say no, not when you're on edge and he refuses to look at anything else but you.

One of your hands is on his shoulder and the other grips the back of the chair so tight, somewhere in the back of your mind you think your nails will tear the leather, but your hips move above him, you ride Bruce fast and hard, chasing after your third orgasm of the night, the sound of your skin against his resonates through the cave and comes back to both of you, filling the space between his growls and your moans, his grunts and your whines. He wraps his arms around your waist again and for a moment you think he will stand up again, but instead he holds you in place and kisses your shoulder, your neck, bites your skin the feeling of his teeth marking you makes you shiver in his arms, makes your hips buck wildly of their own accord and as he chases and catches your lips, Bruce thrusts up into you, holding in you in place with his arms around you, he kisses you deep and thoroughly, all tongue, teeth and wild need. You're so close to each other his pelvic bone drags against your clit every time he moves, heightening every sensation and when he buries a hand in your hair and tugs the fire consumes, it wreaks havoc through your entire body as you cum, arching your back and eyes watering as your walls tighten around his cock velvet fist like. The look on your face, the goosebumps on your skin are enough to trigger Bruce's own orgasm. His name tumbles from his lips in a raspy, deep tone, you tremble in his arms but he holds you tight in place, balls deep inside you, his cum warm inside you.

You both pant as you get your breaths back, Bruce rests his forehead against your chest and you play with the hairs at the nape of his neck. You can feel his semen starting to leak out of you and believe he will pull out of you and let you stand. He does pull out of you, but he keeps you there, watches as his cum drips out slowly, then gathers some of it on his fingers and brings it to your mouth. You open obediently and suck on his fingers, moaning around his fingers, until they're clean, then he kisses your lips, a growl deep within his chest as he tastes both of you in your mouth.

"Fuck" He curses looking at you "I can't keep you out of my head, I can't keep my hands off of you"

He always says this, it almost sounds as if he is chiding himself for it, for not keeping it 'professional' but the truth is you don't want him to.

And you say as much "Then don't. I don't want you to"

[nights-legacy]

Not That Easy!-Kirishima

                  First time trying to hold their hand. Does it go right or wrong?

       MHA Masterlist

        + Kirishima is a very energetic and lovable guy. So when it comes to his s/o he is no different. Although, he has kept himself reined in due to their relationship being so new and he didn’t know how she would felt about intimate actions. You on the other hand have been thinking about it just as much. You knew Kiri would most likely be alright with it but it still was nerve racking.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

           Yells and whoops of cheers were heard around the area as Todoroki, Iida, and Tsuyu came back from a successful train exercise. I laughed and hug Tsuyu as they came back. She laughed with me and hugged me back tight. I then high fived Todoroki and Iida.

           “Okay, good run you three.” Aizawa sensei said not looking up from his info pad. “Okay Kirishima, Mina, and Midoriya up next.”

           “Good luck guys.” I said. I got a quick side hug from Midoriya and a peck on the cheek from Mina. Kiri walked up next and smiled at me. “Good luck Kiri.”

           “Thanks, baby.” He said before passing me slowly.

           “You two need to just kiss and get it over with. Your pining is even worse now that your two are dating.” Bakugo groaned. I blushed and turned away from him. He laughed out loud.

           “It’s not that easy. At least not for me.” I chastised. I turned back to look at him. He raised an eyebrow at me. I sighed. I hopped up on a concrete block and sat criss-cross apple sauce. Bakugo leant against the block with his arms crossed.

           “How is it not that easy?” He asked.

           “I-I don’t know! It just isn’t. I mean we haven’t even held hands yet!” I exclaimed, hiding my head in my hands. He hummed. I peeked out between my fingers. He was looking out over the area in front of us.

           “Well then, baby steps. You got to hold hands first. Are you ready for that?” He looked at me.

           “Yes.” I said after a few moments. “I really want too! I just…I don’t know. And I know Kiri would be all for it. There has been countless times where he has reached for my hand and then pulled back before he could grab it.”

           “Huh.” I pouted as he made a noise of confusion.

           “What?” I asked. He looked at me before looking at the training area. I followed his eyes to see Kiri having the time of his life it seems like.          

           “Shitty hair talks about you all the time. All this gushy stuff that in all honesty annoys the shit out of me, lets me know that he wants to do all that...intimate crap with you. So it surprises me that he has held back so much.” He admitted. “I know he’s respectful but he seems so excited.”

           “Really?” He nodded. Cheers drew our attention and I saw the group coming back. I watched Kiri as he was doing a happy dance and interacting with Kaminari. As if he felt me watching him, his head turned and his gaze met mine. He smiled a toothy smile before winking at me with a wave.

           “Goo-goo eyes.” Bakugo said. I turned toward him quick. He gave me a sideways glance. “He’s making his goo-goo eyes at you.”

           “L/N, Bakugo, and Jiro. You’re up next.” We hopped up and started that way. I walked up and went to pass by Kiri.

           “Good luck, baby.” He encouraged as I walked up.

“Thanks.” I smiled while I reached up and brushed my hand across his shoulder affectionately as I walked passed. Kiri’s eyes darted to my hand as I did touch him. I didn’t see his next reaction because I looked away blushing.

“Tsk.” I looked over at Bakugo who had a smirk on his face. He raised an eyebrow. “What are you doing there, L/N?”

“Shut up.” I muttered.

“What am I missing?” Jiro asked. She looked at us. Bakugo laughed.

“He’s teasing me about Kiri.” I told her. She rolled her eyes and shook her head.

Training went good for us but not as smooth as the rest of the teams. While we were fighting the assailant of the exercises, a piece of the building gave way under Bakugo and mines feet. We feel quite a few stories before landing rough and hard. We didn’t have any bad injuries but we were sore.

“Alright. That’s the end of today’s training. Also the end of the day, class has been granted an early out today.” There were cheers at that statement. We all started walking towards the locker rooms. “Are you alright, L/N.” I stopped and looked at Aizawa.

“Yes. I am just a little sore.” I said rubbing my arm where it was bruising.

“If it gets worse I want you to report to Recovery Girl. That goes for you too Bakugo!” Aizawa-sensei said louder across the yard. Bakugo threw up his arm in recognition without turning around.

“Yeah, yeah. I got it.” I chuckled before walking on. It took a little bit to get changed since most of my soreness and bruising was in my shoulders and knees. It hurt to bend at the joints. I got done and left saying bye to the other girls. I walked out and saw a couple of figures ahead of me. Bakugo and Kiri.

“Hey guys.” I called out and they turned towards me, stopping. They let me catch up. We continued on and they talked about stuff that I didn’t try to keep up with. I caught Bakugo’s eye and he motioned his head towards Kiri. My eyes widen and I shook my head. He gave me a bitch face before motioning again with a stern look.

“You know what, I left one of my notebooks and worksheets in the classroom. I’ll catch up with you two at the dorms.” Bakugo said, taking off towards the school building. I watched as he went.

“That’s strange, Bakubro forgetting something. Okay.” Kiri said. We continued on. We walked in silence for a few seconds before he spoke up. “Crap. Are you alright?” He jumped in front of me, walking backwards.

“Yes Kiri I’m alright. Bakugo was able to break our fall well enough.” I said. He signed if relief before his eyes darted to my cheek where there was a cut.

“But you’re all scraped and bumped up.” He pouted. “Maybe we should go to Recovery Girl. Just to make sure.”

“I am fine Kiri. I think I could tell if I wasn’t.”

“I know but maybe there is something that you are not realizing. Like the adrenaline is blocking something. Maybe…”

“Kirishima!” I yelled, reaching out and grabbing his hand to pull him to a stop. We both froze as we realized what I did. We both looked down at the action. I glanced at Kiri who was still staring at our hands. A gentle smile started to grow on his face. His grip on my hand started to tighten.

“Alright. I am sorry. I just don’t like seeing you hurt.” He said looking back up at me with puppy eyes. I smiled and gripped his hand back. I reached up and brushed a loose strand of hair off his forehead.

“That’s sweet of you but I promise I will let you know if I get the slightest bit of pain I can’t bear.” I told him. He nodded and brought our joined hands to his lips. He kissed my hand and let his lips linger.

“Thank you.” He whispered. He moved to my side and we started walking again. I looked down, mentally cheering in my head. “At least let look you over when we get back to the dorms. I know I at least want to get the cut that’s on your cheek cleaned up.”

“Yes. I think I can let you do that.” I giggle.

“And maybe you can help me convince Bakugo to be check over. He seems to listen to you best out of everyone in class. It’s a lot less likely that I’ll get my head chewed off if you help me.” I laughed and so did he.

“I will try my best but no promises.” I said while waving at a few other students that we passed on the way. I smile absentmindedly and looked off into the distance.

“What?” Kiri spoke up.

“Huh?” I looked up at him confused.

“You had this blushy, cute little face on. What were you thinking about?” He asked with a smile and one eyebrow raised.

“Oh nothing. Just that I’m really happy.” I said while setting my head on his shoulder while gripping onto his arm with my other hand. He continued smiling and set his head on top of mine.

“I am too. I’ve wanted to hold your hand for sooo long but I didn’t how you would feel about it. I didn’t want to force anything on you that you were not ready for. I just wanted it to be perfect.” He admitted, scratching the back of his head in embarrassment. “Guess my little freak out and you having to snap me out of it wasn’t the most perfect scenario, right?”

“It may not have been the perfect scenario for our first time holding hands but I wouldn’t have it any other way because it was us. It was our of it happening and that is perfect to me.” I said looking him in the eyes. I saw admiration, joy, and excitement flash through his eyes all at once.

“Well then, if it was perfect for you, it was perfect for me. As long as you’re happy.” He flashed his pearly shark teeth.

“As long as WE”RE happy.” I corrected. He chuckled and nodded before bringing my hand up and kissing it swiftly.

“As long as we’re happy.“

[pilmik]

No better way to start a writing blog than by writing something completely self indulgent lmao college students this might hit too close to home but in my defense the new sem started and I'm. Mess

Gen: angst ig???some fluff? hurt/comfort? Quite literally just me writing what I want to hear

CW: insecurities, negative thoughts

Wakatoshi loves volleyball

Everyone knows this

Ever since he was little, he's lived and breathed for the sport

There's nothing better to him than the feeling of the ball hitting his hand, the adrenaline rush of a scored point, the satisfaction of a game well won

He didn't get this far on enjoyment alone though

As his s/o, you know this better than anyone, save for his coaches and teammates of course

You know the effort he's put in, you know that for every second he shines on the court in front he's spent hours practicing alone or with his teammates

And he shines on the court

Watching him play will never fail to make your heart stutter and your lungs feel like they're not getting enough air

After being with him as long as you have, you know enough about volleyball to know that Wakatoshi is something special

His speed, his strength, his reliability

No matter how many times you see that spike, the sound of the ball hitting the floor stays deafening

Wakatoshi was made to play Volleyball. It's an objective fact. Sometimes you think that the sport loves him just as much as he loves it

Sometimes, you get so jealous you could scream

one of the perks of being the volleyball captain's s/o is that you always get the best seats

You watch front row as your boyfriend leads his team to victory, and he always leads them to victory.

You watch, time and time again, as he scores the match point, that sharp wham of the ball hitting the court that sings triumph

Wakatoshi isn't the most expressive person. When his team wins a game, most people would write off his impassive face as nonchalance or as vanity, thinking maybe he's won so many times it doesn't feel like anything for him anymore

But you know him. You know that if you look hard enough at the end of a game, you can see a gleam in his eyes. A gleam that somehow means both satisfaction and hunger

Because while at the end of every game means victory, the end of every game also means the start of a new one, a new challenge, a new opportunity to be on the court. He loves every second of it

You know you're probably the worst person on the world for feeling this way about someone you love, but every time you see that gleam in his eyes, any pride and happiness you feel on his behalf is stained with resentment and an envy so bitter it stays on your tongue for days

You've never had that gleam in your eyes. You've never loved something so entirely, so completely as Wakatoshi loves volleyball

You honestly doubt you ever will

It's not like you're talentless or you don't have hobbies, you have the things you're good at and you have the things you like to do but it's not the same

You want so desperately to know what he feels like, to be doing something and to think, I could do this for the rest of my life and die happy

on your worst days, you wonder why he stays by your side at all

You watch him play, surrounded by his court and his team (no the court or the team, his.) And you wonder what he could get from you that he couldn't get from the sting of the ball on his palm, or the squeak of his shoes on hardwood

He's brilliant, wherever he goes be burns so brightly you swear he leaves scorch marks. What could a forest fire possibly want from a candle?

You watch them play a game against some college team, they win straight sets and Wakatoshi dominated the court, scoring a majority of the points. you're quiet on your way home, and he asks if you were bored by the game

You immediately tell him no, because on most days you love seeing him play, and you try and explain how you feel

He doesn't understand what you're talking about, obviously

Contrary to what most people think, your boyfriend isn't stupid or dense. He has trouble understanding different social cues and conceptualizing some of the more complicated emotions other people feel, but he's not an idiot

But these specific insecurities are something he's never had to face. For him, it's been volleyball since the start. His earliest memories are of his father in the yard, tossing a blue and yellow ball into the air while he sits on the engawa, chubby hands holding tight to a pink vabo-chan plush

It doesn't make sense to him, if you don't have anything like that, then all you need to do is find something you're good at, correct? Then you'll be happy

He tells you this, in his usual matter-of-fact way. (you can imagine how that went)

He doesn't understand why your eyes go glassy, or why you tell him you'll be fine walking by yourself for the rest of the way

But he does understand that he's made you upset, and he knows that he never wants to look into your eyes and see tears that he's put there

As he walks back to his dorm, he's wracking his brain trying to make sense of how you told him you felt, and what he said in response

He's still thinking as he enters the doorway, ignoring Tendou's greeting as he neatly removes his runners and puts them away

This, of course, alerts his redheaded friend, knowing Wakatoshi was taught to mind his manners

He leaves whatever he was doing to see him at the entrance, taking in his pinched expression. He knows that Wakatoshi walks you home after every game, and it doesn't take a genius to connect the dots

He quickly presses the pad of his thumb between Wakatoshi's furrowed eyebrows, smoothing the lines there

"trouble in paradise, Wakatoshi-kun? You can't keep frowning like that you know, you'll get wrinkles! Everyone already thinks you're an old man"

Wakatoshi trusts his best friend, even if he teases him constantly. Besides you, Tendou is his main confidant

He explains what happened much like someone would explain a mission report, in perfect unbiased detail. He tell him what you said, how he thought and responded and your reaction. Tendou is always patient with him, giving him his full attention.

After he finishes his story, his friend sits on his haunches in the middle of the hallway for a few minutes, pointer finger to his chin, head cocked and eyes to the ceiling, hmmmmmming thoughtfully

Wakatoshi waits at the entrance of their dorm room until Tendou snaps his eyes away from the ceiling and onto him

"Wakatoshi kun, I'm going to need you to imagine something for me"

His eyebrows pinch together again, but he nods

"Imagine you never played volleyball, you're exactly the same in every way, except your dad never showed you so you never learned how to play. Try and imagine who you'd be"

Wakatoshi tries his best to imagine, he replaces the blue and yellow ball in his memory with a red one, the bouncy kind they sell in bins at the grocery store. He replaces vabo-chan with some kind of stuffed animal wearing a bow

He thinks about school, about going straight home after class is over, and going to the gym only on weekends

He finds he's skipping parts of his life in large gaps, empty spaces he doesn't know what to do with, his future completely blank. It's terrifying.

Tendou must see the dawning horror on his face because he jumps up quickly with a flourish, clapping his hands together once to draw Wakatoshi out of his daydream

Tendou looks at him, smiling and says "y/n-chan doesn't have their volleyball. Most people aren't as lucky as you, finding your volleyball so early Wakatoshi-kun. Some people never find their's at all"

He stands at the entrance quietly for awhile after Tendou returns to his room, thinking about how scary it felt to imagine, even for a few minutes, his life full of the blanks that his sport filled

He wonders how it would be like to have those blanks empty all the time, with not even a clue how to complete them

Swallowing his pride, Wakatoshi realizes he wouldn't be able to live like that. Wouldn't be able to go forward into such unknowable territory, under such impossible odds

He thinks about you waking up every day, seeing your life full of blanks, and still pushing forwards despite it

He doesn't get much sleep that night.

You wake up in the morning to Wakatoshi's text ringtone

7:10am Toshi <3: Call in sick for first period.

7:10am Toshi <3: I am going to pick you up at 8.

7:13am Toshi <3: I will bring you breakfast.

7:27am Toshi <3: Wear a light jacket, it's chilly.

The half of you that's still hurt over yesterday wants to tell him to shove breakfast up his ass, but then you realise something

You stare at your phone, deeply confused

Doesn't he have volleyball practice before school?

You get ready quickly, and sure enough, when you walk out of your door at exactly 8:00, Wakatoshi is there.

He's wearing his tracksuit and runners, and he hands you a paper bag from the conbini. There's an apple, a bag of grapes and onigiri. In his other hand he's holding a warm drink, written on the lid is your favourite, exactly how you like it

"I am taking you to the park."

You tilt your head up at him, confused

"don't you have volleyball practice?"

"I'm skipping. We are going to feed the ducks."

The idea of Ushijima Wakatoshi skipping volleyball practice stuns you into silence, and you simply follow his lead to the direction of the park, you walking and him doing some sort of ridiculous exercise thing that looks like it'd make you puke

When you get there, you're happy to find that your usual bench is empty.

Wakatoshi pulls a water bottle out of his ridiculously-deep men's tracksuit pockets while you take the bunch of grapes out of the bag, neatly dividing it in half. You decide to take the big half of the grape bunch for once, because he was being a jerk yesterday and you deserve to feed the ducks more than he does. You give him his half and you both start feeding the ducks in silence

After awhile, he decides to speak

"Tendou made me imagine something yesterday"

You turn to face him, but he's still looking at the ducks

"he told me to imagine my life if I'd never played volleyball"

He frowns

"he said to imagine everything about me was the same, except I never started playing. I found that it was difficult"

"there were many things I found I couldn't fill in, both in my life and in myself"

"but the worst part was imagining the future. I couldn't imagine a single thing to put in it"

"I wouldn't be able to live like that. To live every day and see blank spaces and uncertainties. It sounds terrible"

He pauses for a moment and you're like :/ wow king thanks for the pep talk

But he takes a deep breath and he continues

"I think, for a person to face that uncertainty and keep pushing forward, they would have to be exceptional"

Your head snaps to look at him so fast you almost get whiplash

Exceptional

There's a word that you've never used to describe yourself

"I think, that if I knew someone like that, I would tell them that they are strong in a way that I doubt I will ever be"

He finally turns to look at you, and you try your best to see him through the tears distorting your vision

"after awhile of thinking, I finally thought of something that I could put in that blank future. Would you like to know what it was?"

You just nod, not trusting your words. His big hands gently engulf your own and for a moment you're absolutely certain Ushijima Wakatoshi will be the death of you

"if I didn't have Volleyball, if I didn't have a single clue of what I could do with my future, if I still had you by my side, I think I would be alright"

One hit K.O.

He keeps going though, as if he didn't just kill you

"if you would have me, I'd like to be in your blank future. For as long as it takes for you to find your volleyball, I'll be there. If it's months or years or decades,"

"if decades pass and you never find your volleyball, I would still like to stay by your side. Maybe your volleyball is looking for volleyball?"

His face contorts in consideration of the idea, and you can't help but laugh wetly, your tears soaking into his jacket as you bury your face into his arm

He presses a soft kiss to your head

"I apologize for what I said last night. I didn't understand"

You only shake your head

You two sit in companionable silence for a little longer so you can eat your breakfast, then you both walk to second period hand in hand

It's only in the boredom of your math class that you realize the gravity of what your boyfriend had said to you in the park

11:08 you: Tendou

11:08 you: was I tripping

11:08 you: or did Wakatoshi /propose/ to me in the park today

Tendou is typing......

A/N: I've never posted this kind of stuff before so comments would really be appreciated! Like if there's something I could do to make my stuff easier to read or whatever I wanna hear it! Even if it's mean I promise I'll only cry a little

[nightfrostshadow]

A Magical Night

Villain tossed and turned in bed as she tried to sleep. Her bed was extremely comfortable no doubt but sleep eluded her. She took a deep breath as she lay and stared at the ceiling deep in thought. Finally, she gave up trying to sleep and slowly lifted herself up. 

She swung her legs over to the side of the bed and getting up, she made her way to the window. There was moonlight filtering in through it and a cool breeze was blowing. She felt invigorated as she felt it on her face and looked out,  drinking in the sight of the moon shining in the starry sky. It was a lovely night.

Villain decided that if she couldn’t sleep, she might as well go out. The cool breeze and the soft moonlight was tempting her. It was the perfect weather for a fun night-time stroll, run or flight.

She smiled as she made up her mind, reached over to her nightstand and pulled out her hair tie. She smoothed her long dark hair into a high ponytail and tied it up. With a flash of her powers, she was ready to go. She had decided to use her villain’s outfit while going out because it had a mask that covered her face and safeguarded her identity. Besides it was very comfortable and convenient given the fact that she had made it using magic so all it took was her powers to put it on and take it off.

Usually when she would be in the costume, she would braid her hair since it was more convenient to fight in. Now it was different she was just going to enjoy the night so a ponytail worked just fine. As an afterthought she also quickly grabbed a coin and pocketed it.

She walked onto her balcony as she leaned against the rails just relaxing in the lovely breeze. 

Without warning she gripped the railing with both her hands and swung herself up onto it with little effort as if she’d done it a hundred times. Which she had. She grinned as she perched herself on the railing and looked at the sky. She felt so free. Being able to fly was pure happiness for her. She never had to fear heights and could just live in the moment.

 She stood up and stepped off the rail. The wind rushed against her as she started to drop before she soared above. She spread her hands and enjoyed the freefall for a second before flying over the rooftops just looking at the quiet streets below. The breeze rushing against her face. The thrill of the flight as her heart pounded with adrenaline. She shouted out of pure joy and flew higher occasionally coming lower to see her favourite spots. The park. 

Lit by the soft glow of the streetlamps along with the silvery glow of the moonlight beams, it was a tranquil spot. She flew closer to the little bridge that had been built in the park over a little water body that was part of the bigger fountain. 

It was always full of people during the day time because it provided a marvellous view of the fountain at the park which was one of the major attractions for children. They would love to throw coins into it while making wishes. Villain smiled as she looked down at the coin in her hand. However, it was a different story at night. She could enjoy the view all by herself. Although, Villain’s expectations failed her. As she started to descend, she spotted a figure.

She froze mid air as she tried to see who the person was. She approached stealthily. It was Hero. She inwardly sighed with relief. It would have been a bit awkward if it had been a civilian who would no doubt recognize her as the villain.

She grinned as she landed gracefully on the bridge next to him. Hero jumped in surprise as he had been gazing at the sky, too engrossed to notice Villain sneaking up behind him. He winced slightly as if the sudden movement had caused him pain.

Hero, unlike Villain, was not in his costume but was dressed normally. She stared at him questioningly. The little wince had not escaped Villain’s sharp eyes. She decided to ask later. “What brings you here? Alone and late at night? Judging from the way you’re dressed this wasn’t something done on an impulse, you clearly planned it.” Villain walked over and placed her hands on the bridge rail as she gazed at the sky and smirked, “Someone broke your heart?”

Hero looked up at the stars as he laughed. “I’ve never given my heart to somebody so that’s out of the question.” He continued looking up at the moon which was a full moon that particular day and it was a yellow white glowing orb in the sky. It looked slightly larger than usual.

Hero smiled sadly, “Though I admit it would be nice to enjoy this view with a special someone. This is such a beautiful sight.”

Villain silently took in Hero’s words as she looked around her. It was true. That night was a particularly beautiful night. It had a magical feeling in the air. She was magical. She should know. This was a different kind of magic. One that had something to do with the beauty of nature. She smiled as she turned to look at Hero. “Well, you aren’t alone now, are you? I guess you could say I’m special because come on. We both know I’m very special.”

Hero stared at her in surprise as he chuckled, “You’re a villain so I guess that’s a special enough identity. Unique and one of a kind. At least in this neighbourhood.”

Villain laughed, “Exactly! That’s me! The friendly neighbourhood villain.” At that they both burst into quiet laughter. Villain stared as she noticed Hero laughing but also the slight tightness around his eyes indicating he was in pain.

She racked her brain to remember whether he had been this hurt in their last fight. Hero noticed her deep in thought and tried snapping her out of her reverie.

“Villain?”

She shook her head as she looked at him and decided to ask, “What’s the matter with you? Why does it seem like you’re in pain but yet I’m sure it isn’t anything major but I can’t for the life of me understand what it is.” Slow realization crossed her face as an idea dawned on her. “Unless…”

Hero laughed slightly, “Its soreness from my recent workouts. I saw how perfect you were and,” he turned away and looked at the fountain as he spoke, the tips of his ears turning red. “I saw how fit you were and I wanted to achieve that level of fitness so I’ve started working out.”

Villain grinned; her hunch had been correct. “How fit I am?”

Hero nodded earnestly. “For example look at your arms Villain. Your costume enhances how fit you are. It compliments you. It makes you looks like a lithe panther.”

Villain looked bewildered as she glanced down at her arms. Her costume was sleeveless and completely black. It did have a kind of coat which was a mix of a coat and a cape but it was the sleeveless kind because she hated anything with full sleeves. That was the benefit when you design your own magic suit. The sky was the limit and she could do exactly what she liked. She knew her arms were sculpted and toned. They were strong. Which Hero no doubt knew because he had been punched quite a few times during their fights.

She looked up at him, he was still facing the fountain and she grinned as she took in the sight of his flushed ears. “I exercise everyday Hero. Its how I became this strong and fit. I know exactly how you feel now. The soreness in the beginning.” She laughed as she remembered a time that was quite a while ago. It had been ages since she had felt it. “It hurts yet it makes you feel accomplished. The only pain I ever liked. The satisfaction that a workout has worked muscles you hadn’t worked before is a lovely feeling.”

Hero slowly turned his head back towards Villain. Oh, his cheeks were flushed too. Was he that embarrassed?

Villain smirked as she said, “If you would like to, we could work out together on Saturdays. Having a workout buddy helps you know.”

Hero flushed even more. Villain almost laughed. Cute.

She couldn’t resist adding more, “If you don’t mind, we could also come here to watch the night sky once a week you know. Since you’re in need of a special someone. I can keep you company till you find that someone.”

Hero opened his mouth to speak but was too shocked to say anything. His heart was pounding and his head was swirling with thoughts. Finally, he managed to piece together a single word, “Absolutely.”

Villain grinned, “Perfect. Then I’ll see you Saturday 6 ‘o’ clock in the morning. Hopefully you’re an early riser.”

Hero stared as he thought to himself. Even if he wasn’t he could become one just for this reason. He smiled with happiness as he watched Villain turn away from him and close her eyes for a moment before she spun the coin in her hand and tossed it into the fountain.

Villain turned around and flashed a brilliant smile at Hero before winking at him and then she took off. Up in the air in a second and she was gone.

Hero looked around as he smiled. Today had been a magical night after all.

They met every Saturday. One day which slowly turned to more days. More nights at the park. Days turned to months and it was only a matter of time before Hero gave her his heart. Villain, devious as she was, took care of it for Hero made her happy. For some unknown reason she felt a little surge of happiness when she thought about him. Her heartbeat quickened. Little did she know that she too had already given him her heart. However, there was no rush. They had time to figure out everything together. Embark on this journey. This new feeling called love.

[screechthemighty]

Wrote a little Ethan Winters fluff because he deserves the whole world. Of note, this is part of an Ethan Lives AU that I’m still hammering out the details of, but the tl;dr of it is that he survives Village, but is in a rough state for a while and would only just now be feeling better. Also he lost his left hand in this AU because lbr Ethan’s Left Hand is a lost cause after all that trauma. (Also, IDK if I’ll post this on AO3 since I can’t think of a title, but I’ll reblog with a link if I do!)

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

“Okay, flex your fingers?”

Ethan tried. It was getting a bit easier, but they still felt stiff. Doctor Marshall nodded and wrote something down. “That’s good. That’s an improvement.”

“Is it?” Ethan asked. It was a genuine question; he was so in the thick of it and any changes were so incremental that he couldn’t tell what was progress anymore. It just ended up sounding sarcastic because of how damn tired he was. He’d been exhausted for months.

“It is. Should be back to working order in no time if you keep those exercises up.” Marshall finished writing something down, then nodded. “Okay. You’re good.”

“…what, that’s it?” Now Ethan was suspicious. Usually they put him through a lot more tests. They’d eased up a bit now that he had a foot out of the grave, but there was still more poking and prodding than he would’ve liked. Except…not today, apparently. “I can go?”

“You can go.”

There’s a catch. There has to be a catch. Ethan wanted to believe that was just his paranoia, but his paranoia had kept him alive so far…on the other hand, he was being given permission to get the hell out of this examination room.

Screw it, I’ll take the risk.

Ethan stood up carefully, waiting a second to make sure he wasn’t about to collapse before walking to the door. “Thanks for going easy on me, Doc.”

“You enjoy your day, Ethan.”

It was a slow walk back to his room. He probably could’ve used the walker, but he was trying to push himself a bit. Test his strength. He was regretted the decision by the time he was back in the room. “Fuck,” he muttered as he stumbled through the door. The space on the other side was quiet, no sign of Mia or Rose. He would’ve panicked if she hadn’t left a note.

Picking something up downstairs, be back soon. She’d scribbled her departure time at the bottom; it hadn’t been long enough for Ethan to worry, so he set the note aside and struggled to get out of his shoes. He was doing better at getting stuff off one-handed, but the exhaustion was kicking his ass.

You’ve got to stop napping in the middle of the day, he told himself as he lay down and closed his eyes. You’re sleeping too much. You have a life to live.

That was the last concrete thought he had before he dozed off.

He woke up someone humming somewhere in the room and the sound of Rose’s white noise machine. Ethan barely remembered not to swear in front of his daughter, instead grumbling in vague protest at his own exhaustion and inability to avoid napping. “Happy Father’s Day, sleepyhead,” said Mia softly.

“Huh?” Ethan carefully opened his eyes and lifted his head enough to see Mia. She was sitting at the small table in one corner, looking at something on a computer. “What?”

“It’s Father’s Day. Your first one.”

“…oh.”

He had to take a second to process that. Even if it was, ultimately, just kind of a day, it felt like more than that. Four months ago, he hadn’t even been sure he’d live. Now he was alive, and able to celebrate that he was a father along with the other dads. It was the most normal, ordinary thing, almost boring, but…

Well, everything was a lot more exciting when you thought you wouldn’t live to see it.

“Wait, is that why Marshall let me go early?” Ethan asked. He sat up slowly, glancing to his right. The crib was close to the bed; all he had to do was reach in and carefully scoop up a still-sleeping Rose “That was like, half the usual tests. Didn’t even draw any blood today.”

“I might’ve talked to them.” Mia finally made eye contact. She had that weird, sad look in her eyes, the one she was trying to hide behind a smile but wasn’t doing the best job. “You can go back to sleep. I didn’t mean…”

“No, no, I’m okay.” Ethan kissed the top of Rose’s head. “Hey, Rosie. You sleepy, too?”

Rose sighed softly and snuggled a bit closer to him. She’d gotten so much bigger in the past four months, but even if she was a bit of an armful compared to six months, holding her brought the same deep sense of relief it had in that village. It was proof she was safe. She was okay.

He’d won.

“We did a really good job with her,” Ethan said quietly. When he looked up, Mia was rubbing her eyes. She wasn’t crying yet, but was close. “Mia?”

“I’m okay. Just…” When she looked at him again, her eyes were pink, brimming with tears. “…you deserve a better day than this.”

Ethan felt his face go a bit pink. He was torn between being worried about Mia and a bit embarrassed. “Stop.”

“You do.”

“Any halfway decent dad would’ve done what I did.”

“Kill five highly dangerous bioweapons in one night?”

“That was mostly adrenaline. And…” Ethan stopped talking when Rose stirred, then continued at a softer volume when she settled back down. “…terror. Throw in some spite, I guess. Are you okay?”

Ethan almost regretted asking. They hadn’t talked much about Europe. They were talking more about Europe than they had about Louisiana, but they were mostly talking about how Ethan was feeling. Not about how Mia was feeling. She was still withdrawn, more focused on him than on herself. He hadn’t addressed it—felt like he hadn’t had the time, between all his treatments and worrying about Rose—but he’d been worried.

Mia shook her head and wiped the few stray tears away. “I’m just…I’m glad you’re here. I’m so glad you’re here.”

“Glad to be here.” Ethan had to adjust his grip to hold out a hand to her, between Rose resting there and the fact that he only had one hand left, but he managed. “Hey.”

Mia hesitated, but did join him on the bed, carefully resting her head on his shoulder. The closeness brought a queasy uncertainty he still wasn’t used to—the discomfort he still felt on and off in his own skin projecting onto his relationship with his wife—but it faded quickly today. A Father’s Day gift from the universe, he guessed. “I’m okay,” Ethan said quietly. “We’re all here.”

It might’ve been a random room in a medical complex that had been cobbled together into an “apartment”, but it was safe. It wasn’t that village, it wasn’t Dulvey. It was the three of them together, alive and safe. Imperfect, especially for the long term, but at the same time? After what he’d been through?

It was everything he could’ve wanted.

“We got you cheesecake,” Mia said quietly.

Ethan straightened up. “You got…Mia, you could’ve woken me up for that!”

Mia barely bit back a startled burst of laughter. “You’re supposed to be resting.”

“Screw rest, I haven’t had cheesecake in ages.” His last birthday, he was pretty sure, which felt like lifetimes ago. He was considering temporarily passing off Rose for a chance at a slice, but then she stirred again, clinging to his shirt more tightly.

“…it can wait,” Ethan said quietly, settling back against the pillows.

Mia laughed again quietly and settled down with him. “I could feed it to you.”

“I appreciate it, but I’m really enjoying being able to eat on my own.” Granted, there was a world of difference between a feeding tube and being fed cheesecake to avoid waking up your daughter, but…really, after so much time not being able to do things on his own, the sting was still there. Even with that difference. “But thank you.”

It really could wait. He didn’t mind. The cheesecake wasn’t the point. This—the tiny fair-haired girl in his arms, one of the lights that had kept him going for the past four months?

That was the real point.

[2manyfandoms2count]

Poisson d'avril

Here, have a half-baked April Fool’s Day fic my brain decided to wake me up for. For context, one of the most popular jokes for April 1st in France is taping paper fish to each other’s backs, the more original the fish the better (my childhood is filled with trying to sneak behind teachers' backs to tape one on them; they were very chill about it, tbh). Poisson d’Avril is also what you say at the end of a joke on that day (think "sike", but festive). More about this great tradition that apparently dates back to at least 1466 here.

Hope you enjoy!

Read on AO3

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Marinette loved April Fool’s Day at Françoise Dupont. The school was always buzzing with little pranks at that time of the year, the blooming spring giving a wonderfully cheerful backdrop to the shenanigans the collégiens were up to.

These were all very light-hearted, if sometimes a little elaborate.

As usual, some students had been found early in the morning in the classrooms, thwarting their attempt to recreate the legendary horizontal fiasco of 20XX, where everything had been set up to look like the rooms had been flipped by 90°. Mr Damoclès had let them go mercifully, thankful that the students hadn’t been tempted to glue everything to the ceiling in an effort to one-up their predecessors. Somehow, he wouldn’t have put it past Kim and Alix to try and coordinate the project, as a last hurrah before heading on to lycée.

There were also seemingly well-meaning classmates offering chouquettes or donuts in the courtyard, which Marinette knew to stay well away from, knowing the former were likely sprinkled with coarse salt, and the latter filled with the likes of mayonnaise instead of jam. She’d been in their shoes a couple of years prior, building her classmates’ trust by bringing them the sweet delicacies every day for a week, and switching on April 1st as a joke.

Heading to class, she heard a lot of laughter, people telling jokes, or trying to see how far they could take a story without it being called out on it (this year, Nino had Kim panicking over a brevet exam part they supposedly had, which was a step down from the previous year, where he’d convinced him that everybody needed to come in dressed up in medieval costumes, and that he’d landed the court jester role; his friend had turned up the next day in a full outfit, complete with bells on his hat and shoes, and upon discovering the deception, had decided to make good use of them and make the joke everybody’s problem).

However much she enjoyed those kinds of pranks, though, Marinette’s favourite remained the classic poisson d’avril: taping paper fish to people’s backs. It was something anyone could take part in, as a predator or a prey, with or without premeditation. You didn’t necessarily need scissors and tape, if you managed to steal some from somebody else’s back.

Marinette liked to take it seriously. Done right, the exercise demanded stealth she’d had even as a little kid, and had honed ever since being chosen to become Ladybug, as well as creativity she had piles of. She’d stayed up the previous night, making plenty of fish varying in size and colour, some tailored to her friends, like the Rena Rouge and Carapace ones that were intended for Alya and Nino respectively. She’d of course also made the rest of the Miraculous team, as well as some other designs based on Kitty section, her classmates, or celebrities.

As always at the end of the day, Rose walked around with a whole school on her back. It wasn’t clear if she was completely oblivious to it, or if she knew what was going on but enjoyed the giddy giggles of the people who managed to add an extra fish in, or take one off.

The only person who’d managed to escape the prank so far was Adrien, and it wasn’t for lack of trying. Kim, Alix and Nino had gone to great lengths to get at least one fish on his back, even recruiting Markov to sneak behind him, but the boy seemed to have a sixth sense.

No sooner did he hear the faintest of ruffles, that his head would jerk up, eyes darting around to figure out where the sound had come from, thwarting any efforts, no matter how elaborate they’d been.

Marinette had been reluctant to target Adrien, despite having a special fish for him, complete with his stripes and an orange-tipped tail, but as the day went by and more people joined the challenge to trick him, she felt the urge to compete rise in her chest and started unwillingly tracking his every movement, trying to find a breach in his focus.

It was a fastidious process, even for someone who enjoyed watching Adrien happily live his life, but it paid off around the end of the day, just after the last bell.

Marinette noticed that Adrien’s shirt looked a little rumpled around the back as they were retrieving books from their lockers, and approached him calmly.

“Adrien?” She announced her presence when she was right behind him, surprised that he hadn’t turned around yet. He almost jumped out of his skin at the sound of her voice.

“Marinette!” He yelped, a hand flying to his heart. “Sorry, I didn’t hear you approach.” He chuckled nervously.

“No, I’m sorry I scared you!” Marinette looked down, apparently sheepish. In truth, she was cursing inwardly at the missed easy opportunity. Adrien had been at ease with her coming closer, which she assumed was because it was the end of the day and he’d started letting his guard down; she could have gone about her business and he would’ve been none the wiser. She shook her head; it didn’t matter, she’d just go on with her original plan. “It’s just that… well, it’s stupid, but the back of your shirt is a little creased, and I know how important your appearance is to your family so… Do you mind if I fix it?”

“Thanks Marinette, that’d be awesome.” He smiled at her in a way that would have made her lose her cool, had it been any other day. But she was on a mission, and there was no way she was letting the opportunity of pranking Adrien when nobody else had managed the feat go by.

“Okay, let me just…” Marinette reached into her purse and took the first piece of paper she felt, before gently taping it to Adrien’s shirt, making sure to smooth the fabric at the same time so he wouldn’t realise what she was doing.

“There, all done!” She smiled when she was satisfied the tape had adhered well enough.

He smiled back at her, but was interrupted in his thanks by Nino and Alya calling for them to hurry up.

“Today was really fun, I’m so glad I got to experience it first hand,” Adrien beamed as the group walked out of the building, Nino and Adrien a little ahead of the girls. “And I’m really proud that I survived it without getting pranked!”

Marinette bit back a laugh, eyes darting to his back.

“I wouldn’t be so confident, Sunshine,” Alya replied, untaping the fish from his back and handing it to him.

“What…” Adrien stopped in his tracks, looking at it, and particularly Marinette’s signature on the back of the piece of paper, in disbelief. He turned around with a look of mock betrayal. “I can’t believe you’d do this to me!” He pouted.

“I couldn’t just let you off the hook,” she shrugged with a small smile, making a mental note to reuse the phrase with Chat Noir when she saw him later. He’d enjoy the pun.

Adrien let out a small chuckle as he turned the fish around, but the sound died as he saw the pattern. The colour drained from his face and he froze as he took in the black and green colour scheme and the fish’s whiskers.

“Adrien? Is everything okay?” Marinette frowned, noticing his change in body language.

“Yeah, um… Can I talk to you for a second?” He looked up at her.

“What a great idea!” Alya pushed Marinette towards Adrien before hooking her arm through Nino’s and starting to go down the stairs. “We’ll see you guys tomorrow!”

Marinette thought she heard her add “Can you believe they might get together over an April Fool’s joke?”, as she waved them off absentmindedly, but her gaze met Adrien’s troubled one and she decided she’d deal with her best friend later.

“What’s up?” She asked, feeling a blush creep up her cheeks; the adrenaline from succeeding her challenge was evidently starting to wear off.

“What’s this?” Adrien asked cautiously, handing her the fish.

Marinette took it cautiously, saw the pattern, and smiled. “It’s a poisson-chat noir,” she said proudly. It was a bit of a shame she’d picked that one for Adrien, but she guessed she couldn’t have kept it for her partner anyway, given that she’d signed it. Still, she thought he would have liked the joke. Especially if it came from Ladybug.

“How did you know?” he murmured, looking at her incredulously. She tilted her head, raising her eyebrows at his cryptidness. He explicited his thoughts. “I saw the fish you gave Alya and Nino, and the one you managed to pin on Chloé; they were all references to their superhero selves. And now you get this one right as well… How did you know?”

It was Marinette’s turn to freeze and feel the colour draining from her cheeks. “I… I didn’t. I picked one randomly when I saw an opening.”

“Oh.” She saw the cogs turning in Adrien’s brain while she felt her own shut down, still processing one important piece of information.

“Adrien… Are you Chat Noir?”

“Um… Poisson d’avril?” He ventured.

“Adrien.” She repeated sternly.

“Okay, fine, you got me.” Adrien huffed, raking a hand through his hair. “Please, don’t tell Ladybug.” He pleaded.

“Too late, I’m afraid.” She dug out her poisson-Ladybug and taped it to herself. She saw Adrien’s eyes grow as wide as his smile before being engulfed in a hug and feeling his lips on her forehead. “Kwami, we really might get together over an April Fool’s joke,” she muttered against his chest. If the heat she felt at the tip of her ears said anything, she probably was as red as Ladybug’s costume, and it probably wouldn’t go unnoticed.

“What was that?” Adrien pulled out a little from their hug to look at her.

“Nothing.” She smiled, and took his hand. “Now come on Chaton, we have some things to discuss, and we should probably go somewhere more private.”

“You know I’d follow you anywhere, my Lady.” He picked their entwined hands and kissed hers.

Really, she thought as they made their way towards her parents’ boulangerie, she loved poissons d’avril.

[leisurelypanda]

Imagine pre-serum Steve visiting his local pool to learn how to swim properly and get his strength up, trying to avoid getting too distracted by the gorgeous blonde musclegod who serves as lifeguard. One day, the lifeguard approaches Steve as he's catching his breath, introducing himself as Thor and offering to help with his lessons. He's a friend of the owner, he explains, and can get Steve in after closing so that he won't have to deal with the crowds. Steve agrees and returns the next evening, his heart racing when he sees Thor waiting for him in the water, muscles bulging and glistening, wearing a tight red speedo that leaves little to the imagination. He's profoundly grateful that he has the lessons to channel his pent-up desire into, the two of them becoming friends as the weeks pass and Steve gets better and better.

One evening, they're making great progress, with Steve breaking his record on the number of lengths he can swim. He's resting with his arms folded on the side of the pool, out of breath, but glowing with pride and adrenaline, when he feels Thor come up behind him, arms braced on the pool's edge to box Steve in. He feels Thor's cock, hard as a rock and so thick and long, pressing against his ass through the thin layers of fabric. His heart in his mouth, Steve slowly turns his head back to meet Thor's hungry gaze as his hands move, one tilting Steve's chin up for a searing kiss as the other pushes down into his shorts to start stroking his cock.

Mmmm yes, this is lovely! I love the idea of Thor being super proud and having a competency kink for pre-serum Steve improving his skills. 

I imagine Steve being 18 or 19 here, and having spent his high school years being picked on because he's so scrawny. However, now that he's graduated, he has a bit more time on his hands, so he decides that he wants to get stronger somehow. Weights have never been his thing, though, so he starts learning how to swim. He doesn't have the money to spend on swim lessons, so he just goes to the local pool to teach himself.

The only problem is the presence of a lifeguard who's distractingly handsome. He looks like he's a few years older than Steve, maybe 25 at the oldest.. He has a gorgeous smile that he directs towards Steve every time they see each other. Steve can't help but wish that he could learn how to swim from this man.

It takes about 2 weeks of regularly going to the pool for the lifeguard to introduce himself. Steve has just finished swimming a few laps and he's pretty tired. His name is Thor. His father and the pool owner are friends, so he offers to help Steve learn how to swim after hours so Steve won't have to deal with people getting in the way. Steve agrees immediately.

The first thing Thor does is teach him stretches to help himself warm up and cool down. Steve can't help but be distracted, especially since Thor is wearing a bright red speedo. Everything is on display, from Thor's impressive shoulders, chest, and arms to his long, muscular legs. And of course, there's his glorious ass and the package that bulges against the poor, innocent fabric of the speedo. Steve can't look away, but he somehow manages to do the stretches every night.

Thor is a surprisingly good teacher, even considering the fact that Steve finds him distracting. He's patient and thorough. He teaches Steve freestyle first, then the backstroke, the breaststroke, the sidestroke, and lastly, the butterfly. Steve struggles with the butterfly the most due to his lack of upper body strength. He prefers freestyle and he's not surprised that Thor is amazing at the butterfly.

Steve gradually becomes stronger and grows in endurance. The longer the lessons last, the more they learn about each other. Steve learns that Thor has been swimming and training his entire life to be an Olympic swimmer. He’s been giving lessons ever since he was 16 and been a lifeguard since he was 18. He missed making the Olympic team four years ago due to a minor foot injury that kept him from attending the tryouts. This year, though, he intends to make the team. 

Steve fully believes he can do it. One day, Thor takes him to a different pool (that his dad’s friend also owns, because that’s apparently his thing). It’s far longer than the pool Thor’s been teaching Steve how to swim in. It’s 50 meters long, for starters, and 3 meters deep. It makes diving fun, of course, and watching Thor dive into the pool and swim to the other side as fast as he can is always incredible. Their lessons start taking place here and Steve always arrives early to watch Thor practice. When he asks how Thor still has the energy to teach him, Thor merely laughs and tells him that the lessons are essentially a way to cool down for him. 

A few months after their lessons started, Steve is able to exceed his previous record. He’s not very fast, but he’s been able to build up his endurance. He’s able to swim 1000 meters one evening without Thor’s assistance. it took him a while, but he was able to make it. He’s exhausted by the end of it, but when he stops, he clings to the pools edge in the shallow end of the pool. As he’s catching his breath, he feels a pair of arms surround him from either side. He doesn’t have to look behind him to know it’s Thor. What he wasn’t expecting was for him to feel Thor press his cock against his ass, or for it to be rock hard. 

A moment later, he feels Thor’s mouth on his neck, sucking and kissing against him. Thor murmurs his praises into Steve’s ear as his hands wander down Steve’s body. Steve is gasping for a whole different reason now and he doesn’t want to stop. 

Thor takes care of everything. It’s after hours and they’re the only ones in the pool now. They’re the only ones in the building. Their kissing each other passionately without a care in the world, particularly not about the fact that they’re technically supposed to be closing up. 

Thor’s cock is even bigger than Steve expected it would be. The stretch as it enters his ass is indescribable. Steve is sure that he won’t be able to walk tomorrow. He can’t bring himself to stop, though. He pushes back against Thor, down onto his cock. He sucks on Thor’s fingers as he moans and he can taste the chlorine from the water. 

It’s impossible to say how long they fucked in the pool. If Thor wasn’t holding him, then Steve was clinging to the edge of the pool, bent over as Thor hammered into him. The water sloshed over them, making shallow waves from their movements. Finally, when Thor comes, he shoots his load deep into Steve’s ass. Steve comes at the same time, his own come bursting out into the water. 

They’re both gasping for breath now. Thor’s cock is still inside Steve’s body, still hard. He grins warmly as he congratulates Steve on beating his record. 

One unexpected result of their little sexcapade is that they’ve both lost their swimming gear. There’s a certain thrill in having to swim naked to retrieve them from where they had floated to the other end of the pool. Thor doesn’t bother putting his on, though, and walks completely naked to the locker room. Steve decides to follow suit. They dress together and close up the pool. Thor leads Steve to his apartment, where they pick up where they left off. Neither of them swims that day, but they get other forms of exercise. Steve appreciates seeing how well the muscles he’s developed from swimming come in handy in Thor’s bedroom as he rides Thor’s cock all night. 

Thor does eventually make the Olympic swim team. Steve is there to cheer him on. Thor makes waves during the next Olympics both for being an impeccable specimen and for proposing to Steve immediately after he wins the gold medal in the butterfly. The two of them become an internet sensation overnight, and they celebrate by having sex once again in a pool, though a private one, this time. 

[jpegjade]

Physical Therapy - Ch. 1 (Spencer)

WELCOME TO PHYSICAL THERAPY!! in honor of this bish starting physical therapy in real life (and missing it bc i can’t drive and my mom and i’s schedules not being synched on google calendar all the time) i’ve decided to write a fic about it. it will be a little series with a goal (yes, an end game) and it’ll be cute. some of it is based on actual things that happen and some is literally just the story. ENJOY.

gender: neutral

tw: nothing that i can think of

genre: fluff | angst

Description: After getting shot in the leg, spencer goes through physical therapy before he can get back in the field completely. What happens when he starts to fall for his physical therapy assistant? 

__________________

Two honks at 6am meant that it was time for Spencer to get going. Derek was downstairs, in the car, waiting on boy wonder to crutch his way out of the apartment complex. Derek wasn’t sure how to feel about this trip considering he missed his early morning run for this but he knew how nervous Spencer was for his evaluation today so he didn’t mind as much as he could have minded. 

Spencer was patiently waiting in a pair of very short shorts, mismatched socks, and running shoes. He threw on a t-shirt and looked in the mirror, noting how tired he looked. He hadn’t been sleeping well lately for some reason but he couldn’t be sure why. He combed out his hair one more time before he and his crutches headed to the elevators. 

“Ready, kid?” Derek said, opening the front door for Spencer like a world class chauffeur would if Spencer was a celebrity. 

“Ready as I’ll ever be,” Spencer mumbled.

In truth, Spencer was more than ready to get started on his physical therapy journey. He wanted to get back in the field full time, adrenaline pumping, connecting with victims, walking again. He didn’t mind the assisted mobility but it was hard for him to know that the best he could do sometimes was stay back in the office or hang out in Garcia’s batcave. 

The car ride was filled with a comfortable silence between the two men. Derek was thinking about how he could make up his missed morning run by doing another type of high cardio workout while Spencer was just trying to figure out why it had to be him. He wouldn’t wish the frustration of his recovery process on anyone else on the team but the frustration of the recovery process just got to him on some days. Today was one of those days. 

Derek pulled up to the physical therapy clinic sooner than Spencer hoped. Part of that was because Derek was a very fast driver while the other part was because Spencer wasn’t paying attention for most of the drive. 

“You owe me one.” Derek said, completely joking. Well… Partially. That morning run was what kept him awake during the day, energizing him for work. 

“Do you want to come in?” Spencer said, looking down at his hands in his lap. 

Spencer’s hands were tapping his leg as he awaited Derek’s answer. He was nothing short of a nervous wreck on the inside. All he could think about was how much pain he would be in once the evaluation was over and the physical therapist had finished poking and prodding at his knee. He hated to think that it would be worse than everything else going on. Plus he still had to go to work today. 

“Sure, kid.” Derek said. 

Derek wasn’t going to sit in the car and do nothing the whole time so he might as well support his friend. 

Climbing out of the car, the boys slowly made it to the sliding glass doors of the physical therapy clinic. Much to Spencer’s surprise, it was nothing like he originally imagined it to be. Some part of him thought it would somewhat resemble the clinic where his mother resided but it was completely different. There were floor to ceiling walls for over half of the first floor building. High tech equipment was stationed everywhere from anti gravity treadmills to hand bike motors, medicine balls and so much more. Spencer stood in the doorway, leaning on his crutches, while he took everything in. There was so much light in the air, it was almost like the feeling of recovery was airy and not meant to bog him down. This was a strange feeling for him to comprehend...

“You coming, pretty boy?” Derek called, taking a break from chatting with the pretty receptionist. 

Spencer and his crutches walked over to the front desk and grabbed the paperwork that covered how much pain he was in today. He filled it out quickly, hoping to get everything over with sooner than later. He was already here so he might as well just finish everything quickly so he could get out of the place. 

When he finished writing everything down, he returned the paperwork to the receptionist who slipped him a piece of paper and pointed to Derek. Spencer already knew it was the receptionist’s personal phone number and he didn’t even need to look at the paper. Sitting down, Spencer handed Derek to a very confused Derek before it hit him what it was. Derek winked at the receptionist, who blushed before answering the phone. 

“Spencer?” A voice called his name shortly after he sat down. 

It was nice to know that here, he didn’t have to be a doctor. He was just another person healing. He didn’t have to be smart, he could just exist. 

“Good luck.” Derek said, noticing that Spencer’s hand was shaking in the slightest bit. 

“My name is Nora and I will be your lead physical therapist.” The woman said, walking Spencer to a vacant padded table. It reminded Spencer of the types of tables you lay on when you get a massage. 

He only got a massage once when Garcia got stood up on a couples’ massage date. He spent half of his part of the massage giving the masseuse facts about how their job could actually give them an infection from the amount of germs in the air and on the table. His delivery of facts caused the room to be incredibly uncomfortable and bleach the table very thoroughly. By the time he and the masseuse finished, only 5 minutes were left in the massage and Garcia was left horrified and amused at the same time. 

“Don’t worry. We bleach the tables every time someone finishes a session.” Nora said, noticing the look on Spencer’s face. Spencer visibly relaxed and sat on the table. 

“So, Spencer, tell me a little bit about yourself.” Nora followed up, pulling up a backless roller chair. 

“Well, I was on a case and the unsub, unknown subject, shot at a dad but it ended up hitting me in the leg instead and…” Spencer paused, looking at Nora’s amused face. 

“No, I mean tell me about you. Your hobbies, what you do for fun, things like that. I need to do a complete profile for you so I know how your quality of life has been affected and which exercises you can do at home so we aren’t pushing too fast.” Nora smiled at Spencer. 

“I work.” Spencer said in a matter-of-fact tone. He didn’t really have anything else to say. 

“Okay. So you’re a workaholic.” Nora wrote. She was about to ask a new question when you came quickly walking to Nora. 

Spencer was left dumbfounded. There seemed to be a halo of light radiating around you, making you glow. He knew it was the sun finally rising but his brain short circuited as he continued to gaze at you. 

“Hey Nora?” You said, looking down at your boss. “Mrs. Gillespi wants to know why you haven’t come back to check her form. She doesn’t trust me because, her words here, I ‘look like a child who doesn’t know their left foot from the color orange.’” 

“Sure. Here, you can take over Spencer’s evaluation.” She handed you her clipboard.

You looked at the detailed notes on the paper and then up at Spencer, who looked like one of the youngest people here. 

“It’s not often we get cute guys in this place. Other than Kyle. But Kyle’s an asshole who could almost be my dad.” You blurted, not realizing you said it outloud as soon as Nora left. 

You noticed that he started blushing and looking at his converse and you realized that you said something. You usually spoke your thoughts out loud but the people you worked with were used to it so no one bothered to say anything.

“What?” You asked, confused. 

“You called me cute.” Spencer said. “Which is fine. I don’t understand the appeal but I do believe that your blurting of what you perceive as a fact is a coping mechanism. It can also be tied to ADHD, which is a common mental disorder that causes your brain to impulsively say things.” Spencer paused, looking at your face. 

“What?” You asked, again, confused. 

“I’m not saying you have ADHD. I’m a doctor but not that kind of doctor. Although I could get another Ph. D. Prove my father wrong. And…” Spencer realized he was rambling. 

“Cute and a talker.” You said, writing that down. 

You wrote something down on the paper that Spencer couldn’t see but he was curious about. 

“Let’s check out that leg.” You said, pulling out an instrument that looked like a compass. 

You asked Spencer to move his knee certain ways and it wasn’t as bad as Spencer thought. You were gentle, soft even. Your hands were delicate and you ended the session massaging his leg and smiling at him. 

“You were a good patient today, doctor Spencer.” You said, smiling at him. 

Spencer blushed, unable to meet your eyes. 

“You… I mean… I enjoyed our session.” Spencer said. “Which I don’t normally enjoy. Not that I’ve been shot before. Or had physical therapy. Or been here. Or even worked out really.”

“You’re funny, doc.” You smiled. “Your next appointment is Tuesday of next week according to the schedule so I guess I’ll see you then. I can’t wait.” 

Spencer stared at you as he wondered why you were so excited. 

“Why?” Spencer asked. 

“It’s not every day I get the case for a cute guy who is smart and awkward. It’s almost like the heavens have answered my hopes and prayers.” You joked, looking up at the ceiling and putting your hand on your heart. 

“I believe in science.” Spencer stated, grabbing his crutches. 

“A man of science. Does it get any better? What’s your star sign?” You joked. 

“Scorpio.” Spencer stated. 

“Oop. All the scorpios I know have been some hoes. You better not be a hoe, doc.” 

“I’m definitely not a gardening tool, if that’s what you’re referring to. Otherwise, I’d like to thing my lack of dating skills doesn’t qualify as being a… hoe? Although, I don’t believe in the use of the word to describe someone who enjoys spending time with multiple people. I’d like to think the use of the word is meant in jest and fun for a term of endearment.” Spencer stood up, balancing on his crutches. 

“I’ll be the judge of that.” You said, walking slowly with Spencer to the front desk. 

“What’s your name?” Spencer asked, turning to you. He realized that he never got your name.

“Y/n.” You smiled. 

The clouds must have parted again because as soon as you turned to walk away from him, towards Nora, you were covered in another halo. And just like that, you were gone again.

_____________________

Future tag list: 

@ellvswriting @sageandberries-png @l0ve-0f-my-life @rexorangecouny @kennedywxlsh

Want to be added? Tell me!

[hiccanna-tidbits]

Do you maybe have some headcanons or Au or something for Moana x Merida? I really like that ship! 🤗and I like your moodboards with moanida! ^^

Anon I need you to know I am literally crying TEARS OF JOY because I have FINALLY received an Ask on this humble little blog and I am OVERJOYED

Yes, I would love to talk about Moanida!!!

I’ve got a few AUs I kinda play around with for them--might make moodboards of them one of these days! A couple I really like are a Mermaid AU and a Selkie AU, probably with Moana as the mermaid/selkie because of her ocean connection??? But I really like the idea of Selkie!Merida too, since it would go so nicely with selkies in Scottish folklore and all that. Either way it solves the geographical issue because they can just swim to each other!!! Also yes, these gay girls crossing literal oceans for each other is absolutely the hill I’m going to die on. I’m also a fan of a sort of Mythology/Goddess AU where like Moana is an ocean goddess and Merida is a volcano goddess of sorts akin to Te Ka with cool lava hair and scary volcanic rock skin and only Moana’s soothing ocean waters can calm her eruptive (heh, get it?) rage. And this also means FORBIDDEN SAPPHIC LOVE FORBIDDEN SAPPHIC LOVE FORBIDDEN SAPPHIC LOVE

Also MOANIDA HEADCANONS YESSSS

I thought up some just for you <3 Some are more general and some are more specific AU-focused so I tried to sort them by AU but there’s probably gonna be some overlap.

General ~Merida is THE most overprotective girlfriend. Like she knows Moana’s independent and can take care of herself, but she absolutely will not tolerate slander of or threats to her girlfriend of any kind. If Merida were to meet Maui at any period in the timeline where he and Moana weren’t really cool yet and he was still being kind of a dick to Moana, Merida would try to fight a literal demigod. She doesn’t give a single fuck. ~Once Merida hears about the Tamatoa Incident, she wants to fight every crab she sees. She also develops a taste for crabcakes and crab rangoons because she starts eating lots of crabmeat solely out of spite. Moana finds this endlessly amusing. ~Moana definitely has the braincell between them. She’s constantly having to hold Mer back and talk her down from starting shit. Merida would unleash the Rage of a Thousand Suns upon her enemies if given half the chance. ~Merida is very physically active and loves working out--she would work out twice a day if given the chance. She’s just really about those exercise endorphins. Moana makes her fresh tropical fruit bowls and tropical fruit smoothies for after her workouts. Merida adores these and eventually she absolutely refuses to drink any smoothies not made by her girlfriend. ~They’re both lowkey caffeine addicts. Merida usually loathes getting up early (unless it’s to work out or go riding with Angus) and will snap at anyone and everyone until she’s had coffee. Moana knows how to get her hands on these really amazing-tasting, obscure types of Polynesian coffee, so she hooks them up with The Good Stuff. After tasting the coffee Moana gets, Merida honestly never wants any other B-tier type of coffee again. ~They love to go sailing in Moana’s boat. In a modern AU where the boat has a motor, Merida likes to make them go really fast for the adrenaline rush and the feeling of wind in her hair. It kinda freaks Moana out to go that fast, but it’s honestly worth it for the look of absolute elation on Merida’s face, and the way she laughs and cheers the whole time. ~Sometimes they like to go out on more calm, tranquil night sails. Once they’re a ways out, they just lie on the deck and stargaze. Moana points out all the constellations to Merida and rambles about how to navigate with them. Merida just turns and watches her with this super-smitten look the entire time. ~Moana teaches Merida some Maori. She teachers her how to say “I love you,” and, at Merida’s request, how to swear. ~Sometimes Moana calls Merida Maori words Mer doesn’t understand. Merida gets mad because she thinks Moana’s insulting her. It turns out she’s just calling Merida a bunch of super sappy Maori pet names. ~Sometimes Merida and Moana just like to talk shit about people who are pissing them off IN Maori, so they don’t understand. ~Whenever Merida absolutely goes OFF on someone for saying something homophobic or sexist or whatever, Moana just stands back and crosses her arms and smirks, and says “Thaaaat’s my girl!” It absolutely never fails to make Merida blush like a madwoman and start blubbering like an idiot and lose her original point completely. ~When they fight, they are SO stubborn, petty, and dramatic about it that they can stay mad at each other for DAYS. For really bad fights, they usually end up needing a mediator (in a RotBTD+ AU, I imagine this would be Rapunzel, Anna, or Hiccup). ~Angus and Pua are best friends. No, I will not be accepting criticism at this time. They get into lots of hijinks and shenanigans, and sometimes they sneak out together and Pua likes to ride around on Angus’s back. When Pua and Angus go missing, Mer and Mo just kind of sigh like “Oh, they’re out adventuring again, aren’t they?” ~Angus also always protects Pua so he never has to be scared of adventuring again!!! Pua still remembers his and Moana’s disastrous first sailing attempt, and Angus makes sure little Pua never gets into danger like that again. ~Hamish, Harris, and Hubert ship it SO hard! Moana turns out to be really good with kids, and has even been known to assist with the boys’ mischief from time to time. They definitely think Moana’s a good person to keep their sister’s chaos in check while not being TOO much of a boring wet blanket stifling her fun. ~Sina absolutely ADORES Merida and basically adopts her and treats her like a second daughter. After hearing Merida doesn’t have the best relationship with her own mom and feels like her mom doesn’t try to understand her or respect that she’s different from her, Sina gets like...SUPER angry and and starts doting on Merida to an almost annoying extent. She never wants Merida to have to feel forced into being someone she’s not, since she saw that with Moana and how much it absolutely KILLED her to be kept away from the ocean. ~Tui is leery of Merida at first, mainly because she seems like she’s going to be a bad influence on his daughter. However, he eventually comes around to her once he sees how much she loves his daughter, and they bond over both being ridiculously overprotective of Moana. ~Fergus also adores Moana, and basically knew Merida was gay from the jump--them dating is 0% a surprise to him. He’s honestly just glad that his daughter has someone more rational and down-to-earth to prevent her from doing anything TOO stupid. ~Elinor meanwhile, traditionalist that she is, is NOT about this whole lesbian thing and would probably be pretty homophobic...at least at first (steaming hot take, I know, she’s just got tradition so far up her ass I don’t know if she’d EVER be okay with her daughter choosing not only to forego marriage to man COMPLETELY--not just delay it--but marry a woman instead, who she couldn’t produce an heir with. Also sorry but I do not like her and probably will not portray her particularly favorably in my HCs sorry not sorry lmao) Maybe she comes around, maybe she doesn’t. I’ll leave that up to your imagination. Although I am not an Elinor fan so I think you already know my take XD ~Moana is grey-asexual grey-aromantic, so she CAN be sexually and romantically interested in people, it’s just...very rare. Merida is basically the only person she’s ever wanted to legit date. Maybe she likes boys too, but she wouldn’t know--she hasn’t found any she’s into thus far. Merida, meanwhile, has always been a raging lesbian, and has had lots of crushes on girls over the years (in an AU where she has the opportunity to, anyhow--ARE there even any girls her age in Dunbroch??? XD). When her parents would read storybooks to her as a kid, she’d always finding herself getting doe-eyed over the “fair maidens” rather than the fearless, ripped warriors who saved them from danger.  No crush ever hit her quite as hard as Moana did, though. But Merida knows for a damn fact she isn’t into men--90% of the time she can’t stand them and their antics, and the only men she’s ever really felt any kind of affection for are ones in her family or ones who remind her of one or more of her family members. ~Moana makes Merida flower crowns. Merida grumbles endlessly about how “girly” they are, so Moana hunts down some black flowers to make one with so it’ll look a bit more badass and intimidating. Merida absolutely LOVES it and wears it everywhere. ~Merida teaches Moana how to horseback ride and how to shoot a bow and arrow. She’s pretty not great at either at first, but Merida is incredibly patient with her. This shocks everyone around them, because since when is Merida patient with anyone? ~Merida also teaches Moana swordplay, and they LOVE to spar with each other. Agressive flirting during sparring sessions is very commonplace. If anyone attacks either Dunbroch or Motunui, Merida and Moana are a force to be reckoned with. ~Likewise, Moana teaches Merida how to sail and some kinda basic naval combat skills (i.e. how to shoot that harpoon gun or whatever it was she used to fight the kikimora off). ~They don’t have sex that often because neither of them has that high of a sex drive, but when they do, Merida tops if a strap-on is used. ~Moana is the kind of person who just kinda sings songs to herself as she goes about her daily routine and her chores. Merida loves to listen in because she thinks Moana has the prettiest singing voice on earth. That doesn’t stop her from teasing Moana about “singing all the got dam time,” though. ~Literally ALWAYS cuddling and kissing when they’re watching something together or just doing any kinda idle activity at home together. These girls cannot keep their hands off of each other. They hold hands in public pretty much everywhere they go, and Merida yells at anyone who makes a fuss about it.

Modern AU ~They meet while Merida is studying abroad in Tahiti. Maybe because Maui (who’s Moana’s cousin or older brother or something) has a tattoo parlor, and of COURSE Merida goes in to get some edgy bow and arrow tattoo to piss her mom off. Or maybe Merida is just snorkeling in one of the coves on one of her days off, and she runs into Moana and they just Vibe. ~I also like the idea of them meeting at a bar/nightclub type place in Papeete--like maybe Maui owns the nightclub because he just likes to party like that, and he lets his little sis Moana poke around in there because he’s lowkey a terrible influence XD And maybe one night Moana’s bartending to make a little extra cash and Merida comes in and gets really drunk on like a huge Sex on the Beach or something and starts really clumsily hitting on Moana and Moana gets SUCH a kick out of it. Merida can’t remember much of the flirting the next day, but she and Moana still become fast friends. ~Merida is constantly ditching class to sneak off and go see Moana. Her grades are plummeting. ~When the semester abroad is over, they promise to keep in touch over the internet--although Moana also wants to write letters because she loves the idea of having a pen pal. Merida teases her mercilessly for being so “old-fashioned” but also doesn’t have the heart to say no. ~They end up confessing they like each other over internet chat. Merida damn well knows she’s gay and has for a while now, but she’s terrified of telling Moana she’s into her because she’s really scared Moana’s straight. So when Moana is the one who ends up confessing to Merida, Merida has literally never been happier in her entire life. ~Once Merida graduates, they decide to just say “fuck it” and move to some big seaside city together (for some reason I really like the idea of them living in Los Angeles???). Merida needs to get away from her overbearing mom and Moana just really wants to see more of the world besides the South Pacific, so away they go! ~BROADWAY MUSICAL NERDS BROADWAY MUSICAL NERDS BROADWAY MUSICAL NERDS! They both fucking LOVE musicals, especially those with sapphic undertones (Wicked, anyone?), and will loudly and obnoxiously sing along to the soundtracks, much to the chagrin of all their neighbors. They’re also pretty big theater fans in general--especially Merida, always rather the dramatic type. ~At some point they save up and go to see Wicked on Broadway together. The trip ends up being one of their all-time favorites, and their fridge is covered in goofy, dumb selfies of them in New York. ~Moana goes to every SINGLE one of Merida’s archery tournaments, and every single game of any other sport she plays. Literally no one cheers more boisterously or enthusiastically than Moana does. Whenever Merida hits a bullseye or scores a goal, Moana grins and nudges the people next to her (even if they’re complete fucking strangers) and goes “That’s my girlfriend!!!” ~Merida is a goddamn punk, and is always walking around in spiked jackets, combat boots, and basically any other clothing that says “don’t fuck with me.” She tried to start a punk rock band once, but it ended up falling through because no one would sponsor Merida’s angry screamo songs about smashing the patriarchy. Moana still went to all of their tiny-ass, tacky concerts though, for the few months they were “touring” the city. ~Merida taught herself how to play electric guitar because she thinks it’s Edgy and Cool. Moana really likes to dance, and knows a fair number of traditional Polynesian dances and has even taught a class or two. Merida learns how to play some traditional Polynesian music on the electric guitar so she can play while Moana dances. The combination of hard rock-esque shredding and a very mellow island dance looks extremely bizarre to anyone watching, but the girls absolutely do not care.

@takaraphoenix I said I’d tag you in Moanida content I made and I am a woman of my word!!! Enjoy!!!

Please y’all, send me more asks about my ships!!! I love to talk about them!!!

[schrijverr]

Family Ends Up In Blood

An exploration of what Trevor’s youth might have been like, the death of his family and how he carried that throughout season 1 and 2, especially when back in the Belmont Hold.

(it has a happy ending)

On AO3.

Ships: none

Warnings: suicidal thoughts, grief, being trained as a fighter while being only a kid and the death of the house of Belmont

~~~~~~~~~~

Trevor used to have a family. It had beena big family with grandparents, aunts, uncles, parents cousins and sibling alike all living in one house.

It had been a very busy house.

He remembered sharing a room with his cousin of the same age, Claude. They always fought about the closet space, both thinking the other had more than half. It was a stupid argument, but one that kept them busy while the adults did what they did.

The family was never complete, adults disappeared from time to time to hunt, leaving the others behind until they got back. If they ever did.

It happened often enough that a trip would be extended and it happened from time to time that it was extended until nothing was heard from a family member. If they had information about their last location, a search party would be send out to see if they could recover the body. Usually they were never found.

Still, it did happen regularly enough that someone got back. Most of the time with light injuries or injuries that needed a bit more treatment, but weren’t urgent. However, adults reappeared on deaths door regularly.

Trevor got used to it early in life, to see a loved one writhing on the table, bleeding out and moaning in pain. He even got roped into helping once he was seven and old enough to boil water by himself or help hold someone down.

He had held many of his cousins and siblingsas they left the world.

But, as stated before, they were a big family and there were always enough idiots who wanted to try their luck in the world, to see if they could succeed where the last Belmont had not.

As a kid Trevor had greatly admired all the cousins who went to fight the good fight. It was only as an adult, beaten by the world that he had realized how fucking stupid they all were, throwing themselves at almost certain death to keep up the name of a family, who turned their youngest into fighters.

When he had first gotten his theoretical classes about vampires, he couldn't wait to get on to the more physical stuff. He had never truly been one for books, even if he absorbed the information willingly, wanting to be the best hunter with the Belmont name alive. How ironically soon that came to be.

Still, once those physical classes had started when he was nine, he soon regretted his enthusiasm. Sure, he wanted to make his family proud and, as one of the youngest, he thought he had a lot to prove, but the lessons were harsh.

His usually kind mother did not hold back as she pummeled into him with a wooden knife, telling him time and time again that in the world out there, he would not find the mercy of a blunt blade or a kind heart.

Trevor had to learn by failing, by hurting.

He got used to the bruises on his stomach, arms and legs. He got used to the black eyes and small cuts when they moved to real weapons. He lost count of the scars from the where the kniveshad managed to hit him as he practiced with it. He just got used to it all.

While his uncle read him stories by the hearth, he also regularly played the vampire in training exercises. His older cousin, who taught him how to tie his boots, was also the one that punched out his first tooth. Even his grandmother, always sneaking him sweets, had been responsible for a broken finger and his skill in fighting one handed while in pain.

The Belmont family was big and chaotic, with a lot of love that got colored by the skill they needed to teach their children to survive the legacy they had built for them to inherit.

Trevor used to be proud of their legacy. He was proud of how they kept their lands safe and how the people in the world could sleep safely at night because they were there. Knowing what they did made the pain worth it.

Belmont stood for safety. Safety for those outside their name, because wearing the name Belmont was anything but safe.

He knew that of course, he knew his life might not be long. He had realized that before he was even aware of it. It just came with the family. They lived all in one house, because enough of their family needed the others to support them, because important figures had fallen in the fight.

He had made his peace with it and didn’t fear death.

It would be stupid to fear death with all he had seen in his relatively short life. The Belmonts were a family of death, both harbingers of it and wearers of grief. Death didn’t scare him. It used to, but not anymore.

So, of course he wanted to fight real monsters, he wasn’t a little kid anymore. He wanted to be a hunter. It was all he had ever known and had worked so hard for. He lived for the fight, for the adrenaline, but sometimes he wondered if he would ever get married, ever have kids or if he would end up like Arnold.

Arnold had been an older cousin, seven years his senior. He was cooler, older and everything little Trevor had wanted to be. When he was first allowed to hunt on his own at sixteen years old, he had told Trevor everything when he returned, with the little boy hanging on his every word.

He was a successful hunter, with years passing and him always returning throughout the years.

Then he hadn’t returned from a hunt. He had been supposed to be back weeks ago, but he hadn’t turned up yet. They had presumed him dead, but no search party had found him.

His bride-to-be had begged them to try again and find his remains so that he could be given a proper Christian burial, but the Belmonts were used to burying empty caskets and had denied another search party, deeming it too risky.

At the time Trevor had found the bride-to-be quite bothersome. He missed his cousin, of course he did, Arnold had been his favourite. But he lost family members all the time. His cousin Lyda had died not five weeks ago and his uncle Borris had died last year. She was just being dramatic.

And then Arnold had shown up again.

It had been in the dead of night and Trevor had only been awake, because Claude had the sniffles and was snoring. So, he had gone downstairs to see if he could find something to drink before settling down on one of the couches.

He had startled when the door had opened, grabbing for the consecrated whip that his father always forgot to put away as he crept down the hall, hoping his training would be enough for whatever had come to their house.

Trevor had only been ten at the time and while he was a quick learner earning the praise of his family, he was still a kid, who hadn’t been in a real fight yet. He had though about screaming for help, but he hadn’t wanted to alert whatever was at the door to his presence, for the element of surprise was a lesson beaten into him.

So, he had crept down the hall, clutching the whip, with the morbid thought that they didn’t have to golook for his body playing over his mind.

The relief he had felt when he had seen that it was merely Arnold, miraculously returned, was immense and he cried out in excitement as he stepped into the hall: “You’re alive!” as he ran forwards to meet his cousin.

Then Arnold looked up and smiled. His eyes were flashing red and fangs protruded from his mouth as he slowly lifted one arm to beckon Trevor closer. “Come here, Trev,” he croaked. “It’s okay. I just traveled far and I’m famished.”

With horror in his eyes, Trevor had backed away. The person in front of him, was no longer his cousin. His family had prepared him for this possibility, but he hadn’t ever thought he would see it happened.

Belmonts were not vampires.

Determination had overridden his horror. He would not allow his favourite cousin to turn into the same monsters their family hunted. So, he had readied his whip and send a quick prayer for the Lord to watch over him and see him to victory in this fight.

It had been a gruesome fight. Trevor got thrown into walls and went through a table, while his desperately tried to hit his cousin or scrabbled to keep his fangs away from his throat. It was more him trying to survive than actually fighting Arnold with the whip dancing desperately and gracelessly through the air.

He had been lucky the ruckus had woken his more experienced family members and when his aunt had taken her son’s arms behind his back, aided by Trevor’s dad and his sister and cousin, it was Trevor, who managed to take the candle holder and stake Arnold through his heart.

Arnold had been his first kill.

So no, Trevor didn’t fear death. He hadn’t feared death for a long time. He feared more to overcome death and turn into a monster that would attack his own family. He feared being the one that put fangs into the throats of the people he loved.

He feared turning into Arnold, who had been on the edge of having it all. He was supposed to get married, have kids, ensure that the family would be strong. He was a good hunter and nothing should have gone wrong with him.

But it had.

No matter the training they got, there was always that chance of being turned.

Trevor didn’t speak with his family about the incident. When he had tried they’d told him that Arnold was a smart lad to come here, knowing they would free him of the curse laid upon him and that Trevor should be proud of him and himself for how he had stood up.

They told him that should it ever come to it, he should do the same, then they had put him through even more training. A training they justified to him by telling him that they would try to prevent him turning by training him to be better.

He didn’t like the new training. It was brutal and the whip he had been given was hard to master and left him hurting.

Still, he was proud, because he had made his family proud. He had picked up the weapon given to him and taken out his first vampire. He was a hero amongst his cousins and siblings and he couldn't tell any of them how scared he’d been. Belmonts weren’t scared, not of vampires.

In him, his family had seen a talent. He might be one of the youngest, but most of his older cousins and siblings had already finished their training, so now they focused on him, turning him into a proper hunter.

Normally Belmonts went on their first hunts when they were sixteen, Trevor went on his first hunt just after his eleventh birthday.

Hunts were nothing like he had imagined them to be. They couldn't just go around asking for vampires, they had to track them down, find the source without being spotted, most of the time murdering the vampires while they slept during the day.

Of course, vampires didn’t like that very much and fought back. Trevor got quickly better at working with his whip and pulling over curtains. In the yearshe went on hunts he got used to their screams and faces as they turned into dust before his eyes.

But he also got used to the blood. The blood when his whip cut into their flesh, decapitating them or binding them close until he, or the family member with him, could stake the fucker.

He also got used to the blood of his family being spilled. He was already familiar with the sight due to his time helping back home, but there was a difference between wounds someone could travel with and wounds someone was dying from, their life spilling through his fingers as he tried to keep them in the land of the living.

He got used to carrying bodies home.

It wore him down, but he could not speak with anyone of it. They called him a natural, a talent, someone who would make their name proud. He was a survivor, he came back time and time again, despite the odds.

Trevor Belmont was climbing the ranks within the family, gaining esteem.

Of all of them, he should be happy, not upset at all that he was continually loosing. And he was happy. How could he not when his grandpa let him sit with him during the evening, his uncle gave him his set of small knives when he could no longer hunt due to an injury and he was allowed into the Hold more and more with his sister.

Life was looking up for Trevor, of course he was happy. He just wished he hadn’t needed to learn where the guts went before sowing a cousin back up and that he could still play with Claude and the others in the tree or train with them and the blunt knives.

It was stupid, he knew it was. Sooner or later even Claude would end up where he already was and he had gotten his own room now too that he could lord over Claude, who now had to share with his sister.

Sometimes though, sometimes he wished he could still listen to his uncle’s stories about hunts with wonder and imagine himself there in a place with less blood and more honor and glory.

Still, their family mission was deeply ingrained in him and he knew there was honor in protecting the helpless citizens around them. They were righteous knights, even in the shadows. They were like the crusaders.

So, he pushed away the darkness in his mind. He listened to the stories of his hunting family members about how the job was payment in itself, how they were proud, how much good they did and how much their work meant. He internalized their words, repeated him in his mind until they became part of him.

He was Trevor Belmont, of the House of Belmont. He was her ninth son, well he thought. He wasn’t all that good with numbers and he didn’t know exactly who counted and if he counted the dead, he must be the twentieth-something or somewhere around there.

There were his younger cousins as well and he was about to become an uncle for the first time, with his eldest sister pregnant.

Still, he had three older brothers still alive, then his two male cousins from his uncle with the knives, then one more from his uncle with the stories and one from his aunt, who had also been Arnold’s mother. He didn’t know if he should count his sisters and female cousins when he said he was the ninth son, not child, of the House of Belmont.

Not that it really mattered, it had changed around enough in his life for him to not really care about the number, just that he was a proud son of a noble house.

They went to the church on Sundays, when possible, they carried bibles and holy water, along with blessed weapons. They fought for the church and kept the streets safe. Their work was noble and they were respected.

Trevor was respected.

He might only be a young lord, but he was a lord nonetheless. When he was in town people were respectful to him and he was too young to realize the resentment in some of their eyes, not seeking it in what he thought to be grateful people under his protection. He didn’t see the hunger that came with the bad harvests.

The older people in the family did notice. Of course they did. They saw the stares during the ceremony and the backs turned when they passed. Some even heard the whispers of how their noble house had fallen and that they were in league with the devil, poisoning the lands.

None, however, could have predicted how soon the quiet, growing hatred would turn violent. If they had, maybe they would have send others of their children away as well, not just Trevor, who would have been summoned too as a fighting member.

They had thought they would clear it up, that they could explain that they had not been the ones responsible for the bad harvests and that they could go home safely.They had not counted on the church believing that the darkness had passed in these years of peace and that the only darkness was the light that kept the darkness out.

Christianity was not a merciful religion. Their god was not a kind one.

Well, maybe he was, maybe they would find after death that he had looked on their work kindly and would repay him in Heaven. But his servants were not. They saw peace, they did not see the underbelly that the Belmonts fought. They only saw mysterious things appearing at their door late at night and too many funerals without bodies.

The church was not kind, not to the Belmonts, not that year. There was no smoothing over feathers after too many missed ceremonies wherein an entire population was set up against them while they were treating their wounded that had fallen for them.

The family Belmont was met with pitchforks and fire. They were detained and tortured into confessing, hoping the others would get out before they got to them.

But the others would not, since the others were the grandmother to all who dwelt in the home and the children unsuited and left behind. None of them could have dreamed of what came to pass and all just awaited the return of the others.

It happened so often someone came back later then expected.

Trevor came back later than expected.

He had been send on a easy hunt, but the first hunt he had done all by himself. It had been a success and he hadn’t even gotten injured. Still, he was tired and looking forwards to a warm hearth and his mother making his favourite food in celebration.

Had he passed through town instead of coming through the woods, he might have met the same fate as his family, but he did not. He arrived to ruins still smoking and a house fallen.

A loud wailing scream had pierced the air that night and the town had long spoken of the demons unhappy that their patrons had been killed, smug in their righteousness. But Trevor had cried, he had dropped to the ground and cried like thechild he claimed not to be anymore.

That night he had scoured the ruins, hoping to find answers, maybe even survivors. But there were none. Even now it was Trevor who was the survivor of them all, but he did not find comfort in their bragging about his skill that still echoed through his mind.

Instead he found his grandmother’srosemary in a pile of ash, the little whistle his smallest cousin had always annoyed them all with, the short sword Claude had been given for his eleventh birthday, for he was to start training with them during the summer.

He found memories, but no people.

The house was collapsing around him, a beam cutting open his face as it fell on him, in his tired state he hadn’t been able to dodge completely.

It broke him all over again. Where he had been there so many times to stitch up the wounds of others, there was now no one left alive to tend to his. He had been there so many times to prevent someone from dying, but he hadn’t been here for them now and they were not there for him when it felt like his soul was dying while his body was in tact.

At first he though it had been a targeted attack. That the things they had hunted had come to take their revenge and that it had been too much for the family to take on. He had hoped to find shelter and protection in the town nearby, maybe even answers to what had happened exactly or other survivors who had fled.

The disguise he had donned to there had been to prevent himself from becoming a target of whatever had killed the others, because he was so sure it had been a thing.

Nothing could have prevented Trevor from seeing the heads of his two uncles, along with that of his father, brothersand older cousinson a stakes and pitchforksat the front gate of the town they had watched over for so many centuries.

Trevor was lucky that the horror robbed him of his voice, for if he had screamed, he might have joined them or his mother and aunt and other cousins and sisters on the stake.

For it was no thing that had turned against the Belmonts, but the people too used to peace with one bad harvest too many. It was anger and the need for someone to blame that had brought this misfortune upon a once noble house, leaving Trevor her only son.

He never got to be an uncle.

Never got to figure out if he would be the one with the tales or the best weapon tricks for their coming family member. Never got to see the unborn child play with his toys that had been passed down to him as well.

There was no more family left and he was all alone.

He was all alone.

It would be a harsh reality for anyone, but the twelve-year-old didn’t know what to do with himself for a very long time. The town wasn’t safe, he didn’t know if others would be either. He wanted to grieve, to collapse and let the darkness claim him, but he had to survive first.

For a long time he pretended not to feel the pain of a loss so great, with so many family members gone in one swoop.

He told himself to stop being dramatic that he wasn’t Arnold’s bride-to-be, who had wined about her lover’s disappearance. Trevor lost family all of the time, he was used to loosing family. They would grieve, give them the ritual they could and move on.

But Trevor had not the safety and warmth of other family members to lean on now. He had no one but himself as he sat in the ashes of his home and said prayers he would later learn were worth nothing, because he had been shunned by the church.

Then he moved on, he couldn't stay in his old home and turned to the wider world. He had been in the wide world many times before, though never so permanent and never without money for proper shelter.

When he was just on the road, he tried to stay noble and true to his house, but there were only so many people willing to offer aid to a child on the cusp of becoming adult enough to fend for themselves and Trevor had always looked old for his age, packed with muscle.

So he turned to picking locks, as a skill taught by his family to sneak up on monsters turned into one of survival as Trevor tried desperately to find food.

He still tried to hunt, at first. Tried to find creatures in the towns where he sought shelter, never giving his full name and hiding his crest. He still had the whip that aided him in killing Arnold as well as the knives his uncle had given him and Claude’s short sword.

He had weapons and skills and he would not easily give up the family name like that.

His family had been proud of who they were and no church could take that from them, could take their legacy. Not while Trevor could still carry it.

But it weighed on him. The dark thoughts his mind had entertained from time to time before crept in again, making him doubt if anything he did even mattered when the others were no longer there to support him. When there was no one to patch up his wounds or tell him more of the name he carried and how well he had done.

And he completely gave up hunting after he had been chased out of town when they had caught him staking a merchant, who had been a vampire, but had disguised himself as distinguished.

No one believed the hungry young man, sixteen at the time, when he claimed the man was a vampire, not when he had taken the desperate liberty of eating a bit, because his stomach was tearing itself apart.

How dare these people? he had thought back then, how dare they chase me like they had done my family when I prevented their death. Why should I even bother, when they do not want me and hate me, while all I do is help?

That was how the last son of the House of Belmont, gave up the family name.

He turned into a vagabond. He stopped caring and turned bitter as he lost himself to drinking and traveling as if walking further would create more distance between him and his mind.

His family had been stupid, his mind hissed. They should have known better than to think these people would be grateful. They weren’t. They were all idiots that hated anything good that they couldn't explain and found solace in a cruel god. And Trevor hated them all. They hadn’t deserved the protection of the Belmont House and Trevor wasn’t going to give it to them after all they had done to him and his family.

So, he turned his back to the people of Wallachia. Once he had let go, it was easy. His heart was dark and angry, when he saw suffering a small part of his mind felt gratified that the people got what they deserved while he was rid of the bruises and the pain that came from hunting.

Even if the burden of the dead weighed him down and he could almost hear the disappointed voices of his elders telling him that no Belmont should act like that, that he should help because it was the right thing to do and the Belmonts had always done the right thing, not for rewards, but because they did what was right, no matter what.

He ignored those voices and if he couldn't, then he drowned himself in alcohol until he couldn't hear them anymore. Until they faded over time.

The pain faded too, or maybe he just got used to ignoring it and living with it. The anger as well. It wasn’t as if he was hunting again, but he didn’t get the same thrill of hearing people hurt, just the tiredness that came with the sadness of it all.

Because there was a sadness in it. A sadness in how it didn’t matter who you were or what you did, only if you were blamable enough. Mobs came for anyone who stood out, even Trevor himself had been blamed for misfortunes beyond his control when they hadn’t even known his name.

In Wallachia the people were scared. They were scared of strangers, scared of the night, scared of going hungry and scared of the church, who was taking more and more people by the day until Trevor couldn't even blame the people who had murdered his family, because he saw how everyone would be willing to point to another to avoid being staked themselves.

Not even the Belmont family could have fought against the fear that nestled itself into the heart of people until they became the monsters they feared.

At least that was what Trevor had thought, before he turned nineteen, before the world as he knew it turned to shit and he couldn't avoid fighting anymore. Before Dracula came to seek revenge upon humanity for god knows what reason.

When the terror of Dracula had first been released upon the land, Trevor was helping with the harvest in a small village so that he could earn a place to sleep and something to eat. A night later there had been no one left and Trevor had broken his nearly three year long no-fighting monsters streak.

It was absolute carnage.

No fight from his youth could have prepared him for the brutal slaughter of the village people and it took him days to gather all the limbs and intestines so that he could burn their remains.

There was no gladness then, no relief that once more he had survived and that the people who had murdered all he had known had died. There was just a heaviness that hung over his shoulders and dragged him down. If he were to survive in this new world, he would have to fight again.

He would have to fucking fight again.

All that he had hoped to leave behind caught up with him once more, because why would anyone let him live in fucking peace? He only wanted to forget his family and what they had stood for, he wanted to drown himself in alcohol until he died of something stupid and not monster related, but even that could not be given to him.

The bitterness that had laid dormant in his chest grew again and he refused to fight for people other than himself, and even then he barely fought, choosing to avoid the night hordes whenever possible as he traveled.

His family could have helped put a stop to the raids from the night hordes. In every town, village and city he came he could see why their defenses failed and what they could do differently. Yet he never said a thing.

The people had made clear what they thought of the Belmont help and Trevor wasn’t offering it just to be run out of town for his name or blamed for the attacks. The people were stupid, that he had decided long ago. They didn’t want protection if they couldn't understand it and he was done spilling his blood for them.

They could all rot for all he cared, he wasn’t fighting for them. He would do nothing for them, not in these times.

If he thought he had known hunger before, he was mistaken. Food was even more scarce and none were willing to share with a stranger, so he wore hunger as a second skin and the cold was permanent in his bones.

Had he wanted to help, he couldn't have done so due to the exhaustion, he discovered soon. He had stopped burying and burning the bodies by the fifth massacred town. New horrors just came every day.

It wasn’t worth the energy and their torn up faces would haunt his dreams. It was better to take whatever food was left and go to the next place, hoping something else could be found there. And by the time he arrived in Gresit, he didn’t even realize how close he was to the ruins of his ancestral home.

He met Speakers in Gresit. It was stupid to help them and he knew it, he had just gotten within the walls, no use in getting thrown out again immediately.

But the elderly Speaker man had woken some empathy in his exterior of apathy that he tried so hard to keep up, just to cope with it all. The Speakers were being blamed for the attacks and he knew it wasn’t true and maybe- maybe a small part of him wanted to save someone from the fate that befallen his family, as if that would change the past.

It was one of the stupidest things he’d done.

Soon, he was not just getting some idiot Speakers out of a city before it could destroy them out of some twisted sense of guilt, but he was roped into finding a child, only to be roped into defending the stupid city, which lead to a vampire of all places and him being placed in a stupid fucking prophecy.

He hated Speakers sometimes.

Speakers gave information, sure. They had histories stretching back for centuries, being preserved within just their words and Trevor had much respect for that. He just wished they would allow it to be written down, so he wouldn’t be dependent on what they told him.

Because they tended to only tell him things on a need to know basis, leaving him here. With a vampire travel companion. Stuck in a prophecy that might be Wallachia’s, or even the worlds last hope, knowing he wouldn’t turn back.

Fucking Speakers and fucking empathy that made it impossible to turn away from the stupid people that he hated.

He hated Alucard even more for making him realize that he wanted to help them, that he didn’t just want to walk around until there was no more defending himself from the night hordes and he would perish.

Alucard was the son of Dracula, no matter how much he might be against his father, he still shared the blood with the monster that had put everything to ruin and had slowly killed out the Belmont family throughout the centuries. Why would Trevor want him traveling with him?

Because of that fucking Speaker girl, Sypha. She still held the hope in her eye of someone who had only seen places where help could still be given, with people that could be saved. And if he left, she would be stuck with Alucard and Trevor wouldn’t let that happen.

She and Alucard were both naive and neither of them had any clue what they were walking into. He knew that for certain. Alucard might pretend to know, but he had missed all the destruction during his little nap.

They weren’t ready for this journey, Trevor was.

Sometimes he really hated fate.

The only Belmont who had ever turned their back on what being a Belmont entailed, was now part of a prophecy that would kill Dracula. All the pain he had endured in his childhood, all the blood he thought had been spilled in vain, was now coming together in him, making him the perfect hunter for their doomed little quest.

He and Sypha watched the other Speakers go and Sypah tried to confide in him her feelings about being left behind, but Trevor could not relate when the loneliness had become so normal to him that he didn’t even notice it.

She couldn't understand it and he didn’t blame her. He hoped she would never understand, but when she said: “You had a family, though,” he couldn't help the bitter reply: “Not much of one and not for long.”

Because Trevor had never truly gotten over the pain of the death of his family and in the darkest of nights, he sometimes blamed them for leaving him, for getting themselves killed.

He blamed his dead family for hunting when no one had thanked them, because it had gotten them killed in the end. They could have been a normal family. They could have just turned their back on the people and preserved themselves. Made it so that Trevor hadn’t gotten used to burying his cousins or that no seven-year-old would have looked forward to putting themselves in harms way for people who didn’t care.

They could have just loved each other without death surrounding their every moment as a family, but that wasn’t for the Belmonts.

No, the Belmonts were hunting family and all that hunting, all that expertise and training passed down through generations, would be used to bring down their ultimate foe. It was just that the entire House, save one, had to die first.

They had to die and leave him behind. Not for the first time, he wished that he had died with them and it would be someone else in his place.

But he couldn’t really blame them, not when the saving of the people in Gresit felt good, not when his confession to Alucard about caring wasn’t a lie. He understood why his family had saved people and even after all these years, he was just a kid who wanted to make his parents proud.

So he went home.

They rode past the tree where he had stopped playing when he was ten years old and he pointed it out, seeing Claude tease him from the boy’s favourite branch in his minds eye.

Then, for the first time in eight years, he set foot in the place where his family had died, where he had grown up and where he had been running from all these years, just to pretend it hadn’t happened like that. But the ruins couldn't lie.

Trevor remembered desperately searching through these ruins in the hope of finding someone, anyone, still alive. He remembered a beam falling on his face, scarring him for life with no one there to kiss it better, even if he would have told them he was too old for that sort of stuff.

He was pulled out of his thoughts by Sypha, who asked him: “This was your home?”

That seemed pretty obvious to him. “Yeah.”

“You grew up here?”

Again with the obvious questions.

“Yeah.”

“I can’t imagine what it was like to grow up in a single place,” she said, looking around. It took him by surprise, he hadn’t even occurred to him to compare the two ways of growing up. He couldn't imagine her wanting to grow up like he had or trying to figure out what it was like.

“Mm,” he hummed as he thought, “it was...” How was it actually? Painful yet full of love? He could remember all the smiles, but they had faded too quickly and his brain had always remembered the pain better than the good times. “It was fine. It wasn’t the worst way to grow up,” he said in the end, deciding that he had been lucky with all the love he had been given in his youth, even if it had been unconventional and taken too soon. He would have been happy there, if they had lived.

“How old where you when your family home was taken?” Alucard asked and he didn’t know if he even wanted to tell the vampire, yet there seemed to be no malice in his question.

He sighed, trying to remember, “Thirteen,” no it couldn't have been that long ago, “fourteen, something like that.”

“You’ve been on your own since you were thirteen?” Sypha said and he hated how there was disbelief and pity in her voice. He also hated how he suddenly remembered his twelfth birthday that he had celebrated with everyone and how he was supposed to be back on time to celebrate his thirteenth birthday.

They had said, he might have to share his birthday with the baby coming and he had been strangely delighted at the idea.

“Maybe twelve,” he said as the memory faded. It was not like it matter or he had thought of it much during his time alone. “Who remembers that sort of thing?” he attempted to put a lightheartedness in his voice that he didn’t feel.

“Twelve,” repeated Alucard.

And he was getting real tired of the investigation into his life that he had worked so hard to forget. He didn’t want to remember and he wanted them to stop pulling memories to the forefront of his mind. “Is there a point to these questions?” he snapped.

“I’m disturbed to find I had more of a childhood than you did,” Alucard simply said as if that was not the exact tragic fact he had been trying to avoid.

Trevor didn’t want their pity, nor the attention on him. He hadn’t wanted to come back here, but it was their best bet. They didn’t need to make a whole production out of the massacre of his family. Luckily, he saw an opening to deflect with humor, something he was great at. “And your dad’s fucking Dracula.”

The three of them laughed and it felt good to find humor in this abysmal situation and right after he even had a distraction. They had found the Hold.

Naturally, like everything in his life, that had to be ruined within seconds as Sypha unlocked the door with magic, because none of the Belmonts had known it was magic and Alucard just had to comment on it: “Well, well, naughty Belmonts, hunting all the terrible things of the forest, but sitting on a magic door opened by occult language.”

“So, I didn’t know it was a fucking magic door,” he said through gritted teeth. “Doesn’t make us black magicians.”

“But you know that the word ‘Teloch,’ means ‘of death’ right?” Alucard couldn't help but say and Trevor was fighting the urge to punch him.

“Shut up,” he snapped.

“It’s the magical door of death, Belmont,” Alucard called after him. And by god if it wasn’t the magical door of death. Trevor knew full well that his family could hold some questionable things out of context and the church had accused them exactly on those things, but Trevor knew better.

Little Marie, only five years old had not been a black magician, his pregnant sister had not been evil and his aunt, who had had to bury most of her children, while keeping strong for the ones still living, had not deserved being burned alive.

But he pushed down his anger, there was no need to make a big deal out of it, it wasn’t like it impacted them in any way. So, he just said: “Are you coming or what?” and let it be.

It was as impressive as Trevor remembered it being and he was glad that the mind of a child had not colored his old home in such a way that he would be disappointed here. He actually felt at home and he was glad for it.

For so long he had feared that his home would no longer feel like it and the ruins certainly didn’t feel welcome, but these halls still held the productivity and warmth of the Belmont family and he was at peace there, even a but proud.

“Belmont isn’t even a Wallachian name,” Sypha broke the silence, “that just dawned on me.”

“No,” Trevor agreed and found himself excited to share the history that had been proudly told to him by his uncle next to the hearth. “The family’s originally from the Kingdom of France, but we moved out of there a few hundred years ago.”

“Moved or chased?” said Alucard and the vampire was really getting on Trevor’s nerves, so he sniped back: “Moved, thank you very much.”

“With people behind you waving pitchforks and torches?” asked Alucard and the image of his father on a pitchfork came to mind.

“No,” he still said, trying to keep the peace. He had not the energy to fight Alucard, not when he was back here, surrounded by ghosts, who were too proud to be questioned like that. “No, we’re professionals. We move were the work is.”

“What does that even mean?” Sypha asked and he was so very grateful for her in that moment.

“All the dark things moved into the east,” he explained to her, ignoring Alucard. “I think it was a Leon Belmont, who entered the region first. He built the house and dug the foundations for everything under it.”

He opened the door into the Hold itself. Sypha lit up the room with her magic and Trevor was suddenly faced with the big hall he had seen only a handful of times before, but that he could describe perfectly, because all his younger cousins and siblings had begged him to tell them what it was like.

“My god,” said Sypha and Trevor remembered that feeling all too well. Proudly with a hint of wistfulness, he said: “The memory of my family. All that is left of us.”

“Is it organized?” Sypha sounded excited and it reminded him of his sister, who had wondered between the books for hours on end, always ready with answers for every question he could think to ask her. “Is there a way to find things?”

“I imagine one sacrifices a chicken,” Alucard had to fucking ruin it, “and divines the location of the book you want from the intestines. Maybe Belmont has a crystal ball in here you could ask.”

“Shut up,” Trevor growled at him as he passed.

“It’s an impressive tip, Belmont,” Alucard continued, not noticing Trevor’s rising anger, “but nonetheless, a tip. Your ancestors were apparently mentally ill hoarders. I fully expect to find family cats mummified under some of these shelves.” The bastard chuckled. “Unless your family preferred to eat them.”

He pushed past the vampire. He wasn’t fighting where it could ruin his sister’s beloved collection that she had diligently cared for. She was always kind and he could always have counted on her to be alive, for she didn’t hunt, but researched. She lived and breathed these books. “There’s an index on the lectern at the bottom.” “So this really is a managed collection,” he was glad for Sypha, who made the other company more bearable.

“It’s the work of generations,” he told her. “An archive of everything we’ve found and learned since the days of Leon Belmont.”

“What was your Lean Belmont doing in Wallachia?” Sypha asked.

Before he could answer, Alucard spoke up: “Hunting Dracula,” and in that moment Trevor realized that where he had grown up on horror stories about Dracula, Alucard might have heard the same about the Belmonts.

He could understand the vampire’s barbs better now, but the other still didn’t fully understand and Trevor didn’t want to explain. He didn’t want to tell him that the skull he was studying had been Arnold’s and the small one next to it had been Juliet, an aunt he had never gotten to meet, since she never reached adulthood along with her siblings. Tragically common.

So, he turned back to the books, trailing his fingers over the spines as he mumbled to himself again, before leaving his companions to explore a memory anew.

When he saw the chest, he could hardly believe it. He had seen it once before. His father had shown it to him after he had thrown away the whip in anger, because it wasn’t listening to him. He remembered his father laying a hand on his shoulder and telling him: ‘One day, you will inherit this weapon from me and you will be strong with it. You just have to fight now to get there.’

The Morning Star, now finally in his hands as he accepted his family’s past and inherited their mission as his own.

In the background he heard Sypha speak as she flipped through the index: “It’s all here, you’re right. This is quite amazing. Isn’t it? It’s amazing.”

“Charming,” came Alucard’s voice from the display with all the Belmonts that had fallen to vampirism and Trevor debated with himself whether or not it was a good idea to tell Alucard about it or not. “You’re not even a little bit impressed?”

“It’s like a museum dedicated to the extermination of my people, so no,” Alucard said. “Not thrilled.” And Trevor wished he wouldn’t understand. Still, he decided not to tell Alucard. The man had been grating on his nerves ever since they had arrived and while he understood, it seemed Alucard just wanted to be mean about how it impacted him, not that they were standing in the last bit that was left of the house where once his entire family had lived. And it had been a big family.

So, he just let the vampire brood in his own stupid feelings, it wasn’t like it was his problem. But Sypha was annoyed at him being mean right back, which could fuck right off in his opinion. He didn’t need to be nice, he had already not killed the vampire that was enough.

However, when Sypha looked sad, all by herself between the books, he could not help but feel for her. She hadn’t done anything wrong. “Are you okay?” he asked, knowing he wasn’t one for comfort.

“Tired,” she answered him and the fact that no more words came out of her, made him uncomfortable, yet he could only offer: “Sleep, then,” as reply.

“A bit lonely,” she then confessed also.

He was used to being alone, but traveling with her, even Alucard, had reminded him how nice it was to have company and these walls amplified that feeling. He remembered these halls full of life, with always someone to talk to or spar with.

It didn’t matter if you had just come back from a long mission or had woken up from a good nights sleep. He couldn't recall how he had forgotten all the people and all the comfort between the loss and how it came to him now as something to ache for, when he could no longer reach it.

“My dusty old sheet is big enough for two,” he offered before he could think better of it. “And nobody was ever lonely in this house.”

“Thank you,” she said as he got under the blanket with him, her genuine gratitude making him shift in his skin.

“Is Alucard asleep?” he decided to ask as deflection.

“He says he’s slept enough,” Sypha answered, luckily not further engaging about his family. “He’s still poking around your family’s things with a look of faint disgust.” Despite it all, he let out a chuckle at that. “It’s lonely even when you’re standing next to him,” Sypha continued then, “It’s strange.”

“How so?” he asked, he hadn’t really paid much attention to Alucard’s feelings, more noticing that he was being an asshole about them.

“I’m not sure,” Sypha said, curling further into herself. “He’s intelligent, sometimes even witty, in his way. And he’s certainly half-human. More than half-human. He’s a person in his own right, but it’s like he’s a cold spot in the room. It’s not like your sadness.”

“I’m not sad,” he answered her explanation before he could even think about it, the denial deeply ingrained in his being, both from the road alone and telling his parents that he didn’t miss Arnold, because he died a noble, good death.

“Yes, you are,” Sypha’s sureness, startled him and made him question his own emotions. “But I can shout at you, or tease you, and get a reaction that lets me know you’re still in there,” she told him with a sigh. “His sadness is like an icy well. It’s bottomless. And swallows up your voice and anything you try to drop into it.”

Trevor didn’t know what to say to that. He never paid that close attention to Alucard and he had never been good at picking up emotions of others. Not even his own, it seemed.

“Am I really sad?”

It was pathetic that he was even asking it, but there he was, needing to hear it that he was sad and that someone saw it. He had never properly grieved and even now was not the time, because they had more important things to worry about. But he did feel the sadness he had hidden so long behind carelessness. No one had picked up on it before, not even he.

“All the time,” there was no hesitation in Sypha’s words. “You don’t even notice it now. It’s just how you are. And then, sometimes, you’ll tell me nobody’s ever lonely in your house and offer me your stinky blanket.”

They both chuckled, because there was no other way for Trevor to react to that. It was too honest and just laid him bare where he had tried to cover up. Still he attempted humor as a distraction from what she had just said. “In all honesty, that stink might not be my blanket,” but it wasn’t necessary, for Sypha was already asleep.

Seemed she really was tired, but Trevor couldn't really sleep after all she had told him.

Because he was sad. The grief pushed down on him now that it had been opened up to him and he didn’t know what to do with himself. There had always been a mix of anger and hurt surrounding the death of his family.

Anger at being left behind, at the church and the people, anger at the vampires and Dracula. But also the hurt of missing them, the hurt of being cast out by society while he had only wanted to protect them, even the hurt that no vampire or other monster had even managed to take him out and then anger at himself after he kept fighting when he was attacked, not letting himself die to the claws or fangs.

He had never just felt the heavy sadness that came with loosing his family. He never allowed himself to grieve the lives that were never lived, both theirs and his own. He didn’t know how to feel that sadness.

Grieving someone hadn’t necessarily been forbidden, but the Belmonts didn’t linger on death, for they knew what sort of business they were in. It was just that Trevor never had the guidance to learn how to cope with loss, before everyone who could have taught him died.

So there he was in his family Hold, with all the feelings he didn’t know what to do with and all remnants of sleepiness having left him. But he couldn't move with Sypha’s head resting on his shoulder.

He did not want to wake her, so he stayed put and let her rest. She needed it. Faintly he heard Alucard move in the Hold and he thought back on Sypha’s words. She had been correct that there was a deep sadness about him and Trevor couldn't blame him with his father.

Yet, Alucard held pity for Dracula, he could feel it in the way he talked of his father and Trevor wasn’t sure if he would be able to do it when push came to shove. On the other hand, the love when he spoke of his mother was also true.

‘His sadness is like an icy well.’

An icy well, it was an apt description of a creature of the night, whose skin did not warm itself for it did not have the blood to do so unless taken.

But at the same time, it wasn’t just his vampire side. Trevor had to agree with Sypha that the human half of him was prominent and he had enjoyed the company of Alucard from time to time on their journey, so the coldness was not just that.

Of course he had lost his mother to the church and his father to madness in the span of a year and while Trevor could not relate to loosing someone to madness, he could relate with killing a family member because there was no other choice and perhaps Dracula was Alucard’s Arnold.

He could also relate to loosing family members in quick succession. And maybe Alucard also didn’t have anyone to teach him how to be sad? Maybe he was lashing out in anger due to his grief where Trevor tried not to lash out in anger due to his grief to preserve the place around him that held so many memories.

It was a strange dance they did and neither of them had even realized they were doing the steps until Sypha pointed it out to them. Not that Trevor knew of the conversation they had the next day while he was off again going through the chests of weapons.

As a kid all the books had seemed boring, and they still did, but he could also see them for the worth they held now, but it was the weapons stored there that would help him. He wasn’t a magic caster or a a book person, he would win with his fists if needed, but he preferred to have an arsenal if possible.

While he looked around, he had been attempted to avoid the display case with the skulls. He hadn’t wanted to think about them, all the Belmonts turned, all the Belmonts that lost against the evil and had been warped.

Trevor still held the fear of being turned, even while he no longer hoped of kids and a future. He was the last son of the House of Belmont and he would remain that.

He didn’t want to keep track of which of his kids was where in the line of Belmonts and he didn’t want to bury his own children like he’d seen so many other Belmonts do. He could of course have kids and not train them like he had been, but he did not know how any other family looked like, so he would probably fail as a father anyways.

Besides, it wasn’t as if he would live long enough to become a father, so it was a moot point in the end.

The real reason he didn’t want to be turned, was because there was no family to return to, who would kill him. He hoped he would just walk into the sun if it happened, but he feared that he wouldn’t.

All the skulls in the display were a testament to how one wished to live once turned, how they had all came home and risked the safety of their family, because they couldn't do it. And he didn’t wish to be the one for whom immortality would stick.

But nothing in his life went how he wanted it and late that night, while Sypha had disappeared with two books and Alucard was god knows where in the Hold, he found himself in front of Arnold’s skull.

It was just a skull.

Somehow he had expected that there would be something special about it, but there just wasn’t. It was a skull like he had seen so many, only with fangs and the knowledge that it had been Arnold’s and that he had been the one to kill him.

“You seem to be deep in thought,” a smooth voice suddenly spoke up from beside him, startling him. “Afraid Dracula’s skull won’t fit in the display?”

God, Trevor was fucking done with Alucard. He had listened to Sypha, watched the vampire himself and understood why. For fucks sake the man was here to kill his father. Of course Trevor could sympathize, but would it kill him to not be a dick for once?

“Can you just fucking stop?” he snapped, letting out the anger that had been building towards Alucard finally come out.

“What?” he had the audacity to sound taken aback.

“I have been trying real hard not to punch your fangs out of your mouth, so can you stop antagonizing me for one fucking moment,” he said.

“Oh, I’m sorry that I’m not particularly nice to you while you’re admiring the trophies of the death of my people in your Hold dedicated to our extinction,” Alucard shot right back and Trevor was officially done with being nice.

“Your people?” he practically shrieked. “Your people? Do you even know who this is? Have you even bothered to find out anything that isn’t related to killing Dracula in this place without first judging?”

Alucard looked shocked by his outrage and a twisted part of Trevor was glad he hadn’t told him before, so that he could reveal it to him now and make him guilty for all he had said, because Trevor needed someone to yell at about Arnold, finally after all these years.

“I wasn’t admiring trophies, you dick. These aren’t trophies. It’s a memorial. And I was looking at this skull, because he was my cousin, so fuck off with the ‘your people’ bullshit. He was my older cousin and he was my hero and I killed him. I fucking killed him, because he was turned and attacked me, because I happened to be the one to greet him at the door when he returned. Even after all we shared, he went for my throat and my aunt and my dad and my sister and my cousin had to restrain him together so he wouldn’t rip it out while I put a stake through his heart. I- I was only fucking ten. So excuse me for not feeling any empathy for you at the moment.”

Once he was done ranting, he panted loudly in the silence that fell over them. With Alucard looking at him with shock in his eyes as he felt the tears slide down his face, much to his horror. But he didn’t wipe them away. It felt good to finally cry for Arnold.

“Sorry, I- I didn’t know,” Alucard finally said.

“No, you fucking didn’t,” Trevor snarled, voice still cracking with the tears. “And the little one next to it was my aunt. I never met her, because she was killed by her own mother when she was nine, because her father, who is lying next to her, was turned on a hunt and turned her before he could be killed.”

“Trevor, look-”

He interrupted Alucard before he could apologize again. He wanted to be mad, he wanted to scream out all his frustrations and he wasn’t giving up the chance now that he finally could.

“There is no ‘Trevor, look’ not from you, not now. I get why you’ve been a prissy asshole ever since we got here, but last time I was here, I returned from a hunt, which I was send on by myself and I was fucking twelve. Yet I came back to my house burned to the ground and when I went to the town for answers I found the heads of my family on pitchforks and pikes by the wall as a warning.”

He was now fully crying and his voice was hoarse and cracking.

“They had killed them all. They had summoned them to the town and detained them, before killing them and burning the others alive trapped in their house. My youngest cousin was Marie, she was barely five and my sister was pregnant. She was fucking pregnant. She was the only one of my sisters, who made it to that age and got happily married. She was going to have a kid. I was going to be an uncle. An uncle, Alucard. And now I never will be, because the church decided we were black magicians, who needed to die over a bad harvest.”

At his side his fists clenched and he was pretty sure he was making himself bleed with the force, but he didn’t care. A load he had been carrying for so long was finally being thrown at another, finally being shared.

“A fucking bad harvest.” He laughed almost hysterical.

“My family has been dying, getting attacked and turned into monsters for centuries to keep the people of these lands safe and the moment they are safe, we get blamed for something else and killed. We get killed after all the people we had to bury. My aunt had to bury most of her children, my mom too, everyone did. The first time one I saw one of my cousins die was when I was seven and I had to help keep him restrained on the table while they tried to sow his guts back in.”

Then the hideous blame he had tried to hide from spilled from his lips.

“We have bled and died for them. I have bled for them, buried my soul a thousand times over in all sorts of relations and they never cared. I have been bruised permanently since I was nine, because my own family beat me blue to teach me how to fight, so that maybe I would live where others had not. My own fucking family. We were turned into fucking soldiers to fight a shithole war that no one asked us to fight. There was love, sure, but there was always violence too, always fighting amongst each other, not because there was anger, but because it was the only way we knew how to survive, how to live. I never asked to be a hunter, but there has never been a choice for me. I was the lucky survivor, always living where others did not. I didn’t ask to fucking live. I didn’t ask to be a weapon and I didn’t ask for this life.”

He fell down on his knees and cried, he cried like when he last was here and the ash was still smoldering. He cried like he wanted to create an ocean to drown in.

And through the sobs he said: “I wished we weren’t dedicated to killing vampires and other monsters. I wished we had another occupation, because then I might know a life without pain. A life where my family could stay big and not dwindle every year. I wished that, don’t you see, Alucard? I don’t want to be here, just like you. But I have no other fucking choice, because I’m a hunter and all my mother taught me was to fight and my uncle told me stories by the hearth and he was so fucking proud of what we did. They all were so proud. I- I can’t turn my back on them.”

Finally he was out of words.

He sat there defeated, having bared his soul to what should be his enemy, but who was his ally in this fight and now there was only the raw emotions left that he had never learned how to deal with beyond suppression.

A tentative cold hand was put on his shoulder and Trevor didn’t have the energy to fight off the small source of comfort, just for its giver. So, he leaned into it and the hand became an arm and soon he was wrapped in a hug.

What a life he lived that he, a Belmont, should end up in his own Hold in the arms of a vampire, crying for his lost family.

Alucard just let him sob for what seemed like hours and Trevor was grateful for it. Grateful for the comfort without questions that let him process the crying as cathartic, before he felt the draining of the action.

The vampire carded a hand through his hair and rocked him gently.

It should be babying, but it was just nice and Trevor hadn’t been babied since he was ten, so he allowed himself the one indulgence.

Once he was completely spend and hardly sniffling anymore, with only a few silent tears leaking out of his eyes as he buried his face in Alucard’s chest. Only then did Alucard speak up: “I want to apologize for what I did. I was too wrapped up in my own hurting to see yours and I shouldn’t have been testing you for the sake of my own insecurities. I am sorry, Bel- Trevor. I am also sorry for your loss, I cannot imagine.”

Trevor huffed, almost amused if it hadn’t been incredibly sad. “No one really can, don’t feel too bad.”

“Still, I’m sorry,” Alucard repeated. “And I admire you for you commitment despite all the relations attached to our mission. I will not fail you. Dracula will die, the night hordes will fall and you won’t have to fight anymore.”

It was a nice promise, even if it was completely unrealistic. Trevor knew his odds of coming back form this fight were low and he had made his peace with that. But the promise was appreciated.

“Thank you,” he finally pushed himself off the other and wiped away his tears. “I’m sorry for breaking down on you like that. Even I didn’t see that one coming.”

Alucard smiled. “It is okay, Trevor. I deserved your anger and it is good for you to let it all out. You should not be ashamed or hide. You deserve to grieve.”

The tears returned at Alucard’s words and Trevor didn’t know whether he hated the other for it or not. He started a reply, but no words came out, so he just gestured meaninglessly and wordlessly into the air, before swallowing and nodding.

“Here, you look exhausted, let’s get you to a bed,” Alucard said and Trevor didn’t protest when he was hauled up and brought to a pile of blankets.

Now that Alucard had mentioned it, he was tired, plainly exhausted honestly and on the brink of collapse after all the emotions he had gone through in the last half hour or so. He fell down on the blankets gracelessly and burrowed down into them.

He was only starting to grieve and he wouldn’t have the rest anytime soon to process it all, but he’d started and he was glad for it. The dead deserved a final resting place in his mind, where he could hold their memory.

Nuzzling down into the blankets again, he mumbled: “You can grieve too, Adrian. Don’t shoulder your father’s actions as your own. You’re your mother’s son.” Then he drifted off, completely unaware that he left Alucard with his own little relief and emotional knot in his chest.

Later Sypha would call out excited that she had found something.

Later they would get attacked and his sister’s favourite place would get destroyed.

Later they would win and kill Dracula, all surviving.

Later Trevor would begin to heal and carry out his family’s legacy in a way that did not leave him empty and alone.

Until finally Trevor once again had a big family in a big busy castle. A family that was almost always complete. He didn’t hunt anymore, just busied himself with defending the town that had appeared around the castle and was grateful for the Belmont protection.

His oldest son was named Arnold.

And Trevor was content, knowing he would not needlessly die.

~~

A/N:

I love making myself sad thinking about how big the Belmont family must have been (it is in my headcanon at least), but also how it was to grow up as a child of a hunter family. Angst on multiple levels, baby

Idk abt y’all but it really bothers me how they look down on the oral histories of the Speakers, since it has some implications within real life with the West looking down on Native cultures with vast oral histories, so I hope I didn’t come across too condescending within Trevor’s internal monologue, he was just annoyed that he got roped into the prophecy

And I know why Alucard was feeling uncomfortable in the Belmont’s Hold, but they were also standing in the last remnants of what was left of Trevor’s family and, like, he could have shown a bit of compassion for that, but maybe that’s just me lmao

It was really cathartic to write Trevor snap, even though I (luckily) never came close to experiencing his grief.

[nat-20s]

this is a Wild™ prompt so no pressure to actually do it, but i’ve had the scenario of “somehow s5 martin ends up in s1-s2, has to figure out how to deal with that” and if u want a narrower thing, maybe how he reacts to seeing someone again/for the first time? (Sasha, Juergen Leitner, Prentiss, etc)

Please have fun with Whatever this is:

“Don’t go wandering off in the middle of the apocalypse” seems like a pretty simple rule to follow. “Especially don’t go through any weird doors, Christ, Martin, how can that possibly be a good idea on any level, do you remember nothing from the last five years of your existence?” also seems like a generally easy thing to keep in mind. And yet, Martin is guilty of the same sin that appears to be intrinsic of all of those who find themselves under the influence of the eye, his need to know something overriding his common sense. In his defense, the door was only like 2 meters away and he wasn’t planning on going through it or even touching it at all. He just wanted to look, because it appeared to be made of a liquid version of frosted glass, and it was translucent enough that he could sort of make out the other side of it. As he got closer, he confirmed that the other side of the door a: definitely didn’t match the rest of their own little hell-scape, and b: seemed familiar in a way he couldn’t quite make sense of.  

Of course, in the dream logic of their reality, you don’t have to place your hand on the door knob in order for you to enter some place new. All it takes is getting within a foot of the door, squinting to futilely try and bring the scene across from him into better focus, and a blink and suddenly he is not where he’s supposed to be. Instead, he is staring down the hallway of his former apartment complex, watching as a familiar woman attired in a red dress and countless words is steadily knocking at his door. There’s a weight in his hands that wasn’t there before, and he looks down to find a fire extinguisher in prime position to be fired. Huh. How serendipitous.

Martin’s surprised to find that he doesn’t feel afraid, not in this moment. It appears that for all the two weeks spent hiding from her still frequent more often than not in his nightmares, for all that the sight of canned peaches still makes him nauseous, in his (probably) waking hours, she is far less intimidating than the myriad of horrors he has faced since. Or, perhaps, it’s simply that he is actually equipped to face her, and that takes away some of the teeth of his fear. Any semblance of preparation, of a plan, has given him comfort when he had little else, and that continues on now. Admittedly, though, while he does have preparation for this encounter, his plan is little more than “get Prentiss off of my fucking lawn and then see where we go from there” before he’s striding towards her.

He’s able to get close to her, about as close as he’s willing to get, before she takes any notice of him. Once he’s about five feet away, she turns her head, and briefly pauses that incessant, infuriating knocking. She gets as far as saying, “Oh, aren’t you inter-” before he sends a spray of foam directly to her face. It’s far from enough to kill her, but it’s enough to kill off some of the worms, so there’s no way that it doesn’t at least sting quite a bit. The CO2 makes her stutter and take several steps back, swatting at the foam at an attempt to get it off.

He considers pulling the handle once again, but he’s really more concerned with getting her to leave than hurting her further, and he doesn’t to run out of ammo this early should she recover and decide to go on the attack. However, he likes to think he’s not too much of a fool, so he keeps the nozzle trained on her as she becomes less frantic.

Finally she stills her swatting, breathing heavily and glaring at him, as much as she can make any sort of facial expression with what’s left of her face. “That was rather rude of you, little one. And we are trying to offer you an escape from being so tragically singular.”

Martin raises the nozzle slightly higher, just enough to bring focus to the motion as he replies, “Yeah, well, it was rude of you to stalk my apartment for two weeks and try to kill me and my coworkers, so forgive me if I don’t feel all that grateful for your oh so generous offer.”

“Hmm. So you are his future. That’s a shame. We are made so loneliness is impossible, it would not wrap itself so throughly into your form. Our love could still be given to you, in this time.”

“I have no interest in your hollow version of love. He has no interest in it. Now, leave.”

Prentiss give an airy wave of her hand, and the worms that had been trying to find any crack in the sealed door come crawling back to their home. “Fine, fine. This was just a bit of fun, anyway. I’ll be seeing him soon enough anyway.”

Martin makes a hum of acknowledgement, though he response makes little difference to her taking her leave. There’s a few silver-grey disgusting stragglers that be promptly and throughly kills with a combination of the fire extinguisher and some well placed stomps. It’s only after he finishes this that the hesitation hits him, the trepidation curling low in his stomach until it solidifies into something akin to fear. He’ll take a worm monster over facing himself any time of any day.

What would he even say to himself? Good luck, the next years of your life are completely fucked? Hey, congratulations, you actually made it to your 30s, so that’s a bit of surprise, but you’re almost certainly not going to get to 35? Don’t talk to a man named Peter Lukas, or maybe just avoid any Lukases in general? Maybe he should lie, tell him things are going to turn out okay when they’re definitely not?

Wait, okay, maybe he has something with the Peter tip. If there’s an opportunity to give this version of him some advice that could prevent future grief, he might as well go for it. It’s like, how badly could he actually mess up the time line with his interference? The world could end again? Been there, done that, got the t-shirt. Upon the realization that basically no matter what he does right now there’s basically no where to go up but up, he makes an executive decision to go in there and confront himself head on. Hell, maybe that’s the Thing that’s needed to get him back to Jon.

As he goes to turn the door handle he also, briefly, thinks that he should bring up that he’s madly in love with someone who feels the same. It’s not immediately relevant for trying to prevent some of the mistakes he’s made, but Martin remembers being 28, utterly convinced both that love was real and something that was completely unattainable for something like him. Being wrong on the second part of that conviction is one of the few true comforting things he can provide.

The door is, of course, locked, so he goes with plan B. Turns out fire extinguishers are rather handy for smashing things, and he brings it down several times in rapid succession until the knob breaks. There’s one step down, but he had forgotten about the furniture barricade that had been put in place. He can get the door open about 7 centimeters before it refuses to budge, and he begins to wonder if all of this is an exercise in futility. At least his voice won’t be muffled when he calls out, “Martin? You in there?”

There’s nothing but silence, and he sighs and leans his head against the apartment door. “Seriously, Martin, could you respond? And maybe move some of this furniture? If you’re dead that means things are way more messed up than I expected.”

After a beat, a strained voice calls out, “Oh, so a bad impersonation of me is part of your dumb monster powers now? Piss off!”

After a groan and an eyeroll, Martin calls back “I’m not-!” before cutting himself off. He meant to say “I’m not a monster, I’m you” but both of those things are only about 60-70% true. Instead he goes with, “I’m not an impersonation. If I was something pretending to be someone else to get inside, wouldn’t I pick one of your coworkers coming to get you? Like Tim or Jon or Sa- you know, um, one of them?”

Silence.

“You have a peephole, right? You could look through it, confirm that I’m not worm-infested?”

He doesn’t hear a response with words, but he does hear the sounds of motion coming from inside. After a few minutes, the furniture is pushed aside, and the door is opened for him. Jesus, the guy on the other side of the door looks like shit. He probably doesn’t look much better, apocalypse grime covering every inch of him, but still. The man in front of him has deep bags under his eyes and a gauntness to his face that will take a while to ease. Worst of all, he looks painfully young and painfully afraid, and while Martin can recognize himself on a logical level, there’s a forced disconnect that makes him feel like he’s looking at a stranger. The knife that’s being held between them probably doesn’t help matters.

His former self’s voice shakes with a mix of adrenaline and exhaustion. “You got the hair color wrong. And the age.”

“That’s because I’m 32. Also, still not an impersonation.”

“My hair goes white in 5 years?”

“Not in the natural way. You know those hokey stories where people are so scared their hair turns white? That’s...sort of what happened. And it’s not going to happen to you, if I can help it.”

That’s the wrong thing to say, apparently, as the younger Martin’s face twists up. It’s a lot, Martin thinks it’s a lot and he’s far more experienced in the reality of the esoteric, but sometimes things being a lot is unavoidable, and he’s pretty sure time travel is one of those cases. He shrugs in response to the younger’s confusion, and says, “Can I come in? I think I’m here to dole out some advice, and I’d honestly prefer to do while not standing in worm corpses.”

He’s studied for a few brief moments, before he’s told, “You broke my doorknob.”

“You’re never gonna live here again, and it’s not like you were getting the security deposit back anyway. Does it matter?”

The younger one’s face collapses, despondent when he replies, “But. I don’t have anywhere else to go.”

Martin’s been experiencing a nauseating mixture of anger, pity, and compassion while seeing his past self, but that’s enough to kick in his care-taking instincts, and he really just wants to wrap the guy in a blanket. That’s not going to help either of them, but what he says next might. With a frankly ridiculous wave of fondness for that uncomfortable cot (or, more accurately, for the memory of a certain someone offering said cot), “You will. After you go back to the institute, you, um, you won’t have to stay here again.”

Martin, junior edition, only looks more lost, but he does step aside to let Martin inside the apartment even if he doesn’t lose his death grip on the knife. Martin pulls the door behind him, and as he does so, it transforms into the door that got him in this mess, so looks like he made the right choice. It doesn’t immediately take him (hopefully) back to his own time, but Martin’s gut is telling him that he won’t be spending much longer here. “Okay, so, you have a notebook around here, right? Because I’m about to dump quite a bit of information on you all at once, and I happen to know that our memory for things of this sort is not fantastic.”

The younger one glances over to the table where a notebook and pen are laying and while he moves towards it, he’s clearly hesitant to occupy both his hands with writing. The precaution makes sense, but Martin’s getting tired of it nonetheless due to a combination of running out of time and generally being tired of people seeing him as a threat. With a sigh, he tries his best to evenly say, “The next few years are going to be, um, messed up, to say the least, but hopefully if you have more information than I did, they’ll be less messed up.”

Younger Martin finally concedes, putting the knife down to pick up the pen, and flips the notebook open. Primed to start writing, he gives slight nod of his head to tell Martin to keep talking. Martin takes a breath, lets it out, and spills everything he can think of. “Okay, most immediately, CO2 kills Prentiss’s worms, and enough of it will kill her. A fire suppressant system will do the trick, but make sure there’s a way to actually trigger it inside of the archives. Makes sure the weird spooky table doesn’t get destroyed, it seems like it should be destroyed, this instinct is wrong. Generally speaking, you should get a buddy system set up, as it’s usually when people go off on their own that particularly bad things start to happen, whether it’s on an investigation or going to America. Speaking of, don’t let Jon go to America. Don’t let Tim go to stop the Unknowing. The Unknowing won’t work anyway, but you’ll probably still want to have the circus blown up, just make sure everyone is doing it from a distance. Don’t let yourself work for Peter Lukas, actually don’t interact with Peter Lukas, except maybe to, I don’t know, hit him with a shovel. And most importantly, kill Elias Bouchard as soon as possible-”

“-What?!-”

“-and in particular make sure you destroy the eyes, that’s vital to this whole thing. Turns out he’s actually a 200 year old scumbag named Jonah Magnus, you know, the founder of the institute, and by getting rid of him, you’ll save yourself a quite literal world of pain.”

“I don’t, what, I don’t think I could kill somebody-”

Martin felt a sharp tug towards the door, and he knew his time here was up. “Oh, wow, I really have changed, huh. Anyway, uh, final notes: you’re not going to end up alone and unloved and forgotten before you’re even fully gone, so feel free to lay that fear that occupies a disconcertingly large amount of your mental space to rest. Good luck, and try not to die!”

Before he can hear his other self’s response, he’s back in the wastelands he currently calls a twisted version of home, and Jon’s arms are wrapped around his neck in a fierce hug. As far as he can tell, nothing’s changed from his little literal trip down memory lane. There’s a few explanations for it, but since Martin’s not going to go out of his way trying to prove any of them, he choses to believe in the one that’s the most hopeful; that somewhere, out there, with some well timed words, there’s a universe that has turned out kinder than their own.