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sunflowerharrington · 9 months ago

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try

wc: 1617

written for the stwg prompt (23/2/24): dustin

warnings: the s3 russian storyline, mention of an almost-death (sort of canon but not really, i just wanted to add some angst because it’s not a real fic written by me if there isn’t any at this point)

left open ended because i’m thinking of writing a part 2 if anyone’s interested? i probably will anyway. low-key made myself cry lol and i just want stobin back together as best friends again

—————

Dustin hasn’t seen Robin around much lately apart from at school, and she won’t even look at him. It’s almost like she’s a stranger now after she started hanging around the popular group in school because Vickie’s boyfriend is on the basketball team apparently. He doesn’t bother going to the games because D&D is more fun, and the only reason he’d go is for Lucas and he’s usually on the bench even after his big win back in March.

What a waste of an amazing player.

It also feels like Steve would rather talk about anything but her. He even talks about his parents more than Robin now. His parents. Something must have happened between them for everything to start falling apart. Maybe there were cracks in their friendship nobody noticed until now. But they were perfect, the textbook definition of soulmates, but now it just feels like those souls were never meant to be friends to begin with and Dustin’s the one trying to pick up the pieces and save Robin and Steve’s friendship.

She’s only spoken to him on the phone once, and hasn’t been returning any of Steve’s calls. If he even makes them. Dustin’s never thought to check because he knows Steve won’t lie to him about something as little as a few phone calls. Or, attempts at a phone call, since Robin never picks up.

In the call she never said anything about Steve, not even an acknowledgement of his existence when Dustin tried to ask about what happened between them. She shrugged it off, made a quick excuse and hung up, leaving the end of the conversation to ring in his ears. She’s a completely different person now, so short with her answers and never wants to hear anything about the group anymore. It’s all about her and Vickie since they’re the bestest friends in the entire world apparently. But no, that was Steve and Robin!

Was.

Was…

He never knew where she lived until he asked Eddie to ask Chrissy to ask Vickie, and Vickie, bless her soul, gave Chrissy the address immediately. And Chrissy gave it to Dustin. So that’s where he is now, with one hand curled into a fist, ready to knock on Robin’s door. And he does, because there’s no point in him just standing there and doing nothing about it.

She almost slams the door in his face when she sees him, but he stops the door from shutting with his foot. And even though it hurts like hell, it has to be done. He has to get to the bottom of this before it’s too late.

“If this is about your friends—”

Your friends. Your friends. Not hers. His friends. It’s like she doesn’t even want to try to save anything.

“It’s not. It’s about you,” he says, trying to keep his tone as neutral as possible. He loves Robin, he does, but sometimes when she acts like this he wants to take Steve’s nail bat and take a swing at her with it. And it’s not about her, but if he says that he knows she’ll send him on his way and never speak to him again.

But one way or another he has to get them to talk. Why waste this opportunity when a friendship that was once so perfect can potentially be fixed?

“What about me?” She asks, and he can’t help but let the shock show on his face when she lets him in. Not just into her home, but she’s relaxed a little, which is the most surprising part. But not for long. “Make it quick, everyone’s gonna be here in ten minutes.”

As if “everyone” will show up on time. This is almost worse than her slamming the door in his face. She used to always have time for him, and for everyone, for that matter. And seeing the couch that looks almost untouched in the living room makes him question something. She said on the phone she has everyone over all the time and they hang out in the living room, but there’s almost nothing in there. The place looks empty. Almost as empty as the Byers’ old house and they don’t even live there anymore.

Is she lying to him?

“Okay, fine,” he snaps, and he can no longer hide his frustration. “What the hell happened to you? What’s wrong with you?”

“Excuse me?” She raises her eyebrows as she sits down next to him on the couch, still keeping her distance. There’s a wall between them. An invisible one at that, but it’s still there.

“Did your new ‘friends’…” he begins with air quotes. Maybe it’s a little bit dramatic but he couldn’t care less right now. “…make you hate all of us? You can’t have forgotten about us that easily, Robin. I mean, seriously, what the hell did they do to you?”

“Get out.”

“No, I’m not leaving. I need to know now. Why do you hate us?”

“I don’t hate any of you,” she says, but the sour look on her face says otherwise. However, she has a glass of apple juice on the side. Her ‘talking juice,’ Dustin calls it. Whenever she used to have it she’d never shut up. “I just can’t keep risking my life over and over and other new scarier things get thrown at me left and right and I just have no idea whether I’ll wake up after I fall asleep at night. I couldn’t do it anymore!”

Bingo. Apple juice strikes again.

“As soon as I became friends with you and… other people, I was thrown in the deep end and almost killed by Russians. Russians, Dustin! And I know you guys saved me but that was the scariest thing that’s ever happened to me and I didn’t know it could get worse. I almost had a person die in my arms for fuck sake!”

A person. She can’t even say Steve’s name anymore.

“But he didn’t die because you saved him. You did! Because you love him!” He raises his voice to match hers. “You told me nothing in this world could ever make you stop being friends with Steve, you promised me you’d be friends forever and you even made a blood pact! So what changed?”

Don’t cry. Don’t cry. Don’t cry.

“I…” She trails off, taking another sip of her juice. “Fine.”

He doesn’t say anything back to that. How can he? It’s not a question, not even a rhetorical one, so he sits in silence, waiting for her to continue. Even though he’s eyeing that pillow on the armchair and wants to suffocate her with it, he stops himself. Violence is not the answer to get people talking.

He learned that from the Russians.

“He loves Nancy.”

Wait so… She’s jealous? Is that really all this is? She’s jealous because Steve loves someone that isn’t her? Is it because he loves Nancy more than he loves Robin? And even after whatever happened between them, at least Steve still tried to keep in contact with Robin, so he does love her but not the way she wants him to. Maybe.

“And before you say anything, I’m not in love with Steve. Boys are gross.” Oh wow, she said his name. Well done. Dustin stops himself from rolling his eyes. He’s just about ready to leave, he wants to, but he’d rather fix this or at least find the reason why they fell out than just leave it.

“It’s my fault, sort of,” she continues. “I pushed him to get back with her or at least try. I wanted him to find someone, but then I found out about Nancy cheating on him a few years ago with Jonathan and then I realized she might cheat on Steve with someone else again and I got mad at him for listening to me. Did they get back together?”

“No,” Dustin says, looking at anything but her. “They almost did, but Steve said he couldn’t do that to Jonathan.”

“Oh… That’s… That’s good, I guess.”

“Yeah.” How did this get so awkward so fast. Think of something to say! For two people who can never ever stop talking, this is even worse than awkward. “I know you might say no, but…”

“Never start a sentence with that. It’ll make me want to say ‘no’ even more.”

“Shut up,” he says, his voice breaking into a chuckle, until he realizes they’re not friends anymore and mutters a quick apology. But what surprises him is Robin bursting out into laughter next to him.

“Okay, what is it?”

“Talk to him. Please. I’m not asking, I’m begging.”

“Can I tell you something?” Her head drops to her hands, before she curls her arms around her knees and brings them up to her chest, making herself small. After a small ‘yes’ from Dustin, she takes a deep breath. “Nobody’s coming over today. I only said that because I didn’t want to talk about Steve.”

“You know friends shouldn’t lie, right?”

“You know that’s a bunch of bullshit, right?” She says, almost mirroring him. “I lied to Steve all the time about little things.”

“Ha!” Dustin replies, smiling at a bewildered Robin. “You called Steve your friend!”

“I—”

“That means you have to talk to him now! I won’t accept ‘no’ for an answer.”

Robin sits in silence for a moment. “Fine. But only if you buy me more coffee. I’m running out.”

Why the hell would Robin need coffee? She’s a ball of energy as-is. He shrugs his shoulders. No point in saying no. The least they can do is try, after all.

“Done. I’ll get you two boxes.”

#stranger things #steve harrington #robin buckley #dustin henderson #platonic stobin #dustin’s trying his best

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shaevilux · 2 years ago

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If you're still taking writing prompts, would you consider one looking at when Aditha Karikalan returns from killing Veerapandiyan in front of Nandini, and what he initially does to emotionally process and cope with what just happened? Or write something about the aftermath more generally from his point of view if you'd find that more interesting. Of course this is just a request and I don't mean to bother you if you're busy or want to write something different. Thank you! (I'm twosquareroti but this is my main account.)

[Sorry I just saw this. i hate how tumblr does notifications and I'm exclusively on mobile in this app. anyway yes I'd write this. I'd have written this whole thing in Tamil if my Tamil wasn't so bad. Apologies in advance Tamil speakers it isn't my mother tongue and I haven't spoken it properly in years much less written in it.]

அந்த நாள்... எண்ணத்தில் ஆழப் பதிந்த ஒரு நாள். நந்தினியை பல வருடங்களுக்கு பின் முதல் முறை நான் என் கண்களால் பார்த்த நாள். அதே அழகு, அதே நளினம்.

ஆனால், அவளை பார்பதுற்கு நிலைமை அதை விட மோசமாக இருந்திருக்க முடியாது. என் கண்ணில், என் எண்ணங்களில் இருந்தது இரத்த வேட்கை. நான் பாண்டியனை தேடி தேடி அலைந்தது இதுக்காகவா? இந்த இதயத்தை துளைக்கும் துரோகத்துற்காகவா?

The door I had slammed open had unveiled such a horror I could not have imagined. The love of my life, cradling the man I sought to slay. The door bounced back, closing, as if to hide the scene from me, to protect me from what was to come. But I held it open, and stepped inside.

I could hear her. Desperate. Pleading. Beautiful. Why was she here? Why her? Why, of anyone, would the gods choose her to be here. She clasped her hands, and went down on her knees.

In any other time I would not have allowed that. I would not have let it come to a situation where she would have to supplicate like this. Not to me. Not to anyone. I wanted to lift her up. I wanted to run my fingers across her cheeks to wipe her tears.

But my mind was in a frenzied state of bloodlust, and not even the haze and confusion and numbness of seeing her would change what I came here to do. Through the haze of my mind I approached the bed of the Pandiya king.

Nandini crawled over as well and threw herself over the body of the enemy, her fair, soft hands tainted with his blood. It was as if she twisted the knife she had already embedded in my heart. My hand reached for hers. I had to separate her from the Pandiya king.

She was still shouting, screaming at me to stop. Begging. Crying. I could not. I could not heed her, nor could I not heed her. The spell she casted on me all those years ago persisted. And even then, as I took her hands away from the bleeding king, I could feel them. Soft and shaking. Sending shivers of feelings I had not felt in years down my body without warning.

The sword came down from the side, heavy. It severed the neck from the body, cleanly. Blood sprayed on to my face, on to the tapestry that hung by the bed, and on to Nandini, who ceased her screaming as she stared, horrified, at what I had done.

I wanted to ask her. I wanted to ask what she was doing. Why she was here in the bed of this rival royal. But I could not bring myself to ask her anything. I could not bring myself to even look at her. Her cries and pleading were still fresh on my mind.

So, instead, I turned and left the cabin. I left Nandini there, abandoning her as she did me years ago. And only when I was outside in the forest did I realise I was shaking, as well. I looked at my blade, slick with the blood. I looked at the two tigers adorning the hilt. The reminder of my line, of my birthright, of my duty.

I nearly threw the sword on to the dirt.

But instead I looked for my men, who were all similarly combing the woods for the Pandiya king.

----

The news of the death of Pandiya reached far and wide. The war was over, though the loyalists were still being rounded up for imprisonment.

I received a letter from my father, praising me for my strategies and my penchant for the business of war. My men celebrated as Cholas were want to do. Each night ending with stupor.

Drinking was something I abstained from. I had no liking for it. Clouding my mind was not something I indulged in. But I could not close my eyes at night without seeing hers. Desperate. Pleading. No.

I had to forget. So, I drank. I had to be intoxicated beyond the capacity to dream. Or at least, remember them when I wake. My grandfather saw me as I drank, lips pursed, eyes watchful. He had not said anything. No one had said anything.

Everyone knew I had killed the Pandiya king. But everyone also knew something changed within me afterwards. I could not tell them what. How could I even begin to explain to them? They knew me for a warrior prince, not a man pining for a woman he had not seen in a decade.

So they left me to my drinks as they danced and spent the nights with the daughters of the city.

And then word came from my father for me to return to Thanjai. Word that was handed to me from my grandfather. I read the letter. About unrest further north. About open call to arms.

I wrote back to him, telling him the conquest would not be over until we have conquered all of our enemies. And that I will not set foot in Thanjai until I have accomplished that.

And that was what I did.

For the next few years I had waged war on lands far and foreign. With people who hardly spoke my tongue and claiming their lands in the name of my father. And during the celebrations of our victories I had blabbered.

I had blabbered enough for everyone to piece together what had happened that day. That day when I slew the Pandiya king. I had said her name once, and cried. I had said I had seen her with him. I had said that she begged me not to kill him.

I could not go back to Thanjai. I could not go back to where I grew up with her. I could not go back to... The one who drove her away.

No. Warring was what I was good at. That, and drinking. And I had decided that is what I wanted to do until I either forget about her or I died.

----

A few years of warring passed. My skill with the sword and my knowledge of warfare only grew. I had claimed the bigger kingdoms and colonies. There was not much else to do.

My men were getting restless. They would fight for me without question, but these were no longer real fights. No longer real battles. They were excuses. And though they would never tell it to my face, I knew it was only a matter of time before they would suggest we return to Thanjai.

And maybe it was for the best. Maybe it was time. I would never get the closure I wanted. I would never see her again. Her fate was alien. Something I was never truly privy to. It was madness of me to even try to understand. No, she went her own way. And I went mine. I went deep into mine.

But maybe it was time I resurfaced. Maybe it was time for us to return to Thanjai. To return home. To my scheming little sister and the politics of the mainland. That was one thing I did not miss.

Where I was, things were clear cut. The enemies were obvious. But a different sort of game was played in Thanjai. A game I found tiresome and devious. No, my sister had the gift and the gall for that. My sister was the one suited for that gift. And she used that gift dispassionately.

She drove Nandhini away. Out of jealousy or something else I would never know. But she was the one who drove my love out of Thanjai. Never to be seen again.

Until...

I took a swig of my drink.

The tent I was in was spacious. The village we had chosen to house ourselves in was a gracious host, putting all this together to house our armies.

I looked at my steel again, leaning on the large gong that belonged to my grandfather. The war gong.

Maybe it was time we stowed it all, and returned back home.

I was still thinking about home when the newest of our commanders approached me, one hand behind his back while the other held a scroll to his side. I stared at him, a warrior prince himself who quickly rose in the ranks and became one of my closer associates.

"What is it, Vanthiyathevan? News from my father?" I asked.

"No, my prince. From your sister." He replied, presenting the scroll to me.

I took it, my brow furrowed.

"From Kundhavai?" I took it, and unfurled it.

And what I read brought me back to the cabin in the woods. Brought me back to when I was left shaking and lost. Brought me back to the dread that I tried so hard all these years to escape from.

'Sweet older brother.

It has been a while since our last correspondence. I regret that this news is not going to be pleasant. But I wish for you to hear it from me so there is no question about its authenticity.

Our Periya Pazhuvettaraiyar has recently taken to a wife. He has married Nandhini. She now resides in her husband's palace.

I know not how your feelings about her have changed these past few years, but I think it is time for you to put everything aside and return home. Nandhini marrying into such high royalty is a dangerously calculated move, and to see my brothers so far away at this time while only I reside in our father's home does not put me at ease.

I have told you that I can see shapes here at the capital. Metaphors of prediction I use to garner the state of affairs. I have seen shapes that form into horses for strength. Shapes that become elephants for wealth or become peacocks for royal matchmaking. But recently, I feel the shapes are beginning to form into wolves.

These wolves do not belong in the tigers' den. But they are testing their luck with the tigers so far away. Reaching beyond their station, it feels like. I do not like it. Our king does not suspect easily like I do, and maybe I might be wrong in my reading of these shapes. But irregardless, I do not like for the tigers to be so far away from their den.

Return home, brother. And return safe.'

I stared at the scroll, my eyes slowly getting cloudy.

"My prince?" My friend asked.

"Nandhini..." I breathed her name, and it hung in the air between us, heavy and looming.

"What... What of her?"

"My sister. My sweet, clever sister."

"I do not follow, my price."

"DOES SHE SEEK TO SPITE ME? TO SPIT UPON MY FACE? WHAT WRONG HAVE I DONE?"

Vandiyathevan's eyes widened, and I tried to reign the storm that had erupted without warning within me.

"Wh-who?"

"She has taken Periya Pazhuvettaraiyar to be her husband."

"Kundhavai, my prince?" Vandiyathevan's eyes widened still, and I could not help but be amused. Vandhiyathevan could dissolve my quick tempers with ease. Usually through his wit and humour, and this time his obliviousness to the contents of the letter was what made the tempers fall.

"No, you dolt. Nandhini. She lives in his palace, now." I said. Reading those words on my sister's letter was one thing, but uttering them out loud somehow spoke to the reality of it.

She married that man, of all people.

"That's... I'm sorry, my prince." My friend said solemnly, reading my face.

"Why are you apologizing? You're only the messenger."

"The messenger is still—" I could see the spark in his eyes, the slight smile as he half-curled his lips, a quippy response at the ready. But I interrupted him.

"Don't. Not today, friend. Not now. I admire your quick wit and charm, but I wish to be left alone." I said, turning away.

"Of course, my prince." My friend said, and dismissed himself, leaving me to my thoughts in this tent, so far away from home.

She wanted the tigers to return home to protect the family from wolves. Wolves that had been sated all this time, content. So, what changed?

Kundhavai likened herself to the mongoose, ridding the palace and the kingdom of snakes. But sometimes, when there were not any snakes present, she sought to create them, just to have something to challenge.

Did she not know the wolves would not have been stirred without something slithering into their thoughts, licking and whispering promises into their minds? Did she not know that it was her that created the snake that had incentived these wolves?

No. The blame was not solely hers.

I thought back to the hut. The woods. Her chilling silence as I took the head off Veerapandiya.

I had a hand in making that snake as well.

#ponniyin selvan #aditya karikalan #nandhini #fanfic #because i cant wait til november for it to come to streaming and i cant not fulfill my first writing request

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comfortwriting · 4 years ago

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Best friends Brother - G.W

Part 1 of my slow burn mini-series, inspired by and dedicated to @amourtentiaa , want to be tagged? Let me know!

Masterlist, Requesting Rules, Writing Prompts

Part 2

George Weasley x Fem Reader

About: The Reader is falling for her best mates older brother, she confines in Ron who is already afraid of losing his best friend to the brothers he’s so pressured to be like.

Warnings: swearing, fluff, mention of food and eating, but of angst, George punching a creep.

Walking away from Hagrid’s hut towards the castle, thoughts about the more quiet Weasley twin filled your hazy head - you were planning on shooting your shot, but first you needed some advice and the only person who could do that right now is your best friend Ron - currently chewing your ear off about Hermione and the house elves.

“She doesn’t know when to stop does she? All the S.P.E.W nonsense, if she brings it up one more time-”

“Hey, do you think George likes anyone?” you asked as cool as possible, trying to contain your nervousness and excitement.

Although you and George had only spoken few words to one another, he was all you could think about, all you ever thought about, day in day out. You would share sweet glances and looks across the common room in the evening, the beautiful amber glare coming from the flames projecting onto George’s face, making him look like an angel.

As much as you liked him, you were terrified that he wouldn’t feel the same, that he only saw you as his little brothers best friend - you hated it.

Ron slowed down from his brisk walk and he continued to stare at the ground “George? As in.. my brother?”

“yeah” you smiled shyly, swallowing hard.

Ron could feel his heart flutter, the idea of another person - his best friend - favouring one of his legendary twin brothers over him made him sick to his stomach, he couldn’t lose anyone else, he wouldn’t let it.

He pondered his thoughts, perhaps you were asking for someone else, someone Ron didn’t care about - the desperation in his stomach kept churning to find out.

“I don’t know” he replied in a huff “we don’t really talk much, why you asking anyway?”

You went quiet, suddenly finding interest in the scenery as the two of you edged closer to the castle.

“uh, no reason” you lied, running your hand through your hair.

For all of Ron’s flaws, he could tell when his best friend was lying - he never failed calling you out for it in the past, you learnt not to play any card games with him - especially when galleons were on the table.

The two of you entered the loud castle, pushing past students in the hall, making your way to the Gryffindor common room.

“you like him, don’t you?” Ron muttered under his breath, making sure everyone else around you couldn’t hear.

You sighed and made eye contact with Ron, his facial expression even more sour than when he puked up slugs in first year.

You walked up the stairs and held on to the rail, looking around for the Fat Lady “I suppose I do, I was thinking of asking him to-”

Ron could feel the sweat form in his palms and under his arms, images of you and George being together all the time instead of him flashed before him.

“I don’t know, Y/N, you’re two years younger than him, you haven’t spoken more than ten words to each other.”

Your heart pained for a moment, your spirits crushing like the ingredients in one of Snape’s potions.

“I just don’t think he’ll like you that much, I don’t want you to get hurt.” he finished, the two of you finally reaching the portrait.

“I guess so” you mumbled “you know him better than I do.”

Over the next few days you couldn’t stomach being around George, each time you looked into his gorgeous eyes and seeing him smile, caused your heart pain, a lump forming in your throat, and hot tears filling your eyes.

At first George didn’t notice but when he would wave and smile - only to be ignored, he couldn’t help but overthink; wondering if he had done something wrong.

It wasn’t just George who you ignored, you kept away from your best friend Ron too - Ron felt like shit but you were away from George and that gave him enough of a clear conscience to sleep at night.

You couldn’t sleep, you missed your best friend even when he hurt your feelings, you also felt hopeless, the only person you ever showed an interest in wouldn’t even give you a chance.

“What’s been up with Y/N lately? George asked his younger brother, buttering his toast, causing Ron to almost choke on his.

“What you on about?”

George rolled his eyes and swallowed his food, “unbelievable you are, she’s been avoiding you like the plague and she won’t even look at me.”

“So, did you make up your mind yet?”

You swore silently under your breath, recognising the voice who called out to you - an attractive and charming Hufflepuff student in George’s year with short black hair kept asking you over and over to go on a date with him in Hogsmeade, each time you said no had failed to satisfy his desire.

“Uh” you were trying to figure out the best way to tell him to fuck off, but then again, what did you have to lose? “yeah, I’ll be there” you faked a smile.

Ron watched in the distance and felt relieved, from his perspective, the possibility of you and George seemed incredibly slim to none. He walked over towards you as soon as the lad split, a smile creeping up on his face.

“Y/N, alright?” he smiled, his hands in his pockets.

You stared at him, yes you were hurt, but you missed him - he could do much worse to cause a much bigger fall out between the two of you.

“I suppose” you sighed “walk with me to Transfiguration class?”

Ron smiled “can do”

“and took your bloody shirt in!” you scolded him, bumping into him playfully.

As much as you enjoyed visiting Hogsmeade, you couldn’t help but want to go back home and climb back into your warm bed, hiding away from the world - but your habit of trying to see the best in people lead you here - waiting outside Honey Dukes for your date to arrive.

“Look at you!” he called out, walking over and kissing your hand “ready for the best day of your life?” he grinned.

Best day of my life? with you? I should’ve stayed in bed.

“Sure” you replied, plastering a fake smile on your face.

The best day of your life wasn’t too bad, you had someone new to talk to, to try and get your mind off things - but your heart couldn’t help but yearn for George. You looked around the shops thinking of the products he liked, disliked, and what he bought for Ron at Christmas.

Your date had more to blab about himself than get to know you, he held your hand and bought you a much needed Butterbeer - but he talked so much that he didn’t even get round to drinking his own. The more he had to say, the more he tried to impress you, the more you disliked him, making you fall for George even more.

Finally breaking out from the busy and overwhelming pub and out into the cold, your date stood in front of you with a strange expression on his face.

“So?” he shrugged

“so, what?” you stared at him, your patience wearing thin.

The shared laughter between George and Ron came to a halt when George spotted you with his classmate, he knitted his brows together.

“Why’s Y/N around that plonker?” he asked his younger brother.

Ron looked at you then back to George “she’s on a date”

George shook his head “he’s an absolute creep”

The two of them stared, the student took a hold of your hand and tried to pull you in for a kiss, you pulled away and glared at him, trying to not make a scene.

“Fucking pervert!” George hissed, storming over towards the two of you “Hey!”

George clenched his jaw, his nostrils flared and his glaring gaze settled on on the lad, he bunched his right hand into a fist and swung, everything went in slow motion as George punched him in the face.

You were speechless, you didn’t know what to say, all you could do was stare and watch the fight unfold.

“Stay away from her or my foot will rip you a new one!” George threatened him, he turned to you, his facial expression instantly turning soft.

“th-thank you”

“you don’t need to thank me love, are you alright?” George searching your eyes with his, full of care and concern.

Your heart fluttered, his voice, him speaking to you sounded like the most fascinating birds chirping, and his caring face caused fireworks in your stomach to erupt into the sky.

You wanted to take your chance, ask him out and start over but before you could do any of that, let alone reply, Ron hurried over and interrupted; putting you back in your place and making you remember how his brother felt about you.

“Proper shiner he’ll have in the morning” Ron laughed “sort your knuckles out George, if anyone sees they’ll send a letter home.”

The fluttering in your heart died down, the chirping of the birds instantly turning into the most dreadful squawks, and the fireworks in your stomach burning out, starving the embers before they could relight.

“Thanks again” you murmured quietly, flashing George one last smile before walking away, wanting to retreat to your bed and hide away.

George had to admit, he felt quite hurt that you went back to ignoring him after he had your back the other week - he knew that you didn’t owe him anything, not even an explanation - but he couldn’t understand why even after making up with Ron, you still refused to look at him.

Sitting on the sofa in the common room in your pyjamas, you flicked through your Quidditch magazine and blinked over and over whilst you looked across the page, sleep trying to pull you in.

“Georgie, I’ve already said-”

“Shhh!”

Jolting awake, you looked behind you and stared at the twins, long roles of parchment in one hand and a map in the other, you yawned and rubbed your eyes, closing your magazine.

“It’s okay boys, I’m going to bed anyway.” you yawned again, slowly getting off the sofa.

Fred and George shared a look, the older twin nodding his head towards you “go on then, mate, I’ll be upstairs.”

Fred walked past you, he whispered a “goodnight!” and went off to his dorm, leaving you alone with the person you wanted more than anyone in the world.

George pursed his lips, standing around awkwardly before approaching you “Y/N, can we talk?” he asked softly.

You nodded slowly, the nerves piping up in your tummy.

“What’s up?”

“You’ve been ignoring me, love” he said softly “have I done something wrong?”

This was your moment, not to ask him out - but to tell him the truth.

You pushed your stray hairs out of your face and sighed, the lad of your dreams standing beside you, looking down on you.

“I have feelings for you George” you admitted, your mouth going dry “and that’s why I have to stay away from you, because I know you’re never going to feel the same.”

George went quiet, the embers from the fire spreading and making it set alight, the amber tones coming from the flames resting on his face. He smiled for a moment and licked his lips, looking into your eyes.

“Tomorrow night” he whispered softly in your ear “where we first met”

Tag list: @reeophidian @inglourious-imagines @alwaysnforeverfangirl

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robininthelabyrinth · 4 years ago

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A prompt for you (though honestly I'll read anything you write because it is always excellent): Wen Ning never dies, but somehow still ends up becoming Wei Wuxian's most feared subordinate...

ao3

Untamed

“Sect Leader Nie,” Jiang Cheng said, hurrying after the other man, who stopped and turned with a welcoming expression on his face even though Jiang Cheng knew he was in a hurry after everything they’d just planned. After Nie Mingjue had volunteered to go into the Nightless City himself, a reckless charge to try to kill Wen Ruohan, while the rest of them attacked directly - a final strike, if they could only manage it. “I just…”

He trailed off, unable to complete the sentence.

He didn’t even know what he was doing here.

Nie Mingjue didn’t call him out on it, though, only stepped forward and put a hand on his shoulder. “I appreciate your support,” he said, voice a little gentler than usual. Like he was trying to comfort Jiang Cheng or something.

Like he wasn’t the one volunteering to go die.

(Just like Jiang Cheng’s mother, and father, and - )

Oh. That’s why he came here.

“I’ll be there,” Jiang Cheng said suddenly, and Nie Mingjue blinked. “At – at the Nightless City. After you kill him, after we take the city…I’ll come find you, to make sure you’re all right.”

That was stupid, he thought to himself as soon as he said it. Nie Mingjue had an entire sect, and friends, and all that – he didn’t need Jiang Cheng hounding him with his insecurities, his worries, his fear that Nie Mingjue would die, too, die and leave him behind just like all the others. Why should he be the exception?

But Nie Mingjue smiled. “I look forward to seeing you then.”

Jiang Cheng swallowed and nodded. “It’s a deal, then,” he said, and watched as Nie Mingjue strode away.

He promised himself that he’d do as he said he would.

Even if all he found was Nie Mingjue’s corpse.

It ended up not being Nie Mingjue who killed Wen Ruohan, but rather a combination of Wei Wuxian’s new cultivation style and Meng Yao, who’d apparently been working as a double agent or – something.

Jiang Cheng wasn’t really clear on the details.

He rushed over to Wei Wuxian’s side at once, checking him over as best as he could, yelling at him over…he wasn’t even sure what, it wasn’t really important. Recklessness, probably. Wei Wuxian seemed to understand what he meant, though, grinning at him with bloodless lips.

“You worry too much,” he said cheerfully. “I’ll be fine. I just need to sleep for – a week. Maybe more. Let’s go back to camp, and I’ll do just that.”

Jiang Cheng was about to agree when he remembered his promise.

(Nie Mingjue hadn’t been there at the final fight, although Wen Ruohan hadn’t been at his full power, either. Had he sacrificed himself to wear down their enemy?)

“What is it?” Wei Wuxian asked, noticing.

“Chifeng-zun,” Jiang Cheng said. “I didn’t – see him.”

Wei Wuxian frowned. “You think…? Oh, poor Nie Huaisang..!”

Jiang Cheng wondered for a moment why Wei Wuxian’s first thought was of Nie Huaisang, then remembered that Wei Wuxian hadn’t been there for all those months of working as Nie Mingjue’s lieutenants, him and Lan Wangji and even Jin Zixuan. He wouldn’t have that personal connection with the man, beyond the brief meeting they’d had with him before the indoctrination camp - he wouldn’t have experience with his reliable competence and his talented leadership, his compassion or the gruff praise that he gave sparingly but sincerely and which made Jiang Cheng feel for once in his life like he was every bit as good as Wei Wuxian.

“I want to…” He was going to sound dumb. No, he was a sect leader, as Nie Mingjue often (gently) reminded him; he had to decide for himself what he was going to do, and have faith that his decisions were the right ones - and act accordingly. “We’re not leaving yet. We’re going to go further in, see if we can find him. Do you think you can hold up a little longer?”

“Yes,” Wei Wuxian said, straightening up. “I’ll be fine for a while yet. Let’s go.”

“You’ll tell me if you –”

“Yes, Jiang Cheng. Stop nagging. Now are we going or not?”

Unexpectedly, Nie Mingjue was alive.

Alive, and also extremely pissed off.

“I’ll take him back,” Jiang Cheng said to Lan Xichen, who looked relieved: he was protecting Meng Yao from Nie Mingjue for some reason. “Better to go separately.”

“Thank you, Sect Leader Jiang,” Lan Xichen said.

Jiang Cheng saluted and went over to Nie Mingjue, who was leaning on Wei Wuxian – a case of the injured helping the injured, in Jiang Cheng’s opinion, and he glared at his disciples until they ran over to assist them both.

Wei Wuxian was frowning, he noted. “What is it?” he asked, and Wei Wuxian shook his head, refusing to talk and inclining his head meaningfully down towards Nie Mingjue, who looked more tired than anything else. Exhausted, injured, even half-dead…“We should go.”

“No,” Nie Mingjue croaked. “There are probably – prisoners.”

“It can wait until we’re back at camp, surely?” Jiang Cheng asked. “We lost a lot of people in that battle. We could get reinforcements, then come back and do a full sweep when we’re less exhausted.”

“They might be injured, though,” Wei Wuxian put in, though he looked tired, too. “It’d be a pity for any person to die in Wen Ruohan’s custody right after we finally defeated him.”

It was a good point, Jiang Cheng thought, and although he was pretty exhausted himself, he forced himself to nod. “Okay,” he said. “I’ll go sweep the place, look for prisoners. But you two are going straight back to camp, okay? No exceptions, no heroism, nothing! If I get back and I hear that you two took a left turn and fell face-first off a cliff into a pile of magma because you thought there was a baby bird that needed rescuing, I will personally resurrect and stab you both!”

Both Nie Mingjue and Wei Wuxian were grinning at him in a suspiciously indulgent (and almost identical) sort of way, Jiang Cheng noticed, but they also agreed solemnly to make no detours, not even if it was the most heartrending of baby birds, and Jiang Cheng supposed he had to be happy with that.

They staggered off together as he turned to go further in, and as he did, he thought he heard Wei Wuxian say, “Tell me more about what Meng Yao said to you –”

“Sect Leader Jiang!” one of Jiang Cheng’s subordinates said, rushing over and saluting. “I found another cell!”

Jiang Cheng ran his hand over his eyes, wanting nothing more but to sleep. “Show me where,” he ordered instead.

He’d already dispatched one of his disciples to act as a runner to Lan Xichen, asking for him to send more disciples from his Lan sect and the Nie sect (which he’d been helping coordinate in Nie Mingjue’s absence) to help get all the prisoners out – there were so many of them, and many of them were, as predicted, in poor health. He would’ve preferred to ask someone else, since the Lan and Nie sects had suffered as many injuries as his Jiang sect, but the small sects were focused on themselves right now and the Jin sect…well, they’d done so little in the war up till now that he’d almost forgotten that they were an option until one of his subordinates had suggested them, and then he’d dismissed the suggestion, too.

If the Jin sect were here, he thought ungraciously, they were probably busy trying to find the treasury.

At least the Lan and Nie sects had managed to confiscate the Yin metal first.

At some point, they’d have to find a way to destroy it…

Distracted by thoughts of politics, Jiang Cheng followed his subordinate down a twisting hallway to yet another set of cells, dark and dank but not quite as close to the place where the Yin metal had been used to refine ghost puppets, and there were men and women chained to the wall here. Unrecognizable, most of them, beaten and starved. They were probably the scions of small cultivation clans…

“Wen Ning?” he blurted out, surprised to recognize the kind-looking face of one of them. To barely recognize: Wen Ning had circles under his eyes, bruises on his face, and his usually round cheeks were thin. “What are you doing here?”

“He’s been here for weeks and weeks,” one of the other prisoners said at once. “He’s not – one of those Wens.”

Wen Ning could still blush, Jiang Cheng noticed, and as much as he would have said he hated all those surnamed Wen – well, that wasn’t quite true, was it? Wen Ning had been there with Wen Qing, when they’d helped them. Jiang Cheng had rescued and released her, giving her that comb as a keepsake…it would be manifestly unjust to make the exception for one and not the other.

His disciples were looking at him.

“What are you waiting for?” Jiang Cheng snapped at them. “He’s a prisoner, he’s hurt. Treat him as you would any of the other prisoners we’ve rescued.”

That would be his story, he thought, if anyone later came knocking at his door to ask what he was thinking, letting a Wen go free.

Maybe it was his fault, Jiang Cheng reflected. He shouldn’t have thought ‘go free’.

Go free implied that Wen Ning would go somewhere else, rather than following him and Wei Wuxian around like an imprinted puppy. It only got worse when Wei Wuxian spontaneously declared that he would help him find Wen Qing to make sure she was safe – without asking Jiang Cheng first, which was unhelpful.

“We can’t be seen as being partial to the Wen sect,” he groaned, head in hands. “Not even the distant branches, but much less someone adopted by Sect Leader Wen himself…no offense meant, Wen Ning.”

“None taken,” Wen Ning said.

“But they helped us,” Wei Wuxian argued, clearly choosing to take the offense on Wen Ning’s part. “It would be unjust for us to turn on them now, when we have the power and they don’t, when they took risks on our behalf in the past.”

Jiang Cheng squinted at him. “Is this related to your weird thing about Lianfeng-zun?” he asked. Wei Wuxian had taken a firm stance against the man recently, and had spoken of it incessantly.

“No! Or, I mean – I would’ve done it anyway, okay? Listen, I really don’t like that guy.”

“No,” Jiang Cheng gasped dramatically. “You, Wei Wuxian, don’t like Lianfeng-zun? Wen Ning, did you hear that? Can you believe it?”

Wen Ning was hiding his face behind his sleeve – a Jiang sect outfit, one of Jiang Cheng’s own spares, since that was what they had, but the dark purple suited him rather well. Better than the red ever had.

His shoulders were shaking with laughter.

“Traitor,” Wei Wuxian told him.

“Sorry, Wei-gongzi!” Wen Ning giggled.

(Jiang Cheng did not think that Wen Ning was cute when he laughed, nor did he wish to see it happen again, to be the cause of it again. He was the leader of a sect, with an obligation to have heirs to carry on his parents’ legacy – he could think Wen Qing was pretty, even if she wasn’t exactly an advantageous match, but he was not allowed to think the same about Wen Ning.)

Wei Wuxian sighed and flopped down. “His conduct is questionable,” he grumbled. “Lan Zhan agrees with me…Anyway, why are we talking about Lianfeng-zun again? I thought we were talking about finding Wen Qing, and the rest of Wen Ning’s family?”

Jiang Cheng groaned again. “I can try to raise it at the meeting in Lanling,” he said, even though they’d all agreed that it made the most sense for the Jin sect to be the ones to resettle any prisoners of war, mostly on account of them having the money, the manpower, and the time, being the only sect that didn’t have significant work to do rebuilding after Wen sect aggression. “Provided you behave. Okay?”

Wei Wuxian, predictably, did not behave.

“Sect Leader Jiang?” Nie Mingjue unexpectedly said from the doorway to the room Jiang Cheng was staying in, and Jiang Cheng spun to stare at him in horror that someone was seeing him in this state. The other sect leader stepped inside, ignoring the mess of things on the floor from Jiang Cheng’s temper tantrum, and closed the door behind him. “Are you all right?”

Jiang Cheng opened his mouth to say something – something confident and self-assured, something that would help brush away Wei Wuxian’s atrocious behavior and his own as nothing to worry about, something befitting the sect leader of the Jiang sect – but the words stuck in his throat and, instead, to his absolute disgust, he burst into tears.

He expected Nie Mingjue to make a hasty exit at that point, appalled by the rampant display of emotionality, and that he’d have to apologize later for disgracing himself in such a fashion. That had been the way it had always gone with his parents, his father who hated sadness and his mother who hated weakness, and so he wasn’t expecting it at all when Nie Mingjue stepped forward and pulled him into his arms. Into a hug.

It was terrible: there was absolutely no way Jiang Cheng would be able to get ahold of himself now that he was feeling warm and protected and like someone gave one single damn about him.

Nie Mingjue didn’t let go of him, not even when he tearfully apologized for making a display – “It’s not wrong to have feelings, Jiang Wanyin, and it’s not harming me to be here while you let them out.” – or even when, in broken unfinished unpolitical sentences, Jiang Cheng started stuttering his way through…he wasn’t even sure what he was saying.

Possibly a rendition of all the bitterness and resentment he’d ever had in his life.

When it was done, after he’d wept all the tears he’d hidden inside of him, Nie Mingjue said only: “Feeling better?”

Jiang Cheng swiped at his eyes with his sleeve. “…yes,” he said, realizing that he did. “I’m sorry –”

“Do not apologize for having emotions like any other human being. Or for being a burden on me, which you are not.”

Jiang Cheng wished it didn’t feel so good when Nie Mingjue – stiff, stern, harsh Nie Mingjue, who rarely said kind words and never said anything just for the sake of saying it – said things like that. It would make it far easier to keep his dignity intact.

“Why did you come here?” he asked, instead. “It wasn’t to hear me talk about Wei Wuxian.”

At least, not the lifelong story of how Jiang Cheng had always been second to him even before he’d shown up – how his birthday was only a few days later, his skill a little bit less, his temperament inferior, his life inferior; how Jiang Cheng could ignore all of that if only Wei Wuxian were his brother the way he was his, the way he’d promised to be, and yet more and more nowadays it felt as if it were slipping out of reach.

“It was,” Nie Mingjue said. “He’s been coming around rather a lot to discuss Lianfeng-zun. It was his vehemence on the issue that reassured me that I wasn’t overreacting to the unnecessary death of my sect cultivators at Lianfeng-zun’s hands –”

The what?

Maybe Jiang Cheng should have listed a bit more when Wei Wuxian started ranting about how untrustworthy he thought Lianfeng-zun was.

“– and you have always had the strongest confidence in his sense of righteousness, even after he switched over to using demonic cultivation. Based on that, I thought there might be some reason behind his actions.”

Wei Wuxian’s actions: kidnapping an entire cohort of Wen sect cultivators from a Jin sect resettlement camp, assaulting several guards, running away, bringing shame on the Jiang sect by association…

“If I knew anything, I would tell you,” Jiang Cheng said bitterly. “But that would require Wei Wuxian telling me. Anything. At all.”

Nie Mingjue nodded thoughtfully. “Do you think he acted maliciously?”

“What? No,” Jiang Cheng said at once. “Of course not.”

“Do you think his thinking was affected by his demonic cultivation?”

“I almost wish it was, but no. He’s always been – like this. Reckless and over-confident, never thinking of consequences.”

“So you still have faith in him?”

“Of course!”

“That’s good enough for me,” Nie Mingjue said, as if Jiang Cheng hadn’t spent half a shichen crying on his shoulder about how all of his problems and how he couldn’t do anything right. “Let’s go ask him.”

“What, now?”

“Are you doing anything else?”

Fair was fair, but politics were politics: “If you’d gone about it the right way, perhaps the Jin sect wouldn’t have a claim,” Nie Mingjue said, pacing around the Burial Mounds with a scowl. “But as it stands now, it’s your word against theirs – and yours will be considered impaired on account of your demonic cultivation.”

“What about the testimony of the victims?” Wei Wuxian demanded.

“Wen sect,” Jiang Cheng put in, and shrugged when Wei Wuxian glared at him. “It’s true! Like it or not, their surname is Wen, and for Wen Qing and Wen Ning in particular, they were Sect Leader Wen’s wards.”

“It was not our choice,” Wen Qing said. Her voice was cold, and she’d tried to return the comb to him, earlier, though he’d refused – why he refused he didn’t know, since her decision to approach Wei Wuxian to seek help in rescuing the rest of her family rather than him had cut off any hope of anything between them. Even if she eventually understood his perspective, or even apologized for judging him unfit or unwilling to help her, he didn’t think he could live the rest of his life with a woman who had picked Wei Wuxian first.

“That isn’t what’s important, though,” Wen Ning said unexpectedly, and they all looked at him. He ducked his head, picking at his sleeve. “It isn’t. Sect Leader Jiang’s right: our surname is Wen. It’s reasonable for people to assume that we’re loyal to the Wen sect, and to treat us accordingly.”

“We never fought against anyone! We’ve never –”

“It doesn’t matter what we did, jiejie,” Wen Ning said. “Whether or not we fought for our sect, we would’ve benefited if they won, right? You rise when your clan rises, and fall when it falls. Why should we be an exception?”

“Well said,” Nie Mingjue said, and Wen Ning abruptly turned bright red – Jiang Cheng shot him a sympathetic look; he entirely understood the issue there. “Your testimony will be deemed self-interested, and even asking for it will only undercut Wei Wuxian’s position. Not to mention the Jiang sect’s.”

Jiang Cheng nodded, but Wei Wuxian crossed his arms. “Then just kick me out of the Jiang sect,” he said.

“What?” Jiang Cheng exclaimed, and even Nie Mingjue looked startled. “Absolutely not!”

“Why not? Isn’t the whole point that the Jiang sect is being dragged down by me and my new cultivation? Kick me out, and the problem’s solved.”

“I could cut off your head, and that of everyone else here,” Nie Mingjue said. “That would also solve the problem, but for some reason I’m not suggesting it. Can anyone tell me why?”

“…because it’s a bad idea?” Wen Ning volunteered.

“Because it’s a stupid idea,” Nie Mingjue agreed.

“It is a stupid idea,” Jiang Cheng growled. “Even putting aside that I don’t want to cast you out, do you really think people will stop blaming the Jiang sect for your actions just because you’re formally not aligned with us?”

“There isn’t another option,” Wei Wuxian said. “I’m not giving up the Wen sect, I’m not changing my cultivation style, I’m not giving up the Tiger Seal – and I’m not dragging the Jiang sect down with me, not if I can help it.”

“Are they really calling me ‘Ghost General’?” Wen Ning asked on one of his visits to the Lotus Pier to pick up supplies for the Yiling Burial Mounds.

Since Wei Wuxian had been so set on splitting from the Jiang sect, they’d eventually reached a compromise, of sorts. Wei Wuxian’s actions in rescuing the Wen sect remnants was – not endorsed, per se, as it was clearly wrongful, but Nie Mingjue announced that he had examined the Wen in question and found evidence suggestive of malnutrition and abuse, which indicated at minimum some negligence on the part of the Jin sect in not supervising the guards better. Accordingly, the Wen sect would be removed from the Jin sect’s custody and permitted to set up camp in Yiling under Wei Wuxian, but as punishment for his reckless and unsanctioned behavior, Wei Wuxian was to be expelled from the Jiang sect.

Since the expulsion was mandated by external forces, rather than being a result of his own decision, Jiang Cheng was able to give Wei Wuxian a sizeable settlement as a gift for his separation – the cultivation world gossiped about it, but most people seemed to think he was just trying to get his own back at Nie Mingjue for supposedly forcing the decision to expel Wei Wuxian down his throat – and to set up something of a trade agreement to send them more, although exactly what the Jiang sect was getting out of their side of the ‘trade’ was still up in the air.

Despite these outward signs of remaining support, several small sects had made attempts on the Burial Mounds, growing more reckless once they realized that Jiang Cheng really hadn’t left any forces behind to protect it – stupid of them, of course, since the reason he hadn’t left anyone behind was because he didn’t need to.

Wei Wuxian could handle himself perfectly well.

As could Wen Ning, apparently – he was a truly excellent archer, it turned out, and capable of waiting in all sorts of strange places with perfect patience, even if sometimes he had strange ideas about painting his face with mud to better blend in. It’d been one of those incidents that had given rise to the rumor that he was actually dead, having been resurrected by Wei Wuxian…

“Yes,” Jiang Cheng said. “Sorry about that. I tried to tell them to stop, but…”

“It made it worse?”

“It made it so much worse,” Jiang Cheng sighed. “Anyway, would you like to drink?”

“…do you mean tea?”

“No.”

“Yes please,” Wen Ning said. “I have been – so stressed. You wouldn’t…actually, you probably would believe it.”

“I grew up with Wei Wuxian,” Jiang Cheng said grimly. “I believe anything.”

“It would be good to bring a representative of Yiling Wei sect to the conference, even if it can’t be Wei Wuxian himself,” Nie Mingjue remarked, looking down at the plans Jiang Cheng had laid out for the first discussion conference to be held in the Lotus Pier since the war. “You’re on good terms with Wen Qionglin, aren’t you? Ask him –”

“No!” Jiang Cheng exclaimed, then realized he was being suspicious and cleared his throat. “Maybe someone else should invite them.”

Nie Mingjue looked at him over the table. “…has something happened?” he asked.

Jiang Cheng stared down at the plans and hoped he wasn’t blushing. “Nothing important,” he said, and his voice cracked on the last sound – embarrassing.

Still not as embarrassing as that time he cried into Nie Mingjue’s arms, no, but still…embarrassing.

“Oh,” Nie Mingjue said. “You slept with him.”

“How can you tell?” Jiang Cheng hissed, mortified beyond all belief. “Is it – written on my face –”

“According to Huaisang, it’s always a safe guess,” Nie Mingjue said, and shrugged when Jiang Cheng gaped at him. “Either they admit that that’s the case, as you just did, or they get all up in arms and explain what it really was while denying it.”

“That’s –” Really useful and Jiang Cheng will have to put it into effect immediately. “– terrible.”

“Works, though. Why the embarrassment? I didn’t think the Jiang sect cared about cut sleeves.”

“We don’t,” Jiang Cheng said, sitting down and putting his head in his hands. “But I’m sect leader –”

“You had sex, it’s not like you got married.”

“I used to have a thing for his sister.”

“Awkward, I suppose, but it never went anywhere, did it? One can hardly hold your past inclinations against you –”

“We were both thinking about you,” Jiang Cheng blurted out, and then promptly wanted to die. He could have just not said that. He could have said anything else but that. He could stab himself right now and maybe Nie Mingjue would be so distracted by the bleeding and screaming that he would just forget what Jiang Cheng had just said…

“You could always just ask,” Nie Mingjue said.

Jiang Cheng looked up through his fingers. “…are you serious?”

Nie Mingjue looked at him with arched eyebrows. “Are you asking me if I’d be flattered by being propositioned by two extremely beautiful and deadly cultivators?”

“I wouldn’t rank those two as equally desirable traits in a lover,” Jiang Cheng said, and it was almost not a lie, “but…yes?”

He thought for a moment.

“If I did invite Wen Ning to the Discussion Conference…”

“Well,” Wen Ning said. “This wasn’t how I was expecting to end up.”

“Me, either,” Jiang Cheng said. He was staring up at the ceiling and thinking about not moving again for – possibly ever.

“Same for me,” Nie Mingjue, on his other side, agreed. “But I have no objections to how it worked out. There aren’t two other cultivators I’d rather be with.”

“There’d better not be,” Jiang Cheng said on automatic, then considered bashing his head in – luckily both Wen Ning and Nie Mingjue reached over and put their hands under his head so he couldn’t, which made him feel warm and happy in a way subtly different from the way the sex had. “I mean, who else would it be? Zewu-jun and Lianfeng-zun?”

“Wei-gongzi still thinks Lianfeng-zun is trying to kill you, you know,” Wen Ning said to Nie Mingjue, who looked long-suffering. “He’s got this idea –”

“He can’t be trying to kill me,” Nie Mingjue argued. “He’s just offered to help Xichen play calming music for me –”

“Wei-gongzi said that maybe he’s trying to kill you through the music –”

“I’m going to sleep,” Jiang Cheng announced. “When I wake up, we can discuss the political implications of letting there be rumors about us sleeping together, which will make it both convenient for us to do this again and also maybe using the potential threat of a Yiling Wei-Yunmeng Jiang-Qinghe Nie alliance to force the Jin sect to take action so we can figure out once and for all if Lianfeng-zun is actually planning to do something. But for the moment, I am going to sleep.”

“…seems fair,” Nie Mingjue agreed. “Communication and straightforwardness is important in relationships like these.”

“Uh,” Wen Ning said, glancing at Jiang Cheng. “About that…if, theoretically, I were to know something about someone…”

#mdzs #jiang cheng #nie mingjue #wen ning #my fic #my fics #exception #lurkingcrow

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yourlocalmaraudersbabe · 3 years ago

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Helloooo! How are you? I really like your fics! <3 Can i request some headcanons for young!Sirius? Or maybe kid!Sirius? How do you think he was like? What if he and Y/n were best friends? Would he go to her for comfort when his parents are nasty with him? Sorry for my horrible English🤡 still struggling with it.. (maybe that's why i read so many fics😂) Best wishes!

“I'm starting to think that we deserve each other”

Summary: Headcanons of Sirius and eventually confessing feelings

Pairing: Sirius x Muggleborn!reader (it’s literally mentioned like one time)

Warnings: swearing, angst, parent/family issues (?)

A/N: Ahh hi anon! Thanks so much for sending this in, I really enjoyed writing this and I hope you enjoy reading it :)))) Ahhh but this was also a little different style of writing than I usually do so let me know how you guys feel about it! I’m also just like, obviously in love with Sirius Black so um, they get into a little bit at the end and confess some things :=) Ooo, as always, send me an ask if you’d like to be added to my taglist! I also should let you know that I wrote this very late at night so the logistics and grammar might be shit

Word Count: 2054

Masterlist + Characters and ships I write for

Requests are always open <3

I have more time since it’s now summer so please send them in!! :)

Reminder that I do not support jkr. Do not interact if you do.

It was well known throughout your first years at Hogwarts that you and Sirius did not get along. He honestly annoyed the shit out of you everyday. He came from a rich pureblood family and you were a muggleborn, so anyone could see how the two of you clashed there.

All of the professors were completely done with you and Sirius’s antics. It started off with Sirius somehow managing to turn your hair green during the first flying lesson that the Gryffindors had. “Hey y/n, your hair is amazing! Didn’t think you could pull off the green!” a peer had spoken to you just before mounting your broom.

Sirius broke out into a nearly uncontrollable laughter and got a detention for it. But of course, none of that stopped you from getting back at him. Even just the simplest of pranks had gotten the job done.

There was one prank at the start of second year that earned you and Sirius a month’s worth of detention with Slughorn. He basically had the two of you as his personal assistants. It was honestly torture. But there were moments when he would step away from his classroom to talk to another professor, or slip away into his office to plan the next day’s lesson, and it would leave you and Sirius alone.

The two of you gave in and finally had a conversation with each other. It wasn’t much and it was very awkward, but seeing as this was your first day out of a month’s long sentence of detention, someone to talk with didn’t sound too bad.

And that was what blossomed a very chaotic friendship between the two of you. Having to suffer together was what drew the connection. You two eventually planned your own little pranks against other people.

Despite everything in your younger years of being at Hogwarts, Sirius was your closest friend. You could maybe go as far as to call him your best friend, but you’d never say that to his face, it’d add to his already huge ego.

You ate nearly every meal with him. You’d practically drag him into the library to study. He mentioned something about doing well in school for his parents, so that’s what you’d help him with.

Though the two of you quickly learned that it’s very hard to focus in each other’s presence.

You taught him how to braid hair. He practiced using yours. “Would you stay still, y/n?”

“I’m trying! You’re the one yanking me back and forth, Sirius.”

From that point after, you’d sit in between his legs on the floor as he sat on the couch.

He got you sucked into quidditch and nearly got you to try out for the team. “I think it’d be fun having you on the team!”

“I think that’s your way of saying you want to spend more time with me.”

“Of course,” SIrius shook his head no.

One day he saw someone in the hall walk by with eyeliner and he demanded that the two of you try putting it on yourselves.

This ultimately got you in trouble for staying up way too late, laughing at how silly you both looked in the prefect bathrooms. Lily would allow you in saying “This is going to get my badge taken from me, I swear.”

You two eventually got back to studying after Sirius received some notes from his parents.

You caught on quickly that he didn’t have the best relationship regarding his family.

It was actually a little difficult being friends with Sirius at first. It was very hard for him to just be vulnerable and talk, but by fourth year, you understood where he came from and didn’t push for anything. You listened to him the very few times when he would make small little notes of his family, or talked about his brother while passing him in the hall.

Your conversations were more so filled with random things that only really made sense to the two of you. Any outsider would’ve thought you two were completely crazy.

By fifth year, you were looking at Sirius in a whole different light and you hated it. You wanted to be way more than friends and didn’t know what to do with yourself. You started to avoid him. This was the worst and best decision ever. It’s still debatable.

While the rest of your friends were taking a little day to Hogsmeade, and while you were still on a streak of pretty much avoiding Sirius, you slipped off from the courtyard, taking a less used corridor towards the library.

Here, you found Sirius with his shoulders shaking, head in his hands, and your heart shattered. If you were feeling this, you couldn’t even begin to imagine what he must feel like. He didn’t pay any mind to his surroundings until you slid down the wall next to him, placing your hand on his shoulder.

He didn’t even have to look to know that it was you. He leaned into your shoulder while you brought your arm around him, quiet sobs escaping from his body.

He always kept parts of him, especially these emotions so closed off, that it honestly was a little surprising to see him like this. “Sere, tell me what’s wrong,” you whispered.

“I- um, it’s nothing. I just got a letter from home and it’s-” he broke down again.

At this point you let your legs stretch in front of you. He was still under your arms until he just let himself go. He let himself feel. And relax. And he understood that it’s okay to cry. And be vulnerable. And that you were safe to talk to about anything. He hugged you full on. He clung on tight as he cried. And man, you were fucked. This wasn’t helping any sort of feelings you were trying to suppress by being here in his presence. It honestly nearly broke you. You wanted to cry for him. Scream for him. Go off on his parents for him. You wanted to protect him from all that could ever hurt him this way.

He talked about everything that has happened up until the letter and stammered off his explanation with one final point. “A-and I’ve missed spending time with you. It’s like you’ve been avoiding me,” he mumbled into the thick air. He was laying down against you with your fingers in his hair. “It’s like I- I’m missing a part of me. Like we’re so close I couldn’t possibly imagine my life without you.”

You stumbled over your words, trying to find out what to say. ‘If only he knew’ you wanted to groan out into the air. “I’m sorry,” was all you could say, tears stinging your eyes while you blinked them back, hugging him tightly.

From that moment, the two of you had bought bracelets at Hogsmeade and spelled them to change a certain color for when the other wanted to talk, or simply just needed to be with the other. They were simple fabric ones, something you both liked and wore everyday.

Most of the time Sirius came to talk to you about his parents. Which was new considering he was a little closed off before.

You were there if he needed to cry. You would hold him if he needed a hug. You would laugh with him when he didn’t want to be the only one. You were there for him for everything.

There was one night that was really bad. His parents basically sent a letter saying not to come home in the future. You were supposed to meet him in the library yet he wasn’t there.

After asking around, you found him in the Gryffindor common room when it was far too late for you to even be out. His face was tear stained and his eyes were an irritated pink. Though he didn’t seek you in the first place, he didn’t hesitate to wrap his arms around you, burying himself in your comfort.

By sixth year it was supposedly “Painfully obvious you two were basically in love with each other” Remus would say every time you gave up a library visit to be with Sirius. Or James would very blatantly leave you both to carry out specific parts of a prank together. Lily would just leave you and Sirius alone together whenever she got the chance, really.

One particular Gryffindor win for Sirius was crashed by some Slytherins who came without any good intentions. It was soon discovered that there was veritaserum in the drinks that, of course, you and your friends had already enjoyed.

All of this prompted you to leave the party. You left with a big group of people, Remus, James, Peter, Lily, Mary, Marlene, all off to the grounds, trying to avoid any trouble. You stayed back with Remus and Sirius while the rest walked ahead, talking about the most random of things, like how Remus wants to ride a unicorn. He eventually sped up with the rest of the group, claiming he was going to ride a unicorn, properly drunk. “Mhm, yeah. You go have fun with that Remus,” Sirius called to him as he stumbled ahead.

You and Sirius couldn’t go as far as to say you were drunk, but definitely tispy. You walked over to a small tree and sat yourself under it, laying back against it. Sirius did the same thing except he leaned his head on your shoulder and you leaned yours on top of his. It was a sweet moment as he mindlessly played with a thread hanging from your robes.

The veritaserum didn’t bother the two of you much, you were honest with each other most of the time anyways. Well, it didn’t bother you much until Regulus and a few of his friends stood over you, making fun of how close you and Sirius were. You kept your mouths shut for as long as you could. “What it’s not like you like each other. Do you, Sirius?” Regulus pushed.

“I actually like y/n a lot. She’s always there for me and—” Sirius slapped his hand over his mouth, eyes wide.

“Hmm, and I don't suppose you feel the same way, y/n?”“

“I have feelings for Sirius,” you blurted out right as Regulus and his friends walked away.

Sirius looked over to you, smiling like an idiot. You leaned your head back against the tree, covering your face with your hands just before he pulled them away. He squeezed them in a comforting manner and asked why you hadn’t said anything before. “Because you’re such a great person, like you deserve the world and I don’t think I’d be enough a-and I hate that people keep asking questions because I’m on this stupid veritaserum that’s making me look like an idiot

He cut you off with a kiss, effectively shutting you up. The kiss was rushed at first before turning into something exploding with passion that you didn’t even know you needed until now.

“Well, you’re a beautiful idiot. Because, as said before,” he mumbled the last part, returning to his normal tone of voice. “I like you too. A-and I guess that you could tell me that I’m an idiot because—”

“Why didn’t you tell me you liked me, Sirius?”

“My entire life is a mess and I have too many problems and you’re always there for me to begin with, I’d take up too much of your time if we actually ended up dating. And you’re perfect and I look like absolute shit all the time. Just as you said you deserve the world but as I’m saying all this, I’m starting to think,” he trailed off searching your eyes for words. “I'm starting to think that we deserve each other,” he finished in a soft voice.

“I think we deserve each other too,” you grabbed his face gently, kissing him.

That night is now the day you and Sirius started dating, one of the most memorable days of your lives.

You never left breakfast in the Great Hall without stealing a kiss.

Or a piece of bacon from his plate.

There’d be some nights where you could sneak away and fall asleep with him peacefully and everything seemed alright.

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navegandoaciegas · 4 years ago

Text

no sweeter innocence than our gentle sin

Pairing: Bucky x Reader

Warnings: catholic priest!Bucky, virgin!Bucky, desecrating thoughts and actions, explicit language, smut, consensual sexual acts, mentions of loss of virginity, slight innocence and religious kinks (nothing disturbing), oral sex, fingering, masturbation, sex in a public (and sacred) place.

Summary: As punishment for your sinful behavior, your parents send you to your aunt’s house in the middle of nowhere, in hope you’ll redeem yourself. The punishment quickly backfires when you take an interest in the local (and handsome) priest, and you manage to corrupt his pure soul.

A/N: I was in a priest!Bucky mood this morning and I wrote this for @saiyanprincessswanie writing challenge. I chose prompt 17 and the ‘opposites attract’ trope. I hope you like this!

Filth and happy ending ‘cause I’m a sap. Take me to church by Hozier inspired this.

This is not a dark story and both reader and Bucky are consenting adults. Fyi, catholic priests can’t marry, and they change their name when they are ordained. We’ll pretend James is the name he took as priest.

You look over your shoulder to check if anyone’s around and knock on the backdoor of the church, waiting for your lover to usher you inside. The sinful secrecy of it all, the rush of excitement, your love for all that’s forbidden: you’ve never felt more alive.

Being forced to spend the summer in the middle of nowhere is not the way you expected your senior year of college to end, but not all evil comes to harm, and in this quiet little town, you’ve become quite interested in the local priest. In your defence, boredom is the root of all evil, and in your case, evil happens to make you horny and prone to making bad decisions, and Father James is young and handsome, so it was only a matter of time before he gave in the temptation of the flesh and you found yourself fucked against the altar.

Ordained or not, he’s only a man after all.

The confessional is dark and suffocating; behind the wooden screen, the priest is all ears.

Muscle memory kicks in when you do the sign of the cross and begin to speak.

“Bless me Father, for I have sinned.” you recite the formula that’s been ingrained in your mind since you were old enough to need it, “My last confession was seven years ago.”

You mentally curse your parents for still having the authority to send you to Bumfuck Nowhere, Alabama, and your aunt for forcing you to attend church and confess your sins.

It will be good for your soul, they said, New York is corrupting you.

You suppose it’s only fair that your good catholic parents would react so drastically; they wanted to surprise you in your new apartment and drove all the way from Rhode Island to New York, only to find your piano tutor buried balls deep inside of you. Lord knows what they’d do if they knew you’ve lost your purity long before that, with one of the good catholic girls in your private boarding school. Extramarital sex, with a woman at that! They’d probably have a meltdown, drag your to a cloistered convent and lock you there for life.

You don’t wait for the priest to acknowledge you and start talking.

“You know Father, I found a handy dandy little list of all the sins you’re supposed to confess to and I checked them. I’ll read it to you. Let’s see.” you clear your throat, “So, I use artificial birth control, I broke a couple of promises, including the one to wait for marriage, I can be kind of blasphemous sometimes, but you see, I spent six months abroad in Italy last year and the kids there taught me all sorts of ways to disrespect the Lord, they have so many, and once those things get stuck in your brain... what can you do, they just stick in there, you don’t even want to say them but they become part of your vocabulary.” you continue uninterrupted, “Anyways, my parents caught me in the act with a man, so I guess we have ‘dishonoring family’ too. Underage drinking as a kid, a lot of that. Drugs sometimes, nothing major, ya know, I don’t do coke or nothing. Gossiping, impure thoughts, God-”

He interrupts you clearing his throat.

“Sorry. See? I don’t even do it on purpose. As I was saying, I love those. Lying... not a whole lot to be honest; to my parents, mostly. Haven’t prayed in a good 10 years. Masturbation, did I mention that? Watched porn a couple of times, ‘m not a big fan if I’m being honest, but to each their own. Oh, and premarital sex, a ton of that. Had an orgy once, not too fond of those either. Too many limbs.”

There’s a lot to unpack here, so you give him a moment to ponder his thoughts. He stays silent for a while, and when he speaks his voice is not at all what you expected it to be. He’s soft spoken yet commanding, and sounds surprisingly young.

“Anything else you can remember?”

“Well of course, the cherry on top, my own first class ticket to hell.” you say, not as cheerful as before, repeating the exact words you’ve been taught for years, “God gave me free will and I used it to commit homosexual acts, Father. Multiple times.”

You let the words hang in the stuffy air of the confessional; you don’t know what to expect from the priest, to be honest. Last time you admitted to thinking of a girl to a religious figure, Sister Theresa told you you’d never have to act on your impulses, or you’d burn in hell for it. You were 12.

“You think that’s worse than the rest?”

“Not me, no, I don’t.”

He hums thoughtfully. “What makes you do the things you do?” he asks, and you don’t feel any of the judgment you were expecting, only genuine curiosity.

“Aren’t you gonna ask me to repent for my sins?” you reply, equally as curious.

“Is absolution what you’re seeking?”

You snort, shaking your head. “I’m not looking for forgiveness, Father, and I’m way past asking for permission.”

“Then why are you here?”

“My aunt forced me.”

It’s his turn to snort this time. “You don’t seem the type to follow orders blindly.”

You admit the guy’s got a point. “I guess… I don’t know. I felt the need to. It feels nice, talking to someone. I feel lonely a lot, and it’s easier to talk to strangers. And this is cheaper than therapy, so that’s a bonus. Really, I just need to vent.”

“Do you regret any of your choices?” he says, after a while.

“Not the ones I confessed to.” you admit, trying to discern the priest’s figure behind the screen.

“What is it, then?”

“You know, you’re kinda chill for a priest from Alabama, I gotta give it to you.” you respond, dodging his question.

“Thanks, it’s probably because I’m from Brooklyn.”

“What the hell-”

“Language.”

“Sorry. Why would someone move from Brooklyn to this place?”

“Vocation.”

“I see.”

It’s silent again, but it doesn’t feel uncomfortable.

“You should come to the parish sometimes. We have meetings, we sing, we eat together, the children play football and the young adults talk about what it means to be a Catholic in the modern world. It may ease your mind about a lot of worries and misconceptions you might have.”

You contemplate on his words: it wouldn’t hurt, would it? It’s not like you’ve got a whole lot going on here; and you might as well find yourself a devoted man or woman to pass time.

“I might.”, you finally respond, not willing to give him the satisfaction, and stand from the chair. “I’ll see you around, Father.”

“May God give you peace, miss.”

“Amen.”

“What took you so long?” James asks, grunting when you pull on his hair.

“My aunt asked me to make lunch for her husband, as if he couldn’t do it his damn self.” you respond, and suck on his bottom lip, “Missed me?”

“Always.”

You coo, “My eager boy.”

He’s sitting on his office chair and you’re straddling his lap, grinding your hips on him and feeling his arousal grow. You’re burning up, panties damp and a familiar coil in your core. You don’t know what excites you the most: being responsible for the corruption of such pure soul, the forbidden aspect of fucking a Catholic priest, or the possibility of someone walking in on you. Your walls flutter when you imagine the scandal that this affair would create.

You pull him closer, tugging on his white collar, and he breaks the kiss. His eyes are black and glossed over, lips swollen, cheeks red, but there’s something like worry in eyes.

“Do you love me?” he asks quietly, in the soft voice you adore.

“Of course I do, you know that.”

You fall on your knees and fumble with the zipper of his black pants.

“Would you love me if I didn’t have this collar?” he stops your hands with his, “Would you still love me if I wasn’t this?”, he gestures to his sacred attire.

You pause your actions and search his eyes. Where is this coming from?

“Yes, I’d love you anyways, I’ll always love you.”

A small, shy smile breaks on his face. He lifts you up and makes you sit on his desk.

“I- I w-want to try something,” he begins with a stutter, “I remember hearing some kids back when I was in school talk about it.”

You cock your head to the side, observing carefully as he sits back down on the chair and parts your legs. He lowers his head and begins peppering the inner skin of your thighs with open mouthed kisses. Oh-.

“James, you don’t have to do this.” you try to tell him, but he’s already moving your panties to the side.

He stares entranced between your legs; he’s never been this bold, never watched you there. “You’re so pretty, I want to kiss you here.”

You feel a finger tease your entrance and dip in. Every nerve ending in your body is on fire, and when he licks a strip of your dripping cunt, you feel like you could burst. He delves in your glistening folds, tongue swirling around as if he was kissing your mouth, and your hips jerk forward when he crooks a couple of fingers inside you, hitting that sweet spot that makes the coil in your belly grow tighter.

You throw your head back and your eyes fall on the cross behind you. You are very much past forgiveness at this point, you muse, and that makes this all the more exciting.

You’re writhing under his touch, completely at his mercy. You grab the back of his neck and bring his face upward so that his mouth comes in contact with your clit.

“Suck there.” you demand in a raspy voice, rocking your hips and fucking yourself on his fingers. “Good boy.” you praise when he closes his mouth around your bud and begins sucking and lapping on it. “Yes, oh my God, fuck, faster.”

James obeys and jerks the fingers inside of you, the vibration and his tongue enough to make the knot in your core unravel and pleasure release in jolts, shooting from your center to the rest of your body; you slap a hand on your mouth to suppress wanton moans as your hips twitch involuntarily and your toes curl. He rides you though your orgasm until you’re too sensitive to handle his face on you.

When you look down, you find him, face wet in your arousal, eyes half lidded.

“Did I do well?” he asks full of hope, still clinging to your legs and nuzzling your thigh.

“You did amazing, sweet boy.”

“Bless me Father, for I have sinned.”

Hearing your sultry voice, he chokes on air behind the screen and clears his throat, trying to keep the same composure he always seems to loose when you’re around.

“I got friendly with a man, you see, a man of church.” you begin in a teasing tone, “He kissed me, and I didn’t pull back. I let him roam his hands all over my body, Father, and then I corrupted him.”, You lick a couple of fingers and dip them in your mouth, then you release them with a popping sound and slowly slip them in your panties. You push a finger in your already wet core, smearing arousal around and teasing your clit, slow at first. “You should have seen how innocent he looked, Father. He said he’s never been touched like that. A virgin. I’ve never been with a virgin before.” you continue, almost moaning the last part as you slide three fingers in and out of you and tease your bud with your thumb, “He didn’t even know I could please him with my mouth, so I took him in and I sucked him off.” You’re panting, hand furiously circling your clit. You hear Bucky’s ragged breath behind the screen. “He moaned so loud, F-F-Father, he c-came so quick. And I swallowed it all, because you can’t let a single drop of seed g-go to w-waste, can you?” you whimper, feeling an orgasm build up.

You’re fueled by his suppressed grunts and the lewd sounds of him touching himself.

“I don’t come for absolution Father, because I’d do it all again.” you breathe at last, letting pleasure run through your every nerve, setting you ablaze.

Behind the screen, Father James paints his hand and black shirt in white spurts, shame and pleasure fighting eachother in his mind.

You haven’t moved yet, legs parted, trying to catch your breath, and James is still clinging onto you.

You don’t know how it happened.

It started with boredom, with a wish to fuck the pretty priest, but you’ve caught feelings now, and in three weeks you’ll have to get back to New York, where a job and a new apartment await you.

At least your aunt and your parents are happy about your redemption: you’ve been going to church everyday. They don’t need to know you’ve spent most time on your knees or on your back.

But you don’t want to think about it now; you can’t let sadness take over and ruin these moments when James is only yours. Your love is on borrowed time, and you intend to make the most out of it.

“Do you want to fuck me, my love? You want me to come all over your pretty cock, yes? You want to fill me up with your cum?” you whisper in his ear, amused at the way he blushes.

“Please.” he whines, palming his cock through his briefs.

“Please what, sweet boy?”

“Please let me-” he interrupts himself.

“Let me what?”

He mumbles something incomprehensible.

“Can’t hear you.” you tease him, grabbing his chin and tilting his face up.

“Let me make love to you.”

You let out a chuckle and shake your head fondly. This man has had you bent over his desk, in the confessional, behind the altar, on the benches where the devoted Catholics of this town attend mass, and yet he can’t bring himself to talk crudely.

You pull on his hair so he stands, and you kiss him ravenously, letting your hands roam over his lean body, the taste of his lips permanently etched in the back of your mind. You don’t want to forget a thing, so you commit to mind each of his little noises, the way his tongue swirls around yours, the soft caresses of his hands.

Clothes discarded in a blur, the room is filled with your moan and his grunts. He pounds into you like a desperate man, clinging onto you with a bruising touch, holding you impossibly close as if you were about to slip through his fingers. And in a way, you are.

When James makes love to you the world disappears and there’s no judgement, no church. He’s not a priest, you’re not a sinner; he’s not pure, you’re not sick.

It’s just you and him, united in one body. Just a man and a woman being one in the flesh.

His thrusts become sloppier, his breathing labored. He brings a hand on your clit and presses on it. He comes inside of you, painting your walls, and the feeling of his swollen cock inside you and his cum filling you up are enough to trigger your release too, your walls clenching on him and milking every last drop.

You’re exhausted, panting in each other’s embrace.

There’s no sin when you’re like this; you’re no longer the devil to his holy water.

There’s only love.

James’ desk in his office is dark and wide, with mahogany panels on all three sides except the one he sits at. So when Ms. Lee, the adorable elderly lady that organizes the monthly fundraising events for charity, knocks on the door as you’re bouncing on James’ cock, all you have to do is crouch down and disappear under the table.

“Good evening, Father James.” She greets him cheerfully.

You hear the tapping of her heels until she plops down on the guests chair.

“Good evening, Ms. Lee.” he responds in a strained voice, adjusting himself on the chair.

Ms. Lee speaks a lot. She’s talking James’ ear off, blabbering about the next charity event, and you think what better occasion than this one to be an indecent slut.

You slowly massage his thighs, bringing your hands from his knees to his groin, teasing him when you get close to his crotch and retracting.

You watch as his cock swells in front of you, and you bite back a giggle. You hear him suck in a breath when you start pumping his length with both your hands.

“Are you alright, James? You’re looking a little worse for wear.” Ms. Lee asks him worriedly when she sees her priest red and sweaty.

James clears his throat and when he’s about to open his mouth, you lick a strip from base to his leaking tip, and the noise that escapes him is between a moan and a grunt.

“Y-yes, Ms. Lee, I’m fine. Just some food poisoning I think.” he manages to answer, wiping his forehead with the back of his hand.

“Poor thing.” she coos, and you take his cock in your mouth, swirling your tongue around, sucking on the frail skin of under the tip, “Anyways-” she begins again.

James tries to keep his composure, but you sense his distress, and you imagine it must be written all over his face. One hand massages his balls, the other aids your movements as you bob your head up and down, careful not to make a noise. His legs twitch under the table when you push his cock all the way down to your throat, and he makes a strangled noise.

“Sweetie, are you sure you’re fine? You really don’t look like it.” Ms. Lee interjects again, interrupting her story.

“I’m fine ma’am, don’t worry about me.”, he says through gritted teeth, jaw clenched shut so hard he might break his teeth.

You give it all you’ve got until your jaw is aching and your knees are killing you. Your effort pays off when, with one last motion on your hands, James grunts and cums in your throat, hips jerking forward and legs shaking.

He comes so hard that you choke on his release.

“Did you hear it too?” she asks in alert.

“He-hear wh-what?” he stutters, pretending to cough to hide your noises.

“A choking sound?”

“Oh, no, don’t worry about that, just my cough.” he answers, red faced and spent.

“I guess…” she doesn’t sound convinced but lets it go anyways. She could never imagine her sweet priest is getting blown by a city whore under his desk, “I’ll get going then, but please get some rest Father, your holy duties can wait.”

They can indeed, you think, as James yanks you from underneath the table and bends you over the desk, fucking you until you’re crying.

“What makes you do the things you do?” he’s playing with your hair as he asks the question that’s been plaguing him for months, since that first time in the confessional.

You’re in a motel somewhere, two hours away from your town, laying on a bed like two lovers. In this room, you’re not a dirty little secret.

What excited you before, suffocates you now.

You thought you may only like the forbidden, but you find yourself at peace in his arms, that peace you’ve yearned for for 22 years, that peace you could never find, because people like you are born sick, that’s what you’ve been told your whole life.

“If I tell you, will you absolve me?” you ask, basking in his affection.

James is so sweet, so caring. You wish this moment could last forever.

“I’m afraid I can’t do that, my love. I’ve sinned too much myself.”

“My bad.” you giggle.

Silence falls on you, and you hum in though, pondering your next words very carefully.

“I don’t do them for any reasons, other than they feel good. It feels good to drink, to smoke, to fuck you, to suck your cock.”, you say, and he blushes in embarrassment, “Or maybe I never got over my teenage phase and I just like doing all the things my parents always told me not to do, who knows. Trauma? Maybe. Spite? Quite possibly. I don’t even know at this point.”

He nods slowly.

He wishes you could see yourself through his eyes, see how perfect you are. In his heart, there’s only love for you, in his mind, no more conflict.

“I do them for you.” he answers, and you smile at him, “And for myself, I guess. I thought I had found my way, but maybe I was wrong.”

You turn to look at him, and bop his nose.

“I’ll always love you, no matter what choice you make. I’ll wait for you if you ask me to.”

But his choice has been made already.

He doesn’t deserve his collar, but hopefully he deserves you.

I’m curious to hear your thoughts. Please, reblog if you liked it and leave a comment. Feedback is always appreciated. 🤍

Priest bucky masterlist

#saiyanprincessswanie 500 followers challenge #bucky x reader #bucky barnes #bucky x you #bucky fanfic #james barnes x reader #james barnes x you #sebastian stan x reader #james barnes x y/n #priest!bucky

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thecassadilla · 3 years ago

Note

Pleeease I'd love to ask you for a prompt on 33. Kristanna... 🤗 No matter what universe - the writing stage is yours 😘

Hi, Simone!! 💕I'm sorry that answering this prompt took me a little bit of time!!! I've been busy the past few days, and now I'm slowly but surely catching up with all of the prompts in my inbox. This is a modern au (because those seem to be my specialty XD). I really hope you enjoy it!!!! 💕

33. "Would it be okay if I kissed you?" Send me a prompt!

The evening had been sold to her as an end of the semester party between friends. But what it actually turned out to be, Anna discovered, was an elaborate set up.

Nearly forty-five minutes after the “party” was supposed to begin, the only two people who were sitting at a high top table set for a party of ten were herself and Kristoff, a fellow classmate who rarely gave her the time of day. They’d never spoken to one another outside of their classes - or even in their classes, really - aside from being cordial when necessary. They kind of ran in the same social circles, with the most notable connection aside from their two shared classes being that her sister had recently started dating the sister of one of Kristoff’s friends. But other than that, they’d never really interacted on a level higher than exchanging “hi’s” and “how are you’s” in passing.

The fact that they’d kept their interactions to a minimum over the course of the semester didn’t mean that she hadn’t started to catch feelings for him, though. Oftentimes, she found herself focusing her attention on him instead of on the lecture, drawn to the look of kindness in his eyes and the way he chewed on the inside of his cheek as he attempted to scribble down everything the professor was saying. But aside from his attractive physical appearance, there was also an air of mystery about him. From a distance, he seemed like a broody, lonely guy who didn’t want anything to do with anyone. But there was a part of her that wondered if that was a front - if there was more to him than what he allowed everyone else to see.

But it wasn’t like any of that was her business, anyway. The semester was over, and she certainly couldn’t say that they were even close to being friends. Why their friends thought that setting them up would be a good idea, she didn’t know, but either way, it was forcing her to confront something she planned on leaving alone.

“I think we’ve been set up,” Anna commented finally, a blush rising in her cheeks as she broke the awkward silence that they’d managed to sit in for far too long.

Kristoff nodded, and from where she was sitting, she could tell that his hands were tightly clasped under the table. The look of discomfort and nervousness plastered across his face was enough to convince her that he was not happy to be there with only her. “I think you’re right.”

“Well, um…” she trailed off, rubbing her upper arm with her opposite hand.

“We could just leave,” he offered quickly.

“Yeah, um...maybe we should.”

“Yeah. Maybe.”

An awkward moment of silence elapsed between them until Anna finally cleared her throat. “Alright. I’m gonna...I’m gonna leave, okay?”

“Yeah! Okay,” Kristoff responded, inching closer to the edge of his seat. “I’ll leave, too, then.”

“Okay,” she acknowledged. “Good idea.”

She wasn’t quite sure if leaving was the right decision, but she wasn’t sure if staying was, either. All she knew was that Kristoff seemed incredibly desperate to get away from her, and it wasn’t like she could blame him. Despite the smoldering little bundle of feelings that she was secretly - or maybe, not so secretly - harboring for him, it wasn’t like she could ask him to stay based on her feelings, and her feelings, alone. It was clear he didn’t want to be there, and she wasn’t about to suggest staying when they’d both just been humiliated by the group of people they called their friends.

But the odd thing was that despite them both expressing their desires to leave, neither of them moved from where they were sitting. Anna swallowed thickly as she peered up at Kristoff through her eyelashes, a little surprised to see that he was staring at her expectantly - almost as if he were hoping she would be the one to make the first move and stand up from the table. But she didn’t, and that took her by surprise, too. It was almost as if there was something preventing her from leaving the table; something otherworldly was keeping her there, and she couldn’t quite understand what it was or why it was happening. Even more curious was why the same thing appeared to be happening to Kristoff.

“Can I get you folks something to drink?” a voice asked, startling her. It was almost a relief to see Kristoff also visibly jump in place at the appearance of the voice; she didn’t know why that reassured her, but it did.

“Uh…” Anna started, glancing over at Kristoff, and hoping he would be the one to speak up about what they were doing. But he didn’t, and instead, they both stared at the server who was patiently waiting for a response.

“Are you waiting for a couple more people to get here?” the server asked, his eyes trailing between the two of them. “I can come back.”

“That’d be great,” Anna said, swiftly. “Thank you.”

“Aren’t we leaving?” Kristoff asked, a look of confusion crossing his features as the server disappeared. “Or, uh...d-did you want to stay?”

As if on cue, her stomach grumbled. “Um...I guess I’m a little hungry. I didn’t eat dinner because I figured we’d all be eating out tonight, so I should probably order something. But you don’t have to worry about sticking around for me or anything - I’ll be fine on my own.”

“Oh...okay. If that’s what you want.”

“Yeah, I mean…” she paused, searching for the right words. “You don’t have to leave if you don’t want to. Especially if you’re hungry, in which case you should stay and order something to eat. But only if you want to, of course. I imagine you probably don’t want to hang out with me, considering that we’re not really even friends, and why would you want to spend time with someone you’re not friends with? So you can leave...um, if that’s what you want.”

Instead of answering, Kristoff just stared at her, the look on his face somewhere between amusement and embarrassment.

“Sorry, I’m rambling.” Anna waved her hands around, hoping he wouldn’t notice the pink tinge spreading over her face and neck. “Just ignore me.”

“No, I -” he cut himself off, a small, yet shy smile encapsulating his lips. “That was -”

“Humiliating, I know. I should probably just leave.” She grabbed the strap of her purse, fully prepared to sling it over her shoulder and get out of there as quickly as possible. “I really don’t feel like embarrassing myself anymore than I already have.”

“No!” he exclaimed, the outburst seemingly taking them both by surprise. “Uh, what I mean is, I...I didn’t think that was embarrassing. I actually thought it was kind of...adorable.”

Anna blinked, slowly releasing her grip. “Really?”

“Yeah,” Kristoff breathed. “And I’d...I’d really like it if you stayed. I know we don’t really know each other that well, but...maybe we can get to know each other?”

“Oh! Sure,” she nodded, her lips quirking upwards. “I would like that. A lot.”

A grin of his own appeared on his face as she accepted his suggestion. “Great.”

Over the course of the night, what had started as an awkward silence with someone who felt like a stranger blossomed into a comfortable conversation with someone who felt like an old friend. They talked about every topic Anna could possibly imagine - school, work, parents and siblings, friends, relationships - and what had begun as a night she couldn’t wait to get over with quickly became a night she never wanted to end.

It was so easy to get lost in conversation with Kristoff; her heart swelling with affection as he told tearful stories about his adoptive family, the way his eyes sparkled when he talked his future and the dreams he had, and the booming laugh that escaped his lips every time something she said he thought was funny - a tingling sensation shooting up her spine at the melodic sound. And he seemed to devote the same level of attention and care to what she was saying, much like she had done with him.

As the clock ticked forward, she couldn’t help but wonder if he felt the same way that she did - if he felt the same connection, and the same longing that was overwhelming all of her senses and causing her heart to pound in her chest. If he also desired for the night to continue on forever in a state of bliss where they could keep talking, and smiling, and laughing at what the other had to say. And though she was sure some of the pressure had been lifted off of their shoulders as a result of the liquid courage they’d been sipping on the entire night, she couldn’t help but feel that there was something...more between them. Something unearthly and magical. Something she’d never felt before.

Eventually, the part of the evening that Anna had been dreading had arrived. They were politely informed by their server that the restaurant would be closing and they would, unfortunately, have to leave. A sadness enveloped the air as they quietly gathered up their belongings and headed for the exit, leaving a hefty tip on the table for their server.

“Which car is yours?” Kristoff asked, as soon as they reached the parking lot behind the restaurant.

“The blue sedan over there,” Anna answered, pointing to it.

“I’ll walk you over.”

“Thank you.”

They walked slowly, with Kristoff’s hands shoved in the pockets of his jeans and her own arms crossed over her chest. She wasn’t sure if she was imagining it, but it almost seemed as if he was as eager to savor and stretch out their last moments together as she was.

“I had a great time tonight,” she said, an uncontrollable smile spreading over her features as they paused by her car.

“Me too,” he breathed, smiling back at her. “We should do it again, sometime.”

“I would really love that.”

“Here let me give you my number.” He pulled his phone out of his pocket, and they quickly exchanged numbers. “I’m going to have a lot more free time now that the semester is over, so we can pretty much meet up any time.

“Yeah, same here, so that would be amazing.”

"Perfect."

Kristoff lingered for a moment, shifting his weight from one foot to the other, and it suddenly became clear that just like her, he didn't know how to end their date - not that she really wanted it to end, anyway. A handshake felt like it would be too stuffy after the comfortable night they just shared, and a hug would be nice, but not quite what she had in mind, either.

"Would it be okay if I kissed you?" Anna blurted. In an instant clamped her hand over her mouth, her eyes widening at how quickly her own tongue had betrayed her. After staring at him for a moment, she removed the hand to apologize. "I'm sorry, that was way too forward and I -"

Kristoff cut her off with a kiss; it was chaste, and sweet, and entirely too short for her liking, but it still made her heart flutter and her hands shake. In that moment, she finally understood what being "swept off your feet" finally felt like.

"Um...thank you," she breathed, as soon as they broke apart. "That was...wow."

"It was," he agreed, huffing a small but excited laugh.

"Maybe..." Anna trailed off, wavering on whether or not she should test the waters. "Maybe we could try that again sometime, too?"

Kristoff beamed at her, nodding his head. "I'd like that a lot."

"Perfect." And with that, she rose up on her toes, cupped his jaw with her hands, and captured his lips with her own, marveling at how quickly they'd gone from strangers to something more.

#kristanna #kristanna fanfiction #anna #kristoff bjorgman #frozen #frozen fanfiction #my writing

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hermannsthumb · 4 years ago

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I've read fics where Hermann disapproves of PDAs but what about the reverse? As in he's so stunned at winning the most amazing man in the Shatterdome (6 phds, literal rockstar, gorgeous Newt) that he deliberately provokes contact and shows of affection. Just to show off to people and send a clear back off signal. And Newt just dotes on him obliviously.

ok this one is another super old prompt and when I was writing it this week it KINDA got away from me. but I hope everyone enjoyyyys. partially inspired from conversations with @k-sci-janitor 👀 totally sfw, except for one brief reference

anyway, a fic about hermann being all affectionate with newt and also discovering what relaxation is

——————————————-------------------------------------------

The day after the world doesn’t end, Hermann brings Newt breakfast in bed.

Honestly, it surprises Newt more than the whole world not ending thing. Up until the previous evening, after all, Newt was pretty damn sure the guy absolutely hated him, and that if Hermann was gonna do something as out of character as bringing him breakfast, it surely meant he’d spat in it first. Or maybe poisoned it. If hated isn’t the right word, Newt would say Hermann at the very least barely tolerated. And then the whole sharing the neural load thing happened. And, after that, hugging, not once, but twice, and then falling asleep in bed together. And now Hermann’s perched on the edge of his bed (which they shared while they slept) and handing him a plate.

“You had quite the busy day yesterday,” Hermann says kindly. Hermann has never spoken to Newt kindly before. Atop the plate are two pieces of toast, a soft-boiled egg, and a mug of coffee. The coffee and toast (Newt notices) are exactly the shade he prefers. He wonders if Hermann picked up on it before or after the whole mind-melding thing. Before wouldn’t surprise him—Hermann has always been weird about noticing details like that. The egg, however, is something purely Hermann in taste. “I imagine you could use a nice spot of breakfast,” he adds.

Newt shoves his glasses on and blinks at Hermann groggily. He struggles to sit up, partially tangled in his sheets, and then takes the plate. A little bit of coffee sloshes down onto one of the slices of toast. “Are you wearing my sweatshirt?” he says.

Hermann smiles and looks down at the ragged old MIT sweatshirt he’s tossed on. He may have a few inches on Newt, but he’s still one skinny motherfucker, and it hangs almost comically off his frame. “I am,” he says. “I poked around in your closet, I hope you don’t mind. My clothing was in a rather sorry state.”

Sorry state is an understatement for both of them. Newt’s surprised they haven’t been formally ordered to burn the shit they wore to the bone slums yet. Blood, dirt, and kaiju guts aside, Newt’s, at least, reeks to high heaven with sweat. “No worries,” Newt says. He picks up the coffee and blows on it. He wonders where Hermann got coffee that smells this good. It’s been hard to find anything decent and non-instant on the base these days, and (thanks to limited rations) chain shops like Starbucks cost an arm and a leg for even a small. He also wonders what people thought when they saw Hermann strutting around the base with bedhead in a sweatshirt that obviously wasn’t his. Newt almost wants to blush on his behalf. Scandalous.

Before Newt can so much as take a sip of the coffee, Hermann is suddenly unbuckling and shucking off his grey slacks. “Dude!” Newt yelps, flushing bright red to the tips of his ears. Hermann blinks at him innocently. “What are you doing?”

It’s not so much that Newt is upset as it is that it’s so wildly out of character for Hermann that he feels he owes it to Hermann to act at least moderately scandalized. In all his years of knowing and working alongside Hermann, he’s never so much as seen Hermann’s bare wrist before. Now he’s in Newt’s goddamn bed flashing calves, and thighs, and neatly-pressed little white briefs… Hermann rolls his eyes and tosses the slacks (unfolded!) onto Newt’s desk chair. “Making myself comfortable,” he says. “Would you like me to stop?”

Does Hermann iron his underwear? It would be at odds with the rest of his clothing if he did, which is usually in various stages of frumpy to outright wrinkled, but Newt can’t think of how else it would look like that. He wonders if Hermann’s stitched his name on the inner waistband. It seems like the kind of thing Hermann would do. Newt suddenly realizes he’s been staring at Hermann’s briefs (and, worse still, considering how cute Hermann looks in just them and Newt’s sweatshirt) for an uncomfortably long time, so he quickly shakes his head and drags his eyes to Hermann’s face. One of Hermann’s eyebrows is quirked up. Newt hasn’t been subtle. “No,” he says. He clears his throat. “No, dude, you’re—all good.”

He chokes down a too-hot sip of coffee to have something to do with his mouth.

Hermann smirks.

The bedcovers are drawn back. Hermann slips under them and drapes an arm across Newt’s chest, his hand curling protectively over Newt’s hip. With his other hand he snags Newt’s coffee from his grasp and takes a sip. Newt watches his jaw and throat work as he swallows it, a funny feeling blooming in the pit of his stomach. The mug is handed back over, Hermann’s fingers brushing against Newt’s, which make Newt feel even funnier. “Newton,” Hermann declares. “I think we ought to have sex.”

“Oh,” Newt says. “Can I finish my breakfast first?”

“Certainly,” Hermann says.

Newt’s heart pounds as he spreads a little packet of margarine across one of the pieces of toast; he can feel Hermann’s eyes on him, never straying once. Hermann’s hand draws little circles on his hip. Newt drops his toast twice to the plate before he can successfully take a bite, and even when he does, he doesn’t taste it. Hermann’s fingers dip under the hem of his t-shirt. Newt swallows his toast. “Why?” he says.

Apparently it’s the right question. Hermann nods, like he’s pleased Newt has asked. Like they’re talking theories or something. “I came to the conclusion while I fetching your coffee,” Hermann says. “It occurred to me that I wouldn’t have gotten up at seven in the morning to get coffee for just anyone. Then, of course, there is the whole drifting business—”

“You realized you wouldn’t have done that for just anyone too, huh?” Newt says with a smile. Hermann’s hand on his hip stills, and his cheeks go pink. Newt’s relieved to have gotten some ground back here. “Hermann, that’s sooo romantic.”

“The world was at stake,” Hermann sniffs.

“It’s okay,” Newt says. “I won’t tell anyone the great Dr. Gottlieb has feelings. So, what, you realized you have a big ole crush on me?”

Hermann takes the unfinished piece of toast from him and sets it down on his plate. He pulls Newt’s glasses off, kisses him soundly, and then puts Newt’s glasses back on. His mouth tastes like toothpaste. “On the contrary, I’ve always suspected it,” he says. “It’s just that now I have the time to confirm it.” He reaches up and strokes at Newt’s hair. “We have the time for lots of things, now, Newton. Whatever we’d like.”

Newt finishes off his coffee quickly, not even caring when he burns his tongue, and then tosses the remainder of his breakfast to the floor. His egg spills onto the massacred skinny corduroys he wore yesterday. Whatever, Newt’s burning them anyway. “God, get overhere already, man,” he says, tugging at Hermann’s borrowed sweatshirt. He needs to help Hermann confirm his crush or whatever, pronto.

It’s a few days before Newt and Hermann finally drag themselves out of bed and to the lab to tackle what little work remains for them to do—cataloguing what are apparently the last kaiju samples known to man (Newt), recording and backing up their drift data (Newt’s solo drift, and then their joint data), drawing some random scribbles on the board and pretending they’re important calculations about the possibility of the Breach reopening (Hermann. Okay, whatever, maybe they are important). Unfortunately, the delay isn’t for any sexy reasons, as much as Newt would’ve liked it to have been. The events of the last day of the war caught up with them pretty quickly after that morning in Newt’s bed, and they mostly just slept, ordered out dinner, popped ibuprofen for their various aches, and avoided medical at all costs. (Rumor had it the medical staff on base were looking for him and Hermann so they could do some brain scans. Apparently drifting with a kaiju brain is potentially dangerous, who knew.)

A rancid smell washes over them the second they push the heavy lab doors open, and Newt spots several hunks of kaiju organs rotting away on his workbench. Hermann clamps a hand to his mouth. “Oops,” Newt says, turning to Hermann sheepishly. He can’t help but cower as he does. He and Hermann got along swimmingly the past couple days—it’ll be sad to see all that hard work go down the drain over this. “Guess I forgot to clean up the other day. In my defense—we were kind of busy.”

But Hermann doesn’t snap at Newt, or thump his cane on the ground, or call Newt an idiot, or even look annoyed; he lowers his hand from his mouth and laughs. Albeit a terse laugh, but still. Newt gapes at him. “We were rather busy,” Hermann concedes. “So long as you clean it up in the next ten minutes, I—what, Newton?”

“Nothing,” Newt says, quickly. “I’m gonna—um—deal with it now.”

Hermann disappears from the lab while Newt is digging around in the storage closet for extra heavy-duty trash bags. When he comes back an hour later, he’s holding a cardboard tray of small plastic cups, and Newt has just hefted his last spoiled sample into the lab’s airtight biohazard bin (a bit mournfully, if he’s being honest, since he’s sure there’s still more to learn about the kaiju from them). Newt squints at the cups in the tray while he rips his messy disposable work gloves off. “What’s that?” he says.

“Iced coffee,” Hermann declares.

The gloves slap, wetly, into the biohazard bin, and Newt lets out a low whistle. “Dude. No way. From where?” He’s not sure when he gave off the impression that the way to his heart was good coffee, but maybe it’s true. Then again, Hermann could probably win him over with a cup of lukewarm tap water. Not because Newt is desperate or anything. He just really likes Hermann.

“A little shop a bit away from the base,” Hermann says. “I took the bus.” He draws back his chair and sits down with a soft sigh, setting his cane against his desk. Then he draws out a small brown paper bag from his parka pocket. He tosses it to Newt; Newt catches it with one hand. “They had these funny little cakes on sticks. I thought you might like one.”

“Cake pops?” Newt says.

“I presume,” Hermann says. While Newt inhales the little chocolate-dipped cake pop (which is so good, oh my God, Newt hasn’t had dessert that didn’t come from a vending machine in plastic shrink wrap in years), Hermann adds, “I wasn’t sure what sort of iced coffee you liked, so I made sure to get a variety.”

“Sick,” Newt says, spewing crumbs on his shirt. “Um. But, like, why though?”

“Oh, I don’t know,” Hermann says. “I suppose I wanted to do something kind for you.” He carefully slides a straw out of its paper wrappings and pokes it into the lid of one of the coffees. Once he crumples up the wrapper and tosses It into his train bin, he grips his cane, and uses the handle to nudge Newt’s desk chair towards him. “You worked awfully hard cleaning the laboratory.”

Newt preens a little, even as he privately wonders why Hermann’s acting so weird. Well, nice. But nice is weird for Hermann, so they’re basically the same thing. Is this part of his whole deciding whether or not he digs Newt thing? Newt just assumed the awesome morning they spent together would be proof enough of that. Then again, Hermann’s pretty thorough. “I guess,” Newt says. “It was kind of my mess, though.”

Hermann pats at the empty chair with a smile. Hermann’s smiles are so rare—crooked, and stupid cute—that Newt’s heart gives a painful little twist at the sight of it, and he realizes he doesn’t actually give a shit about why Hermann’s being all weird, actually. “You’ve earned a break,” Hermann says. “Besides, I’d like to spend time with you.”

Newt’s too stunned to argue with that one. When he sits down, Hermann inches their chairs together until their knees are touching.

They don’t necessarily fall back into their usual habits by the next week, but the better ones they’ve picked up (being a little kinder to each other, a little more patient, a little more respectful, and also the fact that Hermann can’t seem to stop touching Newt) all but fall into the background as Newt throws himself into his work with renewed determination. Unfortunately, his desire to get it all done as soon as fucking possible speaks less to his awesome work ethic, and more to the fact that he’s just not sure what else to do with himself now, and he likes that work gives him the excuse to not think about it. Hermann said they have all the time to do whatever they like now. Well, Newt likes working. He knows working. Relaxation is a foreign concept to him, and it was a foreign concept to Hermann up until recently. While Newt is toiling away over his decaying kaiju samples in the lab, Hermann is out—

“Where?” Newt says.

Hermann gives Newt the most serene smile Newt’s ever seen cross his face. “I took a bath,” he says. “It was very nice. I bought some nice soaps, and lit some candles, and looked online to see how to do one of those mud masks. It was very relaxing. You ought to try it.”

“Try bathing?” Newt says.

“Yes. Well, no. I mean taking a bath. Is there something you’re not understanding?”

Newt tries to imagine Hermann with a mud mask on his face and cucumbers over his eyes and fails miserably. Hermann hates messes. He would never stand for mud, let alone on his skin. Where’d he even find a bathtub? Did he break into the rangers’ locker room again? Aren't candles banned on base for being a fire hazard, anyway? “Yeah,” Newt says. “Pretty much all of it.”

Hermann shakes his head with a snort, and Newt catches a whiff of something floral and fragrant—his fancy new soap or oil, he guesses. “I’m not surprised. You know, Newton, you are awfully tense.”

Hearing that from Hermann of all people, the king of having-a-massive-stick-up-your-ass, is probably the funniest thing that’s ever happened to Newt. He laughs out loud and plunges a bare hand into his kaiju sample with a gross squelching noise. “Sure, dude.”

He’s almost too engrossed in his sample to feel Hermann sidling up behind him and setting a hand at his waist. He definitely feels Hermann nose a kiss behind his ear, though, and the hot flush that spreads down across his neck from it. Newt’s hand goes sweaty around his scalpel. One thing he definitely wasn’t expecting from a post-no-apocalypse Hermann is how free he is with affection in any and all forms. “Give it a rest, love,” Hermann murmurs. He nudges at the heel of Newt’s boot with the end of his cane. Love? “Why don’t we head back to my quarters and watch a film? You can pick.”

“But.” Newt fidgets. “I have—my sample—”

Another little kiss. The soapy-oil smell is stronger now. Newt thinks it might be lavender. He wonders if the mud mask left Hermann’s skin all soft. “It won’t be going anywhere, Newton.”

Newt sets down his scalpel.

When they they pass by a group of LOCCENT staff in the hallway, Newt makes to drop Hermann’s hand (which Hermann had laced together with his own before they left the lab), but Hermann holds fast, maybe even faster than before, and looks at him with his stupidly sweet set of big eyes. Newt waits until they round the corner to say anything. “Sorry,” he says, lamely. “Um. I thought—you wouldn’t want—” Hermann continues to stare at him. His iris is still ringed red like Newt’s. “I just mean I know you’re weird about stuff like that. Public stuff.” Hermann has been a closed and tightly-bound book for as long as Newt’s known him; he can’t imagine that would suddenly change and he would start broadcasting his emotions far and wide in the course of a week just because he’s a little less stressed.

Or, you know. Maybe Newt’s totally wrong on this. “Ah,” Hermann says. He nods, very seriously. “Yes. I have been considering that as well. I see no reason to hide recent developments in our relationship.” He squeezes Newt’s hand. "In fact, I see no reason to not be quite, er, proud of them. You’re quite the catch.”

Newt remembers the stolen sweatshirt. Maybe Hermann wearing it out to get them breakfast was more calculated than he realized. “So if I made out with you against the wall right now you wouldn’t be mad?” Newt says.

“Well,” Hermann says, inclining his head to his door, "seeing as my quarters are right there, it seems a rather unnecessary inconvenience.”

“Yeah, I guess.” Newt smiles as Hermann leads him in. “Can I really pick the movie?”

“Within reason.”

#newmann #maria's fanfiction tag #esperata

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ibijau · 3 years ago

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Concubine nhs pt10 / on AO3

Lan Qiren was predictably satisfied that next morning to learn that his nephew was finally willing to let him start looking for a young woman who would become empress. He had been pressing for it even before Lan Xichen met Nie Huaisang, and it had since become one of their few causes for arguments. This change of opinion pleased him so well that Lan Xichen felt a fresh new layer of guilt adding up to what was already plaguing him.

“I’m glad that boy can make you behave, where I can’t,” Lan Qiren said after being fed a lie. “I suppose I should have expected it. He’s smart, when he bothers.” To this Lan Xichen replied with a puzzled look, so his uncle explained. “I’ve been sending him books to study, and he sends notes saying what he thought of them. His understanding is usually shallow on most subjects, but he makes interesting observations sometimes. A good teacher might make something of him.”

That was something that Nie Huaisang had mentioned. Or at least, he had said that Lan Qiren was sending him books, blaming those less frivolous volumes he had in the little house on the emperor’s uncle. The way he’d spoken about it seemed to imply that he was not reading them, and he certainly never said anything about writing his own commentary on them.

It upset Lan Xichen to think that his uncle might have known Nie Huaisang better than he did.

He wondered if there was anyone who didn't know Nie Huaisang better than he did.

“If shufu thinks so, then he’s welcome to see if Huaisang might be interested in being taught,” Lan Xichen said, keeping his tone polite and distant. “Once I am married, I fear I might have less time to devote to him. Studying would provide him with something to do.”

And perhaps Nie Mingjue would hate Lan Xichen a little less in the future if his brother was given a chance for education. Perhaps that could still be saved. If Lan Qiren was the one to find him a teacher, it would certainly be a good one. Nothing but the best would do for an imperial concubine, and Lan Qiren had very high standards.

“I’ll see what can be arranged,” Lan Qiren promised. “I might visit him myself if I have time. I’ve missed having a student, and I’m curious about that boy. Even Wangji seems to think well of him, I can't continue ignoring him eternally.”

Lan Xichen smiled with as much joy as he could fake. He would have to warn Nie Huaisang then. His uncle was not prone to gossip, but he might become upset at Lord Nie for having used his son in such a manner, and Lan Xichen did not wish to see that friendship compromised. Not only that, but he did not want to be scolded for having behaved like a fool. He was ashamed enough about everything that had happened without his uncle lecturing him about it.

Having dealt with that matter, Lan Xichen went on with his day, not without some difficulty. He found it hard to focus on councils, or the people to whom he granted audiences. Every problem was important, and deserved his full attention, but his mind was elsewhere, and only through great effort did he manage to do his duty. Only a bad emperor would let private business distract him from his empire, he'd always been told, and yet there he was.

It took just as much effort to get ready to go to the little house that evening. Lan Xichen had prepared some reports he needed to read, hoping to somehow turn the time spent in that house into something productive. That plan crumbled when he opened the door only to be greeted by Nie Huaisang, dressed in his finest clothes, wearing too much jewellery, smiling at him as if nothing had happened.

“You’re home!” Nie Huaisang exclaimed, springing from the sofa where he’d been sitting and running toward Lan Xichen who only escaped his concubine’s embrace by holding up a hand and pushing him away.

“What are you doing?” Lan Xichen snarled.

Nie Huaisang stumbled, his smile wavering. He stared at Lan Xichen for a moment, eyes wide and terrified, before quickly lowering his gaze as he bowed deeply.

“His highness said he would continue visiting,” Nie Huaisang mumbled. “This humble one thought his highness would wish… that I should…”

“No!” Lan Xichen exclaimed, so embarrassed it made him nauseous.

He still wanted Nie Huaisang, still loved him. He couldn’t help it, not even when he now knew that the person he loved wasn’t real. But as much as he’d been desperate the day before for any sign that Nie Huaisang might wish to continue his comedy, now that it was truly happening, the thought of it was appalling. It was bad enough that he’d unknowingly taken advantage in the past, but to still kiss Nie Huaisang and take him to bed while fully aware that the other man did not want him back would have been criminal.

He’d made a mistake in taking what was only offered under duress. He would not make another mistake in continuing to take advantage.

“We’re not doing that anymore,” Lan Xichen said, prompting Nie Huaisang to raise his eyes and throw him a confused look. “I’ve told you, I’m only continuing to come here to avoid giving the impression that your family fell out of favour. I’m not… I won’t ask that of you again. You can be safe on that regard at least!”

That reassurance did not have the intended effect, and Nie Huaisang only looked more distressed. Perhaps now that the initial shock of being discovered had passed, he was worried about what his father would say when he heard about that failure, and truly hoped to mend what had broken. Lan Xichen felt angry, but sorry too. Maybe when the war was over, he would find a way to free Nie Huaisang from his current position without sending him back to face his father.

Maybe Lan Qiren had the right idea, about finding him a teacher. If Nie Huaisang could pass the exams and enter the administration, his father might find it harder to punish him.

“In the future, when I come here, just continue on as if you were alone,” Lan Xichen ordered. “I will do the same. You don’t need to dress up like this, either. Just keep on what you’d normally wear.”

“Yes, your highness.”

Lan Xichen opened his mouth, ready to say there was no need to be using his title, only to quickly change his mind. Much as that new proof of the distance between them pained him, it would be worse to be addressed in a familiar manner. This was safer.

“Let’s eat,” Lan Xichen decided. “Then I will work for a while and sleep. You’ll take the bed,” he added after a moment of reflection. “I’ll take the sofa.”

“Your highness should take the bed,” Nie Huaisang protested. “It would be more suitable.”

“The sofa is fine.”

Nie Huaisang hesitated, and bowed even deeper. “His highness is tall, and the sofa is not long enough for him to lay down comfortably. This humble one is shorter, and has fallen asleep there many times without issues.”

It was reasonable, but Lan Xichen disliked the idea of sending Nie Huaisang to sleep on the sofa while keeping the bed to himself. It would feel like taking advantage again.

“You take the bed,” he insisted. “I might not even sleep at all anyway. I have a lot of work.”

Nie Huaisang looked unconvinced. He pouted, as if ready to say something about Lan Xichen’s stubbornness, as he did sometimes. But remembering he didn’t have to pretend to care anymore, he just lowered his eyes and gave up on the matter.

The evening, after that, went on quietly and awkwardly. They ate without a word, Lan Xichen having to fight several times the impulse to put in Nie Huaisang’s bowl some vegetables he knew the other man liked, or to ask him about his day. That heavy silence between them was hard to handle and yet necessary, or so Lan Xichen tried to convince himself. When they were done, the table was freed and cleaned to Lan Xichen could work, while Nie Huaisang grabbed a book and took refuge on the bed. It was the same military treaty as the previous day. Lan Xichen couldn’t help being upset about that for some reason, though he tried to focus on the reports he’d brought.

Tried, and failed.

"Shufu has told me he'd like to come see you," Lan Xichen announced after a while, when he found himself glancing at Nie Huaisang again and their eyes met. "He is interested in talking to you about the books he's made you read. I would appreciate if you kept our current situation from him."

"Of course, your highness,” Nie Huaisang replied, curling up a little tighter in his corner of the bed.

"He also spoke of finding you a teacher. If that's something you'd like, tell him. We have to start planning for your future after the war."

"Yes, your highness."

Lan Xichen frowned, wanting to ask what Nie Huaisang wanted, but refrained from it. Lan Qiren would be told, and he was the one who could organise those things. Having warned Nie Huaisang, the rest was out of Lan Xichen's hands.

For a good while longer, Lan Xichen continued reading. He took notes as long as he could, until tiredness made that impossible. Then he laid down on the sofa, forced to fold his body in a rather uncomfortable position as he continued reading.

After those last few days, even a bad position was not enough to keep Lan Xichen awake through the night. Without noticing he fell asleep, and only woke up a little before dawn. His aching back was what woke him, but the first thing he really noticed was that someone had wrapped a heavy blanket around him while he slept.

There could be no doubt that it was Nie Huaisang’s doing. Aside from the two of them, nobody would have dared to enter the little house at night. Servants had been instructed quite strictly from the start to wait until morning to pick up empty dishes, unless ordered otherwise. But as to why Nie Huaisang would do such a thing, Lan Xichen couldn't be sure.

It might have been nothing more than duty, and the need for every subject to care for their emperor. Or perhaps it was merely the force of habit, after three years of living together. Or else, if Lan Xichen allowed himself a moment of weakness, he could pretend that Nie Huaisang did care for him, not as an emperor but as a person.

A pleasant illusion to have in the vanishing darkness, but which could not be lingered on as morning light lazily inundated the little house.

Lan Xichen got up from the sofa, and stretched as best as he could when he wouldn't let go of that blanket. Out of habit, he turned his attention to the bed, where Nie Huaisang was sleeping deeply. Just like Lan Xichen, he must have fallen asleep by accident: his candle had entirely consumed itself, and his book laid open on the mattress, not far from his hand.

It wasn't an unfamiliar scene. Nie Huaisang would sometimes stay awake later than was reasonable, reading about poetry or devouring a novel. What Lan Xichen would do then, what he did again that morning, was to pick up the discarded book, placing something in it to keep the page. He would then make sure Nie Huaisang was warm enough, which he did that time by giving back the blanket offered to him during the night. And then, because Nie Huaisang always looked so sweet and peaceful in sleep, he would…

Lan Xichen froze above Nie Huaisang, having stopped just before his lips could touch the other man's. He remained that way a moment, hardly daring to breathe as the realisation of what he had almost done hit him. Then, as if struck by an invisible force, he quickly stumbled back, nearly tripping on the hem of his robe in his haste to put distance between himself and the sleeping young man.

Habit was a powerful thing, Lan Xichen thought as he hurried to make himself presentable so he could leave that cursed house.

He would have to be more careful in the future.

#xisang #nie huaisang #lan xichen #mo dao zu shi #mdzs #jau writes #concubine au #short one but I'm procrastinating on a bunch of stuff again #mostly on xisang week preparations

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aipilosse · 4 years ago

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I don't know if you're still doing the ask prompts, but I saw you'd already filled the one I'd put for Mae Squared before so I thought I'd pick a different one so you didn't have to do the same one twice. I was thinking maybe 15? But only if you're still doing them/want to! Thanks for all the lovley writing you give to the fandom!

Yes I am! My first attempt at Maedhros/Sauron AKA Mae Squared, and the prompt ‘Out of your element’ from this prompt list. Rated Teen or so for, ya know, Angband.

There were so many different layers of misery in Angband.

There was the misery of torture of course, of having the flesh torn from his back with spiked whips until he passed out from blood loss, only to have the whips brought out again when he was half healed. There was the horrible pain of glowing metal set to his flesh until he thought his bones must be singed, all the while his tormenters asked for answers he did not know and had never known. There was the misery of constant humiliation, sometimes as a method of torment, but also the just the daily degradation as he was denied clothes and the filth on his body built up, until he felt lower than a worm.

He also learned that misery could be delivered just as well through neglect. At first, he thought he could bear hunger, but as the years passed and he saw his body waste before his eyes, the gnawing pain in his gut became harder and harder to bear. The pain of thirst moved faster; he soon learned that even if he had been allowed a cup of bitter, oily water, in just a few hours Maitimo’s throat would be burning. He would wait for days with his awful thirst in whatever position he had been chained in, the ache in his joints and the cramps in his muscles growing into agony.

Misery sank into his bones, until it seemed to encompass his past, his present, and his future. When they came to unchain him from the horrible crouch he had been kept in for several days, Maitimo felt a brief moment of relief despite the more logical part of his mind that told him he was being released only for further pain. The four orcs sent to escort him had to drag him; his legs refused to move after being locked in place for so long.

When the walls changed from the rough texture of the caves he was usually moved between to smooth dark stone, Maitimo felt his dread grow. The only time he was taken this far above ground was when he was taken to Morgoth, and that was the worst misery by far in Angband. The Vala’s piercing eyes and terrible burning spirit seemed able to torment his mind as much as whips tormented his body.

He wasn’t brought to the throne room. Instead, they stopped in front of a pair of iron bound double doors.

“We have a guest for Lord Mairon,” one of the orcs said.

The guard at the door peered at him suspiciously. “My lord did not tell me he was expecting any visitors.”

“Order from the Mighty One,” the orc replied.

“He’s not going to like this,” the guard warned, but rapped on the door with his spear anyway.

“What?” The flat question came from inside the room.

“Lord Melkor has sent you a visitor.”

There was a sound that seemed penetrate Maitimo’s very being; whatever was on the other side of that door wasn’t pleased. “Make it quick.”

Maitimo didn’t know what he expected as he was dragged through the door, but whatever it was, it wasn’t this. The floor was carpeted, the plush surface unbelievably soft against feet that had only felt stone for years. The room was diffused with light, the soft glow of candles magnified by crystals and colored glass. The large room seemed to be divided into different purposes — Maitimo could have sworn he saw goldsmithing tools at a workbench and another corner with glass containers filled with multi-colored liquids — before he was thrown to the ground.

“Kneel,” snarled the orc, as if it was possible for Maitimo to do anything else. He bowed to Mairon. “The Mighty One says you must interrogate him.”

“Oh really? I must interrogate him? As if I have nothing better to do with my time than question a useless prisoner? I suppose requisitions, excavations, and the logistics of arming our entire host is not enough?” Mairon’s low musical voice was at odds with the sharp sarcasm of his tone. Maitimo watched his guards shuffle awkwardly from his spot on the ground.

“Get out. And if you breathe a word of what I said, I will slowly boil you from the inside out.” The orcs beat a hasty retreat, and then they were alone. Maitimo didn’t look up; whatever horrors were in store for him would happen whatever he did.

“Well, have a seat, I’ll get to you in a moment.” That at least grabbed Maitimo’s attention. He peered up from his spot on the floor. Mairon wasn’t looking at him at all; his entire focus was on whatever he was writing. Maitimo almost gasped out loud; Mairon was stunning. Red hair, a deeper shade than any he had seen tumbled around his shoulders. The golden flame of his eyes was mesmerizing. Maitimo swallowed; he already felt horribly out of place and filthy in the rich, pristine chambers. Now he felt like a twisted creature compared to the being before him.

But he had been asked to take a seat. Earlier, he would have fought even the smallest order in Angband, but now he knew there was no point in resisting this reasonable request. Better to save his energy for the actual questioning. Maitimo crawled to the chair, and pulled himself onto it. He winced as he sat down. His back and buttocks were still only partially healed from the last time he had been whipped, but the flinch was more so at the thought of his filthy skin touching the elegant upholstery.

Mairon didn’t look up through the whole laborious process. He appeared to be filling in some sort of grid, carefully writing figures and occasionally tallying up the columns. Finally he looked up.

“So you are the High King of the Noldor?” He sounded bored.

“I was. I am not king of much here.” Maitimo met Mairon’s eyes, trying not to be the cringing thing he could feel himself becoming.

“Hm, so I am to interrogate you. Are they still asking you about silima?”

“Among other things,” Maitimo said cautiously.

“I already know the size of your army, how they are armed, what they have gained, what they still lack, where you are camped, the messages that have been exchanged with the local Sindar, and who now calls himself the High King. I’m sure I know more than you at this point about the Noldor on these shores.” Mairon sighed heavily. “But I shall question you nonetheless. How did Fëanáro create the Silmarils?”

“I don’t know,” Maitimo said, reflexive terror closing around his throat and making his voice shake.

“Why did Fëanáro burn the ships?”

“To prevent anyone from fleeing, and from his half-brother from joining us.” He had agonized over letting that information slip, but it had spilled out some time ago. In the end he wasn’t sure how much it mattered. Morgoth already knew of the strife between Fëanáro and Nolofinwë; he had helped sow it. At least Maitimo had not spoken of the kinslaying.

“Anything else you wish to share?” Mairon absently flicked a contraption on his desk, setting off a tinkling cascade of chimes.

“No.”

“Well, that was a very productive conversation, a good use of time for us both.”

Maitimo felt a huff of air leave him, something like a laugh. “This is the best use of my time since I arrived.”

A corner of Mairon’s mouth rose. “I suppose it is.” He drummed his fingers against the desk. “Nelyafinwë, do you like games?”

“Yes,” said Maitimo hesitantly.

“The only thing that’s enjoyed by folk here is base gambling. A good wager can be entertaining, but only for a moment.” Mairon carefully set the ledger to the side. “The numbers are as good as they are going to get until Langon sends his update.” Mairon stood and returned with two goblets. He handed one to Maitimo. Maitimo sniffed it suspiciously.

“It’s water.”

After a cautious sip, Maitimo began to drink greedily, the cool, clean water soothing his parched throat and tasting sweeter than any nectar.

“If you throw up, I am expelling you immediately.”

Maitimo reluctantly lowered the goblet, and saw a board with many glittering pieces had appeared on the desk.

“So, you are the silver pieces, I am the gold,” Mairon began. Maitimo tried to focus on the rules, his mind still reeling from the unexpected, if temporary, relief from torment and his surprisingly charming host.

#Maedhros/Sauron #Mai squared #this was fun #thanks for the prompt!#my writing #ibrithir-was-here #askaipi

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the-irken-pony · 4 years ago

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Hi I wrote a self-indulgent copperright fanfic based on a daydream

I totally didn’t learn the rules of poker just so I could write this fic what are you talking about

Quick summary: (Takes place during Terrence Suave’s time) Four Toppats opt for an afternoon of poker, but the group notices their friend acting unusual after a brief conversation with the chief’s right hand man.

Word count: 1998

Warnings: Gambling

“Alright, Macbeth, how much are ya putting in?” Gordon Smith smirked, fanning himself with the playing cards in his hand. “Unless you’re doing the wise thing and dropping out now.”

Mr. Macbeth huffed, skimming over his current stash of bills. “Hold yer horses, I’m tryna think.”

The man directly across from Macbeth grunted. “Let ‘im take ‘is time. He wouldn’t wanna drop out if he didn’t ‘ave to.” He gave a quick glance down at his hand; luck had favored him enough to grant him a straight flush, one of the best possible hands. “Could afford to think a little faster, though.”

Mr. Macbeth growled. “Alright, alright, fine.” Macbeth downed the rest of his soda and pushed forward half of his current earnings. “$600.”

“You sure about that?” Sledge MacRush raised his eyebrows. “When did you get so bold?”

“When y’all decided that rushin’ me was a better idea than just waitin’. Six hundred, final answer.

“Hm. Very well then. I’ll match you up on that. What about you, Smith?”

Smith chuckled sheepishly. “Aw man. I’m gonna have to drop out on this one. Promised Charlotte I wouldn’t bet more than $500 at a time.”

“What!? Come on, mate, you shoulda said somethin’ sooner!”

“Haha, yeah, I guess…”

“Well, after this round we can establish a limit.” Sledge gave him a sympathetic smile. “That leaves you, Red. You droppin’ out, too?”

“Nah, might as well stay. $600 for me as well.”

Of course, Red wasn’t actually the man’s name. People only called him that because of his naturally orange facial hair. People called “Red” all sorts of things, since he never gave his name out to anyone, not even close friends. He had to admit that he was hoping to have gotten a more consistent nickname by now, much like other Toppats. Even so, constantly changing nicknames was still better than telling someone his real name.

“So then, everyone else has bet already, eh? Alright, then, reveal your hands… now!”

Everyone around the table booth (except for poor Smith) laid their hands out on the table. Seeing the straight flush that the mustached man had laid out on the table, Sledge and Macbeth groaned as the nameless man chuckled.

“Maybe don’t put in half your cash next time,” he sneered.

Sledge huffed. “Remind me why we invite you to these things again?”

“Because you wouldn’t admit defeat if it left you stranded on an island with no way off.”

Sledge glared at the ginger from across the table as Smith let out a small chuckle.

“Touché.” He gathered up the cards and began to shuffle them. “Macbeth, you goin’ first this time?”

“Ahem. Excuse me.”

The group looked up from their game to see who had spoken. Standing next to the table booth was the chief’s new second in command, holding a clipboard and pen. He had only had his job for a week, but some Toppats were already calling him “the chief’s only good decision”. Admittedly, it was easy to see why just from a glance; he always stood in a very dignified manner, and every aspect of his appearance gave a sense of formality and professionalism--save for the bags under his eyes.

“Oi, Reginald, can it wait? We’re kinda in the middle of somethin’ ‘ere,” Sledge said as he continued to shuffle.

“Well, can you put it on hold? This is kind of important,” the right hand man replied, tapping his pen onto his clipboard.

Red shot Sledge a glare from across the table, prompting the latter to set down the deck of cards.

“Ignore him. Whatcha need, then?”

“What? Oh, right, right…” Reginald flipped through a couple of pages of his clipboard. “Mister Gordon Smith, the leader is sending you undercover tomorrow, and would like you to spend tonight preparing.”

“W-wait, tomorrow?” Smith stammered. “Why!?”

“Don’t ask me, I wouldn’t know,” Reginald yawned, rubbing his eyes. “He hasn’t given many details, he’s just said that he’s sent one other person already.”

“Why not pick someone else!?” Mr. Macbeth snapped. “It ain’t like everyone else’s busier than he is.”

“Easy, easy. I don’t mind doing it,” Smith assured him. Macbeth grumbled something under his breath as he crushed his empty soda can in his hand. Sledge crossed his arms and pouted. Seeing how tense the table was, Red cleared his throat to speak.

“So… one week into the job already, eh? How’sat been goin’ for ya?”

“I probably shouldn’t answer that,” Reginald muttered, looking over his clipboard. The redhead sat in uncomfortable silence, trying to think of a good response.

“…Cool.”

“Anyways,” Reginald said, “that’s all I needed from you. I won’t take up any more of your time.”

“Alright, thank you,” Smith replied. The group watched as the man left the table while staring at his clipboard.

“Guess we’ll leave it up to you, Smith,” Sledge said. “Do you wanna keep goin’ or would ya rather get an early start on prep?”

“Well…”

As the others discussed Smith’s plans for the day, Red watched the chief’s right hand pour himself a cup of coffee, drink the whole cup in one gulp, and then pour himself a second cup before putting in additives.

He furrowed his brow. How little sleep was the man getting? Given the chief’s current track record, it did make sense--other elite members often said that Reginald was eager to please, after all, but it seemed that the whole clan rested on his shoulders. He had only gotten brief glimpses of the right hand man in the past, but when he did he was always by himself hunched over a series of papers.

Yet, despite everything, a mere glance at him would give no indication of a struggle. He kept himself so professional-looking and neat; he always wore a fancy suit, and his mustache was styled to curl upwards at the ends. And that wasn’t even mentioning his delicate yet dignified posture whenever he stood or talked to--

“Oi!”

Red felt a sharp flick against the back of his head, yanking him away from his thoughts. He turned and glared at the man responsible, rubbing the spot where Sledge had flicked him.

“Ya awake over there, Foggy Eyes? We’ve been talkin’ at ya for like a solid minute now!”

“Oh, uh, were you?” “Foggy Eyes” sheepishly cleared his throat. “What’s up, then?”

“We were discussin’ plans with Smith.” Macbeth nodded his head in Smith’s direction.

“I’m good with going for one more round, if everyone else still wants to,” Smith said.

“Oh. Well, deal me in, then.”

“Alright, nice!” Sledge picked up the deck and began to shuffle.

“So what were you staring at over there, anyway?” Smith asked, lifting his head up to see over him.

“What? I wasn’t starin’ at anything.”

“No, ya definitely were,” Sledge chuckled as he combined two partial decks of cards. “You kept starin’ in the same direction since that guy left.”

“I-I just… zoned out, is all.” The ginger was starting to get nervous. “Anyway, it doesn’t matter.”

Macbeth squinted. “You’re actin’ awful strange…”

“Keep talkin’ and you ain’t gonna be actin’ anything,” Red snapped.

Next to him, Smith was deep in thought. “Sledge… say that last part again…?”

The ginger could feel himself getting warm. “W-wait, no, don’t--”

“‘You kept starin’ in the same direction’?”

“Nono, after that.”

“Don’t--”

“‘Since that guy left’?”

“Yeah, heh. That.” Smith nudged the hunched up man sitting next to him. “That have anything to do with anything?”

“Uhhhh…” The man slightly lowered his hat to try and obscure his face, which was already turning noticeably red. Sledge snickered.

“Oh, I see what’s goin’ on here,” he said with a smirk. “You don’t happen to fancy the chief’s right hand man, do ya?”

“I-- O-of course not!” he sputtered. “I-I just-- M-Macbeth, c’mon, back me up here, will ya?”

“Man, you were red as a tomato ‘fore anyone even said anythin’.” Mr. Macbeth leaned back in his seat. “I couldn’t defend ya if I wanted to.”

“Shut up, I was not!”

“Come ooon, admit it already!” Smith gave the flustered Toppat a light shove. “It’s not like we haven’t already caught on.”

“I-I, um-- I--” He pulled his top hat down over his face, which had risen to an unbearable temperature by this point. “I-I don’t-- I dunno, I…” he mumbled, getting quieter with every word, “I-I guess he’s, uh… k-kind-- kinda… sorta… r-really… c-cute…”

Sledge burst into a fit of laughter. “Oh man, I knew ya had a thing for ‘im, but I didn’t know it was that bad!”

“I-it is not…” By this point, the man’s face had turned to a brighter shade of red than his mustache.

“Well, go on,” Smith urged. “Whaddya like about him?”

“Mmmmrrrmmmppphhh…”

Mr. Macbeth couldn’t hold back a chuckle. “Gotta admit, never woulda ‘spected to see ya like this any day of the week.”

“Shutupshutupshutupshutupshutupshutupshutup…”

Smith laughed and patted him on the shoulder. “Well?”

“Ohhh my goood…” Red swallowed, trying desperately to compose himself. Knowing there was no way he was getting out of this, he forced himself to speak. “W-well, there’s, uh…” He couldn’t help but smile as he recalled the right hand man’s various features. “Th-there’s his-- his mustache, I-I guess… and-and his voice…”

Remembering that he was with three other people, he cleared his throat.

“Alright, all of you, listen.” He glared at the three Toppats. “Word of this gets out to anyone, and I’ll blow all your heads off. Understood?”

“Alright, alright,” Sledge laughed. “Wasn’t plannin’ on tellin’ anyone anyway, lover boy.”

Red froze. “I-- L-lov--!?” There were at least one hundred different insults he wanted to retort back, but no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t get a single word to come out.

“Aw, don’t take it too hard, man,” Smith said. “If it means anything, I’d say you’ve got a shot.”

“Would ya?”

Smith placed a hand on his shoulder. “Oh, sure. I bet you two’d be really cute together,” he sang while nudging the ginger, who buried his flushed face in his hands.

“Oh my god, I hate you so much…”

“Alright, you two, enough already,” Macbeth told them. “Y’all’re gonna kill ‘im at this rate.”

Smith giggled. “Okay, okay. Really though,” he told Red. “I’m sure you’ll do fine. Take it from me--it took me years to ask Charlotte out on a date, and just last week we celebrated our second anniversary.”

The man smiled a little. “Thanks.”

“Don’t mention it.” Smith looked down at his watch and frowned. “Oh man, I completely lost track of time, I gotta get ready.”

Sledge rubbed the back of his head. “I suppose that’s gonna mean you’ll need your phone back, then?”

“Yes, Sledge.” Smith crossed his arms. “Yes it will.”

Macbeth rolled his eyes. “I really don’t understand why ya keep takin’ it from ‘im.”

“It gets better signal than mine…” Sledge replied, hunching his shoulders defensively.

“There are better phones than his, y’know,” Red snickered.

“I can get his easier,” Sledge huffed. “Whatever. I’ll come along just in case it got lost in my room somewhere.”

“Thanks.” Smith glared. He turned to Red. “Anyways, keep your chin up, mate.”

As the group gathered their earned cash and got up to leave, Red’s mind drifted back to the chief’s right hand man. Whenever he saw him during work hours, he was always by himself. He didn’t ever see him not working either. Did he not have anyone else to help him with the workload? Or even to talk to?

Maybe Smith was right. Even if they didn’t start going out, he at least deserved someone to talk to and help him manage his workload. There was no good reason for him to have to do it all alone.

“Ahem.”

The group turned to Mr. Macbeth, who was standing next to the table, which was covered in scattered playing cards.

“Any of ya gonna help me get these?”

The group exchanged glances with each other.

“Nah.”

#thsc gordon smith #sledge macrush #mr macbeth #right hand man #reginald copperbottom #copperright #henry stickmin #the henry stickmin collection #thsc #fanfiction #tw gambling #shipping #oneshot #mine #ask to tag anything else

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animeyanderelover · 4 years ago

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Hiii it's me again XD Can you write promp 52 to Dagger?

Hey, always happy to see you in here😇. It became pretty short, but I hope it’s still fine.

Warnings: Yandere themes, unhealthy mindset, unhealthy relationship, delusional thinking, paranoia, mentions of kidnapping

Prompt 52:You want to leave me?!?! Why?!?! Is it because I beat those people who insulted you last week? Or is it because I didn’t make you your favorite breakfast yesterday? Whatever it is, I promise I can fix it!!”

You want to leave me?!?! Why?!?! Is it because I beat those people who insulted you last week? Or is it because I didn’t make you your favorite breakfast yesterday? Whatever it is, I promise I can fix it!!” All you had asked for was a small break, nothing more and nothing less. It had been just a small request to your boyfriend who had become too much for you to endure anymore, constantly glaring at anyone near you, going as far as actually throwing hands and get into a fight with the other person. It happened so many times that Joker had to drag him away from others or Doll had rushed over to get you since you were the only one who was in such moments able to calm him down. That wasn’t the only problem in here though. Dagger was just too much, too overbearing, too clingy, too affectionate. At first it had been rather cute, really. You had just taken it as a sign that Dagger really loved you. And even know you didn’t doubt his love for you. But as weird as it may have sounded to other people, right now you just needed a break from this all. He was too sweet and doting with his words, awakening more annoyance than appreciation inside of you. He was too smothering with his touches and kisses, wanting you to push him away whenever he showered your face with kisses after a performance or just cuddled the oxygen out of you. And this was the point where you realized that you needed to take a short break to be able to calm your mind.

But Dagger apparently didn’t think so, pacing panicked in circles around you, preventing you from leaving the tent. He looked beyond disturbed, muttering inaudible words like a waterfall, eyes darting quickly around, every few seconds landing on you with an emotion you couldn’t find a fitting word to describe for, not knowing if there was even a fitting word. But whatever this emotion reflecting in his eyes was, it caused you to shiver, swallowing your growing uneasiness down. You shouldn’t have told him, that would have probably saved you from this moment here. But avoiding Dagger was impossible since you two worked often together, not to mention that you two saw each other each day due to living in the circus. So even if you would have send someone else to tell him that you needed a break, what good would have done it anyways? He would have just stormed out and instantly looked frantically for you. In the end it would have ended in the same situation, you guessed with Dagger this was unavoidable. “Come on Dagger, don’t act like this. It’s just a small break, it won’t kill you, you know? Just give me a bit of time and use it to work on your rather unacceptable behavior and we two are fine again. Doesn’t sound that hard now, does it? I mean, even Joker thinks that you’re acting a bit off.”

And suddenly Dagger stopped, freezing in his step he had wanted to take, as if someone had suddenly put a spell onto him. It looked weird to you. That was at least until you noticed something rather off. His whole body didn’t move. Except his eyes. His eyes were trembling, almost a sort of gaze over them. It was already eerie enough that only his eyes seemed to move, but rather than this it was the look presented in them. This dark and thick darkness in them, leading you to slowly stepping back. “Dagger...?” And with a speed that made you fear for a moment that he would snap his neck, Dagger turned his head to you, sea-green eyes drilling themself with an unbelievable intensity in you, giving you the feeling of not being able to breathe properly anymore. You had never expected him to be able to look that scary, his normally more lively personality being gone, his normally always emotion-filled face looking suspiciously blank. Only the weird and hideous glimmer in those eyes of his showed you an emotion. Cold rage. And suddenly you couldn’t move anymore, your limbs refusing to work like they should. What was with this look of his? You couldn’t recall a time before where he had ever looked more ready to just kill someone without giving a care.

But luckily he soon seemed to snap out of it, the coldness slowly melting away, showing you this certain spark in his eyes again that he always had when looking at you and you let a deep breath out, feeling like someone had just removed invisible chains. “I see. So it’s their fault.” You raised your eyebrow confused, not understanding what he meant with that. Was he even talking to you? He kind of looked at you, but at the same time you gained the impression that he didn’t look at you. “Excuse you?”, you asked carefully, at this point not knowing how to act around him. Should you be worried that he might do something stupid? Upon noticing your concerned expression Dagger gave you a smile, obviously trying to comfort you. But it did pretty much the opposite, causing your stomach to churn. It looked too bright for it’s own good, this smile of his. “You don’t have to be worried. I’m not angry with you. It’s not your fault.” For this stupid short moment you thought he had now accepted or at least tried to accept your pleas for a short break. And for a second you relaxed a bit, before stiffening up again when he continued. “It’s their thought, I knew that they were all against me. They all want you for themselves, that’s why they keep trying to get into your head. Yes...yes, that must be it. They corrupted your mind.”

Wow...This guy was delusional through the roof. Was he even listening to what he was mumbling there? What was this fellow there even talking about? But before you could even start asking him if he was either just very delusional or crazy he suddenly stepped closer to you, grabbing your hands and pulling you a bit closer to him, leading to you flinching away from him. “It’ll be alright. They just got into your head. But I will fix this and then everything will be fine again. Just let me take care of everything, I’ll ensure that everything will be fine. All we need to do is escaping this place here. That would be the best, to move you away from everyone here. They just want to steal you away from me anyways. It’ll be necessary for you to clear your mind and then we can start a nice and save life somewhere else.” His eyes literally screamed delusional, not to mention his voice that had sounded more and more thrilled the longer he had spoken, leading him to the point of tightly clutching your hands. You on the other hand had paled, labeling him officially as a lunatic in that very moment. And that made you realize that it would be the best option to get the fuck out of his tent, to storm to Beast and hoping that she would be able to whip some sense into this boy’s thick head.

But you hadn’t even had to do anything, Dagger suddenly pressing a quick kiss against your forehead before suddenly turning around, humming quietly to himself and skipping, SKIPPING, out of the tent, humming quietly a melody to himself. You remained frozen, eyes glued to the back of his head until he was out of your sight. A really bad feeling washed all over you, suddenly feeling like you should probably stay at least with one of the first-string members all the time. You definitely weren’t safe in here anymore, that much you knew. The question was how much Joker would be able to do against his friend? Would he be even willing to do much? Dagger was after all his childhood friend and you weren’t sure if your comfort would be put higher or if Joker would decide to overlook Dagger’s behavior. But you knew one thing for sure. You had to be on high alert from now on.

#yandere black butler #yandere kuroshitsuji #yandere dagger

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bumpthumpwhump · 4 years ago

Text

Snippets from in the cellar

This is my first piece with original characters/content that I’m posting anywhere ever (so please let me know your thoughts) but when I saw this prompt (see below) I knew I had to write something. The only trigger warnings for this would really be: held captive with injuries, a little swearing and heavy angst, smaller reference to non-con if you squint hard enough to see it, so if that’s not your thing then please don’t read. Story under the cut.

This is from a prompt I saw by @whumpthencomfort (I tried to tag you for credit but it wouldn’t find your blog):

“The whumper lives in a nice suburban street where nothing bad ever happens and keeps the whumpee in their basement a secret from their family. One day, during a neighbourhood barbecue, the whumpers kid and couple of their friends break into the basement expecting to find alcohol - only to discover the terrified, traumatised whumpee who had just about given up hope that anyone was going to save them.”

He’s jerked into consciousness from the impact to the side of his face and the breath being forced from his chest as he’s thrown to the floor, with his hands tied behind his back he had no way to lessen the impact or protect his already bruised body. Drowsily he looks around and takes in the room he’s lying in, a wine cellar, he realises. As his eyes try their best to adjust to the bright overhead lights and tries to shake off the drug in his system, he feels chains being fastened around his ankles “wha… what?” He asks, his mind struggles to keep pace and make sense of what’s happening. He’s no stranger to waking up from being high but this is too different.

The rough voice comes from behind him as he feels chains being wrapped around his bare wrists “Shut the fuck up” he’s told as the zip tie that had been securing his wrists is cut off, the knife nicks the side of his wrist.

He weakly protests as he tries to wriggle away from the man “N…no… you can’t…” but he’s cut off by a thick cloth gag being put between his lips and tied at the back of his head.

He feels the mans breath on his ear as he leans in close “Oh but I can… I can do whatever I want now…” the man trails off as words send a chill down his spine, almost as though he’s pausing for effect… it’s followed up with a tug on the gag, it pulls at his mouth as he’s told “There, that’ll keep you nice and quiet.” The man pats the side of his face and it sends his world spinning again. He thinks that he should’ve seen this coming, that they should’ve been more careful. He knows he can’t let this happen, so he takes as deep a breath as his bruised ribs will allow and tries to scream. It comes out in the form of a muffled cry, he’s still too weak to make it count. He works to regain his breath.

His attention is drawn towards the door to the cellar, where the man stands chuckling as he shrugs and tells him matter of factly “Go ahead, scream as much as you want, no-one would hear you even if you weren’t gagged.“ As the man turns and pulls the door open, from his position on the ground he can blearily see that it leads to a smaller room with another solid looking door. The man turns back and reaches his hand towards the light switch “I’ll give you some time to rest and think about why you’re here.” He then smiles and tilts his head as he adds “oh and I’d try not to fall asleep if I were you, you might be have a concussion” as he flicks the switch and closes the door behind him, the room plunged into darkness and the sound of the locks on the door turning echo through the room along with it’s captives shaky breaths.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * *

He’s sitting on his mattress against the wall eating the sandwich he’d been brought, he doesn’t know how long he’s been down here, he’s lost count of how many times he’s asked this, how many times they’ve been through this routine now. He can’t tell how long he’s been here for, but he’s betting it’s been a while. In a show of desperation he sighs and asks the man sitting opposite him “Please, Paul… I won’t tell…” he interrupts the story about the mans family, the trophy his daughter had won at school yesterday.

Rolling his eyes at he stands, his captor asks “How many times?” Gesturing around the room with his hand extended he continues in sorrowful tone with an underlay for warning “…Do we need to get rid of these again… start from the beginning?”

At those words his mind flashes back to the last time he’d tried to escape, not long after he’d been captured, when he’d tried to overpower his captor and he had to start fresh, being drugged twice a day, having to behave and show Paul that he wasn’t a threat… all so that he’d get his mattress and lamp back. He never thought he’d be grateful for, or treasure, two small things like these. He’d do anything to not be forced to go through withdrawal tied up in the dark on a cold stone floor again. He’s snapped back to reality by a questioning “Well do we?”

Quickly he utters “No I’m sorry… I, I won’t ask again” as he moves into the middle of the mattress in an attempt to stop it being taken, the chain connecting his ankle to the bolt in the wall rattling as it moves with him.

The smile that spreads across that face that he’d love to punch again manages to stir up a burning hatred in his chest, it’s a feeling he didn’t know he was still capable of feeling for the man he’d never thought could harm him, the same man who has managed to reduce him and his world to this existence in this room. He receives a nod “Good…” as they both move back to their original positions, him sitting against the wall as he resumes eating, and the man sitting back down on his chair that he brings in with him, but higher than him, always higher than him.

The next thing the man says feels like a punch to the gut “Besides, no-one’s really missed you…” He pulls back from the bite of the sandwich he was about to take, his hands falling to his lap and his eyes following them, he unconsciously winces as he looks at the scars around his wrists, the sandwich falls to the floor. It can’t be true, he knows there’s at least one person that would still miss him. He opens his mouth to say something as he looks up, any kind of cutting reply would be fine, but all he can do is take a breath as the words die before they’ve even been formed, he looks back down to his lap. He shakes his head in place of the words he can’t say. Almost as though he’s speaking out loud anyway, he hears “They’ve all moved on… moved away…” the voice grows closer and he sees the boots in front of him stop at the edge of his mattress “and when they come home? You’re not even mentioned anymore…”

* * * * * * * * * * * * * *

When he wakes up he realises he’s on the stone floor again, he’s not sure how long he’s been out for this time. Willing his arms to work and carry him this time, he manages to crawl the rest of the short distance to the wall and slowly prop himself up against it, though by the time he’s managed it his vision is fading at the edges again and it hurts too much to sit up, there’s too much pressure on that place he’d never known could hurt like this until he woke up in this room… In fact, everything hurts more than it did before he’d moved. As he gingerly eases himself back down to a lying position, he looks around the room slowly, but doing both things at the same time still makes him dizzy. There’s not much to see anyway from the tiny beam of dull light sneaking in from under the door, but he knows his mattress, water and lamp will be gone. He instantly dismisses his idea of using his shirt to wipe the blood from his eye, he couldn’t manage to get the damn thing off his body anyway.

As he settles on the floor and wills his body to stay as still as it possibly can he silently curses himself… he’s not quite sure whether it was the smugness of that voice, or just the words that Paul had spoken that made him jump up and punch the man under his chin, or whether it’s just that he’s finally snapped and doesn’t really care whether he lives or dies anymore… Either way he knows it was a stupid mistake, he’d barely had time to think about his next move before he was jumped on and pinned down to the mattress “Stupid fucking mistake…” the stern words whispered in his ear somehow felt like they were being screamed as the punches started. He knows he blacked out after he half turned round and was hit on his chest and face with part of the chain that connected his ankle to the wall… he can hazard a good guess what happened next as he takes stock of each ache and pain in his body. He knows he won’t be walking or standing for a while.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * *

He wakes with a start as he hears the first door being opened carefully, he knows what’s coming next, and his breath quickens as much as the battered body will allow it to. He can’t have the drugs, not now, not like this. He knows he won’t last, and for the second time in his captivity he thinks maybe it’s better that he doesn’t come out of this anyway…

The door to the cellar opens slowly, pulling him back from spiralling, it lets in more light, and the footsteps stop in the doorway from the sound. They’ve done this dance once before, and this time he can’t bring himself to look up, what’s the point, he’s accepted his fate, probably couldn’t fight back even if he wanted to… he can hardly breathe without it hurting. His body seems to have a different idea though, as he automatically pushes himself up a little and scoots back, subconsciously moving until he’s propped up with his back is against the wall and he’s squashing down a pained groan from the movement.

Its the sharp intake of breath from the doorway that finally makes him look up, but it’s not the silhouette that he’s become so familiar with that’s standing there now. “I… you… I… b-but… no…” the figure in the door stumbles over the words, and he knows now that he’s officially lost it because it can’t be… Paul said they’d all moved on, moved away… and the voice sounds shocked to see him… Then he realises what this is, that this is the final play in the cruel game that Paul’s been playing for however long he’s been kept down here.

Ignoring the aches that explode everywhere on his body, he pushes his body to curl into a ball because this is the thing that will finally break him, and he’ll hide from it for as long as he can. The footsteps come closer, and they sound almost tentative as they come to a stop before him, almost where Pauls had stopped at the edge of the mattress. He curls tighter into himself and manages to croak out “nnn… no… p-please?” as he shakes his head slightly and the world spins around him as the edges of his vision go dark.

He knows he’s fading as he slides down the wall and meets the ground, faintly hears the far too concerned voice calling the name that he’s not been called in who knows how long, his name… “Sebastian stay with me!” But he can’t make himself stay awake, his eyes close as the world fades away.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * *

If anyone is interested in more from this, I kind had a whole universe in my head while I was writing, so I have a few ideas for other stories, so just let me know :) - Also let me know your thoughts on this one! Thank you for reading!

#whump story #captivity whump #held captive #restrained whumpee #whump prompt #beaten up #emotional whump #drugged #drugged whumpee #injured whumpee #physical whump

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awhitehead17 · 4 years ago

Note

The the prompts: how about some Dick and Tim brotherly bonding? Maybe with some snuggles?

After reading this I had an idea and ran with it. I really enjoyed writing this one and I hope you will enjoy reading it! :D

Without much thought, Dick opens his bedroom door with a smile and allows Tim to enter his room. His smile quickly falters however when all Tim does is hum in greeting and enters the room wordlessly.

His little brother stiffly walks over to the bed where he promptly faceplants the mattress as soon as he’s in reach of it. He lets out a long groan as he lies there not moving.

After closing the door Dick moves over to the bed and hovers there, observing the scene with both amusement and worry. He doesn’t know what’s gotten into Tim, when they had spoken not three hours ago, Tim had been completely fine and had been extremely excited for their movie night. Obviously something’s happened within that short time frame for Tim to be acting like this.

“Tim? What’s the matter?” He asks eventually when the younger doesn’t offer up an explanation for his actions. Dick immediately wants to fret over him and make sure Tim’s okay, but he’s not yet sure on how his mothering will be taken.

With Tim it’s always between accepting the care instantly and melting into it or he blatantly refuses any form of care and shuts himself away from the world. It depends on the situation really. Until Dick can work out what headspace Tim is in, he’s going to have to wait to see what the best way to approach his younger brother with care and affection is.

Letting out another dramatic groan, Tim flops over onto his back and sprawls out across the bed. His tiny 5’5 body doesn’t take up much room on the king-sized bed that Dick has, it almost looks like the covers are swallowing him whole.

“I’m so sore! How is that even possible considering what we do?”

At hearing this whine Dick allows himself to relax now that he knows it’s nothing major. Tim is just being dramatic. He sits on the edge of the mattress looking down at Tim with a raised eyebrow. “What did you do? You were fine when we spoke earlier.”

Tim groans again and reaches up to cover his face in his hands like he’s ashamed. “I made the mistake of training with Jason today. He was in one of his boot-camp, SAS, moods. My legs no longer function.”

Dick winces at the sound of that. Only once has he even been on the receiving end of that mood from Jason. After that one experience he vowed to make sure it never happened again and by the sight of Tim, he’s glad he’s missed out this time.

Without saying anything he observes his brother a little longer, an idea forming in his head as he does. The plan for them that night is to watch a few movies and binge some snacks and just generally hang out. What Dick is thinking about can still fit into that plan if Tim accepts it.

Instead of voicing his idea to Tim, Dick decides to just go ahead with it. He gets up from the bed and goes over to his draws, after picking out a loose pair of shorts he chucks them at Tim. “Put those on. I’ll be back in a second.”

Ignoring Tim’s questions, Dick heads to his ensuite and digs out a certain kit from the back of the cupboard under the sink. Once he’s got it he goes back to the bedroom and finds Tim still sprawled out over the bed but now with the shorts on.

Tim lifts his head and stares at Dick in question. “What are you doing? Aren’t we going to watch some movies?”

Dick places the kit down on his bedside table and nods. “Yes, but while the movie plays, I’m going to give you a massage. At least your legs, it’ll help with the muscle soreness.”

Tim blinks at him for a long moment like he’s trying to comprehend what Dick had just said. After several beats go by his brother shakes his head. “You don’t need to do that Dick. I’ll be fine.”

Dick hums, not taking any notice in the protest. “While I massage your legs, you can watch the film. Once I’ve done both then we can settle for the evening.”

His brother opens his mouth, probably to protest again, but Dick sends him a look, one that tells Tim he isn’t backing down on this. Knowing that he isn’t going to win, Tim shuts his mouth and waves his hand around, silently gesturing Dick to ‘go ahead’ with it.

After deciding on a film, they put it on and Dick starts massaging Tim’s legs. He takes his time with it, regularly checking in with Tim to make sure he’s not hurting him and that he’s hitting all the correct spots.

Other than the check-ins it’s silent between the two of them, not that there needs to be any conversation between them in that moment anyway. It happens to be a comfortable silence that fills the room, the two of them being at ease with one another which makes it easy to relax.

It wasn’t until Dick finishes right leg and moves onto his left that Tim speaks up, breaking the spell between them.

“How do you know how to massage people?” His voice is soft and seems like it’s almost floating.

At the question Dick glances up at the rest of him to find Tim lying there with his eyes closed and the rest of his body relaxed into the mattress underneath him.

Continuing on with the administrations Dick answers him thoughtfully as he reminisces. “I first learnt about it when I was in the circus. Being acrobats we were quite prone to injuries, so after most training sessions and especially after shows, my parents used to massage one another to help their muscles. My mom used to do it to my dad more than the other way around.

Anyway, of course seeing this I picked up a couple bits here and there. They never did it to me, didn’t need to as I just stretched more than anything and of course being a kid meant I didn’t need it like that.

After I moved to the Manor, I once mentioned it to Alfred that my parents used to massage their muscles after exercise. When mentioned it I was a little older and was already Robin, but Alfred had offered to teach me some in-depth massaging techniques that could be used on the body. It was a thing between us for several years until everything went sideways.

When I moved to Bludhaven I lost track of it and basically dropped it. I had become too busy to focus on that sort of thing. It was when Bruce decided to adopt more kids and I was suddenly gaining a wide range of younger siblings that I picked it back up and even took some professional classes. I figured it was a good opportunity to get back into it and then I can help anyone out in this way if they happen to need it.”

As he works his hands down Tim’s calf Dick gets lost in those memories and the journey of what this skill has taken him through throughout his life.

Tim props himself up onto his elbows and studies Dick, Dick simply blinks back and continues with the task. He’s almost done now. “Guess it’s come in handy now after all.” Tim laughs lightly.

“It’s certainly taken long enough,” he retorts back with a grin. Within minutes he finishes up and pats Tim’s legs. “There you go, all done. You’ll still be sore tomorrow but it hopefully shouldn’t be as bad. Would you like a shower to wash the lotion off or are you good?”

Tim slumps back down on the bed again, a smile adoring his face. “I don’t think I could move even if I tried.”

Dick rolls his eyes but is smiling nonetheless. “Sure. I’m going to go wash my hands and then we can settle down finally.”

Now he’s finished, Dick packs up the massage kit and takes it back to the bathroom to put it away. He washes his hands before heading back to the bedroom to find that Tim still hasn’t moved from his sprawled-out position on his bed. Dick raises an eyebrow at him. “Are you planning on sharing any time soon.”

Tim makes a face before shaking his head. “Na, I’m good thanks.”

“Alright have it your way…” with that Dick promptly falls onto the bed, purposely landing half on Tim despite how big the bed actually is. The action makes the younger squawk in protest and he immediately starts trying to squirm out from underneath Dick.

Dick lets him struggle futilely for several moments before finally moving and allowing Tim to breathe easily once again. He wastes no time in manoeuvring them so they are propped up against the headboard cuddling into each other’s sides.

Tim smacks him in the chest, calling him a jerk but Dick sees the smile he’s attempting to fight off and doesn’t think anything of it. He’ll let Tim keep his dignity (or some of it at least). They settle together and start to properly watch the film which is about three quarters the way through by now.

“Hey Dick,” Tim says getting his attention, when Dick looks down at him Tim is watching him fondly, “thank you. Not just for the massage, which by the way felt amazing, but for sharing about it too.”

Dick ducks his head and presses a kiss to Tim’s hair. “Not a problem Timmy. Thank you for letting me help you.”

Tim smiles but doesn’t say anything more, not that there needs to be more words shared. They aren’t necessary anymore, they know each other well enough by now that their gratitude is there without being said.

The comfortable since returns as they settle into each other’s sides for the rest of the evening watching the movies they have queued and eating all the snacks they brought.

#prompt #Tim Drake #dick grayson #brotherly bonding #sibling relationship #big brother dick #massage #tim being dramatic #bat bros #fluff #Bit of humour #cuddles #i really enjoyed writing this #i hope you like this #fanfiction

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