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warlocksoup · 2 months ago

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haikyuu angstober

day one: miya osamu

all paintings by denis sharazin

soundtrack: taste by the forth wanderers

word count: 1.4k

warnings: jealousy, unrequited feelings, unhappy ending

taglist is open, complete this form to be added

They’re splitting an orange.

Osamu peeled off the skin of it, and pulled it in two, keeping one half for himself and handing the other to her. They’re sitting on the balcony, just the two of them, the living room behind the closed glass door stuffed with strangers and loud music. She sits at the edge, with her knees pressed between the rails, picking away at the pith.

“Just eat it,” Osamu says, chewing the flesh between his teeth as his thumb pulls away another slice. “You’re never gonna get rid of all of that stuff.”

“”S gross,” she grumbles, irritated and concentrated on adding to the small, stringy pile of pith beside her. “Let me do what I need to do, okay?”

Osamu gives a half-hearted grin, one corner of his lip tugging up in slight amusement. “You mad cause Tsumu brought that girl?” he asks, even though he knows better.

She groans, at once abandoning her efforts of picking her orange clean to lean her head back and groan. “God, she’s so annoying. Like, where the fuck is always finding these girls and how can he stand to be around them for thirty seconds straight?”

Osamu pops his last orange slice in his mouth. He’s already done with his half, and she’s not even done peeling.

Her thumb pokes into the flesh of the orange, and Osamu watches as fresh juice stains her jeans. He sighs, and reaches down to grab the orange for her. He studies it in his hands. She really plucked the fuck out of it. Her head leans against the railing, and she watches as he dutifully and skillfully peels away the remaining bits of white.

“She’s not that bad, y’know,” Osamu says, eyes focused on her orange. “You always make them seem worse than they are.”

The little pith pile gets knocked over when she spins around in her seat to give Osamu an unimpressed look. “She sucks, Samu. She’s airheaded and ditsy and there’s nothing of substance underneath the surface.”

She’s not normally like this. Mean, for no reason. Cruel with her words just because she can be. If you really pressed her, and Osamu won’t, she’d relent pretty easily. Admit that maybe there’s nothing wrong with the poor girl, and the real problem is just that she’s a stranger who showed up on Atsumu’s arm.

Osamu can’t really hold it against her. He has the same kind of attitude towards his own brother.

“I’m just saying,” he starts, tone light, “you don’t gotta be so damn mean just cause you’re jealous.”

She scoffs. “Oh, great, now you like her better than me too.”

Osamu clicks his tongue against his cheek. “Hmm, not quite what I said.”

A wistful and overdone sigh falls from her, as she leans back, one hand gripping the railing in front of her and the other placed delicately over her heart. “Defending her character like her knight in shining armor. You love her so bad.”

He chuckles and does not look up at her when he says, “Nah, I don’t like anyone better than you.”

From the corner of his eye, he watches as she straightens out, and leans her forehead against the metal railing in front of her. “Yeah. At least I have you.”

Yeah. At least.

Osamu drags the last bit of pith away from the flesh of the orange and hands it back to her. She takes it, and mumbles a quick thanks.

He watches her take her first bite. He watches her jaw as she chews, and her throat as she swallows. Osamu watches her eat the orange he peeled for her, and he can only think of how achingly in love with her he is. It makes him nauseous. It makes him feel hollow. It makes him want the smell of oranges to linger with him.

Osamu sits there, so in love with her just watching her peel away an orange slice makes him breathless. And she sits there, in love with his brother.

“I guess I don’t have to be so mean. I just, I just don’t get it, y’know?” she says after a long moment of silence, voice thicker now. “I’ve known him for so long and he’s never looked at me like that. I just don’t know what I don’t have that every other girl he brings around does.”

Osamu leans his back against the railing. “I dunno. Maybe he likes that they’re airheaded and ditsy.”

Her silence makes him nervous. He’s worried joking about it was the wrong move.

He reaches out and places a hand on her knee and hopes the contact of his skin is some comfort to her. He hopes she likes the way his hand feels, heavy and warm. He hopes she’s not wishing it was Atsumu’s, instead. “I dunno. I dunno how any of that shit works. I just know that you can’t force yourself to love someone if you don’t, and you can’t force yourself to stop if you do.”

She hums, and her eyes are on the drop from the balcony, watching people pass by on the sidewalk below, watching cars and their lights. Osamu finds himself leaning in closer to her, so his shoulder presses against the side of her knee. He wants to see her face, all of it. To see her eyes as she thinks and watch as her mouth forms words. He wants to see all of her.

“Can I tell you something stupid?” she asks, hushed. Osmau wouldn’t hear it if he weren’t so close.

“Yeah,” he answers. “Of course you can.”

The music from the party behind them gets louder. People are cheering at something. A car horn honks below them. The air still smells of oranges.

“I think, even if it were just for a night, I just wanna feel wanted,” she confesses, so softly the light wind almost blows it away. “I just wanna know what it feels like. I’ve hoped for so long that at this point I think even a taste of it would satisfy me.”

She stares into the night, and he stares at her. And he’s so split between his desire to give her everything she wants and to take her for himself he doesn’t know what he should do or say to make it better-for him or for her. He just looks at her and feels his chest ache.

She shakes her head, and chukcles mirthlessly. “I’m sorry, that’s probably weird for you to hear, he’s your brother-“

“Just pretend,” Osamu cuts her off.

She looks at him. “What?”

He grabs a gentle hold of her arm and pulls her into his chest. She falls in easily, and Osamu wraps both of his arms around her shoulders, tightly, holding her in close. She doesn’t move. “Just pretend,” Osamu repeats again in her ear. “You can just close your eyes, and pretend I’m him, and then you’ll know what it feels like.”

Osamu half expects her to shove him away, to call him a freak and storm off to tell everyone about this weird shit he just pulled. But she doesn’t. Her face is pressed against his chest, and slowly, her arms snake up to wrap around his waist. She loosens up in his hold, and Osamu wonders if she can feel his heartbeat.

He can’t tell if her eyes are closed or not. He likes to think that they’re opened, but Osamu knows better.

His thumb draws circles in the spot between her shoulder blades. She’s soft and warm, and her breathing is steady and rhythmic. Osamu buries his face in the top of her air, and takes in the scent of her shampoo.

In the morning, she will pretend that this did not happen. She will talk about the orange and complain about the girl Atsumu bought and she will apologize for how, after this, she got too drunk and Osamu had to bring her home. She will offer to get him coffee and will hold her fingers to his face and tell him they still smell of oranges.

But she won’t bring up this moment, not ever again.

Osamu thinks he knows this; he thinks about it as he tries to pull her closer into his chest. He thinks he knows this is the only moment he will ever get, so he plays pretend right along with her.

an: some light, gentle angst to get us started. i hope u all enjoy <33 please consider reblogging or sending in an ask if u enjoyed <3

taglist: @hiraethwa @lale-txt @kr1nqu @angee444 @psychedellyc @geektastic84 @solzscribblez @asrinchin @nyxlai

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springlockscars · 1 year ago

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oral fixation (w.afton/fem!reader)

pairing: william afton | steve raglan/fem!reader content tags: oral fixation, oral sex, body worship, pussy eating, tongue fucking, praise kink, william can not keep his mouth off you. summary: William has an obsessive habit of chewing and biting things, especially when he's stressed. You interrupt his work at just the right time. word count: 2,898 read on AO3

18+ content below cut. minors do not interact.

note: I am so glad I received this because I love oral fixation fics.

In public, Steve’s mannerisms, his facial expressions, were a well-rehearsed performance. Not a single person would be able to see the crime scene he cleaned up a week ago through the crease in his eyebrows, or the screams of a victim he still heard ringing in his ears in the way he sipped bitter coffee from a chipped mug; they simply were not there.

No, Steve Raglan was an ordinary guy. A little peculiar perhaps. Sometimes he tried a little too hard to be funny, and that affinity he seems to have for rabbit themed memorabilia could be classed as odd to some. Aside from that, Career Councillor Steve Raglan acted no differently to any other employee in the office.

In private, however, the comfort of his own home or even the privacy the closed door of his office provides, William Afton wore his thoughts externally like he wore the sleeves of his shirt. William would chew on the plastic end of a pen while pouring over a client’s file; agonising over how he was supposed to find suitable employment for a 37-year-old with only a high-school education, a criminal record and a 9-year unexplained gap in his employment history.

He would light up a cigarette or two, rolling the paper filter between his lips, biting it carefully with his teeth while sketching concept blueprints for a new animatronic design, trying to seamlessly integrate a dispenser for a knockout gas that wouldn’t be overtly noticeable.

William would bite his nails and chew his lips when you were out late and not responding to his calls or texts, crashing those worried lips to yours as soon as you’d come through the door. “My phone died and I had to stay late, you don’t have to worry I’m safe.” “All manner of dangerous people are out there,” he sighed your name, “can you use a coworker’s phone to call me if it happens next time? I hate to be sitting on the edge of my seat wondering if someone is hurting my girl.”

It was now that William was deep in thought, a half burned out cigarette resting in between his lips. He was tweaking some finer details on an endoskeleton hand, wanting it to have more precise movements, he had said before heading into his garage workshop. That was over five hours ago and the dinner you decided to make him was almost ready.

You watched him from the doorway. The ashtray showing he was on at least his third cigarette; he was stressed. Stepping over boxes and piles of scrap metal, you made your way over to him, resting a palm flat against his back.

“You’re tense,” you said quietly, smoothing your hand over the expanse of his rigid back.

William leaned into your touch but didn’t stop working. You took the chance to gently work out some of the knots in his muscles while he manipulated the metal on the bench, the cigarette still in between his lips. Watching as he moved it between his teeth from the left to the right side of his mouth, flicking it with his tongue and inhaling deeply.

You moved from behind him to lean on the edge of the desk, facing him now. Mentally crossing your fingers in the hopes he wouldn’t snap at you, you take the cigarette from his mouth, immediately drawing his attention. You raise your eyebrows teasingly, bringing the mauled butt to your own lips to take a drag.

“Dinners almost ready,” you exhale the smoke over your shoulder away from him.

A smirk on his lips, “What time is it?” he asks, placing his tools down and finally sitting up straight to stretch out his aching back muscles, twisting his neck side to side. He takes the endoskeleton hand from the desk and places it gently in a box, moving it to a shelf out of the way for now.

“11:41pm, according to the clock in here,” you inhale one more time, feeling the buzz in your head, before passing it back to William who takes the almost finished cigarette graciously. He seems way more interested in it now that it’s been between your lips.

He leans back in his chair, removing his glasses to rub his fatigued eyes then tossing them on the desk. He places the cigarette back between his lips to take a deep, satisfying drag, then stubs it out in the ashtray next to the rest. William exhales, smoke briefly clouding your vision as he reaches for your hips and pulls you down onto his lap, holding you tightly in his calloused hands. One holding your waist, the other gripping your thigh.

William nuzzles into the curve of your neck, nose and scratchy facial hair tickling your sensitive skin. He smiles when he can feel your heartbeat against his lips. He places a kiss, then two. Tracing the tip of his tongue from collarbone to ear, pressing a kiss in the space behind your ear and sweeping your hair back out of the way. You live for these moments. The way he dotes on you and worships every inch of you like a piece of fine art.

“I’m sorry I was distracted in here. Have I been neglecting my girl?” William nips the lobe of your ear with his teeth, before kissing a path down the juncture of your neck again.

“Could tell you were stressed,” your breathing heavy, “you need a break.”

“Hmm,” he responds against your skin.

He kisses firmer, harder, more intensely until he’s sucking a bruise into the delicate skin. The way you feel against him, the way you taste on his tongue. More, is all he can think, closer…

He swivels in his desk chair and guides you onto the hard wooden surface of his workbench, sweeping nuts and bolts, welded pieces of metal and wires out of the way. Some clattering to the ground, but he doesn’t care about that right now. William stands, his 6ft 4” frame towering over you as he leans down, gripping your waist with both hands, and connects his lips to yours.

You can’t help but moan obscenely into the kiss. The ferocity and desperation of his lips moulding against yours has you instinctively grinding your hips against his. Wiliam deepens the kiss, his hot tongue sliding over yours, exploring your mouth and bending you into submission. The kiss tastes like the tobacco you both shared, giving you the same pleasant buzz. He bites at your plush lower lip, pulling it with his teeth enough to make it to puff up and redden.

William leans back slightly to get a better look at you; your hair dishevelled, lips swollen and glistening, chest rising and falling with ragged breaths.

“So beautiful,” he stoops back down, lips connecting to your jaw before nipping and sucking at the skin of your neck again enough to bruise, traveling down to the collar of your shirt.

William slides his skilled hands underneath the fabric, caressing the skin there up to where he can feel your bra. He pushes your shirt higher, up over your chest, off your shoulders and over your head, paying no mind to where it falls.

Immediately, his lips connect to the soft skin of your breast poking out of the top of your underwear. Biting and sucking hard, desperately needing to touch you, to mark you everywhere his lips will reach. His warm hands snake underneath your back to unclasp your bra. He pulls the elastic straps down your arms and discards the garment on the ground, bending further at the waist to bring a nipple into his mouth.

Your back arches into his touch, one hand gripping the back of his head by his hair, the other finding purchase on the workbench by your head to keep you steady. William sucks and bites down on your nipple, bringing it to a hard peak. He moves all around the soft flesh, nipping and leaving bruises. With no pens to chew on and the cigarettes discarded, your body was his distraction from his frustrations and worries right now. Not that this would be the first time.

William moves across your chest to give your other breast equal attention. He bites down on your nipple hard enough for you to gasp and tighten your grip on his hair. He glares up at you through hooded eyes, not angry, but amused.

Whilst caressing and kneading the flesh of your breasts, he moves lower down your body, nipping at your torso and abdomen, leaving a trail of little red marks as he goes. He teasingly kisses the skin just above the waistband of your trousers. Deciding to speed things up he hooks his fingers into the hem and pulls them swiftly down your legs, leaving you in only your panties on top of his work bench.

William smooths his thumbs over your hips where your underwear sits. Continuing his goal of kissing every inch of you, he presses his lips to your mound, moving lower and lower, until he’s kissing right over your clothed clit.

A rush of adrenaline courses through your body, arching once again into his touch. William, however, moves away from the area you need him most. He sits back down in his desk chair, giving him the perfect angle to place hot, open-mouthed kisses to your inner thighs, marring the area shades of bright red and deep purple with his lips and tongue.

Once he deems your thighs suitably marked, he pushes your legs further apart for him to gain access to the area you both need him the most. William runs two fingers down your clothed slit, a grin forming when he sees your arousal seep through the fabric. He teases you like this; tracing over your clit with his fingers, pushing into your entrance as far as the fabric of your underwear will allow. Watching you squirm on his desk, begging for a release.

William finds himself becoming impatient, biting on the skin of his lips, he needs you in his mouth again like an addict craving a fix. He finally lowers his face back down to your core, running his lips across your clothed mound before, with no warning, biting down in the area he knows your clit will be. You scream and arch dramatically off the desk, a hand coming to grip his hair. He smirks up at you, eyes swimming with lust and feeling pride surge in his chest. Nobody else could make you feel like this. Nobody but him.

William flattens his tongue over your clit through your panties as you come down from the electric jolt of pleasure. His saliva soaking through the fabric to your skin underneath, mixing with your arousal. The material of your underwear becomes smooth under William’s tongue, clinging to every dip and curve of your cunt as his hands grip your thighs tight.

“Oh fuck, Will…” you whined.

He hums against you, sliding closer to the desk on the chair and hooking his thumbs under the crotch of your panties. The cool air making goosebumps spread all over your body as it hits your wet core. William holds the fabric to one side, granting him access to tease your pussy while you writhe and moan beneath him. Noticing your reaction to the cold air of the garage, he blows against your cunt, grinning when he hears pathetic whimpers slip past your lips, and he watches you clench around nothing.

He moves closer and takes the swollen flesh of your labia between his teeth, biting ever so slightly. Just enough to make you squirm and moan his name. William sucks the flesh into his mouth hard enough to leave yet another bruise to match the many others that are scattered all over your body. The rough sensation of his facial hair causing the heat to stir low in your abdomen.

Once a suitable mark has been formed, William shifts his attention slightly higher. Flicking his long tongue over your clit, finally making contact skin-to-skin. One of your thighs rested on his shoulder with his arm wrapped underneath, holding you securely at the hip, with his other arm laying on top of your hips, holding your panties to the side to give him direct and uninterrupted access.

“Oh my god!” your own hands come down to grasp at his, feeling that heat intensifying inside you.

William doesn’t stop for a second. He sucks expertly on your clit until you’re writhing against his face. He moves lower and plunges his long tongue deep inside your tight hole. Your grip on his hands tightens as you arch into his mouth. Your upper arms pressing your breasts together, feeling the tenderness on the skin from the assault he laid into them moments ago.

William loves the way you taste, and he resolves to lap up every last drop of your arousal like it was his final meal on death row. He licks a stripe the entire way up your cunt from entrance to clit, before wiggling his tongue back inside, rhythmically stroking your walls. His breath is hot between your legs.

A sweat breaks out over your skin, you pant desperately as William builds your climax, stroke by tantalizing stroke of his tongue. He grips your thighs hard in his hands, bruising handprints holding them in place on his shoulders as you try to grind down against his face.

He eats you out like a man starved; routinely thrusting his tongue deep inside, moving it to circle your clit, pressing flat and teasing with the tip, biting and sucking intensely on your clit and labia before moving back to fuck you with his tongue — all while his facial hair scratches you so delightfully, only adding to the stimulation.

The heat is intensifying. You can feel your muscles begin to tense, twitching uncontrollably against William’s face as your climax takes over your body.

“A-ah, fuck! Oh fuck, Will!” you cried out, chest heaving as you pant and gasp for air.

William strokes your thighs encouragingly, breaking away from your core for a moment.

“Let go for me, baby. Come for me, that’s it,” he dives back in, coaxing you higher and higher, his nose bumping your clit. He loves hearing you cry and squirm at the mercy of his control.

Everything tightens and tightens, reaching an apex until there’s nowhere left to climb, and then you finally snap. Screaming William’s name as your muscles spasm, jolting your entire body. Your thighs tremble at either side of his head. William grips you tight, rhythmically pulsing his tongue inside and helping you ride out your orgasm. Shocks radiate throughout your body, your abdomen twitching and tensing with every clench of your walls.

William finally pulls back, laying gentle kisses to your inner thighs and caressing over your hip bones with his thumbs affectionately.

“Good girl,” he soothes, “good girl, you did so well for me. So good.”

You lay there completely bare on his desk, eyes closed, breathing deep and feeling light headed as you come down from the intense high he gave you. A smile creeping onto your face and a warmth spreading in your chest at his words of praise.

William takes your thighs from his shoulders, stands, and rests your legs on his desk chair. He presses a brief kiss to your abdomen, then higher in the valley between your breasts, your neck, jaw, then finally pecking your lips before deepening the kiss and allowing you to taste yourself on his tongue. You just begin to run your hands through his hair when he leans back.

“I’ll be right back, okay?” he said.

You narrowed your eyebrows, confused as he stepped away.

“Give me one minute, I’m coming straight back.”

You hear him cross the room in wide strides, then the sound of his footsteps as he ascends the stairs in the house. Only moments later, his footsteps drum down the stairs and enter back into the garage.

William drapes something soft over your body; the blanket from your bed. He helps you sit up and pulls the blanket snug around you, then holds you steady as your legs tremble beneath you when you try to stand.

“Woah, easy. Sit here for a sec,” he guides you to his chair, easing you down into the worn seat.

“Thanks,” you sigh, “that was… intense.”

He leans against the desk facing you, the side of your legs pressed against his, “too much?”

“No! No, definitely not. It was good,” you feel warmth creep up your cheeks.

“Good,” William smiles. He swivels the chair and pulls you against him from where you’re sat, your head leaning against his stomach.

“Did it help?” you ask, looking up at him through your eyelashes, “you’re not biting your lip or lighting up another cigarette.”

He chuckles, “oh, it helped. Definitely way less stressed.”

“Good.”

William cups your face in his palm and leans down to press a soft kiss to your lips.

“C’mon, we should go inside. It’s getting cold tonight,” he says, “and didn’t you say something about dinner?”

William gathers your discarded clothes from the floor and offers you an arm to hold, leading you out of the garage and back into the warmth of the house where luckily, there was no smoke billowing out of the kitchen.

#fnaf #fnaf movie #fnaf smut #william afton #william afton x reader #william afton smut #five nights at freddy's #steve raglan #my works

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ofallthingsnasty · 9 months ago

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a/n: Someone asked for more of Doflamingo's family pet - unfortunately I accidentally deleted the ask, but as I actually keep a physical list of all the asks I need to get to, it hasn't been lost! I hope this finds its way to you, anon 😘💖

tags: heavy dehumanization, weird pet metaphors, unreliable narrator, noncon, violence, minors dni, death (not yours), fat gn reader, vomit mention, read the tags and read them twice, just some thoughts

word count: 1.1k

Doflamingo thinks himself a good owner.

You're clean, well-groomed, clothed, fed and loved. Entertained, too. He stuffs you into your crate only at night - even if he has to leave you behind (which he rarely does), you stay with the rest of the family, not in that little cage. He's responsible. Loving. Tender.

But even he can forget about some things.

Maybe it should have been obvious, since you haven't been neutered. But to his defense, it's rather easy to forget that you, when stripped down, are just a mammal - blunt little teeth, yappy antics and bug-eyed, watery stares fool him so easily, make you sexless and too cute to have any needs of your own. And with his frequent appetites sated and you chewing through the leather of his newest chaise, you're just his mutt, feisty but spoiled. And really, who likes to think about their precious little darling dog being aroused? Not him, that's for sure. You're supposed to be something soft to spoil, something to lighten up his days.

Unfortunately, his pesky habit of kicking you whenever you drool just a little too much on his expensive pants (among other things) leads to the discovery of uncomfortable truths. One peculiarly placed hit, and something happens that he never expected - you yelp in pain, and then it climbs out of your throat, grotesque and breathy. A moan. And suddenly, something occurs to him. Makes him go down the lane of unsavory thoughts he never wanted to have when it comes to you.

He has neglected you. Greatly.

In all these years, he has been nothing but selfish - always enjoyed someone hanging off his arm, someone to warm his bed - while you had gone without, never had the possibility to get some relief. That's why you're getting winded over a simple kick to your crotch, poor, pathetic little thing. It's so wrong, so fucking depraved - he didn't train you to be so needy, to have to find pleasure in something so brutish. Yet here you are. Writhing in pain and something else as you try to shield your most sensitive parts from further intrusions.

He's suddenly going silent, brooding above you. Something needs to be done, he realizes.

The answer seems obvious - he should get you someone you can play around with, to let off steam, to indulge in the cruder parts of your nature. At first, the thought is appalling, but the more he ruminates and lets different scenarios play in his head, the more he sees that it has to be done. And it could be quite a bit of fun for him as well, if done correctly.

Arrangements are made almost too easily.

It's only fair that he gets you someone from that heap of trash you called your home. Maybe you even knew each other, before he found a place on his lap for you - it matters not, as long as the specimen is someone you would have fucked way back when he first took you. Doflamingo figures the man is up to your tastes, picks someone who looks healthy and strong. After all, he only wants the best for you - if he gets to pick his entertainment du jour, why shouldn't he at least get you someone appealing? (He also doesn't need any suspicious activity on Dressrosa, especially because he doesn't intend to have the man turned into a toy. He has his own visions for this - but that's not for little lap dogs like you to know.)

The male is taken, Doflamingo's room prepared and you - naive, stupid, and stunted that you are - follow him as you always do and walk right into his trap. It's nothing elaborate, really. But it does the job. Just the bound male, a flick of his wrist to restrain and oh-

He can play with the two of you like puppets. Of course, you're all confused. He rarely (if ever) uses his powers on you, so the sudden restraints feel like some sort of betrayal. Your big eyes question him, looking somehow even more pathetic underlined by your fat cheeks. He doesn't know if he should tut or laugh at you, that's how delicious your expression is - and it gets better and better as he tears your flimsy, carefully picked out pants apart. You are so utterly shocked, so taken by surprise it looks like you're short-circuiting. Only when the bigger man pounces on you - because Doflamingo is making him do so - you try to kick, bite, scratch, suddenly coming back to reality. But poor little fat pup, you're breathless and limp after a few minutes of struggle against his restraints and heave out your tears when your breath leaves you behind. Your fat ass up in the air, you can do very little with the way he's holding you in position.

You have to let it happen, even as the snot pools on the floor.

It's for your own good. And to his great amusement. He keeps you like this, makes the man mount you, fuck you, defile you - keeps intently watching the scene in front of him, the way you blubber and cry out. It's kind of cute, really - you're both crying. Like some grotesque version of two young lovers taking each other's virginity, you're both stuttering out apologies and clutching what is closest to you, even if that is your ass in his case.

It gets boring rather quickly, though. And rather tiring on the hands, too.

So he lets the male go - who gets cross-eyed faster than he can realize he's been freed because there is suddenly a pistol aimed directly at his forehead. If he was crying before, he's downright hysterical now. It doesn't leave you unfazed, either - Doflamingo's precious little mutt is suddenly deadly silent, too afraid to squeak out even a tiny moan. A precious sight to him. Especially when the man finally pumps his load into you, his orgasm flat and fast and unsatisfying, because it's ripped from him entirely due to the way his body functions, not because this is in any way enjoyable to him. Doflamingo smiles as the male huffs out a sigh, weighing himself in a moment of false security and-

He pulls the trigger.

You scream - but only a second later, only when the man goes limp above you, only when blood and brains splatter all over your back. You scream and scream and scream until you're hoarse, until your voice gets wet underneath the vomit that suddenly leaves you. Doflamingo would click his tongue at the sight if he wasn't so busy laughing at your predicament. Really, he had forgotten how fun it is to terrorize you a little, had forgotten how quaint it can be when your stupid face goes from empty stupidity to sheer and utter fear, the kind one can taste on their tongue. You can be so entertaining when pushed a little and he can't help but revel in the tiniest sliver of nostalgia as he looks at you, beaten down and traumatized like the day he took you.

Still, he's getting you neutered the next chance he gets.

#btw he is neither responsible nor loving nor tender. this is as always terrible horrible doffy vision™#doflamingo x reader #one piece x reader #tw.noncon #tw.death #tw.pet play #/doflamingo #/one piece

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destinationtrekk · 2 months ago

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Fanged Wesker would not enjoy me, or at least get pissed off very quickly, because I'm the dumbass that will hold his head still and force his jaw open with my thumbs just to stare at the teef(idk why sharp teeth intrigue me so much dhshhsh). So pointy and sharp~ I wanna feel them puncture the pads of my thumbs and feel them everywhere on my lips and skin and-

*cough* Anyway! Apologies for the horndog brain. Moving on! Yea think he'd accidently give himself snake bite peircing holes by biting his lip?

fanged wesker would be a menace himself, so he has no choice but to accept your shenanigans as well! i would love to put him next to a window (natural light) on a big comfy chair and study every surface inch of his teefs. he can use my hand as a chew toy if he wants or other parts of me

he regenerates pretty fast so i would say yes he has accidentally given himself piercings multiple times. he sits there like a wet cat scowling while his lip bleeds (much bigger hole than a normal piercing) and lets you clean it up for him

#albert wesker #resident evil #albert wesker x reader #trekk answers #albert wesker x you #albert wesker headcanons #headcanons #resident evil x reader #trekk'o'ween

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wearyeyebrow · 2 years ago

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Pride and Shame

Summary: Beel tells you of an afternoon yelling match between Belphegor and Lucifer. While Belphie plans his revenge, you notice that Lucifer has skipped dinner.

Tags: Hurt/comfort, Lucifer x MC, SFW

Lucifer stands just outside your bedroom door, poised to knock, but even still he hesitates.

He almost turns on his heel just as the door creaks open. There you are, dressed down for the evening, in comfy clothes, looking surprised to see him.

“If you’re busy I can come back another time.” He isn’t about to make a nuisance of himself.

“No, no I was just about to come to you - I didn’t see you at dinner.” You frown, and he’s torn between the feelings of ease and discomfort.

“I had work to finish.”

“That may be so, but you should at least have something to eat. Come in - please.” You open the door wide for him and yet he hesitates.

“Lucifer?”

Before he can think too hard about it he crosses the threshold, immediately warmed by the atmosphere of your room.

He eyes your textbooks sprawled all over the floor. “Were you studying?”

“Something like that,” you sigh. “Solomon has me on a wild goose chase, all for a special ingredient. I know he knows what I’m supposed to be looking for, but all he’ll give me are cryptic hints. I’ll probably be here all night…” You plop down on the plush carpet, sitting cross legged. You pat the ground beside you and motion for him to sit.

“Would you like some help?”

“I mean yes, I would, but I shouldn’t.” You sigh and run a hand through your hair. “I would love a break though - tell me about your day.”

“My day?” Lucifer settles in, resting his back against the frame of your bed. He straightens the crease of his pant leg. “It’s all very boring, really. My next week is booked solid so I’m trying to finish as much groundwork as I can now. Most of the day was spent signing my name.”

‘Mm, how delightful.” You drawl.

“Indeed.”

He’s quiet, as if that’s all he came for. He can feel your expectant stare and it irks him.

“So I… I may have heard about something that happened from Beel.”

Lucifer sighs, “Yes, what of it?”

“What happened?”

“Didn’t Beel tell you?”

“He told me parts of it, yes… I’m unfamiliar with the other layers of hell. Why did Belphie want to go to the sixth?”

“Because he’s an imbecile, that’s why.” Lucifer rolls his eyes, “Because he has no regard for his or Beel’s safety, because he lives to give me trouble. I had to reason their lives out of the Hands of Ill Temper. I just barely managed by the skin of my teeth.”

“What was Belphie after?”

“I don’t know and I don’t particularly care to know. He shouldn’t have gone in the first place. He has no excuse, leaving me to clean up their messes, putting Beel’s life in danger. Again.” Lucifer needs to move, to pace, something - everything in him itches. He settles on adjusting his socks.

“You really chewed them out, huh.”

“Naturally,” he huffs, “How else will they learn?”

“...Belphie said something else, didn’t he?”

Lucifer stiffens. “It doesn’t matter.”

‘Are you sure?”

Lucifer would rather forget it. He would rather skip dinner and continue working, pen scratching on paper, waiting for the memory to subside. But it never does, it just replays over and over again.

“Belphie, that’s not true, Lucifer doesn’t-”

“Why are you so upset anyway? I assumed you’d want us dead, since we cause you so much trouble. I’d be doing you a favor-”

“Oh doesn’t he? Look - he won’t even deny it, and now he’s just walking away - fucking evil bastard.”

With a click Lucifer had closed the door to his study, put on a cursed record, and refilled his inkwell. Hours of ruminating did nothing. Hours of work did nothing. Now he’s here. What is he doing here? Why did he stop by your door on his way to look for table scraps like a dog? What is wrong with him?

“It… doesn’t matter.” He should leave.

“I think it’s eating you.” He says nothing. “I think that talking about it might help.”

“What is there to talk about?” He bites.“They were reckless. This is nothing new. I reminded them of their own stupidity and Belphie retaliated. Again, nothing new.”

“But… something still bothers you.”

Lucifer clears his throat. “Belphie put both himself and Beel in danger chasing some whim. They could have been imprisoned, they could have been killed for their transgressions - that’s what bothered me, and now it’s finished.”

“I assumed you’d want us dead, since we cause you so much trouble.”

“Is that all that bothers you?” When did you get so close to him? He can feel your softness resting against his side.

“What else would?” Your gentle hand tugs at his glove, taking one off and then the other. This perplexes him but he can’t find it in him to stop you.

“What he said, you know, about you wanting him dead?”

“Nonsense. He was angry.”

“Beel was worried.” Beel was? Lucifer turns to look at you. “That’s why he told me about what Belphie said.”

He sighs. “If… If Belphegor is angry with me, let him be angry. It doesn’t change how I think about the situation.”

“Lucifer.” Suddenly your too steady gaze is fixated on him. “You can deny it all you want, but I… it’s clearly still eating you.” Lucifer’s brow furrows - how dare you assume? As if you’ve read his mind, you clarify. “I know I’m being presumptuous, I know, but please - it hurts you, doesn’t it?”

“Let it.” What is he saying? “Let it hurt. Whatever it takes. He can’t go down there again.”

“But doesn’t it matter that it hurts you?”

“Why should it?” He’s of two minds, one that desperately wants to talk to you, the other screaming at him, a cacophony of voices, pushing it down, down.

“It’s just me, Lucifer.” He feels the comforting warmth of your human hands in his, of your body just barely touching his side. Your room smells like you. The door is locked. It’s after midnight, and the house is quiet.

“I think…” Lucifer swallows, “I think I…

If he could crawl inside you he would. If he could speak directly to your mind he would, spilling his innermost thoughts and feelings without having to say them out loud. He gags on the words, as if once he starts they won’t stop.

This is what it means to be your friend, to be your partner, his mind desperately reasons. How can he fit vulnerability into an acceptable narrative?

He still can’t look at you. "I think I... I was afraid. If they aren't - if I can't be there, if I can't keep them in line, what's stopping the world from-" his eyes water and he blinks rapidly, head tilted back staring at the ceiling. "If he needs to assume that I hate him, if that's what it will take, then so be it."

"Lucifer, sweetheart-"

He sucks in a rattled breath. You can’t speak to him like that, not when he’s at his lowest. He doesn’t need your saccharine tone because he’s better than this, better than comfort or mistakes. Yet here you are, on the floor at midnight, speaking with such kindness and understanding. It’s because you’re an exception to his inner monologue of rules that his brain finally quiets like an oil lamp snuffed out.

"Is that what you want?"

"Of course not, but-"

"I know you’re willing to play the villain if it’ll keep them safe. I mean, you've done it before, for entirely too long. But remember what happened when you were honest? Things got better. Belphie came around and I finally understood you."

He scoffs. "It was a catastrophic failure - any good that came of it was all your doing-"

“Don’t I?”

"We've all come a long way together. It doesn't have to be this way. I truly believe it doesn't, things have already changed.” You plead with him. “Habits are hard to break. I know that Belphie was hurting when he said that, but you don't deserve to hurt like this either, Lucifer." He can't look you in the eye. "Hey," you continue gently, softly, "you don't, truly."

“No. They don’t and you don’t.”

He looks up at the ceiling again.

"I'm here because you don’t have to handle it alone." You murmur. “Because I care about you.”

“You shouldn’t.”

“Too late.” You lean over him and place a gentle kiss on his cheek.

He swallows, blinking rapidly, and gathers you in his arms to place a fierce kiss to your temple. He wraps himself around you, all at once too separate from everything you are. The noise quiets when you move to hold him instead. Your arms wrap around him, and after everything he’s done to you, he doesn’t deserve you in his life like this, in love with what little good remains in him. But, he supposes, his pride as a demon will make space for you, and for that he is grateful.

"Thank you," he croaks, "for choosing to speak with me."

"That’s what I’m here for, dummy.”

“You’re meant for so much more than that.”

“I just think…” you kiss the crown of his head, “that I’m meant for whatever I want, and I want to figure this out with you.”

Lucifer closes his eyes in the quiet darkness of your arms. You are a gentle reprieve to whatever remains of his soul.

#lucifer obey me #obey me shall we date #obey me mc #obey me lucifer x reader #wearyeyebrow #my writing

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autism-autobot · 4 months ago

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Flower of a Poisonous Seed Part 10

Wow! Double digits!

Tw: Pica, blood, self harm, (let me know if I missed anything)

Part 9:

To say Sun Wukong was stressed would be an understatement, but it hadn't gotten this bad in public before.

He didn't even entirely understand the reasoning behind his stress, although it could be because Nezha was taking a little bit too much time in his most recent meeting. And as usual, he was sitting on the couch in the Demon Bull Family's home.

Whenever Wukong was stressed, he had the most terrible cravings. It was the mixture of a trauma and a sorry attempt at coping with it. At least he thought it was sorry.

He was an emotional eater for as long as he could remember. Peaches usually did the trick. But there were no peaches for him to eat after Macaque left him starving under the mountain.

So he settled for eating himself.

Apparently, there was a word for his compulsive cravings: Pica, as one of his relatives has described it. Wukong ate his own hair often, it was satisfactory enough...

...usually.

But he was too stressed now. Hair wasn't enough. Not enough to satisfy his tastes at the moment.

So he started biting his hand, hard.

Wukong heard his bones snap and the felt the pain that followed soon after, but he didn't stop there. It took a few bites before he ripped off a whole chunk of his hand: the thumb and index fingers, and a good chunk of the palm, too.

Blood sprayed from the open wound. He swallowed as much of it as he could. With the whole chunk now thoroughly chewed up, he swallowed that too.

Luckily he had locked himself in one of many bathrooms in DBK's place, so no one would be able to find him like this.

Almost no one.

~~~

The Demon Bull King could smell his little brother a mile away, and it would serve him well now. He had the slightest bit of worry at finding the room he left Wukong to rest in empty. DBK didn't show it, of course. It was only when he picked up the unmistakable scent of blood mixed with his brother's natural odor did he really begin to panic.

He ripped the bathroom door clean off its hinges to find his peach-loving compatriot eating anything but that.

Demon Bull King scooped up Wukong while he was still shocked by the sudden arrival. Noticing his scared, teary, and regretful eyes and remembering the illness Nezha had informed him of, Demon Bull King decided not to lecture him now.

It was clear this was the result of a mentally unwell and quite sickly individual.

Oh, his poor brother.

~~~

The Demon Bull Family carefully inspected all of Sun Wukong's wounds: patches of raw flesh (the result of hair ripped to the scalp) , half a hand and a whole foot bitten (almost) clean off, and bleeding teeth and gums from eating through the aforementioned body parts.

None of them had the heart to lecture him. A strange occurrence, really, to have them of all people self-silenced on the matter. Wukong honestly preferred the yelling.

The family bandaged him up, put him in fresh clothes, and wrapped him up in a blanket. Demon Bull King held Wukong in his arms like a swaddled infant. Neither of them minded. It had been a long enough day as is.

~Some hours later~

SWK: I'm sorry.

DBK: It's alright, little brother.

SWK: I was stressed and scared.

DBK: I know, brother. Nezha should be returning soon. He has never taken this long before, has he?

SWK: No... what if something happened to him?

DBK: I doubt anything did.

PIF: Celestial meetings can take an unreasonable amount of time. I know from experience.

DBK: Even if something were to happen, he is a fierce opponent! All in this room know as much.

SWK: Yeah, I just get anxious without him around. He's been looking out for me for a while now, it's crazy to think that I ever managed alone.

RS: But you didn't manage alone, isn't that the whole point of the four of us acting as a support system?

PIF: Indeed, not to mention you have been getting sicker.

DBK: What even is the cause of your illness? And how far will this continue to progress before you show signs of recovery?

SWK: Honestly? I don't know. It might be purely mental. But it's affecting my body to such an extent that I'm not sure if it really is just my mental health going in a downward spiral.

RS: So we just do nothing?!

SWK: Nezha said he'd get to the bottom of this, his says he doesn't want me worrying any more than I have to in case it really is about my mental health alone.

DBK: So it is being dealt with?

SWK: Yeah, I think.

DBK: Better than waiting for something worse to happen to you.

PIF: Nezha is a very capable man, he'll get to the bottom of this.

RS: And speak of the devil! Look who's here!

Nezha: I apologize for my tardiness. I was setting up an appointment for Wu- *gets full body tackled by Wukong*

SWK: Hi!

Nezha: *pinned to the ground by Wukong's body weight* Hello Wukong.

SWK: I MISSED YOU!!!!!

Nezha: I missed you too. Setting up that appointment for you took longer than expected and that meeting took ages!

SWK: Setting up the what-

Nezha: We'll discuss it at home. For now... CAN YOU PLEASE GET OFF OF ME!!!!!

SWK: Sorry *gets off of him*

Nezha: You definitely lost weight since falling ill, but you still weight enough to feel like you'd crush my ribs in.

SWK: Can we go home now?

Nezha: Yes, yes we ca- WHAT HAPPENED TO YOU HANDS???!!!!

SWK: I had another pica incident.

The Demon Bull Family: ANOTHER????!!!!

Part 11:

Masterpost

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hiddenmoonbeam · 11 months ago

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The Nutcracker

Sirius Black/Remus Lupin | ~4k words | Read on Ao3

Here we are, with my entirely unplanned and belated Christmas gift to anyone interested, an au I never knew I needed. It only exists because Dance of the Sugar Plum Fairy got stuck in my head out of nowhere one night when I was trying to sleep, and once the idea had formed it wouldn’t leave me alone: a cursed boy, a mouse king turned grey-backed rat, and a good-hearted hero looking at a thing deemed broken and undesirable, and seeing someone lovely instead. This is the beginning of the story. I might write the ending too, because I keep thinking about it. The fate of the middle is more uncertain, though I do have some ideas for that as well. We’ll see how it goes. But for now, I hope you enjoy this. Have a lovely end of the year, and beginning of the next. 💖

It’s Christmas Eve and every inch of Black Manor shines. First the ice sculptures in the garden, followed by the fragrant evergreen garlands hanging around windows and door frames. Candles flicker in chandeliers leading the way from the gates to the great hall. And in there stands the most beautiful tree, so high the star at its top nearly touches the ceiling. It casts a magical light over the sea of gathered guests, glimmering in the women’s dresses and jewellery. The banquet table overflows with delicious dishes, and servants silently pass through the chatting groups carrying trays of sparkling glasses.

Maybe once upon a time, Sirius enjoyed these occasions. When he was too young to attend, and could spend these endless and magical hours sneaking away from the nanny to spy on the whole spectacle together with his best friend. But that was before said best friend’s parents expressed one too many unorthodox opinions, and the family no longer received an invitation to the yearly party. Before Sirius’s own parents decided he wasn’t a good enough heir, or brother, or potential husband – or person, in general. And now at 16, he would rather sneak away and hide in the attic than play this game of performative small talk with distasteful relatives and their equally bad acquaintances.

Which is exactly what he’s successfully managed to do. Once he’d made sure enough guests had seen him, greeted them and listened to them boast about themselves, countered backhanded compliments with his own, shot back with a smile and such finesse they wouldn’t realise the insult until later – once all that was done, he made his escape. Praying his mother would be too busy acting the perfect hostess to have time to search for him.

He’s been here in the attic for at least an hour by now, reading his book by candlelight between boxes and old furniture. It’s all calm and quiet, but for the sudden scratching sound somewhere to his right. He ignores it at first, but as the noise grows worse, probably because whatever is causing it got company, he gets up to check what uninvited guests have joined his solitude. And much like he suspected he finds the pair of rats in a dusty corner behind an old table, chewing on what looks like a wooden toy. Sirius shoos at the pests, and watches as they skitter back into the dark. He’d ask where the cats are when they’re needed, but he knows they’re probably being fed by the cook in the kitchen.

Sirius’s gaze returns to the toy – a nutcracker, he realises. He sighs as he picks up the battered thing; one arm hangs loose, the paint is peeling off, and long jagged cuts cross the wood, both from time and the rats’ teeth. It’s not much to look at, yet something about it tugs at his curiosity. Like a whisper of something old and forgotten. With all its faults it’s rather misplaced in this Manor, where everything is clean and polished, and Sirius can’t help but relate. He wonders where it came from. The attic offers no answers.

It’s risky to return downstairs, but Sirius can no longer focus on the book he brought with him. So as silently as he can manage he sneaks down to his own floor, intending to retrieve the tool box he’s hidden under a floorboard in his room. Before he can get there though, he sees his mother by his locked door, demanding his presence downstairs. She hasn’t yet noticed him at the other end of the hallway, so he quickly slips into the old nursery instead, hoping no one will think to look for him in there among the covered furniture and toys neither he nor his brother has played with for years. It’s a ghostly room; decorated for Christmas like the rest of the Manor despite its lack of use, yet shrouded in shadows cast by the moonlight outside. The tree stands by the long windowed wall opposite the door, visible from outside, all for appearances. Everything else has been frozen in time, waiting for the next generation to bring life to it yet again.

Beneath a white sheet, a few steps into the room, Sirius uncovers the Clockwork Castle the Black cousins once received from the eccentric old clockmaker and inventor, Mr Lupin. The beautiful creation seems to glimmer with a timeless magic, even after all these years. It’s been nearly a decade, but Sirius still remembers his younger self’s fascination with the mechanics of it all. Mr Lupin showed him how to operate it, as well as the box of tools hidden beneath the silvery swans frozen still on the moat. He’s glad for it now, as he finds what he needs to fix the Nutcracker’s broken arm.

In the light from the candle, he settles in the corner farthest away from the door, not to risk the light breaking through the cracks around it and giving him away. Right behind him the moon shines through the tall windows, reflecting in the glass doors of the old toy cabinet. Close beside it, the grandfather clock ticks past eleven thirty.

While he works he tells the Nutcracker in a hushed voice about how much he wishes he could leave his family and the duties they’re set on forcing upon him. His mother caught him kissing a boy last summer, and now she insists on matching him with a suitable wife before he comes of age. Several of these young women are downstairs tonight, waiting for him to show himself again, to dance with them, and behave like the heir he is. How pathetic they’d find him if they knew he’d instead hidden away in this room surrounded by distant memories and childish toys.

“There,” he says finally, placing the Nutcracker on its feet on the floor with a pleased smile at his handiwork. “As new.”

The grandfather clock in the corner chimes for midnight – once, twice… but the third one falters. Sirius frowns up at the clock, the slowing pendulum. The fourth chime comes out eerie, the muffled music from downstairs suddenly quiet.

At the fifth chime, a gust of wind swoops past, from nowhere; the Nutcracker topples over; the candle flame flickers, dies. A sparkle runs up his spine as Sirius rises to his feet, the comfort from just a moment ago now gone. Accompanying the still slowing chimes of the clock, he hears whispers and scurrying noises growing from inside the walls, like hundreds of tiny feet climbing closer.

Sirius turns, and the room spins with him. Spins and spins, everything in it growing out of proportion while the ghostly chimes echo between the walls, through his head. He stumbles and barely catches himself against an accent table, vaguely aware through the turmoil that the height of it seems wrong; his knees hit the floor and he can no longer reach the edge.

Once everything stills, even the clock now frozen right before the final chime of midnight, Sirius stares up at furniture ten times their normal size, towering above him where he lies on the floor. To his right stands the extinguished candle, now nearly as tall as him. And to his left is the Nutcracker, the toy shimmering as the stiffness melts away, revealing a boy with skin scarred the same way the wood was marked. Sirius stares, mouth agape, while the boy, not quite human but also far from a lifeless piece, blinks back at him, eyes wide. His joints crack painfully as he moves, his motions slower than Sirius’s as they both rise to their feet.

Sirius’s head races with thoughts, one wilder than the last trying to make sense of what is happening. He must have fallen asleep – but that idea even crossing his mind suggests he actually is wide awake. Shrunk to the size of a doll, standing before a Nutcracker-turned-boy. Mind full of questions, but unable to voice any of them.

For a long moment the other boy doesn’t seem to know what to say either. He watches Sirius with a mesmerised expression, eyes flickering back and forth over Sirius’s features. As if it was Sirius who just magically came alive, wood giving way to that adorable face. Then it comes, a low, soft, “oh”. It pierces Sirius’s chest, etches into his core. Oh.

Something sad falls over the boy’s face then, his whole posture, as his eyes trail down to his scarred hands and worn clothes. Sirius knows that look; embarrassment, shame. As much as he hates seeing it, he understands the stark contrast between the two of them. Sirius in his beautifully embroidered waistcoat made especially for the festive occasion, and this boy in a uniform with the red paint peeling off. Because on closer inspection, Sirius realises the fabric isn’t fabric at all; it’s still wood, as are his hands, his almost life-like skin, even the soft curls peeking out from under his hat remain still in the same position no matter how he moves his slightly too large head. Yet he somehow feels more real than any of the guests downstairs.

Sirius reaches out, fingers to the boy’s wrist – and those pretty brown eyes meet his own again. Something passes between them, invisible, curious. Sirius opens his mouth, just about to speak, when a sudden noise from behind him breaks the moment. The boy’s gaze snaps over Sirius’s shoulder, his expression shifting to alarm. Sirius turns, and what he sees freezes the blood in his veins.

All over the other half of the room, from the Christmas tree to the Clockwork Castle, dozens upon dozens of rats have gathered, even more spilling out from the hole in the wall. And at the front stands the largest of them, risen on its hind legs and impossibly tall, a sword in hand, and head crowned with gold.

The boy gasps, fingers clutching the sleeve of Sirius’s shirt – and suddenly the memories hit, old and filed away, of that Christmas when Mr Lupin presented them the Clockwork Castle. Of the Nutcracker found beneath the tree, and the story Mr Lupin told them about how it’d come to be; of far away lands steeped in magic, where toys come alive among gingerbread houses and castles covered in sugary frosting; of the vengeful Rat King and the cursed princess, and the young man finally breaking it by offering her the nut no one else had been able to crack.

And of course; the curse that befell him instead, turned him wooden and ugly. How the princess’ rejection made him shunned by all and cast out of society. Of the Rat King’s oath to hunt him down; the battle and love that must be won to free him again.

Staring back at the boy now, the terror on his face, Sirius’s own voice whispers in his mind from the past, What’s his name? Mr Lupin looked at him, startled and confused. So Sirius, slightly annoyed that this adult didn’t understand his perfectly reasonable question, added with a precocious tone, He must have a name, has he not?

“Remus,” he breathes now, echoing Mr Lupin’s soft response, and all of a sudden he understands the sadness in the old man’s eyes. The Nutcracker boy looks at Sirius with a similarly startled expression, and through the wood and growing age gap, Sirius sees the resemblance. “You’re Mr Lupin’s son.”

It’s insane. Absolutely impossible. Yet Sirius is convinced it’s true – with the ghost of a nod, an illusion of tears in his eyes, the long lost Remus Lupin stands before him, the cursed boy from a bedtime story somehow alive and here in Sirius’s old nursery.

“Are you done hiding, little Nutcracker?” the Rat King calls, his wheezing voice sending shivers down Sirius’s spine. “Will you finally let me end your sad existence once and for all?”

Sirius doesn’t know how he manages to push away from the insanity of it all to act. He scans the room, the army of rats in the opposite end of it moving in on them, and the closed door behind their growing number. Even if Sirius could reach it, there’s no way he would be able to open it while this small. Which only leaves the impossible option to fight, the two of them alone against a murderous army that would have been scary enough at his right size. Now, it’s downright terrifying.

On the floor beside them lie the small screwdrivers he’d used to fix Remus’s loose arm. He dives for them now, desperate for at least some form of weapon; they’re heavy and awkward, and he hears the Rat King’s mocking laughter as he struggles to hold each with only one hand. He pushes one to Remus, who clumsily manages not to drop it. It’s clear it won’t do. They’ll need something better, something more sword-like, something made for their size–

Sirius’s racing thoughts and feverishly searching gaze finally settle on the toy cabinet, and fragile hope leaps in his chest. If only they can get inside, they’ll have an arsenal of swords and rifles, even cannons, at their disposal, though he has no idea how well any of those toys will actually work. But it’s something. He even thinks he sees movement in there, though he doesn’t dare wish for what that could mean.

With a quick glance over his shoulder at the approaching rats, Sirius grabs Remus’s hand, and runs.

“I’m not a fighter, I–I’m only, I was only a clockmaker apprentice,” Remus stammers out. “I don’t know how to–”

“I’m right beside you.” Sirius squeezes his hand, maybe as much to reassure himself as Remus, who stares at him in disbelief. “We will do it together.”

Remus shakes his head, though he looks ill from refusing the help. “I can’t let you–you have nothing to do with this. You might get hurt–”

But I do, Sirius thinks, and he can sense it, somewhere deep down, that it is true. Mr Lupin must have known what he was doing, leaving his cursed son here of all places, all those years ago. There must be more to the story than what he revealed to them back then. There’s a reason this is happening now; a reason Sirius has been magicked into it all, shrunk to fit the missing piece of the puzzle.

When they finally reach the toy cabinet, Sirius sees to his great relief that the movements weren’t an illusion of the moonlight. Behind the glass doors the residents of every shelf now stand up, joining forces to push them open from the inside. As their own rapidly growing side leaps past to the sound of the Rat King’s rage, Sirius can’t help a mad grin from spreading wide. He knows these toys; he gave half of them their personality, and the rest he learned from his brother and cousins. Tin soldiers with many a battle beneath their belts, wooden horses ready to charge, teddy bears with protection sewn into their very seams. Even his cousins’ pretty dolls gather at the rear, brandishing their parasols and purses with determined looks on their rosy faces.

They’re not alone, after all.

One of the toys hands Remus a sword – a real one, it looks like, made sharper and deadly by the same magic that woke them all up. Remus eyes it warily.

“Do you know what’s needed to break your curse?” the doll asks, while a tin general barks orders for the gathered defence now between them and the rats.

Remus looks towards the Rat King who swings at the first toys within reach with maddening force, and his wooden hand trembles a little as he grips tighter around the hilt. “I do,” he whispers.

The doll gives a curt nod. “But you are not yet ready,” she continues. “The Rat King is a great warrior, and tonight you would not stand a chance against him. You must first return home, and learn how to defeat him.”

“Home?” Sirius asks, confused.

She points with her arm, and as if on cue, the Clockwork Castle lights up above the chaos of rats and toys, the mechanics coming alive, a musical hum rising from its core. “Once you’ve entered he cannot follow you that way, as those gates only work for toys and invited guests. It will buy you time.”

“But… the rest of you–”

“We can be mended. We are not fragile like bleeding humans.” She sends Sirius a look at that, before turning back to Remus. “Nor cursed to oblivion should we lose.”

Sirius nods, while accepting another sword from a different toy. Again he scans the scene for their best option. The table with the castle still lies behind enemy lines, but the rats around the legs seem unnerved by the musical tunes, scattering away from it. Still, they will have to fight their way over there. He’s never had to fend for his or anyone else’s life before, not properly, but at least he’s somewhat prepared thanks to his fencing lessons. Remus on the other hand looks ill again; if a wooden face could pale, his would have lost all colour. But meeting Sirius’s eyes, determination still settles over his features.

It’s chaos. Tin cannon balls break through the army from a distance, the firearms powered by what can only be magic. Rats tear into the soft bellies of the dolls and teddy bears, stuffing spreading over the floor like fluffy intestines. The bizarre scenario is made even worse by the sickening feeling of slicing the sword through actual flesh, the screaming rats falling at Sirius’s feet. His hair, loose from the ribbon at his neck, whips into his face as he turns to fend off the next attack.

The Rat King fights to get to them. But the toys do their best to keep him away, shielding Remus while helping to clear a path towards the Clockwork Castle. Sirius doesn’t know why they’re so ready to protect him, or how they’re aware of his foretold and final confrontation with this vicious enemy. But it’s hardly the strangest part of the night, and so he lets his questions slide to the back of his mind, full focus instead on the task at hand.

They reach the table, wooden guards from the Castle already at the edge of it, throwing down a string of yarn for them to climb. Sirius pushes Remus towards it, not allowing him to argue which of them should go last. “I’m right behind you,” he urges when Remus hesitates. “Go!”

Behind them, just as Sirius grabs for the end of the string and the guards haul them upwards, the Rat King breaks through the defence. Sirius climbs as fast as he can, hoping against hope the rat won’t manage to follow after. But it’s a futile wish; he digs his claws into the white tablecloth, pulling himself closer with practised strength and speed. Far too soon he’s at Sirius’s feet, cruel eyes shining with malice as he grabs at his ankle, tugging hard.

Sirius tightens his grip of the string, knuckles whitening, palms burning. He kicks down hard, boot connecting with the Rat King’s ugly snout. He lets out an angry roar, clawing towards Sirius’s leg again. But the force was enough to have him lose his grip of the cloth, and he tumbles back down to the floor.

Heart hammering in his chest, Sirius manages to climb the last bit to the edge. Remus is still there with the toy guards, wide-eyed and reaching down to grab Sirius by the arm. Sirius lets himself be pulled up, and even as the helping guard steps back to let him catch his breath, Remus’s hold on him remains.

One of the guards tells them they must hurry, that the rat is climbing again – and they’re back on their feet, rushing towards the towering, shining Castle now finally so close. They cross the moat, the crystal clear water swirling around the graceful swans gliding over the surface beneath the drawbridge. It’s raised behind them, forming the first solid structure between them and the threat. Cutting it all off like this place in itself is a different world altogether. Or at least an in-between, a break, a moment to breathe.

The courtyard looks even more magical like this, viewed from within rather than observed from above like by a god. Sirius stares, turning in a circle to admire the insane details of Mr Lupin’s handiwork, and how this magical night has spelled it all to life. On every side, figures are moving around, cogs and gears turning in their complicated patterns. Miniature Christmas trees line the roads, dusted with sugary snow and sparkling ornaments. Small lanterns hang on strings between beautifully carved columns, casting the setting in a warm glowing light. To their right a couple of wooden children skate around a frozen pond, a decorative fountain splashing water closeby despite the illusion of cold. To the left, a family of snowmen clad in hats and scarves sway to the tunes of the music. And ahead is the castle itself, front gates glimmering like a portal to yet another realm.

With a lurching sensation in his stomach, Sirius realises that’s because it is.

“The Rat King cannot breach these walls,” a guard informs them. “You will be safe here until the battle is over.” He says the last bit to Sirius, who responds with a grateful nod, though he has no intention to stay behind.

“I cannot thank you enough,” Remus says, also facing Sirius. Not until now does he let go of Sirius’s arm, and he finds he misses the contact instantly. “For all the help to get here, but also for fixing my arm, talking to me…” Sirius’s cheeks heat up when remembering what he’d been saying before all this started. But Remus doesn’t seem the slightest bit judgemental or uncomfortable about it. He’s wearing that mesmerised expression again, eyes flickering over Sirius’s face. “I feel like you even woke me up, though I cannot say how.”

“I can’t take credit for that,” Sirius chuckles, averting his eyes and scratching at his own neck. His gaze trails back to the gold breaking through the opening gates, a strange, invisible pull tugging him closer.

Beside him, Remus adds apologetically, “I wish I knew how to turn you back to normal.”

“We’ll have to figure that out too, then.” Sirius steps towards the gates, a lot less concerned about his own state than he probably should be. He looks back at Remus, who frowns. “What? I’m coming with you, of course.”

An uncertain pause, then, “Of course.” Remus lets out a little laugh, nervous yet so endearing, before adding softly, “I don’t even know your name.”

“Sirius.”

Remus stills midstep, eyes widening. “Like the star.”

Sirius almost responds with a good-natured eyeroll, pointing out that hardly warrants such an awed expression. But then he hears Remus’s added murmur, a whisper from the past, echoing the end of Mr Lupin’s tale.

His fate now lies in the hands of the stars.

Sirius freezes too, unease piercing his chest. Mr Lupin’s mysterious words were spoken with promise, hope, as he placed the Nutcracker with the older Black children. Three young girls then, now all of them married off, while Mr Lupin’s son remains in his wooden prison. And it hits Sirius then, that this role was never meant for him. He’s just the one the magic has to settle for, with the desired options gone. The idea of a part to play suddenly doesn’t feel as welcome anymore. Not like this, not if it means he will wield power over the outcome he isn’t supposed to have. It’s one thing to offer help, to do whatever he can to support and encourage. Another entirely to have the future of this already so mistreated boy laid into his hands, trusting him to somehow make the right choice, the one that will save him. It’s too much responsibility, too easy to fail, to ruin everything. And this time he won’t be able to fix him again, like his broken arm.

Remus eyes him in silence for a moment, head tilted. “You can stay here,” he starts, but Sirius quickly shakes his head.

“No, no it’s not that.” Silence again, while Sirius chews on his lip, his words. “I don’t know how to help you. I don’t know what it means, what I’m meant to do.”

Something soft falls over Remus’s face, a small smile meeting Sirius’s frown. “We will figure it out,” he says, holding out his hand. “Together?”

Ahead of them, the gates stand open. Golden light pulsing within the frames. The pull tightens, whispers wordlessly, their destination waiting beyond the shimmering veil. Remus faces it with his back, his edges shining with the magic. Sirius meets his gentle eyes, looks at the scarred fingers still held out between them. And he realises it doesn’t matter he isn’t meant to be here – wanted or not, he’s the help Remus has been given, and he won’t leave his side out of fear of failure.

So Sirius returns the smile; moves forward; takes Remus’s hand. Gives it a squeeze, to reassure them both. “Yes,” he agrees. “Together.”

And side by side, they enter the unknown.

#wolfstar #my first time posting more than snippets in this fandom ahhhhhhh #will post on ao3 later but only tumblr for now #nutcracker au #my writing #EDIT!! posted to ao3 also!!

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worstghost · 2 years ago

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hello!! i just found your blog!!! i lovvvvve your bar/ghost drabbles and love how you portray him. idk if you would but i’d die for a part 4!!! :’)

yes okay!! I'll do a morning after. im so happy people like it 🖤

part one part two part three

You don't open your eyes when you finally wake up, rolling over to shove your aching head back into the pillow. Your mouth is so dry, you forgot to brush your teeth and you can feel it.

Ugh.

After kicking around in frustration, willing the pain to leave you be, you start to remember bits and pieces. Oh god, you held Simon's hand. Fuck. That's so embarrassing, who knows what else you put him through. You have to talk to him.

When you finally get up, your head is spinning, and you go to the bathroom sink and cup the water in your hands, slurping it down. The morning after is always so pathetic. You try to brush through your hair and put clean clothes on. It's early at least, he's probably still in his room.

You step into the hall quietly, making your way to his door at the end. He got the master suite, not by request, simply because he's higher up. You're a little jealous, but shake the thought off and knock.

Ghost is quick to answer, as he was expecting you. He's still in his sleep clothes, just the balaclava on now. With the black paint removed you can see just how clear his eyes are as they glare at you. He steps aside to let you in.

"Lieutenant, I need to apologize. I'm not really sure what happened last night, I just um." You chew on your lip, looking around his room. "I think I overstepped and I really don't want this to change things."

He closes the door behind you, moving back toward his bed, made neatly as if he never slept.

"You think you overstepped." It's not a question.

"Okay- okay. So I can see now that I definitely overstepped. I just don't remember what I did, and I'm sorry for making you uncomfortable." Your voice is frantic, something about his tone has your heart racing with anxiety.

Ghost hums low, standing to meet you in the middle of his room. Before you can step back, he takes both of your small hands into his and presses them to his chest.

You can feel his heartbeat, so slow and calm, the exact opposite of yours. The heat of his skin seeps in, your fingers shake. No words come to mind, you just watch, waiting for him to snap.

He leads you in a circle, holding your eyes as he moves closer, leaving one of your hands to rest his on your hip. His fingers dig in, telling you to dance with him.

You can't breathe, it's like time has stopped moving and he's so close, you can smell the mint of his toothpaste, feel his breath through the mask as he leans down.

"Remember now?"

#request #anon ask #cod mw2 #simon ghost riley x you #simon ghost riley #simon riley #simon riley x reader #ghost #ghost cod #ghost x reader #ghost x you #cod imagine

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bumblepony · 9 months ago

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Kiss it better, Tommy or Maria (or both!) and baby Miller

Part of my Kiss Ficlet Prompt's on Tumblr Ameerawrites for this lovely Tumblr prompt. I ended up going a lot longer then a normal ficlet but oh well.

“Mateo?” Tommy calls, frustrated as he balances Tilly on one hip and the laundry basket on the other. “Mateo! What did I say about leavin’ your toys on the floor in the hallway?” Tommy huffs and hikes the basket higher as Tilly starts to sniffle again, one clammy little hand wrapped in the fabric of his shirt and the other in her mouth as she sucks despondently on her thumb, fat tears falling down her cheeks. Tommy softly tries to soothe her, but she’s teething and has been weeping on and off all day.

Tommy pulls her up a little higher on his side so he can give her messy curls a quick kiss while he tries to avoid the toy landmines at his feet. At least there aren’t plastic building blocks. Those fuckers hurt. “Goddamn it, Mateo,” Tommy swears under his breath. He’s having a hard enough day without having to worry about breaking a leg or dropping a child. He huffs when the boy doesn’t respond and continues through the hallway into the living room.

The day was turning out to be a disaster. Maria had left yesterday morning for an overnight trip to a nearby community for a trade agreement issue, leaving Tommy at home with the kids. Normally, that wouldn’t be an issue. But today, everything that could possibly go wrong has. Tilly is teething and the washing machine conked out just as she spilled milk down the front of her last clean onesie. Tommy accidentally burned Mateo’s grilled cheese because of the milk incident, causing Mateo to throw a tantrum, which leads to him and Tilly both being too wound up to take naps. Then, just as Tommy was getting ready to send Mateo outside in the backyard to play so he can get a few moments of peace to try and hand wash the laundry, it started raining. Meaning Mateo has to stay inside, which inspires another tantrum. Tommy is at the end of his rope, and he’s counting the hours till Maria is supposed to get home after dinner.

Dropping the basket of clean laundry on the coffee table to fold later, Tommy makes his way toward the kitchen to grab one of the washcloths he’s got in the freezer for Tilly to chew on and to see if he can locate his wayward son.

“Mateo?” he calls again, and this time, he actually hears some shuffling and scuffing and hastens his steps. “What are ya doin’ in there, Mateo? I swear to god, if you are gettin’ into those cookies like I told you not to, I am…”

The scene he walks into would be comical if they were in a 90’s Friday night sitcom, but unfortunately, they're not so all it does is freeze the blood in Tommy’s veins instantly. Mateo is trying to get up to the top of the refrigerator where Tommy had placed his little toy guitar that he’d taken away this morning after Mateo refused to stop playing it and woke up Tilly from her morning nap. Matteo’s managed to get up on the counter and is reaching out to grab the handle of the fridge when Tommy comes through the door. Tommy watches in slow motion as Mateo’s hand doesn’t quite get a grip and slides off the handle, and because he’s leaning so far forward, he can’t pull himself back before he starts to fall head-first toward the tile floor.

Tommy feels like he’s moving through molasses as he pushes himself towards his son. A squeak of surprise comes from Tilly at his sudden movement, and a shout of terror prizes itself from Mateo’s lips when he realizes he’s going down. Tommy reaches out his free hand desperately towards Mateo and just manages to grab him at the elbow of his trailing arm and yank as quickly as he can upward to try and stop his face from hitting the floor.

Tommy just barely makes it.

He adjusts his grip on his son, pulling the boy to his chest as his legs give way and he crumples to the floor, back resting against the kitchen island. His breath is coming fast from his lips, and he can’t hear anything over the pounding of the blood in his ears.

Once his heart starts to slow down, he finally registers Tilly’s high-pitched cries of fear and confusion and Mateo’s wails of pain.

Fuck, fuck, fuck. He tries to put Tilly down, but she immediately goes to crawl back into his lap, her little nails biting into the skin of his arm as she screams, snot and tears mixing together on her face. “Oh honey, honey, I just need to look at your brother, honey. Please, baby, just a second,” he croones to her, his voice wobbling, but she won’t stop. “‘M sorry honey, I’m so sorry, baby, but I gotta look at your brother.” He ends up having to turn his body away from her so she can’t climb into his lap as he tries to gently manhandle Mateo to look at him. Tommy’s large hands tremble as he cups his son’s face, looking for an unseen injury as Mateo continues to wail between great sobbing breaths.

“Mateo, where does it hurt buddy? Buddy, where ya hurtin’? Tell daddy, baby.” He sees no obvious injuries, so Tommy runs gentle searching fingers over Mateo’s face and head just in case he somehow managed to bump it against something else on his way down, but finds nothing. “Please, buddy, please, tell daddy what’s wrong,” he begs as Mateo continues to scream, his face scrunched up and turning redder by the second.

Tommy can feel panic sweeping over him like a heavy wave, and his eyes start to burn with his own tears as Tilly continues to scratch at his arm, crying pitifully, desperate to reach him, and Mateo keeps screaming and screaming. Tommy feels himself starting to disassociate, the edges of his awareness becoming fuzzy and faded, so he reaches his hands into his hair and tugs hard at his scalp until it stings and the world around him comes back into view. He can’t do this right now, he can’t slip into his memories. He’s gotta be present here for Mateo and Tilly.

“Okay, okay, we’re gonna be okay,” he says as calmly as he can. “Just… gotta get to you’re Tio Joel, okay?” He settles Mateo against his chest, holding his head momentarily against his shoulder, whispering soft nonsense into his ear. Then securely puts his arm under his butt and scoops up Tilly with his other arm. When he stands with purely the power of his legs and core, he’s afraid he’s gonna fall, but somehow, he manages to keep all of them upright and steady even though Mateo lets out another heart-wrenching sob at the movement. Tommy strides to the front door, kicking it open with a socked foot. He’s suddenly thankful that he’s still so active at 53 years old, riding almost daily, cleaning, training, and working the horses. Because he doesn’t know otherwise if he’d be able to do this. He’s across the street and surging up the steps of Joel’s front porch faster than he’s ever moved in his life. Before he can start to think how he’s gonna get the front door open, Joel spills out of it, eyes wild and shaggy hair flying every which way.

“Tommy, what the hell…” He freezes when he sees the state of the three of them and immediately moves forward to take Mateo from his arms. Tommy stops him.

“No, take Tilly. Mateo was trying to climb the damn fridge an’ almost fell. I caught him, but he’s hurt somewhere, an’ I can’t find it with her needin’ me too.” Tommy explains in a rush as Joel easily pulls Tilly to his chest and starts rocking and crooning quietly to her, using the bottom of his flannel to wipe away the mess on her face. The two men push into Joel’s house, and Tommy gently sits Mateo down on the couch, feeling helpless at the tears still falling and little hiccuping cries pouring out of his baby’s mouth with each breath.

“Baby, what’s wrong? Please, tell me what’s wrong,” Tommy begs the tears he’s been holding back prickling painfully at the back of his eyes. Mateo just shakes his head and whines, his whole body hunched in on itself, his one hand holding his other arm tight to his side.

Joel squints at Mateo and turns to Tommy, “How did ya catch him?”

“I heard him in the kitchen, an’ I…”

“No, no. I mean, how did ya keep him from hittin’ the ground?”

“I-I grabbed ahold of his arm an’ yanked him up.” Tommy looks at Joel, and Joel’s face lightens a touch as he moves to sit on the coffee table in front of the couch. He turns and hands Tilly to Tommy.

“I’m guessin' I know what’s wrong,” Joel says, reaching his big, gentle hands out to lay on Mateo’s face and then sliding down to his shoulders, trying to pull his attention to him. “Mateo honey, is it your arm? Does your arm hurt, honey?” Mateo’s head bobs up and down fast, his eyes glassy and frantic. Joel puts his hands around Mateo’s little face, enfolding it almost completely, and softly wipes away his tears with his thumbs. “Okay, buddy, that's okay. Me an’ your daddy, we’re gonna get you taken care of, don’t you worry, baby boy.”

Joel turns to Tommy and takes Tilly back into his arms, bouncing her on his knees and running a calm hand down her spine. “I think this is a case of nursemaid elbow. We need to take him over to the clinic, an’ they should be able to get him fixed up just fine.”

Tommy vaguely recalls hearing that term before in some book he read or some conversation he’s had, but he can't quite make sense of it at the moment. His heart is still beating too fast, the tendrils of an oncoming panic attack lingering at the back of his brain, and his son is sitting sobbing quietly on the couch, fingers digging into his arm. “What is that again?” Tommy mumbles, running his hands over Mateo’s hair and the back of his neck, trying to soothe him without jostling his arm.

“Means most likely when you grabbed him, you pulled his elbow out of the socket. It’s most likely already back in place, but it can hurt like the dickens, an’ if not, the doc can put it back. It happened to me with Sarah once when she was just a little older than Mateo is now. She tried to run out into the street to grab her soccer ball just as a car was drivin’ by, an’ I grabbed her arm to pull her out of the way.” Tommy’s eyes go wide in horror.

“I-I did this?” Tommy’s vision suddenly tips and tilts as he yanks his hands away from his son quickly. He hurt him. He did this. Joel sees the anguish on his face and grabs onto Tommy’s knee with his free hand, pinning him to the couch as Tommy tries to move away from Mateo, afraid he’ll somehow hurt him again. “Shit, Joel, fuck. I… It’s been such a bad day. Such a bad day. Tilly ain’t sleepin’, which means we ain't sleepin’, and I was tryin’ to pay attention, I was, but the damn washer broke, an’ Tilly she’s been cryin' all day, an’ he got away from me. He just got away. I was just trying to keep him from hittin' his head. I just saw him goin’ down, an’ I- I grabbed him. I did…”

“Tommy, Tommy. Stop, okay, Stop,” Joel says, reeling him back from the brink with a firm squeeze to the joint of his knee. It hurts, but it snaps him back. “Brother, ya did nothin’ wrong. It’s something that happens with kids. They ain’t done growin’ yet, so sometimes it just happens when you grab 'em. I know you wasn’t tryin' to hurt him, Tommy. You were tryin' to protect him.” Joel moves his hand to Tommy’s shoulder and shakes him a little until Tommy’s eyes lock with his, “It’s gonna be okay, hermano. Now go slip on my extra boots, an’ let's get our boy to the clinic, okay?” Joel’s voice is sure and steady, and Tommy’s able to hold on to it to help pull himself all the way back to the here and now. He nods his head, quick and firm. Joel’s already pulling his own boots on with little Tilly laying her head weakly against his shoulder, eyes half closed, and thumb sucked back in her mouth as Tommy cuddles his boy safely against his chest and gets moving.

—

“Tommy.” He feels delicate fingers card gently through his hair, dragging him softly out of the restless slumber he had fallen into. “Tommy, baby.” He blinks his eyes open into the low light of the clinic room and sees Maria standing in front of where he’s sat in the chair next to Mateo’s bed. She’s still dressed for riding: jacket, dusty jeans, and boots, hat off to the side, kerchief tied around her neck. Her eyes are worried, wrinkles standing out around the edges, but her gaze is soft, loving. Her fingers keep gently combing through his hair as he blinks back into wakefulness.

“M’ sweetheart,” he mumbles and pulls her into his arms, pressing his face into her abdomen. Breathing her in, he can smell the early spring flowers from the fields she most likely rode through, the pungent odor of horse and sweat from her long ride, and the lingering hint of lavender she uses in their laundry detergent on her clothing. “M’ so sorry. Baby, I’m sorry.”

“Tommy, why are you sorry?” she asks, pulling away from him carefully. She squats down in front of him with a tiny grunt, takes his face into her small, strong hands, and makes sure his eyes are fully on her. “You were trying to protect him, Tommy. You were doing what you were supposed to. It was an accident, baby. It could have happened to any one of us. I am not mad at you, not even a little.”

His hands clench at his sides as he feels his skin prick under her fingertips. He knows she’s right, knows it with a certainty that he can’t explain, but a part of him can't help remembering his son's cries. Knowing that it was his hands that caused it… “I swore… I swore I’d never hurt ‘em. I swore it,” he says, his jaw tight, tone vehement.

“And you didn’t, Tommy. You didn’t.” Maria moves her hands to his, pulls them open where they are clenched, and twines her fingers with his. “You are not your father Tommy. This is not the same. You were protecting him, and yes, Tommy, sometimes that means you are going to hurt him. But you did not mean to do this. You did not hurt him with intent. You are a good man, Tommy Miller, and a good father.” Tommy stares at her, her words a balm to his bruised and jagged soul, a salve to hurts he had thought long since buried. “Do you believe me?” she asks quietly, shuffling forward so she can rest her forehead against his.

“Yes,” he breathes into the space between them. Her trust in him has slowly started to make him believe in himself. He has no idea where he would be without her, without this strong, courageous woman by his side. She shifts again so she can wrap her arms around him and squeaks in surprise when he pulls her up into his lap, her arms around his neck, his locked across her back, her dirty boots hanging off the side of the chair. He holds her to him as they watch their son sleeping peacefully in the clinic bed next to them, a brace holding his elbow securely to his side.

Joel is asleep across the room on the old couch against the wall, Tilly wrapped safely in his large arms. Her little face is pressed into his flannel, delicate eyelashes fanned out across her soft cheeks and mouth open, drool soaking into the fabric. Ellie, her hair a ratty mess, looks like she came to the clinic straight from stable duty. She’s camped on the floor, her back against the couch and head lolled back against Joel’s side. Her hand is curled over Tilly’s back, Joel’s hand over the top of hers, fingers intertwined.

Maria runs her nose along his slowly and gently takes his lips with her own. A sense of peace settles over him with the pressure of her mouth on his. She pulls back, and he pushes one of her locs away from her face. Letting a finger trail down the line of her jaw, “Maria, darlin’, you sure do know how to kiss a man an’ make it all better.”

She laughs quietly and lays her head against his shoulder as they watch their little family sleep.

#tlou #tlou fanfiction #joel miller #the last of us #tommy miller #ellie williams #asks #ao3 #maria miller #prompts

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crystallizsch · 9 months ago

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HI!! jumping in here because I’m pretty awkward starting convos and those ask prompts were perfect for breaking the ice

I get the feeling you’ll get a lot of jamil asks so I’m gonna throw a curve ball and ask about deuce with 9 and 18 (since it seems like you also like heartslabyul hehe)

AA HI HII!! It’s so cool to finally talk with you! And aaah i get it, i feel similarly hfkdjsks but it makes me happy that you decided to send an ask thank you! 😭💖

ANYWAYS DEUCE YES and you’re right i love heartslabyul, especially the duo, so thanks for this!

jamil my beloved he needs to take a back seat again for a bit afklsjs

━━━━━━✦ 9. Could you be roommates with [Deuce]?

I’ve roomed with siblings my whole life (at least up until college) so i think i totally could be roommates with Deuce! idk he gives little brother vibes despite being an only child

Something that reminded me, I checked to see and in the 2nd halloween event, apparently he grinds his teeth in his sleep (which is probably a whole thing to address??? but i dont know much to give an opinion ;;;)

anyways i’m pretty used to noises at night and the general shenanigans that comes with rooming with younger siblings (there’s no privacy but admittedly it’s less lonely) (but i do prefer privacy). and I imagine deuce anyway to be the respectful type and just tries his best to be considerate

but yeah in any case i could be roommates with him if I didnt have the choice to room alone akjdksjsks

Also slight tangent i looked up his room and damn it’s so neat???

he has a ton of books this boy 😭😭

also he has a little picture frame awhh

i imagine it may be a picture of him and his mom??? which honestly would be pretty ballsy because you’d think a boy that age would not even consider proudly putting that up because of ridicule (then again he’s also not afraid to fight). but that’s also what i love about deuce, he loves his mom and he cares enough to show it despite what anyone thinks 😭 (or maybe it could be just displaying one of his achievements or something idk idk hgkjdsfjlds)

Man i know the heartslabyul dorm rooms are pretty but it feels so unrealistic for that it is THIS clean and organized (there’s probably some kinda rule in there somewhere keeping it clean i imagine hfhjdjdj)

━━━━━━✦ 18. How about a relationship they have in canon with another character that you admire?

ACE THE SINGLE BRAIN CELL DYNAMIC IDIOTS THAT VALUE EACH OTHER AS FRIENDS bromance real

AND JUST THE WHOLE MAIN FOUR IN GENERAL

I think adeuce have that type of friendship where they butt heads and make fun of each other a lot, because that’s like how they show that they are comfortable with one another and that, out of all people, they choose each other as the main person to hang out with.

I think if it weren’t for what happened in the prologue they wouldn’t be as close as friends. It felt like an excuse for them to bond and get to know each other properly despite their differences (and they're roommates so if none of that happened i think they'd only be acquaintances at most)

I also love that during events whenever the other is not involved, it’s always so funny one of them is usually like “wow it’s such a shame ace/deuce is not here”

actually I dont think there’s an event where BOTH ace and deuce is in an event together??? man🧍(unless i'm forgetting something)

but also when is twst gonna finally have the main quartet all be involved in an event together 🤨

AAH i’m just a sucker for the friend duo/trio (+ occasional creature/animal) trope.

I’m lovingly chewing on their dynamic every time

still open for asks!

#SORRY FOR THE DELAY #i went to sleep ;;#ALSO FELLOW JAMIL ENJOYER RAAHH #love your jamil stuff #so i was surprised when i saw you in my inbox #i was ALJDFLJSASK such an honor hi #[—✦ chatting #-✧ ask game

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thebearme · 2 years ago

Text

MY EENE HEADCANONS

just going to warn you that this is long

EDgar Joseph

6'9 ft

Demi-Romantic

Caucasian

Pisces 23 Y/o 3/2/1985

Film college major (Jobs: Indie horror film maker, Animal caretaker)

FAVORITE FOOD:

Butter toast & Gravy (duh)

VIBE:

Alien Boy - Oliver Tree

Eight Wonder - Lemon Demon

Turn the lights off - TallyHall

- Arts & craft master

- Has a fursona

- Learned what a shower is

- He's still is a lil gross

- Ed changed his name to Ed so he can match with Eddy when he was 6

- Ed real name is: Bob Horace Joseph

- Lemon demon fan

- The one ed to be dating a Kankers (May)

- The oldest ed (he got left-back a year)

- Has yellow teeth becuz he didn't brush his teeth when he was younger

- Has a pet chicken from Rolf but it's at the barn, can't stay at the dorms :(

- Takes care of Rolf's animals ever so often, he loves when he can help

- Thinks of Dee like a mom figure

- Is on better ground with Sarah after BPS and once she realizes how awful their mom was to Ed

- Ed's the only person with yellow skin that because of all the gravy grease he eats

- Drop the violin to play all types of weird instruments instead

- LOVES crytids, FNAF lore and SCP

- Likes going to haunted places for fun

- Ed's drawings are now ten times more disturbing

- Draws on mspaint

- MUST. HAVE. OVERSIZED. SLEEVES!

- Ed is a food stealer

- Ed and Edd bond with the unexplainable wonders of the world (Deep sea creatures)

- Instead of getting a chewy necklace he just buys chew toys for dogs, they're cheaper and cooler

- Uses weird emojis: 🧟‍♂️🦷🧠🪳🌚

- ASD & ADHD

Disability:

* Has a fractured skull

* Brain hurts fr when he thinks hard

* Frequently lost of balance = needs a cane

EDDward (Double dee) Johnson

6'3 ft

Trans-Masc & Bi

(Afro-Vietnamese)

Aquarius 22 Y/o 2/10/1986

Psychology major / Science engineering minor (Jobs: none, scholarships & grants are paying the tuition)

FAVORITE FOOD:

Tuna fish gumbo

VIBE:

The machine - Lemon Demon

American healthcare - Penelope Scott

I threw out love of my dreams - Weezer

Pretty rave girl

- It was hard for Dee to not pick every major

- Double dee got overwhelmed with the college choices he had so he just followed the eds in to Peach Creek's community college

- The OCD got worse when he got older so the eds made a compromise to help clean the dorm often

- Santa believer

- Has a Costco supply of everything

- He likes scene but doesn't tell the eds

- Can't flirt for his life

- Dee Prays everyday that God will forgive the eds sins

- insomniac

- Double dee is trying to find a Scientific explanation for why their tongues are still dyed by the jawbreakers for years now

- Double dee has to braid his hair back before going to bed or else it would be wild in the morning

- Dee is comfortable in his body, doesn't need a bind all the time

- If you don't let Dee to say big words he'll start speaking like a bimbo unironically

- The Light-skin

- Is a ferret

- He got therapy for the 'dodgeball incident'

- Still wears his hat always, even when the eds already know about the scar

- Still passionate about learning but is slowly being a burnt out gifted student

- Even though Eddy tends to distract Dee from studying, if Eddy left college Double dee would have dropped out with him. A least for a gap year(s)

- Dee is a hugger

- Double dee found out that there's a Chemical compound with in shrooms that lessen the psychological symptoms of OCD...

- Dee has shrooms

- Dee is not afraid to be the bitchy friend to make sure the eds don't get themselves into jail

- Willing to kill for Eddy

- A certified forklift driver

- Mothers Ed

- Writes large paragraphs in text and the small amount of emoticons he uses are: =] >:-( :-D

- ASD

Disability:

* Asthma

* Diabetic (genetic, from both parents) Wears a insulin pump

Edwin (EDDY) McGee

5'3 ft

Pans

Puerto Rican (1/2 mother's side)

Italian American (1/2 father's side)

Aries 21 Y/o 3/24/1987

Undeclared major

(Jobs: whatever job he has that week)

FAVORITE FOOD:

Crafts mac n cheese

VIBE:

Soft Fuzzy Man - Lemon Demon

What's New Pussycat - Tom Jones

Lyin' Awake - Steam Powered Giraffe

Cuphead Rap - JT Music

- Eddy frankly doesn't know how he graduated high school

- Eddy loves old stuff (music, clothes, technology)

- Eddy likes underrated/unappreciated historical figures

- He can still be erratic sometimes and still haves trust issues

- Eddy does his nails

- Once he stopped wearing his brother's clothes he started finding his own style

- He is a FASHION KING, never seen in the same clothes often

- Drag queen

- Still doesn't understand personal space or the difference from complements and flirting

- Still a big sap

- Constantly sleeps in Dee bedroom instead of his own

- Insecure with his curly hair so he gel's it most of the time

- HE'S A BINGUS CAT

- Weed smoker

- Once had the eds do a breaking bad

- Surprisingly nice legs

- Insomniac

- Eddy tends to have depressive episodes

- Occasionally goes to therapy, but keeps making light of his issues or dodging them completely

- Writes his name on his food so Ed won't steal it (It doesn't work)

- Was a Premature baby

- Eddy is actually really smart and can make things, he just doesn't have the foresight or the motivation

- Eddy has a pet mouse

- He's flexible and can do acrobatics

- Eddy is still a little narcissistic

- ADHD

Disability:

* Has a stiff right wrist (has a wrist brace that he doesn't wear, prefers to just use he's left hand)

#ed edd n eddy #eene #eene fanart #ed edd n eddy fanart #eene ed #eene edd #eene double d #eene eddy #eene headcanons

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ofallthingsnasty · 8 months ago

Note

https://m.youtube.com/watch?v=Q-KciIbk_oA&pp=ygUWcG9tZXJhbmlhbnMgdHVnIG9mIHdhcg%3D%3D

This is one of my new fav videos of two Pomeranian puppies playing tug of war and I just imagine basement wife having TWO purse dogs and they’re playing tug of war like that. She thinks it’s so cute and adorable until she realizes what they are trying to rip to shreds is one of Crocodile’s ties whoops 😬

(I love how the doggos in this video are literally just…potatoes with legs)

link to the video - oh goodness, that is so cute 😭💕

part one, two and three of basement wife and puppy, minors dni

Hold on, hold on - first we have to talk about the fact that he got you two puppies, not one? My, you must have been exceptionally good for him. Husband of the year award would probably go to Crocodile if it wasn't for the fact that you're with him against your will 😭

Two little dogs... How much they'd light up your drab life. Always playing with each other, chasing the other through the halls, vying for your attention. You could just watch them all day, even while they're napping. You'll probably try your best to put together toys/parkours with what you can get your hands on (but always careful not to damage anything, you put everything back into the proper place lest Crocodile catches you). Bracelets and heavy jewelry get re-purposed to drape them on your little poms, anything to tickle your brain and get a least a smile out of you. Whenever he's in particularly good humor, he leaves some treats around so you can train them (or at least try to, with how inconsistent it all is) - paw, spin, jump, and your favorite: kisses - they're pretty much all you have and you pour all of your love into them.

But you're not the only one getting bored - it's not like you can take them out for adventures, so your territory is also theirs. And a little dog explores that all too quickly, especially a sassy one like a pom. You'll find them going through cupboards you never knew they'd be able to reach, hiding under the sofa or sitting smack-dab in the middle of it, ruining the bed, fighting over your socks like they're made out of precious metals. It makes you a little sad to see them confined to the same hamster wheel that you are, but all you can do is let them have their fun and clean up after them. (Because when Crocodile catches on, he likes to punish both you and them by keeping you apart. The dogs, like you, are decoration, something to put a smile on his favorite possession's face, so they better not piss into some corner or tear apart the expensive cushions of his favorite chaise.)

So when you notice that the fabric they're fighting over is way too tight to be a sock - and worse yet, finely patterned in a way you recognize - you try to save the remnants, desperately telling your tiny pups to stop, stop, stop before their little teeth can tear the tie to shreds. But it's too late - it's already full of dog saliva and clearly chewed on at the edges, coupled with the distinct smell of animal, not your husband's favorite cologne.

He's not a man you want to hide this from (not to mention that you have no place to tuck it away, nothing truly belongs to you in this place), because he'll figure it out as soon as he'll search for that particular one some day. A punishment is inescapable - but would turn way worse if kept away from him. Disobedience and dishonesty are grave offenses to a man like Crocodile, offenses that might result in you losing your little companions if pushed too far. So you gasp and bear the bloody welts on your ass and the cock shoved down your throat out of frustration right afterwards - anything to make it up to him, anything to keep them.

#/crocodile #/one piece #tw.yandere #oh i think he'd get super frustrated if something like that happened bc like i said. they're supposed to be as good as walking plushies #and if you can't keep them in check... well... maybe they're more trouble than they're worth hm?#yandere one piece

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skips-is-asleep · 2 years ago

Text

Everyone shut up this is trolls with autism part 2: fav stims/textures

These were getting really long so I may make a part 3 about comfort foods in a separate post

Aradia: obviously, her hair, she loves playing with it, braiding it adding things to it etc, but I bet when she was younger she was a Hair/shirt chewer and idk why but I feel like she'd also just like breaking things. Not smashing, but snapping pasta noodles, brittle bones, or sticks, that sort of thing. She has a chewy necklace, but it's not a tough grade one like Terezi needs. If she doesn't have something MEANT to be chewed, her shirts get holes in them. Also toe walker. Least favorite texture: when your hands have been wet for a really long time and your nails are all dried out

Tavros: he has jewelry that's for stimming, like bracelets with little spinny parts or that you take off and play with, but before that, it was rubber bracelets or hair ties that he'd never even use as intended. He has a fidget spinner and a pop socket too and you could pry them from his cold dead hands. Tavros is also very very good at shuffling cards because he just really likes the noise it makes when they all flutter together. Least favorite texture: course grade sandpaper

Sollux: pen clicking, leg bouncing, he fucks with his piercings even though he knows he's not supposed to. Often he doesn't even realize he's doing it until someone loses their mind at him for it and tells him to stop. Sometimes, if he can, he'll pull up a whole new word document/notepad and just start typing nonsense bc the act of typing on a keyboard or tapping on a screen just feels good. If anyone opened up one of these notepads, they'd just be random descriptions of what's around him or complete gibberish. Also see the link for other Sollux stim headcanons. Least favorite texture: every and all slimes

Karkat: Skin picking, absolutely, especially around his fingers. He copes by painting his nails and picking that off and it's saved his skin forever. But he also loves silicon toys, the little brush ones I mean, and anything meant to be taken apart and put back together, bonus points if it's those ones that make the little pop and click noises when you do so. Karkat also likes pop-its, yeah I said it, someone has to like them. Another link for more karkat (and more Sollux) headcanons Least favorite texture: metal + teeth

Nepeta: she's also a chewer, but she likes very hard things, nothing squishy. It's all bones, wood, plastic that kinda thing, her favorite is straws. She's also a big fan of messy crafts, like finger painting, getting her hands in the mud/shaving cream that kind of thing, she just likes being messy, making a mess but doesn't like cleaning it. Yeah and toe walking. Least favorite texture: tin foil

Kanaya: she doesn't sew AS a stim, but she does sew a really long running stitch, intentionally neglect to tie it off just so she can pull the thread out, insanely soothing to her. Also anything that's meant to be gently tapped against her face, like a makeup sponge or very soft rag is A++ Anything that jingles when she walks (jewelery but also heavily beaded fabrics) are perfect. She also loves running her nails over things, specifically tapping with them. Least favorite texture: burlap

Terezi: we've got another intense chewer. She sits right between aradia and Nepeta. They like hard things, but obviously hard as in crunchy. We knew they eat chalk but also ice, stale bread, that kind of thing, things meant to be eaten and crunchy. She's also the type to just draw all over herself with markers, the wet + cool sensation of markers going over skin is everything. least favorite texture: braille

Vriska: Hair, like moving it around/out of her hair constantly and dice. She plays with them, rolls them when theres no reason to, sometimes chews them but it's pretty rare and the oral fixation is only with dice. Idk what they're called, but the little game with the dice under the plastic dome and you push it and it pops the dice everywhere? Yeah. She also likes ripping/cutting paper a lot and will steal magazines to rip/cut them up. Least favorite texture: cotton balls

Equius: Equius is also a hair stimmer, softly brushing it. I think he *used* to hit himself in stressful situation but because he's so strong, that's obvi not an option anymore (that's why he has the battle bots) but he also just likes breaking things as in destroying them. In humanstuck, I think he regularly visits those places where you're put in a room with a bat just to smash old TV's and shit. Least favorite texture: rusty metal

Gamzee: definitely noise based stimming, his horns, little bells and squeaky toys, but also he loves just...watching wheels spin. Will sit for hours with his unicycle upside down watching the wheel go. Also beaded curtains. I think growing up on the beach, he'd also really like the texture of wet sand, touching it, walking barefoot on it, making imprints of it, that sort of thing. Least favorite texture: bugs with legs

Eridan: Spiny rings spiny rings spiny rings. At least half of his rings spin/click/or make some kind of noise, also just the sound of rings clinking on things is itself a stim. I think he likes those silicon brushes too, but he likes plucking them. Some of his books in his library aren't even meant to be read, he just will sit and turn the pages until he feels better. Idk if this counts a stim but I also think he copes by swimming to the deepest water he can stand and just laying there like a massive weighted blanket. Least favorite texture: wet paper

Feferi: hair, but also she has so many different fabrics in her outfit, they probably all have different textures that she likes touching. Feferi's a fan of squishy stuff, she likes slime, wet foods like puddings and jello. I'm sure they'd have slime that can be submerged in salt water, but above water she loves the very transparent jiggly slime. She also loves fucking with jelly fish and I bet she smacks the bulb on beluga whales for fun. Also assigned toe walker. Least favorite texture: concrete + bare feet

#homestuck #sollux captor #karkat vantas #eridan ampora #headcanons #nepeta leijon #aradia megido #tavros nitram #kanaya maryam #terezi pyrope #vriska serket #equius zahhak #gamzee makara #feferi piexes

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