#but that could also just be me in denial. or like a dull state of shock bc gege can’t nuke his story just like that i think

[glowingsand]

imagine if we all mourned the guy only for him to dramatically return w nobara and then use the power of love and limitless to defeat sukuna but immediately lose to kenjaku (bc love is also this man’s weakness) and gracefully die but this time with no regrets and more faith in his students

[writing-rat]

That's My Girl

Pairings: Quinn Bailey x Reader

Content Warning: Kidnapping, Mentions of punishment, manipulation, 18+ Conent, Smut (consentual), blowjobs, G!P Quinn Bailey, Quinn Bailey has a penis!

Summary: Quinn is just leaving from a kill when she sees you so she decides to just kidnap you and manipulate you. She is glad it works...

WC: 1614

Quinn had just finished her test kill on someone. She was preparing to be Ghostface, her dad letting her join in on his plan. She was thankful for that. After stripping down, she changed into some clean clothes as she was walking away when she saw someone who caught her eye. A girl. It was you, someone in her class that she knew of and wanted to get to know. She glanced around, thinking before she was sneakily going into an alleyway, noticing how you were leaning against the wall and texting someone. She proceeded to put on her Ghostface mask and robe before she exited then crossed the road as she was keeping her eye on you, lust rushing through her body. She needed you, but first, she would have to manipulate you and make you believe she was good.

That’s when she was closer to you and she looked around, noticing how people were distracted. She smirked under the mask before she suddenly grabbed you and dragged you into a nearby alley. She was ignoring all the kicking and biting as she was holding you close. “You are staying with me from now on, you are going to be my girlfriend. Now… goodnight,” she spoke before she knocked you out. That’s when she started to carry you around, acting like she was a concerned girlfriend. She even took off her mask as she wanted to sell it even more to people. It was working.

Eventually, she made it to her new room, knowing that Sam and Tara would be away. She was thankful for that, and thankful you were still knocked out due to it being a long walk. Once she had sat you down on her bed, she stretched and was thinking before she opened up a drawer, getting a gag and some ropes. Tying you up, she made sure it was tight so you weren’t able to move and even put you on a puppy pad. She was going to take every precaution she could. She also knew that no one would go into her room due to Sam and Tara agreeing on privacy. 

Soon enough you were waking up and you let out a groan before you looked around and then tried to scream for help. That’s when you realised you were gagged, causing you to panic. Quinn meanwhile just looked over. “Oh, hey baby. Nice rest?” she teased looking at you. “Now I am going to make some rules with you,” she spoke, standing up and grabbing her knife before she sauntered over, putting the knife onto your neck. It was the dull edge at least. “We are not going to scream for help. In fact, the gag will be on for a few hours. You will be my girlfriend. You will live in my room with me and not go out whatsoever. I will get all the food and water you need. That is the bathroom over there so there should be no reason to be living. The blinds also must always be shut. The punishments you will get will be spanking, some cuts here and there, orgasm denial and many more. You got it?” she finished speaking, causing you to nod and accept you wouldn’t be escaping just yet. She smirked as she soon pushed a tray over. On it, there was a water bottle and a bit of pasta. 

She pushed the gag down, letting you eat. You frowned at the cutlery. It was made of paper. “I’m not gonna let you hurt me that easily,” Quinn stated, causing you to nod and eat as best as possible. You knew it would be hard to, but you would be good for her just to try and escape…

-

A few months later you were slowly starting to want to stay. You were introduced to Sam and Tara after a bit and vetted by them. Luckily for you (and Quinn) you were approved. In fact, Quinn let you go back to classes now, knowing she could trust you. She also put a tracker on you so if you wanted to run away, you couldn’t. You didn’t mind, she just didn’t know how to love properly. She was learning, but you were also just to be with her. You knew that when she was hard, you had to please her. You had to eat every meal she gave you and you had to drink everything she gave you. You also did have good days where you got treats by going out on dates with her and watching movies. You also did get punished sometimes.

One of the punishments was spanking. When you had been mouthing off to her one day, she had pulled down the sweatpants you wore and left your ass naked before she hit it harder. Another punishment was keeping you chained to the wall for 2 hours. You had disobeyed some orders by not washing the dishes and you had been chained to help you learn your lesson. At first, you were pissed off about being stuck here, but soon enough, with the constant praise and love, you started to understand you were at fault. You felt bad now.

Nowadays, you came straight to Quinn at any issues that occurred, knowing it was better to tell and not hide it. She was thankful for that. That led you to the current issue. “Mommy, I need to masturbate,” you practically begged out, wanting to cum. You hadn’t for a solid week and you weren’t allowed to cum or masturbate without permission. 

“Do you deserve it, hm?” She teased. You nodded. “Yes! Please, I’ve been good. I have done everything you said, please,” you begged more before Quinn nodded. “Strip down,” she commanded. You nodded, obeying her order as you stripped off your jeans, underwear, and your shirt as well as your bra. She licked her lips as she was smirking and nodded. “Good girl, now get on the bed, all fours. I want your ass up in the air though,” she demanded. You did as told, laying your chest on the bed. That’s when Quinn went behind you after stripping down, pressing her erection against you hard. She smirked at the whimper you let out before she pressed her body against you fully, starting to enter into you. “Fuck, please let me adjust when you’re fully in,” you moaned, hoping she would do as you said. She was groping your tits meanwhile, nodding. “Of course, you haven’t been stretched out for a while after all,” she stated, waiting ever so patiently for the nod you were bound to do. After a minute, you finally nodded.

She smirked before she started to thrust slowly and gently at first. You let out little moans of pleasure, covering your mouth. That’s when she removed your hand from your mouth. “Everyone should hear you,” she practically growled. You nodded, moaning loudly for everyone finally, not wanting Sam or Tara to judge. Luckily Quinn had mentioned they were used to it, so you didn’t feel as bad whenever you did. “Fuck,” you moaned as she suddenly went faster and rougher. She smirked, moaning loudly as she kept going. She wasn’t going to stop until you were both satisfied. She was making that obvious due to how she was starting to rub your clit and your breasts. 

You gasped at that, starting to open your legs even wider for her. You loved how she treated you in bed honestly. She kept getting tougher and faster before she rubbed your nipple hard. That caused you to cum because just at the same time she thrusted into your G-spot. Quinn felt you clench against her before you soon came. In return, she went faster and harder into the same spot before she came inside. You panted as you felt tired, not used to the roughness and speed she was going at that time. 

She just smirked, looking at you before she slowly pulled out. “Have enough energy to suck me off?” she asked you, looking down at you, practically devouring you. You nodded as you slid off the bed, not able to move fully yet. That’s when Quinn sat down, leaning against the wall and smirked down at you. Licking your lips, you started to suck her head, stroking her shaft with your hand. Quinn moaned, showing you were doing a good job before she held your head and gently pushed it down. You were taking it like a good girl for her and she was proud of you for that. Soon you were about halfway down before you finally moved your hand and took her all in. She let out a louder groan as she started to thrust into your mouth. You weren’t shocked at all since she had stated she always wanted to fuck your face and she finally was.

You let her keep going. For a few minutes, she kept thrusting before she looked down at you more. “You have to swallow,” she moaned. You nodded before she came into your mouth which you swallowed. “That’s my girl, my very good girl,” she praised, licking her lips. She was glad she kidnapped you. 

You couldn’t help but squeak when she lifted you and she just smirked. “I’m taking you to the bathroom so we can wash up, ok baby?” she spoke. You nodded and smiled at Quinn, leaning into her. 

“Thank you, babe,” you spoke quietly. You never wanted to leave now. You were ready to be hers fully, and Quinn knew that. 

She was ready to take care of you whenever and was happy that you were happy with her…

[suckerforthisshit]

My comments on the "There's nothing I hate more but something I can't have" from @neallo.

I read the whole story only yesterday and I am not only impressed but also shocked. This is probably the best fic I've ever read in my life. I felt the need to get in touch as someone who is interested in writing I story telling.

I plan to engage in writing, learn how to express myself properly and describe the event as precisely as possible, so that I capture the essence, do not repeat words and portray the characters realistically. So that when I read the story later, I want to insert myself into it in a such way that I have the feeling that it is actually happening. That's exactly what Neallo succeeded in doing.

Here are some comments on the writing:

1) Each of the characters has its own character that is upgraded on the simpler basis of what we have in manga and anime

2) The scenes are described extremely precisely with a lot of details and without unnecessary embellishments.

3) The realism of absolutely everything, from the reactions and behavior of the characters to the entire course of events. Without any dull fantastic moments.

4) Perfectly depicted behavior and thinking of young people with extraordinary intelligence, living in the modern age

5) Sex scenes are described without any exaggeration, without sugarcoating, just the way sex really looks like in real life

6) Thoughts of characters are very human-like

8) Characters in different states, sober and drunk, perfectly described

9) Gracefully introduced internal struggles and conflicts of the main character (Mello) without exaggeration, exactly the way people think and face their own problems

10) Mat's character was lit in all scenes

I have to say that I see these things differently, of course, as we all actually do have our own personal head cannons. And surprisingly neallo's Mello is much alike my post kira 20 years old, fucked up Near. That's that puking out when you have to deal with emotions, that lustful needs, that analytical thinking, that pissy/bossy attitude. Only difference is that my Near usually hides his inner thoughts with his perfectly strict, cold and cool facade. And actually no one knows how extremely horny and pissed off he actually is. Which is different in your Mello, who is open about it. On other hand my Mello is much more feeling like. He wouldn't rationalize his emotions like never, he too can't face them and will probably storm out. He would live in denial to that point it would be a pure delusional madness. He wouldn't face it at all, with my Mello and Near, near isn't enough emotionally strong to state out his feelings (like. Never), and Mello would have to hunt him down which would drastically complicate the situation given that Mello on his own doesn't know what he feels about Near and mentally can't take the fact that he likes him. And for Matt, the psychoanalyst is a literal canon to me and even more, as it's actually great deal of his personality, but again, unlike your characters, more emotional, bit less rational. He would however work far better if to Mello it could actually be said, like, what actually is.. but like, my Matt has to specially pack things for Mello on way he wouldn't freak out.

Haha, anyways, I appreciate seeing the different versions of my three favorite characters that are dancing on my mind for like five years. I will do an art of these two, but I'll show them bit different then I usually draw my Mello and Near. (I already have a perfect picture in my damn head how they look like, exactly Mello)

Overall, this peace of art was MIND-BLOWING and I hope more people will read it.

[rafent]

[ scold ] + [ stare ]

Three strikes marks the necessity for intervention, and a third glance thrown her way and caught in the action has a girl stand quietly from where she works.

With calm but unrelenting confidence—not violent, not forceful, but surely unstoppable in the way Poe often asserts herself—she places a hand on the wall behind Rafal. It is all too easy to forget that the two are the same height until they stand in such close quarters, though she of course thinks herself the bigger person here in all respects. A lion-tamer does not shrink from her cats, and nor does Poe from her villain. Pink meets red as she forces their gazes to lock.

(The door has long since been closed. For the intent of dulling the echo of idle conversation and passers-by darting to-and-fro while the two of them work, but with the effect instead of creating an empty room.

Naught exists unless it is witnessed, and this applies to actions too.)

"When you look at me like that—" She leans in. Mere inches separate them. "—do you think yourself subtle, Rafal?"

𝐀𝐂𝐓𝐒 𝐎𝐅 𝐃𝐎𝐌𝐈𝐍𝐀𝐍𝐂𝐄 scold — your muse scolding mine for something stare — your muse staring mine down

For once it was not singly the Corrupted who qualified as corpses come alive. This living corpse, perfectly breathing and yet frozen over as if with postmortem stiffness, stilled with arms held parallel at his sides in the manner of two planks. A single careless movement would brush him against her, and so it was careless movements that he avoided. Such caution marked the extreme level of proximity between them. And, in that, the sheer audacity also.

He glowered even as he could curse only himself. So rarely did a powerful Fell Dragon of all creatures find himself walking upon hot coals, as this one did now. To be reduced to a profane state of powerlessness by human hands capsized the natural order. A measly broad to commit the deed; a weak and inferior girl-thing; so audacious as to trap him against the wall; so audacious as to pique his interest. Rafal who would sooner not admit to either decided naturally upon the third option.

"I may not have been the most well concealed, I will admit." Like tentative paw-steps placed one before the other, words left him in similar fashion, slow and wary of forces unseen. Gaze avoidant. "But merely looking is not a secret worth guarding. There is not a soul alive who has faced retribution just for that."

The liberty of his escape denied, and all but seized by his scruff, irritated reception left him in place of denial. Hardly an improvement by most standards, but those of the Fell kind did atrocious things to survive. As he would do in this pinch. In the quiet of the office den, his inscrutable stare turned upon Poe properly, navigating from eyes, to nose, to mouth. "Furthermore, some truths are better left unearthed. Now that you have revealed me, do you trust that I will leave you alone? That you will be able to handle the most fearsome truth of all?"

An unspeakable threat, a deep liquid purr building in the gullet, all were harbinger to a resistance soon to skin and appearances to unravel. His furtive behavior had peeked out due to a clever eye, he ought to reward its observations - and the seeker of truth - with a punishment as beastly as deserved. At this impossible distance between man and woman soft lips enslaved all attention. Enraptured and looking nowhere else, he made it no secret now where his fantasies pooled. One half-step brought him forward, chest nearly to chest, a change of the tides and defiance of the prey.

The urge to lift his hand twitched in hanging fingers, and when they at last moved, it was the soft side of Poe's face which he touched. . .then promptly shoved aside to walk past. ". . .There is a piece of food stuck to your teeth. Most interesting to look at, but not to your desire I would presume. Best see to it."

[grayskies2525]

An Admirable Denial |M/M| Part 6

Word Count: 5,847

The next morning, Connor is feeling great. “Great” might not be the perfect descriptor for how he’s feeling, but compared to the state he was in yesterday… Great is certainly sufficient enough. 

He’d spent the entirety of the day before —after the disastrous book signing — in bed. He slept nine consecutive hours until he woke up at 1:00 am. In a daze, he warmed up a can of chicken soup, took some ibuprofen, and changed into pajamas. By 2:00 am he was back in bed and fast asleep.

After nearly sixteen hours of sleep, he feels refreshed and finally capable of having coherent thoughts. He’s able to enjoy his coffee now that some of his ability to taste and smell has returned. He grabs a tissue from the box on the kitchen table and blows his slightly congested nose. The nose blow is satisfying, and he’s able to finally breathe, somewhat, which is a vast improvement from the day before when blowing his nose did nothing to relieve the congestion whatsoever. He eats some oatmeal with plenty of berries, as well as some Greek yogurt and a banana. He smiles as he thinks about how much better he feels. He now just feels like he has a very mild cold, which he’s more than capable of managing. He knew his trusty immune system wouldn’t disappoint him. 

He remembers his plans for the day and sighs in relief as he realizes he’s actually well enough to go. He was going to go, regardless, but now things will be much easier. He pulls out his phone to text Felix.

Connor: Good morning. Still off from work?

Connor only has to wait a couple of minutes before a response. 

Felix: Uh yeah. I was going to be off anyway because I needed to use my PTO. But also, everyone is still off the whole week bc of the flu running rampant.    Connor: That’s good. Just wanted to check. We can leave in a couple hours.

Felix: Um….?? Leave?? 

Connor frowns at his phone. They’d discussed this the other day, hadn’t they? How Connor had a surprise for Felix. 

Connor: For the thing I was telling you about the other day. 

Felix: Um, Connor, do you have amnesia?? You’re just going to pretend yesterday didn’t happen? 

Connor stares at his phone with knitted brows. What happened yesterday? He knows he had the book signing and that it was awful and that Felix was there, but… He’s realizing now he must have been running quite the fever yesterday because trying to recall the details from the event feels like trying to recall a dream. He thinks he’s close for one moment, and then everything slips away. He remembers Felix being… not happy with him. But he doesn’t remember any yelling or anything awful said that would leave him to think they were in an argument. 

Connor: Uh… maybe. Because I barely remember the signing yesterday, if I’m being honest. Did I say something to make you mad?

Connor: I think I remember now that you were upset and left looking sad. I’m really sorry. I’ll be honest I don’t know what I’m sorry FOR but I’m sure I said something really stupid or something.

Felix: Oh my god, Connor…. I’m just… you really don’t remember?? I didn’t realize you were that out of it. Surprised you made it home tbh. I’m calling you.

Connor smothers a few coughs in his elbows, but picks up the phone after the third ring.

“Um hey,” Connor says, hesitantly, his voice still slightly raspy. “Can you please tell me what dumb thing I did? I mean, I remember being mad at you because I told you not to come, but …” Connor rubs the center of his forehead, where a dull ache still resides, as he tries to think. “And then, honestly, all I remember is just wanting to sit down, which I did. So I could finish signing books. Um, I guess… I think I had a cold and it hit me kind of hard at the signing,” he says, hating admitting to Felix about any kind of sickness, but he doesn’t know how to navigate the conversation, otherwise.

There’s a long pause.

“You… You think you had a cold? You guess? Connor, I was there for two minutes and could tell you were burning up with a fever.’ Felix stops and lets out a long sigh. “Okay, you know what? I should have known better than to get upset with you yesterday. You obviously weren’t thinking clearly and it hadn’t been right to try to start a serious conversation. That’s on me.”

Connor stays silent because he has no idea what he can say in this situation.

“Listen, how are you feeling today?” Felix finally asks.

“I’m fine,” Connor says. “Feeling a little stuffy I guess, but I crashed as soon as I got home yesterday and am really just now getting up. Just ate some oatmeal and yogurt… I’m feeling good.”

“You do sound better,” Felix starts, sounding hesitant. “I guess all that sleep did you good. But, still, you should take it easy today.”

Of course, this is the moment a powerful tickle decided to invade his sinuses. He jerks his head to the side, sneezing uncovered — “Hep-shiew!” — and grimacing as the spray hits the refrigerator door.

“Your sneezes sound better, too,” Felix says.

“I forgot you paid attention to my sneezes,” Connor says, letting out a light laugh. “What did you call them? Cute?” Connor teases.

Connor can’t see Felix’s blush through the phone, but somehow he still knows it’s there. “Uh, yes. It’s a little cute when you sneeze,” Felix admits. “But, anyway, my point is they sound better — more normal, I mean.”

Connor smiles. “Yes, of course they do, because — like I said — I’m feeling a lot better today. A little cold is no match against my immune system.”

Felix sighs, but Connor thinks he hears a laugh mixed in with it. “I don’t think it was a little anything. But, yeah, I’ll admit you seem a lot better. But… listen, I know you don’t remember much about the signing yesterday. You remember, though, that you’ve been acting kind of strangely lately, right? I mean, at first, I thought it was your way of, I don’t know… running away again, I guess? Like, you were slowly drifting away from me? Then I saw you yesterday and thought, well, that maybe you weren’t comfortable with me seeing you sick… which, Connor, I’ll admit, is also a problem. I guess what I’m trying to say is, we just… We have a lot to talk about.”

Connor’s heart starts to race and he pauses a moment to consider his response. “I understand why you feel upset, and I agree that we should talk. But, I did make plans today, and I was hoping we could maybe do those first? And, then, talk after?” he asks, hopefully. Then he brings his arm up to catch a light sneeze.

There’s another long pause, which seems to be a developing pattern.   “Can the plan maybe be watching movies and, I don’t know… eating ramen?” Felix asks, uncertainty lacing his voice.

Connor rolls his eyes even though Felix can’t see him. “I’ve had this planned for a while. Believe me, it’s a lot better than movies and ramen, Felix.”

Felix sighs again. “I love that you’ve obviously planned something for me. And I know you’re feeling better, but.… Listen, you looked pretty rough yesterday. And, I really don’t want you to push yourself.”

“Felix, I promise, it will all be fine. I’m doing this for you, and… I really want to, okay? I’m excited to do this with you. I know you were worried when I brought up that we should take things a little slower. And I want to prove to you I am committed.”

“Connor,” Felix says, softness finally returning to his voice. “There’s other ways you can show me you’re committed. I mean you could just —” Felix’s voice tapers off, and Connor wonders what he was going to say, but before he can ask Felix continues. “Forget it. We’ll talk about it later. Just… you don’t have to do some kind of grand gesture.”

Connor laughs, which tickles his throat slightly, making him want to cough, but he resists. “It’s hardly a grand gesture, sweetheart. It’s just something I think you’ll like, and I… I don’t know. I want to see you happy, okay? You looked so sad yesterday, and I hate that. Please let me do something to make you smile, today. Please,” Connor says, putting forth his best attempt to beg. Connor feels a bit of a weight lift when he hears Felix laugh.

 “How am I supposed to resist that?” Felix asks, voice soft. “It’s just….” he starts, a more sobering tone entering his voice. “I worry if you start feeling sick, you won’t tell me.”   Felix is definitely correct on this presumption, but Connor’s obviously not going to let him know that — especially since the matter is entirely irrelevant, since he is feeling better. “Felix, you don’t have to worry about me feeling sick.”

Felix sighs, once again. “That’s kind of what I mean, Connor. Just please agree if you start feeling bad, you’ll let me know? Please, Connor? It’s really important to me that you promise this to me.”

Connor frowns, feeling an unease settle in his stomach. How could he promise that? But, it’s not like it’s going to matter, anyway.

He hesitates before responding. “Yes, Felix. I promise. If I feel bad, I’ll let you know.”

“Thank you,” Felix says, sounding so relieved that Connor feels a surge of guilt.

_____

Connor has been driving two hours and his eyelids are starting to feel heavy. He slept for sixteen hours. How could he possibly be tired again already? His nose has also been running on and off during the drive. Felix brought an entire box of tissues with him, which made Connor roll his eyes, but he’s feeling a kind of… relief, he decides, that Felix knows he’s sick now. Connor has been wiping his nose every few minutes during the drive, and Felix hasn’t said anything or acted in a way that causes Connor to suspect Felix is repulsed by the situation. 

“Hap-t’choo! Hap-t’choo! Hap-t’choo!” Connor releases the three light sneezes into the tissues he’s been grasping in one hand while his other hand maneuvers the steering wheel. 

“Bless you, bless you, bless you!” Felix says, imitating the way the sneezes sounded.

Connor laughs while rolling his eyes. “Don’t do that, oh my god. It’s embarrassing.”

“Blessing you is embarrassing?” Felix asks, sounding astonished.

“No, not the blessing me… though now that I think about it, it is a weird thing to do, isn’t it? I mean, we’re not even religious. But I digress. Anyway, the embarrassing part is you mocking how my sneezes sound,” he says, keeping his eyes on the road with his used tissues still firmly grasped in his hand. 

“Hmm,” Felix hums. “Okay, noted. No more sneeze mocking. How’s your cold? You’re getting pretty sneezy there, babe,” Felix says, tone light.

Connor’s, in all honesty, is starting to feel less-than-great — mostly due to how tired he is. Felix’s earlier idea of movies and ramen is sounding better as time goes on, though he suspects he’d fall asleep the instant he started the movie. Also, what had started out as a light tickle in his throat that morning, has turned into an almost incessant urge to cough. He’s done well at suppressing them, mostly, but can’t avoid a light cough here and there. His instinct tells him to say “I’m fine,” but… he did promise Felix he’d tell him if he felt sick. It’s not that he feels sick — he feels that word should be reserved to how he felt yesterday — but there’s still a voice telling him that saying he’s fine would be a lie. And Felix deserves better than being lied to.

“It’s uh,” Connor starts, unsure of the words to use, which is uncharacteristic of him. Felix always has been able to rattle him in a way no one else could. “It’s kind of still there, I guess,” he settles on. “But I don’t feel bad. Just like I’m in the process of recovering, you know? I’m sure I’ll have this thing completely kicked by tomorrow.”

Connor takes his eyes off the road for a fleeting moment to meet Felix’s gaze. Felix is wearing that sad expression Connor remembers from yesterday. He looks back at the road, knitting his brows.

“Connor… I know we said we’d talk about this later. But, I just really have to know why you have such an aversion to admitting even the tiniest amount of weakness. I mean, okay, I get it. You’re a ‘big, strong, man,’ or whatever. I mean, I obviously can’t relate,” Felix says, clearly trying to inject humor into this topic, but Connor still clenches his jaw and feels his mouth tighten. “Like, I know some people don’t like being vulnerable. I get that,” Felix continues. “But, it’s just that I believed you when you said you were committed to rebuilding our relationship — to trusting that what we have matters. But, well, it’s hard to believe you when you refuse to let me in. I mean, Connor….”

Felix trails off, clearly trying to choose his words carefully. Connor has to push down the natural impulse to tell Felix to drop it, that Connor’s “fine” and that Felix is being ridiculous. He also knows, though, that dismissing Felix’s feelings would not be a smart action to take. “I knew you weren’t feeling well that night we had dinner. Your voice sounded like shit,” Felix says, then laughs at his choice of words. “I mean, no offense, but it just did — like the way people sound when they have a sore throat. And then there was all the sneezing, but when I brought it up, you were immediately so dismissive of there being anything wrong and, I mean, I didn’t want to make you uncomfortable, so I let it go. But, babe, you literally could not stop sniffling. I don’t know if you realized it, but it sounded like you were going to drown in your own snot and it kept getting worse as the night went on. But you kept acting like everything was totally fine. You wouldn’t even blow your nose even though it was painfully obvious you needed to.”

Connor’s cheeks feel on fire as he listens. He doesn’t know what to say and his heart is starting to pound. He’s never desired more for a conversation to end than this one. But he also knows saying “Felix, I don’t want to talk about this. Everything you’re saying is wrong. Let’s move on,” will be proving Felix’s entire point, and likely to effectively end their relationship, which he definitely does not want. So he continues clutching the steering wheel with gritted teeth as he listens.

“And, okay, on one hand, I kind of get it. I didn’t especially love you seeing me sick, either. And I tried to deny it, too, at first, because it is a little embarrassing to be sneezy, snotty, and just all around helpless in front of someone. But… that was also before we were back together and it just wasn’t your place anymore to… to care, you know? And even then, I only held up the facade for a super short amount of time. I mean, I literally let you bring me soup and medicine and accepted your offer to spend the night at your house and to sleep in your bed. Even though we were broken up. But you… you  promised to open up to me and communicate how you were feeling and…” Felix stops and sighs. “I’m sorry. I know I’m talking a lot. But, I guess… I guess I want to know if I’m doing something to make you feel so uncomfortable. Because you obviously are — uncomfortable, I mean. It’s obvious that you’re not okay being your full self around me because if you were, you wouldn’t have felt the need to run away to your own apartment instead of just letting me see you sick.”

There’s a long moment where neither says anything, the only sound in the car being the music from the radio, volume turned down low. Connor needs to change lanes, and uses the distraction to stall in his response. Finally, though, he lets out a long, deep sigh.

“I don’t know how,” Connor hears himself say, as he focuses on keeping his voice steady. He knows he should say more, but his body is completely rejecting this conversation; his heart is pounding and his stomach feels sick. 

“You don’t know how to what, Connor?” Felix asks, voice soft and gentle.

“I don’t… I don’t know how to be my full self. Not around anyone. It’s not just you, Felix. You’re not doing anything to make me uncomfortable,” Connor states firmly, eyeing Felix, feeling it extremely imperative for Felix to understand this part. “I —” Again, he finds himself sighing. “I — Oh shit, I need to sneehhhh heh-HEH’tcHOO!” Connor sneezes straight onto the steering wheel, frowning “Uh, sorry,” he says, sheepishly, accepting the tissue Felix holds out for him.

Felix just lets out a laugh. “Please don’t apologize for sneezing. I mean, yeah, you could have covered, I guess,” he says, but it’s obvious he’s teasing. “But I guess that’s kind of hard to do when you’re trying to drive, so you’re excused, I suppose,” Felix jokes. “But, anyway, before we were rudely interrupted by your cold — what was it you were trying to say?”

Connor uses one hand to lightly blow his nose. “Um, right. I was saying I don’t know how to be my full self around anyone. I never really have. I mean, I’m not sure that version of myself is exactly… likable. You tell me all the time how perfect I am and how I’m always the most put together person in the room, so I’ve always figured that’s why you like me. I mean, who am I if I’m not that? If I’m feeling sick, or tired, or in a bad mood…. Then, what do I even have to offer?” Connor asks, his voice trembling. He sniffles, but he doesn’t think it has anything to do with his illness this time. 

“Babe,” Felix says, sounding somehow both incredulous and comforting. “Oh my god. How did I not realize you were so… so… stupid? Like, I’ve always said you’re the smartest person I know, but damn…. People really do contain multitudes, huh? Who knew?” 

At this, Connor feels his face contort in confusion. “What the fuck, Felix?” he asks, feeling justified in his response. 

Felix just laughs. “Connor, let me ask you a question. Whenever I’m tired, or sick, or in a bad mood, do you wish I’d just go off somewhere and deal with it on my own? Answer honestly.”

Connor thinks about the question, feeling his brows furrow. “Obviously not, Felix, but it’s not the same thing.”

“Uh-huh,” Felix says in a disbelieving tone. “And exactly how is it not the same thing?”

“Because… Because you’re you. Even when you’re less-than-perfect, you’re still you. You’re still adorable and silly and wonderful no matter what kind of a mood you’re in. Even when you were sick with a 104 degree fever, you still managed to make me laugh. Even when you’re in a bad mood, your little nose scrunches up and your cute brown eyes get all squinty, and I just want to kiss you. I mean I never do because I’d never want to be dismissive of your very valid feelings, but… just so you know, the thought crosses my mind,” he says looking pointedly over to Felix, but then his frown returns, knowing he has to finish what he’s saying. “My point is, Felix, you still have plenty to offer. But, me? I mean, who the hell am I if I’m not always composed, if I don’t always know the right thing to say? If all I feel like doing at the moment is just lying down and complaining?” Connor’s throat feels tight as he says the words.

“Baby, you really don’t know?” Felix asks, sounding genuinely astonished. “It makes you human, Connor. And that’s who I fell in love with. I thought so, anyway. I mean, I have heard about AI making some serious advancements recently. But, to my knowledge, I’m not dating a robot. Right?” Felix asks.

Connor can’t help but laugh, which turns into a small cough. “See, this is what I mean, Felix. You can make me laugh no matter how upset or concerned you are. But, no, I’m not a robot. And I obviously understand that humans are flawed. But, a flawed Felix is very different from a flawed Connor, is what I’m trying to say.”

There’s a long moment filled with silence where Connor’s heart stops at the realization that Felix might agree — that he might be understanding Connor’s point. What will Connor do, then?

“Connor, for the record, I still think you’re being immensely stupid. I need to hear you explicitly state that so there’s no confusion. So, please show me you understand,” Felix says, pausing expectantly. 

“Let you know I understand what? That I’m aware that you think I’m stupid?” Connor asks with a shake of his head.

“Yes, please say it clearly and concisely for the record,” Felix says, sounding very serious.

Connor glances over at him as he knits his brows, then turns his gaze back to the road. “Um, okay…. You think I’m being ‘immensely stupid.’ Is that what you wanted me to say?”

“Yes!” Felix says, sounding pleased. “Okay, now that we are on the same page in understanding that I think you’re stupid, I have another question to pose.” He pauses a moment before continuing. “How am I supposed to know if I love a flawed Connor if you never show him to me?” he asks, voice much softer.

Connor fixes his gaze on the road, feeling his eyes begin to sting. He puts on his turn signal to indicate he’s pulling off onto the next exit — even though it’s not the exit for his actual destination. Connor appreciates Felix sitting silently as Connor pulls off onto the exit and just drives. He drives for several minutes as he tries to hold back his tears. He wonders when was the last time he cried. He eventually sees a McDonald’s and pulls into the parking lot. He puts the car in park, and finally meets Felix’s gaze. 

“Felix, do you remember when your mom made that giant pot of soup for you when you were sick? And then she did the same thing for Ben when he got pneumonia?” Felix looks confused, but nods anyway. “I never had that. Never. When I was sick, growing up, my mom — well, she would barely even address the fact I was sick. She let me stay home from school, but in hindsight, I’m sure that was to protect her own self, and nothing to do with my actual well-being.” He pauses, sighing as the memories flood back. “I was still expected to go on as usual, for the most part. Do my homework. Do my chores. I mean, the one and only time I was allowed to just lie down and be sick was when I had an appendectomy. And, oh my god, trying to convince my mom to even take me to the hospital in the first place…” Connor trails off, shaking his head. Then he feels a tickle building and he presses tissues fully around his nose in preparation for the sneeze.

“Haaah-ap’tchoo! Huh-ah-ap’tchoo!” Connor blows his nose, then goes then lowers his tissue, but suddenly has to dive back into the tissue as the tickle returns. “HAH-APTCHUH! AP-T’CHUUUH!” He blows his nose again, then starts coughing, and finally he finishes, rolling his eyes in frustration at the interruptions. “Excuse me,” he says looking sheepishly at Felix, who is frowning.

“Your sneezes are starting to sound bad, again,” Felix says, sounding so genuinely concerned that Connor doesn’t have it in him to be annoyed, and also Connor is starting to feel really tired. His eyelids are protesting against his determination to keep them open. He’d already been feeling quite physically exhausted, but all the emotional turmoil he’s been putting himself through in the past twenty minutes has definitely made matters worse. So, he just stares at Felix as he sniffles, uncertain of what to say.

“You were talking about your neglectful mother,” Felix says, urging Connor to continue.

Connor looks down. “I wouldn’t say neglectful. I mean, it could have been a lot worse.”

Felix sighs. “We’ve been down this road before. It’s fine — we don’t have to go back down it again. Right now, anyway. Just — what were you saying?”

Connor takes a deep breath, then coughs. He clears his throat. “I guess I’m just trying to explain why it feels so deeply and intrinsically wrong for me to be weak or vulnerable. I’m just so profoundly not used to it, Felix. I mean, even looking past all the stuff with my family…. If I ever told one of my ex-boyfriends that I wasn’t feeling up to going out for whatever reason, it was never really met with a great reception, you know? Especially with Eric.”

“Ahh…” Felix starts. “Eric. The ex who clearly had an unchecked alcohol problem. I remember him, yes. You told me about how when you said no to going out for drinks once, he called you a ‘stuck-up, pretentious prick who thought he was better than everyone else.’”

Connor leans his head back against the headrest and closes his eyes at the memories of Eric. “Yeah,” he says, sighing. “That’s the one.” He realizes that resting his eyes actually feels pretty good — great, actually. 

“Baby, I don’t think you’re feeling very good,” Felix says, his voice soft and soothing, like a lullaby. Connor considers turning up the heat but that would require opening his eyes and moving. He imagines how nice a thick blanket would feel right now. God, could anything be better than a thick blanket? he wonders to himself.

Fuck, you have a fever.

The thought is like ice water being poured over him and he opens his eyes and shakes his head, pushing away the grogginess. 

He coughs a few times before turning to Felix. “I’m… not at one hundred percent,” he offers, hoping that’ll be enough for Felix, for now. 

Felix looks at him, his big brown eyes full of sympathy and concern. “I can tell. And I guess that’ll do for now,” he says, sighing. “At least you aren’t pretending to be ‘fine’ anymore. I guess I can’t expect you to tear down all your walls after one conversation.”

Connor stares at Felix —  his hair a mess, waves going in a thousand directions. His eyes, though full of concern, are also full of warmth… and love. Connor keeps staring at Felix as he thinks about everything he’s given him. Could Connor even grasp the concept of love if he didn’t have Felix? He remembers once thinking the notion of love was entirely overrated, but… that was before Felix. He knows, now, what it feels like to lose that love, and Connor’s confident he could not withstand that facing that loss ever again.

“I’d do it for you,” Connor says simply. “I’d tear down every single one of them for you. Just, give me a little time, okay?” 

“Of course,” Felix says with a soft smile. “As long as you promise not to shut me out, anymore, okay? I want to get to know all of you, Connor.”

Connor just nods feeling his eyes sting, once again. He straightens up in the driver’s seat and clears his throat. “Okay. Since we’ve somehow found ourselves at a McDonald’s, do you think you could go in and grab me a coffee before we finally head off to the… uh, your surprise,” he finishes, glad he caught himself.

Felix raises his eyebrows. “Of course I’ll get you a coffee, babe, but I think the only place we should be heading after this is home. You’re sick.”

Connor uses every bit of effort that exists inside of him to bite back the words on his tongue and finally allows himself to nod. “I am. I’m sick. And… I think maybe it’s not just a cold,” he allows himself to finally admit. Though the statement should be innocuous — Connor realizes this —  it still feels like the equivalent of saying “I’m useless and worthless now and have nothing to offer you, so you may as well dump me.” 

You have GOT to find yourself a therapist, the rational part of his mind interjects. 

Felix smiles and takes Connor’s hand in his. “Thank you for telling me that. Can I ask you another question?”

Connor drops Felix’s hand to jerk to the side, sneezing into his elbow. “HET-CHUUUUHHH!”

After sniffling, and wiping his watery eyes, he fixes his gaze back on Felix. “Uh, sure, yeah, shoot.”

“Whenever I was sick with the flu, what did you think? I mean, were you repulsed by me?”

“God, Felix, you know I wasn’t. I was mostly just worried. You were really sick and all I wanted was for you to feel better — because I love you and I hate seeing you feel so bad,” Connor explains. 

Felix smiles, as though Connor just said something very important. “Exactly. And right now, all I want is for you to feel better. And I don’t think going, uh… wherever it is we’re going is going to be conducive to getting you to feel better.”

“Okay….” Connor begins, not sure how to finish his thought. “But, we are only thirty minutes away now, and we really might as well go. We don’t have to stay long. And I think seeing you happy will make me feel better, in a way.”

Felix stares at him for a while. “Connor…” he begins, wearing that same sad expression from before that Connor is really starting to despise. 

This time, Connor takes Felix’s hands. “I promise,” Connor says, surprising himself at how much he means what he’s getting ready to say. “I promise if I start feeling really bad, I’ll let you know, okay? Right now, I mostly just feel really tired, and a little bit chilled. But I think there’s ibuprofen somewhere in this car. That should help me make it through the next little bit. Then, well, then we can go home. And I’ll get snuggled up all nicely into bed and stay there until I’m better. Okay?” Connor asks, gently squeezing Felix’s hands.

Felix bites his lips, his brows still knitted. Finally he lets go of Connor’s hands and lets out a long breath, dropping his shoulders. “Okay,” he says, somewhat begrudgingly. “I mean, I know this is important to you. So, okay. But you have to tell me if it becomes too much. Seriously, Connor. If we get there and you pass out, or whatever, I’m going to be pissed.”

Connor laughs. “'Don’t let myself pass out’ — okay, noted.”

Felix glares at him. “I mean it, Connor! If you lie to me and still try to put up any kind of bullshit facade, there will be no words you can say that will make it better. I’m trusting you here, Connor. Do you understand?” Felix asks, eyes much more serious than Connor is used to seeing.

Connor pauses for a moment to show Felix he is really considering the words. “I promise. If I start to feel really bad, I’ll let you know, and head straight to the car.”

Felix sighs, throwing his head dramatically back against the headrest. “Okay, fine. But remember — I  will be so fucking pissed if you let your stupid, stoic self pass out. I already had to deal with that with Ben. I refuse to keep two, stubborn idiots in my life.”

Connor nods again, unable to stop the corners of his lips from twitching. “Absolutely understood. No passing out.”

“Fine,” Felix says again, obviously trying to convince himself he’s making the right decision. “I’ll go get that coffee then,” he says as he begins to open the passenger side door.

“Thank you, sweetie,” he says as Felix leaves the car.

He removes his glasses and pulls several tissues from the tissue box and lets himself just blow and blow his nose. It’s started to really fill up in the past ten minutes. His aches are also back, and worse than ever. He’s sure there must be one part of his body that isn’t aching, but he’s helpless to identify it. He’ll be fine, though, after this damn expo is through. This is the one thing Connor has planned for them since getting back together — aside from the casual dinner they had the other night. He has to see this through. Felix has always talked about wanting to go to a reptile expo, but there’s never been one that checked off all the boxes on Felix’s ethical checklist. Connor hates reptiles, vehemently, but he knows this will be his way of showing how much he cares for Felix. He spent hours researching the organization before he felt assured that Felix would approve of it. Felix would have to appreciate that, right? 

Then, after the expo —  which Connor is sure to be awful and terrifying and inevitably lead to him being confused about how could love such a weirdo like Felix —  he really will let himself rest. He doesn’t think he has a choice in the matter, regardless. All he has to do is just walk and stand a little. And, not pass out, of course.

Surely that won’t be that hard of a feat to manage.

[sarahscribbles]

Illicit Affairs

Summary: A marriage built on nothing but childhood infatuation was always bound to fall apart. The love you once thought you had for Thor has dwindled to nothing but indifference. He doesn't know the things you crave and makes no effort to find out, so you turn to the one person who will fulfill all your filthy desires: his brother.

Genre: Smut

Loki x f!reader

Word count: 9k

Loki Masterlist

AN: I'm considering writing more for this, but I have nothing set in stone just yet. The ending has been left intentional so it gives me an easy point to pick up from if I do decide to continue, but also so that this can be read as a one-shot if I decide not to!

Warnings: Mentions of cheating, mild degradation, mild BDSM, impact play, exhibitionism if you squint, choking, bondage, orgasm denial, hair pulling(reader is mentioned as having long hair), manhandling, oral (m receiving)

When the clocktower tolled faintly in the distance, somewhere in the very heart of the city, you were still awake to hear it. 

It had tolled five times in the time your husband had rolled off you and fallen straight to sleep, each echoing clang of the bells mockingly louder than the last, taunting you that, while the rest of Asgard slumbered, sleep had still not claimed you. 

Thor slept soundly beside you, his obnoxiously loud snoring a sure testament to the deep state of his rest. He hadn’t stirred once at your incessant turning in the sheets not at the number of frustrated sighs that left you as sleep continued to be evasive. Rightfully, you should have been as exhausted as he was, sated and sleepy in the warm afterglow of your husband’s love. As it were, you were neither tired nor satisfied. When once his hands had elicited sparks of electricity and pleasure when they caressed your skin, now you only felt dull, like his lovemaking was something to be endured rather than enjoyed. If nothing else, that was a sure sign that the two of you were drifting apart like two boats against the current. 

You hadn’t expected him to take you tonight. In truth, the nights of your lovemaking were getting further and further between, so much so that you suspected he had become a frequent visitor to one of the several brothels that were scattered throughout the city. Not that you cared; you had visited them more times than you could count in the past few months. Tonight, though, on the eve of his coronation, he had been especially…vigorous, heaving with buoyant energy and desperately in need of an outlet. As it happened, he had decided that you would be that outlet. 

Being the dutiful wife and Princess, you had opened your legs for him. 

He was drunk, stinking drunk, but still, he clambered on top of you, not even caring to fully remove your gown. He was never rough, not in the way you wished for, anyway, but tonight he hadn’t been gentle. Filled with ale and a sense of his own importance at being a hair's breadth away from being King, he had chased his pleasure ferociously, pounding in and out of you at a punishing pace that should have had you seeing stars. 

Instead, you felt nothing. 

The faints sparks of pleasure that tried to ignite within you fizzled out almost as soon as they began and, no matter how hard you concentrated, how hard you imagined, his forceful thrusts were nowhere near enough to drive you towards the edge, towards release. 

Release. 

It had two weeks since you’d had a proper release, one not of your own doing. Not since the last time you had been…

No.

You couldn’t think of that. Not now. No matter how much you wished that, instead of being under your husband, you were instead under…

No. 

You pushed it from your mind, instead letting your eyes squeeze shut in feigned ecstasy as Thor continued thrusting into you, his fingers rubbing nowhere near your clit. 

“There we go,” he said through pants and increasingly erratic thrusts. “That’s it. So beautiful, dear wife,” he praised you, clueless that your pleasure was nothing but a figment of his imagination. With a final few juddering thrusts he tipped over, his blonde head falling to rest on your shoulder. Spent, he sloppily kissed your cheek, gracelessly removed himself, and rolled off you, landing with a resounding thump on his own side of the bed. Within seconds, the quiet of the room was broken by his thundering snores. 

Hours later, you still lay awake, burning with need and feeling the depth of indifference you now felt towards Thor grow steadily deeper with each breath you took. 

It hadn’t always been like this. 

Once, not so long ago, Thor had been your entire world. You had loved him fiercely and unselfishly, besotted with him because of who he was and not who he was destined to be. This love, a love that you once had described as undying, had begun to fizzle out shortly after your wedding. All too late, you realised that the intense love you felt for Thor was nothing more than a passing infatuation, and now you were stuck in a marriage to someone you felt no ounce of love for and who hadn’t the faintest idea how to keep you happy. 

A marriage that had been sealed with unbreakable vows. 

With a groan, you swung out of the bed and the tangle of cool sheets in one fluid movement, bare feet hitting the stone floor that was, thankfully, always warm. Carelessly shrugging on the silk wrap that had been a wedding gift from the Allmother and slipping your feet into flat slippers, you eased quietly from the inner sanctum of your chambers, Thor’s continued loud snores assuring you that he hadn’t noticed your absence.

Beyond your chambers, the living area stood still and frigid, the full moon hanging in the sky outside the window illuminating the space in almost tranquil half light. You paused for barely a second before creeping to the ornate double doors of your chambers in a soft flurry of footsteps, soundlessly easing one open and slipping into the main body of the palace. Usually bustling with a mixture of palace servants and Einherjar, the halls now stood silent as Hel before you, the only sound breaking the quiet being the faint flickering of the flaming torches that lined the palace walls. Without a thought as to your final destination, you began to walk. 

The soft sound of your footsteps echoed off the stone walls as you skillfully navigated the palace corridors, but you met not a single soul along the way. Briefly, you considered throwing caution to the winds and sneaking beyond the palace walls to your favoured brothel, tucked away in the seediest corner of the city. Erling would welcome you, as he always did. His strong, powerful hands would give you all the pain and pleasure you craved. Or perhaps you would have Runa make you quiver under her supple thighs. It would be foolish, though, to attempt to sneak through the city on the eve of Thor’s coronation. The people were likely still celebrating thoroughly, and you were much too recognisable to slip between them undetected. If word reached Odin that you frequented Asgards brothels and were placing the legitimacy of the succession in jeopardy he would have your head. He was already beginning to grow irritated that you had yet to produce an heir, something you were going to great pains to prevent. It would be wise not to provoke his anger further. 

There was, however, another option. It was one that had you court danger in the ultimate way, but one you had taken twice before regardless of the peril it placed you in. It had soothed the ache your husband left between your legs, satisfied your most craven desires in a way Thor would never entertain, and all without leaving the palace walls. It would be all too easy to change your course, to go straight ahead up the staircase instead of turning right, to follow the path you had taken twice before to the east wing and to…

No.

You refused to consider the idea any further. Once had been a mistake, twice a way to get back at Thor in a fit of rage. To go there a third time would make it something more, something it decidedly wasn’t. 

You turned right, coming to a stop outside the Allmother’s private library. It had been your sanctuary long before your marriage to Thor, something the Queen had detected and granted you unlimited access to. 

“A life at Court isn’t always easy,” she had said, kindness radiating from her every feature. “We all need a place to escape to. Perhaps this can be yours.”

If only she knew the irony her words now held. 

The delicate gold door handle recognised your touch, swinging open noiselessly to grant you access. Immediately, the rich woody smell of the room mixed with the scent of old books greeted you like an old friend. You had been in this room countless times, but you were constantly struck by the sheer beauty of the place. From the ornate winding staircase that led to the upper floors to the great dome of the ceiling that flooded the room with both sun and moonlight, it had Frigga’s touch painted all through it and was, in your mind, the most beautiful room in the palace. 

You wandered aimlessly along the row of shelves on the bottom floor, refusing to go near the upper levels that had been the stage for your first mistake. While the upper levels contained the more interesting volumes - volumes of magic and enchantments and the Allmother’s home of Vanaheim - those on the bottom were heavy tomes of Asgardian history and battles for power that had happened long before you were born. In other words, it was the perfect place to search for something so amazingly dull that it would hopefully lull you to sleep. Your hands landed on a particularly thick volume on Bor’s conquest of the Dark Elves, something you cared little about, and you took it to curl up in one of the blue wingback chairs by the empty fireplace, turning the book open to a random page.  

After a while, you did feel the first dregs of sleep begin to seep in, but this only made your mind wander. It had been directly above that his sudden appearance at the end of the row had startled you and you could still hear his derisive laughter when you had tried to throw a book at him. He had taunted you with the most intimate details of your marriage with Thor, likely being able to feel how wound up and unsatisfied you were, and you could still remember the blinding sweetness of what had followed. 

The sharp sting of the whip. 

The cutting bite of the stone balcony beneath your breasts as he’d bent you over it. 

“So responsive, pet. Does my brother make you sing like this?”

You didn’t love him, not by any stretch of your imagination. What you felt towards him was indifference, but it didn’t stop you from admitting that he was a miles better fuck than his brother. While Thor had since stopped caring about whether your pleasure was real or imagined, Loki kept you dancing right on the edge before submerging you in it. 

The thought of that first night, and the second that had followed, had you clench your thighs together at the familiar throb beginning in your core. You could wait one night, perhaps two until the festivities died down, and slip out to visit Erling or Runa, or maybe have them both. You could wait. 

“I’m going to come down that pretty little throat of yours and you’re going to swallow it all.”

The book slammed shut. You couldn’t wait. You needed to be fucked, properly fucked. Hastily, you returned the book to its place and left the library, taking quick, determined steps towards the east wing of the palace. Consequences be damned; it wasn’t as though Thor hadn’t strayed from you too. 

The walk from the library to his wing was thankfully as eventful as before, though the faint clink of armor in the distance warned you that some of the Einhenjar were close. The doors to his chambers were identical to your own, the same aged oak inlaid with swirls of gold, but yet acutely more imposing, even on your third visit. You didn’t have to do this. You could easily turn back to your chambers, to your unhappy marriage and the man who only now used you as a last resort. You still had time to stop this from becoming more.

The unrelenting ache between your legs, though, made the possibility of more seem of little consequence, something you could deal with after…

You reached out and knocked firmly on the door, the sound echoing ominously around the empty hallways. 

Maybe he was asleep. 

Maybe he was out.

Maybe there was still time to - 

The door clicked open, a small sliver of light creeping across the stone floor as he came fully into view. “Well, well,” his voice was low and alert. He hadn’t been sleeping. “To what do I owe the pleasure, Princess?” he asked, sarcasm dripping from your title. 

You glowered at him for a moment. The bastard knew exactly why you were here. “Shut up and let me in,” you spat, moving to shove past him but finding his arm suddenly blocking your path. 

“And why should I do that?” he replied silkily.

“So we can braid each other’s hair and discuss the thrilling details of Thor’s coronation,” you threw back. “Why do you think?” You pushed forcefully against his arm and put up no resistance, a quiet, dark laugh hitting your ear as you pushed past.

His living area beyond the door was just as neatly organised as it always was, the only sign that you had disrupted something being the mess of scrolls and maps on his table along with a half-drained decanter of wine. You crossed the space in six purposeful strides, filling a goblet almost to the brim and knocking it back easily. 

“Please help yourself,” Loki mocked, his footsteps silent on the enormous rug underfoot that ran across most of the room. He stopped two feet away from you, hands folded neatly behind his back while he took you in. 

“Shut up, Loki.” You snapped back, wiping errant droplets of wine from your lips with the back of your hand. Your words held little bite, something he likely had come to realise. All it would take was a simple shift in his tone, a few carefully chosen words, and you would be at his mercy, allowing him to take control in the way you ached for. Forcefully, you set the goblet back on the table, the glass decanter to its side visibly shaking. “Well?” You said, spinning round to face him?” 

Loki merely regarded you coolly. “Well, what?” He asked with a subtle raise of his brow. 

You gave a small “tut” of derision. “Don’t act daft. You know why I’m here,” you said, meeting his cold, green gaze with your own. 

“Do I?” He responded, tilting his head a fraction. “Why don’t you humour me, Princess?” 

You saw the beginnings of a smirk flicker on his face and fought the urge to slap him. Defiantly, you held his gaze, but, eventually, you crumbled. “He still isn’t…satisfying me,” you admitted slowly, feeling a faint heat begin to cross your cheeks. Here you were simmering for him to have you in the filthy way that only he could, yet you still felt easy embarrassment admitting to your disappointing sex life with your husband. 

He gave you a look of feigned concern but remained exactly where he was. “I’m so sorry to hear of my brother’s continued impotency. I can all but imagine the stress it’s placing on your otherwise blissfully happy marriage,” he mocked. 

“We are very happy,” you lied, which made him snort with laughter. “I only want…need…more than he’s willing to give me.”

“Mmm.” He purred back, his trademark smirk spreading across his face as he stalked towards you. “Like the sting of my whip?”

Immediately, the slickness between your legs became impossible to ignore. His whip. His cane. His bare hand. You’d take whatever sweet torment he would inflict on you, anything that would make you feel something other than the relentless frustration Thor continued to leave behind. 

“Yes,” you answered, your voice raspy with palpable need. 

You hated that it was him. He was smug and scheming and altogether unpleasant, but he gave you what you craved, what Thor wouldn’t even entertain. If your husband was vanilla, Loki was strawberry and honeycomb, and all the flavours that set your senses aflame in ways you hadn’t known possible.

“Yes, what,” he said, closing the remaining distance to tower over you, green eyes glinting. 

You held his gaze. It was pointless to pretend you didn’t know what he was asking and even more pointless to pretend you hadn’t craved it with every fibre of your being since you had last walked out his door. “Yes, I want you to whip me,” you said. “My prince,” you added with emphasis, a jolt of adrenaline shooting through your veins. 

Loki grabbed your chin, the action brusque and cold. “Was that so hard to admit?” He gave you no time to answer, roughly yanking you towards him and pressing his lips firmly over yours. There was no love in his touch, no gentleness or passion, only a harsh demand that you submit to his will.

You surrendered easily and without question, eager to pass him the reigns of control and let him submerge you in the heady mixture of pleasure and pain that you craved. 

When Loki pushed you back, it was so sudden that your steps faltered, your hip catching on the corner of his writing table and making the goblets rattle. You felt your heart pick up at the thought of what was about to come, the excitement and danger you itched for. 

“Take it off.” He said, nodding to the pale lilac wrap that still hid you from view.  Wordlessly, and without breaking his emotionless gaze, you untied it and let it fall in a pool at your feet. Loki, as he always did, ran his eyes over you slowly, almost making you shiver. “A stunning canvas.” He spoke quietly, closing the distance between you both again. 

He was standing so close you could smell him; cedarwood, patchouli, and the faintest hint of leather. Your breathing hitched in your throat as you watched him closely, waiting…

It happened in a split second, so quickly that it took you a few moments to register the cold roughness of the stone wall at your back and the delicious feeling of Loki’s hand holding you there by the throat, applying just enough pressure to make it feel good. 

You laughed, the sound coming out throaty and harsh around Loki’s hand. “At last. We’re starting to get somewhere.” 

His eyes narrowed dangerously and he increased the pressure on the sides of your throat just a fraction. You could feel the slickness growing between your thighs. “You are courting danger, Princess,” he said, echoing your earlier thoughts. 

“If you cared so much about danger you would have asked me to leave long before now,” you threw back, intently watching his face. “What’s the matter, my prince? Are you starting to get scared?” you goaded him. 

“You would be wise to choose your words carefully,” he threatened, his face so close to yours that you could smell the wine on his breath.

“Or what?” you challenged. 

“Or you’ll leave this room aching worse than when you arrived,” he said, a threat that only excited you more. How far could you push him? 

You smirked at him, enjoying how easy it was to push his buttons. “Is that a promise?” 

It was Loki’s turn to laugh, a hollow sound that only made you thrum more. “Oh, trust me, my dear, that’s not a promise you want me to make.” 

He removed his hand from your throat, almost making you whine at the loss of pressure. With ease, he grabbed both your wrists in one hand and pinned them above your head. You felt the cold bite of the stone seep into your skin, a sharp contrast against the blood pumping hotly through you in anticipation. He leaned into your neck, the edge of his nose trailing slowly down your skin, inhaling your scent. Despite your best efforts, you shivered, feeling him smile against you.

“I think,” he spoke softly, a faint note of danger present in his tone, “my brother is far too gentle with you. Wouldn’t you agree?” He asked, sinking his teeth firmly into sensitive skin. 

You gasped sharply at the sudden stinging pain, carelessly rolling your hips towards him in need of even a small degree of friction against your aching cunt. You tried to squeeze your thighs together, a hopeless action as Loki placed his knee firmly between your legs.

“I asked you a question,” he said smoothly, his grip tightening around your wrists. 

“I agree,” you said quickly, delighting in the rough feel of his tunic against your bare skin. 

“Mmm,” he hummed against your skin, angling his head to bite at the point on your throat that had you yelp and arch against his vice-like grip. “I bet the oaf has no idea how enticingly sensitive you are.”

“And I bet…” you began, your words coming out close to a pant, but quickly dying on your tongue when a sudden icelike coldenss wrapped around your wrists. 

Glancing swiftly up, you saw that intricate gold shackles now replaced Loki’s hands around your wrists, the two chains merging into one and secured by his magic to the wall behind, stretching you taut and making your breasts jut out. A similar sensation happened in tandem around your ankles, encasing them in the same gold shackles, but, instead of chains attaching you to the wall, a firm metal bar materialised between them, ensuring that you couldn’t close your legs against whatever torture he was about to unleash on you. 

You shivered in anticipation. 

Silently, you met his gaze, finding his green eyes blazing with intensity. He was as aroused by this as much as you were, by the utter taboo of it all. 

“If only the people could see their future Queen now, spread out like a common whore.” He taunted, letting one hand trail over your breast to twist a nipple. You let out a faint hiss of pain, and he used your momentary distraction to twist his other hand into your hair, pulling your head back and completely immobilising you under his touch. “What will it be tonight, my dear?” he whispered in your ear, causing a fresh wave of heat to sweep through your entire body.

You could feel how soaked you were, practically dripping for him in a way you had long since stopped with Thor. He was rough, he was filthy, and he was exactly what you needed to satisfy the blazing ache within you that your husband no longer could. 

“The riding crop. Please,” you said, voice laced with obvious desire. 

With another cruel twist of your nipple that caused you to cry out, Loki smirked menacingly. “Mmm, we are feeling rather wound up tonight, aren’t we?” he purred, twisting his hand further into your hair. 

Your cunt clenched hard at his question, a hot ache throbbing through you, desperate for even the faintest touch to soothe the flames. “Yes,” you said through gritted teeth, a guttural growl following suit when released his grip on your hair to firmly twist your other nipple, a momentary preview of what was soon to follow. 

His wicked grin grew wider. “How fortunate for me,” he said, removing his fingers from your breasts. You released a quiet breath of relief, one that quickly hitched in your throat when the black leather riding crop materialised in his hand. He took two steps back, emerald eyes glinting and hungrily taking in every inch of your exposed body, as though he was debating where he would first make you writhe under his attention. He placed the crop flat against your collarbone, slowly dragging it between your breasts and down your stomach, the action making your muscles jump and a trail of goosebumps to erupt in its wake. It was so soft, so gentle, compared with what was to come. 

“Such an exquisite body, yet completely absent of my brother’s marks,” he murmured almost thoughtfully, now tracing the crop over the slope of your breasts and making a shiver wrack down your spine. “If you were mine, I’d have you covered in my marks.” He said, punctuating his words with a sudden smack of the crop against the side of your breast. A sharp hiss escaped you at the sweet sting of pain that bloomed beneath your skin. Another followed in quick succession, only a great deal harder making your eyes squeeze shut at the bite. “What do you say?” Loki asked firmly. 

“Thank you, my prince,” you replied quickly, easily falling back into the unspoken dynamic that had existed from the very first night you came to his chambers. He provided you with an outlet to be submissive; you thanked him for every mark he left on your body. 

He smirked in front of you. “Good girl,” he praised you, making your cunt clench again. Teasingly, he moved the crop between your legs, rotating it on its side and lightly rubbing it over your clit. You groaned, yanking hard against the shackles and desperately trying to lower down to increase the friction. To no avail. Loki let out a feigned “tut” of concern. “How ungentlemanly of my brother to leave you so unsatisfied, my dear,” he mocked, tracing the crop back up your stomach. You couldn’t help but whine at the loss of even the lightest touch against your aching core. 

You had been in his chambers for little under thirty minutes and already your body felt like every single nerve had been exposed, like the slightest touch would have you careening towards the heights of pleasure. Loki played your body like a violin, so starkly in contrast to the unending nothingness you felt under your husband's touch. 

“When was the last time you had a proper orgasm?” He asked, beginning a quick series of sharp flicks against your breast. The pain was bitingly sharp and caused a stuttered gasp to fall from your lips before you could contain it, but it was the sort of pain you had been craving.

“The last time…ugh…I was here,” you replied, firmly wrenching against the shackles with every flick of his wrist. 

“So long ago? Poor thing,” Loki continued to taunt you, never ceasing in his merciless whipping of your breast. For a moment, the only sound in the room was the soft whoosh of the crop as it sailed through the air and the gentle smack of it hitting your skin, broken only for a second when he switched his attention to your other breast. “If my brother keeps this up soon you’ll forget what pleasure even feels like,” he purred, the sting of the crip becoming more pronounced with every flick.

“Do you…ah…do you think…your chambers are the….ah…only place I seek my pleasure?” you bit back, head falling back against your shoulders while you revelled in every sweet snap of the crop against your breasts.

It was a comment that only earned you another punishing smack. “Trying to make me jealous?” 

You let out a throaty laugh, raising your head to meet his searing gaze. “And why…would I care if you were jealous?” 

His eyes narrowed dangerously and he gave a final brutal snap directly to your nipple, pulling a rasping groan from your throat. In the type of silence that made you know he was building up to something you wouldn’t like, he trailed the crop back down your stomach before removing it completely from your body. You watched him closely, attempting to anticipate his next move. 

“Close your eyes,” he instructed. “If you open them I’ll hit you twice as hard.” 

Your cunt fluttered, hips rolling gently against nothing. You closed your eyes. The sudden darkness was almost unsettling. You could hear his quiet rustling, the soft shift of his footsteps. The inability to prepare for whatever he was going to do next had your heart beating like a drum. Was he still in the room? Had he disappeared in a glow of green light leaving you chained to his wall? Was he…

The sudden sharp smack of the crop against your clit had you cry out, the breath leaving your lungs at the biting impact. 

“Don’t forget your manners, Princess,” Loki said, his voice dripping with feigned sweetness. 

“Thank you, my prince,” you replied, voice shaky as you fought to steady your racing heart. 

Once.

Twice.

Three times he whipped your aching clit, each impact of the crop making you twist against the restraints, each sting magnified tenfold behind your closed eyes. Again and again, the crop struck between your legs, pulling steady groans and whimpers from the depths of your lungs and submerging you in an intoxicating mix of pleasure and pain. You loved and hated it in equal measures, but its gaping absence in the past two weeks had a vocal plea for more dancing on the tip of your tongue.

Until there was a thundering knock on Loki’s chamber door. 

Despite his earlier command, your eyes flew open, filled with unbridled panic as you found his. With a lazy smirk, he set down the crop and created a duplicate of himself that sauntered across the room. While he opened the door, the solid Loki pressed flush against you, his fingers dipping between your burning folds and massaging your clit. Your heart plummeted when you heard Thor’s booming voice ask the duplicate if he’d seen you, telling him how unlike you it was to disappear in the middle of the night. 

If only he knew. 

In front of you, the real Loki kept circling your clit, an amused smirk spreading across his face. “You better be quiet,” he murmured as Thor’s voice continued to fill the room. “I imagine my brother wouldn’t take too kindly to seeing you like this.” 

You bit down firmly on your lip as small waves of pleasure began to ripple through you, hands balling into fists so tight you were sure you would draw blood. With each expert swirl of Lok’s fingers, you had to forcefully contain a moan, almost holding your breath in a desperate attempt to stay silent. You silently begged Loki with your eyes to stop, prayed that Thor left the doorway, that Loki’s duplicate would hurry up and shut the door. If he kept touching you like this, skillfully working you towards the edge, you would come undone in a matter of minutes, something he knew that even Thor would pick up on. Thor couldn’t have remained for more than a handful of minutes but in your chained state each second that ticked by felt like an eternity. 

When the door finally clicked shut and Loki’s duplicate disappeared, his fingers instantly left your clit. Against your restraints your body practically sagged with relief, though your heart continued beating so furiously that you feared it would take flight. 

“You really are courting danger tonight, aren’t you?” he taunted, stepping away from you and picking up the discarded crop. 

You barely had time to come down from the adrenaline rush that Thor’s unexpected interruption had caused before Loki resumed whipping you, but all too soon you were swept back up in the sweet sting of pain. Your breathing came in heavy, deep pants, hands balled into tight fists as the sharp torment of the crop continued to reverberate through your core. The final flick of leather against your cunt was harder than the others but, although tears were pricking in the backs of your eyes and you fought vainly to close your thighs, you loved every second of it. 

Loki stood silently before you, his eyes keenly watching the sharp rise and fall of your chest as you caught your breath. “How stunning you look covered in my marks, my dear,” he said. “I think you should always look like this.” 

You swallowed thickly, savouring the exhilarating afterglow of the pain and waiting impatiently for what would inflict on you next.

Nothing came. 

Instead, almost as quickly as they had materialised, the golden shackles that encased your wrists and ankles vanished, their sudden and abrupt absence making you fall to your knees. The cold bite of the stone floor beneath you was a welcome relief against your flushed and burning skin. You had all but three seconds of relief, though, before Loki’s firm arm wrapped brusquely around your middle. 

“Don’t get too comfortable, Princess,” he growled, lifting you easily from the floor as though you weighed nothing more than one of Odin’s ravens. In large measured strides, he crossed the floor to his bedroom, wrenching open one of the double doors with more force than you knew was necessary and throwing you on his bed with such strength that you bounced on the mattress. “I haven’t finished with you yet.” 

“I…I should like to hope not,” you replied, quickly trying to gain your bearings from among his silk sheets. . 

“Always wanting more, aren’t you?” he said, a bite in his voice that suggested he wasn’t only talking about tonight. From the bed you watched as he roughly pushed up the sleeves of his tunic, exposing the slender muscles of his arms and the prominent veins rippling beneath his skin. With effort, you pulled your eyes away. “What if tonight I don’t give you more? What if I don’t give you what you want?” his voice was like ice.

You supported yourself on your hands, an arrogant leaving you while you narrowed your eyes at him. “As though you’d turn me out. You’ve always trailed after Thor like a puppy desperately waiting for some leftovers to be thrown your way. You’re not going to give up any opportunity to have something that he’s had.” 

For a moment, a long moment, there was silence, the only sound being the faint flickering of the fire in the living room beyond the doors. You watched his eyes, seeing a new depth of coldness creep over the emerald green, accompanied by a sadistic smile creeping across his face. “Oh, princess,” he said quietly, “You’re going to regret that. I said nothing about turning you out. I said I wouldn’t give you what you want.” 

With another effortless flick of his wrist, you felt the biting cold of the metal shackles once again. Your hands were pulled from under you and chained off above the top of his bed while simultaneously your ankles were chained tightly to each elegant post at the bottom. You couldn’t help but laugh again. “Yes, you’re doing a tremendous job of not giving me what I want.” 

The strike of the crop against your cunt was so sudden and so viciously sharp that you jolted, back arching as far as you could against his silk sheets. “What do you say?” Loki asked, running the crop lightly over the sensitive skin of your inner thigh. You stayed silent, defying him without even opening your mouth, delighting in pushing him as far as you could. He whipped your cunt again, this time harder still, making a whimper leave you before you could stop it. “What do you say?” he repeated, voice low and menacing. 

You swallowed thickly. “Thank you, my prince,” you forced from between gritted teeth. 

“Better,” Loki replied, though he sounded far from placated. With renewed vigor, he returned to whipping your cunt, each strike of the crop feeling harder than the last, each one accompanied by a loud cry or quiet groan. Spoken or not, you knew this was punishment for something. He had been on edge since you arrived at his door and this little session appeared to be just as much a release for him as for you. 

Each strike of the crop against your cunt had you wincing, quiet hisses of pain slipping from your lips with the resounding sting. You were so drunk on the heady mixture of pleasure and pain, so focused on the burn between your legs being an intoxicating blend of your arousal and the bite of the crop, that you didn’t realise several stray tears had fallen from your eyes until Loki’s voice broke through your thoughts. 

“What’s wrong, Princess?” he purred mockingly. “Am I being too rough with you?”

Deciding to further court danger, you answered him with a strangled laugh. “Is that really the best you can do?” 

Chest heaving, you watched him intently. You saw the faint lift of his lips, the tick of a muscle in his jaw, the darkening of his green eyes. He gave one last merciless strike to your cunt, one that had you cry out so loudly it echoed off the walls and stopped. You barely had a second's reprieve when, in a flurry of limbs and green light, he had flipped you over onto hands and knees, your hands now left free but ankles still chained to the posts of the bed, completely on display for him. 

“Are you this much of a brat for my brother?” he asked, resting one hand on your ass. “Or is this reserved just for me?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know,” you replied, doing your best to look over your shoulder at him. 

Without ceremony or warning, he harshly slapped your ass, making you groan with want. Again and again, before your marriage to Thor had deteriorated, you had begged him for this, begged him for even the slightest hint of pain. Again and again, he had refused, always with the same argument that he didn’t want to cause you pain and always ignoring your pleas that it was precisely this pain that brought you pleasure. Loki had no such hesitations. 

You felt the smooth leather of the crop part your folds once more, lightly tracing over your swollen clit and making you rut against it like an animal in heat. The moans that fell from your lips were sinful, the type that, since Thor’s attention had waned, only Loki was able to conjure. 

“Would you like me to fuck that pretty little cunt, Princess?” he asked, increasing the pressure of the crop against your soaked folds. 

“Yes,” you groaned automatically

“Why don’t you ask me nicely?” he teased, tracing slow, agonising circles. 

Your hands in the sheets balled into fists. Already you could feel the small sparks of pleasure erupting in your core and the temptation to let go and allow them to build was almost overwhelming, but if you went over without his permission…

“Please…please fuck me, my prince,” you said, desperate for him to give you what you had been aching for for the past two weeks. 

The plea had barely left your mouth when the glorious friction from the crop stopped. You whined out of frustration, a sound that quickly escalated into a cry when Loki struck your throbbing cunt once again. 

“No,” his voice was barely a whisper in your ear. You hadn’t heard him get any closer. 

“Bastard,” you said under your breath, dipping your head between your shoulders and half hoping he heard you. 

You heard him step back from the bed, heard the quiet rustle of clothes and the soft pad of his footsteps back towards you. He’d removed his clothes, letting you see every beautiful, finely chiseled inch of him as he climbed on the bed and knelt in front of you. You noticed two things: the crop still held in his hand and his aching length right below your eye level. 

“Open,” he ordered. 

You raised your brow at him defiantely. 

“I said open, Princess.” He repeated, bringing the crop down roughly on your ass and making you squeal. He brought the tip to your lips and you stared him down for just a moment longer before obediently opening your mouth. “Good girl,” he praised, continuing to slide his impressive length down your throat. When you had taken as much of him in your mouth as you could, he twisted his hand into your hair, yanking your head back to make you look at him. “Impress me, and I might let you come tonight.” 

Your cunt fluttered at the empty threat, at the possibility that you wouldn’t get what you had come here for. Resisting the urge to bite down you began to bob on his length, long, slow strokes that quickly pulled a raspy moan from him. You let him fall out of your mouth, only to flatten your tongue and run it up the underside of his cock, closing your lips back around his tip and swirling your tongue around it. You took as much of him in your mouth as you could, the musky, masculine scent of him invading your senses. A free hand closed around his shaft, pumping him in time with each slide of your lips. You heard him groan above you, felt his hand twist more firmly into your hair, and, without warning, felt the fresh sting of the crop on your ass. As best you could, you looked up at him with insulted eyes. 

“Consider it…encouragement,” he said, his voice husky and dripping with arousal. 

He put pressure on the back of your head, making you begin to move again and slide your tongue teasingly along his length. You could hear his every broken inhale, every curse that fell from his lips, every groan as you skillfully worked him with your mouth. Just as you settled into a rhythm that had him practically keening, you felt the sting of the crop again, the suddenness of the action having you squeal around his cock. 

“Faster,” he demanded roughly. 

You obeyed easily, the throbbing ache between your legs overpowering your desire to push his buttons. You increased your pace, swirling your tongue around him as though bringing him pleasure would automatically grant you yours. To your side, you heard the soft thump as the crop hit the tangle of sheets, and Loki’s other hand twisted into your hair, completely immobilising you as he began to thrust wildly and erratically into your mouth, each thrust bringing his cock right to the back of your mouth and making you gag. 

“Such…such a good girl,” he praised, his hands locked like a vice around your head. “You’re making me feel…so good,” he continued, his praise making you drip. 

With each thrust, you felt him get closer and in a matter of minutes, he exploded down your throat, hands holding you firm to make sure you took every drop of him. Thick, warm ropes of his cum spilled in your mouth and the moans pouring from his were so loud and so sinful you feared they would wake the palace. When his grip in your hair began to slacken and he slowly slid himself from your mouth, he was still hard and his cock was now coated in your saliva. 

With the pad of his thumb, he wiped an errant drop of cum from your chin, pressing it into your mouth to lick clean. “A much better use for that mouth, wouldn’t you agree?” he taunted.

“Fuck you, Loki,” you bit back, your throat raw from use. 

He only laughed lightly, gripping your chin between his fingers. “Oh, I know how much you want to, my dear.” 

He stood from the bed, moving out of your line of sight and leaving you shackled and exposed to him. The only small mercy was that the crop still lay discarded on the sheets beside you. You craned your neck to try and follow him, a slight sliver of fear jolting through you when he continued to evade you. 

When his fingers then suddenly crept between your legs to massage your clit, you whimpered, head dropping between your shoulders as you shamelessly rolled your hips against his hand. 

“Does that feel good?” his voice purred from behind you. 

“Yes,” you answered easily, the strain of arousal evident in your voice. 

“Mmm, would you like more?” he asked, his fingers picking up speed. 

You gritted your teeth to stop coming undone right there on his hand. “Please.” 

He laughed darkly, sounding increasingly menacing to your ears. “Remember to ask me nicely,” he taunted. 

A frustrated puff of air left you. Your mind was so addled with need and lust that you could barely think straight, something Loki likely realised and took pleasure in playing with. “Please…fuck me…my prince,” you forced out between strained breaths. 

His fingers came to a stop and you whined at the loss of friction, hips wantonly rutting against air. “I do love hearing you beg for me,” he said. 

The mattress dipped you beneath you as he settled between your legs, the tip of his cock brushing teasingly against your entrance. He brushed himself lightly through your folds, pulling another whimper from your lips. You were burning for release, the absence of any in the past two weeks setting a flame alight within your core. You jutted your hips back, desperate to feel him slide into you and fuck you senseless. 

“How badly do you want it?” he teased, continuing to brush gently through your soaked cunt. 

“Please, Loki…please,” you gasped, silk sheets balled tightly in your fists. 

He placed one hand on the small of your back and slid inside you in one firm stroke, filling you to the brim. You cried out, eyes squeezing shut and mouth falling open at how deliciously full you felt. He was bigger than Thor and hit a spot inside you that your husband never did, almost instantly overwhelming you in ecstasy. 

“Fuck,” you breathed out, hating that you were giving him what he wanted but unable to deny how good he felt. 

He barely give you time to adjust, almost instantly moving in a punishing rhythm that had you feel every exquisite inch of him. You desperately tried to muffle your moans in the sheets, something Loki wasn’t about to allow. He twisted his hand back into your hair, pulling your head back so you were looking straight ahead at the wall behind his bed. 

“Let me hear you sing, Princess,” he said, continuing to relentlessly pound into you. “Let the whole palace know who’s making you feel this good.” 

Your cunt clenched around him at his words, making him inhale sharply. You knew that, if Thor were to come to Loki’s door again, there would be no hiding what you were both doing. The wet sound of your sex was loud and obscene, filling the bedroom and likely the chambers beyond, but, rather than fill you with cold dread, it excited you. It excited you to think of your husband hurtling through the doors to find you being taken from behind by his brother, and made you burn with arousal to picture him finding you doing something so gloriously taboo. 

Loki was speaking to you again, something about how he fucked you better than Thor, but you only heard snippets. You were too focused on the sweet feeling of the coil in your lower stomach winding tighter and tighter, ready to spring loose at a few more thrusts of his cock. Again and again, he hit the sweet spot deep inside you, making your limbs begin to feel weightless and your heart begin to beat as fast as a hummingbird’s wings.

“Loki…’m gonna…gonna come,” you said, voice breathless. You waited, waited for the final few delicious strokes of his cock to send bliss tumbling through your senses and make you see stars behind your eyes. You only needed a few more thrusts against the sweet spot deep inside you, a few more thrusts and you would see Valhalla, just a few more thrusts…

Just as your orgasm began to ripple through you, Loki stopped moving and pulled out of you. 

Your eyes flew open as the beginnings of your climax steadily faded away. “Loki, wha…” The rest of your sentence was lost as he flipped you onto your back, shackling your hands back to the bed with a lazy flick of his wrist. 

“I told you to choose your words carefully, didn’t I?” he said, kneeling between your legs and stroking himself in front of you. “I warned you that you’d leave this room aching worse than when you arrived.” You couldn’t help but roll your hips against the sheets, eyes locked on his cock that you ached to have inside you. “I think two weeks should be enough. A whole month without any pleasure.” 

You yanked against the restraints. “Don’t be an ass, Loki!” 

He only raised an eyebrow. “Would you like me to make it three?” 

You held his gaze, knowing he could see the inner conflict behind your eyes. You could continue pushing him, see how angry you could make him before he fucked you out of pure rage, but he was already showing how his threats weren’t empty. 

“No,” you spat at him reluctantly. 

He smiled menacingly at you. “Good girl. Perhaps you’ll learn not to be a brat.” He replied, beginning to stroke himself faster. You had to bite back a whine. 

“I’ll just fuck Thor,” you threw back. It was an empty threat, you knew, but it was all your desperate brain could think of. 

Loki laughed, a hollow sound that sent a shiver down your spine. “Fuck Thor if you wish,” he goaded, “but, Princess, you aren’t allowed to come. If you do, and trust me I will know, I’ll punish you the next time you come to my door, which we both know you will.” 

You lay on the bed seething, quiet indignation coursing through your blood. You had come to him for release, for the pleasure your husband had long since stopped caring if you received, yet here he was denying you the only thing you wanted from him, keeping his promise of making you ache worse than when you arrived. 

In a fit of rage, you yanked against the restraints on your wrists. “You are such an ass, Loki!” you said again, unable to think of anything more fitting. 

“Careful. You’ve seen what trouble that mouth can get you into,” he shot back, his eyes beginning to flutter closed as he continued to chase his release. 

You hated how every moan that fell from his lips had your cunt clench, hated how badly you wanted him deep inside you hitting pleasure points you didn’t even know you had. Almost in a state of awe, you watched him continue to stroke himself, his head falling back on his shoulders when his release finally consumed him, his seed spilling over your stomach in hot, thick ropes. The groan of relief that left him was so primal, so satisfied, that you almost subconsciously lifted your hips from the bed, driven near madness with the need for him to thrust into you. 

His eyes remained closed for several moments while he caught his breath, but when he opened them to look at you, his expression was one of such contentment that you thrashed against your restraints, ready to begin begging, to promise him anything if he would only relieve the burning ache in your core.

“Feeling a little frustrated?” he mocked, his eyes settling on the mess of his cum drying on your skin. 

“Please, Loki…” you attempted, fresh tears of need pricking your eyes. 

“No.” He replied simply, waving his hand lazily to clean you and release you from your shackles. In a movement you would almost describe as gentle, he lightly pulled your hands from above your head to lie them by your side, effortlessly conjuring a sage green blanket to drape over you. “You were so good for me tonight,” he began. “I’m so…””

“Fuck you.” You spat, physically pushing him away before he could lie on the bed next to you. If it were any other night and you were sated from sex, you would have allowed him these few moments of tenderness, would have revelled in being shown such obvious affection in the absence of your husbands. Tonight, though, was different. Tonight you were pissed. 

Abruptly, you pulled yourself to your feet, untangling yourself from his sheets and wrapping the blanket under your arms to cover yourself, something that had Loki laughing behind you. 

“You aren’t going to stay?” he taunted.

Turning, you saw him relaxed against the top of his bed, one leg propped at the knee with the other stretched out before him, the very picture of sexual satisfaction. “Do you stay the night with your whores?” you spat back, something which only had him laugh louder. 

“So I’m nothing more than a whore to you?” 

“What do you think, my prince? Don’t tell me you thought this was love? Or that I secretly harboured feelings for you?” you retorted, putting as much bite in your words as you could muster. 

Loki’s smile faltered for just a millisecond, his upper lip twitching once. “Heaven’s no. Do you consider me deluded?” 

“I consider you a bastard!” you raised your voice at him, striding firmly around his room to the door. Your cunt was still pulsing with frantic need, evidence of your arousal practically dripping down your thighs. If you thought you had been sexually frustrated at the beginning of the night it was nothing to what you were feeling now. The ache was merciless, your cunt continuing to clench and pulse around nothing. You had been so close…

Behind you, Loki laughed smoothly, his mask firmly back in place. “Two weeks, Princess,” he called. “Let’s see how aching you are when we do this again.”

“Fuck you, Loki,” you spat at him a final time, wrenching the door open and making sure to shut it with a forceful bang, having it shake in your wake. 

You hated him. You hated his smug, sly face, hated how he had given you what you wanted but denied you what you craved. Most of all you hated that he was right.

You would be back.

Tags: @cake-writes @maevetriesart @sineads-art @popeheywardssecretgf

[goodfish-bowl]

Refraction - Chapter 3: Break to Build

Ectoberhaunt Day 3: Chaos

AO3 Link (goes to first chapter)

First Chapter | Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

Summary: Danny tries to wrap his head around just how different this dimension is from his own, and just how much of a different a singular outlet makes.

Warnings: shock, denial, perhaps second hand embarrassment, mention of character death

Words:3811

Notes: The lovely Chapter 3 of my Spork AU fic, making a grand comeback a year after it’s initial release. Please read the previous chapters before continuing here. Also, for simplicity’s sake, since this is from Human!Danny’s POV, he refers to himself as Danny, while Halfa!Danny is referred to as Phantom.

@ectoberhaunt​

Danny’s mind had devolved into a state of panicked chaos since his own doppelganger had revealed himself. He couldn’t pin down a single thought. As quickly as they came, they were replaced by another, he was thinking too much and not at all. It left him stiff, unable to do or process anything worthwhile. The ghost had grabbed his arm and was dragging him away and there was nothing he could possibly do about it. Even appearing more like a human, the ghost’s hands were ice cold, enough so he could feel them through his suit, and tight enough to leave bruises. Danny wanted to fight, he should fight, but he just couldn’t.

Danny blankly looked at his new surroundings. It was Tucker’s house. The living room he hadn’t been inside in months. (That was a lie, he had walked through the remains of it in the aftermath of a ghost attack.) He was placed against the old, well-loved sofa and just sat there. Phantom has a sour look on his otherwise expressionless face. The expression was far too stiff, and there was no light behind those eyes. Hallow and dead, so wrong in every aspect, and Danny wanted to throw up seeing that on his own face.  

Danny’s turbulent thoughts came to screeching halt when two people entered the room, one from upstairs, the other through the front door. Tucker looked the same as he had when he’d moved away, glasses and horrible fashion sense and all. He wanted to cry. The other, Danny thought he’d never see her again. Sam looked different than how he remembered her, her shoulder length hair pulled back into a taunt ponytail, revealing an undercut. She wore a leather jacket with patches for various movements, her plaid skirt switched out for a pair of tight black jeans with chains dangling from the waist. But despite the difference in appearance, everything else was the same. She was still here in this world, in Amity, and the three of them were together. In a sudden surge, fear pieced through him. Sam and Tucker were here! With a ghost! They were in danger!

With a surge of adrenaline, Danny flung himself off the couch and at Phantom with a war cry, trying to pin the other down. His suit was phase proof! He should have the ghost!

Phantom yelped as he was pushed down, hitting the floor with a dull thud, far easier to push down than a human should have been. Danny’s size advantage and surprise also helped. He grabbed the ghost’s wrists and pinned him down as hard as he could. If he could at least buy a minute or two…

“Sam! Tucker! There’s a ghost impersonating me! Run!” Danny shouted with desperation.

No one moved, and they all just stared at him.

“RUN!” He pleaded.

Nothing.

Sam and Tucker exchanged a glance, before Sam snorted. “Oh, Mr. Evil Ghost, care to tell us why there are two of you in the middle of Tucker’s living room?”

Danny froze in horror, and the ghost under him gave an exaggerated sigh. He looked over to Tucker in a final attempt. He was giving Danny a strange, befuddled look. It was hopeless. His grip slackened the tightest amount, and Phantom easily pushed Danny off. He landed into a sitting position, and easily sprung up back into a fighting stance. Where had Phantom but his blaster? He really needed it right now.

“Could you calm down and behave?” Phantom hissed lowly, eyes flashing green.

The fear and unsettling nausea returned. Danny froze, all the muscles in his body drawn taunt under the ghost’s gaze.

Sam gestured her hand at him, and Phantom released him from his gaze, and Danny fought the urge to collapse under the relief and did his best to remain in stance.

“I found him lurking around outside FentonWorks, then he claimed to be ‘Danny Fenton’ when I confronted him,” Phantom said, “Oh, he’s also under the impression that he’s some idiot ghost hunter.”

“I am not an idiot, ghost scum!” Danny defended himself.

“Ah, so a version of you that takes after your parents or something?” Tucker asked.

“Apparently.”

Sam walked up to Danny, boots heavy on the wood flooring. She leaned into his face, purple eyes carving picking him apart in scrutiny. He had seen her like this before, but never directed at him. It terrified him to some degree. “Okay, Not-an-Idiot-Ghost-Hunter, who are you?”

Danny gulped, then found his spine. “I’m Danny Fenton,” he stated, “You’re being fooled otherwise by this ectoplasmic imitation.”

Tucker whistled, “Wow… he’s really got it down.”

Betrayal. Sam scoffed and went to recline against the wall by the door. His easiest escape blocked. At least the window was always an option.

“It’s getting irritating. He’s already tried to shoot me, and then you got be to be witness to his next stunt. Didn’t fight me on the way over here though,” Phantom huffed.

“You’re a ghost. You’re dangerous. I have a right and a duty to protect people from you,” Danny defended himself and his pride.

“Do you seriously believe all ghosts are evil?” Sam asked, looking down on him from her spot.

Danny’s own Sam had asked this same question during their fight, and it echoed through his ears. “Of--,” he almost echoed his answer too, but stopped himself short, nearly biting his tongue. Mental pictures of Ellie popped through his mind, along with the few that weren’t so bad, and often helped the ghost hunters back home. That one shapeshifting ghost who liked to play pranks, the teen biker ghosts who were just on a date, and Technus who could be easily convinced to actually help with the promise of some tech. They weren’t evil.

“There are exceptions, but most meet the standard of being self-centered and pursuing their own gains even at the expense of others. But it doesn’t matter, all ghosts are dangerous, harmful intentions are not.”

Sam raised a brow, “Huh, better than what I thought at least.”

“And he’s not wrong,” Phantom added, moving to the couch, crossing his arms. The other two glanced at him. “Ghosts are dangerous, harmful intentions or not.” Danny and Phantom met eyes, “But you shouldn’t shoot first, that’s a good way to start conflict with anyone, ghost or otherwise.”

Danny would never admit it out loud, but he made sense, except “Not when they’re intentions were to wipe you out from the very start.”

Now all three were staring at him, with Phantom the most intently. He crossed his arms across his chest and decided to meet Phantom’s gaze in challenge this time rather than cower away from it (the longer this went on, the less his gut bothered him, and the pressure in the back of his throat, though Danny’s pretty sure his stomach just couldn’t knot any tighter at this point.)

Sam stepped between them and cut their staring match short. “Yeah, no, not doing this again. You,” she pointed at him, “Knock-Off, yeah, explain. Now.” Same ordered.

“Knock-Off?” Danny gasped, “I’m the human one!”

“What do you mean by ‘wipe you out’? We haven’t had any big threat like that in at least half a year. And even then, I’ve only ever known two ghosts who even attempted to pull something like that off,” Phantom said from behind Sam.

“You don’t mean…” Tucker trailed off.

“No, not him. The other one.”

 Somehow, the fact that there could be another ghost out there that this group could be talking about laced terror through his veins. He wasn’t even sure if they were talking about-

“Oh, you just mean Pariah Dark,” Tucker huffed, although it was closer to a sigh of relief.

Danny choked, devolving into a series of coughs. Tucker was treating Pariah like he was a light-weight, Danny couldn’t believe it. “There’s someone worse than Pariah Dark?!” It came out in a high-pitched whine.

“You’ll never have to deal with him, don’t worry, he can’t exist in your world.”

Danny devolved into coughs again.

“Woah, you lost me man. I thought he was a clone?” Tucker exclaimed.

“Nope,” Phantom shrugged, “He doesn’t know Vlad, so not a clone. The age is too close, so no time-travel, and he didn’t know I was Danny, so not an elaborate prank courtesy of our resident shapeshifter either. That leaves parallel worlds, which is back up by the fact he’s human, just a bit contaminated.”  

Danny tried to take all of that in, but found he couldn’t, it went right over his head. It was just too unbelievable. There was no way something like time-travel was a more reasonable answer to this, let alone cloning.

“Okay, so a parallel Danny, who just happens to still be an idiot and fights ghosts,” Sam concluded.

“Hey!” Both Phantom and Danny complained, before glancing at each other.

“So, are you?” Tucker asked.

“Am I what?” Danny replied.

“From a parallel world?”

“Yeah,” he huffed, “Where is this world’s Danny? Because there’s got to be a reason you have Phantom over there pretending to be this world’s version of me, right? Where is he?”

The trio glanced between each other, and a horrid thought came to Danny’s mind. “He’s fine, right? He… Nothing bad happened to him, right? He’s not dead, just busy or whatever, where he can’t be here. I’m still alive in this world, right? There’s no way I could be dead, right?!” Danny’s nails tried to bite at his palms but couldn’t manage to get through the thick fabric.

“Dead’s one way to put it,” Tucker snickered.

And it all came crashing down. God, he was dead! Danny was dead in this world. Danny let himself slump unto the floor, unwilling and unable to hold his taunt stance any longer. He had always considered his death, especially after his first few major injuries from ghost hunting. Jazz was always so concerned. She didn’t understand why he had to. But the chance had always been there…

“Tucker,” Sam hissed, “Read the room”.

“What?” Tucker whined.

“D… Danny,” Phantom spoke, and Danny met his gaze, so close to his own, but so wrong, “I… He’s not dead, not completely. I… can you tell me about the day the portal turned on? That happened in your dimension, right?”

Danny looked at Phantom silently. He wanted to argue and snap at the ghost so bad, not only for stealing the face of Danny Fenton, but for the soft way he spoke to him. He wasn’t fragile (even if it felt like he was shattering.)

“The portal? What about it? What does that have to do with anything?” Danny asked for clarification.

“Please just… How did it turn on; how did that happen?”

Danny thought for a moment. “I mean, Mom and Dad were all depressed about it not working. Tucker and Sam thought it would be cool to check it out, and I figured it was safe since it was broken. So, we went down in the lab and Sam wanted picture, but I know my lab safety, so I put on my hazmat,” Danny gestured to his current suit, he didn’t notice the intense stares of the others in the room. “I was about to go in, when Tucker saw that it was still plugged in, and unplugged it before I went in-”

Phantom let out a sudden string of curses, none of them in any language Danny recognized, while Tucker seemed to choke on his own spit, and Sam just looked increasingly tired. “What?” Danny asked.

“That’s where it all split off, I’m guessing. A fucking plug,” Sam cursed, gripping the bridge of her nose, hunched over herself.

“Huh?” Danny was increasingly confused.

“The split, from our timeline to yours. When… Danny went into the portal in this world, it was still plugged in,” Phantom explained, a pained expression on his face.

“But that would’ve…” The pieces snapped in place. Oh. “But you said, he wasn’t dead just a second ago… no one could’ve survived that much electricity.”

“I didn’t.”

Danny stopped breathing, staring at his own face. Phantom… was Danny Fenton? It… He didn’t want to make sense, but there had been no divergence from the story, or hint otherwise. And the way Sam and Tucker acted around him was far too familiar for him to just be some ghost posing as Danny Fenton for a cover-up or whatever. But if he had died that day, in the lab… Danny wasn’t sure if him actually being a ghost in this dimension was better or worse than being just straight up dead.

Phantom continued, a distant look on his face. “But somehow, I didn’t die completely. I woke up, the portal was on, but I wasn’t completely human anymore. I can switch back and forth, my heart still beats in human form. A half-ghost, in a way,” Phantom… Danny(?) said, just loud enough to be heard.

“But…” Danny started. He wanted to claim it was impossible. But he had seen and handled the portal blueprints on so many occasions. He had even looked at them recently to figure out his way here. Mathematically, with the high content of both electricity present, and ectoenergy, anything could’ve happened if someone had been inside. A ghost forming inside of a human body, and reviving it? It wasn’t nearly as far-fetched as some of the other things he had seen from ghosts. Hell, he was in a parallel dimension right now. Fuck it.

It started out as a choked snicker, before developing into a full cackle. A singular plug was what had changed his entire fate, and that of Amityville. An outlet. How funny was that?!

“You… You broke him, Danny,” Tucker sputtered.

“He also just told a ghost hunter from a parallel dimension, that he died and became Schrodinger’s dumbass,” Sam snarked back.

“Oh, that makes sense.”

Danny managed to reign in his laughter to ask another question. “I bet that was quite the surprise for mom and dad, huh? First ghost they meet is their own son,” he managed to chuckle out before going back to his fit.

When no one responded after a while, Danny glanced around, they weren’t meeting his gaze.

“Don’t tell me they don’t know,” Danny huffed. He knew his parents were a bit airheaded and oblivious at times, but they had to know their own son was a ghost. Phantom had to be setting off all of their equipment and alarms. Especially with an ectosignatures like his own.  (To be such a strong being, Danny couldn’t imagine what it must be like, even though Phantom was sitting right in front of him.)

“Guess I’m not saying a thing then…” Phantom half-heartedly joked.

“No way. Don’t you still live there?” Danny asked.

“Yeah.”

“And they don’t know?”

“Nope.”

“Why?”

“How would your parents react to you being a ghost? Would they accept you? Would they try to experiment on you? If you were the first ghost they’d ever met, while also believing that all ghosts were evil, would you really tell them?” Phantom pushed.

Danny had to think, and found he had no excuse. That’s exactly what he would’ve done in the same situation. (He had never told his parents he was the one to turn on the portal in his own world, why would it be any different here?)

“Probably not, no.”

Danny glanced at Phantom once more. This is what he could’ve become. The potential was there. He could’ve been a ghost. But he wasn’t sure he wanted that. He enjoyed being human, powerless and with a beating heart in his chest, right alongside his family. When Danny thought about the FentonWorks he had seen here, how cold it had felt, even though there were a lot more of the people he cared for in this version of Amity, it hadn’t been a home. No, Danny was happy he wasn’t a ghost. He loved his parents, and from the sound of it, Phantom had troubles with his. Danny couldn’t do that to them (especially when he thought of them now, with his Mom overstressed and Dad crippled. He hoped they were okay.)

“We’ve gotten off topic!” Sam announced, “I’m glad you’ve gotten over your existential crisis, but we still need to know why the hell you’re here.”

“Oh,” Danny realized, “Yeah. Pariah Dark’s claimed most of the city, and we don’t know how long we have left. I met a ghost, and she claimed her cousin was really strong and would be able to help us.”

“Two things? Pariah? That was over a year ago for us, has he been around for so long? And I’ve only met one ghost who’s referred to me as cousin. Are you talking about Ellie?” Phantom asked.

“Yeah! She was actually pretty neat for a ghost. Talked about her cousin a lot. But… Pariah’s been attacking for just over a month now. He’s taken most of the city, and we’re not even sure how many people are left in there. We have a resistance, but… we’ve been closed off for a while now. Supplies and morale are desperately low.”

“Who knew Ellie added dimension jumping to her travel itinerary?” Tucker smiled.

Phantom also had a soft smile at the mention of the young ghost girl, but it quickly hardened as he mulled over the information Danny had given him.

“No,” Sam decided. “Yeah, that sucks, but we can’t help you.”

All three boys turned to her.

“We’re dealing with another dimension’s problems here. And frankly we don’t have the capabilities for it. This isn’t our problem. Danny… no. I know that look. No,” Sam all but ordered.

Phantom had a glint to his eye, appearing livelier than he had the entire rest of the night. “He wouldn’t have made it here if we weren’t meant to help.”

“Danny…”

“No one else. Just me. I’ll go, you all cover for me here. If it’s Pariah, I can handle it. I’m a lot stronger than I was a year ago,” Phantom claimed.

“There’s no convincing you otherwise?” Tucker tried. Sam gave him a sharp look.

“You know I have to, now.”          

“Are you sure?” Sam pushed, urgency in her tone. “Are you sure you’ll be fine? You know I don’t like this and will come after you if you don’t come back, right?”

“Of course.”

Danny doubted himself for a moment. He was taking someone away from their home to help him defend his. It felt wrong, but it also felt like he no longer had a say in the matter.

“Okay, fine,” Sam relented. “But you’re going to need supplies. A ton of it. Medical, food, weaponry. I’ll gather up what I can, and then you can be on your way. And make sure Knock-Off over there gets some rest. You might not be human, but he is like the rest of us and needs rest.”

Danny’s eyes widened and Phantom let out a small laugh. “This works for me! Thanks a bunch, Sam.”

Sam huffed, a small smile playing at her own lips (Danny missed his Sam), before she left with a wave, already on her phone ordering medical supplies and rations galore.

“Hey, Other-Danny?” Tucker addressed him directly.

“Yeah?”

“You good here? My parents aren’t home, so you can raid the fridge and shower or whatever. I’m sure we can find some clothes that fit you or whatever so you can at least rest up while our Danny finishes his patrol before getting some rest himself,” Tucker offered, though a strong side glance was directed at Phantom who stuck his tongue out.

Danny grinned wide. “It’s been ages since I’ve had a warm shower. Also, your fridge is now doomed.”

(He missed his Tucker too.)

Phantom gave a small smile and a wave before he was washed over in white light, returning to his ghost form. Danny took in all he could before he flew off. Purple skin, bright white hair, tapered ears, sharp teeth, toxic green eyes (much more alive than any other ghosts he had ever seen, he realized), and that soft white glow all ghosts seem to share. His hazmat was the same as Danny’s own, just inversed in colors, just like his counterpart. Danny wondered if he would look just like that as a ghost too.

Tucker dragged him around his empty house, a smile on his face that felt a little too sad and forced to be genuine, but once Danny had stripped and gotten in the shower, he found he couldn’t care less. With a belly full of leftover meatloaf, and a warm place to sleep, it was the best rest Danny had in years.

[page cut]

Danny stood beside Phantom in ghost form, a large pack secured to both of their shoulders, although Phantom’s contained most of the heavy things. His gear had been cleaned and repaired to the best of their ability, along with adding to his arsenal of weapons. With his goggles and hood secured onto his face, Danny had a moment of déjà vu as he stood in the echo of his parent’s lab before the swirling abyss of the portal.  (Danny was also trying to push off the dreams he had last night. They had all been different versions of the day he’d turned on the portal, but Tucker never unplugged it, or it hadn’t mattered. He dies in the end and becomes a ghost each time. Sometimes, his parents were even in the lab with him, pointing a gun at his head despite his pleadings. Sometimes he was the one holding the gun.) With a heavy breath, Danny readjusted the bag on his shoulders.

“Ready?” Phantom asked.

His own outfit had been slightly modified as well. Phantom’s gloves and boots were switched out for gauntlets and armored boots in a bright silver, with a light plated armor covering the rest of his body and joints, the plates a dark metal that shared the ghost’s glow. There was also a cape, in a deep blue, with what Danny could’ve sworn were stars. Phantom had the hood pulled up and secured to his head with a circlet of ice. He looked regal in a way only a ghost could. He looked strong. Danny felt anything but.

“Of course,” Danny claimed with faux confidence.

“Then let’s hop to it.”

Phantom held out his hand, and Danny took it. It was still as cold as ice.

Phantom dragged him through the portal, and Danny reacquainted himself with the weightlessness that came from going through the portal, and just like the first time, he was immediately swallowed by a second one. But he was ready for it. Danny landed square on his feet, while Phantom floated softly to the ground.

  What he hadn’t been expecting was the chaos of an active warzone.  

[embrassemoi]

Surrounded by the Moon and Stars ✷ 29

Pairings: Sirius B, F!Reader, Remus L Warnings: Language, angst, insecurities, blood, darkish thoughts (self-hatred), fighting, violence Author's Note: heavy chap. if you’re having a bad day, take a moment, be kind to yourself and put off reading this until you feel better 💜

【 Masterlist | Previous Chapter | Playlist 】

Chapter 29: That Pet You Just Couldn't Keep

━━━━━━━━━༻☽༺━━━━━━━━━

Remus woke up to a bright, white light. He squinted, head lolling to the side of his lumpy pillow. The chair near his bedside was empty, saved from a pitcher of water along with a few potions Madam Pomfrey must’ve left for him, were placed on the stand beside his bed.

Something wasn’t right. Peter or one of the other Marauders were always there waiting for him after his transformations.

Too hot for a blanket in June, he ripped off his covers and noticed the bumpy, large material hiding beneath his nightgown. He licked his lips, letting air whistle down his dry throat while a sharp, burning sensation flooded his abdomen. Remus winched, groaning out while stretching to drink the potions and water. Although, as he brought the glass vials to his lips, he noticed that his arm was littered with scratches and bruises. Curious, he lifted the slit of the gown to see a large wrapping across his lower stomach and bruises in the shape of lopsided circles and rectangles travelling across his body.

Remus felt his face scrunch. Ever since the Marauders had become animaguses, he hardly sustained any injuries aside from the occasional limp or flimsy scratch. There was usually an absence of pain nowadays, not an overload of it.

What caught his attention was the scent of human blood. His senses were always heightened the week leading up to the full moon and the week following, so it was particularly strong. It caused his head to spin like planets performing a celestial dance.

Preoccupied with the scent, Remus didn’t notice someone slipping into the room.

“Hey, how are you feeling?” A fuzzy Peter came into view. He went to sit on the edge of his bed sporting a nervous look.

“Was wondering where you were.” Remus relaxed at his appearance.

“Yeah… Erm — been busy.”

Soon enough, another sharp pain stabbed at his abdomen again. “Fuck — what happened last night?”

Wormtail sucked in sharply as he wiggled in his seat uncomfortably. “I… something terrible happened. Bollocks, Moons — I’m sorry...”

Remus felt his spine prickle with needles. “What?”

“We should wait until Dumbledore or James comes back.”

“Dumbledore?!”

Ghostly pale, Peter was on the verge of fainting. Remus took another deep inhale. This time, he smelt blood, but it was coming off of Peter and a few other foreign scents lingered on him. Was that… Y/N? And… Snape? Remus scanned Peter, noticing the droplet of red on his shoes.

“Pete,” his voice dropped to an icy whisper, “Whose blood is that?”

He remained quiet.

Remus moved to prop himself up on the bed. “What happened?”

As Peter spoke, every word made Remus recline into himself and he was left unsure of how to feel. The overload of information put him into a state of complete shock. His vision faded in and out, suddenly feeling very cold and dizzy compared to the hot weather.

He distantly heard Peter trying to gain his attention but stared blankly at the metal bed frame.

“Say something,” his friend tried, sounding desperate. He didn’t even know how long he’d been quiet for.

Remus worked through the betrayal in nine steps. It helped make sense of his emotions. To categorize them — making it easier to file away.

1. Shock & denial

“No,” he said, barely moving a muscle in his face. “That's impossible! Padfoot would never…”

Peter watched him pitifully. Remus’ eyes blinked rapidly, heart pounding. “I’m sorry.”

2. Process what happened (or try to)

“He… told… Snape?” He asked despite Peter repeating the story multiple times.

“Sirius was mad at Sniv — Snape, and he was provoked by —”

“I didn’t hurt him, did I? I didn’t hurt anyone?”

“He’s fine.”

“Then why won’t you tell me what happened to me? Why was I bleeding?”

He refused to look him in the eyes and Remus felt terror ebb it's way through his skin. “Answer me!”

“As I said, L/N and Snape got into a row… she heard Sirius tell him and she went to save him…”

“Don’t you dare lie to me.”

Wormtail took a deep breath. “You… nicked her a bit and James’ antler broke off in you because… he was trying to get you off of her…”

Remus was rooted in place. What Peter just said was unreal. His stomach twisted painfully. He blinked. “Y/N’s hurt? I hurt her?”

“Yes — no! That was Snape —” “Is she here? Did I bite her?”

“You didn’t and yeah but —” “Move out of my way.” He pushed himself up wobbly.

“You lot a lot of blood, sit —”

“Get out of my way!” He threatened. Remus pushed Peter to the side, clambered to his feet. Remus gripped the bed tightly and felt a few seams rip open and blood began to faintly seep through his white bandages.

He staggered around, ripping back the curtains until he saw Y/N. Limping up to her bed, Remus almost burst into tears when he saw her. She looked so tiny, curled up and engulfed in blankets and pillows. Her ankle was propped up, head bandage and skin dull.

It felt like Peter had poured a bucket of freezing cold water on him.

He hurt her. Almost got her and Snape killed or infected. Could have hurt Prongs and Wormtail…

He was a fucking monster.

He should be put down.

From how loud he was, running around the wing, Y/N’s eyes fluttered open. She attempted to stretch, groaning out in pain. But then, her eyes flickered up to him and she froze. Her hand shot up protectively to her chest and face as instinctively went for her wand but stopped. Genuine fear flashed through her, making Remus instantly want to cry. It felt like an eternity passed as she gripped her sheets and opened her mouth.

She was going to scream — to take him away — call him a monster — to cry or yell for Madam Pomfrey or —

But Y/N’s body relaxed. A tried smile twisted and gaze dissipated with fear, replaced with nothing but understanding and softness; she even went as far to touch his hand but Remus wrenched it back.

“Ta-da!” She croaked. “I lived.”

Remus didn’t smile, only staring horrified.

“Yeah, that was a hit or miss...” Peter interjected. He stood behind him, ensuring that if he fell, he’d be there to catch Remus. He continued to stare like she grew another set of eyes.

“What?” Her grin deflated. “Am I that irresistible?”

That pulled a breathy laugh from Remus as he shook his head. Why wasn’t she disgusted with him?

“Thank Merlin, you’re both awake.” All their heads turned to James’s floating head before he pulled off the invisibility cloak.

James moved to pull Remus into a large hug, whispering an ‘I’m sorry’ into his ear. He held him for a while before breaking off, going to embrace Y/N who wheezed.

“Ouch.”

“My bad, my bad!” He pulled back and slipped into bed with her. Peter forced Remus to sit on the edge of her bed while he stood.

A million thoughts ran through his head. He wanted to get away, to run — not even be in the same room as her. Remus wanted to think, to make any sense of what happened.

What the fuck happened? He couldn’t even process it.

She remembered everything, right? Surely she wouldn’t be this calm had she.

“Oh, wait — Lupin, are you alright? I swear a deer came at you last night.”

James chuckled out loud, breaking Remus out of his thoughts as he looked at him and Peter. “I guess there’s no point for secrets anymore.”

Y/N looked at them questioningly, her eyes squinting from the bright light before Peter went to close the blinds shut. James got off the bed, smiling widely at Remus and Peter got onto the bed instead.

“Ugh — Pete? James? What —”

A loud gasp ripped from her mouth as she jerked away from James who turned into a very large stag and Peter into a fat brown rat.

Remus could almost cry at how comical her face looked.

James was so large that he had to take a few steps back to prevent his antlers from poking one of their eyes out and Remus noticed that one was gone.

He felt sick again. A hand drifted to his stomach.

“Holy shit! Oh my god!” Y/N went to graze a finger on Peter’s fur before turning to James with shaky hands to touch one of his antlers and patting him on the head. She was speechless as her mouth open several times before forcing out, “You're really Bambi!”

James turned back, taking his glasses off to clean. “I wanted to be a lion — for Gryffindor, y’know.”

“You can’t choose, I wouldn’t be a rat.” Peter grimaced.

“They’re highly intelligent. Nothing to worry about.” James reassured and ruffled his hair.

“When did you guys learn to do this?”

“We’ve been at it for three years now. We finally were able to do it in August before school started.”

She shook her head, staring in awe.

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Dumbledore came to speak to everyone later that day.

Remus had been dreading it once he came into the wing and began speaking to Y/N, a buzzing sound filling his ear. All Remus was left to do was twiddle his thumbs, waiting and completely disoriented.

When he finally approached him, Dumbledore lost his usual twinkle in his eyes. He made sure to close the long vertical blinds and again, the room filled with a low buzzing sound.

“How are you doing?” He asked. Remus, had he been in the right mindset, would have prevented the scoff escaping him. Dumbledore didn’t react but continued. “Miss L/N is recovering well and Mr. Snape didn’t receive any injuries. Just a fright.”

Remus nodded, that was good, but he remained quiet.

“Snape’s been persuaded to act accordingly for the best interest of his fellow pupils and L/N gave her word.”

Remus choked back a laugh. Snape was going to, no matter what, let his secret slip somehow.

“You’re also exempt from the Transfiguration exams, both you and Miss L/N. You’ve both sustained a degree of varying head injuries and you’ll be graded on a cumulative from McGonagall.”

Dumbledore was forcing Remus to the edge as he bit down on his inner cheek. It was useless to listen to him. “Are you expelling me?”

“No. You should not bear any blame.”

“Dumbledore, no offence, but are you mental?” Remus sputtered adding, “I endangered four students last night.”

“Yes but —” “The next time we won’t be so lucky. I’m a monster, sir. I should be.”

The headmaster sighed. “Remus, give yourself a bit of credit. Think highly of yourself.”

Remus gave a dry laugh, almost baffled at how Dumbledore was acting. Did he just gloss over the fact he could have gotten students infected? He wouldn’t be able to live with himself had he. “How can I?”

“Well Y/N seemed to think very highly of you. She made you a very compelling case along with your friends, Potter, Pettigrew and Black.”

“Black’s not my friend,” Remus countered. He didn’t care about how rude he was being.

“Remus —”

“Is he expelled?”

“No.” The answer had Remus wheeling, anger spiking. “He’s not.”

“Why not? If it isn’t my fault, that I’m not to blame then why isn’t he? He told them how to find me.”

“I understand that this is a very difficult situation and rest assured, Sirius will be punished. I can promise you. But expulsion isn’t the answer.”

Remus refused to look at Dumbledore and he must've realized he was getting nowhere with him. He stood but before leaving, he gave a pitiful look.

“I have done terrible deeds, indulged in foolish pranks that I have lived to regret, but each has been a valuable learning experience. It’s a pity that it came to this. Learn in your heart to forgive, Remus. The world is already filled with too much hate.”

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June 16th, 1976

3. Sadness & pain

Remus had been avoiding the Marauder’s dorm. He’d gone as far as begging Madam Pomfrey (who’d taken pity because she knew what happened) to let him stay another two nights before getting kicked out. Remus always healed physically faster and his wounds were already healed by the third day. Pathetically, he’d been sleeping in dingy passageways or the prefects’ bathroom before relocating after being harassed by the ghosts.

Remus had a plan, avoid them; skip classes, get longer prefect duties, never staying in one spot for too long. He wouldn’t know what would happen if Snape saw him. Although, whatever Dumbledore told him, it kept Snape quite so far. But tonight, he got tired of Moaning Myrtle sobbing.

Before curfew, Remus made it a habit of visiting Y/N, who was still stuck in the wing; both out of guilt and because she was his friend, but he couldn't stay for long — seeing her like that made him wallow in guilt.

Similar to him, Lily had visited, along with the other girls, every day. Today, Lily stayed a little longer, bleeding into the time Remus usually dropped by. He watched as Lily whisper into her ear, causing Y/N to laugh and Lily blush madly as she sat snug by her side. Not wanting to ruin their moment, Remus went to leave before they had the chance to see him.

Remus had another pressing matter anyway.

He entered one of the nearest bathrooms to give himself some sort of pep talk and stared at the mirror.

You can do this. A voice echoed in his head.

Typically, memories from the full moon came back to Remus a few days or even weeks later, his brain usually too foggy a couple of hours after and even then, he would never fully remember everything. He vaguely remembered seeing a flash of Snape’s face and Prongs but Y/N’s screams were one of the clearer memories from that night.

“REMUS! PLEASE REMUS! STOP!”

Remus looked to stare at himself in the mirror. He observed the scar on the bridge of his nose, feeling bile rush up his throat at the sight.

He was a freak, littered with scars covering himself.

He was disgusting.

Ugly.

Pathetic.

Dangerous.

A monster!

4. Anger

Sirius Black had always been loyal, so what changed that night?

He needed to leave. It was no good staying here anymore.

Remus was shaking with rage, twinged with hurt. He paced outside of the common room door and had a few options running through him. Either start a huge fight with Sirius or just… ignore it.

Avoidance.

Maybe he could ignore Sirius forever? Impossible, surely. Sirius would get bored, anxious within a couple of weeks — that was too generous — a few days sounded right.

With his mind made up, Remus crept up to his room. He could hear the faint shouts of James and pondered about just sleeping in the common room or prefects’ bathroom. Even if he did have to listen to Moaning Myrtle.

Maybe because his senses were still coming down from its peak or James was just brash, but Remus didn’t even have to press his ear on the door.

“— done ENOUGH! — hear me? You better — why are YOU crying? You bloody — understand? Understand?! You will not talk — him — best friends my —”

The only person he's told he was coming back was Wormtail and it sounded like he told Prongs.

Remus didn’t care to listen anymore as he pushed open the door. Pete was sitting on his bed, eyes wide at Remus’ presence surrounded by unwrapped wrappers. He always tended to eat while stressed.

Sirius was looking down at the floor as James stood in front of him, scolding him like a child. But, his head shot up once he walked through the door. Out of his peripheral vision, he could see his eyes bloodshot, puffy and circles dark. He didn’t dare look at him.

Remus didn’t acknowledge them, instead moving robotically to the bathroom, changing into his holey yet comfortable clothes before scurrying off to bed, swinging his curtains shut before casting a silencing spell around.

He’d plan to adhere to his avoidance strategy. It worked so far.

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June 18th, 1976 | 1:29 am

“Psst… Moony.”

Remus turned over to face him. “What do you want Peter?”

“Just wanted to check up. You okay?”

“What do you think? Please, leave me alone.” And then closed his bed drapes.

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June 19th, 1976 | 11:37 pm

Peter had crept up to his bed again as Remus laid there awake, thoughts swarming him.

“I’m not in the mood. I’m tired.” He moved to turn over and forced his eyes closed.

Peter had been nothing but amazing. Always thinking about him and his needs but what Remus wanted most was to be alone and Peter's pity and worried features did nothing but make Remus feel like shit.

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June 21st, 1976

In life, there are few things that are certain. Getting older, death, taxes… No matter how hard we try, no matter how good our morals are or our intentions, we all will eventually make mistakes. It’s either as small as burning your food or writing the wrong answer down on a test, but you’re also going to fuck up pretty bad and hurt people. Say something — do something you don’t mean and it’ll end up with both sides hurt. If you want forgiveness, there’s multiple solutions to gain that back, but the two words — obvious, there, waving in front of your face — can be the hardest words to say.

“I’m sorry.” Black muttered for the hundredth time that night. His voice was pushing Remus to the edge as he kept his face straight. Dead. Not once taking Sirius’ shitty apology baits. He continued to stare down at his book, reading silently in his dorm. His teeth hurt from how hard he was clenching his jaw.

Remus was right, of course, he was fucking right. Black had grown anxious as he ignored him.

“I’m sorry.”

Remus never really considered himself violent. Sure, he’s gotten into rows that ended with a punch or hex here or there, but Remus didn’t have violent thoughts. If anything, he prided himself on not being a bonehead like Black and Prongs. But, it took every ounce not to beat the shit out of Black right there and then.

Bastard. Scumbag. You mother fucking betrayer.

Remus never liked not being in control. Not having it scared him too much, feeling more animal than man. He did everything to avoid being violent, the wolf was already violent enough and had too much control and Remus refused to let it dictate human him. There was already too much violence, he never wanted to contribute more.

He did everything not to be a monster. But it's like the wolf roared from deep within, scratching and begging to let him pounce.

Remus wasn’t violent — anyone who met him would vouch for that. Fuck, if he saw a spider, he would open a nearby window and release it. But now, he wanted to slam Sirius against a wall and wrap his hands around his neck and squeeze.

You piece of shit. Wanker. Twat. I want you to feel as much pain as I do.

“Moony, please let me explain —”

All the words suddenly blurred before Remus slammed his book shut, causing to become still and quiet.

Sirius trying to explain — excuse his actions — pushed him over the edge. Remus sent a venomous glare at Sirius, waiting for him to talk. His quietness made everyone uneasy.

Selfish bastard.

Any sympathy Remus held for him this past year, along with any logic, evaporated to the point where he felt a rabid thump spread through him. There was a desperation to relieve himself of it — lash out, scream, cry —

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it,” the rest of the Marauders watched the scene, knowing not to get involved. “It was a mistake and —“

“A mistake?”

Sirius perked up at this. That was the only word he’d spoken to him since the incident. “Honest. I did it because —” “Shut the fuck up.” Remus stood, tall and loomed over Sirius. He could almost smell the fear off him.

He had never been so mad before.

“I — I… I,” stutters Remus. But instead of it being out of shyness or nerves, it was out of pure wrath that he wasn’t able to articulate his emotions properly. He took a deep breath in, attempting to regain control over his emotions but failed as he burned with deep, seething hatred. “I am the monster that mothers tell their children to keep them in at night.”

“Moony —”

“Don’t call me that!” His voice boomed so loud that everyone in the room had to take a step back and shrink down. Remus was always so reserved, only ever lashing out in annoyance close to the full moon but nothing more.

“Living up to your name, aren’t you?” There’s a sarcastic, bitter humour lilt to his voice.

Someone so in control of his emotions, someone with an unbreakable exterior, the only glimpses they’d ever seen of Remus losing control was him snapping at someone close to the full moon but would later apologize within mere seconds. But to see him like that… it was an intrusion, something the Marauders hadn’t ever seen or wanted to before.

“Please, just calm down so we can talk.”

Remus paces around the room. “You — y’know I’ve never understood why everyone lets you get around treating others like shit. First, it was Marlene, James, me, Peter, Lily and Y/N — we all let you get away with it. Outburst after outburst, we all sat back because you were going through shit. But I can’t? I’m not allowed to get angry?!”

Sirius wouldn’t look at him.

“Look at me.” Remus kept his voice low throughout the ordeal, only ever raising if Black interjected. “You coward, look at me!”

5. A lot of anger

He couldn’t meet his eyes so he settled to stare at the scar across his nose. It only angered him more as Remus picked Sirius up and pushed him against the wall as he fisted his shirt.

“I’m sorry.”

Sorry is nothing but a word to you. I gave you my most trusted secrets. I confided in you. I was there for you when you needed it. I loved and cared for you like my own brother but I was nothing more than a pet that you discarded when you got bored. You’re only guilty because of the repercussions you’re facing. Your guilt isn’t nearly enough. Bastard. I trusted you. You’re a Marauder. My best friend. I would’ve done anything for you. You fucking ruined it.

“You did this! You did!”

“I know. I’m sorry.”

He laughs, mocking and loud, void of any emotion. “No, you aren’t. You’re never fucking sorry!”

Stupid fucking selfish arsehole.

“For years you’ve told me that you accepted me — cared for me — loved me like your own brother! That what I am — a-a monster — that it didn’t matter!”

“It didn’t mean anything, I promise! It was a shitty, fucked up prank —”

“A prank?! You used me as a weapon! A toy because how could anyone ever love a werewolf?” Remus’ voice was so low. “You’ve never respected me. If you had any, you wouldn’t have — you - wouldn’t....”

Everything came crashing on Remus at once.

6. The realization settles in

And after nine days, Remus Lupin had finally realized what Sirius Black had done. Before, everything he felt had been true but he hadn’t fully realized the gravity of what happened, as silly as it sounds.

Sirius turned his worst fear into a living nightmare.

In the background, one of James’ Quidditch posters, encased in glass exploded, shattering into millions of pieces from the amount of pure magic radiating off Remus. He didn’t even flinch at the sound.

James finally interjected, placing a hand on Remus’ shoulder. “Lay off him… He isn’t worth it.”

Remus eased off Black instantly. “You had no right… no right…” He pointed. Remus turned his face down as he felt tears build up.

“I trusted you,” he whispers. “Every bit.”

Remus stormed out of the dorm, going to sleep in the common room.

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June 22nd, 1976

7. Depression

When Remus finally let himself cry, he didn’t make a move to leave his bed. Even skipping meal times, leaving James or Pete to bring him food.

Everything felt suffocating, a gnawing feeling that made every part of him ache. Remus couldn’t handle anymore pain or emotions from ‘the prank’ as he felt himself slip into a temporary void.

He hugged his pillow tighter and closed his eyes once more.

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June 23rd, 1976 | 11: 37 pm

Remus had gone straight to bed again, effectively shutting up the rest of the dorm. James was ignoring Black, leaving Remus surprised that he hadn’t made a move to defend his actions. Nonetheless, he was appreciative still. Peter had been trying to appease everyone, not taking sides but still must’ve thought Sirius was in the wrong because he hadn’t talked to him much.

He didn’t ask James to choose between him or Black. Remus was never one for ultimatums but even then, it seemed like James picked him. He was beyond furious, seemingly more than Remus at this point who pathetically wallowed in his depression. He wouldn’t spare Black a second glance, wouldn’t talk to him, shut him down if he tried to speak to him. Hell, he’d even gone as far as to make it very clear to the entirety of Hogwarts that they were no longer friends, making sure to not sit with him, ever. Always choosing to sit by Remus.

They chose his side and a part of Remus felt elated to know they had his back.

This left Black alone, looking at them through tearful gazes. Remus had been ignoring all of them and they seemed to be understanding, avoiding crossing the wordless boundary Remus set in stone.

But, both James and Peter had been checking up on him nightly, always there and he could tell they were getting impatient.

When the lights went out, he heard James crept out of bed. Usually, Remus would find some sort of comfort in knowing who was approaching him, but now, it only left him feeling uneasy.

And then he felt the bed dip and James muttered out a spell.

“Hey, Moony.”

Remus didn’t face him. “Prongs?”

“Hey,” there was a loud sigh, “Do you need anything?”

What was he supposed to say? A hug? To talk? He’d much rather use his avoidance strategy, although he realized it left him alone with too many thoughts and nobody to confide in.

“M’good.” He felt James place a hand on his shoulder.

“I’ll always be there for you. That’s what Marau - that’s what friends are for, no?”

Remus didn’t answer and felt James move to leave. But before he had the chance to slip out, Remus peeked his head from the drapes, announcing just loud enough for Sirius to hear.

“Thanks for saving all of us, James. You’re a true friend.”

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June 24th, 1976

People had their poisons.

Alcohol can make you forget. It blocks out everything and makes the rest of the world fade away until you can’t remember. People gambled to feel a rush, only to realize they dug themself into irreversible debt. Shopping, food, the high from risky behaviour…

But how we manage our poisons is up to the person.

People love to deny that they have addictions. They deny they’re hooked, they deny that they can’t put it down, they deny that they’re scared or want to stop. People only see what they want to see, believe what they want to believe.

And then the truth becomes muddled with lies that it’s hard to recognize the poisons sitting right in front of us. And all we want is more.

For Remus, his poison, his bright red self-destruction button, was smoking.

Granted, he never was a big smoker, typically only smoking when stressed or bored. But he still did it, filling his lungs with poison. But maybe he was wired like that. Besides, what werewolf lives past thirty? Might as well die revelling in the poison that brought him ease…

Remus conjured a ball of bright fire from his hand; fishing out a pack of cigarettes, slipped it past his lips and lit it. He inhaled, feeling the familiar, comforting feeling before dragging it from his lips, blowing out the thick cloud of smoke that left him wanting more.

He’d been sticking to his avoidance tactic strictly now. The Marauders were hovering over him, worry evident on their faces. A few times, Lily and James both invited him to sit. They never fought anymore, or at least in front of him, and it probably was his doing — a group effort into getting him to talk.

So even Lily knew something was wrong… Snape probably told her…

The door clicked open and Remus didn’t have to turn around to know how it was.

“Leave me alone. I’m not ready to talk.”

“Wasn’t gonna make you.”

He spun around, that wasn’t James or Peter. His face softened.

“Well… I’m not,” Y/N said simply, “But the others are about to.”

Remus groaned at that but Y/N smiled and turned around, ushering him over with a little wave. In one hand, she raised the Marauder’s map. “C’mon, I know a place and that they won’t be able to find.”

Remus was intrigued. He stepped out the butt of the cigarette, flicked it into the trash and followed her. Surely he’d already been there but being with Y/N seemed ten folds better than being around the other Marauders.

He followed wordlessly, passageways flying through his head but she never stopped by them. Instead, she climbed onto a ledge, slipping into an area under a large curtain. He followed, eyes lighting up in awe. He’s definitely never been there before.

“Get comfortable,” she said, flinging him a pillow and lighting a few candles.

They sat opposed to each other in complete silence. Y/N flicked back and forth, watching James and Peter scrabble around the castle looking for him. A few times, they passed by, each time leaving Y/N amused.

Remus tapped his leg anxiously. The question remained: Why wasn’t she disgusted with him? Why was she helping him? Why wasn’t she afraid?

Now alone together, those questions dangled on his tongue.

“Why aren’t you afraid of me?”

She looked up at him, finally putting down the map. “Because you’re Remus.” She said, like it was the most obvious answer. “You’re not scary.”

8. Hold onto doubt

The answer irritated him. Another memory unfolded then and he blurted it out. “Why didn’t you cast any spells at me?”

Her brows rose, “I didn’t want to hurt you.”

“I’m dangerous.” His voice was bleak and cold. “Why can't you grasp that?”

She stays quiet for a long time, her head turning to look out the large window. Y/N watched the owls and labyrinth of ancient trees of the forbidden forest and Remus was painfully aware of time slipping by.

“Do you remember that night on the astronomy tower on Halloween? I said that there’s bound to be someone looking at the moon at the same time?”

It takes Remus a moment to remember, but he does. “Yeah. You said that it’s like you’re not alone.”

Y/N turns around to face him. “Exactly. You don’t have to be alone in this.”

He looked away, deliberating. “It’s one thing for me to be alone but then drag you and others down with me.”

“Remus, I’m not going to lie and say I wasn’t scared. I was terrified. I thought that was it.” He gulped. “But I could never be scared of you. The real you - the you right now. I don’t care about what you are. You are more than just a werewolf. I feel safe with you.”

The dark shadows surrounded them as she reiterated herself. “You don’t have to be alone in this.”

He soaks in her words for a while. This time, peering out the window as he breathes in deeply.

Okay. He decided.

“Do you want to know how I got —” he pointed at a scar on his upper forearm. “— this?”

She nodded her head.

“When James turned into his animagus form to show me for the first time, his antlers pierced my skin. I had to lie to Pomfrey and say I fell while playing Quidditch.”

Any invisible barrier between them crashed instantly as she smiled brightly and laughed. So infectious, Remus couldn't help but flash a real grin.

He never realized how beautiful her smile was.

“Oh, and if you ever tell anyone about this place, I’ll skin you.”

“I would never.”

Remus scouted over to her, pressing his back against the cool stone as they sat together in a comfortable stillness. But then she shifted, opening her arms wide. He lent in without hesitation and her arms flung around his neck, pulling him into a tight embrace.

He felt salty tears stinging in the corners of his eyes and let himself soak in her warm.

He really needed that.

Over her shoulder, he returned to watch the stars.

9. Acceptance

Remus learned from a young age that it was better to keep people at an arm's length. Get too close, they’ll dig, find out his condition, fear him and run.

He hates to say it, but he’s not surprised that his secret slipped out. He got too comfortable, got too close... It’s just that the Sirius component was surprising.

But maybe it wasn’t surprising. Ever since the beginning of the year, especially since winter break, Sirius had been reckless more and more lately, and he probably should have seen it coming. He was wild as a result of being freed from the confines of his rigid upbringing.

Sirius Black was unpredictable.

Sirius Black was dangerous when it came to secrets.

Sirius Black was one of his best friends.

Sometimes betrayal is so profound that there’s no way to fix what was lost. The damage is done, irreplaceable, unfixable.

If Remus was sure of anything by the end of that week was that,

a) James Potter and Peter Pettigrew were still his best friends,

b) He almost killed Severus Snape and Y/N L/N,

c) Y/N knew his secret and despite everything, continued to talk to him, support him, be there for him — she accepted him,

d) His walls went up a higher, became stronger and insecurities ran deeper,

e) Lastly, Remus Lupin would never, ever forgive Sirius Black for what he did. Never.

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【 Next Chapter 】

© gotkindabored 2021. Do not repost or modify

[margridarnauds]

No. 6 for spreaver for the ship hc ask game!

What they would do if the other is sick?

I feel like Reaver does NOT like sickness or illness -- it's a sign of mortality, it's a sign of weakness, and I don't think you'd get to where Reaver is without an (un)healthy fear of mortality. Reaver is a creature that's obsessed with aesthetics -- his own, yes, but also everything around him. (Though he's got to be the prettiest one in the room.) He likes to live in beautiful spaces, surround himself with beautiful people, beautiful furniture, beautiful artifacts he's picked up from his travels. Someone sick -- possibly sneezing, possibly coughing, vomiting, all these nasty things...it's not pretty. It's weakness, it's mortality, and it's also unsightly. I think he would feel quite...unsettled, almost, to see Sparrow like that, even if it's just a minor cold, and he would cover a lot of it up with focusing on the aesthetics and the disgust.

I do think that he would, in his own way, take care of her -- OBVIOUSLY not because he's in *love*, certainly not, rather that it would be so dreadfully inconvenient if she was to die and, really, the best way to cut the entire business short is clearly to ensure that she is taken care of. Even if he might not be willing to handle the more...unsightly aspects of caring for the ill, he can certainly ensure there is someone else who will care for her as if their life depends on it (because it certainly does.)

If it was more serious...I've never, unfortunately, thought of a timeline where he is with her when she dies. The romantic in me would love a scenario where she dies dramatically in his arms, possibly swooning, reaching out to touch his cool cheek with her last breath as her life leaves her body, the will lines fading before they dull...

But...

It's Reaver. The man is many things, but a romantic hero isn't one of them (a Romantic hero, maybe, but not a romantic one.)

And I don't think Reaver COULD acknowledge it was more serious until it was done. I think the man would force himself into a state of denial, the way he did with Oakvale, the way he insists that the man he used to be is dead and he has no regrets when obviously some part of him DOES have regrets. He pushes these things DOWN and DOWN and DOWN, burying them in drugs and alcohol and pretty people he can take to his bed.

So I've always thought that, when she told him she was dying (and by the time she told him, she was very far along, because she herself was the type to soldier on), he went into a state of pure denial, distancing himself for months before he got the news. (And, for what it's worth...Sparrow knew him well enough that she expected it. She'd have liked to have been proven wrong, which was why she sent him letters asking for him to come to the castle up until her final moments, when her hand was too weak to grasp a pen, but she knew him. One of the reasons their relationship WORKED was that they had no illusions about one another.)

On Sparrow's end...she doesn't WANT to like Reaver. She doesn't want to care for him. She's in this constant state of exasperation with him and his dramatics, which are only amplified by illness. (I fully believe Reaver has the personality of one of those cats that insists it's starving even though it's only been five minutes since you fed it.) Care doesn't come naturally to Sparrow, it isn't something she's good at. She cares ABOUT people, she's fundamentally a compassionate human being, but that doesn't mean that caring for people comes naturally. Theresa loved her as much as it was possible for Theresa to love anyone, but also...Theresa's way of showing love and showing affection is wildly different from most of the human population's, and she was, in many ways, Sparrow's primary model for this. She's gruff, she's a little blunt about the entire thing, a little irritable, but she's also loyal and attentive. Even before they had a regular Thing, I don't think she'd have actually let him suffer, because that isn't in her relationship. She might have stolen everything she could in his house and then slept in his bed for twelve hours the first time they met because she was pissed after Wraithmarsh, but that doesn't mean she'll leave him to suffer, especially if he's asking for help. And, perhaps...when he's finally asleep, the fever finally breaking, she might gently stroke his sweat-soaked hair, which still looks annoyingly perfect even when it's clinging to his face.

If it was serious...I don't think she would mention it to him, because he would never tell her if he was really in a situation where he was dying. He'd never admit the weakness, and I don't think he would be able to come to terms with it. Instead, she would find reasons to stay with him. Sparrow's done remarkable things but, like most Fable heroes, her story is as much marked by failure and trauma as it is by legendary feats of bravery -- She knows death, she understands death. She might consult Garth, she might consult Theresa, but if both of them told her there was nothing to do...a part of me'd like her to keep looking for a way until the bitter end, but I think...from the Sparrow I remember, she would end up staying with him, spending his last months together and giving him whatever comfort she can, because she knows that that's sometimes all you can do (and it's a privilege she's had few times in her life, to be able to give a loved one comfort as they die.) She'd stop rolling her eyes at his petty, ridiculous requests, she'd go along with him on whatever over the top swashbucking adventure he wanted to go on, she'd allow him to rewrite their story so that she arrived at his Bloodstone Manor dripping wet in a long nightgown and, swooning into his arms, begged him to, oh please rescue her, oh most handsome and clever and deadly Pirate King. Those things wouldn't matter as much, not when they're giving him some small level of comfort.

[astro-pioneer]

Bon j o u rr

If it's alright, can i request albedo neglecting his s/o (not in a horrible way- but like, attention wise. S/o is still alive and well ajshs)

And when albedo finally like, pays attention to his s/o he can Notice a difference in them?? But they're just their usual self but?? More??? Quite/duller???? And they wont admit in order to not hurt him? Idk i just want a n g s t

Female or gender neutral s/o is up to u!!!

Cessation of Adoration 『Albedo』

They missed his fleeting touches and the feeling of his skin every night. But their heart was fragile, and couldn't bear to tell him. | Angst with no comfort

Hello to you as well my friend! Your brain is so big oml I love this request. I know you said either gn or female but I decided to stick with gn if that's okay! Also I accidentally directed it more towards snappy instead of dull since it became an argument (all verbal though!!!), apologies if that's not what you wanted. Sorry for the long wait (and thanks for your patience and understanding!) but I'm back to writing now!

For an alchemist whose knowledge passes the boundaries of others, Albedo is rather dull and inexperienced in relationships and what's needed to show your partner that yes, I do care about you. And so he buried himself in work, only passing thoughts of his lover being the only evidence of him remembering them. I wonder how (Y/N) is or I wonder what they're doing today. And yet never once has he went to talk to them.

They laid in a cold bed every night, not even the fire being able to make up for Albedo's warmth. The shadows that licked the corners of the bedroom were the only witnesses of their pain - the sobs and muttered apologies that made no sense. They thought it was their fault they have been forgotten.

But (Y/N) wouldn't be able to let their heartbreaking emotions show freely anymore - Sucrose was nice enough to notify her through a letter that Albedo was almost finished with his experiments and will be coming back soon. It only took a few months, they couldn't help but spitefully think. No, no - they couldn't think like that. Alchemy was the blond's passion, after all.

Albedo came home to (Y/N) waiting outside for him, swaying side to side in boredom. He saw nothing wrong with them from a distance; their posture and actions the same as what he remembered. When they locked eyes, two smiles were sent. Albedo's was small but was filled with warmth and met his eyes. (Y/N)'s was strained, kind of like ones sent to random strangers you pass by. The greeting wasn't filled with any enthusiasm.

He didn't interact with them for the rest of the day.

When the moon gazed into the linen-covered panes of their bedroom, Albedo's teal eyes just observed. There was something wrong; their movements weren't as fluid and natural with him here. Before anything else, he was an alchemist, which grew his ability to memorize details most don't.

"You're uncomfortable with me being home."

"No." He hummed, obviously not believing their curt answer.

"Your shoulders are tense, you're fidgeting more after almost not when around me, I've been avoided, and you've been so on edge that you didn't light the candle you pestered Marjorie about like you do every time you get ready for the night." The glare filled with denial that was sent didn't stop him from pointing everything out. "Would you like for me to give more examples?"

(Y/N) couldn't even argue with him even though they desperately wanted to. So they stayed in a state of denial. "Maybe your memory isn't as great as you think it is."

"Perhaps, if you wish to think like that. However, I refuse to allow you to say that I forgot how you act."

"Really? I feel honoured. I'm glad to know you only remembered me before you left and not during your trip. Even one letter would've been lovely."

"I've realized that when I first saw you today, but I cannot go back in time and change that. What I can do is make it up to you. But it's obvious you don't want to argue with me anymore, so if you want, we can talk it through tomorrow." The shuffle of the covers answered him.

"Don't forget the light."

"Baby Blue, please-!"

"Goodnight Albedo." They could see him wince even in the dim candlelight, making them roll over as to not look at him. He sighed and have up.

Albedo woke up significantly later than usual, (Y/N)'s side not even having a hint of lingering body heat. He didn't find a note when getting dressed despite looking everywhere for one. Kaeya stood in his lab when Albedo got there, an unnatural grim look on his face. "(Y/N) left at the break of dawn. They didn't tell me much when I saw them, only that there's a small chance they'll come back and try again with you. Here." The painful wheeze escaped his chest involuntarily. The personalized piece of jewelry he gifted them for an anniversary didn't even glisten in the bright light of the sun.

[siriusmydeer]

hello love, i was wondering if you could do a james potter x slythering fem!reader? one where she is working so hard on getting her life together. she is trying to be different than her family and working so hard but it is getting to her. she feels like she is failing and every turn she takes is a dead end. she feels like there is no purpose to what she’s doing. i think some super fluff is required, like james boosting her up and loving her. plzzzzz & thx

his slytherin

james potter x slytherin!fem!reader

summary: when you overwork yourself james is there to save the day.

word count: 2.4k

warnings: mentions of insomnia, mentions of sleep deprivation, mentions of not eating, mentions of over working yourself, angst, sad!james, house stereotypes, bad grades, implications of smut, WOLFSTAR😍, mentions of food, a breakdown, THERES FLUFF I PROMISE

seventh year was quite literally, a mess. maybe not for others, finally done school or they were super excited to travel around the world seeing things they’ve never seen before. you’re dream had consisted of constant studying, and working that barely made any time for yourself.

for the prior three years you had studied and practiced with madam pomfrey in the healers wing to eventually become a healer yourself, and it took a lot more than you thought it anticipated.

you knew as a healer, later in life you would have to deal with artefact accidents, dementor attacks, creature-induced injuries, magical bugs, potion and plant poisoning, dragon trainers with injuries, and incredulous spell damage.

with that you had to be prepared, which meant more time hitting the books and less time spending your final year at hogwarts with your best friends and your staggering boyfriend.

(hahah u see what i did there?)

james had qued in on your restless nights by gazing across at you in the great hall. the colour of emerald green becoming frequent in his life now; surprisingly to everyone else. where you were sat at the slytherin table, your eyebags already deepening by the day and your nose buried in some sort of school book.

the thought of even being like your family, made you nauseous. you didn’t want to be like your strict, immoral family, the death eaters, the murderers, and the ministry officials. who worked like machines without feelings or care.

as a slytherin born into a pureblood family those were the expectations that were almost nailed into your back like a sign said, ‘here’s the pureblood slytherin, shame her even though you don’t know her!!’

of course those were the stereotypes, ones that had been built on for centuries since salazar slytherin himself. that you of all people had to inherit. so you had to fall, and rebuild yourself entirely for even a chance. the restless nights, insomnia, caffeine and studying was your way of rebuilding.

of course that had an effect on your grades, not sleeping, not eating and barely focusing made your grades tremble a great deal to the point where professor slughorn got concerned by his best potions makers, recent poors in his class.

you were too focused on being better that you couldn’t even focus on your own well-being, that you couldn’t even see you were hurting yourself on the people around you. almost self isolating yourself from everyone entirely.

“darling?” james whispered, his body sitting across from yours at one of the mahogany tables in the library. pince set him a warning glare not to cause any mischief as she turned around.

“hmm?” you mumbled, barely acknowledging his prescence and continuing to read your defence against the dark arts textbook, something about the ‘chameleon ghoul.’

he had barely seen you all week, and when he did he saw your agonized face scrunched up in a book and your mauve dark circles that rested below your eyes clear as day.

“why don’t you take a break, dear? have a rest, you’ve been working non-stop. ve’barely seen you.” he murmured the last bit, embarrassed for feeling ‘needy.’

“can’t jamie, newts are soon i need to be prepared.” you looked up in his direction for a moment, barely catching his saddened eyes through his spectacles at your denial of his request to finally see his girlfriend.

if this were two maybe three years ago, james would not be caught dead having a conversation with a slytherin, let alone a relationship with one. the stereotypes blinding his vision for along time before he could see what was truly in-front of him.

i mean the gryffindor pride genetically ran through his veins as he was born into the etiquette pureblood-gryffindor family himself. it was almost destined for the both of you to be corporeal enemies.

but... something about your altruistic and considerate attributes subtly changed his mind. thanking merlin, and horhace slughorn for pairing the both of you in potions in fourth year. there was always something about the way you were so gentle and benevolent with him in potions class might’ve flipped a switch in his mind.

“right then... see you later?” he muttered disappointed in himself, you work so hard to prove yourself meanwhile he didn’t even have a glare in his way because he was the perfect headboy gryffindor student; with absolutely no judgements thrown his way despite his actions towards others in previous years.

“dunno, i’m studying.” you replied, your voice monotone and dull almost raspy from barely using your voice unless answering questions in class to almost being a know-it-all and pushing yourself to the tops of all your classes.

he got up from his chair, it scraping against the floor as he walked to the exit almost like a dog with its tail between his legs. he just got so mopey by your dejected less merry self. he had to do something, he had to make you understand that being a slytherin wasn’t just you.

it was a part of you sure, but ambitious just meant you strived for your goals and you were cunning which showed your amplified skill.

that didn’t mean you were— evil? being a proud reckless gryffindor was one in his heart but nobody ever thought he was malicious.

so, james fleamont potter did the only logical thing he could think of; going to his bestfriends for help. of course at first they were not over the moon glowing in delight when they found out he was dating a slytherin, especially sirius.

but that was expected, his family being his only views on how a pureblood slytherin acted only projected onto you. giving you almost a conscientious reason to work, the thought of someone james felt was his brother perceiving you as despicable only made you pursue your self judgements.

but after your book swaps with remus, you and peters athrimancy study sessions and music bonding with sirius they grew quite fond of your personality and thought that you were due with a chance with the marauders.

“moony, i need help.” he spoke desperately as remus’ face was also buried in a book, except out of his own free will.

“james needs my help? hear that sirius? prongs needs my help.” he declared proudly as the brown-haired gryffindor groaned crossing his arms.

“it’s y/n.” he mentioned, glancing in sirius’ direction before sitting on the vermillion love seat across from the fawn haired boy.

“what about her?” remus was more-so confused, what would be so wrong with you that james had to ask him for help?

“she’s suffocating herself, the books, the studying, not sleeping, not eating, nothing. i dunno what to do anymore remus, she’s so pent up on wanting people to stop looking at her like she’s heinous she’s working herself to death!” he ranted, all his anger and agitation spilling out in one fast-paced sentence that james needed to catch his breath by the end of.

“i just dunno how to make her catch a breath, take a break. what do i do?” james panted, looking at his mates for an answer.

“imperious curse?” sirius proposed, a bad proposal but his intentions were... thoughtful. “yeah let me go use an unforgivable curse on my girlfriend so she can have a study break. no thank you, next.” james sarcastically humoured him, james didn’t want to compromise your education or use an unforgivable curse on you for that matter but you looked so incredibly burnt out he didn’t know how to help you.

“body-bind curse? so she’s like.... forced to stop?” peter suggested, looking up from his transfiguration essay catching onto the conversation as he twirled his quill between his fingers.

“or, y’know something actually logical you could do is take her books. get her lavender tea or something, let her talk.” remus finally spoke, shrugging then looking at the ‘lord of the flies’ book in his hands a smirk lying on his face knowing that would he james lucky choice.

“moony, you genius! i could kiss you!” james hopped up from his seat, on his way back to the library.

“oi! i’m the only one he’s going to be kissing, prongs!” sirius yelped as james walked out of the portrait hole with a distant chortle.

on his way to the library, where you were previously seated, james made a stop to the kitchen to grab a few of your favourite snacks and some water. he dropped them back at his dormitory, but not without a mini lecture on ‘kissing moony.’ from sirius.

what a drama queen.

the castle was slowly darkening, the only light pivoting from the floating candles in the air. he saw your frozen-like figure in the same spot you were except looking over your history of magic textbook, learning about the ‘emeric the evil.’

“y/n.” he stated firmly, you almost jumped from your seat in surprise, due to your recent sleep deprivation. “merlin james, give a girl a little warning first.” you chastised before returning to your next book that was slammed together right in-front of your eyes.

“james! i was—“ you were cut off quickly by him gathering all of your books and placing them in his left arm. “what are you doing?” you questioned, looking at him with furrowed brows, to exhausted to argue with him.

“you’re not taking care of yourself, you’re not eating, you’re not sleeping, your basically a study.... that muggle thing- robot! you’re a study robot! so i’m taking care of you.” he got sidetracked as he spoke in a gentle yet firm tone.

“but i have too-“ you were cut off again by his pointer finger shushing your lips together. “no, either you sit here in silence because i’m taking your books either way or you come with me to my dorm.” james spoke, resisting to your complaints.

“fine, but you have too—“ you started off, annoyed that your study time was ruined by james incessant comments about you ‘overworking yourself.’ he though, was not having any of that. “nope.” he grabbed your hand, dragging you off to the gryffindor tower.

you gave a small tired wave to sirius, peter and remus on the way to the dormitories as they were all either on the floor or splayed across the scarlet-coloured couches. sirius following with a teasing wolf whistle and wink seeing the both of you walking up the stairs.

“don’t do anything i wouldn’t do!” he chuckled, looping his arm over remus’ shoulders.

“ha, bloody, ha, padfoot. so, so funny i’m on the floor laughing.” he teased, sarcasm lacing his words in a monotone voice almost mocking snape.

you playfully rolled your eyes before being dragged up the stairs to the boys dormitory. the only noises heard were the clacks of your shoes and the soft breathing emitting from both you and your boyfriend.

your eyes were met with candies sprawled all over his poorly made bed, one of his quidditch sweatshirts paired with your favourite joggers; the ones he probably stole from your dorm room one night; because he was keen on you just staying there with him and ‘subtly’ moving all your things into his dormitory with the rest of the boys.

you looked at him with an arched brow, a silent question of ‘why are you doing this?’ ignoring your questioning look he sprawled himself on his twin-bed, his hands clasping in his lap waiting for you to change.

you put on the clothes he layed out, feeling james’ left hand tug you onto his chest when you were done. oh his soft, pillowy chest, you almost felt tempted to fall asleep right then and there.

“darling girl, tell me what’s going on?” he softly questioned while stroking your hair with one hand, his other arm stroking your back.

“i just—“ you stuttered, feeling a wave of tears glossing over your eyes. “i feel like everything is going so, so, wrong. m’so afraid of failing, i want to be better! i don’t want to be like m’terrible family, but it all feels like so much!” you mewled into his shirt, his grasp growing a bit tighter in an effort to psychically comfort you.

“baby, you’re nothing like your family, you have to know that?” he directed your vision to his gaze, the soft marks of mascara down your dampened face only made his gaze softer.

“you work so hard on trying to be not like your family, you don’t even know how amazing you truly are. you’re so generous, you’re always willing to help someone even if you don’t like them, i know i wouldn’t have that patience!” he softly chuckled, seeing a faded grin on your lips.

you sniffed as he continued his praise, “you’re such a hard worker, and i’m truly in awe of you. you’re the one person who truly puts her best foot forward and it’s so incredibly amazing, but you’re working so hard your exhausting yourself. y/n, it’s breaking me to see you like that.” you saw small wet streaks around his eyes, not truly realizing your self destructive habits had been harming people around you; had been harming him.

“jamie, i’m— im so sorry!” feeling the wash of emotions suddenly bundled up wash all over you, your nervous system feeling overwhelmed with the emotions of sadness, guilt and anger bubble up all at once. you whimpered into his shirt, spewing out mumbled apologies that were barely coherent due to all the sobs.

“shh- shh, don’t apologize.” he articulated, shifting his hips up and grabbing a folded parchment from his back pocket.

“w—whats that?” you questioned, trying to calm down the mewls and whimpers that wanted to escape your throat.

“this, darling, is a schedule.” he pointed out, a week schedule with times on it that labeled your subjects as well as times of the day. he also dedicated certain parts of every single day with “james!!” in bright red ink.

“so those,” he pointed out, directly at all the times he wrote his name leading up to the newt dates, “are times you and me spend together, no studying, just loving. so i can remind my beautiful, smart, and amazing talented loving girlfriend how astonishing she is.” he said with a grin, proud of himself.

“you really know how to charm a girl, potter.” you may have teased, but without him you don’t know what you would’ve done. james was truly your saviour, your light, stars to your moon; if you will.

he was yours, and you were definitely his. 

taglist: @fathermarty @kittykylax @terr0rizer @aspiringsloth20 @dear-luna @famdomhideout @hufflepogue

[shadyteacup]

Hi! I just read your angst with Chuuya and Dazai, and my God wasn’t that a tasty, juicy, beautiful angst. I LOVED IT. I would love to see a Kunikida x Reader angst from your pen (because I love torturing myself). Kunikida is in love with the reader, but he refuses to accept his feelings and distances himself from her every passing day, and he has to endure the suffering of losing her to Dazai as he sees that they grow closer and closer (romantically) every day.

I hope this idea inspires you 💕

Did someone say torture👀😏 I love hurting myself n others by writing angst, n baby, this is an AMAZING idea.. the amout of pain..wow😈

Kunikida doppo x fem! Reader x Osamu Dazai

Warnings: angst, bit of fluff, but mostly angst, slight swearing.

Word count: 1,557

Biggest Mistake

"Good morning, Kunikida-san!"

You greet him as you walk in the office.

He merely grunts in reply. Your heart pains at this. Were you so non-ideal for him? Did you not fulfill even one of the qualities of his ideal woman? Whenever you tried talking to him, he would shut you out. Does he hate you? If yes, then why? Did you do something to offend him?

You sigh, walking over to your desk. The air was getting awkward, and it didn't help that you both were the only ones here.

Then again, maybe Kunikida wasn't feeling awkward at all. He just simply doesn't care.

Taking out your laptop from the bag, you set it up on the desk. You had a few files to submit by the end of today. They would take up atleast two hours of your time. If you got started now, you could have the rest of the day to fool around.

You opened it, but couldn't bring yourself to start your work. You logged into your Gmail to pass time, instead.

From: handsomebrunette@gmail.com

Hello belladonna!

I am writing this to you to get permission from you. May I please have the permission to rob you of an hour of your day, today?

Love,

Mr. Handsome

You giggled at his antics.

Reply to handsomebrunette@gmail.com

Hello Mr. Handsome,

Are you proposing a date?

Love(?),

The Woman ;)

You have never had a dull moment with Dazai before. Ever since he has set his mind to woo you, you have had quite an interesting time. He obviously liked you. Did you like him back?

Well, earlier, not really. Your heart used to belong to Kunikida. But he never seemed to give a rat's ass about you. So you tried to move on. That's when you realized just how charming your other coworker is.

At first, it felt wrong to like Dazai in a romantic way. You had just been heartbroken over the fact that your long time crush just doesn't like you, and pursuing Dazai felt like you were making him a replacement.

But then again, you had never even told Kunikida that you liked him, so he had never actually 'rejected' you. He only conveyed it through his actions and rude comments. You even thought that maybe he's just a tsundere, but soon realized that the man just doesn't like you at all.

Dazai was quick to realize what was going on. At first, he had tried to bring you two together by using his tricks, like forcing Kunikida into the same room as you and locking it from the outside, pretending to have pranked him and not realized that someone else was already in there. He had tried to get Kunikida to open up to you, too. But that man was born with a stick up his ass, and even Dazai's manipulative schemes weren't enough to make him confess. Dazai knew that Kunikida actually liked you back. He was well aware of his colleague's affections and the fact that he was going through a denial phase. Kunikida couldn't accept that he liked you because he still had a few years left to find himself a wife. His ideals prevented him from wooing you. Besides, he was not one to be crystal clear about his emotions. So he pushed you away. Whenever you tried to talk to him, or approach him, he would push you away with his rude words.

Dazai, obviously, understood that. He also knew that if you tried hard enough, you could get Kunikida to open up. But that was a tiring path to take. It would drain you of your mental peace, and by the time Kunikida actually accepts his feelings for you, you would be too tired to give a fuck. You'd have given up by then. It would break your heart and torture your sanity.

Dazai would be there for you, if you decide to choose that path, that is, but he also liked you. He had liked you ever since you joined the ada. He hadn't approached you yet, because he was aware of his coworker's feelings. He respected Kunikida's emotions, and had decided to back off. But there were so many times when he wanted to abandon his respect for the blonde, and just confess to you. He was slowly falling for you, and he knew that it scared him, but he couldn't live another day knowing that he was sacrificing a chance of being with someone he truly adores, for a man who wasn't even ready to admit that he has feelings for you. He couldn't do that. He loved you a bit too much.

So he decided to fuck Kunikida's feelings and stupid decisions, and just woo you himself. If you reject him, he would be fine, because atleast he tried. He wouldn't be able to live with himself if he didn't even try.

He was pleasantly surprised to watch how you fell for him over the days. He could notice how you changed bit by bit, blushing at things that you would have laughed off earlier. You both were really close friends before he started flirting with you, and it was funny watching you get flustered at things that he used to do often as a friend.

Such as now. He was standing outside the office, peeking in through a crack in the doorway. He watched as you read his email and grinned, your ears turning red. You typed a quick reply, and sat with your chin on your palm, your eyes dreamy.

He watched you and subconsciously smiled at your adorable face.

He read your reply on his phone, and smirked at the sherlock reference. Both of you had binge watched the entire series together.

Reply to justanotherhooman@gmail.com

Dearest woman,

That's quite bold of you! If you so desire to go on a date with this handsome man, who is he to deny the wish of such a beautiful woman? I shall pick you up at 1pm. Be ready, dearest.

Love,

Mr. Handsome ♡

He watched you read his reply and shake your head, amused at his choice of words. He then decided to make an entrance.

"Good morning Bella! And you too, Kunikida-kun."

He smiled at you.

You greeted him, and smirked.

"So, Mr. Handsome, you mean to drag me out of here at 1, but where do you intend to take me?"

He smirked back at you, leaning on his elbows on your desk, closing majority of the space between your faces.

"Where do you want me to take you, hmm?"

He was so close to you, you could feel his breath on your face. You gulped at the intoxicating aura that this man carried.

"Where do you have in mind?"

He lifted one palm, and traced a pattern on your cheek with his finger. He traced the shape of your lips, making you part them slightly. Licking his own lips at the sight, he began leaning closer to you, eyes focused on your rosy lips.

Just as he was about to reach his destination, Kunikida cleared his throat.

"Get to work, both of you."

You both parted, looking away. You were beyond embarrassed. But you were also angry. You wanted to know what was going to happen, although you had a slight idea. You hated Kunikida for interrupting you.

Kunikida couldn't bear to watch what would have happened if he hadn't intervened. He couldn't bear to see you kiss another man. He knew that he was being stupid, but he just couldn't loose you. He wanted to confess to you, too. He had realized that he loved you, but it was too late now. You had already given up on him, and had found Dazai. He couldn't ruin it for you now. So he ignored you when you greeted him, shouted at you even though you didn't do anything wrong and gave you the cold shoulder to keep you away. Besides, you looked happy pursuing Dazai. Maybe he was the right man for you. It pained Kunikida to think this way, but it was the truth. You were better off with someone else. Maybe he just isn't right for you.

As he watched you and Dazai smile at each other from your positions on your respective desks, he couldn't help but notice your blush. You used to blush at his actions earlier. Now you don't even smile at him. He is the one to blame for that. But he felt a pang in chest, anyway.

Watching you with Dazai would suck all the happiness out of him. He would forever mourn the fact that he let you go. He ruined a potential relationship. Only now does he realize just how much he cares for you. Now, he could never have have you.

Abruptly standing up, Kunikida walked over to the washroom, avoiding any of your gazes.

Closing the door behind him, he took off his glasses, placing them in his front pocket.

Gripping the basin, he leaned into it to support himself. He looked into the mirror, and saw a defeated man look back at him, with blonde hair and tired eyes, desperately holding back his tears. What a pathetic state he has brought himself to. If only he had loved you before.

[issahanko]

Adventures of a Rola

Adventures of a « Rola ». 1

So I booked a small room on an Airbnb where you could see there was a queen bed, not too fancy but fair enough for the price listed. I was gonna sleep there three nights.

And the neighborhood was adorable, the beautiful Montreal style houses, trees at both sides of the street with autumn leaves falling and it has just rained so the street was shiny, and the smell was amazing. I was so excited and felt like I was in a movie. And I started singing bidam bu bum brabadabii

And then I got to the address and I climbed up the cute small steps of the stair, I open the door and boum! It’s the tiniest smallest shitty place with three midget beds on the left, a small corridor, a crappy kitchen full of fruit flies, and if it wasn’t for the facemask, anyone would have seen my smile turn upside down. What the actual hell! But I’m a warrior (I said to myself) I’ve slept in worse places… how bad could it be? Right?

The host was this 50 something old white man that actually lived there, on the biggest room which was tops, only a 6 m2 room.

But I had no choice… It was a non-refundable reservation and when I saw again the tittle of the Airbnb I reserved… It literally said, “tiny hostel”.

I guess it’s my bad, right?

The host started to state the fucking rules, and made an emphasis on: There is no curfew

So… why would he say it like that if there is none?

And then he started talking, and showing me a (again) tiny little map of Mtl where there is just half of the island, as if it was designed to this tiny house, which was kind of a half house herself…

Little did he know that I have lived in Mtl for 3 years already… But as a good Latina, I let him mansplain, to make him feel he was in power of the situation/conversation. He talked and explained over 40 minutes while I was holding a fart all the time.

Then I wrote my mom and sister to let them know I was ok and that the place was ok, also, to reassure myself that I was ok.

I mean, it wasn’t that bad… I would have loved a little bit more of privacy and a closed bedroom to sleep/watch/talk by the phone all I wanted but, well, what was done was done.

The host wasn’t that bad either, he invited me to eat dinner with him, which I refused, not because I’m a good Latina, but mostly, because everything he was eating looked expired…. Mushrooms that seemed like rocks, eggs that weren’t in the fridge, cheese that had mold on it. But I accepted some oranges that looked ok and a delicious jasmine green tea, which I drank all by myself and consequently had to suffer going to the bathroom several times before going to bed.

The conversation was dull, again, him speaking 80% of the time and giving glory and praises to his city. Mtl’s the first city of the world in this and the second on that and bla bla bla

But I don’t know why I liked him, I think he’s a gay man in denial with his sexuality because of his stupid religious beliefs, but then, I have been mistaken judging people so many times, because I always see the best on them…  I think I kinda pitied him.

So, everything was ok, except for the reason I was there in the first place.

Before going to bed I wrote to my sister until she fell asleep and then my mother was awake — time difference of 6 hours ahead — then I talked to her until 5am.

I couldn’t sleep for two reasons, the bed was horribly small and irregularly stiff, and my other problem, the problem which had taken me to an Airbnb in the city I live.

I improvised a bigger bed; I filled the whole that separates the two tiny mattresses with the blankets that were left. And to fall asleep I composed two pieces for children in an imaginary piano on my legs: Pluie au Piano, and Diplomatie à trois.

Form the imaginary book for children to learn piano called: Conversations au piano.

They were so good that I laughed to myself and calmed my thoughts a little, making the promise to write them for real latter – as you can imagine, I do this for so many great ideas jajaja -.

Although I liked the host, I was a bit scared of him too. Specially because of the invitation he made me to a Full Moon gather away on Verdun’s beach to commemorate women…. But I had a no-dream sleep and woke up like new by 10h30

(to be continued….)

Second part here: https://issahanko.tumblr.com/post/665667613245014016/adventures-of-a-rola-2

[kryptsune]

World Building Wednesday! ~Felldritch

🌼I got a request to do a WBW for Felldritch and since there have been updates to the overall world and lore I wanted to make sure this was all in a nice little package! If you have questions and want to learn more let me know the ask box is always open!  So let's get started! Oh and here is a link to the fic! FELLDRITCH

Felldritch

Classification: HorrorFELL

Cult  Alternate “Nicknames”:

Red: Saw Boss: Corvus

Gaster: Sephtis

Asriel: Saber Toriel: Ameria

Asgore: Kirnon

Undyne: Ryx Alphys: Vesh Muffet: Carmilla Grillby: Noire MTT: Faust

Doggo: Croix

Riverperson: Bastet (Tet)

Main Plot Synop: Felldritch takes place after a pacifist run by Frisk. The story briefly goes as follows. Frisk ends up in the Underworld (Underground) and befriends the monsters and wants to set them free. It is basically a way watered down version of WTU in essence. Once reaching the end of her journey the monsters refuse to let her be that final soul. They would rather wait and figure out something else but with her Determination she promises to return to them and set them free. At this point in time she is around 18-19. Asriel sacrifices himself to that end to see her leave through the barrier only for the humans to capture the poor girl after she leaves. They conclude that she is not mentally stable due to her insistence that monsters are real and throw her into an asylum/sanitarium to be “treated”. Nearly 5+ years later and she manages to escape finding herself once again in the Underworld only it is far different from what she remembers. At this point, she is questioning whether anything is real or not. After being “treated” for so long she doesn’t quite know which reality is the true one. As Red (aka Saw) points out:

The Brothers: 

Red: The younger brother of the two. His attachment to Frisk stems into more of a relationship though he blames himself for loosing her all those years ago. This psychological state causes him to throw himself into the problem that is befalling their world. At first nothing seems to combat this intrusive forest and horrifying beasts but he learns to utilize his magic in a different way. Prior to this he is what one would think of a a Red type but after meeting Frisk he promises to not only change his heart but also the hearts of others. Instead of destructive magical ability he follows in his brothers footsteps and takes up healing practice. 

In the world he is known as the merchant, the one that tends to give out healing items in exchange for coin but the bulk of his business relies on talismans or charms to ward off the evil plaguing their home. As far as they all know these magically infused charms are powerful and have incredible protective capabilities. He runs a wagon that travels around the entire Underworld.

In the current timeline he more sympathetic and empathetic. The concept of Kill or be Killed is no longer a factor. This is mainly about survival and for the most part the other monsters are aware that working together is their best option though their heightened paranoia (validly founded btw) makes it difficult sometimes. His personality is lighthearted on the surface, making jokes, and being a good guy. In a way he reminds me of Jester who tries not to dwell on what is going on but is fully aware of the situation. Red wears a blindfold in public to keep up appearances but he has no vision or eye light problems.

Boss: After Frisk’s departure from the Underworld, Boss, takes her words to heart. Unlike the majority of Fell Pap characterization he is very soft. When he feels his brother no longer needs his guidance he begins to feel purposeless until he learns that like his brother he has the magical ability for healing. As Red is the charm merchant of the two, Boss is the apothecary. His design harkens to plague doctors back in the 17th century. He grows all his own herbs and spices but he is particularly fond of tea. He also wears a blindfold just like Red but unlike Red he does in fact have damage to his left eye socket where the teal color of his eye lights no longer inhabits. 

The two combined help their fellow monsters as much as they can but in a world of uncertainty how are you supposed to know who to trust? 

Frisk’s Mental Demons: The psychological toll on Frisk is great as she has been told constantly that she made up her time in the Underworld in order to shut herself away into a fantasy world. A world where she had a family… where she is loved and wanted. This happens frequently as the “Doctors” continuously try to refute her experiences or sensations medically.  Every time she goes to sleep in the Underworld she ends up back at the Asylum tied down kicking and screaming. 

She only wakes up again when she is sedated. Rinse and repeat. The question is… is it real? Or rather which is real. The doctors go on to state that her dark state of mind twisted her original concept behind her “family” making them this eldritch styled horror. He also goes onto explain that the reason she is so drawn and close to Red is that it is her “flirting with death”. That she is accepting that outcome because if she continues to resist treatment she will die and the moment she trusts him in her “fantasy” that will be the end. These kinds of situations happen a lot.

There are also instances when the lines between real and fiction are blurred as Frisk's behavior consists apparently of defensive aggression, auditory, visual, and olfactory hallucination, acute paranoia, anxiety, and PTSD. One such example of this is her apparent psychiatrist, Dr. Cyrus Reycroft, who happens to have an uncanny resemblance to her skeletal friend if he was human. 

The Beasts: Felldritch plays off Eldritch horror aka the fear of the unknown. As Frisk reunites with Red she is subjected to a rather concerning conversation in which he explains the situation they are in. He mentions having crossed into an upside down broken and colorless world which drew both himself and his older brother into. It is implied that the two stepped into a dimensional space that was able to then afflict those within their own dimension. Over time the inhabitants begin to go missing and great otherworldly hellish beasts begin appearing. The inhabitants come to the conclusion that these creatures can not afflict you with their corruption if you can not see, hear, or speak in their presence. This mindset has some rather gruesome implications as inhabitants become irrationally desperate mutilating themselves to adhere to the new "See no evil, Speak no evil, Hear no evil”.

The Occult World: The cult as I keep referring to it as is a group of powerful monsters. After the deposition of the King the other monsters begin to become influenced by outside sources. They begin to believe that any fallen humans are the angels of death and because of this they will kill humans on sight, of course, they want to live in denial of their horrible deeds because monster souls are supposed to be made up of love and kindness. Unlike the cult that wishes to break the barrier, the rest want to stay hidden from the beasts above believing that the humans are to blame for all that has happened.

The senses play a huge roll in this idea as the beasts are rumored to be able to use souls like puppets, as in spys, if they are corrupted. It essentially becomes like a hive mind with the main entity being able to see, hear, and speak through those it comes in contact with. It’s no secret that Red is in fact infected by this entity in some form as this is a quote from the fic:

A set of antlers snagged the velvety cape as he worked the metalwork to release its hold on the material around his throat.

Bony fingers tugged on the bunched up fabric and pulled it back, revealing a charcoal grey sweater underneath. It was soft to the touch but just hidden beneath the wool she caught a glimpse of off white colored bone. There were bits and pieces that had been chipped off, knicks, and cuts. Even before they had met Red had some scars especially around his collarbone but that was not what caused her to gasp. His hood remained over his head as if using it to shield his expression from her view, “See?” He flinched when her fingers traced some of the scars.

She didn’t want to appear like she was fearful of what she was witnessing but her fingers quivered, pulling them back toward herself. A soft whimper of a voice left her, “R...Red…” There intertwined with the magically composed vertebrae of his spine were branches. The same deep blackish red wood that plagued this entire forest. It wove itself through the bone engulfing portions of his ribs, twisting it into chilling patterns. If it was allowed to continue its infestation it would crack his ribcage open in a bloodless gaping fissure. She could just make out that gentle white and crimson glow shrouded by the wood. Was that his soul? There was no other explanation.

It looked like the branches were trying to worm their way toward that glowing heart, pierce it, and absorb it into its oily black, almost pulsating bark. That was only one singular aspect of horror that she was now subjected to. Her eyes followed the trail that crept through the bone following the knots and twists that crept up and underneath where his skull attached to his spine.

The grip that he kept on her hand only tightened while the other shifted to pull the hood off his skull. Her eyes widened, reddish-brown irises wavering within a sea of white. A hand rose to land on her mouth, now agape in a silent gasp. She could see the same strange bark that comprised his antlers exited straight out of his skull. There were fractures that radiated from above the temporal portion of his cranium in concentric circles. The same kind of patterning one would see from blunt force trauma. Only this had pushed out the bone externally rather than internally. His sockets no longer contained those ever dulling carmine eye lights as her own eyes traced the hairline cracks along his head. She could not imagine the kind of pain a transformation like that would have caused him. There were places where the bone had tried to heal and suture itself back together, forming around the bark.

Angel of Salvation (a.k.a. The Eldritch Horror)- What the cult has been working toward is summoning their “savior” with the help of the human souls they are bound to. It gives them extra abilities and power. Each within the ranks is bound to a human soul. Their leader ??? wants to use this power to summon an “angel.” It turns out that is actually an unholy amalgamated eldritch beast/god out for blood instead. Humanity will perish and the monsters will take control of the surface once more. That is the reality. (The cult including Red is told otherwise).

[rantsintechnicolor]

Speculation, chapter 1: Hal as a half-demon, (byline) and the sins of his parents

Hal’s mother had always felt there was something special and mysterious about her husband. She got this sense that everything was going to be alright when they were together. When they moved to the United States from Korea and their life was still so unsure, she still felt oddly comforted. They could make it work anywhere and there would always be plenty. She had no doubt they would be able to have a good life in the States, and God would provide for them, and when she had children, He would provide for them as well. That was before she knew about the demon.

Upon arriving in the States, they found an apartment, jobs, a church and settled in. Then they started dreaming and her husband dreamed about being an artist. They upgraded to a house in a rich, safe neighborhood with good schools, then popped out a few kids and loved their chubby babies to the moon and back. But then something changed. She woke up one morning and looked at her husband; the shine that had always surrounded him had dulled. The patina of his radiance had changed. His unhappiness manifested in him with fewer smiles, less engagement with his family, and he started working too much-- at least, that’s what he said he was doing. They spent less time together, and doubts she used to be able to shrug off became more persistent. They argued more about his absence, but she never accused him. One day she insisted they pray to God about it, together, and her husband said to her,

“What God?” The derision dripped from his voice like the ichor from the wound of an old god’s minion. He was irrationally disgusted by her ignorance, while knowing he was the only one that could inform her, which made him ashamed of himself. “There is no God. There is only the fickle power of demons.” Each word fell like a mallet pounding into her flesh, and it echoed inside her, throbbing in her spine and skull, rattling in her chest too close to her heart, a truth so powerful she could feel it. Still, she attempted to deny it, her voice faltering. How could the man who she started a life with, who sat beside her in church, how could he say this, and how could he say it like that? 

Her husband went from disgusted to angry. So angry he decided to punish her with the truth, “They exist,” he said bitterly. “A demon has followed my family for generations. For so long it gave us good fortune, like the Christian guardian angels. But it has betrayed us. I am not Hal’s father. He is.” 

Color drained from her face. She spluttered out denials, but couldn’t finish the sentences. It was as though someone was stopping her mouth. Her husband left without saying his destination. 

She did her best to appear normal when she picked up the kids from school, played with them, fed them, tucked them into bed, and was questioned, where’s daddy. She watched Hal closely, marveling at his perfection and beauty. And there was something else. There was an energy emanating from him. A strange glow to his skin and glint to his eye that his sister did not have. 

She waited until her husband came home very late that night. He was exhausted, calm and apologetic when he returned. 

“Why did you never tell me about the demon?” she asked quietly, calmly, more calm than she actually felt. 

“Would you have believed me?” He said, tears in his eyes. 

“I-I don't know.”

“And do you believe me now?” She nodded. Tears spilled out of them both.

She asked him how he had known. It was hard to explain how he figured it out and how or when they had been tricked, or even how often the trick had worked. With all the signs he exhibited, the demon energy whipping off Hal when he became emotional, she still wanted to deny the truth of the parentage of her beloved boy. Deep down she knew her husband was right, but also, he was wrong. Her Christian God existed just like this demon existed. She felt Him. She could feel Him. And she hoped God was still on their side. She hoped God would intervene. She prayed to Jesus.

Hal’s mother and her husband worried over the best way to raise a half human child. Really, all they could do was their best. They didn’t doubt Hal’s father still lingered near them. They hoped if they took very good care of his child, the demon would see and show its gratitude by returning good fortune to their family. There were times Hal’s mother felt a boon was granted, but the dark sense of foreboding never completely left her. 

Her husband felt such guilt that it had happened that he stayed distant. He blamed himself for the demon’s behavior, and wondered what he had done to lose its favor. He was also afraid; he couldn’t explain why, but he was right to be afraid. And the family continued to struggle though the eighties and nineties, which precipitated their eventual divorce.

Hal’s mother and her husband often argued whether they should tell Hal about his father. When do you tell your child he is half demon? Is there ever a good time to give such news? They feared how he would process the information as a young boy, and at any age, really. Would it empower or corrupt him? Would he believe them? Would he call them crazy? Would he tell his friends and be frustrated when they laughed at him? Was this lie a sin? Was deliberately keeping the truth from him enough to damn them in the eyes of the demon and her Christian God? 

Hal was an angry child. He struggled with otherness as a teenager (all those hormones!) and living in a society where many still distrusted and hated Asian immigrants. What if he found how to tap his demon power and used it to punish people? They did nothing to reign in his rebellions for fear he might lash out at them and blast them to oblivion. What a terrible thing that would be for a child to live with. They suspected his cutting school minimized danger to his friends, saw him soothed by his terrible music choices (grunge), and his use of marijuana dulled the demon powers and violent impulses, though it made them look like they couldn’t control their child. They hoped not controlling him was the best thing for him. You don’t want to trap even a half-demon and incur their wrath. 

The demon did indeed remain watching their family, as he had watched the whole family for thousands of years. He knew all the stories and hardships that could befall humans. Times may have changed, but humans hadn’t changed much. He would sometimes amuse himself by interfering and influencing their lives; he got blamed for a lot more misfortune than he caused, and didn’t get near enough credit for his positive interventions. Hal’s mother alone showed gratitude for his generosity, and for that he loved her. She was always grateful he had given her Hal. For good measure, he heard her thank God and Jesus, too. (He didn’t mind sharing her gratitude, as Jesus and God were pretty cool dudes.)

However, the demon was dissatisfied with Hal’s parenting, specifically with the humans’ hands off approach. Hal’s mother and her husband could have provided more structure and discipline and the demon could and did shield them from Hal’s power-filled outbursts. Though he had not expected Hal to be so powerful. He expected a dilution of powers, but instead their potency had been amplified. The demon could not always contain, redirect or absorb all the power of Hal’s outbursts, but there was no question that he could destroy Hal if it came to that. The energy that escaped the demon inadvertently damaged things and people around him. Therapy might have helped Hal, but when he was growing up it was stigmatized, and Hal’s parents couldn’t afford it anyway. As an adult, Hal structured his life without time for it, and it was never important enough for him to make time. He also thought he had all the answers after getting his psychology degree. Perhaps, the demon part of him made him over confident. 

He continued to struggle after high school. He was torn between pleasing himself and pleasing his parents, and tried so hard to do both. At least they didn’t give him that, “we uprooted our lives to come here so you could have a better life,” speech. Well, not directly, so he still felt the pressure of it, and the parents of all his friends reinforced it. Demon or no, he made good decisions, decisions meant to help people. But he never weighed their costs before incorporating them into his life. He bit off more than he could chew, and instead of scaling back he would double down and spend all his energy proving to himself and everyone else that he could do it. He was in perpetual burnout and this pattern ensured the failure he desperately attempted to avoid.

Love was difficult for him. He loved his friends and his family, but finding a partner, a lover, that transcendent love that most people raved about and few people argued against (if they did they were written off as bitter and butthurt)-- it eluded him and frustrated him. He met wonderful women, fell in love with multiple women, but none of it seemed right. Relationships that did blossom ended in spectacular failure, soul crushing betrayal, and depressing inadequacy. 

Hal’s failures in love were not all his own mistakes; the demon purposefully blocked him. He whispered to Hal all the doubts about his love interest, and then whispered doubts to those potential partners. Rather than confer and discuss with the women to challenge these doubts, Hal believed the voice in his head. The demon justified this sabotage citing the amplification of his power in Hal. What if it amplified again in Hal’s child? He might not be able to contain it if it was greater than Hal’s nor strong enough to destroy the child if it came to that. He had tried to assess the power of the fetus growing in Hal’s ex-girlfriend, but the demon could not touch the dividing mass of cells. It was surrounded by an impenetrable barrier. However, the barrier was not impenetrable to human medicine. The demon was relieved when the relationship fell apart and their fetus was aborted. 

That aborted child; Hal always regretted it. His gaze would follow families at the grocery store, in parks, and at restaurants. Right after the procedure, he remembers watching a father and son loading the car outside a shop; a small child would reach to accept an item from his papa and then place it in the car with a huge smile on his face, a smile of pride to be helping or playing a game with daddy. The boy’s father smiled on him indulgently, and touched the child’s head, gratified at this moment that he had raised a child that loved him back enough to help him and enjoying this time before he became a shithead teenager. The child was congratulated by pretty strangers for helping daddy, at whom he batted his eyelashes with a big, flirty smile while shyly wrapping his arms around daddy’s leg. Hal wanted that bond more than anything. He romanticized it, which made the ache for it even worse.

Hal secretly married a woman so she could stay in the country; one of his good deeds, and he congratulated himself. Neither of them properly considered how this would trap them both. While he did love her and considered her his best friend, the tone set by the conditions of the marriage doomed it. It always felt temporary. She wasn’t perfect like he hoped she would become to him. They didn’t live together, so they never built that team most married couples became. And she felt trapped. They never discussed seeing people outside the relationship, and when she seemed like she might be, he became upset. It made him ashamed of himself, because it’s not like he didn’t flirt mercilessly with other women. He felt trapped, because he wanted kids, and she didn’t.   

His work as a filmmaker was his solace. He wondered if the only true love he would find was with his potential legacy and not one person. As he grew older, he started to question if that legacy he wanted so badly and worked so hard for would ever manifest. Those questions left him feeling empty and wondering what it was all for. He was able to recharge himself in nature when he felt his worst. He loved Yosemite and when he couldn’t get there, he was lucky to live in a city with large pockets of open space. His wife would drag him out for walks and he took many walks with his mom around the lake and reservoir nearby. The women could see the positive change in him. Even though he couldn’t feel what they noticed, he did begin to enjoy it eventually.

While Hal’s mother didn’t know the extent of the demon’s interference in their lives, she was still proud of her son. Despite all the heartbreak he’d experienced personally and the heartbreak he experienced everyday looking at the broken world, he always struggled to do right. He was almost forty when she started telling him this. She said it as often as she could, when she knew he would hear it. And her husband, though they had divorced, was seeing it and speaking about it also. It seemed like such a small thing, but it made a huge difference for Hal. Their approval, pride, and love was a balm to his exhausted and frustrated soul. The demon felt the change also. The entire energy around the family began to change. And finally, Hal started making time for therapy.

To this day, Hal still doesn’t know his father is a demon. And to this day, his parents are not sure they should tell him. When his mother dies, he might go through her things, and he might find a letter that she wrote but was never sure she would give to him. He might find it, but he might just as easily shred it with the rest of the documents she didn’t need anymore.

My dear son, 

Your father and I have kept a secret from you. I am your mother, but the man you think is your father-- he raised you, but he did not make you. Your father is a demon, the same demon that has followed his family for a thousand years. My husband doesn’t think I should tell you, and that it is too dangerous for you to know that you have power. Maybe he is right. I’m not yet convinced, but maybe this letter will still not reach you. Knowing may not make things better. 

We were tricked, my husband and I. Please do not hate us for things we couldn’t control and change. If you want to hate us, you can hate us for this lie we made to you because of our fear. As a half demon, I think you are entitled to hate the imperfection of humans. As a half human, I hope you can forgive us.

I’ve seen you suffer all this time, with suicidal thoughts when you were a teenager, with depression throughout your life. It is hard to know if it is just you or the part of you that is a demon. 

It doesn’t matter. You are a good soul, despite what our family has suffered. We love you very much. 

Mom.

[see https://rantsintechnicolor.tumblr.com/post/696737354508042240/speculation]

[inspiration: American Gods, Inuyasha, Lovecraft Country]

[deleted scene: describing the demon and jesus high fiving over the water cooler and chatting about their favorite humans or ideology seemed too funny and out of place in the rest of the story. But it’s too funny not to mention down here.]

[nctsjiho]

Alternate Universe

warnings: mention of COVID. This is was meant to be pure fluff ngl, but you might’ve guessed it, that’s not how it turned out.

era: May 2021

❀ During a sleepover in JiHo’s new apartment, she and Renjun imagine how life would be if NCT never met each other

“Okay, but with space being infinitely big, who says there can’t be multiple universes. And maybe, one of those universes could be an alternate universe similar to ours.” JiHo hummed as she listened to Renjun’s rant - which had been going on for about 30 minutes at this point. She pulled her blanket up to her chin and closed her eyes. “Do you think we’d still have met in that universe? Do you think NCT exists there?”

JiHo let out a deep sigh, “Go to sleep Renjun, it’s already past 1.” She turned her head to look at Renjun who was slightly pouting and she let out a small chuckle. “I just wonder how things would’ve been if we hadn’t met each other.” Renjun then locked eyes with the girl. “Any of us.”

Sitting up straight against the arm rest of her new L-shaped couch, JiHo stretched her arms. Renjun mirrored her action on the other end of the couch, curious as to why JiHo did so, she had been nagging him to shut up and sleep earlier anyway.

“As for me...” She trailed off. Renjun took notice of how JiHo’s eyes had focused on nothing particular. Even in the dimly lit room he could see how her eyes looked so bright yet charming. He never told anyone, but JiHo’s greenish eyes were one of his favourite things to look at. They were so pretty and interesting. Not only was she the only member who didn’t have just brown eyes, but something about them had him get lost in her eyes whenever he got the chance to look at them closely.

JiHo coughed before continuing. “I’d be in France right now. Probably had a reckless childhood with my weird friends and helping out at my grandparents’ pension.” Even though Renjun felt sad that he wasn’t part of that alternate-universe-childhood, he couldn’t help but smile when JiHo did. Reminiscing the childhood she had and imagining how it would’ve continued if she’d never gone to Korea to become an idol made her feel nostalgic in a sense. She didn’t get to experience it, but she could imagine it as if it really happened.

“I’d probably have a dog and live a normal middle-class, country side, family and friends oriented life. Maybe continued on with rope skipping and actually go semi-professional.” She contently sighed. “What about you?” JiHo’s eyes fell on Renjun’s shadowy figure. The light coming from the window only hit the far side of his body, so JiHo couldn’t really make out much of his appearance.

“I don’t know. I actually don’t know.” JiHo laughed softly. “Oh, don’t tell me you theorised about aliens, alternate universes, ghost, any kind of supernatural, but you’ve never thought about life without NCT?” Her mocking, yet innocently playful tone elicited a chuckle from him. “I guess I would’ve went on with school and worked hard to get into a good university so I could get a good job.”

“And your art? You’re really talented, you could do something with that.” The unexpected compliment casted a pink tinge on Renjun’s cheeks and he was so happy JiHo couldn’t make it out in the darkness of the room. “Hm. Maybe.” He hummed bashfully.

The two sit in silence for a bit before Renjun speaks up again. “How is it living here?” The sudden break in silence makes JiHo jump the tinniest bit and her head quickly turns to face Renjun. He laughs. “Sorry, didn’t mean to startle you.”

His eyes scan the room, or at least what he can see of it. He already got used to the dark, so he could the silhouettes of all the furniture in the spacious apartment. The living room, kitchen and dining era was bigger than those in most of the NCT dorms, but this apartment only had 2 bedrooms, a bathroom, a toilet and a small dressing room - it might as well just be a closet. It looked way more trendy than his dorm. “Esteem must have some good money.” He thought.

“It looks nice.” He then looked at JiHo, awaiting her response. “It looks nice yeah.” Her voice sounded way less chipper than it did before. “Why? Do you not like it?” Once again, JiHo’s head snaps up. “No, I do like it. It’s pretty big, not too much furniture so it’s easy to clean. My bedroom is big enough for a queen size bed. It’s nice.” “You don’t seem too happy about it though.”

Jiho sighed and let her body fall back down in a lying position on the couch. “It’s lonely.” She stated simply. No other explanation, just those two words. “What about your manager?” Renjun asked, but then he remembered. He, and no one of the other members who have visited her over the past two weeks had really seen her manager. Maybe one or twice in passing, but the manager wasn’t in the apartment for more than an hour whenever they came over.

A groan escaped the sleepy girl’s lips as she stretched her arms out in front of her. “She’s still managing for another talent under Esteem. And that person has a lot of schedules currently, so my manager is just out working all the time.” “But we come by often, and you come over to the dorms as well.” JiHo nodded, not necessarily for Renjun to see, she didn’t think he would either way, but he did. “So?” “It’s only the second time someone stayed over here. Which I really enjoy by the way.” She quickly added as not to offend Renjun because of her rather gloomy tone.

“It’s just that whenever I come back home, whether it’s from the company or from your guys’ dorms, I just get hit by the fact that I’m alone in this apartment.” Renjun sympathised with the girl, understanding why it could make her feel lonely. “Not only that, it also makes me realise that NCT really is all I have. I don’t have many other friends, or at least not those who I hang out with. It’s only you guys.”

Not wanting to face Renjun, whether he was able to see the disheartened look on her face or not, JiHo pulled her blanket up to her chin again. “My family lives about 12 plus hours away by plane. I haven’t seen them in six years, and quite frankly, I’m not sure when I get to see them again.”

Renjun felt his stomach sink a little as JiHo slowly lost her ability to hide her real feelings. Each word sounded more and more painful to utter, sounded like it took more energy, it just felt so sad.

In an attempt to cheer JiHo up, Renjun spoke up. “Hey, once COVID is over, you should just get on a plane and visit them.” JiHo let out a bitter laugh and it makes Renjun’s heart clench. Did he say something wrong?

“You don’t think that in those six years I could’ve just gotten on a plane and visited them?” JiHo asked, her tone sounding just as, if not more bitter then her laugh just a second earlier. “Don’t you think that my family could’ve just jumped on a plane and visited me?” She scoffed. Of course it wasn’t directed to Renjun, rather the situation itself, but the boy couldn’t help but feel a bit targeted. He didn’t blame her though, it must of been so frustrating for her.

“Do you mind me asking why it didn’t happen then?” JiHo looked at Renjun, who had pushed himself up further on the couch, his legs now crossed in front of him. “There’s literally no reason it didn’t happen before. It doesn’t make sense that I never went back or that my family never came here. It’s just like this.” “But- How?” Renjun felt so confused, it really didn’t make sense.

JiHo sat up as well and stared out in front of her at the window. “Whenever I wanted to go SM or the managers always made up some excuse. It was either schedule conflict, or I had problems with my visa in my trainee days, or I had a last minute meeting. SM never let me buy my family plane tickets and whenever they would tell me they’d come visit, they would always cancel last minute for something that happened. After a while I just stopped asking.” Renjun carefully stood up after JiHo’s confession. “And after a while, my family stopped planning to come.”

It went unnoticed by JiHo that Renjun had moved over towards her. She looked to the side to see her friend already sit next to her on the couch. “I didn’t know. I’m so so sorry.” JiHo shook her head. “It’s not your fault.” She responded, a silence fell over them once again.

Renjun watched as the gears inside of Jiho’s head kept turning. He felt so bad for everything she had to go through is silence. Everything she hid from everyone. All of it was just extra weight in her backpack full of worries and burdens.

He grabbed her hand which had fallen limply next to her lap. The touch making her snap out of her thoughts. “It just doesn’t make any sense.” She kept shaking her head. “Someone inside of SM must have been talking to my family, or maybe they felt betrayed when I left to Korea-” “Never.” Renjun interrupted, not wanting JiHo to even entertain that thought. “Maybe they got mad that I kept cancelling my visits.” Her head still continued shaking from left to right as if she was in denial, and to be honest she was. “Make it make sense Renjun.” Her voice cracked as her eyes locked with Renjun’s.

The same eyes that seemed to light up the dark room earlier felt devoid from all it’s usual brightness and youthfulness. On most days the green in her eyes reminded Renjun of jade, cool and charming, on other days it reminded him of nature, energetic and playful, but right now the green was so dull and was barely visible between the brown colour of the rest of her irises.

Renjun squeezed JiHo’s hand lightly. “I’m so sorry JiHo, I don’t know.” This causes JiHo to nod and let her eyes wander back to the window. “If I could I’d move back in with Haechan and the boys.” Renjun’s eyes stayed focussed on JiHo’s hand. It made him happy that her dainty fingers fit perfectly interlaced with his. The boy was used to holding for example Jisung’s hand, which was way bigger than his own and even though they fit into his as well, it was a different kind of fit. With JiHo’s hand he felt a sense of protectiveness and responsibility, like he had to be the one to make sure JiHo wouldn’t get hurt.

“Chenle doesn’t live with you guys, but at least when he goes home he has his family. Whether it’s his parents or his aunt, he has family with him all the time. As for me...” She trailed off. “This place doesn’t feel like a home at all. I was perfectly happy living with the boys. You guys are all the family I have here.” JiHo released a big breath as if she had just done a physical exercise that required a lot of energy.

Her eyes then fell onto Renjun and her intertwined hands, smiling at the way Renjun absentmindedly drew hearts on the back of her hand. “I love my parents and grandparents. I really do.” Renjun got startled by JiHo’s desperate tone, as if she was trying to prove him of her love for her family. “I know-” “I would like to believe I’d do anything to see them.” “And you would.” Renjun smiled assuring, even if his smile showed sadness. “I don’t think that’s true Renjun.”

JiHo’s breath hitched for a second before she made eye contact with her worried friend. “I could’ve just went. I could’ve not listened to SM and went. If I truly loved my family as much-” “Don’t say that JiHo.” Renjun scolded carefully, but JiHo just shook her head. “If I loved them so much, wouldn’t I have done it? I got on a plane to China for Xiaojun behind our managers back once for God’s sake.” She took a few seconds to calm her breathing. “Why haven’t I gone and visited my family?”

“You’re scared.” JiHo’s eyes widened in confusion. “What?” “You’re scared aren’t you? That going back might not be what you imagined it to be. But why does that matter? It’s your family, they love you and miss you just as much as you love and miss them.”

A wave of realisation hit JiHo and she felt tears well up in her eyes. Throwing her head back she tried her best to stop them from flowing and from more forming in her eyes.

Once the tears subsided she looked at Renjun who had a soft smile on his lips. “I’m scared that if I go back, that I’ll realise how much I actually missed my family.” Renjun laughed slightly amused. “What’s wrong with that?” “If I go...” She started and Renjun nodded along with her words, yet his smile faded as soon as JiHo uttered her next words.

“I might realise I don’t want to come back here again.”

---

Side Note: I wanted to write for Renjun for soooo long! This was based on a cute/funny prompt I found on Tumblr, but literally a few paragraphs in and my mind went “let’s make it a bit angsty”. This might be one, if not my favourite writing I’ve done so far <3 I hope you all liked it as well.

I know my content hasn’t been as good lately so I hope this writing will get me back on track a bit. I definitely have to do something about my inability to think of good titles tho O.O

I hope you have a nice day/evening/night <3