#he just has a mild infection (?) on his chin | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

mjwiththefangs · 8 months ago

Text

Trickery & Daggers - Chapter 4

In which a hot tiefling is collect, and some campmates spar. Also on AO3 Masterlist Word count: 1778 Warnings: Violence, Knife play (sort of)

The next morning, after a few of them nurse mild hangovers, Morgana, Wyll, Shadowheart and Astarion are tracking down Karlach. She had wanted to bring Gale, but ultimately didn't feel good about leaving Lae’zel and Shadowheart alone together. That, and the fact that their wizard was still a bit tender after the night of drinking.

The group cautiously avoid some gnoles and follow the riverbank, discovering scorch marks leading to the woman they’re looking for.

She’s a tiefling; literally on fire, and like them, was infected with a tadpole on the illithid ship. Her memories clash with the minds of Morgana and her team, she begs and pleads that she isn’t a devil, her memories even showing that she was dragged to the blood war and made to fight in it against her will.

She’s a victim.

But Wyll takes more convincing.

“Gods, Wyll! You’re so stubborn, she’s not what you think she is!” Morgana exasperates, and finally, he relents and he looks defeated.

Karlach, understandably, wants to know who set him on her tail, and his wording, that he can’t say, immediately clues Morgana in and she realises the risk he has taken, the danger he’s placed himself in, by letting Karlach live.

“All will be revealed, soon, one night in camp.” Is the last thing he’ll tell them, after promising that they are not the ones in any danger.

And then they’re dealing with some phoney paladins of Tyr, sent after Karlach, and she burns them all to ash, laughing maniacally and smashing the place to bits while the flames about her rage.

Morgana clears her throat after diving out of the raging tiefling’s path.

“I think Lae’zel will like this one.”

They all hum and nod in agreement.

Wyll is brooding on the riverbank when Morgana finds him at camp.

“There you are.”

She addresses him carefully, navigating each word with deliberate precision, casually inquiring if he would teach her to wield a sword. After all, she’s in a spot of bother if she’s cornered, unlike her fine, chivalrous friend. She of course always has a dagger handy, but right now that’s not important.

She keeps her mouth moving, holding Wyll’s one good eye, and then she reaches out to his mind using the tadpole,

It was your patron, wasn’t it? Sent you after Karlach? Play along.

She adds suddenly, when his eyes widen. She quickly continues.

I know, you can’t talk about it, that’s what cleared it up for me. And your stone eye has been bothering me for a while- it’s a sending stone. My patron keeps tabs on me, too.

At this point Morgana itches her cheekbone, briefly summons her magic, causing the swirling marks to appear around her eyes and taps. Understanding flashes in Wyll's face. He clears his throat.

“Well, first of all, we need to pick you up a sword! I believe I have another rapier in my tent.” He waves for her to follow and she nods.

I’d never met another warlock. I just- she hesitates and waves her hands, tapping her fingers together as she thinks. I have your back. I get it.

She retracts from his mind, not before feeling his gratitude and returns to their spoken conversation.

“A rapier? Fancy. I'm sure I can manage one of those.”

Wyll laughs heartily at her musings and laughs even louder when she drops the rapier instead of catching it when he throws it to her.

They practise sparring for a while, Wyll just as patient with her as they’d seen him teaching the tiefling children at the grove, giving her gracious instruction and truly enjoying himself all the same. A few camp mates have lingered to watch now.

Morgana, between pants, calls to Gale, who for all the world watches with amusement and a hand on his chin.

“As our resident wizard, I believe it should be your turn by now!” She waves in yielding to Wyll, who smiles and bows his head amicably. She holds out the rapier to Gale and he flicks his wrist at her.

“I concur- I have a spell for everything my friend, long range, melee range, problem solving- And if all else fails, I still have my cantrips! Well, I could always topple someone with my staff, if I needed to.” He adds thoughtfully.

“Ugh, Wizards. Honestly, Darling, I don’t know why you pulled him from that rock.”Astarion scoffs and Gale mock glares in the elf’s direction.

Morgana places hands on her thighs, catching her breath, and smiles over at Wyll. He seems in significantly better spirits than earlier and she hopes that she has helped.

She seems to have been helping her companions in little ways, one by one, she realises. She didn’t think she was that sort of person. She even turned down helping Zevlor, much to Astarions delight.

Lae’zel marches over to them, ignoring the way Shadowheart rolls her eyes, and narrows her fierce gaze into a glare.

“You will never learn with such a soft teacher, your footwork is sloppy and your form weak. Come, take up a blade and I will show you how to wield it.”

Oh dear.

Oh no.

She will absolutely kill me. Morgana swallows and meekly raises her hands to fend off the ferocious warrior.

“Actually, Lae’zel, I think I’ve had enough of swords today,” she rushes out, laughing weakly and gestures to Wyll, who baulks at her suggestion, “why don’t you train with Wyll?”

“Indeed.” The Gith raises her chin, staring down Wyll. “Come, you will benefit from clashing blades with me.”

Morgana snorts a laugh, trying and failing to hide it, at Wyll’s polite smile and attempts to turn the warrior down, but it seems she won't take no for an answer. So the companions spar together, Karlach eagerly jumping in to swing her axe with Lae’zel, and even Shadowheart participates, casting Bless on everyone but the Gith.

Morgana watches with thinly veiled amusement when a sultry voice speaks by her ear.

“I could teach you a few little tricks with that dagger of yours.” He purrs and she barely manages to stop herself jumping in surprise, taking a step back to create space between them, his eyes dance with mirth watching her.

He holds one dagger in his hand and twirls it around his fingers with practised ease, the motion betraying the years of experience in honing his skills.

She purses her lips in thought and mulls the idea over in her head. Her fingers creep towards her own dagger, still sheathed at the hip. She's glaring at nothing, brushing her fingers over the hilt, hesitating.

Her reluctance must be obvious, because before she knows it, Astarions blade taps beneath her chin, tilting her face upwards. She lurches away, yanking her knife free to swing at him.

He bats her away with little effort.

“Wh-What are you doing?” She splutters, holding the blade out in front of her uncertainly.

The Elf cocks his head, ruby orbs trailing up and down her figure. She bristles under his gaze and raises the knife, and he clicks his tongue in annoyance.

With a barely perceptible flick of his wrist, she is disarmed and once again has his blade at her throat and her hand on the back of her neck, holding her far too close to him.

Her wide eyes betray her sudden fear.

“I thought you’d have- Agh!”

He recoils, hissing and glares at her.

She swallows, her hands raised, and tries to calm her racing heart.

Perhaps the Eldritch Blast was a little unnecessary.

“Is everything alright over there?” Gale calls, concern colouring his voice. She swings her head in alarm, panic decorating her features. Shit. Shit.

“Oh, don't worry yourself. We just got a little carried away.” Astarion drawls, clearly irritated. The wizard makes some noise of acknowledgement, his attention already elsewhere, and Astarion folds his arms and juts his hip out, sour expression staring her down accusingly

Oh. Shit.

Morgana swallows again. She's still holding her hands up, watching his movements closely.

He scoffs. “You look like a deer in headlights, Darling. Honestly, the eldritch blast might have been a bit much.”

She gapes.

“You.. You had your blade at my throat!” She exclaims in bewilderment.

He rolls his eyes. “Oh please. There are five other people in this camp, and I don't think any of them would take to me hurting our little Half-Human leader, do you?” He sneers at her, but she blinks in surprise and drops her arms, still baffled.

“... ‘Half-human’?” She repeats.

“Gods, that's the part you took in?” He sheaths his dagger then and reaches to pick hers up from the ground. He tosses it in his hand, flipping it and offering her the handle.

She stares at it for a moment, slowly taking from him with a mumbled ‘thank you’ and turns it over in her hand, glaring at the blade before thrusting it into its sheath.

“You seem to hold an awful lot of animosity towards something you carry for protection.” His voice is low and unamused. She refuses to meet his gaze.

“It's for emergencies.” She mutters, turning away.

“But you’ve used it before. That blade has seen blood.”

“And how do you know that?” She challenges.

His lips curl up into a smirk, “I know when something has seen violence.” There's something about the way he says it, like he's goading her, perhaps, or somehow he sees her.

She scowls and folds her arms over her chest. His grin widens and she shakes her head, dismissing her annoyance.

“Anyway, why did you call me half-human? No one’s ever called me that before.” she presses.

He groans and rolls his eyes again. “Ugh. Because you’re not a full elf, certainly not with the curve you have on those pointed ears.”

She flinches, fighting a years-old reflex to clap her hands over her ears and cover them. Old habits still linger, it would seem. She instead presses him again.

“No, I mean, most people call me half-elf, or worse”

He raises one brow at her.

“And I suppose those people were humans?”

Her mouth opens and shuts again.

Oh.

Yes, she supposes most of them were. People tend to focus on what is different about others, after all.

“Point made.”

She eyes his weapons at his hips contemplating. He really is skilled with them. Maybe he could teach her a thing or two.

He laughs suddenly, as if having read her mind.

“No, thank you, one otherworldly blast to the face is enough for today, Darling.”

She actually cracks a smile at that.

“Another day, then?”

Astarion grins. “Another day.”

#mj writes #fanfiction #astarion #baldurs gate 3 #bg3 fanfic #baldurs gate fanfic #bg3 tav

3 notes · View notes

damadisangue · 8 months ago

Text

Smooth, pale: Alex is a profile lying on his sofa with an ice cream bowl dangerously balanced on her abdomen. She lets the spoon dangle downwards, swings her foot resting on her knee in the air and gives him a sideways, ambiguous, look. "Do you want some'?" she asks him, lifting the bowl upwards. Wesker tilts his chin to the left, looking at her, and as Raccoon City snoozes under the scorching August sun he can't help but notice her naked body - on her skin the marks of his bites stand out like reddish wounds. Alex sketches a crooked smile, placing the bowl on the table and sitting down. "I guess not." she then tells him and when he approaches her she simply looks at him with those eyes of hers so blue they are unnatural - a frozen lake that he had seen break under the pressure of her orgasm. She lifts her face upwards, naked - beautiful: her skin still wet from their previous fuck. And it is a different hunger than that of the Infected, but no less powerful: he wants to possess her, and he is obsessed with her - even after the truth had come to the surface like a corpse swollen with water and secrets. Alex remains motionless, but she knows - she senses it: she smells his desire, his repressed strength - he craves her, and when he bends over her, seeking her mouth in a kiss all teeth and blood - obsession and delirium and need - she opens up to him, soft and wet and his. He pushes her backwards, outside his apartment the summer is burning - a dog barking in the distance, cicadas chirping. Alex lays beneath his body, pulling away just enough from his mouth to sigh when he touches her between her thighs, brushing her clit and pushing his fingers deep in her cunt. Wesker looks at her with attention, curiosity; there's something fascinating about the way she changes when they fuck - like watching something come to life, and burns. She frees herself and she is ruthless like him, if not more. "Look at you." he murmurs, pushing his fingers even deeper, feeling her widen around his knuckles - a mild resistance; nothing more than a push and he reaches something inside her that makes her release a sudden, surprised sound. Wesker tilts his head towards his shoulder in a curious, languid movement: he massages her clit with his thumb and he likes to feel how her breathing changes, the texture of her cunt under his fingertip - the look she gives him, neither pleading, nor weak, but hungry. "You are such a little whore for me." he says and Alex laughs - so carefree, suddently young, like their first year together with the Umbrella. "Yeah." she whispers, rising on her elbows and running her hands down his chest - nimble, slender fingers closing around his cock and pulling, making concentric circles with her thumb at the tip, already damp with pre-cum. "Like you, brother." she adds, releasing a moan and sitting up on her knees - suddenly lowering herself onto his hand and pressing her forehead against his shoulder, her lips just a breath away from his neck. Wesker narrows his eyes, focusing his sensations on how wet she is, almost dripping: and he has to admit that it's flattering the way Alex gets excited about him - the total lack of shame with which she seeks him out, and allows his imagination to become real, like that time in the laboratories, when they could have been discovered at any moment and after they had finished Alex returned to the meeting as if nothing had happened, his semen still between her thighs, on her knickers. The city is full of life, hot: the heavy curtains reduce the room to darkness, in the air there is a vague smell of ink - his documents - and of chocolate - dark, with orange peels: her favourite. [continue to the link above] A masterpiece from the lovely and amazing @madbedlam

#albert wesker #alex wesker #my fanfiction #resident evil #weskers #alex wesker x albert wesker #albert wesker/alex wesker #weskercest

3 notes · View notes

silversiren1101 · 2 years ago

Note

Mino, tell me how you take care of your scales?

Minovae's eyes light up a little bit at the question, and then she starts to look a little bashful.

"It's a little vain, I've been told, but honestly I promise that the care routine is necessary... planar-touched humanoids like us aren't really a seamless union. Most of the time."

She nods as she rolls up her sleeve and points to a patch of scales on her elbow. The scales are in rougher condition than the others easily seen on her, and seem to be at odds with the more delicate human skin around them.

"You see where the skin here is a little irritated? And the edges of the scales are kind of scratched up and matte rather than glossy? All the movement on the joints makes spots like this pretty messy and itchy throughout the day, especially when it gets cold and dry. Everything rubs against each other and chafes because it's--now here's a thought--almost like human skin and protean scales aren't actually compatible. People like us are more like... mishmashes? Rather than mixes. Oil and water that kind of bubbles around instead of sugar that dissolves in hot water."

Her sleeve stays rolled up as she shifts in her seat - and you notice now how angled she has to sit to avoid her tail getting caught in the chair back. She lives a totally different kind of existence than most others, having to consider things about her body that are so strictly incompatible with daily, common things and actions. Even sitting in a chair can be a difficult, embarrassing thing.

"From others I've talked to, like... Woljif", she scratches at her chin until she comes up with a good example. "His horns flake and get itchy if he doesn't care for them properly. Especially where they connect into his head, he's mentioned before that he's wanted to ram them against a tree to relieve some of the itch and ache. It's a lot of work to care for these features, and especially so when almost never have anyone that tells you how to do that!"

"Lann had it really bad when we first met. I saw the line where his scales met his skin and knew immediately he was in pain from them almost all the time. Maybe he had gotten used to it, but hell did I make it a mission to teach him how to actually care for himself. You can dislike having them, but just ignoring them tends to make it all the more painful... I do think he's a bit happier now though. Or at least not as in mild constant pain anymore.

Upon seeing your expression, she waves it away with a smile.

"No need to feel bad or anything for finding people like us pretty or cool or alluring, not knowing how uncomfortable or how much effort they take to care for! I love my scales, I really do. I just wished they loved me back so effortlessly!"

Her fingers start idly tracing the ones on her wrists and the backs of her hands as she talks.

"As for how to care for them - it's taken my whole life to figure that out, but this routine is what works for me. First it starts with a bath."

She then starts to describe how she prefers in-ground baths because of her tail. Her physical body may be small but with her tail's length and size, it can be hard to fit even into a large tub.

"They need to soak. Really soak. It helps free up some of the dirt and oil and skin that gets stuck under their edges. I use special salts in the water that both my scales and skin- oh and feathers too- agree with. A long soak once a week for the deep clean, at least an hour."

At your expression upon hearing she sits in the tub for an hour she laughs a little embarassed.

"Yeah, an hour. You can see how I get the accusations of vanity. I've managed a long time without the long soak, but it does make them a little more cloudy and prone to cracking, and the skin around them can get irritated or infected if I've been stomping around the wilds. The Civil War especially... I think I had more damaged scales than not for a good chunk of the war. You try convincing your Hellknight captain that you need regularly baths as opposed to the bucket of cold water and some magic like everyone else can manage with. I never bothered asking."

She laughs, but you can tell she has no anger or bitterness about this. It would've been a big ask to need such special treatment in war time for something that ultimately was a minor inconvenience to her most of the time.

"After the soak, then it's time for the brushing. I have a whole collection of brushes, each for different types of scales. The ones on my face don't get the same brush as my elbows and they don't get the same as my tail. They're all different density and flexibility and so each requires different brushes, picks, and files to care for. The thorough brushing itself also takes an hour to two... but it does go a little faster if Regill is there."

Realizing what she's said and at your incredulous expression, she smiles so very warmly.

"He volunteered, actually. After we started sharing a room and he saw how much time and effort it took, he watched. Quietly learned, but asked a few questions. I really thought he would scold me for caring about them so much and being vain when he learned what their care fully involved but..."

She sighs happily. Love shines deeply in her gaze.

"He'll pull my tail into his lap and brush my scales and feathers with all the right brushes and everything. I think he finds it a little meditative to tell you the truth," she chuckles. "Regardless, his help is appreciated, and it's really quite... affectionate."

Minovae abruptly shakes her head.

"Anyway! So the one hour soak, then the few hours of brushing and picking and filing. Did I mention the filing? The edges of the scales on my body especially need to be buffed down sometimes if they get chipped or they've grown a while. They can scratch others and me without it. Very annoying. Anyway, 3 hours in already now it's time for the waxes and balms."

Her tail abruptly swings up onto her lap, and she holds up the end of it so as to point out the scales.

"Just like the brushes, I can't use the same thing everywhere. My tail scales here are flexible but really thick so they're prone to getting scratched to the hell up and cracked. A very thick wax goes on all of these, nothing to weigh it down or make it stiff, but to make a protective layer. It goes on quick and fast but needs time to set - another hour. Luckily I do that first and then take care of everything else."

She then points at her elbow and wrist scales again.

"These get more of a balm that helps keep them shiny and strong, but also protects the skin around them. You can see with my elbows that I probably need to put on some more in a bit. It's been a bit cold recently."

Lastly, she beams brightly and points at the scales around her eyes and on her cheeks.

"The face ones are the worst. Ever wondered why it's like to be pinched every time you make an emotion? I have to use a special balm on these ones to keep them flexible, but it also has to be one that doesn't irritate my face. This one goes on every morning and night. Otherwise my face just kind of hurts..."

Minovae claps her hands together and keeps them clasped.

"It's a constant effort. But the big care nights once a week I've turned into a bit of an excuse to relax at least. Wine in the tub with a book. My husband of course is good company when I'm sprawled out on the floor and either he's helping or scathingly going over reports or Order operations... It's not so bad."

"And besides... I really do love them. I wouldn't give my scales up for the world."

Excellent question thank you - really loved this one.

#silversirenwrites #oc: minovae arangeir #pwotr pals

22 notes · View notes

cryptixani · 2 years ago

Text

[JDVN] NSFW Headcanons

more nasty john doe shit for you guys, enjoy while you can cause the next one's gonna be painful :) minors fuck off as per usual

warnings: pure pure filth

switch with a mild sub lean

when he subs, he's kinda bratty and likes being roughed up and degraded, though the further in you get the more obedient he becomes, until he's on all fours gazing up at you like you're a divine being, pupils dilated wide and smile giddy and breathless, hard cock throbbing desperately at the very sight of you, babbling about how much he loves you and how perfect you are and how he doesn't deserve you. whimpers, whines, purrs, and even screams if you please him right.

when he doms, i think he's a bit more primal, loves the whole thrill of the chase, loves when you squirm and writhe. he especially loves biting and scratching and marking you up, overstimulating you until you cry and oh god do you look pretty when you cry. he doesn't really talk as much as he does when he subs, but he does still love praising you and murmuring how pretty you are. not a growler but will pant in your ear like a dog, groan and purr.

definitely a drooler, look at this man. it drips from his chin and tongue while he fucks you like a madman, landing on your chest. if he notices, he'll use his tongue to lick it off you

ohhh my godddd his tongue

very long, very wet, and very hot. he knows how to use it. will reach every single spot you need him to with that tongue

doe can give himself whatever genitalia you want him to have. and that means they're customizable too. (i'm tryna say that if you want him to have a cock, he can make it whatever length you find most pleasurable)

always has a thick bush of black curly pubes though, and usually a happy trail to match

he's a shameless used underwear thief and he will sniff them right in front of you, john doe does not know 'dignity' nor 'embarassment'

honestly he does it with all of your clothes, but your underwear he loves especially. he says it 'smells of you the strongest'

he will try everything once

anything you may be into, even if he's never heard of it before, he'll be willing to at least try out with you. he'll never judge you for your kinks/fetishes, either. hell, he's probably into some fucking weird things

is actually horrifically bad at dirty talk and doesn't realize it, it always comes out sounding goofy as fuck, just kiss him to get him to shut up

the socks stay on during sex sorry guys

you honestly dont want them off anyway his dogs are rancid just trust me its better this way

doe always has you sweating more than you usually would be during sex since his body temperature is warmer than a humans. he loves it though, thinks you look (and smell lets be fr here this is john doe we're talking about) especially delectable all covered in a sheen of sweat

he doesn't particularly have any favourite positions, he just wants to be able to see your face, so that he can take in all the pretty expressions you make. he usually goes for a mating press, or if you're topping he loves cowgirl. sometimes he'll have you in doggy, but in those cases he goes full out, with your head against the mattress. he'll keep you down with his own body.

loves aftercare just as much as the sex itself, whether he's the one predominantly giving or receiving it. loves to just cuddle up next to you/on you, nuzzle against you and rest for a while.

doesn't like it so much when you interrupt Post-Sex Cuddles because you need to 'go clean up' because you 'feel all gross and sticky' or because you'll 'get an infection down there'. what the hells that all about?? and then you come back and you've showered and your delicious natural scent is barely there, all washed away by the water. no fair.

#john doe #john doe x reader #john doe x you #john doe visual novel #john doe game

3K notes · View notes

purplelupins · 2 years ago

Text

Sweet Dreams

|The Black Phone|

Part I Part II Part III Part IV Part V

Part VI

Grabber/Albert x fem!reader

Summery: Getting away from her life as a human punching bag took her somewhere she never could have imagined. But it seemed that even a basement with a masked man watching her could become home.

Warnings: depictions of physical and verbal abuse, manipulation, pet names, power imbalance, sexual tension, mild swearing, mentions of medical trauma, nsfw

Note: PLEASE READ

This is a nsfw DARK story so if you are a minor DO NOT ENGAGE. If you are offended or triggered by the mentioned material, DO NOT ENGAGE. Simple as that. Please note that I do not condone what the Grabber has done in cannon, and I am only using him as a character in my story. If you message me with negativity or harassment, I will not respond. This is Tumblr, not Twitter. Please block the Grabber x reader tag if you are disgusted.

••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

It was almost a war on sleep for y/n. Sometimes she would sleep soundly, and have calm dreams, while only waking up once; other times she would barely sleep an hour before a new nightmare began and she would awaken with a start, sweating and shaking.

But every time, he was there.

That man would stroke her hair and have her rest against him, cooing sweet nothings into her ears. He would hold her close and rest his masked chin stop her head. And the more it happened, the more y/n began to let herself grow dependant on his kindness. She needed it.

And he knew it.

He knew she needed him. That he was her safe haven, but she still wasn’t where he wanted her to be. He wanted her to want him, as well as need him.

He wanted her to be completely his. She had become his favourite game out of them all-

“Mister?”

He snapped his head over to the shut bathroom door. It wasn’t locked anymore, but she still liked to have him open it. He turned the knob and pulled, but she wasn’t waiting right inside the door- she was by the mirror with her shirt pulled up her back to expose the skin.

“Can you check this old cut? I think the scab came off again and I’m worried about it getting infected.”

He stared at her exposed back for a moment, but nodded.

“Sure. Let’s see.” He walked inside and shut the door out of habit; she turned around for him, and tried to not shiver when he touched her skin. “Yeah it looks sore. I think I have some ointment and bandaids in here, why don’t we go out to the kitchen to get a better look.” He said.

She nodded, and let her shirt fall down before walking out of the bathroom. She could have gone to the kitchen, but she didn’t. As he went through the cupboard to find the first aid items, her figure standing in the doorway caught his eye.

She was waiting for him.

He looked at her for a minute, and grinned to himself. She wasn’t even staring at him expectantly; she just stood there making faces at Sampson in the other room like it was normal to be led around by him.

Albert finally took what he needed, and closed the cabinet. “Alrighty, let’s go.” He said, walking to the door. She took a few steps so he could exit and shut the door, and took his hand as he led them into the kitchen.

She sat with her chest against the back of the chair to give him better access, and he took his time with mending her. She shivered at the feeling of his rings when they would brush against her skin. He traced the old scars and down her spine; he revelled in her shivers. But he cleaned and bandaged her wound, then took her shirt and dragged it down over her back.

“Good as new!” He piped up.

“Thank you…”she murmured, standing up.

He took her hand from his crouched position and swing it a little.

“I have to take care of my pretty girl, right?” He said, tilting his head to the side.

She shrugged and rubbed her arm bashfully.

“I mean you don’t have to-“

“I asked a question, y/n.” His voice gained an edge to it, and his hand held hers a little firmer.

“Right. You’re right.” She said nodding. “You take care of me.” A small smile made its way onto her tired face as she stared down at the older man.

He sighed from under his mask, and nodded, “That’s my good girl. Come on, let’s get you to bed.” He stood and she fell into step with him, clutching onto his arm.

“Do you think you’ll sleep well tonight, bunny?” He asked her as they walked to the small bed.

“I hope so…” she sighed. “You don’t have to stay, I know it must be annoying to stay here every night.” She looked down, at her hands in her lap then back up at the devilish mask.

He said nothing for a full minute, but then he did something she certainly was not expecting. He sat down beside her, and reached behind his head; he unclasped the bottom portion of his mask, careful to not disturb the top half. She was transfixed. He had never taken off the bottom part, only the top.

The mask came away, and she found herself staring at the part of his face that she hadn’t seen. He had a beautiful jaw and a soft looking mouth. They both seemed to notice that she was staring at the same time; she looked away and bit the inside of her lip, while he grinned. Albert stood and walked to the head of the bed, and sat down with his legs stretched out in front of him.

“Come here bunny.” He said cheerfully, holding an arm out to her.

Her eyes widened at the gesture but she did not protest. She crawled to him, and tried to pull the shirt down a little more to cover her panties as she sat next to him.

He, however, did not miss the action of hers to attempt modesty. He felt her warmth settle next to him but he wanted more. He tsked her, and grabbed her waist and pulled her onto his lap with her legs across his thighs. He could feel her heat radiate through his pants, and he sucked in a breath when she shifted against him to get comfortable. Such an innocent gesture with such vile possibilities.

“What am I going to do with you?” He perched his chin atop her head, and she rested against his chest. Of course she didn’t understand the sinister connotations, but he certainly did. What was this game? It certainly wasn’t like ‘Naughty Boy.’, it was different. He didn’t get the same rush, but he was stimulated in other ways.

“I don’t mean to make you pity me…I just don’t know why you’re okay with doing all these extra things…” she mumbled into his shirt.

“You know why.” He whispered. He wanted to hear her say it.

“Because I’m your bunny.” She repeated his answer to everything with a small laugh.

“Mhmm that’s right.” He hummed satisfied.

She pulled away from him, and stared at his changed face. It seemed so strange to finally see his lips. It felt almost wrong that she could see him after so long of him keeping that part of himself hidden.

He was handsome.

He must have been an absolute heartbreaker back in the day…

“That girl was stupid.” She whispered; she had meant to say it in her head, but the words just came out.

He blinked, and tilted his head to the side.

“Which girl?” With his voice unmuffled, she realised how nice it was.

Y/n looked down at his shirt, regretting saying anything.

“I said which girl, bunny?” He tilted her face up to him, and did not miss the fact that she sucked in a breath. His opposite hand was clenched tight, betraying his light voice.

“…the one who left you…she-she must have been crazy.” She muttered with a melancholy grin that didn’t reach her eyes. His mouth was neither frowning nor smirking, but somewhere in between.

Her heart began to race as she assumed she must have crossed a line when he was silent. He must not like to think about her, or what happened.

But then, that mouth of his spread into a small grin. “That’s sweet of you to say.” He pressed a kiss to her temple, and a fire exploded under her skin. Her eyes widened in surprise when her cheeks warmed, as did her hands.

That was new.

She wondered what it would feel like to have him touch her, or kiss her properly-

No. Stop it. This man is caring for you and is your friend.

“I think I just sent my bunny into shock.” He laughed, watching her wheels turn.

Y/n looked up at him, and studied his face for a few moments. He seemed to do the same. She reached out a tentative hand to his lower face, but stopped when he sucked in a breath. “C-can I…?” She asked nervously.

He stared for a moment, and nodded slightly.

She reached out and brushed her fingertips against the slight stubble on his sharp chin, and up along his lower lip. Then, as quickly as she had began, she pulled her hand away, satisfied.

“Thank you…” she whispered.

He placed his hand on her head and drew her back to his chest, and placed a kiss to her hair.

She smiled secretly to herself at his affection. It had been years since someone had shown her anything similar to it, and with his small touches, she felt safe. The gentle rhythm of his breathing let her relax, and within minutes, she fell asleep with the beating of his heart under her ear and his arms wrapped around her.

The next morning, she found that she hadn’t woken up once. She had hoped her strange companion would still be there for her to share her good news, but alas the bed was empty. She even looked around the room to see if he was crouched against one of the walls watching her, but again, her eyes only met with the concrete walls.

When he came with her breakfast, she could barely contain her excitement to tell him how she had slept the entire night. As soon as she heard the door unlock, she bounced right up to him and hung onto one of his arms as he walked them to the mattress.

“Someone’s bright and bushy today.” He said in his happy voice.

“Yep! Guess what!” She chirped to him as he sat down with her.

“I think if I take the time to guess you’ll explode. Why don’t you tell me?” He chuckled and smiled under the mask.

Shes so fucking cute like this…She’s excited to see me.

“I slept the entire night without waking up!” She beamed.

He clapped and rubbed her back. “That’s my girl. I think someone deserves a new gift today.”

She blushed and looked down at her hands, “You don’t-“

“You know I have to.” He tutted her and pulled her closer.

“Well…Surprise me.” She smiled, and without a second thought kissed his masked cheek. Time seemed to freeze as soon as she pulled away and realised what she had done.

She didn’t know why she did it.

At least not at the time.

She was just so happy.

What she did know was that she didn’t know what to say, and neither did he. To her relief, he continued the morning as usual, and slowly fed her himself; periodically raising egg to her lips and helping her drink her coffee. She didn’t need his help, but the attention was addictive.

Their talk was quiet and simple- sticking mostly to the weather and a new film at the cinema. Then when he left, he left quickly and quietly. She could barely even look at him. Mortified.

She spent nearly the entire day in silence. She listened to three tapes, but she barely moved from her spot on the edge of her bed.

Why did I kiss his mask?

Why did I do that?

Why do I feel these things around him?

Why do I want to be so near him?

Did I cross a line?

Is he angry with me?

Is he going to kick me out?

Is he going to tell my father I’m down here and lock him in here with me?

Her mind was overtaken with a million questions. She barely heard the music, and she certainly didn’t hear the door open. It wasn’t until he was just a few feet away from her that she finally noticed his tall figure there.

Y/n looked up and took the headphones off quietly. She wasn’t sure how to behave after what she had done- so she braced for the worst.

But instead of telling her to leave or yelling at her, he placed her dinner down on her lap, and knelt down infront of her. She watched him closely, not taking her eyes off him. He knew he had her attention. He knew she was waiting for him to initiate their interaction.

He was looking at her expectantly.

She was confused at first, but then he tapped the edge of the tray and she looked down, and she saw why he was waiting. Right beside her dinner was a cassette tape with a little pink ribbon wrapped around it.

“W-what’s this?” She voice was barely audible.

“I told you I’d get you a gift.” He chided her playfully.

After a day of stressing, seeing him gift her with anything made her heart beat quicker against her ribs. A tear threatened to spill over as she grasped it, and removed the cover.

It was an older tape, she could tell by the worn edges.

“Ritchie Valens…” she whispered as she read the title and flipped it over.

“I recommend side two, track 11.” He pointed to the cover. She squinted to read the small writing. It read, “We Belong Together.”

Y/n smiled.

“Thank you. I’ll…I’ll give it a listen.” She said gently, still expecting him to tell her to get out.

“You’re not going to listen now?” He asked, a little demanding.

“I don’t want the food you made me to get cold.” She said, picking the fork up.

“But I want you to hear it.” He said, his voice growing rougher.

She thought for a moment.

“Well I can listen to it while I eat, if you don’t find it rude.” She offered.

“Okay.” He said, satisfied. She picked the player up and popped the previous tape out and replaced it with the one he had just given her. She placed the headphones on, and began fast-forwarding through the tape until it reached around the right point. It caught the tail end of the previous song, but sure enough, the 11th track began.

“You’re mine…

And we belong together…

Yes we belong together for eternity…

You’re mine…”

She chewed slowly, listening to the lyrics. It was a sweet love song, and he had been right to suggest it. It was exactly the kind of song she had been listening to all day. It was slow and calm. She swayed to the tune, eating away with a small smile on her face until the song ended. When she took off the headphones, she found him watching her, entranced.

“I loved it. Is it a favourite of yours?” She asked, finishing the food.

“Recently.” He murmured lightly.

“You have very good taste .” She nudged him slightly.

They smiled at one another, though she couldn’t see his expression, and their night continued as always.

It was shirt night that evening.

He held her hand, and popped a chocolate onto her tongue just as he always did, then took her to bed.

Normally, they would have chatted about small things- she knew he loved to talk. And she loved to talk to him.

Even as she got under her blanket, they were quiet. Like there was some kind of elephant in the room that they wouldn’t address.

“Sweet dreams, bunny.” He whispered.

“Goodnight…” she whispered back.

He gazed at her for one more minute, thinking, but he turned and left without another word. She sighed and fell back against the mattress with a thud.

She found herself thinking about that sweet song he had insisted she listen to. She closed her eyes, and let it play in her mind as she began to drift off to sleep.

At first, her dreams were calm. She was riding a bicycle on a summer day down a nondescript road, but the further she went, the more ominous it seemed. Then she heard footsteps behind her running, just like the night she ran away. Her name was called, and when she looked back, her father was running after her with a bloodied hatchet. Her bike wouldn’t go faster and he finally caught up with her. He grabbed her hair and yanked her off. Then, just as his axe was about to land through her head, she woke up.

Y/n bolted up straight, her shirt soaked and hands shaking uncontrollably. Her heart hammered in her chest.

“Another nightmare?”

She gasped and looked at the doorway. It was closed, but she could see the half mask illuminated in the very little light. She swore his eyes glowed even in the near darkness.

She nodded.

He took a few steps towards her, and she saw that his muted blue shirt was open. She didn’t blame him- it was a warm August night. She did blame herself for staring at his beautiful chest. She wanted to run her hands over it…just to feel his skin.

“Why are you so quiet today, bunny?” He murmured, voice a little rough. He walked to her and perched beside her on the bed. She wondered if he was offended when she was quiet.

She shrugged, not even knowing where to start.

You saved my life and I’ve been living in your basement for a month and a half, and by the way, I have a massive crush on you.

Oh perfect, y/n. Sounds great.

“Don’t lie to me.” He growled.

She let out a sigh and picked at her nails.

“I guess…I’ve just been thinking a lot.”

His fists tightened in his lap in excitement. Was she finally giving in and wanting to leave?

“What about?” He asked slowly.

She bit at her lip as she tried to find the right words. “I was nervous…I am nervous.”

“About me?” He subconsciously moved a hand to his belt buckle

“No…not exactly. I was…I’m nervous because I kissed your mask and I was afraid you were mad.”

His fists loosened.

“If I made you mad you might send me away and I don’t want that…” she whispered.

“I’m not mad.” He stated, and shifted closer to her.

“Are you sure?” She whispered.

“I’m not a liar.” He said playfully.

She nodded, and scooted over to be closer to him. She laid her head on his shoulder, her nose just an inch away from the exposed skin of his collar. He must have had a shower not long ago- the smell of his soap was a little more prominent. It made her head fuzzy as she thought about him in the shower.

She heard him sigh from behind the lower mask, and he wrapped an arm around her shoulders.

“Can I tell you a secret?” He whispered.

She nodded.

“I hate my name.” He admitted.

“Really? Why?” She asked.

“My father chose it.” He murmured. His voice was so much smaller than usual. She knew he was going honest, perhaps a little vulnerable too.

“He wasn’t a nice man, was he?” Her voice was gentle and she ran her hand down to his and held it.

“No. No he wasn’t.” His tone became dark. Y/n knew he was remembering him, and if he had a similar relationship with his father and she had with hers, she didn’t want him to think about it

“Can I tell you a secret?” She asked after a minute.

“Of course you can, bunny.” The man replied, his voice a little more normal.

Y/n sucked in a breath. “I’ve…I’ve had terrible thoughts about…doing things to my father. They scare me sometimes.” She whispered

She felt him go still.

“What would you do?” He asked slowly.

Her breathing became heavier as she thought.

“I would do everything he did to me. I would make him bleed, and cry and beg…I would destroy him.” her eyes glazed over.

That surprised him.

They sat in silence for well over half a hour before she slowly began to lay down again. She expected him to leave, especially after her confession, but he didn’t. He stayed, and watched her. His strange, strange girl.

She felt his eyes on her, and she couldn’t sleep, not with that song playing around and around in her head like a gramophone.

“You're mine

Your lips belong to me

Yes, they belong to only me

For eternity

You're my, my baby

And you'll always be

I swear by everything I own

You'll always, always be mine…”

Around and around and around theose words played. She wondered if it was some sort of hypnosis test, and she was sure it was working.

She felt his hand play with a piece of loose hair, and as if he could hear her thoughts, he began humming the same song in her head. She laid there for another fifteen minutes before rolling over to face him. He looked a little taken aback by her suddenly staring at him, but not completely uncomfortable. Like he knew she was awake the whole time.

“I’m sorry did I wake you?” He asked a little sadly. As if he wanted to watch her sleep.

But she shook her head and sat up.

“If the humming helps I can keep doing it to get you to sleep?” He asked. But she didn’t say anything as she scooted back to where she had been by his side.

“You’re all quiet again, I don’t like it when you’re quiet.” His friendly tone slowly lost it’s kindness. “Answer me-“

He was cut off by her reaching around behind him and pulling him into a tight hug. She waited until his arms came around her waist and pulled her closer before she moved; her small fingers worked quickly. Before he could stop her, she untied the strap of the lower mask and ripped it off his face. His large hand gripped her upper arms, and a growl formed in his throat once he realized he was bare, but everything stopped when he felt her soft lips on his.

She placed her hands on either side of his strong neck, and brushed her lips against his again. It was strange, but it was exactly what she needed. Then, humiliation and horror set in when he didn’t move. She was about to pull away and apologize, when a large hand held the back of her head and the other gripped her waist, pulling her into his lap. She couldn’t help the soft moans she let out as her legs settled on either side of his thighs.

She pushed his open shirt off his shoulders, and he removed his arms from her momentarily to throw the garment away. The shirt she wore quickly followed, as he almost ripped it off her. As soon as he returned his gaze to her nude form, however, his eyes caught two small scars on her lower abdomen.

Y/n knew what he was looking at before he even asked.

She looked down and tilted her head to the side and took his hand. His sharp eyes snapped to hers, but he watched as she brought his hand to the scars. His brows furrowed and his gaze darted from between his hand and her eyes.

“I…I can’t have children.” She whispered. “My dad told me he was giving me a gift by having it done…I was seventeen.” Her eyes were glassy at the memory. How she had screamed and cried herself to sleep for months as the incisions healed.

His hardened face softened as she explained. He traced the marks, and she watched him.

After a moment, he sighed, and finally looked back up to the girl watching him. He leaned forward and pressed a kiss to her forehead, and he felt her relax under his touch. Y/n sighed and caught his lips as he moved away, and he pulled her closer against that strong chest she had been admiring for longer than she would care to admit.

Now with his burning skin flush against hers, she was certain she would combust.

He nipped at her lips and barely waited to slip his tongue inside her sweet mouth. Her hips rocked against him, panties soaking through by the second.

She raked her nails along his shoulder, and he quickly pulled away. She took the time to look at him fully without a mask or tears in her eyes. The little bit of light hit the side of his face. She reached up and hesitated a second but he didn’t waste any time bringing her hand to his face. She grinned and felt along his jaw up to his cheeks and nose and through his hair. His breathing seemed to come harder with each touch of her hand. She kissed his jaw to his ear, “Can I tell you a secret?” She whispered.

“Yes.” He breathed out.

“I’ve wanted to kiss you for a very long time.” She placed another kiss there, but a hand in her hair yanked her back and brought her down to the mattress. He gripped each of her wrists in his large lands as he looked down at her.

“And here I thought you saw me as a new daddy.” He teased her, enjoying how wide her eyes were and how she looked away when he spoke. “No? No I don’t think you want me to be a fucking father at all…” he leaned down to her neck and inhaled deeply.

Y/n watched his every move, intoxicated by him. A rush of heat enveloped her limbs as he spoke; he pulled against his grip fruitlessly as she ached to touch him. Pull him closer.

His nose tickled the shell of her ear as he savoured her panting breaths.

“I thought I was going to have to do this myself…but look at you.” He chuckled, and placed both of her hands in one of his to allow him to touch her, “You’ve been thinking about me, haven’t you? All those nights…” his hand trailed down her neck to her breast where he rolled her nipple, and she arched into his touch, “…that I stayed with you as you slept…” he continued to move his hand lower until it reached her panties, “…did you think filthy things about me? Think about if I fucked you as you slept? If I touched you…” his large hand pulled her panties down, “…or maybe if I touched myself? Because I damn well almost did all of them.” He confided in her darkly but still with an eerie joy. He had lost count of the amount of times he had sat next to her in that mattress with his cock straining against his pants and deranged thoughts of forcing himself inside her as she slept ran through his mind. And the times he had emptied his cum into his pants by her sleeping touch alone.

He pulled away then, and gazed down at the young woman at his mercy. He had to admit that this was far more addictive than any young boy screaming during a beating, or running from him. Hell he could barely even compare them.

Having her mewl and keen for him made him want more.

More.

He wanted her heart.

Her soul.

He wanted her to be in love with him.

“Do you want me to help you feel better, my sweet girl?” He murmured. Against his finger, he felt that hardened bump pulse and he felt a surge of pleasure when he stroked it and she jolted.

She could barely form a response with him surrounding her. His smell alone made her brain fuzzy and his touch on her clit made her want to beg.

He sipped his hand lower until his fingers stroked through her soaking folds, she let out a gasp and bucked her hips. The embarrassment she felt for the deafening noise of how soaked she was disappeared when he chuckled, “Do you like that? Do you like when I touch you.”

He rocked his hardened length against her thigh when she gasped.

She breathed out a response. “Yes…”

A slow smirk twisted his face, and he leaned down to her, his grip on her wrists still harsh.

“You want me?” He asked condescendingly, rubbing against her more deliberately. He knew he needed to stop or he would come right there in his pants.

The young woman nodded, “Yes.” Came her whisper.

“Only me?” He slipped his hand to her clit, circling that sensitive bud that begged for attention as much as her.

She nodded helplessly, “P-please…”

“How long have you wanted me?” He leaned down and smelled along her abdomen. He sucked and bit at the skin.

“Since- since the second week…” y/n did her best to not moan and whine the entire time, but it proved to be nearly impossible.

“My, my…and you’ve just been trying so damn hard to be good, have you?” He cooed.

“Yes sir..” the title slipped out, and she hoped he didn’t notice, but he did.

Of course he did.

“What was that pretty girl?” He murmured with a sadistic grin.

Her breathing came harder as she fought to not pass out, “I said Yes sir.” She breathed out.

He closed his eyes and breathed deeply. “Say it again.” He growled out.

She watched his mouth as he spoke, revelling in the fact that she could see him. “Yes sir.”

As soon as the words left her, he slipped a long, veined finger inside her. It was far thicker than she was used to and stretched her like two of hers. He effortlessly stroked that spot inside her that she struggled to reach herself. She gasped and pulled against his hand holding her down. “Please sir!” She mewled.

“You want something, bunny?” He rasped. He curled his finger and added another inside her.

“You! Pl-please you, sir!” She cried out, a moan mixing with her words. She felt so full already.

“Such a good girl…” he slowly released her hand so he could undo his pants, and she quickly sat up to help. Her version of help was kissing up his chest, worshiping his skin. He let out ragged groans and breaths as his painfully hard cock was released from his pants and underwear, which he pushed off quickly.

A part of him wanted so badly to fold her in half and force his way inside her. Make her cry out in pain and fuck her stupid until she wasn’t sure if she was begging for him to stop or for more.

But he fought that side.

He pushed her back down to the mattress, and she let out a small giggle. Her smile was quickly snuffed out when he crawled over her and pinned her to the bed even tighter than before. He hovered above her for a moment, and y/n leaned up as best as she could to brush her lips against his. His hesitation made her wonder how long it had been since someone showed him affection.

While the moment was sweet, she rolled her hips in hopes of getting his attention, which she did. The older man released one of her wrists and took his cock in hand, barely teasing her before pushing the thick head inside her. She cried out at his size, feeling him stretch her neglected pussy. He gazed down at her, and fought to keep from snapping his hips to push himself inside. But then, after a moment of having so little of him ruining her tight little pussy, her hips began to rock almost instantly for more, to his surprise. He half expected her to tell him to stop, that it was too much. That she changed her mind, that she didn’t want it. But she only begged for more.

And he would give it to her. The older man felt his cock swell even more as her little body asked for him; he firmly thrust forward a little more, and stopped when he literally couldn’t fit anymore inside her.

Y/n breathed out shakily and he felt her twitch and shake against him. He pulled out completely and thrust back into her when she suddenly tensed and her mouth dropped open, “W-wait I….I can’t! Wait!” She cried and he felt a sick pleasure bloom.

“No? You can’t take it?” He mocked her and thrust in a little more, and he felt her shake again.

“I-wait please I- I’m gonna c-come-“ she gasped.

That shocked him. He wasn’t even fucking her yet. But he rocked against her, and sure enough, he felt that tightness become unbearable.

Oh fuck she’s not lying-

A surge of slick cum enveloped his cock and he felt it coat him. She twitched and cried uncontrollably as she moaned and bucked her hips.

He stared down at his little bunny as she came and fucked herself on his thick cock to make sure he was slick enough to fuck her senseless. What a considerate little girl he had.

“Did you just come on my cock bunny? Did it just feel too fucking good?” He teased her harshly, though he was fighting to not empty every drop of his cum into her.

She nodded, clearly embarrassed, but serene.

“Does my pretty girl like that?” He growled as he sunk inside her fully, not caring that she was still sensitive. “Fuck.” He placed his hand back on her wrist.

“Yes sir-“ she gasped, and whimpered. “I-I’ve wished y-you would do this-Ah! E-even thought about asking you to shower with me-ah!” She moaned out as he began to thrust inside her.

“Did you now?” He rasped in a mocking tone. “Naughty girl.” She clenched around him at the name, and his blue eyes snapped to hers.

She looked away, embarrassed.

“Ah ah, Eyes on me, naughty girl.” He purred dangerously. She clenched again deliciously.

She looked back at him, and bit the inside of her cheek as she felt herself growing sensitive. He stared down at her spread for him, her breasts bouncing with each thrust. Her lips parted in ecstasy and her skin glowing with sweat.

She had expected him to set a punishing pace, but she found instead that his movements were slow and intense; his thumbs stroked circles on her wrists where he held them. He was far from romantic and gentle, but he had a certain precision that made him even more powerful. It made her trust him even more.

He leaned down to her neck and bit and sucked at the skin, marking her as his. Then, she let out a gasp of surprise when he flipped her onto her stomach, pulled her hips up and slipped back inside her. His hands gripped her hips tighter, and y/n found herself hoping it would leave bruises.

“P-pleAse.” She whimpered out, grasping at the sheet until her knuckles turned white.

“What was that? Did. You. Fucking. Say. Something?” He punctuated each word with a thrust that almost made her scream.

A breathy moan emitted from her. “Please- ah!” He smacked her hard on her hip, and she realized her mistake. “Please sir…” She whispered.

“Does my little bunny want something? Hmm?” He rasped, before gripping her hand and pulling her up so her back was arched against him. He slipped his large hand to her neck, and he felt her tense for a moment; a part of him revelled in it- the Grabber side. He wanted her scared. But his other half wanted her tamed for him, and him only. So he settled for something that pleased both; he tightened his grip but stroked his thumb along the column of her throat. Her muscles relaxed almost instantly, and he felt her little hands hold onto his arm.

Her brain began to lose all function. Having him all around and inside her was almost too much. His strong chest scorched her spine as his hips snapped against hers, each one harsher than the last.

“I- w-wan-na c-come-“ she stuttered out as her breathing became shallow.

“Yeah, you wanna come? Again?”he stilled and growled into her ear. “If I let you, you’d better make it worth my while.” He let her go, and she collapsed to the mattress. He knew she was close, very close. But he wanted to see her. He wanted to witness her falling apart for him.

He pulled himself from her, and sat with his back against the wall and barely had beckon her before she was settled on his lap. Like this, she could see him entirely. He was unbelievable handsome, so much so that it almost made her stop and admire him.

Later.

She stared into those blue eyes and waited for him to tell her to go ahead. His chest swelled at her good behaviour, and placed a hand on her lower back to bring her over the tip of his cock, and let her sink down onto him. She released a whimper at the new position as it left no room for anything but his entire length to pulse inside her. His cock brushed against that spot inside her.

“Look at me.” He rasped

She locked eyes with him and began to fuck herself in his cock. He guided her hands to his shoulders and held her hips to make sure she knew he was in charge. Her lips parted as she began to let go.

“That’s my pretty girl…” he rasped, “You’re mine. You know that?”

She nodded, her brows pitching up and that heat inside her began to be too much.

“Say it.” He growled, gripping her tighter.

“I-I’m yours, sir!” She cried out, teetering on the edge.

“Such a good fucking girl. My good girl. That’s it…” he voice turned encouraging, and he even slipped his thump over her clit to send her over the edge. He needed her to come for him. He needed to be the one to make her come.

To his pleasure, she began to shutter and grip his bare shoulders until it hurt. A gravelly moan emitted from him as she gave in to him. He could feel her tighter around his cock until a rush of cum drenched him. She moaned and whimpered uncontrollably as she rode out her orgasm. He watched her every move, obsessing over every gasp and twitch.

Then as she slowed, she put her head against his shoulder and took a breath before pulling away and staring back at him with a fierceness he wasn’t expecting. She held his gaze as she lifted herself up until just the tip of his cock was inside her. Then, slammed herself down until every inch of him was inside her. She began riding him again, put she leaned down to his neck and kissed along it until he was breathing heavily and he took a handful of her hair and pulled.

She let out a surprised mewl, but did not stop her pace. He made her hold his stare, and he revelled in her blown pupils that were clear as day even in the dim light.

She was far from faking anything.

She wanted him.

With that thought alone, he let go. His hand on her hip tightened and his hips stuttered too meet hers as she helped him ride out his orgasm. She gazed at his face, watching him as ecstasy washed over his form. His eyes shut and his mouth parted as his breaths came in heavy gasps.

She felt his cum coat her insides, fill her until she felt it leak out of her. She rested her head against his collarbone, breathing heavily as she tried to steady her heart rate. After a couple seconds, his arms wrapped around her, and squeezed her close.

“Let’s get you washed up, bunny.” He whispered into her hair.

Her surprise must have shown, and he grinned, and took her in his arms; she wrapped her arms around his neck and buried her face there while his other arm held her legs. He carried her upstairs, and placed her on the tile on the bathroom floor as he ran the water for the shower. She looked down at her hands still not sure if she should look at him in the light.

“In you get.” He said to her, and took her hand. She stepped into the shower, and let the warm water wash away the sweat and slick between her thighs. But to her surprise, he got in behind her. She slowly turned around to face him, but trained her eyes on his chest.

“Look at me.” He murmured.

She blinked, and wondered if she had imagined his voice telling her to, but then she heard it again.

“Look at me, pretty girl.” He said, placing his finger under her chin but not moving it.

This time, she let her eyes travel up his strong chest, to his collarbone, to the prominent vein that run up his neck, then to his chin that she was growing to love; past his lips and his nose until she met his eyes. “There you are, bunny.” He grinned.

Y/n slowly returned his grin, and her eyes lit up. She could see him. She took in his features properly, until she had been staring for well over a minute as the water rained down on her back.

“Can I tell you a secret?” She whispered.

“Of course you can.” He murmured.

“You have the most beautiful eyes I’ve ever seen.” She confided in him. “And I like this line between your brows.” She reached up between then and traced the prominent line there. He smiled , took her hand and pressed a kiss to her inner wrist before turning her away from him. She felt his fingers in her hair, and realized he was washing it.

He washed every inch of her, and took his time touching her. He inspected the marks he had left, grinning at the large handprints on her hips. He shamelessly squeezed her breasts and played with her sore clit, drinking in her whimpers, as he pried one more orgasm from her; he took note that she never moved away or told him to stop.

He wrapped her in a towel, then himself, and led her out into the kitchen where he placed a chocolate on her tongue. He was acutely aware of her burning gaze now that he was maskless.

A part of him hated that she could see him, that he let her. But then the other half reminded him of the game. He needed her to trust him, if he wanted control.

He gazed down at her, and she couldn’t help the smitten grin that eased onto her lips. Then, instead of taking her down to the basement, he took her hand, and began guiding her through the house, past the living room. She resisted ever so slightly, having gotten used to the basement and it’s security, but he tugged on her a little more and she followed him into a new territory. There was one light on coming from a room down the hall, and upon arriving there she recognized it was his room. It was oddly orderly, and she wondered if that was something instilled in him from childhood. If his father had served in the war, chances were that he indoctrinated his family with militant organisation like her uncle had with his family.

He pulled her inside the room, and snapped his fingers; a moment later Sampson came and sat at the door. She felt a little safer with him there, and she smiled at his pitch black face.

As she looked around, she felt large hands remove her towel, and heard him walk away. When she turned back towards him, he was on the edge of the much cleaner mattress. “Come here bunny.” He cooed to her.

The adrenaline that had pushed her to follow through with her actions just an hour ago had worn off. In it’s place, were some nerves. She wrung her hands as she walked to him obediently. He watched her intently, and soon as she was close, he grabbed her by the waist and pulled her onto the bed next to him. They laid together, and she curled up in his arms. He didn’t look away from her for a minute, and she found herself to be almost hypnotised by his eyes. She stared back at him, and traced his face.

“Are you real?” She whispered.

He nodded.

She grinned and kissed his cheek, before draping a leg over his hip and closing her eyes. His arms pulled her closer to his chest and he could feel her sigh contently. He stroked her hair as she fell asleep in his arms. “Sweet dreams, y/n.”

She was exactly where he wanted her.

••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

@lxdyred @ethanhawkestan @honeycovered-bandaids @theroadreader @eth1calcannibal @ratpackash @doc-blu @tuttifuckinfruttifriday @dogmatic255 @funandfancyfree

#ethan hawke #the grabber x reader #the grabber #the black phone 2022 #the black phone #sweet dreams

646 notes · View notes

anarchy-and-piglins · 3 years ago

Text

There we go I can sleep now, reimprisoned AU lovers get your juice

(tw for mild suicidal ideation here from both Techno and Sam. It’s a doozy)

Technoblade has been sick for over a week when Sam realizes it might not just be an act.

He has automated the system to deliver food and water to the prisoner, reducing all possible needs he could have to enter the cell to near zero. Each time the lava comes down it makes a risk, each time the platform crosses over it creates an opportunity.

Sam refuses to let Technoblade escape. Not again.

But a few days ago Techno started to get weaker - or pretended to, Sam had assumed. A trick to get him to let his guard down. A ruse to get Sam into the cell and expose a flaw to be exploited. He did not care to give in to it, nor check up on the prisoner's well-being. If Sam waited long enough, surely Techno would cease his dramatics.

Eight days have passed when Technoblade stops moving altogether.

"Get up and eat your meals, prisoner. They will be taken away from you if you do not comply."

The newly installed intercom plays static feedbacks of silence at Sam. The cameras do not show anything. Technoblade does not get up to retrieve his food, five servings worth of it left untouched.

Nearly three days without eating.

Sam does not feel concerned. Empathy has no place within these obsidian walls (not anymore). But he is accountable for any prisoner's health, it's an important duty as the warden. That's why he collects his things and makes his way to the maximum-security cell. The lava comes down in currents, excess dripping off the walls.

When Sam lowers the barrier and gets into the cell proper, Technoblade doesn't stir. He's curled up in a corner of the room with the one blanket he was given bunched up to use as a pillow. Sam waits for him to do something - to jump up and try to overpower him. This escape attempt will be a coordinated act, planned with deliberation. Technoblade must be waiting for Sam to let his guard down.

But nothing happens.

Sam picks up the food and throws it into the lava, the smell of it putrid and sour. A similar scent hangs over the entire room and it takes him a moment to identify the source. Technoblade has puked in the toilet. Perhaps - Sam is starting to admit - the sickness wasn't a ruse after all.

"Prisoner." The prisoner doesn't acknowledge being addressed. Sam gets closer, hand still hovering over the hilt of his sword just in case. He swallows. "Technoblade?"

At least he gets a reaction. Technoblade jolts, startled by the use of a name he hasn't heard in months. He half rolls over and Sam notices how pale he is, skin shiny with sweat. With glassy red eyes, Techno stares at him for a moment, barely opening his mouth to speak.

"Ph'l?"

(Sam does not feel bad for the prisoners)

"Technoblade, it's me." He kneels by his side. Techno's chin tilts to follow the movement, a little more conscious.

There's a grin that finds its place on his face, brittle and fake. Sam can see the gap where two of Techno's teeth were knocked out during punishment recently.

(he does not feel bad)

"Warden… to what do I owe the pleasure?" Head falling back onto the pillow, Techno closes his eyes and curls up again - too exhausted to keep them open. His body shakes, tremors or muscle spasms or both. A fever.

"You've been neglecting to eat your meals," Sam says.

"Wasn't hungry."

"It's not healthy."

Techno laughs, sharp and cynical. Sam supposes he deserves that. One arm Techno keeps curled around his stomach, where the wound from that same punishment is festering. Infection is what made him sick.

(Sam's fault)

No. Sam's responsibility to deal with, however.

"Get up." He reaches out to grab Techno's elbow and the piglin flinches away from him, scared to be hurt again.

"Don't-"

"I'm trying to help you," Sam says with impatience - but it falls short against the fresh scars covering Technoblade's skin, the sunken lines on his face with bags beneath the eyes, the mess that his chopped short hair makes.

(he does not feel bad)

Techno doesn't flinch again, neither does he pull away. Sam doesn't think he has the strength for it. He manhandles the prisoner into a more suitable position to do what he has to do, to deal with his injury. The gash is scabbed over but not in a way that looks normal. The flesh around it is puffed up and reddened when Sam pulls Techno's shirt up. He tries not to look at how noticeable the prisoner's ribs are beneath his skin, a frame of hard muscle eaten away at due to a lack of nutrients.

(Sam should have done this earlier. pathetic, he couldn't even complete his one remaining task)

"Don't move," he says as he gets out the potion and a dagger. The infected flesh must be cut away before any healing can be applied. "This will be painful."

Techno shakes his head. "It's fine, leave it."

"If I do not treat the wound you will die," Sam answers.

A small exhale, Techno's eyes narrowing again. They're not blank anymore - for the first time in too long there is full awareness behind them. Techno knows exactly what it means when Sam says that.

"I know. Leave it."

(he does not feel bad)

"I can't." Sam does not apologize. "Try not to move."

He has to press down on Techno's shoulder with his free hand to keep him still, not wanting the knife to sink too deep and cause more damage. The prisoner doesn't make a noise that betrays pain, probably too used to it by now. He only shakes his head more.

Techno pushes at him helplessly, fever-heated skin against cold netherite armor. Sam doesn't blink (doesn't feel bad) and continues hacking away at infected tissue.

"Stop," Techno begs of him. "I don't care, just- Sam, stop!"

(the warden hasn't tolerated his name from the prisoner's mouth in a while, but he lets it slide)

"This is for your own good," he says.

This is for your own good, he thinks even as the puss and blood drain from the reopened wound. This is for your own good, he thinks when Techno's arms finally fall limp at his side unable to keep up the struggle. This is for your own good, he thinks as something too close to a sob tears through the prisoner's chest.

He applies the potion and watches the injury seal itself properly.

"Your next meal will be delivered shortly." Sam gets up, the blood sticky on his hands. The smell of rot too heavy. "Eat it. Do not make me come back."

Techno doesn't react. Maybe he passed out, Sam doesn't know. He doesn't want to know.

(he doesn't want to feel bad)

This is for your own good, he reminds himself while standing on a platform ten feet above the swirling mass of lava and wondering if either of them would jump into it if they had the chance, the notion to. If he wasn't the warden, perhaps he would consider it.

If he wasn't the warden, he wouldn't be much of anything. So long as there is a prisoner in Pandora's box, he would endure.

(So really, this is all for Sam's own good)

#technoblade #awesamdude #reimprisoned au #Shara writes #wrote this for phantom pains specifically actually but since the au has always been a tumblr thing #u guys can have it uwu as a treat #suicidal ideation tw

47 notes · View notes

lilyofthesword-writes · 3 years ago

Text

Insistence

Summary: Loki is being stubborn even when injured, not wanting help for fear of seeming weak. You ignore his protests and tend to him anyways.

Pairing: Loki x Field/Combat Medic!Reader

Word Count: 2,864

Warnings/Disclaimers: Mild violence. Injuries, burns. I don’t go into gory detail. Minor character death alluded to.

A/N: This one took longer than I anticipated. I wound up rewriting it midway through. The whole combat medic has been on my list of ideas for a while with only the most basic idea in my head. Once I start writing, it veered off in a different direction.

Masterlist

“I do not require your assistance, Mortal,” Loki spat, his voice lacking the venom it was usually laced with especially when you were trying to do your job.

You scoffed, gently dabbing at the tiny lacerations on his cheek. “Well, you’re getting it anyways. What kind of field medic would I be if I didn’t help everyone on the team?”

He scowled as you brushed a rogue ribbon of inky hair behind his ear so you could make sure you didn’t miss anything. In truth, this was the first time he didn’t continuously insist on pushing you away. There was always something about him not needing your treatments or someone else needing to be tended to first - Any excuse he could use to deny help. Then again, there was nowhere for him to run this time.

Either Fury’s intel had been wrong, your team’s plans had been leaked or both. The HYDRA base you all had been sent to had been overstocked in both operatives and ammunition. Even with the legacy team that accepted Loki almost half a year ago, you weren’t prepared.

Nat had been the worst, immediately being taken down when she attempted to infiltrate the base. That was when the HYDRA members started spilling out from within and around the base. With the rest of the team providing backup, Clint was able to help you lug her back to the Quinjet where you cleaned the deep gash in her side and stitched her together again. Of course, Clint wasn’t going to stand down. He stayed by the ramp, firing arrow after arrow to keep some of the heat off his companions. You wound up having to patch up his bleeding leg while he continued to fight.

Steve was the next to return. He collapsed in a seat as you reached him. Bruised and battered, he was mostly alright save for the possibility of some broken ribs. Tony crashed-landed onto the ramp, the metal of his suit screeching and scraping as he skidded inside. He was in the same boat as Steve along with his suit quickly losing power. There wasn’t much left he could do. Thor lumbered backwards into the Quinjet, Mjolnir still boomeranging out into the field to take down what enemies he could. With the God of Thunder standing guard, Clint disappeared to the cockpit.

The engines whirred to life. “Okay, guys! Jet’s primed and ready for take off. We got everyone?” Clint called out.

You took a look around, hearing the engines ready themselves. Thor cursed under his breath as he continued throwing his hammer. Where was… Oh… Oh no.

Shoving the cotton ball doused in antiseptic into Tony’s hand, you peeled away from his side and hovered near Thor. Against the bright white snow, a twister of black, green and gold ferociously danced. Loki was still out there.

“Do NOT take off yet!” you hollered back.

With a huff, you opened a hidden compartment and pulled out a sniper rifle along with its tripod. After piecing together the barrels, you attached the small tripod and settled on the floor, taking aim in Loki’s general direction. You popped off a couple rounds onto any of the HYDRA agents who dared try to catch the mischievous god off guard.

Tony shuffled to his feet, cursing when he realized just what was happening. By this time, he had removed himself from the drained Iron Man suit. “Trade places, Legolas! Reindeer Games is still out there!” He dashed to the cockpit.

You fired again, this operative having gotten too close for comfort. Loki had turned just in time to see opponent drop dead at his feet. With a near indiscernible nod that could only be seen through your scope, he carried on, slowly making his way to the Quinjet.

Despite his own injury, Clint was swiftly back at your side. With the extra backup, an exhausted Thor was able to make it off the ramp, farther into the fray and meet his brother halfway. Clint and you kept the path clear enough for them to rush back. It was stunning to see how well they could work together when they needed to.

The moment they were in reach of the ramp, you leapt to your feet and with Clint pulled the exhausted brothers on board. The ramp lifted as you tugged Loki into sitting, and the Quinjet took off. So, here you were, attempting to take care of the trickster’s wounds after having checked on Thor.

“I am a god,” he sneered half heartedly. “I will heal quickly. This is unnecessary.” He winced lightly as the antiseptic stung his cheek.

You sighed, “Any one can heal those cuts, but just because you can do so faster than the rest of us, doesn’t mean you are impervious to infections. Just less likely to get them.”

He went silent at that, either realizing you were right or just not desiring to argue further. Done with one side, you swapped to the seat on the other side of him. With a clean, freshly wetted cotton ball, you gingerly began cleaning his other cheek. All things considered, Loki didn’t look too bad. At least, not as bad as he could have. With your freehand, you coaxed him to lift his chin up so you could tend to the lacerations on his neck.

“Why?” His voice was soft, just loud enough for only you to hear him.

“Why, what?” You copied his volume level.

“Why do you insist on this?”

You stopped your ministrations, raising your gaze to look him in the eye. His face was uncharacteristically soft as he looked back at you. Though he tried to hide it, his aventurine eyes held an unfamiliar vulnerability.

“Well,” you started slowly, carefully choosing your words. “You are a member of this team, and you should be treated as such.” Fingers still ghosting his chin, you guided him to face you. “You deserve the same treatment I would give everyone else.”

His brow furrowed as he studied you cautiously. It took him a moment before he finally spoke again. “Should that be what you wish to believe, it is fine by me.” You could hear the sharpness returning to his voice.

The god turned away, leaning back in his seat with closed eyes, effectively ignoring you. Now, you could have chosen to change seats, to move away from the cold attitude clearly directed at you, but you stayed. One, you were tired like everyone else and didn’t feel like getting up. Two, you were going to be stubborn and bug him with your presence.

Eventually a calm quiet enveloped the Quinjet, seeping into your bones. Feeling your eyes droop, you settled in your seat for as much comfort as you could get before drifting off.

You imagined hours had passed by the time you woke. Your muscles ached from the position you had fallen into, your neck being the worst. Tentatively rolling your shoulder, you tried to sit up and stretch only to find you couldn’t. Your head was resting you thought was the side of your seat, but there was a light weight keeping on top keeping you from moving. You opened your eyes to a shocking sight.

No, your sleeping position was a bit different from what you thought. Your makeshift pillow happened to be Loki’s shoulder. He, in turn, had his head on yours, probably having fallen asleep shortly after you. It seemed like he was still asleep, his chest rhythmically rising and falling in a way that could be described as soft. You could only imagine the tranquil expression on his face. There was absolutely no way you were going to look. You would probably move too much and wake him, and that would be the end of this little moment.

The rest of the team was asleep, save for Thor. Even with exhaustion drenching his body, he was wide awake, grinning like a madman when he realized you had caught him watching. How long had he bared witness to the scene unfolding? With a scowl, you pressed your finger to your lips, signaling him to keep quiet. He merely nodded, that knowing smile still plastered on his face.

The call you received from Maria shocked the lingering sleep from your body. A small team had been formed to infiltrate a hostage situation - a team that included Nat, Loki, Steve and another field medic whose name you hadn’t even had the chance to remember yet. The mission had soured once they reached the hostages. Everyone was being brought back to the compound for treatment. It was all hands on deck.

Quickly shucking your pajamas, you threw on a pair of scrubs and sneakers and made a mad dash to the Med Bay. The place was pure chaos. Most of the doctors and nurses were tending to the hostages in the main rooms. The team was near the back in separate rooms.

Spotting Maria who was attempting to direct people and bring some semblance of order to the wing, you rushed over to her. “Where do you need me?”

She flipped through the files on her data pad, not even looking up to see who she was speaking to. “Everyone has a medic taking care of them except for Steve and Loki. Start there.”

“Understood,” you nodded, leaving Maria to do what else was needed.

Down the hall, you took note of the injuries you could see of the various patients. Burns… Lots of burns… What in the world happened?

Passing by Nat’s room, she seemed mostly alright. She gave you a minute bob of her head that you reciprocated before meeting up with Steve. He had burns along one side of his body. Thankfully, the treatment would be minimal compared to some of the others.

“Hey,” he greeted you with a grimace as you began your work.

“How’re you feeling?”

He huffed out a tiny laugh, “Honestly, not terrible.”

With the top half of his suit tugged down, you gingerly cleaned and added ointment to soothe the wounds. “What happened out there?”

“One of the hostages… Well… He had an explosive… Saddled up to Trevor…”

Oh… The field medic… Oh god…

Steve sucked in a breath like he couldn’t get enough air in his lungs. “Loki tried to contain it, but… We were all a little late in reacting.”

Your hands stilled. “How bad is he?”

The super soldier plucked the salve container from your fingers. “He’ll live, but if you’re really that worried about him, I can handle the rest of this.”

“You know him.” You tried to snag the container back. “He’ll come up with any excuse to not let us help him. If he knows I left you here, he’ll insist I leave him alone.”

Steve held it away from you with his good arm like a kid holding its younger sibling’s toy out of reach. “I doubt he will do that this time,” he smiled reassuringly, a glint of knowing shining in his eyes.

Leaning on the bed, you heaved a sigh. “You’re gonna drag me in there if I refuse, aren’t you?”

“Yup,” he ended with a pop. “Now get going!” He shooed you away.

“Fine,” you groaned, playfully dramatic. “But you can bet I will be back later to make sure you did everything right.”

He let loose a chuckle. “I’d expect nothing less.”

Leaving Steve to his own devices, you went to the next room down the hall. The door was shut and the privacy blinds were closed. Was Loki hurt that badly that the others had to be hidden away?

With a quick announcing knock, you steeled yourself and pushed the door open, sliding in before silently closing it again. When you turned to face Loki, you were met with something you hadn’t quite expected to see. What burns still littered his skin looked as though they were mostly healed over, but that wasn’t the problem. With his armor off, you were able to get a good look at his arms and upper torso.

Blue. His skin was blue. Ridges meticulously adorned his arms, up his chest and even his face. It was such a stark contrast to his Asgardian form, yet it still suited him well. From unmarred, alabaster skin to decorated, indigo skin. Perfection in both forms.

“Loki?” you announced your presence as softly as possible.

His face scrunched as he squinted his eyes open to find you standing beside him. “Aren’t there others that need tending to?” The hoarseness of his voice betrayed the harshness he attempted to convey.

“We’ve enough staff to manage everyone well enough,” you shook your head with a smile.

Now that you were closer, you could see he was sweating profusely. His breaths were so shallow. Brushing away a locket of hair matted to his forehead, you found his skin warm… Much warmer than it should be. Instead of recoiling immediately, you laid your palm flush with his forehead. “You are burning up!”

You pulled away to pop outside the door. Waving down a nurse, you asked him to bring in as many ice packs as he could. What was currently stored in the room would not be enough. Returning, you pulled out all of the packs. You wrapped them in some towels so they wouldn’t directly touch his skin. Then, you placed them around Loki, hoping this would be enough until the nurse got back with you.

The god rested silently while you worked. It was only when you pulled up a chair next to him to keep an eye on his vitals that he finally spoke. “Why are you still here?” A sort of vulnerability leaked out of his voice.

“Because you need help,” you deadpanned, really not wanting this argument again.

“No.” His brow furrowed with frustration, ruby eyes staring at the ceiling. “Why haven’t you run yet?”

You brushed a little more of his tresses away from his face. “And why would I do that?”

“Are you blind? Do you not see the monstrosity before you?” He scowled, still refusing to look at you.

“No, I don’t.”

He barked out a laugh that he immediately regretted. “Then what, pray tell, do you see?”

Reaching across for his cheek, you guided him to face you, receiving little resistance. His skin was still hot but not quite as much as before. “I see a person who risked his own safety to protect a bunch of civilians. There’s no way you could be a monster even with your jötun form.”

“So, you do know what I am…” A deep frown etched across his face.

“Yes… If it makes you feel any better, only a select few know. I have to know the medical histories of all the Avengers if I’m to treat them in the field.”

Silence…

“And for what it’s worth, this,” your thumb graced the apple of his cheek, “is not scary in the slightest.”

His eyes searched yours frantically for any hint of dishonesty. A trembling hand raised and settled on yours, pressing it further on his face. His lips parted to speak but was interrupted by a light knock on the door.

With an apologetic smile, you slid your hand from his grasp. The nurse from before had returned with the ice packs. A quick “thank you” and you brought the tray in the room, shutting the door behind you. Just as you had before, you surrounded him with the new packs. Loki’s chest rose and fell more deeply as he cooled down even further, skin morphing into a pale sky blue and eyes returning to the bluish-green you’ve come to know.

“Well, you’re at least responding quickly. How do you feel?” You hovered at his bedside.

He locked eyes with you again, a cocktail of emotions swirling about despite his attempts to keep a straight face. “I-” he cleared his throat. “Better…”

“Good, good…” Your hands fiddled with the sheets. “Is there anything you need?”

Loki’s lips pursed, and he swallowed thickly. His digits brushed against yours, halting your nervous tick. “Stay?”

“Of course,” you breathed.

The corners of your mouth tugged upwards as you glided your fingers into his palm like two puzzle pieces meant to fit together, giving his hand a light squeeze. You pulled your seat closer and sat back down.

Just as you made yourself comfortable, Loki raised your hand to his face. His lips grazed over your knuckles as he whispered, “Thank you…”

“Anytime.” And you meant it. “I’ll stay for as long as you’ll have me.”

He let your entwined hands float back down to the bed as he chuckled. “If that’s the case, I do hope you are well prepared.”

“Oh, yeah?” You smirked. “And just how long do you plan on keeping me around?”

“For as long as you will have me.”

Little did either of you know, Thor had come to the Med Bay to check on Loki after he heard the news and was listening to the conversation through the closed door. He decided to leave you be for now. The congratulations and light teasing could wait until tomorrow.

Tag List: @nahthanks

300 notes · View notes

scarlettscribbles · 4 years ago

Text

she used to be mine

- Anthony Bridgerton & TwinSister!Reader

Tags: 4k words - 3rd person POV, sibling fluff, family fluff, Anthony/Siena (not the main focus), Anthony is a soft boi when it comes to you (the softest, in fact), mourning

Warning/s: a bit spicy at the beginning, mild injury, mention of blood, major character death

Summary: A question from Siena about love sends Anthony into the past; making him recall his memories of a sister long loved, but never forgotten. A story told in moments.

a/n: don’t mind me, just manifesting my angst and bridgerton needs >> titles from waitress the musical

i. it’s not simple to say

“What do you think about love?”

“Love? What’s this all of a sudden?” Anthony laughed. He captured between his hands Siena’s own and kissed it playfully, making her giggle. “What do I think about it, well. I love kissing you, touching you-” he planted a soft kiss on her collarbone as his hands trailed down her abdomen. “I love--”

“Okay, no stop. That is not what I meant at all!” Siena stilled his wandering hands, laughing. She snuggled closer until they were chest to chest. “Love with your friends, family,...women.” she waggled her brows at the last word.

“Women, hah.” Anthony cast his eyes upward. “The only women I’ve ever loved are my mother and five sisters.”

“You mean four.”

“What?”

“You have four sisters: Daphne, Eloise, Francesca, and Hyacinth if memory serves correctly. Unless your mother’s pregnant, which I believe is unlikely. My lord, did you perhaps miscount?” Siena teased.

“No, no.” he waved his hand, chuckling. “She…”

ii. i still remember that girl

She was born 9 minutes before him; the eldest Bridgerton. This was a fact she liked lording over him teasingly. She won many arguments by simply stating “I am the eldest Bridgerton and therefore…”

Sometimes he could still hear her say it in his head.

“Remind me why I’m accompanying you again?”

“Because I am your older sister and--”

“I should always agree to what you’re saying, blah blah. Oh this is so crowded! Why could you not just send a maid to fetch the book?”

“Well what’s the fun in that? Come on Tony, you’re being too slow! It will be nighttime when we arrive there and the book I wanted will be gone!” she moaned miserably, turning around and tugging on his hand to encourage him to make haste.

“You and your dramatics. Why is this book so important anyway?”

“It simply is. I need it for when I become the Viscountess.” she smiled at him, chin jutting out proudly. “I can’t wait to get Papa’s watch. I will get it right, as Viscountess? He will pass it onto me along with the title.”

“Uh no he won’t. I am the heir in case you have forgotten, sister.”

“But I am the oldest. We might be both 10 but I am 9 minutes older than you.” she argued, waving her pointer finger at him.

“Yes, yes you’ve said that like a million times now! But you’re a girl, so you can’t. You shall marry some guy, not that there are any worth marrying. Why just the today I saw the son of that family I cannot remember for the life of me, doing something horrendous! I think it would be better for you to stay away from any and all men.” Anthony paused, realizing that he was - or is soon going to be - one of those men. “Except for me and Papa, of course.”

She merely looked at him in amusement. “Pish posh.” his twin huffed, eyes glinting in the sunlight. “I’m not going to exchange my ambitions for some mere man. You shall see Tony, I will have that watch. Now come on!” she dropped his hand and gathered her skirts, ducking and maneuvering between the throng of people. Anthony felt a tinge of panic, seeing his sister slowly becoming engulfed by the crowd.

“Sister wait!” he started to chase after her. He saw the blue tail-end of her skirt when someone bumped into him. He whirled around to complain to whoever it was; however, he seemed to have miscalculated the strength of his spin and tripped, landing on his bottom. “Ow, hey watch it!” he shouted at the people who accidentally kicked him, not noticing his figure on the ground.

Anthony hissed as he dusted his pants. He examined the palm of his hand and noticed scratches from when he landed too roughly on the floor. There were spots of red slowly making its way down his hand, along with drops of water.

Oh. He was crying.

“Where are you?” his voice warbled. “Sister…”

Has she left him, truly? Surely not. His twin is many things but never cruel. She was tenacious, smart, and…

“Tony! I let you out of my sight for a second and - goodness!” She ran over and knelt in front of him, glaring at the people who would come too close. They parted for her, giving them a wide berth. “Here, take my handkerchief. We should get home and wash your hands. We don’t want it to be infected. And your clothes are a mess, Mama is going to have a fit. Come now,”

“But your book?” he sniffed.

“Eh, I can get it some other time.” she smiled and patted his cheeks. “Don’t cry now, sister’s got you.”

...kind. She was kind.

iii. reckless just enough

Anthony was sulking. Not that he’d let anyone know. Papa had gotten angry with him. It wasn’t even a big thing. He simply...borrowed his watch to look at it. Anthony thought maybe he could figure out what made his twin so interested in it. It was a plain thing, nothing special maybe besides the monogram. He didn’t mean to drop it from the stairs. He really didn’t. He heard his name being called for lunch and he jolted.

He got a dressing down from Papa with his siblings present; Benedict and Colin in particular snickering at his plight. It was embarrassing. As soon as Papa dismissed him, he ran for his room, ignoring the calls of his twin.

Right now he was hidden beneath the curtains and behind his bookshelf. Did Papa really have to scold him at the lunch table? Anthony buried his face between his hands.

“You didn’t eat.”

Anthony banged his head on the wall when he looked up too fast.

“Are you okay?” his twin asked him, smiling amusedly. She carried with her a plate with bread, cheese, ham and a slice of blueberry pie.

“Don’t laugh at me.”

“I’m not.”

“You’re smiling.”

“Laughing and smiling are worlds apart, Tony.” she shook her head and sat beside him, nudging him insistently until they were shoulder to shoulder. She slid the plate from her lap to his. “Eat.”

Anthony looked at her blankly. “Are you so distraught that you cannot eat? Do you want me to hand feed you like a child?” She made a motion as if she was going to grab the plate but Anthony shooed her hands away.

“I’m perfectly capable, thank you.” he stuffed a piece of bread in his mouth. “How’d you find me anyway?”

“Please swallow before you talk.” she said. “And, this is your room Tony. I’m simply using common sense.”

“Oh.”

“Yes.”

Anthony picked up the ham and cheese and continued eating. For a moment, they just sat there in comfortable silence.

“It’s unfair.” Anthony said, breaking the silence.

“What is?”

“Papa.”

“How come?”

“He was way too angry. I didn’t mean to drop his watch! And it wasn’t even broken. If it was, he could’ve repaired it easily.” he pouted.

“You could’ve also just asked him to look at it. You know, in his room. Where you can’t drop it from a height and possibly damage it.” she replied with a bit of sarcasm.

“Fine, yes, I could have.” he conceded. “I just don’t know why he was so angry.”

“It’s important to him.”

“It’s just a watch.” Anthony rebutted, pouting. His twin gave him a look that he knew meant “you look adorable but also stupid.”

“Nah.”

“No?”

“Nope.” she answered. “For one, it’s an heirloom. Heirloom is defined as -”

“I know what it means.” Anthony waved his hand. “Do go on.”

She gave him a faintly annoyed look which merely made him smirk. “I shall, and not because you told me to.” she cleared her throat. “The watch being an heirloom is just its value as a thing. There’s also the sentimental value. The memories and emotions attached to the watch. For Papa, he treasures it because it - probably - reminds him of grandfather and grandmother. Grandfather especially. Because he was the one to give the Papa the rights and responsibility for our family.”

“Is that why?”

“Why what?”

“I wanted to know what makes it so special for you.” Anthony shrugged. “You always talk about it, about getting the watch when we become older. I didn’t see the big deal. Is that why it’s so important to you too?”

“Yes, quite.” she answered. “I want to take care of our family, Tony. I know I can, I just do. I don’t want me to just be a wife. I’m meant for greater things. Also,” she grinned at him. “I want it so I could count down the seconds until I see you again.”

Anthony fake gagged, pretending to chuck the bread and cheese onto his twins’ lap. His twin scrambled away far from him and yelped. “You are disgusting! Mama! Anthony ruined the new dress that we just got!”

“I did not!”

“You were about to!”

iv. i was never attention’s sweet center

It was just a stupid, off-hand comment from Benedict. Anthony knew his brother meant no harm but still, the comment hurt.

“Maybe she truly should have your title, brother.”

Anthony was no stranger to her loud and obvious wanting to inherit the head of the house. In fact, he supported his twin. If Papa permitted it, he would gladly concede to you. However, it was unspoken between the twins the knowledge that Papa would never agree to such a thing; no matter how much he loved his eldest daughter.

Anthony was no stranger to her excellence either. While the both of them worked hard to set an example for their younger siblings. He always thought she was great at everything a girl should be and more. Though the ‘more’ part would never reach the ears of their mother or anybody else. Nobody should know that Anthony taught her how to sucker punch anybody that vexed her except maybe Benedict and Colin...also Eloise. That girl was far too curious and also far too attached to Benedict. Anthony thinks in the privacy of his mind that if she were a boy, there would be no quarrel that she’d get the title.

Other people also thought the same. Though they expressed it in a much less pleasant way, in words Anthony does not care for. They speak condescendingly. They speak of her gender with pity in their voices, their admiration twisted. They mention that her excellence should be toned down, that she should focus instead on things better suited to her. They speak of how inadequate Anthony is, how poor that a boy be overshadowed by a girl. They theorize how Anthony must hate her for taking all the spotlight. He hears all this, and she does too, seeing as they’re almost always attached at the hip. If it bothers her, she does not speak of it.

They speak of lies. Anthony thinks that her abilities suit her as they are and that no matter how bright she shines, it would never be something to be upset over. He basked in her light. They are wrong for thinking that she’s taking a piece of his life away when in truth, she completes it. Best friends, twins, soulmates; he loves her and she loves him. Still, their words leave a mark.

So when Benedict said that albeit in a teasing manner, Anthony just ran away. As he got older, he found it the preferable way to escape his problems. If he could not run to her then he must run away.

Anthony hugged himself as a strong breeze blew and made the unoccupied swing beside him rock.

“Tony.” And there she was. His twin was holding a book. She sat at the swing beside him.

There was silence. The only thing he could hear were the wind, the scuffling of his feet, and the soft sound of her flipping the pages.

“Sister,” she did not look up from the book but she hummed, signifying that he was heard. “Why did you come out here? It’s better to read inside, surely.”

“You’re upset. Of course I would come.” she said matter-of-factly.

“Did Ben tattle?”

“Ben? Tattle? His mouth is tighter than a woman’s corset when it comes to secrets.” she laughed lightly. “Surely you know better than that.”

“Yeah, I do.” he smiled. Since they were little, even if they were distances apart, both of them would always know - or at least had an inkling of - what the other was feeling. During their early years they chalked it up to magic but now they both just conceded it as a twin thing. “Actually, I don’t. Know better, I mean. Everybody seems to think so. Am I inadequate, sister? Dumb perhaps? I feel like I cannot do anything right sometimes! Compared to you I - “

His twin laid a hand on his shoulder. “Tony.” her brows were drawn and her lips pursed. “First of all, there is no comparison brother. I am me and you are your wonderful self. We are both excellent, please do not doubt yourself of that no matter what anyone says. And I know they say a lot. I’m just so used to tuning them out that I never considered that you might not do the same. I’m sorry.”

She stood up and drew him into a hug. Anthony’s arms stayed limp at his side. “People will flap their mouths because that’s what they do; say their opinions even though it’s unwelcome. If we tried to stop every single one of them, why I believe it’ll take all our lifetime and more!” she chuckled. “We cannot change them so we must change how much we’ll let their words affect us. Their words don’t matter at all! If I could, then I would shove those words back up their mouth and let them swallow it. Which I don’t know how to do. D’you suppose punching them would work just as well?” Anthony laughed wetly at her quip. It would work but it would also involve somebody calling Mama and Papa for her ‘inappropriate behavior’.

“What I know is this.” she grasped his shoulders and held them so she could stare at him in the eyes. Anthony met her determined gaze head-on. “You’re good enough Tony. Hell, you’re excellent.”

Anthony sobbed and quickly drew her into a fierce hug, his tears surely wetting her dress but he knew she didn't mind. “That is as sure as the sun that rises in the east. As sure as our family’s love, and ours for each other.”

v. bring back the fire in her eyes

It started with a cold. She had stayed up too long outside and now she’s bed-ridden. Anthony crossed his arms at the corner of the room as his younger siblings ran around. In his opinion there was too much ruckus for her to properly rest. However, Mama brought it up earlier and his twin just waved her concern away, stating that some liveliness will do her good. And who was Anthony to go against the wishes of his dear sister? It doesn’t mean that he has to like it though.

“No you’re the troll!” Eloise insisted.

“I was the troll last round!” Colin argued back.

“Now, now,” Benedict placated them both, then he glanced at Anthony in a way that promised mischief. “Why don’t we let Anthony be the troll then? He certainly looks the part with how grouchy he is.”

Daphne giggled. “And how he’s guarding his corner.”

“And how horrendous his face looks!” added Eloise.

Now he’s had enough. “You all look far too happy for someone who’s going to be troll food soon.”

“Troll wuh - AAH!” Eloise screamed as Anthony lunged at her. She took off with a sprint and soon the other Bridgertons followed as well, laughing boisterously. “Noo, Ben save me!”

“This is survival of the fittest -”

“Survival of the fittest your face!”

“Ehem.” Suddenly all motion stopped. Colin face-planted on the floor, caught by his momentum. All eyes went to the door where Violet Bridgerton stood along with a maid. She had a smile on her face coupled with a vaguely exasperated expression. “I’m glad you’re having fun but please take you playing outside. I need to tend to your sick sister.”

Various moans and complaints filled the room but only with a raise of their Mama’s brow, they filed outside the room, murmuring farewells and well wishes to the sole occupant of the bed. All except one. Anthony remained rooted at the side of his sister’s bed.

“Anthony, please.” Violet gently said. A complaint was on the tip of his tongue when a hand laid on his bicep. He looked at his sister, looking frail among the covers but she merely smiled and shook her head.

“I’ll be fine Tony.” she said. “Go and check that our siblings haven’t set the house ablaze or anything.”

For a moment, both of them just stared at each other. A silent conversation passing between them both. Anthony sighed. “Get well.” he bent over to press a kiss to her forehead. “I’m not sure I alone will be enough to stop them from doing that.”

She laughed. “You will be.”

vi. sometimes life just slips

It was only supposed to be a cold. A cold.

Someone almost barreled through Anthony as he, Benedict, Colin came through the door. “Whoa!” he exclaimed as the maid said a rushed apology. Everyone in the house seemed to be in a mad dash. He exchanged looks with his brothers, who were as clueless as he.

“Anthony!” came the panicked voice of Eloise. He held her shoulders and looked over her for any harm of some sort that caused her to panic.

“What’s wrong?” he asked. Anthony was surprised to see her looking up at him with teary eyes. Eloise is looking at him like how she used to when she was much littler, pleading to Anthony. Believing with all her might that her older brother will make everything okay. He looked behind her to Daphne who was pursing her lips.

“Oh God, is someone dead?” Colin quipped, then promptly made a punched-out noise as Benedict elbowed him.

“Sister, she - “

“She’s dead?!” Colin cried.

“No!” Daphne growled, irritated. “She’s just...in pain. Mama and Papa sent for doctors.”

“Goodness, how serious is this cold? - Anthony, wait!”

Anthony didn’t hear Benedict’s call. How could he over the thumping of his racing heartbeat? He ran upstairs like the devil was on his tail, and even then he felt like he was too slow. He paused at her door, psyching himself to open it. If he went in, what would he see? He raised his trembling hands, the complaints of his siblings nothing but a faint echo.

The doors burst open and out came two elderly men and one woman. The siblings crowded around them. Anthony could only hear snippets as he zeroed in on you. Mama was kneeling beside his twin’s bed, holding her daughter’s hand tight to her chest.

“The young miss will be fine -”

“We expect her fever to break -”

“Dear.” Anthony jumped, startled. The woman accompanying the doctors addressed him. “Are you okay?”

“My - my twin sister, will she be alright?”

“Twin, huh. That’s why you’re so distraught. Well all of you are but you in particular,” she shook her head and smiled. “Your sister is strong. She will be fine. You can go in. I’m sure she’ll be glad for your company.”

She need not say it twice. Anthony ran into the room.

“Sister.”

“Tony.”

He felt like he could breathe again.

vii. rewrite an ending or two

“Are you sure you don’t want to get up here? We shared a bed when we were little. And when we grew, sometimes.” she paused, thinking about her statement. “Often.” his twin amended.

Anthony hummed when she stopped running her hands through his hair. “No.”

“The ground is cold, Tony. You might get sick.”

“How could I? You already took all the sick with you.” Anthony grumbled. “I’m fine, sister.”

“If you say so.”

“How about you?” Anthony asked.

“Hmm?” she smiled. Facing down and in the darkness, Anthony couldn’t have seen it but he felt it. “I believe I will be.”

viii. she is gone, but she used to be mine

It was a miserable day in spring when the eldest Bridgerton was buried.

ix. most days i don’t recognize me

“She…” Anthony clenched his jaw.

“Are you ever going to finish that sentence?” Siena asked, smiling until she noticed how tense he was. She reached out to touch his arm, inquiring, “My lord, are you alright?”

Anthony sniffed and quickly stood up, hastily picking up his clothes. “Yes, fine.” he answered, hopping on one foot to put his shoes on. “I’m fine. I’m fine.”

“Where are you off to in such a hurry?” Siena asked. Anthony barely spared a glance at her, pausing shortly halfway out the door. He checked his watch, eyes glazing over for a moment.

“I need - I’m needed. At home.” With that, he briskly walked outside and into his carriage. It was today. He must’ve forgotten. How could he have forgotten? But he also ‘forgot’ the other years. The grief consumed him on this particular day. It was always a sore reminder that he was missing his other half. So instead of going to her grave, he went drinking. Instead of spending the day with her in his mind, he spent it with his cock inside somebody. Anthony spent so much time forgetting but now it’s as if her ghost had come to haunt him. Every memory had come rushing back, especially the day she died.

He remembered the night before. The doctors had told them she would be better. She told him she would be better. But he needed to stay close to her. Anthony fell asleep with her hand in his hair. Then he woke up to her eyes open but her breath was gone. He had never screamed so loud in his life.

Anthony remembered their parents barging into the room, Mama taking a step back looking as if she was seconds away from fainting. Then she saw her son on the floor and immediately enveloped him in her arms. He woke up in a bed sometime during the night. He woke up convinced it was all a dream but that promptly shattered when all his siblings (all except one) filed into the room in their sleepwear. Their eyes were swollen and wet. And it stayed that way until her funeral, and even some more after that.

The carriage stopped. Anthony got out and stopped at the gate. He knew Mama held some kind of family gathering during this day. What they did in the gathering, he had no idea. He never stayed long enough to attend. But today was different, somehow.

He padded softly into the drawing room. A quick glance noted him of all his siblings’ presence. Francesca was playing a familiar tune. Colin was singing in a low tone. Benedict, Eloise, and Daphne were all sitting on one couch, leaning against each other. The youngest ones sat on the floor, trying to follow the lyrics Colin sang. Mama was sewing. The melancholy vibe was replaced with a startled one. Francesca stopped playing and Colin stopped singing. Mama dropped what she was holding and walked towards him, arms open.

Anthony crumbled. “Mama -”

x. for the girl that i knew

“Mama what do you think about love?” It was indeed a bleak day in spring. Everybody had left after the service but Anthony chose to stay, lingering.

“Anthony I -” Violet began.

“Why does it hurt so much?” he whirled around, uncaring as tears and snot fell messily down his tired face. “I feel as if someone carved an unfillable hole inside me. Like every breath I take is not right. Half of me is buried six feet underground, mama. How can I bear it?”

Anthony curled into himself as Mama enveloped him into her arms. “One day at a time, dearest. You have us still.” she whispered. “One day at a time.”

[fin.]

#anthony bridgerton #bridgerton tv #bridgerton netflix #fanfiction #bridgerton fic #sister!reader #reader-insert #anthony bridgerton & sister!reader #twinsister!reader #oneshot #sibling fluff #fluff #bridgerton x reader #anthony bridgerton x reader #scarlettscribbles

534 notes · View notes

guqin-and-flute · 3 years ago

Text

Holding Me Holding You--Ch. 5

[Chapter 1] [Chapter 2] [Chapter 3] [Chapter 4]

[Ao3 Link]

[This should be the last one of heavy, unabating angstiness--next chapter should the comfort part, finally. If all goes according to plan 😬 But we are mostly through the woods! TW: Dissociative state, mild (dream) unreality, Emetophobia warning--nonexplicit, starts at 'it threatens to curl him over', just lasts for that paragraph line.]

Wangji is wasting away in front of him--like their mother, like their father. It strikes Xichen as he carried his brother back in his arms, blood seeping into rain soaked robes. Wangji remains glazed while he is brought into the bright chaos of his own home, filled with two panicking young boys and the small cadre of confused night guards that had been brought running by their cries.

Even when the doctor he summons rebandages Wangji's wounds and talks seriously over his body about infection and spiritual energy and scars. Even while A-Fu keeps sobbing and sobbing, wild and lost against Xichen's chest as he mechanically apologizes and apologizes and holds him. Even as they coax Wangji's son from out of the corner where he is cowering from the noise in feverish half-consciousness, Wangji is glassy and unseeing, eyes fixed on the door. As if uncomprehending. As if he doesn't understand how any of this has happened.

Xichen doesn't understand either. He can't identify when the decay began.

He just knows that he has seen that look on his father, staring into nothing in the dimness of the Hanshi. Has seen it on his mother, near the end that he hadn’t known was the end. Has seen it on countless cultivators lying broken on the battlefield as they bled out.

Death. The end.

Xichen is losing him, as he had lost them. This was never supposed to happen again. He had promised himself he would be better next time. He knows Wangji better than anyone else. He should have done more.

The horrid crimson of Wangji’s wounds flash in the dressing of his back. The sound the strikes had made against his flesh echoes in Xichen’s ears.

He should have done less.

When the other adults leave, finally, the glances that they cast behind themselves are shaken and dubious. The Twin Jades of Lan, soaked and blood smeared and hollow eyed. Fallen so far.

What is jade?

Xichen is shivering and staring at the same blank, white wall as Wangji. A-Yuan has been taken to sleep in the infirmary in a medicated stupor that is supposed to keep his temperature down where the doctors can closely observe him. Wangji is not aware enough to know that he is gone.

A-Fu refuses to sleep at all, now that he has stopped crying. He digs through one of Wangji’s potted plants and there is just not enough left of Xichen to stop him. Any time he moves, A-Fu’s head whips around to find him, dark gaze intense and panicked. Afraid he’s being left alone again.

He has done nothing but make the boy suffer. Cry.

What is jade? Jade is peerless. Valuable.

Rain is thundering on the roof. The world has narrowed to this room.

It's wrong to attend to business and leave Wangji. Xichen can't abandon him again. He will stay here. He will let the world burn in penance for how it has failed his brother.

It's wrong to stay and leave his post unattended. He cannot be selfish. The pain of Wangji's punishment is right to rest heavy on Xichen's shoulders as well, sharing the burden for his part in every crime against the cultivation world and the Lan. He cannot be his father and abandon his duty.

These truths somehow occupy the same reality, one he is unsure whether he himself occupies, right now. Rule number 1,276: Do not be of two minds. Broken.

A-Fu tips the pot with a dull clank, flopping down with a surprised, “Oof.” Dark dirt spills over his feet. Wangji doesn't blink, staring sightlessly.

It is wrong to inflict the fallout of his inadequacy on this poor orphaned boy. His cowardice. This is irrefutable, singular truth.

Jade is noble. Jade is flawless.

Unbreakable.

When Wangji cannot find it in himself, Xichen can be jade enough for the both of them; for A-Fu, for all the Lan. Unbreakable.

He will do what is right.

Tomorrow.

A-Fu tracks dirt over, toddling and crawling until he pulls himself upright on Xichen’s sleeves. Little muddy handprints. His cheeks are blotchy. He garbles something. Xichen can only catch, "Wanna."

Words are...hard. Harder than they should be. So Xichen pulls Liebing from his sleeve. Wangji's drying, bloody handprint glares from its translucent skin from where he had tossed it aside. He plays, winding, low, and slow.

A-Fu sinks down to squat, blinking slowly, fists still wound in Xichen's sleeves.

A minute later, his eyelids flicker. Then, he tips himself over and lays his head on Xichen's thigh, glassy eyes hooded.

He does not let go.

When Xichen pauses for a breath, the boy mumbles, “Again." So he plays songs of healing, of calming, stirs the sluggish sparks of energy through his meridians, for Wangji and A-Fu.

Wangji lets out an almost imperceptible sigh. Closes his empty eyes.

Good.

The music buzzes in his lips, under his lungs, methodical and numbing--meditative.

Until there is an overbright wringing in his core, flashing out through his meridians like wildfire. The note shrills up piercingly and chokes off. Blood spurts over his tongue, past his lips. Bright and iron-sour--ringing and burning and surging--

He at least has the presence of mind to lean forward, avoiding A-Fu.

He stares at the scarlet splat on the rug by his knee. Feels a single drip from his nose make its way over his lips, down his chin. Overstrained. Qi mismanagement.

Get a hold of yourself .

A breath.

Quelling. Controlling.

Slowly, he wipes his face on his damp sleeve. Rule 783: Do not begrime your clothing without just cause. Broken.

He watches the stain sink, into his sleeve, into the rug, absorbed down into the weave of the fabric, drunk up until it’s indistinguishable from Wangji’s slowly browning next to it. Meditates on that. The abstract form of his emptiness blurring at the edges. Liebing is warm in his hand.

Wangji is asleep. A-Fu is asleep.

If Xichen dreams, he doesn't remember it.

When the sun rises, he unfolds from his post and bundles A-Fu into his blanket. He checks Wangji’s breathing (rough), his wounds (oozing), the acupuncture needles (still set). Takes his wrist and loses himself in his pulse. It’s there, bumping up against his fingertips, the nudging nose of a persistent minnow. I’m here. I’m here. I’m here.

Stay .

He calls for a guard to ensure Wangji cannot leave on his own again. He carries A-Fu back to the Hanshi. Sends instructions back with the disciple that brings them breakfast.

A-Fu insists on clambering into his lap as they eat. Xichen’s mouth is too dry to taste any of the food. He feeds A-Fu with hands shaking so badly, he spills half of it down the boy's robes--but doesn't seem to mind. In fact, he slushes it gleefully across the tabletop.

Xichen barely feels human.

Then let me be jade.

Something displeases A-Fu about bathing, today, and he angrily tries to shove all the water out of the washing tub in a fit of toddler pique, scowling and hollering nonsensically. Soapy water splats to the floor and Xichen’s chest and lap when he thrashes.

Xichen lays his forehead on his soaked arms on the edge of the tub and closes his eyes for a moment. Just a moment.

When he is changing his own twice-soaked and bloody clothes, he hears quick little, unsteady feet slaps come around the privacy screen. Then, "Owie."

He turns. "Owie," the boy insists and raises a hand, eyes fixed on Xichen's back. Numbly, he turns to the mirror. Finds long, purpling bruises crisscrossing across his shoulder blades and back. It's probably from hitting the shelves in the storage room.

They don't hurt. Sometime in the night, his body has moved somewhat to the left of himself and sensations are...distant. It is a sign of how he has neglected his cultivation that they have not healed, yet.

“A-niang kissit?”

Xichen shakes his head, mutely. A-Fu seems to consider this, brows furrowing in thought. Then, “ A-Fu kissit,” he decides, resolutely.

There is a pressure beginning somewhere in Xichen’s chest. Squeezing.

He kneels down. The kisses are applied by A-Fu kissing his own palm and clumsily smearing them on like a healer’s balm to his shoulder. Xichen accepts them without protest.

When they are both presentable, Xichen takes the child by the hand and lets him totter beside him through the wet and misty grass, lets him pull up a clump of flowers out in the front garden of the Hanshi, lets him take the time to marvel at all the shiny facets of the rocks on the path, marvel at a crawling beetle. For when they come into sight of the temporary orphanage, A-Fu freezes, then scrambles to try to climb his leg. “Up! Up, p’ease!"

Xichen can’t move. When clinging doesn't work, A-Fu collapses like a hamstrung deer, dangling from his hand. And begins to plead.

"No p'ease! No p’ease! Nonono!"

The women have received instructions, sent from the disciple who had brought them breakfast, and they are ready this time. Two come out with sympathetic faces and words. They coax and coo and reason as they pick A-Fu up. Peel his little fingers from Xichen’s sleeve as he clutches and screams wildly, "Nooo!! Ahhhh!! Nooooo !!!"

Jade. Cold. Flawless.

Tiny, wickedly sharp nails rake down his hand, scrabbling.

"A-Huan, you are the eldest. You need to set a good example for A-Zhan. That's enough, now, you're too old for this. Collect yourself. When you are like this, he gets uneasy and unruly. Come, now, show him how it's done. Deep breath."

That pressure is growing.

Jade. He is jade.

The boy abandons words, just shrieks of raw sound as they carry him away. Echoing off the trees. Reaching back for him.

"Huan-er, don't cry, you have to go with shufu. Oh, I know, I know, I don't want you to go either. I'll see you in a month! Next month-- don't cry, I'll see you then. Don't cry, Huan-er, please don't cry--"

It's for the best. It's for the best. It's...

He looks so scared.

Wangji screams Wei Wuxian's name. He hears it from halfway across the battlefield, despite the din. Hooks in his soul��he is so afraid--

The door shuts. The screams muffle.

And Xichen is left standing alone on the grass. He feels nothing but that intense, crushing pressure. It threatens to curl him over. He makes it to the tree line before he throws up bile. Barely.

A crack. A flaw.

Rule 589; Do not be ill mannered.

He coughs. Breathes.

Rule 712; Be strict with yourself

He does not know how long it is until Uncle finds him there shaking. “Who is making so much noise?” There is a silence when Xichen doesn’t respond right away--he can’t. He just can’t. A hand comes, squeezes his shoulder. “Are you well?”

He just shakes his head. He should be asking after Uncle’s health. Reassuring him. He should be….

“Xichen. You help no one if you do not rest properly.” Uncle’s voice is low and persuasive--gentle.

He is failing.

Uncle moves closer, presses the back of his cool hand to Xichen’s forehead, then sets his fingers on the pulse in his wrist. That alien pressure squeezes Xichen’s throat until it’s choking him.

“You cannot go on like this. I will head things until you have collected yourself. Go. Sleep.”

It is familiar command that draws him up by puppet strings to standing straight, to bowing woodenly.

“Look at me.”

Xichen does. His uncle looks the same as he ever has, save hints of darker circles beneath his eyes, the skin thin and bruised. His severe expression holds concern and disapproval and a glimmer of something that looks like fear. “You mustn’t do this,” he says with insistent force. “Your people are looking to you and you mustn’t allow yourself to do this. You are to return to the Hanshi and sleep until you wake naturally and then you are to meditate until you are fully within your own control. Do you understand me?”

“Yes, shufu, ” he says, hoarsely. He has failed in his every duty in every way. He is...He is….

Uncle regards him with growing consternation, his mouth tightening. “What on earth is the matter, Xichen?”

Everything. Everything I have done and have not. “I….Wangji.”

Deep lines appear beside Uncle’s nose, his lips whiten and his jaw works. Rage. Grief. Betrayal. Regret. “Wangji is experiencing the consequences of his actions,” he says, stiffly. “He was given ample time and ample guidance and yet he throws it all back in the face of the Clan who has raised him.” His nostrils flare as he glares down the mountain. “How are his wounds.”

Xichen’s breath is tight and burning, as if he is crying, but he’s not. He’s shaking. He’s empty. “...Will you not go to him?” He whispers.

Pain and anger flicker. “I will not. There is work to be done. He is in the doctor’s hands.”

Xichen bows wordlessly.

And disobeys.

He returns to Wangji’s home, down the mountain on locked kneed legs. The house smells of char and hemostatic and antiseptic and rain. It burns his nose. Wangji is pale and haggard and alone, somehow rendered small in his own bed by his bandages. Xichen rinses his mouth, sheds his boots and his guan and crawls up to collapse next to him, as he had when they were small and Wangji couldn’t sleep. Just like then, he finds one of Wangji’s lax hands and wraps it in his own.

You have me. I’m not leaving you.

Leaving. The memory of A-Fu’s screams tighten his gut and his throat until he is sure he will vomit again. However, the sound of his mother’s voice soothes it away. “How is he doing?”

When he opens his eyes, he finds her kneeling beside the bed, stroking Wangji’s hair with concern. Sitting up, he scrubs a hand over his face and offers her a weak smile. “ Niang, you should be asleep. Don’t worry, I have him.”

Wangji sleeps, his face turned away, back rising and falling.

Their mother stands and rounds the bed, taking Xichen’s face in her warm, dry hands and kissing his forehead, right over the cloud pendant of his headband. “I know you do, Huan-er. You are the best gege anyone could ask for. Don’t you think you should be sleeping?” She teased, tweaking his nose.

“I’m not tired.” And he wasn’t, just very curiously heavy. Every movement of his head seemed to take twice as long, every movement of his hand twice as much effort. “I shouldn’t be sleeping anyway. I need….”

“Oh?”

The words were escaping, jumbling up like mush, and he frowns politely. “Hm.”

“Yes?”

Looking up into her face, he finds it round and sweet and familiar with glittering mischief in her eyes, waiting with a small smile. “I can’t...think of it.” It doesn’t bother him particularly, not truly--a minor frustration--but moisture buds in his eyes like pebbles of rain. Xichen blinks in surprise and wipes them with the back of his hand.

“Oh no, save those!” His mother gasps in alarm, searching about for something. “No, you need those, don’t, Huan-er!”

“I’m sorry,” he says, her frantic energy seeping into his chest. He tries to breathe deeply, to center his qi, to close his eyes, but they will not recede, threatening to spill over. “I’m trying, I don’t...I’m not….”

“It’s alright, love, but quickly, try to remember--who was the last person to have them?”

As hard as he can, he tries, fumbling for the memory. “Was it...was it A-Yao? Or Da-ge….” He remembers them holding something, something warm, something familiar.

“Oh, that sounds right. Here,” she has produced a piece of white silk, though the long ends have been dipped in blood. She hurriedly dabs at his eyes. “Mind your robes.”

“Yes, a- niang, ” he replies dutifully, taking it and soaking up all the tears into the fabric before they fall, holding the blood away from him as she beams down at him.

“Perfect boy. Do you remember properly, now?”

“I think it was A-Yao. I think...I think it was when I ran….”

Her dark eyebrows rise and she pets over his hair--it’s so light that he can barely feel it at all. “That long?”

“I’m not quite sure….”

She sighs, shakes her head. “Wangji needs them, remember, love.”

“Of course,” he says, though he can’t quite remember why. He knows that it’s true, though. “More than I do.”

“Exactly. You have to be strong. He’s so much younger.”

Xichen smiles and takes the fabric away to inspect his progress. Only half of it is soaked and the tears have diminished to just hazing his vision. He feels abstractly proud. “Oh, well, he’s grown since you’ve--” When he looks up, the room is empty.

But reality is seeping in the edges with cold fingers, the feeling of waking from a dream. She has been gone from here for a while. He can feel it. He is alone and has been for a while. How long has he been talking to himself?

When he stands, slowly, weighted by rocks, he is in his mother’s home, in the center of the dark floor, surrounded by a layer of dust, cleared of furniture. The lanterns are all cold and wickless, the windows stuck shut. It is dim, the air thick and stale on his tongue. Had he decided to stay here? He can’t remember.

A deep unease threads through his chest. He cannot stay here. He knows the rules. He cannot be away too long.

When he steps forward, he realizes the door is so much further than he had initially thought and with each step, it seems to fade. When he reaches it, it is a smooth, impenetrable wall and no matter how many times he moves around the edges of the room, it does not reappear.

Did they leave him? Would they be back?

...Did he do this?

He opens his mouth to call for help when--

Raw sound crashes over him, bolting him up in bed. His breath is heaving, icy adrenaline rushing through his veins. It’s pitch black and smells wrong. Rain hisses over the roof, but the windows and door are in the wrong places and for a moment--is he in--was it--

Silent strobes light Wangji’s room as bright as day. Weak relief trickles through him, even as the thunder immediately follows with a boom of wall shaking fury. Not the Jingshi. The middle of the night, with Wangji. Safe.

Another flash, overlapped by another boom that makes him jump, even though he had been expecting it. The storm must be directly over them on the mountain from the strength and instantaneousness of the thunder. Through the dimness, he peers down at his brother, heart still hammering. He seems to have remained motionless in his needle-assisted unconsciousness despite the noise. As the tail end of this last salvo grumbles away, Xichen’s adrenaline slowly bleeds away as well, leaving him watery and exhausted, even as his breath and heart still speed. Laying back, he stares at the bruised shadows lashing in the ceiling in bright purple flashes and finds himself hoping--though he has no right--that across the Cloud Recesses, A-Fu isn’t afraid.

#3zun raise jingyi au #3zun raise jingyi au content #my stuff #my fic #3zun #I say if all goes according to plan because I have a few other scenes that need to happen #and those have a tendency to be a lot longer than I think they will be #But it should be very soon #Also I promise I'm gonna fix it next chapter 😬 We all know what happens. We all know he is Dad™

49 notes · View notes