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joonie-beanie · 4 years ago

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The OM! Boys + first kisses (which you initiate!)

Masterlist

I didn’t explicitly mention it being the first kiss in each scenario, but please assume that it is! 🥰

Lucifer:

Your feelings for the Avatar of Pride are undeniable. In fact, recently, they’ve become very hard to keep in check.

He’s already on your mind when you walk past his study, and see him hunched over his desk--working hard, like always (and that worries you a bit). Your heart is so full of love for him, and it aches whenever you think of his long, exhausting days.

Even if it’s cheesy, you want to be a pick-me-up to him during those busy times.

“Shouldn’t you take a break?” you quip, silently making your way inside. Lucifer blinks, and his gaze softens when it falls on you.

“Perhaps you’re right,” he sighs, but doesn’t set his pen down. He frowns at the stack of papers in front of him, not paying you any mind as you slowly scoot your way around the side of the desk--stepping up behind him.

You watch him as he works, eyes trailing from his gloved hands, up his arms, and across his strong jaw line.

Lucifer never fails to enchant you. Even just being here, so close to him, has your heart racing.

...you want to kiss him.

“Y/N--”

And the minute Lucifer turns his head ever so slightly, moving to look at you, you do just that.

Without giving yourself much time to think on it, you reach your hands forward and cradle his face--closing your eyes as you press your lips against his own.

You feel Lucifer still in surprise, and you’re quick to try and pull back--but then a grin is spreading on his lips, and his gloved hand is curling against the back of your neck.

He kisses you for a few more moments, goosebumps rising on your skin. Then, he finally releases you--only allowing you a few inches to breathe as his thumb soothes through your hair.

“I’m a bit upset you didn’t allow me the chance to kiss you first,” he says with a bit of a frown, but soon laughs. “However, as long as I get to keep kissing you, I certainly won’t complain.”

Mammon:

Despite your affections for the Avatar of Greed, they never seem to be enough.

Tonight, he’s pouting because you’d spent your afternoon with Asmo--having a shopping day together--and not him.

“I mean, ya could’ve invited me,” he says, pointedly ignoring you as he rolls onto his side and occupies himself on his DDD. You sigh.

“Mammon, Asmo wanted it to be just the two of us. I assumed you would be okay for just a few hours without me at your side.”

Somehow, he manages to pout even harder.

“I’m supposed’ta be your first...why are ya spending so much time with those guys?”

Your gaze softens as you regard him. He should know by now that he’s got a special place in your heart, and yet, that’s still not enough for him.

No, he’s the Avatar of Greed. He’ll only continue to crave more, right?

“Mammon.”

He grunts, not turning to face you. “What?”

“Mammon, look at me, please.”

You speak quietly, tenderly--letting any annoyance disappear from your tone. Then, finally, Mammon gives in, and rolls onto his back.

“What? Are you ready to apolo--mmph!”

He literally goes stiff as a board when you lean in and capture his lips. Your cheeks are hot--you’re embarrassed despite your sudden burst of confidence.

“There--,” you say, sitting back after a few seconds. “Is that enough to make it up to you?”

Mammon blinks at you, face getting redder by the second. Then, his gaze is darting away, brain catching up to what has just occurred. However, it’s clear that he’s far from unhappy.

“Uhhh...well, maybe if you give me a few more, I’ll think about forgiving you.”

Levi:

It’s a spur of the moment type thing.

You’re hanging out with Levi, watching him play a video game, when things start to go wrong. He hops to his feet, cursing up a storm as he attempts to regain his footing in the match he’s suddenly now losing.

You decide to stay calm, to not worry, because surely Levi will calm down in a moment--but when his power starts to seep, an aura growing around him--you know you have to do something.

After all, he can’t summon Lotan again.

“Levi, hey! Why don’t we calm down!” you try, smiling at him. You shift yourself into his field of vision, hoping to distract him from the game that’s only continuing to go south.

“There’s a special reward for beating this level!” he hisses, his amber eyes ghosting right over you. “I have to win!”

“You can try again once you’ve calmed down!” you argue, taking a step forward, with your hands held in front of you. Your fingers skim the fabric of his jacket, and you look up at him, but he’s too immersed to realize exactly how close you are. (After all, if he did, he would definitely be scrambling backwards right now).

“No, I--”

You sigh at his adamance, fingers curling into his shirt. You had been hoping your first kiss with him would at least be a little more romantic, but here goes nothing!

Gathering all of your courage, you press up and connect your lips with his. It takes him a few seconds to register what’s going on, but you feel the controller in his hands slowly drop. And then, he’s jolting back--arm raising to cover his tomato colored face.

“Y-Y-You!! You kissed me!”

“I’m sorry!” you immediately say, feeling hot as well. “You wouldn’t listen to what I was saying, and I didn’t want you to accidentally hurt yourself, or your games, or your brothers, so!” You take a deep breath, trying to calm yourself, but it doesn’t work well.

“Listen...I’m sorry if you didn’t like it, I just--”

“W-Well...I never said that...,” he mumbles, interrupting you. His gaze darts between your face, and the wall nearby. “But I didn’t really...feel...it the first time, so...m-maybe we should do it again…”

Satan:

Satan is a pretty good cook, so you tend to hang around him when it’s his night to make dinner.

It's not uncommon that you try to steal bites whenever he’s not looking.

Today, however, he warns you just a second too late that he’s making spicy curry (like, really spicy curry), so you should steer clear of any taste-testing.

Of course, a beat later he turns and sees you over the stove with the wooden spoon shoved into your mouth.

Even before you start to sweat, and tears form in your eyes, Satan is at fridge--pulling out the carton of milk and pouring you a big glass.

As you down the soothing liquid, Satan stays by your side--unable to help it when he chuckles. You send him a glare, letting him know you don’t appreciate him laughing at your pain, and he lifts a hand to pat your hair.

“Oi, Oi~ It’s your fault for not listening to me.”

He breaks into another fit of giggles, moving past you to return to the stove. Your eyes follow after him, heart beating surprisingly fast at the sound of his laughter, and the slightest bit of physical contact with him.

Setting the glass on the counter--your mouth now successfully not about to burst into flames--you steel yourself and make your way towards him.

Without warning, once at his side, you reach forward and grab two handfuls of his sweater vest. Satan’s eyes widen in surprise as you drag him into the impromptu kiss, but it doesn’t take him long to reciprocate.

With little thought, he matches the firmness of your lips--his cheeks dusted pink when he pulls back to smile at you.

“What was that for?”

“Just felt like it,” you mumble, glancing away. Your eyes fall to the bubbling pot of curry. “...will you make a separate batch that won’t kill me?”

He hums. “Maybe for the price of another kiss.”

Asmo:

Although Asmodeus teases you all the time about how much he wants to kiss you, and to shower you in even more intimate forms of affection--he never acts on them.

Sure, he’s the Avatar of Lust, but that doesn’t mean that he doesn’t understand boundaries.

He loves you a lot, and doesn’t want to mess your relationship up by moving too quickly, and for that, you really appreciate him.

However...while his consideration is appreciated, you’re starting to go stir crazy at the fact that he won’t make the first move.

So, you decide to take it upon yourself.

You spend hours--days, even--building up your courage. And today, your courage meter is finally full.

Asmo and you already have plans to hang out, so it’s not strange when you knock at his door. It is out of character, however, when he pulls the door open to greet you, and you immediately lurch forward--wrapping your arms around him as your lips connect.

Even if it’s unexpected, Asmo is reciprocating without missing a beat. He hugs you tightly, kissing you back until you’re gently pushing him away--in need of some air.

“Oh, I loved that,” he says dreamily, taking a step back into his room. “You should do that more often!! I love seeing this confident side of you! It’s such a turn on!”

You cup your hot cheeks, stepping inside after him--still in shock that you’d actually kissed him.

“I don’t know, Asmo, it took me a while to work up to that.”

He giggles a little at your statement, and you blink when he reaches forward and grabs a strand of your hair--tugging you forward. His eyes sparkle.

“Well...even if you don’t have the courage to initiate right now, since the ice is broken…,” he gaze falls to your lips. “Is it okay if I kiss you instead? I promise it’ll be enjoyable~ After all, I’m good at this stuff.”

Beel:

Most of the time, you’re alright with giving Beel your food. You love him to the moon and back, and seeing him eating his favorite dishes with that happy look on his face makes your heart soar.

Today, however, you’d purposely stashed your desert to the side--intent on eating it yourself, for once, considering it was a limited time flavor from Madam Screams.

You’d hoped that putting it out of sight, and quite literally stashing in behind all the food in the fridge, would help keep it from the Avatar of Gluttony--but food never gets past him.

You’re in the middle of finishing up your turn on dish duty when you hear the fridge pop open. Immediately you’re whipping your head around--gasping in shock when you see Beel sticking his head into the appliance, sniffing around with a hungry look on his face.

“Beel no!” you abandon the dishes and rush over to him, trying to stop him from devouring your dessert in one bite. However, your efforts are futile, and soon your precious sweets are gone. The only remaining hint of them is the dusting of sugar on Beelzebub’s lips, and in a moment of foolish bravery, you grab him by the collar of his jacket and tug him down.

Your lips connect, and you can taste the dessert on him--sweet, and rich--everything you’d been hoping for.

After a few seconds, you pull back for air, and find Beel staring at you with surprise written all over him. You feel your face begin to heat up--realization at what you’d just done hitting you--but before you can think to apologize, or run, Beel is dragging you back in.

His palms cup your cheeks--his lips meeting yours once more.

“I’m sorry for eating your dessert,” he mumbles, regret in his tone. “I’ll buy you another one. But.. until then, I want to keep tasting you.”

Belphie:

You’re struggling to fall asleep when Belphie stops by your room, and asks if you want to go for a walk with him. The offer sounds heavenly, so you say yes.

It’s a simple thing--walking side by side with the Avatar of Sloth, through the uncrowded streets of the Devildom--but it still makes you feel...smitten.

Over the last few weeks, your feelings for Belphie have only grown larger, and larger. And now, even simple gestures like this--that don’t have any special meaning--cause your mind to wander.

Seriously, he’s not even talking, but your gaze is zeroed in on his mouth. On his soft lips, which are parted ever so slightly as he sighs--his eyes trailing around the familiar scenery.

“Hey,” he speaks, turning to face you. He smiles, and the expression has your heart jumping into your throat.

Without thinking--acting solely on a split second of courage--you step towards him.

“Do you wanna get some--,” his voice cuts off abruptly as you press your lips to his. He makes a quiet sound of shock, and you can only imagine that he’s staring at you like you’re crazy. (Luckily, you can’t confirm if he is since your eyes are squeezed shut).

After a few seconds, you decide to pull back--feeling a little dejected since Belphie hasn’t made a move of his own. Then, just as you peel your eyelashes back open, Belphegor is grabbing you by your waist--dragging you against him as he captures your lips.

His kisses are much hotter than yours, and you whine at him, gently knocking your fist against his chest when you notice that the two of you are starting to draw looks from some nearby demons.

“What?” he asks cheekily, his grip loosening enough to allow you some room for air. “You’re the one that suddenly kissed me in the middle of the street. First kiss, too. How daring.”

Your face flushes, eyes darting away. “Y-Yeah, well…”

“Well,” he continues, reaching down to grab your hand. He intertwined his fingers with yours, tugging you farther down the street. “I say we get somewhere more private, and then continue.”

Diavolo:

It just...sort of...happens.

Diavolo invites you to have tea in his office during your free period, and things go so well, that for a moment, you have a lapse in sanity and actually forget that the goddamn Prince of Hell isn’t your boyfriend.

You’ve had feelings for him for a while, and sometimes--when he’s in front of you, looking so handsome, and being so charming--it’s easy to lose yourself in those feelings.

So when your tea time wraps up, and Diavolo escorts you to the door of his office, maybe you--without thinking--press to your tiptoes and plant a kiss right against his lips.

“Thank you for tea, I--,” your words die off as a sense of dread washes over you. You raise a hand to your lips, realizing what you’ve done. “Oh my god--”

Your eyes flit to Diavolo’s face, and you can tell that he’s at a loss for word--his golden eyes wide with surprise.

Oh god, why are you like this??

Freaking out, you hurriedly reach for the door handle. “Lord Diavolo, I am so sorry. I wasn’t thinking, I--”

But before you can run into the hall and away from your current nightmare, Diavolo is grabbing your wrist and tugging you back into the room.

“No, no! No need to be sorry,” he beams, his free hand lifting to brush a few stray hairs from your face. “I was just caught off guard, that’s all.”

You flush, looking away and mumbling. “But I kissed you out of the blue like that…”

“True,” he chuckles, gaze tender as he regards you. “I was surprised, that’s for sure.” He leans down and looks you in the eyes--your faces just inches apart.

“So, next time, maybe don’t jump at me. Simply asking me for a kiss will work just fine.”

Barbatos:

You’re helping Barbatos out in the kitchen of the Demon Lord’s Castle when the urge to kiss him suddenly overwhelms you.

Because honestly--how dare he look so kind, and handsome all the damn time. In everything that he does, he always manages to hold the same poise, and grace, and it drives you mad.

Even now, as he stands over the stove--watching dinner cook, with an apron tied around his waist--the energy he exudes draws you in, and makes you fall all over again.

Swallowing the lump in your throat, you slowly make your way around the kitchen island, and step up to his side.

Sensing your presence, he turns to face you with a gentle smile.

“Dinner is almost finished,” he says. “Thank you for your help. If you want, you can head to the dining room where the others are.”

You nod, but your feet don’t move. Barbatos blinks, tilting his head to the side ever so slightly.

“Are you alright, Y/N?”

Taking a deep breath, you gather all of your courage, and then reach forward. Barbatos pauses as your fingers brush against his cheeks--his eyes going wide when he feels your lips press against his--warm, and soft.

“I…,” you stutter when you finally pull back. “I just...I want to do that, so…”

Barbatos chuckles at your darkening face, his gloved hand moving to cup your cheek.

“It’s quite alright. I’m flattered to know that you wanted to kiss me.”

His thumb soothes over your hot skin, and he smiles a bit wider.

“If you ever feel like doing it again, then please, by all means, you have my permission.”

“Same to you,” you mumble, causing him to laugh a little more. Leaning in, he presses a kiss to your forehead.

“Duly noted.”

Solomon:

You choose to blame your actions on the atmosphere of the party, and the fact that the sorcerer is looking fine as ever--dressed in a dark button down shirt, with the first few buttons undone.

He’d dragged you to The Fall with him, wanting a companion for the night, and you’d agreed.

Now, it’s been hours since your arrival, and the entire time, Solomon has kept you close to his side--fingers curling around your waist when you accidentally begin to stray too far.

The contact has butterflies fluttering around inside your tummy, but you try your best to ignore the sensation--the way being so close to Solomon is making you feel.

Your feelings boil over, however, when Solomon makes a point of defending you from a pushy demon.

Following the encounter, he drags you to a more private area of the club to create some much needed space.

“Jeez, I know you’re a human, but that was pretty rude,” he mumbles, eyes straying to the dance floor as he adjusts his shirt cuffs. But your gaze is solely locked on him, a frenzy of different emotions running through you in response to him, and his actions.

In the end, though, you can only think of one thing to do. One thing you really want to do.

Solomon makes a quiet sound of shock when you suddenly press up--pushing your lips against his for a few long beats. And when you inch back for air, you find Solomon grinning at you, looking quite satisfied.

“Oh? Giving a kiss to your prince charming? I like this type of payment.”

You scoff and push against his chest, but he’s already grasping your waist--keeping you near.

“I want that kiss back.”

“No refunds,” he laughs, his forehead knocking against yours, and the look in his eyes makes your melt a little. Then, he’s the one initiating kisses, and you swear your heart is beating in time with the bass of the club music.

Simeon:

With a school dance right around the corner, the angel had kindly offered to help you learn how to...well...dance. Properly dance. Not club dancing, or anything of the like.

No, from what you had heard, the RAD school dances were much more formal than the dances you had experienced in school back in the human world, so you’d been searching for a dance teacher.

Simeon had been more than happy to offer his services.

“Look at you!” he says with a gentle laugh--your hand on his shoulder, and his fingers curled around your waist. There’s music playing from your DDD, abandoned on his dresser as the two of you waltz around his room.

“You’re really getting the hang of it!”

You smile as you glance at his bright face, heart fluttering against your ribs as you’re once again reminded of how pretty he is, and how close the two of you are at the moment.

Seriously, as much as you appreciate him for offering to teach you, you’re pretty sure you’ve already staved off half a dozen heart attacks during your lessons.

And today, as heart attack number seven looms, you reach your breaking point.

As the song comes to a close, you step forward--breaking your rhythm--and kiss him. You can feel his body still--his brain catching up with reality.

Just as you begin to pull away, Simeon is closing the gap--hugging you tightly as he reciprocates your affections.

“You won’t kiss the others like this when you’re dancing with them, will you?” he whispers with a smile, making you laugh. “Our first kiss should be special, I think.”

“Kisses while dancing will be reserved for you,” you reassure him, giggling more when he pulls back and pouts at you.

“All kisses should be reserved for me.”

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saintcheryl · 3 years ago

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CAS’S TOP 13 CHARLI TRAXCX

13 songs // 46min // LISTEN HERE (Spotify)

as a casgirl (gn) and a charli fan this was my DUTY you KNOW this guy loves her. and i also 3d modeled and rendered the cover and tracklist because i simply have to do the most all the time

anyways, here’s a mix of some songs that he’d relate to, including some classics he would appreciate; i tried to include a well-rounded selection from her whole discography. pop girl rights!!!!

also: NO ANGEL AMV

tracklist and lyric snippets under the cut!

1. NO ANGEL

The second that you saw me, you were mesmerized Bet you probably thought I was your ride or die Don't wanna burst your bubble, but I cheat and lie It's the truth, I'm bad news

2. DETONATE

I don't trust myself at all Why should you trust me? I don't trust myself alone Why should you love me?

3. BREAK THE RULES

Never stop, it's how we ride Coming up until we die I don’t wanna go to school I just wanna break the rules

4. VROOM VROOM

Don't think about consequences ‘Cause they're never gonna stop me, what?

5. YOU (HA HA HA)

You were old school, I was on the new shit We were addicted to the blue print But we threw it in the flame And now we're never gonna trace it

6. TEARS (ft. Caroline Polachek)

When I had nothing, you gave me silhouette dreams and We made them real, somethin' like freedom

7. WARM (ft. HAIM)

You gotta tell me the reason Why you won't open up Know I'ma send you to heaven Tequila on your tongue

8. BACKSEAT (ft. Carly Rae Jepsen)

In the backseat Your song, so loud Drivin' so fast I'm better off alone All alone, all alone, all alone

9. FEBRUARY 2017 (ft. Clairo & Yaeji)

Hope you can forgive all of my crimes You read, but won't reply I just need your reply I feel like crying

10. TRACK 10

Every time you get too close I run, I run away And every time you say the words, I don’t know what to say Back to the beginning, really wish that I could change

11. SILVER CROSS

Lying till it's true It's alright, I'm trusting you Do you feel okay? Take a breath, make you feel safe

12. ILY2

You know I never really thought about How it feels to say these words aloud It's so weird, but it's true

13. 7 YEARS

I know that look inside my eyes means always Even if we fall apart, split two ways Used to be afraid to say it, that's so strange Seven years and it's been you and I, always

#supernatural #castiel #destiel #fanmix #spn playlist #my 3d #charli is THEE artist for cas i go insane listening to some of these n thinkin bout him #pop girl whose fans r called angels.......its fate i say #ive also wanted to find a way to do 3d fanart somehow for SO long #im v proud of this one

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ithinkthiswasabadidea · 4 years ago

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An Act of Healing

When Essek gets seriously injured during a battle in the ruins of Aeor, he thinks his end might be closer than he imagined.

The Nein help him heal and prove him wrong, and show just how much they care about him.

When Essek gets hit in battle for the first time, it comes as somewhat of a shock to him.

He had been briefed about the capabilities of the Tombtakers, of their arcane abilities, and so he expected his first injuries to be arcane in nature. What he didn’t expect was the fight just to get to the place in Aeor’s ruins that the Nein said they needed to get to, lest the world end.

He was on his guard. Of course he was. But horrors unseen for centuries would be enough to startle anyone.

So yes, he was shocked when the beast took a swipe at him and he was less nimble than he thought himself. It hit him right in the ribs, tearing like butter through his cloak and the warm, layered fabrics underneath. Talons raking horribly through soft flesh as he feels a cold, burning sensation at the same time as there is a hot screaming pain bleeding from his side. An unexpected nausea bubbles inside him as he reels from the attack, forced to his knees from the weight of it. He huddles next to a frozen boulder, deep, deep below and far from the sanctuary of his chambers where he could rest and recover.

His mind scrambles to make sense of what just happened and he tears his eyes away from the beast to steal a glance at his ruined body.

He never expected to die a clean death.

No matter if he was caught by the Empire or the Dynasty, they’d get his information one way or another, he’d be trialed, sentenced to death, or worse, life imprisonment.

He silently laughs a moment at his change of fate. The Mighty Nein. Of course. They would even change the fate of his death – bleeding out, fighting a huge Aeorian beast. Poetic, he supposes, that he should die helping his… friends.

An opening for him comes up to attack the beast in retaliation, he raises a hand towards it but it shakes, distracting him from the spell he would have used. So he stays kneeling, one hand pressed to his side, the other shuddering in effort from the lingering coldness and pain of his wound.

A moment later, he feels movement beside him, a figure skips up to him – Jester. No, not quite Jester. From his years honing his arcane arts, Essek can recognise the faint tessellation of her body indicating a duplicate. What he doesn’t recognise is the hand reaching from the duplicate to touch his shoulder briefly, a wave of purple and green sparkles emanating from the point that touches him.

Immediately, the horrible freezing sensation in his body fades, like Jester herself had wrapped him in one of her beautiful big hugs, the hugs he covets so dearly, and appreciates so deeply, yet would never ask for.

His side is still bleeding, but the residual cold that was sapping his strength by the second has dissipated. He shoots a wry smile at the Jester duplicate, hoping maybe the real Jester can feel his intention.

Slowly, over the course of a few seconds, he makes his way back up on to his feet, leaning heavily on the rock beside him for support as duplicate Jester skips away again.

One hand still clutching his side, slick with dark blood, he chances another spell. He spies Beauregard, nearly climbed on top of the thing, beating at it with her clenched fists. He remembers his success of Hasting Yasha earlier, and sends the same effect towards beau, her grim expression turning elated as she feels the extra adrenaline course through her body.

Soon after, he feels another body thump against his rock haven, Caduceus having been pushed there with a huge tail swipe from the creature. Caduceus wheezes a little, the breath knocked out of him before he surveys the room and situation, spotting Essek right next to him.

Essek quirks an eyebrow, rasping out, “This thing is no joke, eh?” Not expecting a response from the tall, quiet man, just looking to release some of his own tension and anxiety.

“That looks pretty bad. Stay with us, we need you,” Caduceus replies to Essek’s surprise, and a soft furred hand reaches over towards him.

Essek is about to protest as he sees Caduceus about to touch his injured side, seeing no point in wasting time on his wound, until he remembers ‘Caduceus is a cleric, this is his job’.

The hand on his side, darkened with blood now, pulses with a soft gold and pink light from Cure Wounds. There is an uncomfortable sensation as the air he breathes is suddenly warm and moist, like a forest after rain, rather than dry and cold, and the sharp pain that he’s been clutching onto fades. He chances a look at his side, nausea rising up again as his skin under the Firbolgs hand knits itself back together, closing the talon marks that raked through it.

Essek barely has time to choke out an incredulous thank you before Caduceus is moving again, away and back into battle.

While he mentally prepares himself for another bout at the beast, two figures move into his sight, both carrying fearsome, glowing swords more than half his height.

Yasha.

Fjord.

The two of them form almost a wall between him and the creature, taking its attacks like nothing. Shielding him from the rage of the beast.

There is a new feeling in his stomach, not quite nausea, yet it makes him feel uncomfortable, strange. He feels… protected. And worthy of protection. His friends… are helping him, because he has helped them. In the back of his mind, Essek quashes down his feelings of guilt and remorse, and allows himself just a moment of unburdened appreciation.

With new eyes he views the battle before him, the formidable force that is the Mighty Nein, and he realises and remembers just how good it is to watch them do what they do best.

In the end it’s Fjord who gets the killing blow, driving his sword through the chest of the beast as its death wails ring out in the chamber.

Essek feels drunk, or exhausted, or both, as the adrenaline begins to leave his body, making his movements slow and the room swims. There is still an ache in his side that is yet to leave.

A small voice calls his name, Veth, who hops down off a nearby rock and beckons him over.

“Yes?”

“Come on, we’re sitting down now, Caduceus is doing a Prayer of Healing,” she nods over to the space Caduceus has set out with a small candle and scented incense as the rest of the Nein form a loose circle sitting or slumped around him.

“Oh. I don’t want to intrude on his…”

“Don’t be stupid, you’re hurt, and he always does this for us.”

Essek shuffles over, towards the edge of the circle and sits himself gingerly on the cold ground.

“Essek, if you need healing, you gotta get a little closer,” the low voice of Caduceus rumbles.

“Oh, I… I need it less than everyone else.”

Before Caduceus can reply, a warm and steady hand is placed on his back and pushes him forwards, the weight of it heavy and familiar.

“Nonsense, friend, you need it.” Caleb says, gently but firmly pushing at his back until he is within Caduceus’ spell range.

Caleb plops down next to him, knee touching knee, and whispers lowly near his ear, “You fought, you were hurt, do not think that you do not deserve to be healed, Essek.”

Essek shoots an almost pained look at Caleb, conveying more than he could possibly say out loud.

“You are a far cry from the man we met in Rosohna, Essek. Your help, of what we are doing here? We could not do this without you.”

“You underestimate yourselves.”

“Don’t we all,” Caleb looks knowingly at Essek. “We grow from our trials and tribulations. So shall you. That is the nature of forgiveness, and friendship.”

There is a warmth blooming again in Essek’s chest. He’s unsure if its from the healing prayer that Caduceus is mumbling under his breath, or from the words of comfort and encouragement from Caleb, but Essek feels warmer than he has in months.

#Essek Thelyss #Critical Role #The Mighty Nein #mini fic #Caleb Widogast #Jester Lavorre #Caduceus Clay #Beauregard Lionett #Fjord #Yasha Nydoorin #Veth Brenatto #c2e132 #critrole

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karlnapity · 4 years ago

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(tws: manipulation, emotional abuse, panic attacks, agoraphobia)

Even after this long, there are still people Eret needs to reconcile with, and people they likely won’t ever, and they’ve made peace with that.

Tommy is one of those people.

It’s not that they don’t want to. It’s been a combination of things, from continuous wars, to exiles, to Tommy’s complete and utter stubbornness, to a hell of a lot of avoidance.

So they’re a bit taken aback when Puffy suggests it, but she seems set on the idea.

“I think he’s probably the one whose experiences are most similar to yours,” she says, in that therapy voice she uses when she’s trying really hard to convince you of something.

They almost want to laugh at that. Tommy’s been through hell, more than they can even imagine, and it’s laughable to think their experiences are at all on the same level.

But, all the same, it’s an excuse to try again to amend their wrongs, and they’ve been trying to get better at confronting their issues.

So, they shoot him a whisper, and wait in the throne room with anxiety they haven’t felt since the prison gained a guest.

It’s hard to break free of habits they gained. It’s hard for them to relax, even when they’re on their own, because who knows if they really are. Who knows if they’re being watched, who knows if this is just a test.

They shake their head, let themselves relax a bit into the throne, let their robes crinkle around them.

And that’s when Tommy enters. They quickly reassemble themselves, garner their royal expression, make themselves look as dignified as possible because that’s what he demands.

They’ve got to stop doing that, but it’s so much easier to fall into old habits.

“So?” Tommy asks, as demanding as always, and Eret holds back a chuckle.

“Here, let’s go somewhere more comfortable,” they say, and sweep off the throne, lead him down a few hallways to the garden. There are a few benches, and they occupy one, Tommy taking the other.

This was the closest thing they had to the outside for months, and they say as much, try to get Tommy comfortable. He makes a sound.

“What do you mean?”

They sigh. “Puffy wanted us to talk. She thinks our experiences with him are similar.”

It’s not like they need to say his name. They’re not sure they can.

“Ok? And?” Tommy asks, huffing, but they don’t miss the way he tenses, just a bit, the same way they do when they’re trying to hide anxiety.

“He stopped me from leaving the castle for months. Told me I could only go out when he said I could. This was the closest thing I had.”

Tommy’s staring at them. They can tell he’s trying to find the safest thing to say, that he’s trying to decide whether to share anything of his own.

“Oh,” he settles on. “I get that.”

They nod, and sigh. “I don’t think my experiences compare to yours. You had it a lot worse. But I wanted to have a chance to explain everything.

I know you don’t forgive me. I don’t blame you, believe me. But trust me: you know what he’s like. He had me from the beginning. And it’s still hard not to let myself be influenced by him. So I thought… if we could commiserate, or something. That it might help.”

They don’t look at him, but he lets out a sigh of his own.

“Ok, then.” And he huffs a laugh. “Then stop talking to me like a king, alright?”

Their head snaps up, and Tommy is smiling, a rueful little thing that forces a small smile onto their own face.

“Ok.”

He grows a bit more serious. “Then why did you betray us?”

They shrug. “I guess, in the beginning, I did want more power. I thought being king might help us become more powerful. I should’ve known he wouldn’t have let that happen, but… I was hopeful.”

They clear their throat. “I was manipulated.”

It’s still hard to say, they still feel like it’s dramatic, but Puffy’s been encouraging them to tell the truth. Tommy nods.

“We both were.” He looks like he wants to make a joke, but he doesn’t. “When I was in exile, he told me I was the only person he could trust. All that fucking shit.”

Guilt floods them, heavy and painful. They push through it. “I should’ve done something. I’m sorry.”

He pulls a face. “Then I shoulda done something! Back when it was fucking Manberg, or whatever.”

They sigh, shake their head. “It’s not the same… but thank you.”

He shrugs. He stands, looks around the garden. Eret can tell he’s just trying to keep moving.

“He just… he just fucking convinces you you can’t rely on anyone else. That he’s the only one who can help you, or hurt you, or anything. That no one else cares. Did that happen to you?”

They think of nights where he’d pull off their crown gently, where he’d treat them like a person and give them gifts and nice food, and even nights where he’d let them roam outside the castle alongside him, where he’d lay new, soft robes on their shoulders, where he’d hand them speeches he’d prepared so they didn’t have to stress, where he’d tell them they looked like a king, where he’d say he made the right choice in choosing them.

“It did,” they say, quietly.

“That’s what makes it so fucking hard!” Tommy exclaims, throws his hands up in the air. He looks like he wants to punch something.

“It makes it so hard for it just to be hatred,” they say, nodding. “When you’re wearing his clothes and living in a place he helped build, and when you’re eating the food he provided.”

He throws himself down on the bench next to them, looks them in the eye with a sad grin. “I’m so glad you get it.”

And then he pulls a face, waves his hands. “Not like that! I’m just… it’s hard to explain to people who haven’t gone through it.”

They let out a rich laugh, something that’s so rare these days. He told them it was undignified for a king, but they push down the shame that bubbles in their stomach. “I get it, I get it.”

“I’m glad too.”

Gardening’s been a strangely soothing activity. It keeps their hands busy, keeps their mind off things they don’t want to ignore, keeps them feeling accomplished. Sometimes, on the good, good days, they can even plant outside the castle, on the sprawling lawn, but it’s rare.

Today it’s just the garden within the castle. Their hands are coated as they kneel in the dirt, fancier robes exchanged for more casual clothes, almost humming to themselves in contentment, when they hear the voice behind them.

“King Eret?” The voice is quiet but unmistakable. They jump, turn around. They stand, brushing their hands of dirt, and offer a small curtsy, skirt blowing a bit in the wind.

“George,” they welcome. They’re not close with the ex-king, though there’s less bad blood than might be expected.

They have more in common than first assumed.

George looks out of his element, standing awkwardly in the archway. They wave him to the benches.

“What brings you here?” They ask, settling their skirt around them. Royal etiquette dies hard, and they suppose even after all this time the poise hasn’t leaked out of them.

“I wanted to talk,” he says. He fidgets with his goggles. “And I wanted to apologize.”

They tilt their head, expression pinching. “For what?”

“For…” He gestures around, vaguely. “All of this. Kingship shouldn’t have been pushed on you. I shouldn’t have tried to usurp it. I should’ve stepped in, I should’ve stopped him-”

Eret can recognize mounting anxiety, from experience as much as anything. They lean forward, lay a hand on his knee. “It’s ok, take a breath.”

He reigns in his breathing after a moment, lays hands over his face. “I’m sorry.”

They sigh, smile gently. “Don’t worry about it. I think… we probably share experiences, after all. I don’t blame you at all.”

He shakes his head, looking down at his lap. His hands twist. “Do you think he ever intended to actually make me king?”

“No.” It’s an easy answer, but there’s no point hiding the truth.

“I didn’t think so.” There’s a deep sigh. “I just feel like… I should have realized, earlier.”

They lean back, peer at the clear sky above them. The sun feels soft on their skin. “When he was around, controlling me… I knew he was horrible. I knew he was the source of my problems, my fear, everyone else’s pain, everything. But all the same… I wanted to follow him. It wasn’t just out of fear of what he’d do to me, or anyone else. It was easier. It was easier to do what he wanted, because then I didn’t have to think. I didn’t have to be scared.”

They look to George, who’s nodding.

“I guess it’s sorta like that. It was just easier to follow orders, I suppose.” He purses his lips. “All the same, though, I’m sorry.”

As much as they want to rebuke his apology, insist it really isn’t his fault, they don’t. They’ve learned that sometimes it’s easier to apologize, even if the other person doesn’t need it.

“I forgive you.”

On very, very hard days, it’s hard to leave their room.

He wouldn’t let them leave it first thing without first checking them over, making sure they were presentable, making sure everything was in order. And, even now, it’s hard to leave without that first assurance.

They still feel like he’s going to pop out of the shadows, like he’s going to yell at them for getting breakfast without his go-ahead first, like he’s still there critiquing his every move.

In a way, it was assuring. It was simple, having everything decided for them. They were like a doll, positioned every way he wanted them to be. They needed to think over everything and nothing.

On the worst days, they felt inhuman. Their mind went on autopilot, doing everything he requested without even thinking, simply moving through the course of the day without even processing.

He especially approved of them, those days, always saying how he appreciated it when they didn’t speak, didn’t make noise, just stood and acted and followed him around exactly how he wanted them to.

The gaps in their memory disturb them, but all the same some part of them misses it, wants to avoid having to think about it all.

They really are a coward.

They curl deeper in their blankets. Today is one of those days where they don’t move from sun-up to sundown, just wallow in the memories and the self-pity. It feels pathetic, but all the same they can’t bring themselves to move.

There’s a knock on their door. Their entire being screams to stand, to pull on robes as quickly as they can, to make themselves presentable before he sees them, before he yells at them, but they still can’t even roll over to face the door.

“Eret?” It’s Puffy. They want to tell her to come in, or to go away, they’re not sure, but their tongue feels like lead.

The door creaks open, and she comes in.

“Having a rough time?” she asks. There’s a dip in the mattress where she sits beside them.

Puffy is perhaps the only person they can entirely relax around, and even then sometimes it’s a struggle.

She doesn’t judge them. She tells them their feelings are justified, helps them figure out everything. They’re not sure what they did to deserve someone like her.

She rests a hand on their shoulder. “If you want to talk, let me know. If not, I can stay here.”

They put a hand over hers. Stay.

They’re not sure how long they sit like that, but eventually they’re able to pull themselves together enough to eat breakfast she brought. She makes easy conversation even as they can’t, and they rest their head gently on their shoulder as she talks.

At the end of the day, they’re able to say one thing.

“Thank you.”

Leaving the castle is a constant struggle, one that most days they can’t bear. Most people have learned, at this point, to come to them if they want to talk.

Somehow, Niki seems to have forgotten, they think as they stare at the letter.

It tells them to meet her at her base, that she wants to spend time with them but can’t miss a day of work.

She’s been working hard, lately, to rebuild, to rediscover her life much the same as they have.

Their hands tremble. Her base is close to the furthest they’ve ventured, and even then that was on one of their best days, and even then they had a panic attack on the way there.

They could just miss it. They could just pretend they didn’t get the letter. They could just pretend they were busy.

No. They want to see her, desperately.

They crinkle the paper in their hands as they start to pace. They already feel the mounting panic at even the thought of venturing that far.

They’d need someone to go with them. They’d need someone to watch them, make sure they didn’t just have a meltdown, but Puffy’s busy and they don’t want to bother anyone else, and they’re likely too embarrassed to ask anyways.

No, they’ve got to do this. Puffy told them to push themselves. This counts, right?

They dress in some of their nicest robes. If they’re going to have a panic attack, they’re at least going to look good doing it, and there’s some comfort in looking as kingly and dignified as possible, even at this juncture.

And they make it to the gates before their confidence starts to waver.

It’s not uncommon for them to stand here, to people watch, but they barely make it past the door most of the time.

Ghostbur passes by within the ten minutes they’re standing there. He catches their eye, and he waves ecstatically before heading to stand next to them.

“Hello, Eret!” he exclaims.

It’s still odd to hear Wilbur’s voice, so similar and yet so different. Eret’s not sure they talked to him again before November sixteenth, and even then he only ever commanded them as a group.

“Hello, Ghostbur,” they return with a smile. “Where are you off to?”

“I wanted to see Niki,” he says, and Eret feels like they could collapse with relief.

“What a coincidence. I do too,” they say, and before their anxiety can get the better of them, they continue. “What do you say we head there together?”

Ghostbur nods happily, extending a hand, and Eret takes it.

They get about ten feet from the door before the anxiety kicks in.

They feel a bit bad for Ghostbur, considering how sweaty their palms are already getting. Their heartbeat’s loud in their ears.

It’s as frustrating as it is terrifying. He’s in prison. He’s not here, and there’s no way he could be here. Sapnap and George stopped reporting to him months ago, and the both of them apologized directly, so there’s no way they’d tell him even if they saw them.

So why are they so fucking scared?

“Are you ok, Eret?” He asks as they walk. They wave him off, but breath is already coming hard for them.

They can remember the first time he caught them. It’d been months into their sentence, as it were, in the castle, and they’d snuck away in the dead of night to see Fundy.

He caught them only a few feet from the door, but he’d been furious. It had taken hours of him teasing, threatening to hurt Fundy, hours of them begging on their knees for him not to do anything, and in the end they’ve never been sure whether he did. They can’t bring themselves to ask.

He’d hardly ever threatened them. If he wanted to hurt them, he did. He always threatened to hurt their friends.

And it was so much worse. What would he do if he caught them now?

They can’t breathe. They let go of Ghostbur’s hand, crumble to their knees. They knew this would happen. They shouldn't have even tried.

Ghostbur’s calling their name, they’re pretty sure, but it’s too much, because if he calls their name too much he might hear where they went, he might be able to find them, and he can’t find them because what is he going to do to their friends, they were trying to find Niki so what would he do to her if he found out, he might hurt her, they were an idiot for even trying to leave and they should have just stayed where it was safe for everyone-

And they’re being hauled to their feet, someone is leading them somewhere. They don't fight back, because it's probably him, and if they fight back it'll only make it so much worse for everyone. They just let themselves be led.

It always takes them a long time to come back from a panic attack. The first thing they become aware of is someone humming, The second is how bright it is. No matter how much they seem to add to their castle, it’s always dim no matter what.

They open their eyes. They’re sitting on a bed, Ghostbur to their right. And Niki’s bustling around on the other end of the room, back turned.

They whisper her name, and she whips around, face softening before she pulls them into a hug.

“I’m sorry,” she murmurs, and they hold onto her, tightly. “I’m ok.”

They ask everyone to say that they're ok, after they panic. It was embarrassing, initially, but it really, really helps.

She pulls back a bit, and they grip her arms. She brushes hair out of their eyes. “I’m so sorry, Eret, I should have known not to ask that of you, I wasn’t thinking.”

They shake their head. “No, I wanted to. It’s- I wanted to challenge myself.”

She nods. “I’m glad you got Ghostbur to come with, so he could let me know and I could come get you. I support you pushing yourself, but be careful, ok?”

They smile, nod, and push themselves off the bed. They’re still a bit shaky on their feet, but they look around all the same. “This is gorgeous, Niki.”

As she and Ghostbur show them around her new base, the anxiety doesn’t fade. It might not ever, when they’re outside, and it might not ever even if they follow the rules.

They can’t undo what Dream has done to them, but that doesn’t mean they can’t do the best they can to work past it. They have people, friends who are willing to work with them, and people who care, and even when they’re in their castle it seems so much brighter than before.

And when Niki drops them back off, they don’t worry whether she’ll be ok. They know they both will.

#personal #eret #dreamwastaken #tommyinnit #ghostbur #wilbur soot #niki nihachu #georgenotfound #dream smp #dsmp #mcyt

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leviathanswingman · 4 years ago

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love is a losing game, chapter 9: drop the guillotine

Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3, Chapter 4, Chapter 5, Chapter 6, Chapter 7 , Chapter 8, Chapter 10

Lucifer felt a strange kind of peace he'd never felt before. Although perhaps, the words at peace weren't inherently correct to describe the sensation flooding his senses as he lay floating in the middle of a vantablack lake, surrounded by dark woods and even darker shadows.

He spread his fingers and let the murky water run through the gaps, relishing in the almost comforting feeling of forgiving liquid caressing his fingertips. Lucifer closed his eyes, but before he could even take his first deep breath, his body was already sinking to the ground and his lungs were slowly filling with gooey, bitter fluid. He tried to fight his way back to the surface, but his body was dragged to the ground by something bigger than life, a pillar of everything that could've been tied around his middle like a dead-weight.

Bubbles were escaping from his parted lips as he tried to take his last breath. Just as his body reached the murky ground, Lucifer noticed a light shining through the surface.

A hand, bright and colourful in this inky lake of nothingness, was reaching out to him and for some reason, Lucifer felt safe at once. Without any hesitation, he grabbed the hand tightly and felt himself being pulled up again.

With a startle, Lucifer awoke. Strands of hair were falling into his face as his body shot forwards and a drip of sweat ran down his temple. His breath came out in shallow gasps as one hand shot up towards his throat and the other gripped onto whatever was closest to him at the moment.

The room was spinning. His eyes darted back and forth as he took in the sight of his surroundings which were slowly coming to a halt, his heart beating ever so erratically. It took a few moments for his eyesight to clear up and become less disoriented again, but once it did, Lucifer felt the urgent need to curse.

He seemed to be sitting on some sort of examination table in what appeared to be a home praxis.

Sitting in front of him were two demons, one to his left, seemingly calm and composed, and the other to his right, looking dishevelled and upset. Doctor Naamah and Lord Diavolo.

Only now Lucifer realized that in his post wake up panic, he had grabbed onto Diavolo's forearm and to this moment hadn't let go of it. There were two possibilities as to what had happened: either his body had automatically sought out the most familiar thing in the room or that cursed bonding mark had detected the presence of its origin and grabbed onto it the second Lucifer's self control had slipped.

At once, Lucifer opened his hand and released his grip. For the shortest of moments, Diavolo and his eyes met. There was a certain question in those golden eyes, wet and slick, undeniably obvious and on full display. It was in this exact moment that Lucifer realized that his cover had officially and irrevocably been blown.

But instead of worrying about the chaos that would inevitably follow that realization, Lucifer decided to worry about his current situation first. When he tried to focus, he could still remember the strange aftertaste of an unfortunate dream, but not what had brought him to this place. His memory felt uncomfortably woozy and blotchy.

„Lucifer!“ Diavolo leant forward zealously, desperate and relieved at the same time. Without any hesitation, he grabbed Lucifer by the shoulders and pulled him towards his body, hugging him tightly, his eyebrows furrowed and eyes screwed close.

Despite everything, Lucifer could not help himself. After all -he realized disgruntledly- he was still bonded with Diavolo. Although he tried to deny his advances and refused to melt into the demon's touch, Lucifer felt comforted by the sudden and unexpected physical contact. Yet still, no matter how much his body wanted this, he couldn't allow this to happen, no matter what.

“You can let go now,” he brought out and to his luck, Diavolo obeyed.

Lucifer's breath came out heavy and shallow as he tried to collect himself. His mind and body were at war, entangled in a ferocious battle with no victor in sight. No matter how much he desired to be with Diavolo, realistically he knew that he couldn't afford a luxury this expensive.

With every breath he took, Lucifer's chest rose and sank in an irregular rhythm. It took him another moment to take in his surroundings and relax considerably.

The first thing he had to do was figure out what exactly had happened after he had passed out and hit the ground.

Following, and more importantly, he would have to figure out what exactly Diavolo now knew. After all, Lucifer knew the future demon king well, sometimes perhaps even a bit too well. There was no way he had ended up bringing Lucifer to the doctor himself without there having been a damn good reason for it. Otherwise, he would've just sent Barbatos.

„Diavolo, what in the name of-“ he started and tried to push himself up, only to immediately be pushed back onto the examination table by Diavolo.

„Rest,“ Doctor Naamah's voice came sounding from Lucifer's left.

„That really isn't necessary,“ Lucifer countered in the blink of an eye, having already made up his mind about leaving as quickly as possible. What he needed was space, since generally speaking, space gave him enough time to come up with new plans and even newer excuses. And new excuses, he desperately needed if he wanted to keep his little problem a secret.

Worried, Diavolo tightened his grip on Lucifer's shoulders. „Lucifer, don't be ridiculous. We need to-“

„Oh no, my lord. Let him do as he pleases, it's fine,“ Doctor Naamah countered without moving from her spot at Lucifer's side. „You'll see.“

Although Lucifer still felt dizzy and drowsy, he swung his legs over the edge of the examination table, placed them on the ground and pointedly ignored the way his head started to spin as he lifted his body from the mattress. „There is no need to worry, I can handle myself.“

Diavolo, apparently unsure of what to do with his hands, simply watched him with that strange expression on his face. „You are pushing yourself, aren't you? Come, sit back down again, please,“ he threw in. No matter how hard he tried to forget it, whenever he looked at Lucifer and remembered the sight of that tainted sigil, he felt shivers run down his spine. Why had he been so hell-bent on hiding it? Wasn't Diavolo one of his most trusted companions?

„Although I appreciate your concern, I can assure you I am more than alright,“ Lucifer said stoically.

„More than alright? Lucifer, correct me if I'm wrong here, but being unconscious doesn't really classify as being even remotely alright in my book!“ Diavolo replied, frustrated. All he wanted was for Lucifer to get some rest so he could heal and finally be back in his life again. Perhaps this was a selfish thought, but Diavolo didn't feel all too guilty about having had it. He was long past the point of denying that he wanted to keep Lucifer all to himself.

Lucifer threw him a quick glance, opened his mouth to say something, but closed it again, apparently having changed his mind. He crossed his arms, stood up quickly and before he could even take as much as a step, he started to sway and almost took another swan dive if it hadn't been for Diavolo's quick reflexes.

Diavolo had leapt up from his chair and pulled Lucifer close to his chest, his own arms crossed safely over Lucifer's shoulders as they both took a tumble to the ground.

„See? I knew he wouldn't listen no matter what. Some people need to learn the hard way,“ Doctor Naamah said as she pushed her bangs aside, pinched the bridge of her nose and watched Diavolo pull Lucifer up with him again. „He's got a concussion, but he'll be alright as long as he gets enough rest and doesn't overexert himself.“

„A concussion?! There must be something you can do about that, right?! As long as it makes him all good again! “

„There is no need to coddle me like-“

Diavolo pushed his hair back with shaking fingers. „You looked like you were bleeding out,“ he forced out between clenched teeth. “I thought you were dying. Will you hold me at fault for worrying about you?”

As they kept on bickering, Lucifer ever so kept together despite his head injury and compromised appearance, Diavolo riled up yet still composed, Doctor Naamah watched them.

She threw another glance at Lucifer, who was clearly struggling to keep his balance, looking bothered by his body's lack of cooperation. His right hand travelled up around his neck until it stood at halt at the back of it, right where his tainted sigil was situated. He could most definitely feel that something was amiss.

Naamah watched her patient as he threw a glance at the demon prince and right in that moment, Naamah knew for a fact that she had been absolutely right in the assumption that Lucifer had bonded with none other than Lord Diavolo himself. She could see it in the way they looked at each other when they thought the other one wasn't paying attention. There was pure devotion in their eyes, the sort of foolish dedication one could only observe within fated lovers. However, Diavolo and Lucifer, no matter how powerful and smart they were, seemed to be utter fools when it was about love.

The doctor sighed. „Lord Diavolo, would you mind leaving us alone for a moment? There is something I need to discuss with Lucifer regarding his sigil.“

At the mention of the bonding mark Lucifer's shoulders tensed up and he pressed his lips together into a tight line. He threw Doctor Naamah a questioning look. „What happened to doctor patient confidentiality?“ he asked, breathing out sharply and rubbing his eyes in an exhausted, almost defeated manner.

Then, Diavolo suddenly chimed in. „She didn't break any laws, Lucifer. I saw your neck when she asked me to help her roll you over. There's no need to hide it anymore, I already know. I saw the sigil. I know this must be an awkward position for you to be in right now,“ he threw in, his voice quiet and soft, not upset anymore. However, there was a certain undertone to his voice that betrayed a sense of hurt, out of sight yet clearly not perfectly stashed away just yet. Although he tried very hard to be supportive and good, Diavolo felt crushed despite his good intentions. No matter how hard he tried to ignore his own feelings, the fact that he had always found Lucifer far too perfect and irresistible tainted his judgement like black ink on a clean sheet of paper.

An unreadable expression ran across Lucifer's face as his eyebrows furrowed and he averted his gaze. Diavolo could hear the way his heart-rate elevated in a matter of seconds. Was it something he said?

„Of course you do, Diavolo.“ Lucifer stated after a short moment of silence. „If you'll excuse us?“

With a short nod Diavolo exited the room, but his thoughts never left Lucifer's side. Something definitely felt off and he needed to find out what exactly that little something was.

As soon as the door fell closed, Lucifer exhaled deeply, his shoulders slumped and he almost immediately dropped his head into his opened palms. „Tell me what happened while I was unconscious. Fill me in, doctor,“ he mumbled as he dragged the palm of his hands down his face just to drop them into his lap. „Tell me what the fuck happened. How come Diavolo knows about my affliction? I thought I was more than clear about the secrecy of the matter.“

The doctor watched him with a careful eye. „And I thought I'd been more than clear about the importance of telling your partner about the bond, but it seems like you disregarded my advice anyway. This is no laughing matter, Lucifer. You know that.“

Naamah walked over to Lucifer and lifted her hand. Before she could so much as touch him, Lucifer gripped her wrist tightly. „What do you think you're doing?“ he brought out and the doctor simply sighed.

„I am going to check on your head wound again, okay? Which, by the way, is also the reason why you're here in the first place. Lord Diavolo carried you here, looking like a fresh corpse. You should thank him, you know that, right? Actually,“ she then added, „I think you owe him a bit more than just an apology. An explanation would be a good start.“

Quickly, Lucifer let go of Naamah's wrist and let her examine the wound on his forehead. For a moment, they both kept quiet as she did her work quickly and efficiently.

Eventually, Lucifer visibly deflated. Although he knew showing any sign of weakness was against his own moral compass, in this moment he knew he could allow himself a tiny moment of existential dread. After he felt a bit more calm again, Lucifer asked about the one thing that kept on haunting his mind. „Did you tell him?“

Naamah rummaged through a drawer before shutting it closed again. „I didn't have to. He saw your pact mark.“

Lucifer froze in place.

He had tried so hard to remain his composure, had removed himself from Diavolo whenever it was needed and had burned even the smallest inadequate thought about his superior down to a burnt crisp, yet in the end, none of his efforts had born any fruits.

In spite of all his efforts, Lucifer had failed ever so miserably. Although it was no laughing matter, he suddenly felt the inexplicable urge to break out in laughter. The strangest of sensations ran through his body, and before he knew what was going on, he felt the sigil burning hot against his flesh. Lucifer hissed and ran his cold fingers over the back of his neck. It was a wrong, feverish heat and all at once, he was nauseous to the core.

The doctor stopped in her tracks and watched Lucifer with a professional eye. „I wish I could be of more help, but there's only so much I can do. You probably know this already, but at this point your head wound is the most insignificant of your problems. You have a concussion, but except for that, you're doing alright. The real issue is your sigil. It's tainted.“

„Tainted? What is that supposed to mean?“

The paper on the examination table rustled eerily in the otherwise silent room as Lucifer adjusted his position.

„It means that you have to make a choice. Actually, it's a choice that's long overdue. If you don't act quickly your life will be in danger. Unclaimed bonding marks are no joke. Not even your body will be able to withstand this game of cat and mouse that you've been playing,“ Naamah said loud enough for only Lucifer to hear, but too quiet for it to echo through the room.

Although the door was closed the walls were still terribly thin, and knowing her wife, there was always the slightest chance that someone was secretly eavesdropping at the door.

„I am no fan of blaming my patients whatsoever, but if you had listened to me from the beginning, you wouldn't be in this mess right now. This is why communication is key. Switching between seeing your partner and avoiding him is literally the worst thing you could do in this situation, and I'm convinced this is exactly what happened here with you. Feel free to correct me if I'm wrong though.“

„You-“ Lucifer started, but stopped himself before he could act irrationally, his hand clenched to a tight fist. Getting angry wouldn't solve anything. No matter how offended Lucifer felt by the way this daring doctor was talking to him, he had to admit that her honesty was refreshing. After all, no lies had been told until now.

Instead of choosing to stray as far away from Diavolo as possible, Lucifer had remained by his side -although reluctantly- and had toyed with the magimeds which were supposed to make his life easier and the symptoms better. He had never been one to dismiss the possibility of consequences to his actions, so this revelation nearly didn't shock him. Perhaps, he had seen it coming all along. Had he not been prepared to go down for Diavolo right from the beginning?

In the end, Lucifer was no ordinary demon. What killed others made him only more vicious. Like an abandoned mutt, he refused to go down purely out of spite.

Lucifer's eyes, lit up with a new, absurd sort of dedication, met with Naamah's. „There is nothing for me to correct there, doctor. You are right in your assumptions. There are certainly consequences for my mistakes, so tell me, how much time do you reckon I have left?“

The ticking of a clock echoed through the half-empty room. Lucifer carefully touched his forehead, right where the doctor had placed a band-aid on the already healing head wound.

Naamah simply stared at him incredulously for a few more moments. In the end, she resigned herself to a singular defeated sigh. She was more than used to headstrong demons. However, no demon could rival Lucifer when it was about being stubborn and proud. From the look on his face down to his posture, one thing was clear: there was no way in hell Lucifer would change his mind. By now, it was set.

„Depends on how careful you are. Rule of thumb is the more time you spend with your bond partner without having fulfilled the bond, the quicker the rot starts taking over your body. It's like a parasitic infection.“

Lucifer stroked his chin with his thumb and pointer. „Hm. Alright,“ he mumbled, clearly already lost in his own plans. „Alright.“ This could still go his way. This simply had to go his own way. After all, he was one to command and demand. He wouldn't just buckle under the pressure of fate. Whether it was life or death, whatever was to come would have to take him kicking and growling. Lucifer had never been one to capitulate nicely.

Upon seeing Lucifer's calculated reaction, Naamah knew at once that no matter what, he would neither listen to her nor change his plans.

„As your doctor, I can only advise against what you're about to do.“

Lucifer raised his eyebrows questioningly. „What exactly would that be now?“

She sighed. „I don't know any details, but it's practically written on your face that you've reached a decision. Be smart, Lucifer. Please.“

She received no answer. She had expected as much, but still felt her eye twitch in annoyance faced with this demon's stubbornness. With an exhausted sigh Naamah wiped her brow before walking over to the door, opening it and calling out. „You can come back in, Lord Diavolo! Oh, and could you bring my wife with you?“

As Diavolo walked in, closely followed by Preta, the doctor seemed to relax considerably. „Sweetheart, did you school Lord Diavolo thoroughly?“

Preta's curls bounced as she nodded her head. „Yep! Told him everything he needs to know 'bout caring for concussed patients!“

A tiny smile spread on the doctor's lips as she watched her ever so lively wife. „Thanks, dear.“ She focused back on Lucifer and Diavolo.

„You two should be ready to go. There is nothing left for me to do here, so all I can do is prescribe you a lot of rest and most of all, a break from work until I can fully clear you, you hear me?“

Lucifer crossed one leg over the other, the perfect image of power and strength if it weren't for his body's current weakness. „That certainly isn't necessary, doctor. I heal rather quickly. In the blink of an eye, this will have passed,“ he announced.

„Normally, yes. You, however, are a special case. Your body is preoccupied, so your healing rate is at an abnormally low level.“ She waved her hand towards Diavolo. „Which is why I asked my wife to give Lord Diavolo a quick rundown on what to look out for. Someone needs to keep an eye on you, and he seems more than capable.“

Lucifer stopped dead in his tracks.

Life was a circus and he was the underpaid ringmaster.

The sound of Diavolo's huge, leathery wings flapping in the night was closely followed by the sharp clacking of heels hitting solid ground.

„Diavolo?“

„Yeah?“

Lucifer cleared his throat abashedly. „You can let go of me. Have we not arrived?“

Diavolo's hands were still wound tightly around Lucifer's torso, holding him so close he could almost feel his heartbeat. How dearly he wished to be allowed to hold on forever.

„If you can stand I will let go of you,“ Diavolo said as he grabbed Lucifer's face with one hand and mustered it as if it were an open book.

After a short moment he slowly released Lucifer, who crossed his arms, turned his head away from Diavolo and huffed out a puff of air before he let his hand roam over the back of his neck. „Of course I can stand.“

„You have a concussion.“

„I merely slipped.“

Diavolo took in a deep breath, frustrated, and crossed his arms as well, accidentally mimicking Lucifer's pose. „Lucifer you almost bled out!“ he forced out and his voice came out louder and more upset than anticipated. He cleared his throat, took a miniscule break and stared at his right-hand man with glowing eyes. „You need to take better care of your health. If you won't I might find myself forced to do it for you.“ He paused, took a step forward and pushed Lucifer softly against the brick wall of the house of lamentation, one hand on Lucifer's shoulder, the other straight against the brick wall.

Lucifer didn't waver. He didn't break eye contact with Diavolo, both of them stubborn and headstrong. For a moment, all he could hear was his own heartbeat thundering in his ears. The sigil on the back of his neck felt like it was trying to burn through his bones, down into the very core of his being. Perhaps, it had already managed to do exactly that.

Lucifer grabbed Diavolo by the wrist, still not breaking eye contact. „I don't need pity. If this is why you're acting so strangely, don't. I can manage on my own. This whole situation is entirely my fault. You can drop your misplaced sense of duty, I don't need it,“ he brought out with an eerily calm composure. „I don't need anyone,“ he added, so quiet it was barely audible.

His body was warm under Diavolo's fingers and rigid against the wall. Perhaps, Lucifer allowed himself the smallest of moments to think how it could be if things were different. He trampled those thoughts as quickly as they'd sprouted from his mind. Was he this weak already, weak enough to foolishly fall back into delusional daydreams? Things would never be different, not for him, never. Happiness had never been his to claim. The last of his childish hopes and dreams had went up in flames the moment his little sister went out like the purest of flames.

Not that he needed happiness. All he needed was himself. There was no one else he should have to rely on, he was plenty powerful already.

Suddenly, Lucifer felt himself brought back to reality as Diavolo straightened his back and took a step back. The air filled with the familiar scent of smoke as he changed out of his demon form and his majestic wings disappeared again. „Let's go inside.“

Lucifer kept quiet for another second, mentally reminding himself of all of the reasons why he shouldn't let Diavolo inside. Not after what had happened last time.

A tiny laugh escaped Lucifer's lips. „Just like that night, huh,“ he said quietly, his eyes travelling up to the starry sky. He felt the immature need to let out a good, strong curse word.

„Like what night?“

Instead of an answer, Lucifer let out a growl. His sigil was burning up and his head felt as if he'd had an unfortunate meeting with smooth alabaster tiles. Oh wait.

His eyebrows pulled together and his hand shot up to the back of his neck.

Of course, Diavolo noticed the change in Lucifer's behaviour. Hell, he'd watched him like a hawk ever since they had left the doctor's house. To be precise, Diavolo had watched Lucifer with that one particular look in his eyes ever since he'd woken up. It was a strange look to describe, after all, Diavolo was quite good at hiding his honest thoughts.

„Lucifer, are you alright?“ Diavolo asked, suddenly far too close again. He gripped Lucifer's shoulders, almost as if he was afraid he'd faint. Lucifer could feel his eye twitch with an onset of annoyance.

„You don't need to worry about me. I'm neither weak nor frail, Diavolo. I'm not going to shatter into pieces the moment you take your eyes off me.“

„That would be quite the foolish thing to think, wouldn't it? However-“

Diavolo put the palm of his hand onto Lucifer's forehead and held it there for a moment. It felt like hot coal against his cold skin. „You have a concussion and we've been out in the cold for far too long already. Let's get you inside.“

Irked by the sudden change of subject, Lucifer furrowed his eyebrows and looked at the demon prince, who still hadn't removed his hand. He stared at him for a moment or two, once again uncertain as to what exactly Diavolo's intentions were. Why would he still feel so comfortable around Lucifer, after everything that'd happened? And even more importantly, why didn't he feel the need to comment on the most pressing issue at hand: the fact that Lucifer had formed a bond with him by accident. After all, it wasn't like Lucifer had caught just a simple cold, no, he had done something unspeakable and highly inappropriate. Although unplanned, it was still completely and undeniably his fault.

Before Lucifer's traitorous mouth could slip and ask Diavolo right then and there about it, he caught himself. There was no need for it, after all. Diavolo didn't owe him any explanations after all. Pushing the prince's hand aside, he nodded his head. “As you wish,” he replied rather coldly and his fingers twitched restlessly.

The house of lamentation seemed to be as lively as usual. Even from the outside, you could tell that most of the brothers were still up and going. For that exact reason, per Lucifer's request, Diavolo and Lucifer were entering through the back door.

After all, they looked quite a mess and it wasn't an everyday occurrence for Lucifer to arrive, covered in dried blood, his forehead plastered with a stark white band-aid, followed by none other than Lord Diavolo himself, who refused to leave him alone.

So they had found themselves having to revert back to sneaking around like teenagers up way past their bedtime.

They turned corner after corner with Lucifer leading the way and luckily for them, they didn't cross ways with any of Lucifer's brothers until they had already arrived in front of Lucifer's room. Mammon just rounded the corner when Lucifer grabbed Diavolo by his tie and pulled him into the room. The door fell shut behind them with Lucifer still holding tightly onto his superior. As he realized the situation he'd put the both of them into, he quickly let go again.

“I apologize. I really don't want to risk any on my brothers seeing me like this right now.” With one hand, Lucifer pushed his hair back, and his fingers caught onto several strands of hair, glued together with dried blood. At once, he felt disgusting and dirty and unkempt. This was anything but seemly. However, nothing about his current situation was even remotely seemly whatsoever.

Diavolo, leaning against the door, watched Lucifer closely and noted the way Lucifer once again seemed to shiver in his thin turtleneck. Without any hesitation, Diavolo lit the fireplace with a snap of his fingers. Caught off guard, Lucifer looked up.

“You didn't have to do that,” he said.

“I know,” Diavolo answered with a small smile on his lips when in all honesty, he'd have preferred to embrace Lucifer until every single cell of his being was filled with Diavolo's fiery heat. But he couldn't allow himself to think in such ways.

“You also don't need to stay here. I am absolutely fine. You can leave, Diavolo. I don't need your help.”

“This, I don't agree with. Have you already forgotten what the good doctor told you?” A cheeky grin spread across Diavolo's face. “You can't get rid of me that easily, Lucifer. You're stuck with me until you're all better.”

Lucifer shook his head and pinched the bridge of his nose. All he wanted was to be left alone right now. It had been quite the adventurous evening and in addition to his pounding head and tingling sigil, his body felt tired and lethargic. He crossed the room, went over to his closet and pulled a few items out of one his neatly organized drawers, his back turned to Diavolo.

“I suppose there is no convincing you otherwise?”

Diavolo walked over to Lucifer, reached out to touch the side of Lucifer's face, but retracted his hand before it could make contact. Instead, he slapped his hand onto Lucifer's shoulder. “You know me too well, dear friend. Now let's get you lying down. Doctor's orders.”

A disgusted look rushed over Lucifer's face. “Diavolo...I hope you don't really expect me to lie down in my own dirt? I am practically bathed in blood. I am taking a shower.”

Lucifer turned to his bathroom, hand already on the doorknob. He stopped in his tracks as he sensed Diavolo following him. Of course. He took a deep breath and raised an eyebrow.

“Really?”

“What if you collapse while you're in there? We can't have that now, can we? I'm coming with you.”

Today had already been embarrassing enough. What was a little more?

Lucifer allowed himself a minute more in the shower than he usually would. Today, he had definitely earned this little luxury. Steam was rising around him as for the first time that day, he was able to allow himself to relax a bit. Streams of water, almost too hot in temperature, were falling onto him in thick droplets, cleansing him from head to toe. Lost in thought, Lucifer ran his fingers through his hair, back around to his neck, along the sharp edges of his shoulders.

Then, he heard the slightest movement from behind the shower curtain. “Lucifer?” Diavolo asked, loud and clear.

Lucifer held back the need to slam his head against the shower tiles. He couldn't risk a second concussion. “Surprisingly, I have not slipped and died, Diavolo,” he brought out instead as he turned off the water and opened the shower curtain. He wasn't worried about Diavolo seeing him naked whatsoever. After all, there wasn't anything he hadn't already seen before.

Diavolo was sitting cross-legged against the bathroom door, his eyes covered with both of his hands. The sight almost made Lucifer chuckle. Almost.

After Lucifer had dried off and changed into a silken bathrobe, he took some time to watch the demon prince for the smallest of moments, observed him as he sat against the door with his eyes shielded, ever so hell-bent on allowing Lucifer privacy while simultaneously pushing his boundaries in a way no one else would ever dare to.

The bonding mark twitched dangerously as he couldn't help but find Diavolo endearing. Suddenly, shadowy worms started crawling through Lucifer's skin, wriggling back and forth.

With quick strides, Lucifer walked over to the mirror hanging over the sink, turned around and dropped the bathrobe off his shoulders so that his neck was exposed. As his eyes fell upon the sigil, dark red and intimidating in appearance, encased with ink black roots and blotches, Lucifer couldn't help but let out a flurry of colourful curses, which alerted Diavolo immediately.

He jumped up as soon as he heard the sound leave Lucifer's lips, but stalled in his tracks as he saw Lucifer standing in front of the mirror, bathrobe slid off his shoulders, with his neck craned as he traced his fingers across the sigil Diavolo had only seen once before. The look on his face was unreadable, but certainly strange.

“Lucifer,” Diavolo finally started. He stepped closer to Lucifer, who quickly pulled up his bathrobe and retied it to look at least somewhat less dishevelled.

With shaking hands, he smoothed over the fabric of the bathrobe. “What is it?” he asked, his voice icier than usual. It was easy to see that this was a conversation he was not looking forward to have.

For a moment, Diavolo didn't know how to bring up that one specific topic. Although they were close friends, there had always been a certain boundary between the both of them. Now, he feared, if he continued this conversation, that boundary would inevitably crumble to the ground. Still, Diavolo couldn't forget the sight of Lucifer, limp on the ground, followed in quick succession by the close-up of a strangely familiar sigil, tainted black, on the nape of Lucifer's elegant neck.

And all of a sudden, just like that, the words that had been begging to be released left Diavolo's lips without much hesitation.

“Why didn't you say anything?”

Lucifer froze in his steps. Slowly, he turned around to Diavolo. What was he supposed to say? Suddenly, the damp air felt suffocating instead of comforting. The room was silent except for the dripping of water off the shower head. Although he was nothing near a coward, Lucifer would pay much money to be anywhere but here right now. He had known that sooner or later, he would have to explain himself. Still, that didn't make things easier.

Lucifer pushed wet strands of hair out of his face and forced himself to relax his shoulders. “Let's not do this here,” he said as he opened the door and looked back at Diavolo. He nodded his head towards the door and lead the way, arms crossed and mind far away, back to his room.

Lucifer and Diavolo were sitting on pure white armchairs near the fireplace, face to face. Lucifer was leaning back, one leg crossed over the other, but the unnatural rigidity of his body betrayed his otherwise calm demeanour. Diavolo, on the other hand was leaning forward, his elbows resting on his knees, his sole focus the demon in front of him.

Lucifer took in a deep breath. “You were confused as to why I didn't say anything,” he started and let his hand travel upwards to touch the back of his neck again.

He hated that he had to do this. He hated that the right words failed to come out and seemed to be stuck in his throat. “After I found out about it, I decided to solve this problem by myself. I didn't want to burden you. After all, this is my problem. I didn't see why I should make it yours as well.”

Diavolo didn't move. The expression on his face was serious, mixed in with something else. “Lucifer,” he eventually said quietly. He stood up and crossed the small distance between the chairs. Without hesitation, he caught Lucifer's hands between his own and dropped down next to him. His eyes were big and pleading, shiny like ancient coins, as he looked up at his right-hand man. “What did I do?”

Confused, Lucifer stared down at Diavolo, his cheeks undeniably dusted with a red tint as he took in the sight of his superior on his knees before him. “What did you do?”

“I must've done something to make you distrust me. Otherwise, you would've come to me. How often do I have to tell you that you can rely on me as well?” As Diavolo held onto Lucifer's hands, he let his fingers glide along cold skin, drawing small patterns with his fingertips.

Lucifer's sigil sent a powerful shiver down his spine, almost painful in its intensity. “Diavolo, this is not your fault. I am to blame here. I am the one who overstepped, therefore I shall bear the fruits of my own weakness,” he mumbled, admittedly distracted by the way Diavolo's big hands felt on his own. This had to stop. “I am dealing with this.”

All of a sudden, Diavolo looked up. “But are you really? Shouldn't you be getting better by now?”

For a moment, Lucifer's eyes travelled across Diavolo's face, searching. Something felt off. Was Diavolo teasing him? Or was he perhaps mocking him?

The sigil sent painful shock waves through Lucifer's body and before he could stop himself, he flinched noticeably.

Concerned, Diavolo let go of his hands and raised his hand to Lucifer's neck, but before he could reach it, he was interrupted.

Lucifer had grabbed Diavolo's wrist and was now staring at him with an expression very close to shock. “Don't,” he stated plainly. He could feel inky black roots grow taller, could feel them crawl under his skin along his neck, down to his shoulders. His skin felt like it had been injected with poison.

“Please, just let me help you Lucifer. You don't have to do this all by yourself.”

And there it was again. Whenever he thought he had found a way out, Diavolo managed to pull him back down even further.

Before he could stop it, a sarcastic laugh escaped Lucifer's lips. “That is the entire point. I have to do this by myself, you should know that better than anyone else.”

“Lucifer, why should I-”

“But as usual, you have to stir up trouble and make this difficult for me.” Lucifer let go of Diavolo's hand and quickly stood up. He turned Diavolo his back. “Pray tell, how will you help me with my unclaimed bond?” There, he finally said it. The word felt raw and exposed in the air. “I can't even seem to keep my distance from you,” he forced out and rubbed the sigil. “And do you know what's even more preposterous? If I did, this problem could be solved quite easily!” Lucifer started pacing the room. “I have become such a fool,” he muttered.

Diavolo crossed the room in quick strides, his eyebrows furrowed in confusion and worry. He grabbed Lucifer by the wrist and pulled him back around. “Lucifer, what are you talking about? What do I have to do with-”

Lucifer tried to pull his wrist free, but found himself unable to. His head was heavy and his body felt aflame. Then there was a certain emotion filling his heart that he hadn't felt in a long time.

Shame. He felt ashamed. If only he had managed to keep his emotions locked away in that little pandora's box in the back of his mind back then. But he just had to be selfish.

He looked up and his eyes, burning with humiliation, met with Diavolo's.

“Lucifer-”

“Don't feign ignorance,” he growled. “I know that doctor told you all about our bond.”

Diavolo stopped dead in his tracks and his grip around Lucifer's wrist loosened considerably. Did he just hear correctly?

“Our bond?” he asked quietly.

Lucifer used one arm to prop himself up against the wall as the pain in his neck suddenly doubled in intensity and his legs threatened to buckle. His breath came out ragged and heavy. “Whose else?”

Diavolo finally awoke from his momentary shock and looked back at Lucifer. His heart was beating wildly and his hands had started shaking again, but he ignored both in favour of rushing to Lucifer's side.

“I don't need your-”

“What are you talking about?!”

Lucifer's head shot up and his eyes locked with Diavolo's, his own confusion perfectly mirrored in Diavolo's facial expression. He remained silent.

After a few moments, Diavolo straightened his back and raised his head. His eyes were shining like liquid amber in the light of the fireplace as he pressed Lucifer against the wall. He helped him stand up, one arm supporting his waist while his other hand had gripped Lucifer's face.

Diavolo, with a beating heart and a mind upset at what had just been implied, finally asked the one question he had felt too reluctant to ask before, afraid to receive an answer he couldn't bear to hear.

“Lucifer. Who did you bond with?”

The ticking of an ancient clock filled the room as Lucifer stared at Diavolo's fiery expression, for the first time unable to deny what was fact.

“You.”

56 notes · View notes

random-mha-thoughts · 5 years ago

Text

Culture Clash (Bakugou x Reader)

Pairing: Bakugou x Fem!Reader

Anon asked: "OH MY GOODNESS I FREAKING LOVE YOUR WRITING.💜🧡❤️💚 I have a request!! Would it be possible if you did a scenario with Bakugou x Female Reader where the Reader is a transfer student and comes from a country where is normal to kiss people in the cheek to say hello and kisses Bakugou but then she is told of the culture difference in Japan, then she is embarrassed but Bakugou is even more. HOPE YOU HAVE A GREAT DAY!!"

Genre: Fluff

Word count: 1,565

Tags: @yuki-osaki @liviitehe @iamsoftsodonttoucheume-blog @bunnythepipsqueak

a/n: Thanks for the request anon dear! I hope I did it justice and it makes you feel good inside. 😊

Very quick and breezy Bakugou fluff. Honestly, my Bakugou list seems to be catching up to Todoroki (meanwhile poor Shinsou’s list is abysmal T.T But my next post will be an angst post for him, which is still a win), you guys just really love requesting for Boom Boom Boy, don’t you?

As I said on my last ask, after the Shinsou post, I’ll take a break before answering the next 2 requests I got, because I have a few of my own original ideas that I’d like to write, so look forward to them~

"You must be nervous to start school so far away from home," Yaoyorozu touches my hand gently. "I do hope you find yourself at home here at our school and here in Japan."

"Oh, it shouldn't be a problem at all!" I beam at her. "I'd say I'm a friendly person, I can talk to people easily."

Transferring schools in the middle of high school is daunting for most people, but I have no problem with it. One of the admins from UA were attending a conference in my country and put a recommendation for me to transfer schools at the start of the second year. Yaoyorozu, as second in charge in class, was assigned to be my buddy to ease me into the rest of the class. We've been talking since I was overseas and I was overjoyed to meet her in person.

"Are you nervous about staying in the dorms?" she asks me.

"Not at all! I've always wanted to try going to school and staying away from home. Do you guys get along well together?"

"We all have our own friend groups, but we spent time with each other as a class a fair amount of time as well." She eyes my suitcase rolling behind me. "Did you already receive your uniform?"

"Yup, they sent it over! The rest of my stuff for the year should be coming in another shipment from my parents."

Finally, the dorm building I will call home for the next two years looms in front of me and I can't keep the dumb smile off my face. While Yaoyorozu's talking about my sleeping arrangements, a boy swagger towards us from the opposite direction wearing just a black tank top and dark joggers. My eyes glance over his toned physique before studying his face, a slight scowl even at rest, crimson eyes staring at the ground in thought.

"Oh, (Y/n)-san," Yaoyorozu calls him out of his thoughts. "This is Bakugou-san, one of our classmates."

The boy looks down at me and I smile, leaning up to place a kiss on both of his cheeks instinctively. "Pleasure to meet you, Bakugou!"

His resting bitch face freezes and he stiffens. "Y-Yeah, same. See you in class." With that, he walks off quicker than his former pace.

I cock an eyebrow. "He seems like a tough guy, but quite strange. Is he nice?" I turn back to face Yaoyorozu.

Her face has turned a rosy tint of pink. "I-I wouldn't say that. He's a bit rough at the edges, but he's gotten a lot better since last year, I admit."

She seems a little uncomfortable, did I do something? I roll my luggage up the stairs. "I can't wait to meet the rest of the class!" The door opens with a flourish, and I meet the eyes of about half the class. Some of the girls were reading magazines on the couch and the boys were playing cards or games at the table.

The blond boy with a black streak in his hair and a small, purple haired boy immediately stand up. "Who're you?" they boy ask a little too eagarly.

I wave at the group, excitement bubbling in me at the site of my new classmates. "Hi everyone! I'm (Full Name), the transfer student! Please take care of me!"

"Oh, yes, we heard you were arriving today," another boy walks up to me, adjusting his glasses and extending his hand to me rigidly. "Welcome to Class 2-A!"

I shake his hand, leaning forward to greet him, "Nice to meet-"

"Um, (Y/n)-san," Yaoyorozu's hand pulls my shoulder slightly. "I hope I'm not rude in asking, but is there a particular reason you do that?"

She still a bit perturbed since we met Bakugou outside. "Do what?" I don't think she means to be impolite, but I'm still confused.

The girl hesitates as if she can't bring herself to say it. "Kiss people on the cheek. Is it a custom of some sort?"

My body relaxes. I thought there was something terribly wrong. "Oh, that's how we greet people in my country. It's something I appreciate about my culture, it shows how friendly we are!"

"Yes, I see that." She rubs her hands up her arms. "It might seem to be a problem here though, I'm sorry to say."

I blink. "I did it when I greeted you and there was no problem though?" The fog of perplexity returns to me. I know there are rules in other countries different to my own, but surely I haven't done something unforgivable?

"Yes, but," her eyes dart around and her face flushes more, "It's not exactly custom for members of the opposite sex to interact with each other like that even if they're friends, let alone if you've just met them. That's more reserved for um...public displays of affection."

It suddenly dawns on me the weight of what I've just done, especially to Bakugou. "Oh. I...see."

"Your face is all red now, (Y/n)-chan, ribbit," one of the girls with long, dark green hair chirps from the couch.

The bright blond haired boy's eyebrows furrow in concentration. "Hey, you guys didn't happen to run into Bakugou, did you?"

"We did," Yaoyorozu answers while I'm frozen in place, heat still blooming across my cheeks.

The two boys and another one with short, black hair and large elbows burst into uncontrollable laughter. "We were wondering why his face was so red when he got back from practice! You must've kissed him, right?"

Oh no, I did. The panic continues spreading up my body.

"She totally did!" the black-haired boy guffaws and the other two follow suit.

"Bakugou was that flustered by a little cheek kiss!"

"WHAT ARE YOU IDIOTS LAUGHING AT?!"

The first exposure to his screaming makes me jolt before I feel a debilitating mix of embarrassment and guilt, I don't even have the courage to look him in the eyes. "Hey, you wanna lead me to my room? I'll go unpack and settle in," I reach for Yaoyorozu, trying to compose myself back to normal.

"Of course, let's go up this way."

I'm grateful for her judgement of avoiding the chaos about to ensue. The laughter from the boys and the teasing coupled with Bakugou's defensive screams still follow us while we're in the elevator. What have I done.

On the first day of classes the next day, I try to avoid Bakugou as much as possible. I know his angry, violent type well. He dislikes me for embarrassing him in front of his friends and giving them fodder to make fun of him for. If he decides to confront me, I know I'll crumble into a mess of apologies.

Which is exactly what happens when we both happen to see each other in the halls during lunch. There's no avoiding him as we were the only two people there; I turn around and suddenly he's there, staring down at me with those piercing eyes. I don't have it in me to fake my bubbly small talk and slip my way out, I have to own up to it.

"I'm sorry I made you embarrassed like that, it wasn't my intention, it was all out of instinct. Please forgive me, don't be mad!" The words fly out of my mouth and I scrunch my eyes shut for fear of what he might say next, steeling myself for his angry yells.

They never come, instead there's just an exhale in the form of a thoughtful "Hm." I slowly wrench open my eyes, only to see him quirking an eyebrow down at me curiously.

"You don't need to be sorry about it, it's fine." Evaluating my still-cautious figure, he leans back a little to relax. "Yeah, I was taken off guard by the kiss, I admit, but my friends are also idiots, I can easily just bust them up a bit and they'll leave me alone."

I breathe a sigh of relief. "I see." The last thing I want is to be that cliched transfer student who gets bullied and becomes the outsider.

Bakugou swipes his tongue over his lip quickly. "That was...pretty ballsy of you to do, actually. I think it's cute. It's a shame our cultures clash like that."

I'm taken off guard by his sudden change in aura, the cockiness that twitches the corner of his lip up compliments his rugged, boyish charm, especially with his unbuttoned and untucked uniform. His eyes glance over me teasingly before he walks past me. "Y-Yeah, it's a shame," I finally conjure up words to say, even if they're a lame response.

His body turns back halfway. "In a way, I'm glad I was the only guy who you got to do it to," he smirks at me.

That kind of sign is interpreted the same way regardless of the culture, so I decide to return it, gathering up the same energy. "I wouldn't mind doing it again, just for you since you're okay with it."

"Doesn't sound like a bad idea," he chuckles low before facing forward and leaving. "See you in class."

I watch his receding back, leaning against the wall behind me to steady myself as the excitement grows weightlessly within me. The smile on my face refuses to be brought down. I guess there are some things that are just universal.

#Bakugou x reader #bakugou fluff #my hero academia #boku no hero academia #bakugou katsuki #request #female reader #bakugou scenario #bakugou imagine #mha bakugou #bnha bakugou #mha x reader #bnha x reader #mha fanfiction #bnha fanfiction

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merryfortune · 3 years ago

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A Thorn in his Paw

Un-Love You Challenge: 03. This cancels out the hurt

Ship: Miyuki/Wolfrun

Fandom: Smile PreCure

Word Count: 1.5k

Tags: Post-Canon, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort

Synopsis: The Pretty Cures come around to Marchenland a lot to play and whilst the others away, Miyuki gives Wolfrun the (medical) attention he needs when he shows her the thorn in his paw (and maybe the thorn in his heart, too).

Miyuki knelt down and she assessed Wolfrun’s paw.

Wolfrun stared at her, his ear twitching as he listened to her sing a song under her breath. It was just some silly song with no real melody, something she was clearly making up as she went along. Her thumb stroked over his paw pads whilst the rest of her hand was a bed for his tiny paw, only looking up when she noticed him wince. First in his paw, with his claws flexing, and then she caught a glimpse of his face, how he turned away from her.

“Aw, does it hurt, Wolfie?” she asked, sing-song but not mocking. It was a warm voice.

“Yeah, just a bit…” Wolfrun replied.

“You’ve got a thorn or something stuck in there, I can tell.” Miyuki observed and she nodded her head. “I can barely see it but it's always the teeny-tiny ones that hurt the most, yeah?”

“Yeah.” Wolfrun mumbled.

“Well this girl’s got two opposable thumbs and a pack of nail care stuff on her for emergencies since you never know when a hangnail or something will bother you so don’t worry! I’ll fix you up lickety-split, don’t worry about it.” Miyuki told him. She looked down at him with glittering eyes, “Don’t worry, I’ve got bandaids too! Since I’m always getting to scrapes so that might help as well.”

Wolfrun snickered but with the way his lips pulled back, it came out tinged with a sardonic snarl. He didn’t like that side of himself anymore. Not since Miyuki had shown him such care and grace despite everything.

Despite everything…

He, Akaoni, and Majorina had been welcomed back to Märchenland thanks to the efforts of the Pretty Cure. Despite fighting week in and week out, Cure Happy and the others had come to believe them when they told them that they were in pain because of the ostracisation they faced as villains. Upon learning that, they changed the trajectory of what they considered victory: no longer did they want to clash as foes but rather to meet, in peace, as friends.

They fought hard against that grain of doing what had always been done - heroes versus villains and all the manipulation in between - and for it, Wolfrun and the others were given a warm welcome back to Märchenland. Sure, there were still some adjusting but believe or not, there had been other fairies who had missed them. Their role in the story as agents of conflict were necessary, even if both sides sometimes took it too far.

With Princess Candy in power and the Pretty Cures by her side, they were trying really hard to reintegrate their villains back into their society. They visited often and they had a great time doing it, for the most part. Any group of friends had their spills and blues, they weren’t as horrific as they had been in the past. It was nice.

Whilst the other Pretty Cures played and frolicked elsewhere, they were having a quiet moment by a tree. All because ickle Wolfie-kins here got a burr in his paw so she stayed behind to play nurse whilst her friends had fun making flower crowns with the Princess and eating as much gourmet food as their bellies could hold. Miyuki, notably the worst by Wolfrun’s standards for being a chaser of leisure and a glutton, had stayed behind. For him. And was doing it all with a smile.

He stole a glance at her, his breath hitching as he lost all muster and bravado. The big, bad wolf reduced to nothing but a puppy and all because of something as small and insignificant as having a boo-boo in his paw. Ridiculous. He frowned, only for his eyes to go wide as Miyuki brandished her tweezers. She dug around in his paw something awful for that tiny little prick and it was like she was pulling a sword from the stone when she finished.

“Got it!” she proclaimed. She laughed, bubbly and raucous, totally oblivious to how Wolfrun was howling and recoiling in pain, as she examined the thorn up close and personal. It certainly seemed huge when it was just about touching her eyelashes. “Wow, it did look like a bugger.”

“Thanks…” Wolfrun replied. Mumbled.

“I’m not done yet,” Miyuki brightly rebuked, “I haven’t even kissed it better yet - or put the bandaid on.”

“What?” Wolfrun sputtered. His arms flailed and his expression was shocked and wild.

“Uhh… I said I hadn’t put a bandaid on it?” she replied. She really didn’t get what the big fuss was about.

“No you, powder puff, the other part!” Wolfrun barked at her, scandalised but there was a strange redness to his icy blue muzzle that didn’t seem to be a sunburn.

Miyuki was still completely puzzled, she tilted her head and tapped the side of her mouth, “I said that, um, I’d kiss it better?”

“Why would you say such a thing?” he asked, snarling, eyes wide.

“Because, um, it’s part of the magic of getting better, I guess. That’s what my mum always told me, at least.” Miyuki replied, sheepish.

Wolfrun growled. He frowned deeply and there was the hint of his alter ego as a true villain, not just a fairy, in his eyes and it was such a frustrated expression that it wounded Miyuki.

“What’s the matter, Wolfrun, did I do something wrong?” Miyuki asked.

“No!” Wolfrun snapped and then again, quieter, with his whole body trembling, his voice on the brink of cracking, “No,” he murmured, “you powder puffs do nothin’ wrong and that’s the thing, ain’t it?” Wolfrun lamented. “Even now, the only reasons other fairies’re nice to us is ‘cause you girlies said to be and I jus’ - I jus’ don’t get it…”

“Oh, Wolfrun…” Miyuki murmured.

She giggled on the inside, tickled pink that this Wolfrun was so soft and tiny as she reached out to him and picked him. He didn’t seem to like it but she pet the top of his head to help him relax in her lap. Even scratching behind his ears.

“Why?” Wolfrun forced out in a growly voice.

“Why what?” Miyuki asked, feigning ignorance, she just wanted to hear it in his terms, not the ones that she had gone and picked out for him.

“We caused you- I caused you… so much pain.” Wolfrun said. “I can’t stand how nauseatingly nice you all are because, well, how do I know you're not faking it? That bein’ nice to me - to us - isn’t just some big joke to all you, little girls.”

“I can promise you, I’m not, truly.” Miyuki assured him, stroking his face. “You told us you were hurting, that you were lashing out because the world hurt you first and I am a deep appreciator of villains, so please believe us and who knows? Once you get used to people being genuinely nice, you won’t be so suspicious. It’s hard, I can tell, but it's worth it, please believe it.”

“But we - I, especially - hurt you.” Wolfrun replied, his voice all broken up over it and his tiny body quivering with rage. Rage directed at himself, or at the very least his past self.

“Oh, you poor thing,” Miyuki said and she took his paw that had been punctured by the thorn and lifted it to her lips, a kiss ghosting over the fine fur and she turned it over, kissing it and successfully resisting the impulse to blow a raspberry onto the skin of her paw pad, “I forgive you.”

Wolfrun snivelled. He didn’t feel worthy of genuine kindness or care. For so long, when he had sought it out, all he would be meant with was cold indifference at best or at worst, he would be outwardly turned away with a vileness that was just beyond his claws. Yet here Miyuki was giving him at that unconditional friendship that he had yearned for out in spades, it made his nose twitch and his eyes water and his heart go weak.

Miyuki smiled and she reached for the rest of her little, miniature first aid kit. She fished out a bandaid - all prettily coloured in pink and white with a splash of yellow, too - and took off its backing. She pressed it down gently onto Wolfrun’s paw.

“Here,” she said, “look, see? This cancels out the hurt.”

Wolfrun sniffed, choking back tears and a lot of slimy mucus. Miyuki just smiled and she wrestled him up in a big hug, rocking him to and fro. Wolfrun squealed and whined and though it started out as a protest, it ended in jest, both of them toppling over and rolling in the soft grass of the shade with Miyu reeling with laughter as well. He needed that. They both did.

“Aw, kid, look you’ve gone an’ made me soft.” Wolfrun complained, awkward as to where to put his paws now that he was on top of Miyuki. He might have been small but he was still a man and she was still a girl. A girl with superpowers and a pure heart but a girl nonetheless.

“Good!” Miyuki barked back at him. “I love it a lot when villains are soft.”

Wolfrun snickered. Maybe he could tolerate it when villains were soft too if it meant having Miyuki for company.

#unlove you challenge #urumiyu #writing tag #wolfrun x miyuki #miyuki x wolfrun #smile precure #precure #cure happy #glitter force

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xbellaxcarolinax · 4 years ago

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Heartbreaker- Part 3

Pairing: Modern Ivar x Female character/ reader (She)

Word Count: 6332. Yikes.

Warnings: Sexual content, language, angst

Moodboard@peterquillzsblog

AN: The third part of this thing I did for @youbloodymadgenius 400 Followers Writing Challenge. I’m a bit insecure about this part, and it was hard to write but I hope ya’ll like it. Shout out to my girl @shannygoatgruff for helping me and encouraging me with the writing process. You da best.

Part 1, Part 2

...

The stars were mocking her, she was sure of it.

Her eyes were glued to her ceiling, the stupid LED’s sparkling brighter now that the sun had completely set and the moon had taken its place. She started learning her constellations when she was 10, the age when shit at home started to hit the fan. It was her attempt at an escape to avoid her parents fighting in the other room. She ignored the yelling and banging against the walls by running to her tiny window and staring out into the sky in the hopes of catching sight of Orion’s Belt or any of the dippers. The stars were nicer then, comforting her as she did her best to drown out her mother’s screaming. They weren’t so visible now that she lived in Oslo, the city lights blocking everything that glowed in the sky. She had to settle for the cheap projector she purchased off amazon when she first called the city home, and it had been enough for her to get by until now. It ridiculed her, the fake stars shimmering together as if to form a smirk.

Fuck that.

She reaches behind her nightstand, yanking the cord from the wall with force, cutting off the starlight and leaving her ceiling pitch black. The candles were still flickering as the only light source, the scent of roses still strong. At least it smelled nice. Flopping back against her pillows, she runs her hands down her damp face from her salty tears, dropping her arms to her sides and dragging the sheets over her still naked body. She hadn’t moved since he left. She couldn’t move even if she wanted to. Her body felt rooted to the mattress, her skin glued to the sheets. She gives the dark ceiling one last glare before rolling to her side, burying her face into the pillow where Ivar’s luxurious hair had left the fragrance of his coconut shampoo and his Armani cologne. She was fucking pathetic.

Sending him away felt like a mistake.

She wanted to feel powerful kicking his ass out. She wanted to feel in control and confident watching him leave, but she didn’t. He wasn’t even angry. As soon as she told him to leave, he silently gathered his wrinkled clothes thrown about in their haste. In rigid movements he dressed himself, grabbed his crutch, and turned to look at her over his shoulder, his eyes scanning the shape of her body under the thin sheets. He said nothing, just stared at her with this look of longing, like they were the most unfortunate pair to grace the earth. It certainly felt that way. Then he reached over, holding her head gently to place a kiss on her temple before leaving her bed. All she wanted to do was to cry and call him back as soon as she heard her front door close with a soft click.

The facade immediately collapsed and the smirk slipped from her lips, settling into a deep frown. Her eyes welled up with tears and cascaded down her cheeks without so much as a fight. She had felt a heaviness in her chest, a burning that ached over her as if Ivar himself had reached inside her and ripped out her heart. He had broken it, so why did it hurt just as much when she tried to hurt him?

Because she loved him. She loved Ivar.

She was in love with him. Completely and hopelessly and stupidly in love. Like a fucking idiot. She loved him when he visited her at the museum. She loved him when he took her home. She loved him when he took her to bed. And she loved him more when she watched him leave, his expression forever implanted in her mind like a photograph. She’d never seen such a look on him before.

When the hell did it start to get to that point? She wasn’t too sure. It started simple enough, boundaries were set, and they were both happy with what they had. The sex was great, and even greater still when she realized her feelings were getting involved. She found love in the simplest things. She felt it in their little touches whenever she handed him something, in the smile that lit up his face when she made his favorite meal of steak and potatoes, or the way he looked at her when he knew she was wearing something particularly naughty under her clothes. Or maybe she loved him from the moment they met at that fucking party. Apparently it only takes the brain 2 seconds to fall in love with someone. She couldn’t even remember where she’d read that. Probably from that corny lifestyle magazine she picked up while waiting her turn at the dental office. Whatever. The damage was already done.

She fights to ignore the delicious throbbing between her legs, her body craving more of him and his touch. It bothered her, how her body was betraying her. With a sigh, she shifts away from Ivar’s scent, curling into herself and making a mental note to wash the bed sheets as soon as possible. A bath would be nice, preferably with lots of bubbles, but she was too lazy. She’d just have to wake up earlier.

She takes even breaths to calm her heart rate as she watches the candle on her nightstand flicker, hoping she’d find sleep soon.

Morning came a lot quicker than she hoped.

She was the epitome of a zombie, which meant she’d need her morning coffee. Her eyes were sensitive against the morning light and her body ached from more than just a sleepless night. She took a quick shower, fed Benji, and made her caffeinated drink. She was in complete autopilot, that is, until there was a knock on her door. Irritated at the early disturbance, she goes to the door with half a mind of what was on the other side of it.

Pink daisies. Twice as many as before. This time, they were arranged in a stained glass vase, much like the windows of a cathedral, with vivid colors of green, blue, and red, depicting a simplistic design. It must have cost him a pretty penny no doubt, but money was never a problem for him. It was lighter than the porcelain vase, but still heavy in her hands. She places it on the counter, her fingertips skimming over the silky petals as gently as she could without damaging them. They were beautiful, but she found herself unable to admire them. She had a melancholic view of them now. They couldn’t be her favorites anymore.

There was that white card again, hiding within the stems of the bouquet. She hesitates, her fingers grasping the rough textured paper, reluctant to peer inside in fear of another hurtful message. With a shaky breath she flips it open.

I’m sorry.

Love, Ivar.

The words were written messily, unusual for him as he had perfect penmanship learned from his years in boarding school. Again, the water from the vase dotted the card, causing the black ink to bleed a bit. Her fingers follow the streaks down to the edge, picking up some of the faded pigment. It was as if he were the one crying this time, asking for forgiveness with fucking flowers. Either this solution worked for him in the past or he was just really fucking stupid.

She bites her lip, fiddling with the card before opening her junk drawer and tossing it inside. She didn’t have the strength to get rid of it. She carefully takes the vase in both hands, setting them down on her coffee table and arranging her candles and other knick knacks around it until it pleased her. She sits on her sofa, watching Benji put both his paws on the surface of the coffee table, curious of the new scent in the flat. Pulling her phone from her back pocket, she searches her contact list, going to her blocked numbers. Ivar’s name was the only one on that list.

Unblock?

She pauses, her finger hovering over the button. One tap, and she would be signing up for more heartbreak. Then the image of the blonde appeared in her mind, her in bed with Ivar, smirking and devious. Mocking.

It wasn’t worth it.

With a sigh she tosses her phone onto the table with a loud clack, the corner smacking against the edge of the vase and spooking Benji. She sucks her teeth.

Forget it.

…

Ivar runs his large thumb over the smooth cream colored domino piece, watching Hvitserk deal the pieces out to him and Sigurd. He’s been in a foul mood since the night he left her flat and he’s been hugging alcohol and cigarettes to his side like long lost friends, specifically Patrón and Marlboro. They dulled whatever strange feeling he felt that fluttered in his chest whenever he thought of her.

Normally, women were never a problem for him. It was always the same routine. He’d find himself a pretty girl, date her for a bit, and find another one when he got bored. He’d tell them that love was out of the equation and that was it. There were a few that grew attached, but he’d nip it in the bud before it could escalate. Others were understanding. They’d have their fun and go on their merry way to do it over again with some other asshole. It was supposed to be simple. So why was she making things so fucking difficult?

Well, he wasn’t being entirely fair, he had to admit. They were both difficult. She had fallen in love with him after he warned her not to, and he couldn’t bring himself to keep away from her after he’d sent her away. He had a routine, dammit, but now all he finds himself wanting is a fucking routine with her. Like maybe a normal one. He had gotten use to her, her smile, her touches, her scent, fuck. How long had it been? A year? The longest he’d ever been with a girl. Seriously. And now Freydis was up his ass for attention. He knew the bimbo didn’t feel anything past physical attraction for him. It was just for his time and money, which he didn’t mind at first, but the bitch was terrible in bed and an unpleasant person to be around.

And so he hoped she’d appreciate the flowers. Women loved flowers, right?

Ivar gives the longest sigh he could muster in order to keep his thoughts at bay, deciding to stare at the domino in his hand. It had 2 giant black dots, and the longer he stared at it, the more they appeared like scrutinizing eyes, judging him and his decisions. He slams the piece face down on the table with a glare. Fuck, he was going crazy.

"Where'd you even get these?" He grunts, snatching up his forgotten beer and taking a sip. It wasn’t tequila but it’d have to do for now.

"Bjorn bought them for me from Cuba." Hvitserk says pointing at the little wooden box they came in with the Cuban flag expertly painted on the surface.

"He brings domino's but no cigars?" Sigurd grumbles, arranging his pieces away from the prying eyes of his brothers, “I’d rather cigars.”

"Domino's are way cooler than cigars, Sig," Hvitserk argues, "And maybe Bjorn doesn’t like you enough to bring you fucking cigars, but forget that. What I really want to know is why our baby brother here looks like fucking shit." Both the older brothers turn to look at Ivar with knowing looks, ready to tease if need be.

"What the fuck are you talking about?" Ivar argues, slamming his first piece down to commence the game. Maybe he wasn’t sleeping much these last few days. And maybe he had bags forming under his eyes and wasn’t eating much, preferring his alcohol and chimney sticks, but he wouldn’t go as far as to say he looks like shit. Then again, he wasn’t looking into his bathroom mirror much either.

“Hvits is right. You look like a kicked puppy, and not even a cute one.” Sigurd snickers, placing his own piece down with that stupid little smirk on his face.

“There is no such thing as ugly puppies.” Was the grunted reply.

“Point is, you look like shit. Have you been sleeping? We know how much you love your beauty sleep.”

“And fucking,” Hvitserk chimes in, placing down his domino, “I think Ivar has us beat. He’s competing with Bjorn at this point.”

“Or maybe it’s that little vixen of his causing trouble. How is she doing by the way? We haven’t seen her in a while.” Ivar flares his nose at the nickname that Sigurd had given her. He fucking hated it now more than ever.

“Shut. Up.” He snarls, sliding his domino piece hard enough to push the rest off the table.

“What the fuck, Ivar! If you break my shit, I’ll-”

“So this is what you guys do when I’m not at the office?” Ubbe bursts in through the door of their little lounging area, a frown forming on his lips as he eyes them in pure displeasure before they settled on the game pieces, “Who’s idea was it to play dominoes when we have clients blowing up our fucking phone’s? And drinking beer? That’s just brilliant. Assholes.”

“That’s why your girl is the secretary, Ubbe, she can handle it.” Sigurd waves his hand around, glad that Ubbe’s outburst overshadowed Ivar’s. When the youngest got mad, it wasn’t pretty, but it was fucking entertaining.

“It was my idea, by the way,” Hvitserk chuckles, placing all the pieces that fell back on the table top, “Wanna play? There’s more beer in the mini fridge.”

“You’re all fucking garbage.” Ubbe mutters, but heads over to the fridge to pull out a beer before plopping down on the empty chair beside Ivar with a sigh, “Before I forget, Ivar, Torvi says some guy just came by to drop something off for you.”

“I’m not expecting a package.”

“You sure? I’ll tell her to bring it in.” After a few minutes, Torvi peeks her head in through the crack of the door before fully opening it, a bouquet of wilted pink daisies in her hands. The color drains from Ivar’s face as the blonde approaches, handing him the flowers with this odd look on her face. Who would send Ivar fucking flowers anyway? And dying ones at that. His brothers immediately start to laugh at Ivar’s stunned look, another session of teasing on the way.

“You have another admirer, little bro?” Hvitserk chortles, mixing the domino pieces for a quick shuffle before dealing them.

“The flowers look like shit.” Comments Sigurd, leaning back against his chair. Ivar, still bewildered into silence, blinks stupidly. He stares at the wilted daisies, the petals easily falling off when he brings his fingers to touch them. They really did look like complete shit. Just like how he felt.

“There’s a card clipped in there. You gonna read it or what?” Ubbe taps his youngest brother's shoulder to elicit some kind of reaction from him. Ivar composes himself before quickly snatching the white card. It was one he had already written a message in by the looks of it. The card was bent at the edges, and he recognized the black ink from his favorite fountain pen.

Finally summing up the courage to read the message, he flips the card open, his previous simple apologetic words were crossed out. A new message was written below it that had his little cold heart hammering in his chest. He bites his lip, his blue eyes scanning the 4 words over and over again.

Sorry isn’t good enough.

…

The Tune ship is a fast sailing vessel able to transport passengers quickly across 100 meters. It is speculated that the vessel was a warship, able to carry its passenger and light cargo farther distances at a much faster-

“Ahh, there you are. In the library just as I assumed.” She quickly removes her eyes from her laptop screen in favor of the intruder that addressed her. She immediately stands, pushing it aside and placing her hands behind her back. The museum director, Mr. Kent, chuckles at her nervousness, smoothing a hand down his pale beard. He must have been a blonde in his youth as his hair had a faint yellow glow when under sunlight. He was a decent man of English origin, specifically from Winchester, who had taken over as the museum director about a year ago. He was a man who loved to dress well, fancy suits and shoes to demonstrate his abundance of money, but it wasn't haughty, not like the Ragnarsson’s. Mr. Kent came from even older money, and apparently from a line of kings that ruled England centuries ago. He had a massive reputation, to say the least. “I didn’t mean to startle you. I’m actually in need of a favor. Do you have a moment?”

“Of course, Mr. Kent, what can I do for you?”

“Please,” He chuckles, “Ecbert is fine. As for the favor, my grandson will be moving from Winchester in a few short weeks, right before the gala for the Tune ship exhibit. I’d like for him to shadow you during your tours, if that is alright with you?”

“Oh! Yes, of course. It would be an honor.” Fuck no, it wouldn’t. The last person that shadowed her was super fucking annoying and ended up getting fired anyway, but since this was Ecbert’s grandson, it would be different, he’d have privilege. Hopefully he wasn’t douche.

And shit. The fucking gala. She’d almost forgotten about it. It was the only event that the museum held in which she could attend, dress up, and feel pretty, but it was the one event that made her more nervous than anything else. She’d be surrounded by the richest people in the country, patrons of the Viking Ship Museum and other prestigious institutions and universities. And champagne, lot’s of champagne. Rich people knew how to party.

“Excellent,” He smiles, clapping his hands together as if to solidify their agreement, “Don’t let me take up more of your time, I know you're doing your research for the new exhibit. I’ll be happy to give you access to the archives if you’d like? You might find something of interest that isn’t in the scholarly journals online.”

“That would be fantastic, Sir, thank you.”

“Have a great day.” She watches the older man leave, before plopping back down onto the cushioned seat with a sigh. He wasn’t as intimidating as their last asshole director, but she still treads softly around him. You can never get too comfy with those above you.

She did some more research for another half hour before checking her watch. Another tour of the Oseberg ship was scheduled in a few minutes and she would be free to go home and feel sorry for herself and her love life. She puts away her laptop in her purse, quickly rushing over to her office to freshen up before the tour. It was a busy day at the museum as they were now at the start of tourist season, which meant the museum allowed for bigger groups to be guided, and more people meant more noise and more irritation. Walking toward the entrance of the museum, she scans her eyes over the group of the afternoon, suddenly hoping to find a pair of blue eyes looking back at her. But that wasn’t the case. She frowns. He wouldn’t come looking for her after that fucking stunt she pulled. She shouldn’t want him to look for her anyway.

She sighs, plastering the fakest smile on her face before greeting the group.

Her phone was truly the devil. Honestly, did it intend to constantly notify her on Ivar’s posts and images? And since when did he post so damn much? She’d have to turn off her notifications, or block him off of Snapchat. Actually, why not just throw the whole fucking phone away? Ridiculous. She grumbles to herself, wondering why she hadn’t deleted him off of any social media apps yet. There was an answer to that, she just didn’t care to admit it. She was never into that stuff anyway, just keeping her accounts for communication purposes for her friends and family back home. It was getting rather lonely. Her time was mostly spent with Ivar, and now that they’re having their little rift, she realized her lack of friends. Had she really revolved her life around him? Shit.

Stretching her legs down the length of the sofa, she makes herself comfortable for the stupid shit she was about to do. She grabs her phone, scrolling through her apps and goes on Instagram. Ivar had posted 3 new photos. He was out at some bar in the city having a good ass time it seemed. His best friend, Heahmund, was in all of them, probably as a chaperone since Ivar couldn’t handle his liquor much. Heahmund was a good friend for that and Ivar was lucky to have the British fuck look out for him.

Ivar’s story was filled with clips of him goofing off. He was totally drunk, she could tell by how lidded and unfocused his eyes were, and how pink his lips were from constantly pursing them over a glass. His hair was all fucked up and out of its usual bun, as if he were fucking someone right before the video was recorded. Almost immediately after the thought, a drunk Freydis comes into the shot. That explained it. She should really throw her phone away.

Freydis giggles at the camera before placing her lips to his cheek, trailing them down his neck in sloppy kisses.

A rage boiled within her and she felt her fingers tighten around her phone. She needed to calm down. He was doing his own thing and she might as well do hers, though it was much easier said than done. The other videos he posted were of him taking shots of whatever it was, most likely tequila, and grinning into the camera like an idiot. Or maybe she was the idiot. Why should she mope around while he was having the time of his life? She knew how to have fun!...Right? Well, sometimes. Okay, maybe not. That party she met Ivar in? It was an invitation she had refused countless times. She couldn’t be bothered with the guy who begged her to go, but she went anyway due to her lack of socialization at the time.

Going out and partying was never fun when she was always the sober one. She did drink of course, but her tolerance was a lot better than most, say, like Ivar. She couldn’t count with her fingers the amount of times she had to call an Uber to get his ass home. The very few times she’d gone out with his brothers, it always ended with the same outcome, except Ubbe would end up saving their sorry asses.

Ubbe was the sweetheart, why couldn’t she have felt this way about him instead? Right, he had a girlfriend. She grumbles to herself, thinking she's better off alone.

…

“Where are you going?” The scent of alcohol had rooted itself deep within Freydis’s pores, her breath tickling his ear in an unpleasant manner. She stops him when he slips off the bar stool, pulling him by the collar of his shirt to bring him back to her side. He didn’t like that. He didn’t like how her hands felt on him or the look she wore. He didn’t like any of it. The loud trap music that blared from the speakers had activated him earlier that night, but now it made his head ache something terrible. The bass seemed to be vibrating right through him and he rubbed the side of his temple to subdue the growing headache. He reached out to stabilize himself on the bar counter. He was so fucking drunk.

“I gotta pee. Get off me.” Ivar grumbles, pushing her away with little grace. Clingy bitch.

“What?” The blonde scowls, her eyebrows arching and her lips set in a tight line. Shit. He said that out loud?

“Nothing.”

“I think he called you a clingy bitch, actually.” Heahmund repeats Ivar’s demeaning words, a chuckle escaping his red stained lips from the wine he was drinking. This was the fun part of the night for the older man. Ivar had no filter when he was drunk. Well, he never really did have a filter, sober or not, but it was a lot funnier when he had alcohol in his system. He could be ruthless.

“I fucking heard him, asshole.” Freydis snaps, seemingly sobering up now that she was angry. Heahmund breaks out in a smile to which she glares in return.

“I gotta pee.” Ivar announces again, not bothering to look at Freydis before stumbling towards the restrooms. He belches after letting out a series of hiccups, pausing to place a hand on the wall to steady himself. He was so fucking drunk. How many shots of Patrón had he taken? 3..4..? He started counting out loud, bringing his unoccupied hand to his face in order to use his fingers. Wait, there weren’t enough fingers on that hand. He stumbles again when he lets go of the wall, using the other hand to make his calculations. 5...8? Shit, he lost track. Forget it. It was a lot of Patrón.

Using his shoulder, he bursts in through the restroom door, mumbling an apology when he runs into someone. Ignoring the blurry image of the guy scowling at him, he makes his way into a stall and pisses his life away, his head resting against the cold tiled wall as he scrambles to gather his thoughts. He wasn’t happy. The alcohol wasn’t making him happy. Freydis wasn’t making him happy. What the fuck was wrong with him? He was a simple man with simple pleasures yet for some reason, a basic routine and a basic girl weren’t enough anymore. This was all her fault. Why was she torturing him without even trying? In his intoxicated state he could still remember how her voice trembled when she cried and how her eyes looked when they glossed over with tears. How drunk did he need to be to admit that he had hurt her? Really fucking drunk. Like now.

He slams the red door of the stall open, not even flinching when it banged against the stall beside it, maneuvering himself clumsily over to the sink. Gripping the porcelain, he leans forward to get a good look at himself through the streaky mirror. His eyes were so low he could barely see himself, cheeks flushed bright pink and lips matching in color. When did his bun get loose? He looks at his wrist hoping to find a hair tie but scowls when he finds none. He grunts in annoyance, turning on the tap to wash his hands before dragging his wet fingers through his hair. The cold water felt good on his heated face and he closed his eyes for a moment. He gazes at himself one last time before coming to a decision. He needed to talk to her. Right now.

Digging in the pocket of his simple denim jeans, he whips out his phone, struggling to find her contact name before pressing the call button and bringing the device to his ear.

You have reached the voice mailbox of 45-

Fuck. He forgot. She blocked him.

He wanted to throw his phone in frustration. Why did she block him? Did she not understand that he needed to talk to her right now?

Oh wait. Snapchat. Snapchat has video calls. That’s it. Ivar immediately takes a fat finger to scroll to the app, forcefully pressing down on the little ghost in haste. Finding her name in his contacts list, he presses the little video icon, hoping she’d answer. After a few seconds he almost gives up, but then his screen lights up, and he is rewarded with her tired eyes.

“Hey,” He breathes, noting the dim light in her room, “Were you sleeping?” He slurs, and immediately curses himself for sounding so stupid. He clears his throat in the hopes of gaining his language skills back.

“Ivar?” Her voice was heavy with sleep. It was exactly how she sounded when he used to wake her up in the morning with soft, lazy kisses to her shoulder. He missed that. “It’s like 2am. What are you calling me for?”

“I...I don’t know. Missed...your voice.” The words poured out his mouth like vomit. Actually, he was shocked he hadn’t gotten to that point. He threw up at least once after a hard night of drinking. His eyes fell shut as he leaned his head back against the wall beside the sink. God, this speech impediment was bad. He hears her snort tiredly on the other end.

“You’re drunk.”

“Mm...noooo, no. Mm not.”

“I can smell the tequila from here.”

“Wait, really?” His eyes pop open as he brings his phone closer to his face. He couldn’t focus all that well, but he could make out her sleepy features. Those pretty lashes of hers brushed over her cheeks with every lazy blink, and her messy hair was placed in a high ponytail at the top of her head.

“No.” Was her flat reply, pure irritation seeping through the word. Ivar stares at her displeased look for a moment longer, sighing in an almost dream like manner.

“You look beautiful.” He answers back, sliding down the wall to sit in a much more comfortable position. He didn’t care if the floor was dirty, he was drunk, and he didn’t want his legs to start hurting like a bitch.

“Shut the fuck up,” She says, “Words of a drunk.”

“I’m being serrrrious,” Ivar whines, “You always look amazing, you know that?”

“Right. Is Heahmund still there?”

“Yeah,” He pouts, “Why? You’d rather talk to him? You like him or something?” Ivar had never been the jealous type, but he was whenever it involved his brothers or Heahmund. When he had started seeing her, their interest zeroed in on her like fucking hawks, and so he made it abundantly clear to them that she was off limits. She was his conquest, no one else’s. So no, he wouldn’t consider himself the jealous type, but everyone else needed to stay the fuck away from her, even if she wasn’t his to play with anymore.

“No, Ivar, to make sure you’re gonna get home okay.” She sighs, shifting in her sheets and rubbing her face in frustration, “And it seems you will.”

“Aw, you worry about me?” He grins stupidly, his mood shifting wildly as he rubs his phone on his sweaty cheek as if to send her affection.

“No more than you do for me. How’s Freydis by the way?” The bitterness in her tone was enough to bring him down from whatever high he was feeling. Ivar scowls, shifting the phone back so they were now directly looking at each other. He blinks, trying to clear his head again. Freydis. He forgot about her already. And he didn’t really care anyway.

“Clingy bitch,” He muttered his words from earlier, “I don’t wanna talk about her. I wanna talk about you.” He almost laughed when she pinched the bridge of her nose in annoyance.

“What about me, hmm?”

“I dunno,” He shrugs, his eyes searching hers through his fingerprint covered screen before passing them over her visible form again. She was wearing that one t-shirt she favored, the comfy one with the large neckline that always slid down enough to expose one of her smooth shoulders. Her messy hair and tired eyes reminded him of the many nights spent together tangled under his sheets. It made him swallow thickly as he brought a hand down the center of his jeans to ease the growing ache. Fuck, he needed to get his shit together. Still, in their silence he conjured up images and ideas in his head that he certainly shouldn’t at that moment, but fuck it. He licks his lips, feeling the sly grin stretching across his face at the words his brain had given to him, ready to spill from his mouth, “Maybe I just want to talk about the way your back arches under my hands, or the sounds you make when I-”

“Ivar,” She stops him immediately, her face blooming that pink color he loved, “Kindly shut the fuck up.” She looked like she was about to say something more, something much harsher and meaner, but she stopped herself. Instead, she takes in a breath, rubbing her eyes, and suddenly, she didn’t seem all that tired anymore. “Did you like the flowers?” She asks instead.

“Huh?” His eyebrows curve in confusion as his hazy mind tries to decipher the meaning behind the question. What was she talking about? Flowers? What flow-Oh. Right.

Sorry isn’t good enough.

He sighs, leaning his head back against the tiled wall. He could hear the transition of trap music out in the bar to some basic pop he hadn’t heard on the radio in years. He was in no mood for Kesha.

“I hated them.” He mutters truthfully. The wilted daisies made his heart sink. He’d never felt that way before. Was that how he made all those other women feel? He chews the inside of his cheek, ignoring the pulse behind his eyes and the ache in his head. Finally, the nausea kicked in and his stomach churned for the inevitable. He swallows thickly, running his hand through his messy hair, her eyes following his every movement trying to read his expression. Even in his intoxicated state, he made it hard for her to read him.

“This is a lot harder than I thought it would be.” He says miserably. Why does he fuck everything up? If he had never gone to that stupid party in the first place, he would have never met her, and he wouldn’t be feeling that way he does now. Like complete trash.

“What a shame,” She says, cocking her head to the side, her ponytail brushing against her cheekbone, “Just take your own advice, and try not to fall in love.” She gives him one last look before she hangs up, having him stare at his screen for a few seconds to understand what just happened. He remains seated on the dirty bathroom floor for a few moments longer, continuing to ignore his churning stomach and the tightness of his throat.

“What the fuck are you doing?” Heahmund bursts in through the door, immediately grabbing hold of Ivar’s arm and helping in lifting him up to his feet, “You’ve been in here for 20 minutes. Freydis left in a cab.”

“Good for her.” Ivar grunts, shoving his phone back in his pocket. He pushes Heahmund away, going back to stand in front of the mirror. He looked sick, sweat building up near his hairline.

“What’s wrong with you, hmm?” The older man questions, crossing his arms and using that tone on him as if he didn’t have 4 fucking older brothers already.

“Being a fucking idiot, that’s what.” Ivar says, closing his eyes as his chest burned with that familiar sensation.

“Finally feeling bad about what you did, huh?” Heahmund questions, “You know, no amount of fucking flowers and alcohol is gunna fix anything or make you feel better. You needed a reality check. She gave it to you.”

“And you call yourself my friend, traitor?” Ivar managed to say before pushing past him and into a stall, heaving out all the contents from his tequila filled stomach.

…

The Tune ship exhibit was coming together.

The fragments of the ship were strategically pieced together to form the remains of the ancient ship to its former glory. Well, most of it anyway. It was a fraction of what it once was in the past, but it was still an impressive archeological find, and although it wasn’t as massive as the Oseberg or the Gokstad, it was still considerable in length. She felt like a speck of dust standing beside it despite its lack of framework. She observes the rotted wood and the grooves within each ancient plank, wishing she could reach out and touch it; to feel what they must have felt like a thousand years ago. It’s been 2 years since she began working at the Viking Ship Museum and she still found herself in awe at every artifact that entered their exhibits. She supposed it was the bookworm in her. Ahh fuck. That’s what Ivar calls her.

She immediately frowns, her face twisting in displeasure. Somehow, her thoughts always went back to him, and that irritated her greatly.

“Hello?” The unrecognizable voice echoes throughout the empty exhibit. She looks over her shoulder at the intruder, her gaze gravitating to meet the clearest blue eyes of a boyish young man. The blackest hair she’d ever seen frames his blushing cheeks and the tips brush softly over his shoulders. She blinks at him, cocking her head.

“Uhh, hi?”

“I’m sorry,” He lets out a nervous chuckle, looking around the unfinished exhibit to avoid meeting her eyes from his embarrassment, “I didn’t mean to startle you.” He had a gentle voice, a hint of shyness in the undertones. And extremely British.

“No it’s fine,” She approaches him, sticking out her hand to greet him with a handshake and a small smile, “You must be Mr. Kent’s grandson. I wasn’t expecting you so soon…?”

“Alfred,” He answers, grasping her hand and offering her a timid smile back, “It’s a pleasure.”

...

@a-daydreamers-day @heavenly1927 @didiintheblog @inforapound @a-mess-of-fandoms @leilabeaux @shannygoatgruff @syrenak @soleil-dor @walkxthexmoon @zuxiezendler @homeyzeus @redenzione @mariaenchanted @laricebabe @hecohansen31

There are some of you that Tumblr won’t let me tag! They are in bold. I’m sorry 😭

#ivar #vikings #vikings ivar #alex hogh andersen #ivarfanfiction #vikings fanfic #ivar x reader #ivar the boneless

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starryknight09 · 4 years ago

Text

The worst demon to bear

Soooo on a whim I decided to do Febuwhump this year. Surprise! 😝

Febuwhump Day 1: mind control

Summary: Peter always thought of mind control as something that only happened in movies. He should've known better, especially after all the craziness he'd already seen. After it happens to him, he has to learn to live with the consequences.

Read on AO3.

________________________________________________________

The sun sank down across the horizon sending out splashes of orange and red across the sky. Peter couldn’t appreciate the beauty of it. All he saw was another day fading away and darkness on the verge of encompassing everything. Not that it mattered. Even in the light of day, nothing seemed any brighter. Ever since what had happened a week ago, everything had lost its gleam. He knew everyone was worried about him, but he there wasn’t anything he could do about it. They’d all forgiven him. May. Mr. Stark. The Avengers. But he couldn’t forgive himself.

He’d killed people. Innocent people. So he didn’t deserve their forgiveness, no matter what anyone tried to say to convince him otherwise.

Just because he’d been taken over and mind controlled by some black alien ooze, it didn’t give him a free pass for what he’d done under its influence. He’d only been in its clutches for a week, but that had been more than enough time to do some serious damage to the citizens of New York and Spiderman’s reputation. The Avengers had held a press conference and announced that it had been a copycat, and not Spiderman himself, who had committed the crimes, but not everyone seemed convinced yet. And Peter knew the truth. It had been him. But it’d been Venom at the same time.

Luckily, Mr. Stark had caught on quickly enough, and they’d all ganged up on him to take him in, because he definitely hadn’t gone willingly. But once they’d captured him, it hadn’t taken them too long to figure out the source of the problem and free him from its control.

He’d never forget the mixture of horror and absolute relief on Mr. Stark’s face when the black sludge had finally oozed out of him. Once it was gone, his mentor hadn’t treated him any differently than before, and it’d thrown Peter for a loop. Because he thought Mr. Stark should be disgusted and horrified by what he’d done, not still looking at him like some kind of proud dad. He shouldn’t want to have anything to do with him anymore. He should never want to speak to him again. But that’s not what happened.

Peter couldn’t handle everyone acting the same around him so he’d left the compound as soon as he could, like a dog with its tail between its legs, back to his apartment in Queens with May. Since he’d gotten back a few days ago, he’d refused to answer any texts or phone calls from Mr. Stark or any of the other Avengers. If they wouldn’t do the right thing and ignore him, then he’d just have to do their job for them. He didn’t deserve their forgiveness or their friendship anymore. And he didn’t deserve to be Spiderman. He hadn’t so much as touched the suit. He hadn’t even taken it with him when he’d left the compound, even though he’d healed up fine. A concussion from the battle, when Steve had landed a lucky strike while the Avengers had been fighting him, and ruptured ear drums from the sound waves when Bruce had finally cracked what they needed to do to get the alien creature to leave his body.

He was almost angry with how quickly he’d healed. His soul churned with agony, but physically, he remained unharmed. Outwardly no one could tell that he hurt so bad he didn’t know how he could keep on breathing. How he could keep on living.

It wouldn’t have been so bad if he couldn’t remember it. If Venom had just taken him over and he’d left the building. But he’d been there. He hadn’t had any control over his body, but he’d watched himself do despicable things. Take lives. Something he’d always promised he’d never ever do. No matter what. He didn’t know how to live with himself now.

He wasn’t even sure if he deserved to live. He swung his legs back and forth over the ledge of the building where he was perched. His webshooters rested in a box under his bed, so if he somehow slipped and fell, he’d plummet the entire forty stories to the ground. Not even Spiderman could walk away from that. The idea of jumping, barely a fleeting thought, entered his mind as quickly as it left, leaving a burst of adrenaline behind. No matter how much he might deserve it, he couldn’t jump. He could never do that to May. No, he’d spend the rest of his life suffering instead.

He blamed his dark thoughts for distracting him so he didn’t hear the characteristic hum of thrusters until it was too late and Ironman landed with a clang behind him. He closed his eyes in resignation. He should’ve known Mr. Stark wouldn’t let Peter ignore him for long.

“Nice view.” Mr. Stark remarked, and even though Peter’s back was to him, he could tell the man had removed his helmet because his voice didn’t come out tinny.

Peter stayed silent. Dealing with Mr. Stark was the last thing he felt like doing. He just didn’t have the energy. Ever since he’d been freed from Venom, he’d barely slept and even when he had, he’d been awoken my nightmares. Memories.

Mr. Stark let out a small hum at the snub and Peter registered the barely audible buzzing as the nanotech retracted back into its casing.

“Talkative tonight, huh?” Mr. Stark said, this time from right behind him.

He still said nothing.

Mr. Stark sniffed, and in the next moment, hauled himself up on the ledge to sit next to him. Peter tensed imperceptibly, having to remind himself that even though Mr. Stark wasn’t wearing the armor, he’d have enough time to engage it and save himself even he accidentally slipped. But knowing it, and believing it, seemed like two separate things. Peter had been hyperaware of Mr. Stark and his safety for the past six months, ever since the man had barely survived the snap. That he had survived at all was thanks entirely to Dr. Strange’s quick teleporting and Shuri’s skills with Wakanda’s state of the art medical advancements.

“May called me.” Mr. Stark said after a long minute of silence had passed. “She’s worried about you.”

Peter kept staring straight ahead, face blank, not acknowledging the statement.

Mr. Stark sighed. “I’m worried about you.”

He tightened his jaw. He didn’t understand what they wanted from him. To act like none of this had happened? To go right back to living his normal life and acting like his normal bubbly self? Well, they were going to be disappointed.

“Kid, talk to me.” It came out like a plea. He’d never heard Mr. Stark use that tone before. His brow furrowed almost indiscernibly, not liking that he’d made his mentor sound like that.

“Pete.” Mr. Stark tried again, but Peter was nothing if not stubborn. There was nothing to talk about anyway.

Mr. Stark let out another heavy sigh, and Peter could sense his frustration.

“Listen, I know I can’t say I know what it feels like, because I don’t. But kid, none of what happened was your fault.”

Peter flicked his eyes over to the man with a disbelieving frown. Of course it was his fault.

Mr. Stark gave him a self-satisfied smirk at having finally broken his stony indifference. Peter kind of wanted to hit him but he settled for a glare instead.

“I know. I know.” Mr. Stark continued. “You don’t believe me. It’s all your fault. You should’ve done better. Should’ve never let that alien psycho sludge thing take over you. You should’ve been able to fight it off. Blah blah blah.”

His anger flared as his mentor made light of some of the very thoughts that’d been buzzing through his mind. He couldn’t stop himself. His mouth opened unwittingly and he grit out, “You seem to get it, so I don’t know why you’re even here.”

“Ah there he is.” Mr. Stark smiled.

Peter rolled his eyes and tried to go back to ignoring the man, staring straight ahead as he stewed over the fact that he’d broken his silence.

“Peter.” Mr. Stark said, using his full name, which he almost never did. “Look at me.”

Peter glanced over at him. Even after everything he’d been through, after how much he’d grown up and matured, he still couldn’t ignore a direct order from the man. He wondered if that’d ever change. Mr. Stark turned and gripped each of his shoulders to make Peter face him head on.

“What happened was terrible. I know. But it wasn’t your fault.” Mr. Stark shook him slightly to exaggerate his words. “Nothing you did while under control of that thing was your fault.”

Peter scoffed and tried to twist away but Mr. Stark wouldn’t let him, his grip tightening. No matter what the man said, it sure felt like his fault. He’d witnessed everything, felt every movement the creature had made using his body. But he hadn’t been strong enough to break free, and people had died because of that.

“It wasn’t.” Mr. Stark said sharply as if he could read Peter’s mind. “You need to forgive yourself.”

A lump settled in his throat as he shook his head.

Mr. Stark sighed and his thumbs moved back and forth over his shoulders. “If it was me, if Venom had made me do those things, would you think it was my fault?”

He froze and contemplated it for a minute before begrudgingly shaking his head.

“Would you forgive me?” Mr. Stark asked.

“Of course.” He mumbled.

“Then why can’t you forgive yourself?”

“If it had been you, would you be able to forgive yourself?” He countered.

“Yes.” Mr. Stark answered surprisingly fast. Peter blinked, shocked. He honestly hadn’t expected that answer, and it didn’t seem like the man was lying.

Mr. Stark gave him a soft smile as he explained, “Because I’d have to. To move on. To keep living.”

Peter frowned as he considered the words.

Mr. Stark continued, “I’ve had to forgive myself for a lot of things over the years Pete. Probably a lot of things I didn’t deserve forgiveness for. But I had to. Because if I didn’t… Well, all I can say is, it’s hard to hold on to all that self-hatred. And it doesn’t do anyone any good in the end. Least of all yourself.”

Tears welled up in his eyes. He knew Mr. Stark was right. He didn’t want to carry these feelings of guilt and self-hate around forever, but he didn’t know how to stop.

“Come here.” Mr. Stark tugged him forward into a hug and Peter didn’t resist. The comfort of the embrace unleashed the dam on his emotions. He couldn’t help it. He started crying.

“You’re such an amazing kid.” Mr. Stark said into his hair, holding him tighter when he started crying. “And none of this was your fault, so you need to forgive yourself so you can move on.”

“I don’t know how.” He croaked. He didn’t. After talking to Mr. Stark, he wanted to, but he didn’t have any idea how to start. All the hatred and anger he felt toward himself was like a gaping pit of darkness seeded inside. He couldn’t just magically will it away.

“I’ll help you. Ok?” Mr. Stark answered. The man always had an answer for everything.

Peter sniffled but nodded in the embrace.

“It’s going to be ok kid.” Mr. Stark pressed a quick kiss into his hair. “I promise. It’s going to be ok.”

And for the first time in over a week, Peter let himself believe it.

#febuwhump2021 #febuwhump #irondad fanfic #mind control

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adulttrio-imagines · 5 years ago

Note

42 for Illumi 💕

Prompt: “It’s okay to break.” - “I’m not going to break.”

Kintsugi: The Japanese art of repairing broken pottery with lacquer dusted or mixed with powdered gold or similar material, highlighting the cracks instead of disguising them

The bowl is beautiful, there was no denying it. After months of waiting, the finished product fits perfectly in your palms, slivers of gold coating the rim and cracked edges of the fine china glimmering brightly under the dim light of your bedroom, starkly contrasting the porcelain white hue and ornate floral designs. Its’s perfect, so perfect that you can almost forgive yourself for breaking it in the first place. You smile, pressing your lips against it, the coolness spreading across your skin.

It almost makes you wonder if you should show this to your…. “Husband” …..

Smile faltering, you pull the bowl away from your face, and stare at the clock ticking ominously above it. You haven’t seen him in a couple weeks, and none of the butlers would even deign you the slightest answer whenever you pepper them with questions. It’s probable they know as little as you do, however unlikely that situation is.

But you know your place. For all the glamourous marble columns and comforts of plush furniture surrounding you, the fact is that the whole setup was nothing more than an elaborate cage, set to separate you from the outside world and chain you down to whatever your owner desired.

You squash the feeling of resentment piling deep in your throat, unconsciously grasping your hand to prevent it from shaking so hard. There is no use in being angry, no point in submerging yourself in that all-consuming feeling of rage that never surmounted to anything more than additional hurt.

The heavy wooden doors to your room open with a loud swing. The lack of tell-tale padding sounds gives way that this could be none other than Illumi. It shuts with a simple click, and nothing happens.

You stop and turn, wondering why he was just standing there, and nearly drop the bowl. Illumi stands at the door, hollow, unmoving, dark substances pouring from the crevices on his face. It’s blood, you realize with a shock. It dribbles down his face sluggishly, pouring out from the angular cuts that cover his face, haphazardly made and extremely painful to look at. But the dark abyss that are his eyes scare you the most. It’s different. Even more so than usual. It’s strange how emptiness is felt, how everything sucked out of the room until you’re left with nothing but beating hearts and sweaty palms. He stays where he is, your breath catches in your throat, and the familiar creeps of fear and dread crawl over your skin, clambering all over your neck and oozing into your brain, you wonder if you’ll survive the night.

“What happened?” You ask before you can stop yourself.

He isn’t entirely there, staring blankly into the space behind you as blood streamed down his cheeks, staining the marble tiles.

“Nothing.” You furrow your brows, standing up, and walk hesitantly towards him. He stiffens when you trace the scars around his face.

“Does it hurt?” Deep cuts that ran all the way down unbroken to his neck lined his face, angry, red and fresh. It’ll require some stitches.

He blinks. “No, I’ve had worse.”

“I’ll patch you up.” You try to guide him towards the dressing table, but he’s rooted to the ground.

Illumi stares at the ceiling with his huge, huge eyes, blinks once, twice, and closes them, shutting himself out of the room. “I am fine.” His tired voice sounds almost strangled, as if something had grabbed him and squeezed every last bit of willpower out of him.

Your heart wrings itself, and despite the thundering voices you hear screaming in your head, you asks,

“What did she do to you?”

He ignores you, and takes mechanical steps towards the dressing table, staining the floor with more blood and collapses into the chair.

“I’m tired.” He mutters tightly, avoiding your question altogether, instead pinching the bridge of his nose as he rests on his elbows.

“Illumi,” He stiffens, just barely noticeable, when you you kneel in front of him, hand on his knee, “please talk to me.”

His stare is unreadable and unfocus, eyes shifting to look at the window behind you, drawn towards an unseen object or person; you wonder, through bated breath, if it’s the same thing that makes him jerk and wake so suddenly in the dead of night.

You wait for what seemed like an eternity, stilling yourself to only the most necessity of breaths, before he finally finds the strength to answer.

“Killu left. Mother is upset. She almost gouged Millu’s eyes out.” He says, unfeeling and avoiding your concern expression.

“Oh.” Kikyo’s theatrics are not unheard of, even five floors above the main chamber. While you’ve never met the woman, you’ve certainly heard her.

“I tried to help.” He continues, fists curled so tightly the skin over his knuckles look as if they would tear apart from the sheer force. He uses your lack of reaction to further his story. That’s how you both communicated. Too much of anything at once and he just broke.

“I’m sure you did your best.” You reply gently, dressing his wound. He lets you do it.

“She got mad that I wasn’t there to stop him.” The blood caking his skin is difficult to remove, and pulls at his porcelains skin when you try to wipe it away.

“You weren’t here.” The needle piercing his skin doesn’t elicit a reaction, as if he doesn’t even know it’s there.

“I should have been.” The bandages easily soak up the remaining blood, splotches of red forming all over and painting them crimson.

“Do you want talk about it?” You carefully dab disinfectant around his skin, it’s cool and smooth to the touch.

“Why would I?” He scoffs, reminding him of the cold man you’ve known him as.

“It’ll help you feel better.” Your reply is small, you withdraw the cotton gauze and uncontrollably shrink into yourself.

“I’m feeling good, thank you.” You smile softly at his lie.

“It’s okay to break.” You tell him.

“I’m not going to break.”

You stare at the bowl settled on the dressing table, the cracks of gold glinting brightly. “There’s beauty in being broken.”

He shakes his head, hair falling from his bun. “I’m not broken.” He says softly, more so to convince himself that you.

The room is silent excluding the soft humming of the mini fridge that fills it. Hesitantly, you curl two of your fingers around his pinky, becoming all too aware of the heat creeping up your neck when he doesn’t pull away.

“I love you, you know. All of you.” You say before you can stop yourself. Lies and truths intermingled, wrapping themselves into a furious dance, and it was now impossible to differentiate between the two. The words taste bitter and feel foreign in your mouth, but it felt right saying that.

Pale, clammy fingers curl around your wrist, and he gently tugs you into his lap. Knees buckling, your hands resting like weights on his shoulders, the smell of fresh earth and copper brushing against your nose as your forehead presses against his. You stare into the dark abyss swirling behind fluttering lashes, heart coiling into a tight knot.

“Show me. Prove it to me.” His whisper tickles the back of your ear, and you push your quivering lips against his to push the strangled sob that bubbles at the tip of your tongue, tasting the bitter anger and frustration that had been burn into him.

You love him.

His hands trace the curves of your hips, purposeful and possessive as your tongues meet.

You love him not.

He claws at your thigh, humming appreciatively as you groan when they leave pin pricks of blood lining your skin. Your eyes prickle when the force of tears become too much.

You love him.

He reminds you of the orchids blooming in the greenhouse; from the top of his head to the balls of his feet, elegant, graceful and so very, very beautiful. For all his quirks and peculiarities, he is surprisingly adapt at horticulture, pridefully displaying his collection of flowers he tended to during his free time, green thumb strikeout contrasting the blood soaked fingers that reeked of death. Cool strands of inky black tumble past his shoulders like waterfalls and settle easily in your grasp. Beautiful, just as he was the first you ever laid eyes on him. You tug at those locks and gasps at the shoot of pain when he bites down on your lower lip.

You love him not.

He scares you. You’ve lost count of how many times he’s made you pass out of the sheer terror of being with him. The sneering cool look he has etched permanently behind his mask of indifference. The nights where he has returned back to the prison which is your room, thick with bloodlust and desire, limbs bent into impossible angles as he creeps towards you, eyes maniacally wide and wild, the clawing feeling burning into the back of your throat when your heart nearly tore it’s way out from the depths of his stare.

Despite it all, you remain, standing, waiting, wanting him to stay by your side, even though it tears your mind in half as you rattle your head for this broken logic.

“There’s beauty in everything.” You murmur, cheeks wet with tears. You wanted to believe, desperately clung to the idea that uncontrollable circumstances happened for reasons. It feels almost bittersweet, realizing that the same thing held you both captive here in the mansion. He blinks slowly, the old scars on his face are striking. These new ones won’t be the last, and it’ll be a continual addition to the collection of abuse he has endured. He graces a hand over your cheek, wiping your face with unknown gentleness and cups it. You choke on a sob as you hold him close, the pain, loneliness and despair that had been growing inside your hearts converging, eating away every last defense you had before finally exploding like a ticking time bomb, bursting like a geyser as rest your head on his shoulder, tears streaming down like rivers.

He rest his chin on the top of your head, his heartbeat warm and comforting. He doesn’t understand your hurt, doesn’t understand your pain, doesn’t understand the anger you feel on his behalf, for the years of torture, anger and abuse he’s withstood for years, for being discarded like a broken toy, for being stripped of his worth and value, but you feel it all the same. You hold your tongue, for he would not understand why you hold such feelings, or rather, he chooses not to understand your feelings, for he knows he would crumble to dust if he forces himself to accept the reality he lives in.

You close your eyes, breathing in the comforting scent of pine and fresh dirt as you both remained, curled into each other until the afternoon sun shines high in the ever blue sky, hurting both your eyes.

#hunter x hunter #illumi #illumi zoldyck #illumi x reader #stockhom syndrome #my writings #200 word prompt #hita-boui #working on the other requests!

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sloppy-butcher · 4 years ago

Note

Can I get some hcs for Freddy x reader who have like very love/hate reltionship? Like they annoy eachother constantly but still seek each others company. Thanks!

This is the first time I have ever tried writing for Freddy and to be honest, I am quite nervous I did him wrong. Please forgive any ooc characterizations i may accidentally give him - i tried my hardest to make him accurate to the 80’s version (yes, this one will be based on old freddy not the new one (2010 remake), hope that it okay <3) i also hope that you don’t mind if i make the reader a killer as i am only comfortable writing for freddy when the power dynamics are equal

Thank you for the request and i hope these are good enough for you

Headcanons for The Nightmare (Freddy Krueger) with a Killer!S/O who have a Love/Hate relationship

When you are an obedient little dog, when you kill mercilessly and the Entity grows fat from your bountiful supply of food, the spider-god showers you with rewards. Most forms of these appreciations take a physical appearance (new and terrifying outfits to adorn during your daily workouts or new weapons for you to play with). But there were some gifts that were intangible, and otherworldly and oh so irresistible to you - dreams. The Entity lets you sleep if you do well in trials and sometimes even offers you sweet, beautiful dreams. They were indulging at first, so totally vivid in their detail and color that you could almost lose yourself completely in their daydreams. It was a spider web most wonderfully and intricately made. A labyrinth of the mind. But it did not take you long to notice the spider lurking in the corners of his creation.

You spotted him often hiding under the shadow of trees, just standing there in the corner of your eye - one look and he would vanish without a trace. You would have thought nothing of the strange occurrence had it had only happened once and in only dreams. During your walks in between realms, you’d spot the man through the treeline. He was unmistakable in his silhouette and in the way his eyes glowed a horrid orange. You did not fear him however, he was no worse a monster than you were. Rather you were annoyed by his presence in both reality and dreams.

You bend down and pick up a rock, turning it over in your hands testing its weight and size. “Hey!” You shout at the man who halted his retreat into the dark, night wood at the sound of your voice. “Stay out of my fucking dreams, asshole!” You throw the rock at him, narrowly missing him and instead, striking a tree.

“Such a temper.” A hoarse voice coos from somewhere behind and you spin around to meet it. It was him, moving faster and quicker than air and appearing next to you, closer than ever before. You got your first good look at him. His skin was a sore pink leather and he smelled like smoke. “Trust me, sweetheart, I would if I could. Your dreams,” He takes out a hand covered in razor-sharp knives and mockingly strokes the hair out your face, “, are so boring.” You snatch his hand away from your face, barely noticing the sting of blades in your soft palm and the trickle of warm blood down your forearm. You did not grimace, did not cower, and did not back down. He grins at your defiant expression. “And here I thought you’d thank me for giving you the chance to live in such a wonderful world. I’m hurt,” He feigns agony, his free hand placed sorrowfully on his chest, “, good work always goes unappreciated.”

You scoff and show your teeth. “I would prefer nightmares if it meant I wouldn’t get to see you.” The man laughed and flexed his knife-fingers, fresh blood oozing out your wound.

“Oh babe, you and me both. I don’t like this babysitter gig anymore than you do.” He leans closer grinning with his horrible yellow fangs, the scent of a recent kill seeping off his tongue. “I prefer nightmares anyway.”

“You look like a nightmare.” You spit into his face, finally letting go of his weapon and glaring at him. He laughs again.

“You are a feisty one. I think you and I are going to get along fabulously.”

Of course, he did not heed your warning for that very same night you saw him again in your dreams. Though now, he made it a point, not to hideaway. He approached you and actively talked to you, following you around your dream like a resistant plague. He commented on your shit reality, on all the things you could have wanted to dream of, and yet you only wanted to be in an empty field at the brink of dawn. He shakes his head and degrades your poor taste with even more snarky comments. You knew you couldn’t do anything to him while in his dream but in the physical world - well, that is a completely different story.

If he was going to bother you while you slept like a buzzing mosquito, you decided to bother him when you were awake. In the real world he was much less intimidating, that aura of cosmic power that bubbled around him while in a dream state, was not present in the night air and you smirked at his weakness. You mentioned his height, asking how anyone could be scared of such a small man. He’d lash out, swinging at you with both his blades and his harsh tongue. He was easy to toil, easy to wind up but a task to deal with. Freddy could take a punch to his pride and deal out damage times 10. 1 mean-spirited remark deserves 10 more.

Freddy thrived on this back and forth. Ordinarily, he would turn his nose up at the idea of bickering with another killer - sure, some of them were fun, simple minds with which to bend and manipulate in dreams but most were already so twisted in their own self-delusions that well, he just didn’t find them all that interesting. But your mind was sharp and quick, built in the skull of a hardened murder professional yet dainty enough to still yearn for the sunlight world of goodness. A perfect balance. It had been a very long time since last Freddy had had a conversation of equals - a real conversation where the table was not shifted in the favor of either one. If he said something that crossed a boundary or hit a nerve (a task he sought out to do almost every night) you would turn on him, shoot daggers at him with the sole intent of murdering his little ass. Sure, it never really scared him but there was no denying that in a way, to spare with an equal really turned him on. To be challenged.

There were times when he would become too much. Like the static on a dead radio station, he would drone on and on about a certain topic he knew would heat your blood. Always poking his stick deeper and deeper into the bear until you’d bite. Luckily it was quite simple to turn him off - just don’t sleep. You never really needed to rest in the Fog anyway, tiredness never made its claim over your bones even after a long day at work. Sleep was merely a reward, after all, a gift that could be refused if so desired. If time could be recorded within the Entity’s world, then the longest you had gone without sleep, and without seeing that little creep, would have been 2 months. He had really pissed you off when in a dream he produced a small songbird and made you watch as he melted its skin off - all for sport. A sight that did not necessarily make your skin crawl but one that irked you. It was always a game with him, a competition to see who would break first and try to strangle the other. And, to be dead honest, it was starting to annoy you more than anything he could say or do. So you stopped seeing him, stopped dreaming, and stopped seeking him out in the woods. You were tired of always trying to be bested and frankly, his childishness was wearing you thin.

But there was no denying that in that quiet that ate up the space where Freddy used to stand, a strange loneliness would grow incredibly heavy and dreadful. You missed his rather repulsive company, his witty and sharp tongue always keeping you on edge and on your toes. There was no way you could stop your head from turning around to look for him, seeking out his small frame among the dark wood. It was lonely without the flies, silent and decaying slowly.

For the life of him, Freddy tried to move on. He had never tied himself to one person before, never allowed himself to latch on to anyone save for his favorite little toys. But with you it was different. It was fun to annoy you, it was fun to torment you in dreams. It was even fun when you reeled at him, hackles raised threatening to kill. It was exciting, it reminded him of the joy of being powerful and alive (in a sense). And when you never took his bullshit sitting down, when you'd raise to meet his call, oh how it set fire to his heart. To be challenged. He could feel himself wither away, the interest that you had sharpened only seemed to dull and break off in your absence. He’d hate to admit it, but he missed you. Missed your noise and missed that sweet dream of yours.

Both of you are too prideful to confess to the other that you were lonely. But when, one day, you find yourself dreaming a familiar vision, that built-up residue of solitude melted and you turned to face Freddy eagerly.

“Did you really think you could not sleep forever?” He crossed his arms over his gloating chest, a snake tongue flickering victories in between teeth. “I always get my prey.” You smirk, not surprised in the slightest by his rather rude welcome back. You look around at the grassy field surrounding you both shining a brilliant emerald, the sun feeling warm on your back, and the fresh, clean air carrying with it the scent of spring flowers.

“Aw, you missed me, Frederick?” You tease him with his unused full name, casting a devilish side-eye to the dream-demon. You see a flicker of panic, alerting you that you had hit the nail on the head before he spits and loudly proclaims,

“Don’t be so far up your own ass!” His golden eyes gleamed pure hatred at you. “It's not a hat.” You laugh at the face of the fuming man, knowing that despite how his actions appeared malicious and distasteful, there was no feasible way to deny that the dream he had made for you was spectacular and expressed something deeper than just surface-level annoyance.

#dbd imagine #dbd x reader #dbd the nightmare #dbd the nightmare x reader #dbd freddy krueger #dbd freddy krueger x reader

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misterewrites · 4 years ago

Text

Unlikely Allies (Welcome to the Underground

Hey everyone! E here hoping you are all safe and sound. Sorry for the delay. The original plan was for me to update every two week because of my various responsibilities but a lot of things ended up happening so I had to delay this chapter a bit. Also there has been a shift in my job that might affect the release date of this chapters as well so hopefully I can keep up the whole two week deadline but as a word of warning delays might happen.

Thank you for reading this project of mine. I really appreciate it and I am so glad it's doing so well. Feel free to Reblog, share, comment all that jazz I love reading them and remember this story is also on Ao3. Stay safe, wear your mask, wash your hands and take care of yourself and your love ones! Have a great week! E is out!

https://archiveofourown.org/works/27814297/chapters/71425041

Story so far: One day into the Underground proper and Abigail has already been chased by strange creatures into an unexplored tunnel and a creepy house that screams trouble. Trapped within, the group runs into a paladin wandering the darken halls. Despite the stranger's calm demeaner, Oliver claims he's nothing but trouble and little does the group know how correct he is.

_____

“No by the way” Oliver narrowed his eyes at the man before the trio.

The stranger tilted his head quizzically “No?”

“No” Oliver repeated firmly “We’re not interested in your righteous cause or your god.

The stranger chuckled darkly “What righteous cause?”

“You’re a paladin in an evil creepy house in an unexplored tunnel off the beaten path.” Oliver explained “That only means one thing: Trouble. Solius I take with the whole…”

He gestured to the faded sun symbol splashed across the dented armor.

“Aye” The paladin answered with a nod “I am Fen, judgment of the sun god Solius on this mortal plane.”

Oliver raised an eyebrow sarcastically “Solius is the god of sunshine, rainbows and redemption. I wasn’t aware of he added judgment to his resume.”

“He hasn’t” Abigail mumbled.

Neither Oliver or Fen paid her any attention.

“Your mocking is common among the faithless” Fen growled softly.

Oliver gave a noncommittal shrug “If you want to believe in a higher being in exchange for some magical whatevers, that’s a you problem. I’m good with my music.”

“Bards” Fen spat out distastefully.

“Paladorks.” Oliver replied with false civility.

Abigail and Archibald watched the barbed exchange carefully, unsure what exactly was going on.

Abigail’s knowledge of paladins was sketchy at best: Like clerics, she knew their drew their magic from the deity they have chosen to follow. Good and bad gods existed in equal measure in this world and each ruling a domain such as light, dark, night, murder, redemption. Unlike the clerics, who often were healers or at the very least practitioners of powerful magics, paladins were their god’s warrior on the mortal plane, protecting their flock or routing out their enemies with religious fervor and steel.

Abigail was only familiar with Solius due to her family’s livelihood. While not particularly devoted to the sun god, her parents often left offerings in his church in the town to help ensure a good harvest for the year.

Speaking honestly, Abigail was never sure how exactly clerics and paladins drew their magic from a god or how exactly gods worked. She had heard the elders endlessly argue whether the gods were divine or simply higher beings who were beyond the comprehension of mortal beings. It was frankly above her thought process and she rather focus on questions she could answer such as what she was going to eat that day and if the bloodblooms needed more or less water.

“So.” Oliver began tiredly “How much danger are we in?”

Abigail and Archibald shared a concern glance

“I’m sorry, did you just say we’re in danger?”

“Yes” Fen answered bluntly “Much danger.”

“Much danger?” Abigail couldn’t keep stop her pitch from rising “Danger!?”

Oliver gestured to Fen “Of course we’re in danger. A paladin’s here. An experienced

paladin.”

“How do you know he’s…?”

The question died in her throat as she got a good look at Fen: A longsword hung sheathed at his side, his armor worn and nicked dozens of scratches and dents across the faded symbol of a sunburst. At first she thought his left arm was draped in his riding cloak, hidden out of sight but as he pushed the hood from his head and adjusted the cloak with his right hand, she realized with an icy chill that he had no left arm.

Archibald shifted uncomfortably beside her.

“I lost it in a mighty battle.” Fen answered the group’s unasked question “I had it removed when a cursed creature bit my arm.”

“Cursed creature?” Abigail thought for a moment “Like a werewolf? Wait, there’s werewolves down here? How would that even work?”

“Mystic moon energy. Let’s move along.” Oliver chimed in “What are you hunting here in the dark?”

“Wait I want to know more about the werewolves!”

“Demon” Fen stated, ignoring Abigail’s inquires.

“We’re in its prison, aren’t we?” Oliver rubbed his eyes wearily.

Abigail stopped dead in her tracks “Demon?”

Fen remained silent but nodded in conformation.

“Demon.”

“For fucks sake. Can we leave?”

“Guys, there’s a demon here?”

Fen paused thoughtfully “I do not know but I would recommend against it. The sealing power of this place is weakened. If it were to escape….”

“Yeah, yeah.” Oliver cut him off “Innocent souls consumed, bloodshed, the standard spiel.”

Fen glared openly “How carefree it must be to hold nothing sacred.”

“Not all of us wear our bleeding hearts on our sleeve.” Oliver coldly replied.

Abigail cut in between them “There’s a demon here?!”

“Yes, I thought we made it clear. Keep up farm girl.”

“How are you not panicking?!”

“Survival instinct” Oliver explained simply “You can panic when you’re not about to die.”

“Speaking of, remember not to in a moment.” Fen glanced towards a darken hallway, drawing his blade quietly.

Something changed. The air, calm and still, became tense and uneasy. Goosebumps ran down Abigail’s spine as a sense of dread filled every inch of her body.

She wasn’t the only one who felt the shift: Archibald stood closer to her, one hand his bow the other on her shoulder, his breath steady yet stiff. Oliver held his lute in a death grip, his fingers curved in anticipation and ready to pluck the strings at a moment’s notice.

“It’s coming” Oliver whispered carefully to the others, his gaze fixated on the hallway before them.

At first Abigail was unsure how the bard knew that: the house was dark and the dusty air swirling about made it hard to make out anything beside silhouettes of furniture and decor.

Then she heard it: Thud, thud, thud of uneven footsteps as the demon lumbered ever closer to the group. The scraping of wood against something seemed impossibly loud in Abigail’s ears as she tried to shove down her fear from bubbling out of her throat.

“What the hell….?” she murmured as the creature shuffled uneasily into the room.

Oliver scoffed “Yes it did come from hell. Thank you farm girl.”

“Even now? Seriously Oliver?”

“It’s how I cope.”

The demon was humanoid, 7 feet tall with splotches of bruising across its deep red skin. The form was a strange mixture of heavily muscular and malnourished. It wobbled into the room, its thinly skeletal left leg being dragged along uselessly. It flexed its thick muscles threateningly as it held a massive weighed club up with little effort. The demon studied the others with sunken flaming eyes, its skin loose and pulled over the skull like an ill fitting mask. The wispy strains of reddish black hair swayed back and forth.

Abigail’s throat dried as the room became warm and stuffy almost as if this creature’s presence alone corrupted the air around them.

Abigail coughed a little, trying to clear her airway from the heat “What is that thing?!”

“No idea.” Oliver shrugged, clearing his throat as well.

“I thought you knew everything!”

“Not even close farm girl.”

“Then why do you act like it?!”

Abigail snarled but before she could strike at the bard, she felt Archibald’s hand gently squeeze her shoulder. She turned to face him and saw him breathing deep and slow.

He was right. This was not time to let her feat lash out everyone around her. She needed to stay calm if they were going to get out of this in one piece.

The demon tilted its head curiously at the group before it. It spoke deep and gravelly with a tone that was questioning but no one knew what it was asking.

“Maybe it’s asking if we come in peace?” Abigail chimed in hopefully.

“Tis a beast from hell. Do you really think it is asking for peace?” Fen scolded harshly.

Abigail’s cheeks flushed with embarrassment “I can dream alright! It’s my first time dealing a demon from the 7th pit of hell! Forgive me if I’m holding on to childish questions cause I’m trying not to freak out here! It’s how I cope!”

The demon grumbled its question again eyeing each person carefully.

“Watch for its left hook.” Fen cryptically offered.

“What?”

The demon shrieked, rattling the house violently before reaching out with its left hand. Without warning, the arm stretched forward towards the group, the skin wrinkling and pulling loose.

Abigail froze as the sharp nails grasped wildly in her direction.

Archibald moved, shoving Abigail out of the way but ran straight into the hand’s grasp. It dug its claws into his armor though luckily it hadn’t manage pierce skin.

“Archie!” Abigail cried, fumbling uselessly for her knife.

Fen and Oliver jumped into action: As the arm pulled back to drag the helpless archer closer, Fen grappled Archibald, holding on with all his strength. Oliver pluck his lute with a dramatic flourish, gold musical symbols filling the air for a moment. Abigail flinched at the clashing notes played but the demon’s reaction to the dissonance was far more explosive: Its face contorted and recoiled as if it Oliver had physically attacked it. Its body shuddered and its claws loosened their grip. Fen jabbed his blade into the demon’s grip over and over again until it released its hold on Archibald.

Demon snarled hungrily as the arm snapped back into place.

“Archie, Archie I’m sorry I…” The words died in Abigail’s throat as he gave her a comforting smile.

“Don’t worry farm girl.” Oliver shouted, pulling at her cloak to get her moving “It happens but if you’re not good at fighting…”

“Get good at getting out of the way.” Abigail whispered back as she allowed the bard to pull her to the side.

Oliver faced Abigail questioningly “Oh you know the saying? That’ll save time.”

Abigail remained silent. Arthur used to tell her that when he joined the knights.

Fen pushed forward, sword drawn with Archibald close behind.

Archibald fired an arrow, attempting to cover Fen’s approach but it bounced harmlessly off the demon’s skin.

Fen lunged forward, swinging wide and cutting a deep gash across its chest but the beast countered, aiming its club towards the paladin’s head. He ducked, tucking under the demon’s outstretched arm and backing off.

“Oi paladin! Where’s your holier than thou smiting divine power?” Oliver called from behind a chair.

Fen didn’t reply, too busy deflecting the demon’s club with the flat of his blade. He drove his blade deep into the creature’s shoulder but the demonic entity ignored it completely. It gripped him tightly by the armor and lifted off his feet. Fen tried to push the sword deeper but it wasn’t slowing the demon.

The demon bent it shoulder in an uneven angle as it raised its club just above Fen’s head. It gave toothy smile, its fangs glistening in the dark while preparing to deal the finish blow.

It staggered backwards as an arrow struck its eye. It bounced off same as before but the demon was caught unaware and reacted instinctively.

Fen took his chance. He reached into his hood and smashed a vial of clear liquid across the stunned demon’s face.

It howled in pain as steam rolled off its burning face. The demon dropped Fen as it wildly flailed about, smashing anything nearby to splinters.

It shouted in its infernal tongue before crashing into the doorway, breaking a chunk of the wall off and retreating deeper into the house.

Archibald shakily leaned against the wall to catch his breath while Oliver approached Fen, his jaw tense with anger.

“What’s the big idea?” Oliver poked the paladin’s chest “What scam are you running?”

Fen’s face twisted in anger “Scam? How dare you speak to me like that!”

“Stow it.” Oliver snarled “You are not a paladin.”

Fen rose to full height, glaring with unrestrained rage “I AM A PALADIN! THE CHOSEN OF SOLIUS!”

“Former chosen.” Oliver spat out.

The anger drained out of Fen’s eyes only to be replaced by shame.

Oliver clenched his fist “I knew it. This isn't some mission for a higher power. This is a suicide run trying to get back in your god’s good graces! He renounced you, didn’t he?”

Abigail stood rooted in place “Is that a thing?”

“Yeah. It’s a two way street. You devote your life and existence to a god and they grant you the power to do so but if they happen not to agree with how you do things then bye bye divine magic. That’s why he wasn’t smiting it with holy energy.”

Fen said nothing.

“God this is why I hate paladins.” Oliver fumed “You act better than anyone but you’re as a big a sham as me!”

“I am nothing like you.”

“You lost all rights to your high horse pal. Now what’s the plan?”

“The plan?” Fen repeated in confusion.

“Yes focus.” Oliver replied “The plan to deal with the demon. I assume you have one or did you come in here expecting to kill it with your normal boring self?”

Fen scoffed “I am not completely brain dead. Of course I have a plan.”

“Which is?”

“The seal.” Fen awkwardly started “If we can strengthen the seal, we can weaken the demon enough to put it to sleep.”

Oliver rubbed his eyes “And of course you don’t know where it is.”

“It is well hidden for a reason.”

Oliver let out a tired sigh.

“We’ll help” Abigail jumped in “We can’t let that thing escape into the Underground.”

“And we don’t want to die.” Oliver chimed in.

“That too."

Archibald looked uneasy but resigned. This wasn’t what he signed up for but he really didn’t have a choice.

Fen raised an eyebrow “And that is it? You’ll do it out of the goodness of your heart, bard?”

“Of course not” Oliver admitted “But the sooner we get this done, the sooner I don’t have to deal with you.”

“Finally we are agreed” Fen murmured.

Abigail sighed “I wish I didn’t have to deal with Oliver anymore.”

Oliver clapped his hand together, completely ignoring Abigail “Alright, let’s see what we’re working with. How many vials of holy water do you have left?”

Fen blinked in surprise “Three but how did you…?”

“Don’t bother.” Abigail mouthed.

“Alright. Give them to Archie. He can dip his arrows in them.” Fen rolled his eyes sarcastically “And what will I use oh great amazing leader? My sword is not enough to slay the beast and I need time to apply the water as well.”

Oliver stepped closer, staring eye to eye with the paladin as he pushed his lute into his hands “If you lose this, I will kill you.”

“And what am I suppose to do with this? Play a song about friendship and love? Overcharge for a children’s rhythm?” Fen mocked.

“No you idiot.” Oliver pulled away “You beat him back to hell with it.”

Fen stared at him utterly lost.

Oliver knocked on the surface of the lute “It’s magic.”

Fen couldn’t contain his surprise despite his loathing of the bard

“Your lute is magic?”

Oliver rolled his eyes “Yes. It’s not a sword or a spear but at least you’ll be able to hurt him some. At least enough for me and farm girl to find the seal.”

“Me and who now?” Abigail shook her head “Wait, your lute is magic? Why is that important?”

“Demons are naturally resistant to mortal weapons” Fen explained as he held the lute aloft, getting a feel for its weight “It would be like attacking them with a butter knife, Painful but ultimately an empty gesture. But magic, whether spells or items imbued, can bypass their nature. Holy magic would be ideal hence the holy water.”

“But we work with what we got.” Oliver finished “And can you fight farm girl?”

Abigail shifted her foot shamefully.

Oliver snapped his finger “No. Don’t do that. Nothing wrong with not knowing how to fight. I don’t.”

“But you know magic!” Abigail argued “That’s more than me.”

“Look I don’t like you.” Oliver admitted “But beating yourself up isn’t going to save us. Yes I know magic but I’m not going to be tossing fire or lightning out of my fingertips. That’s not how my magic works. Finding that seal is just as important as Archibald’s and Fen’s job.”

Abigail glanced towards Archibald. His face was grim but determined.

“What’s your job Archie?” Abigail asked gently, unable to keep the worry out of her voice.

Archibald punched a fist into his hand.

“You’re planning on fighting? That thing?”

Archibald nodded firmly.

“Archie, you can’t be serious! What if it hurts you? I promised Cecilia I’d keep you safe! Archie…”

Abigail stopped as the archer wrapped his arms tightly around her. It was warm and gentle. Tears formed in her eyes. It felt nice to be hugged again. She hadn’t been hugged in such a long time she forgot how calming it was.

He pulled away, giving her a soft smile.

Abigail still wasn’t happy with the situation but there was little choice left.

“Alright.” Oliver spoke with an edge of finality “While you two keep the demonic asshole distracted, me and farm girl will find the seal and try to strengthen it.”

“Farm girl and I” Abigail corrected.

“Seriously?”

“No, I wanted to mess with you. It’s how I cope.”

Oliver glared “We need to move fast. Once the seal is strengthen we’ll need to make a break for the exit as soon as possible because I am not dealing this place longer than I have to.”

“Do you even know how to strengthen ancient seals?” Abigail asked

“No idea but I’m a quick study.” Oliver admitted.

Abigail glanced out the grime covered windows “That’s not very comforting. And what if those shadowy creatures are out there still?”

“That’s a for later problem. Let’s focus on one life or death situation at a time.”

“Fun” Abigail replied glumly “I’m really enjoying my time in the underground guys.”

“That’s the spirit farm girl!

“I hate you so much right now.”

#My story #Original Work #Welcome to the underground

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babysizedfics · 4 years ago

Text

Little Accidents, Big Developments

Chapter 5: A Little Reconciliation

[This is an age regression story]

Chapter Summary: Roman mollycoddles his brother, Patton makes a suggestion, Logan is perceptive, and Virgil is brave.

Chapter word count: 8,500

Other chapters: 1 / 2 / 3 / 4 / 5 / 6 / 7 / 8 / bonus

Read on AO3 or below the cut!

Content warning: This chapter addresses (and resolves) some negative self-talk with regards to age regression, as well as alluding to cyberbullying. Please proceed with caution if you are sensitive to either of these topics.

Also, there is some swearing at the start - what else would you expect from adult Roman and Virgil?

oOo

Roman marched up the stairs armed with cookies, milk, and fierce determination.

The events of the previous day had left him wallowing in regret all night, and he was tired of it. No matter how much his caregivers had both made a significant dent in the cloud of guilt that fogged his mind, he could not stop replaying his own laughter in his head. He had been awful to Virgil the day before, and Roman had known he could not truly feel at ease until he had apologised to him properly and earned his little brother’s forgiveness.

He had been prepared to partake in all manner of valiant acts to prove his loyalty; he was willing to slay the Dragon Witch in Virgil’s name, to erect a statue in his likeness and honour, even to let Virgil get the first pick on movie nights for a whole month.

He had said as much to Virgil in the kitchen that morning. In response, Virgil had nodded, said “It’s cool,” and then left the room.

It’s cool?! Roman was quite frankly appalled by the lack of dramatic flair. Where were the tears? The arguments? The emotionally-overwhelmed collapse into Roman’s waiting arms? It had not gone as he had rehearsed in the mirror at all.

When Roman complained about this to Logan, the logical side had; 1) asked why Roman wanted Virgil to cry, yell, and/or faint, 2) reminded him that Virgil had forgiven him and had clearly done so in whatever way he deemed fit, and 3) told Roman to stop being so dramatic.

Needless to say, Roman was no longer on speaking terms with Logan.

Never one to give up in the face of a challenge, Roman had found Virgil in the living room and apologised again (an abridged version of his speech this time around). He received a small smile and thumbs up in return before Virgil went back to scrolling on his phone silently.

Once again, Roman was surprised. It wasn’t that he didn’t want to be forgiven, but it had been far too easy. It was not satisfying. And so he continued to apologise throughout the morning whenever he saw Virgil - which incidentally happened a lot since Roman sought him out constantly.

It was around the fourth apology that Virgil had stopped smiling and nodding and instead simply rolled his eyes or walked past Roman without a word. Roman was wont to call it rude, but he couldn’t really comment on it given his behaviour a day before. The logical conclusion was that Roman’s courageous offers were simply not pleasing to Virgil.

Upon review, Roman begrudgingly accepted that Virgil wouldn’t necessarily care much about an imaginary monster being defeated for the hundredth time, or for a statue of himself given how self-conscious he was. As for the movie nights, Roman didn’t necessarily mind that he would still have the first pick on the films, so that really wasn’t worth complaining about. He realised he had to make his repentance more personal.

And what was more personal to Virgil than his littlespace? The boy adored it when Logan and Patton took care of him so (against all instincts) Roman resolved to prove himself through caregiving. As uncomfortable as it had made him when he had attempted caregiving all those weeks ago, it seemed the most effective course of action. And wouldn’t the fact that Virgil knew he didn’t enjoy it just prove Roman’s point even more? That he was willing to go above and beyond to show Virgil how much he cared about him, despite his own discomfort!

He had waited for Logan to disappear from the kitchen to load some cookies onto a tray, along with one of Virgil’s sippy cups full to the brim with almond milk. Now, standing outside Virgil’s room, Roman smothered the inkling of dread in his stomach and rapped on the door heartily.

‘Oh, Virgil,’ he sang, ‘Will you grant me entry to your kingdom?’

There was quiet for a moment and then, muffled through the wood: ‘Only if you promise not to apologise again.’

‘Damn…’ Roman whispered to himself, taking a moment to reconsider his plan. Well, he could still practice it without technically apologising. Years of improv work hadn’t exactly taught him nothing of adapting to unexpected situations. ‘All right, I promise,’ he yelled back confidently.

‘Fine,’ Virgil groaned and Roman lowered the door handle with his hip, being careful not to jostle the tray in his hands too much.

‘Greetings, Grumpy Space Princess!’ Roman called as he waltzed into the room with a wide grin.

Virgil was lying upside down on his bed with his head hanging off of the end, his Nintendo Switch held up in front of him. ‘What’s up, Princess Bubble-head?’

Roman smiled, appreciative that Virgil was a truly worthy opponent when it came to the Great Nickname Games. Though he did not let himself dwell on that for long and internally shook himself into his role, taking heavy inspiration from Patton.

‘Nothing much, kiddo,’ he said gleefully. ‘Just thought you might want a little snack!’

‘Kiddo?’ Virgil repeated, slowly lowering the game console from his eyes. Though they were upside down, Roman clearly noted the suspicion on Virgil’s features.

Roman continued smiling regardless, walking over to the bed. ‘How’s milk and cookies sound, Vee?’

‘But we haven’t had lunch yet.’

‘Yeah, don’t tell Logan,’ Roman whispered with a conspiratorial wink

‘Is this a trick?’ Virgil immediately asked. He squinted at Roman in suspicion. ‘What did you put in the cookies?’

‘Absolutely nothing and I resent the question,’ Roman couldn’t help but gasp in offence. As if he would stoop so low as to… what, poison Virgil? He had half a mind to turn back and eat the cookies himself. If only he weren’t utterly desperate for Virgil’s forgiveness.

‘Right, no, yeah,’ Virgil hurriedly backtracked, seeming humbled. ‘Sorry.’ Then the younger side sat up and spun his butt on the bed so that he faced Roman with his legs crossed. ‘Do you wanna…’ He indicated the other side of the bed in invitation.

Roman beamed. Clearly, this was the go-ahead for his plan.

‘Thanks, Stormcloud!’ He settled onto the bed beside Virgil, placing the tray in front of them both.

‘Thanks yourself for the cookies,’ Virgil smiled meekly. His gaze trailed over to the sippy cup on the tray and his eyebrows furrowed a little.

‘Anything wrong, sw-sport?’ Roman asked, cursing himself for chickening out at the last second. He had meant to call Virgil “sweetheart” as Patton so often did. Though while he was no stranger to using the nickname during courtships, it felt strange to call Virgil by it. Still, he had a role to fill and forgiveness to earn, so he couldn’t afford another slip-up like that again.

‘Nah, it’s cool,’ Virgil muttered and reached for the sippy cup. His movements seemed halted and his eyes briefly darted between the cup and Roman for a second before he sheepishly sipped at it.

Those words again: It’s cool. They infuriated Roman! But he took a steadying breath and pushed his irritation down. He had a baby to coax out, and anger would surely be counterproductive.

He reached forward for one of the cookies and snapped it in half, then held one piece up in front of Virgil with a smile.

Virgil frowned and lowered his sippy cup from his lips. ‘You wanna share one?’

‘No, silly!’ Roman giggled, putting all of the energy he usually observed in Papa Patton into his tone. ‘Are you ready?’

‘Ready for what?’

‘Here comes the cookie train!’ Roman sang, slowly pushing the cookie forward towards Virgil’s mouth. ‘Chugga chugga choo choo!’

Virgil’s eyes widened and his free hand flew up to grab Roman’s wrist before he had a chance to press the cookie to his lips. ‘I can feed myself!’

‘Oh…’ So apparently that technique wasn’t the way to go about it. ‘Apologies,’ Roman said. He pulled the cookie piece back and shoved it between his lips.

Virgil sighed quietly and reached for the other half of the cookie. He threw it into his mouth and munched on it as he pulled his Switch into his lap, resuming the game.

Meanwhile, Roman chewed thoughtfully. Perhaps Virgil wasn’t up for a baby headspace but would rather be a young child who was still able to feed himself. Though it was uncommon for him to be in a comparatively older regressed headspace, it wasn’t unheard of. And if Virgil was not comfortable with Roman feeding him, it didn’t automatically have to be the end of his plan. But what could Roman do to make it easier? What exactly was it that Patton did differently to be able to make Virgil regress in an instant?

Roman thought back to all the times he had witnessed it happening, quickly noticing a pattern. Patton always complimented Virgil (usually by calling him “cute” or “pretty” or “my little sweet and sour dumpling”) and touched him in some way (either with a nose boop or gentle tickles or head strokes). Roman would be a fool not to apply this knowledge, and a prince was no fool.

He decided to go about a subtle route, not wanting to startle Virgil again as that would probably hinder his regression.

‘Oh, that looks like a cute game,’ Roman said casually, pointing at the console balanced on Virgil’s knee.

‘You don’t know this one?’ Virgil asked, sounding surprised. He played with one hand as his other gripped the sippy cup.

Roman leaned closer, observing the colourful, animalistic characters who walked aimlessly around what appeared to be an island resort.

‘Ohh, is this the one with the capitalist raccoon who forces you to labour all day then takes all of your money?’

Virgil snorted. ‘He’s a tanuki, not a racoon. But yeah, essentially,’ he shrugged and tipped the sippy cup up to his lips.

Roman scooted closer on the mattress, trying to initiate casual contact. His thigh brushed Virgil’s and the other didn’t seem to mind it. With an internal hurrah, Roman initiated part two of his plan B.

‘Aw, is that you?’ he asked in a slight baby-talk voice, pointing at the chibi character on the screen. They had lilac hair and were sporting a rather intricate gothic dress. (For such a basic character design Roman was massively impressed by the attention to detail on the costume. He resolved to investigate it later as he had a job to do at the present moment.)

‘Mhm,’ Virgil hummed through a mouthful of milk then swallowed, ‘that’s me.’ He twiddled the joystick so that the character did a little spin.

‘Adorable!’ Roman gushed, and it was only half put-on (the game really did look sweet). Then he turned to Virgil, glad that their faces were mere inches apart. It would surely create intimacy and trust between them and hence spur on Virgil’s headspace. ‘But y’know what’s even more adorable?’

‘What?’ Virgil questioned, turning to look at Roman then freezing. A faint look of worry graced his features, though Roman assumed he was simply nervous about regressing around Roman alone. ‘What are you -’

‘This little Virgil right here!’ Roman smiled and wiggled his fingers over Virgil’s side.

Virgil broke into muffled titters. ‘S-stop,’ he stuttered, unable to get through the word without laughing. ‘R-Ro-ho-man!’

‘Aw, listen to your little giggles,’ Roman cooed, pushing an adoring tone past the strange heaviness in his chest. He just didn’t feel right doing this. But it had to be right, Virgil was laughing and smiling and had always enjoyed it whenever Patton did the exact same.

So Roman continued. He forced his own small laugh and doubled down on the tickling, jiggling his hand quicker over Virgil’s ribs. The boy squeaked and dropped his sippy cup to the mattress. (The cup was non-spill, gladly.)

‘No-ho m-more,’ Virgil pleaded through his giggles and pushed on Roman’s wrist firmly.

‘You can’t get rid of me that easily.’ On a whim, Roman went to poke Virgil’s nose with his free hand. Twice the contact probably meant twice the likelihood of regressing, going by his logic.

At the very same moment that his finger pushed forward, though, he must have unwittingly hit a sensitive spot on Virgil’s ribs because the younger side’s face unexpectedly lurched forward with a gasp. Roman’s finger ended up poking Virgil’s eye.

‘Ow!’ Virgil whined, shoving Roman’s hands away harshly. ‘What the heck, Ro?!’ He raised a hand to cover his assaulted eye while the other stared at Roman in shock.

Roman was stunned for a moment, feeling suddenly small. He had messed up again. He had hurt Virgil. Again! He just wanted their caregivers to make it better like they always did, but this was Roman’s mistake. He couldn’t always rely upon Patton and Logan when he accidentally hurt his brother. He had to learn to do it alone.

‘Shit, I -’ Roman clicked his mouth shut and shook his head. (Back into character, goddamnit!) ‘Oh, poor baby,’ he pouted in sympathy.

Virgil only looked more indignant, his hand lowering from his eye which was, thankfully, uninjured. ‘What?’

‘Don’t worry little, uh, guy.’ Roman winced at his phrasing. ‘Uncle Roman will kiss it better!’

Roman started leaning forward, his hands held out in a placating manner - though they trembled slightly.

‘Stop!’ Virgil yelled, placing his hands firmly on Roman’s shoulders and keeping him at arm’s length.

A glimmer of relief flickered in Roman’s chest.

‘What are you doing?’ Virgil asked clearly, his expression a mix of confusion, irritation, and concern.

‘I - I’m trying to kiss your boo-boo better, kiddo.’ Roman attempted to smile, though even he had to admit his acting was no longer up to scratch. He was feeling jittery. This wasn’t right!

Virgil’s eyebrows raised and he offered no further response. How on Earth did he master those nuanced expressions so well? Roman almost wanted to ask for tips.

‘Fine,’ Roman sighed, throwing his arms up into the air as he dropped the act. ‘I kinda thought maybe I could babysit you for a while.’ Despite his words, he knew the pout on his face must not have commanded much respect.

‘I…’ Virgil paused, blinking slowly. ‘Princey, you hate caregiving,’ he burst out, incredulous. ‘I thought we established that weeks ago. And anyway you’re shit at it.’

‘Charming,’ Roman grunted, crossing his arms and diverting his gaze to the mattress. He didn’t need to be good at caregiving, he didn’t even necessarily want to be good at caregiving, but he would be damned if he actually admitted to being bad at something.

‘Why are you babying me all of a sudden?’ Virgil’s voice was softer now.

‘I just wanted to make up for yesterday!’ Roman cracked, though he was conscious to not outright yell, knowing Virgil’s sensitivity to loud noises would not do him any favours. ‘I want to prove to you that I’m sorry about what I did, but you barely acknowledged my other apologies,’ he explained, annoyance seeping into his tone. Virgil’s eyes dropped to his lap. ‘And you obviously didn’t care for my other ideas for acts of chivalry, so -’ he flailed his arms around in frustration ‘- I’m making do!’

The silence in the room somehow rang louder than Roman’s outburst, and he felt a knot of embarrassment start to clench his stomach.

Before it had time to grow any bigger, Virgil spoke up: ‘I’m sorry.’

‘What?’ Roman frowned and looked back up to him. Virgil looked horribly guilty. ‘No, I think you’re confused. I’m here so that I can apologise.’

‘Yeah, I got that.’ Virgil’s lips pulled into a small smile, then it dropped again. ‘Listen… I’m sorry for being kind of flippant earlier.’ He looked down, shrugging his shoulders up to his neck and holding them there. ‘I do forgive you, I just -’ he paused and Roman noted his cheeks had turned rosy. ‘I just didn’t want us to make such a big deal out of what happened, y’know?’

‘Oh…’ Roman breathed. This type of forgiveness was unexpected (not unlike anything else that had happened that day, so really shouldn’t he have expected it to be unexpected?) but nonetheless acceptable. If Virgil truly did forgive him then that should have been enough for Roman.

‘I mean thank you for apologising. Like, twenty times,’ Virgil said hastily, clearly noticing Roman’s surprise. ‘I do appreciate it - even if I never want to experience “Uncle Roman” ever again in my life.’ He looked back up at Roman shyly, ‘But can we please just pretend it didn’t happen?’

‘Uh, yeah. Sure. It - it’s cool,’ Roman replied with a weak nod, distracted by the persistent emptiness in his chest.

Virgil bumped their knees together amiably then went back to his game.

After a minute or so of the controller clicking and the cutesy music blaring from the small speaker, Roman realised he was still unsettled by the situation. He communicated this to Virgil in the most effective way he knew how: by groaning loudly and forlornly.

‘What is it?’ Virgil asked in his most dramatic, long-suffering whine. It was a little teasing quirk they had picked up together that was entirely well-intended. The familiarity of it made Roman feel somewhat better about admitting the issue.

‘It’s just this niggling feeling, you know?’ he asked, fully aware that Virgil did not know. ‘I have to do something. I have the rich blue blood of a prince, for heaven’s sake.’ His eyes wandered around the room as if looking for a solution to his lament. ‘If I cannot defeat a villain in your honour or commit some other brave, valiant act of -’

He paused abruptly as his eyes settled on something. A stuffed raccoon lay abandoned on the floor by Virgil’s bed, torn in two. Roman was sure he remembered Virgil naming it Meeko, after his beloved character from Pocahontas.

‘Dear Zeus, I believe I have it!’ Roman cried triumphantly.

Virgil startled at the sudden noise and Roman turned to him with an apologetic smile. The emo only looked vaguely miffed.

‘Glad you’ve reached a solution, but do you think you could have a dramatic epiphany elsewhere?’ Virgil mumbled, eyes flitting back to his screen. ‘I have debts to pay here.’

Normally it would have annoyed him to be pushed aside for no more than a video game, but luckily for Virgil, Roman had a new job to do. He just needed to sneak Meeko out unnoticed.

‘I thought you said you paid off your debts last week,’ Roman said easily, subtly dropping his leg over the edge of the bed.

‘Yeah, but now I have more,’ Virgil shrugged, unaware of Roman’s movements. ‘It’s kind of a constant in this game.’

Roman hooked his socked toes around one half of the plush on the floor and silently dragged it closer. ‘Doesn’t living in constant debt stress you out though?’ He hooked his toes around the other piece of the toy, looking carefully out of the corner of his eye.

‘It’s actually super chill. You, like, go fishing and catch bugs and stuff.’ Virgil carried on talking, though Roman’s attention was quite preoccupied. ‘And you meet these animals and invite them to your island. You’d like them, they’re really sassy.’

‘Uhuh, uhuh,’ Roman hummed noncommittally, slowly inching his hand down to grab the stuffie pieces and trying to act as if he was just itching his leg.

‘You plant flowers and craft furniture and stuff. Then there’s this cool museum.’

Roman hurriedly stuffed the plushie pieces inside his jacket, masking the movement with a cough. He hazarded a glance to Virgil, glad to see that he was completely enraptured by the game, seemingly unaware of anything that was not pixelated.

‘You can design your own clothes too, look.’ Virgil pushed the screen in front of Roman and showed that his character was now wearing an in-game replication of his signature purple and black patched hoodie.

Roman’s eyebrows shot up. ‘Oh my goodness, that’s brilliant,’ he whispered, partly impressed by the game, though mostly impressed by the incredible idea that just popped into his head.

‘You should totally get the game. We could play together,’ Virgil said, smiling when he brought the console back to his lap.

‘I would like that,’ Roman said sincerely. ‘Though for now, I must be off.’

He rose from the bed, being careful to keep his left arm clutched tightly to his side to avoid dropping the toy and ruining his plan. He was ready to go and settle down to hours of work, but the child in him begged him to do one last thing before he left.

‘Still brothers?’ he asked hesitantly.

Virgil immediately looked up from the screen, his expression soft around the edges. ‘Yeah,’ he said quietly with a smile. ‘Still brothers.’

‘Yes!’ Roman cheered, punching the air with his right hand. It was followed by a huff of amusement from Virgil. ‘Love you, Virge,’ Roman said offhandedly as he turned away, ready to leave at that.

‘Uh, yeah,’ Virgil mumbled.

Roman paused on his way out. He knew Virgil fairly well, having spent so much time around him during the previous few months, and so he liked to think he had a fairly decent amalgamation of the varying tones of Virgil’s mumbles and what they meant. The wheezy ones showed distress, the stunted ones showed annoyance, the lowest ones showed reluctant happiness. This particular brand of mumble, quiet and high-pitched, projected Virgil’s embarrassment. And honestly what kind of big brother would Roman be if he missed such a harmless opportunity for teasing?

He spun back around with a smirk which only grew wider when Virgil saw it and groaned.

‘Say it,’ Roman insisted, holding back a laugh.

‘Go ‘way,’ Virgil whined, pulling his console up to cover his face, though Roman could still spy the blush peeking from behind it.

‘Aww, come on.’ Roman stepped closer to the bed, giggling when Virgil brought the Switch so close to his face that it touched his nose. ‘You said it yesterday,’ Roman sing-songed, kneeling down right in front of Virgil on the bed.

‘Then you shouldn’t need to hear it again,’ Virgil grumbled.

‘Oh, but I’ve forgotten what the pure adoration in your voice sounded like,’ Roman teased, reaching forward to lower the gadget from Virgil’s face. He bit his tongue in amusement when Virgil glared at him past bright pink cheeks. ‘How did you say it? “Wuvoo, Wo-Wo”?’

‘You’re no longer welcome in my kingdom.’

Roman shrugged, still being careful to keep his left arm secure over the stuffed racoon in his jacket. He swivelled his legs to plop down onto the bed.

‘Not leaving until you say it,’ he proclaimed proudly.

Virgil growled (adorably) and dropped the console to the bed, crossing his arms. An unintelligible mumble left his lips.

‘Hm, what was that?’ Roman asked with a giddy smile. He held his ear forward with his free hand. ‘I couldn’t quite hear -’

‘I love you, you weirdo!’ Virgil said loudly, seemingly agitated, though Roman knew there was no real heat behind it (he was well-versed in recognising Virgil’s playful irritation versus his real, leave-me-alone-right-now-or-suffer irritation). ‘Now get out of my room.’

Roman stood and bowed regally, ‘As you wish, Princess Bitter-cup.’

Something small and soft was hurled at his head.

‘Wow,’ Roman chuckled, picking up the tiny giraffe stuffie from the floor with his free hand and chucking it back onto Virgil’s toy pile. ‘Even when you’re a bitch you’re adorable.’

The pout on Virgil’s face was not a dangerous one so Roman winked. He sauntered off towards the door, finally satisfied that the guilty fog in his head had blown away. ‘See you later, lil bro.’

‘Don’t let the door hit you on the way out, big bro,’ Virgil responded sarcastically behind him.

Roman gasped, turning back around in the open doorway. ‘Umm, rude much - Ahh!’ He had to hurriedly jump back into the hallway to avoid being hit in the face by the door, which had suddenly slammed shut.

Waiting a moment for his heart to stop beating so hard from the spike of adrenaline, Roman heard muffled laughter coming from the bedroom. He scoffed and shook his head.

One of their house rules was to not use their metaphysical powers in the mindscape unless entirely unavoidable. Logan reserved his powers for actual emergencies, such as when the kitchen had set on fire. Patton only stretched the rules a little by using his powers to clean parts of the house that were difficult to reach or otherwise highly inconvenient. Roman used his powers only for absolute dire needs, such as summoning medical aid after an arduous adventure in the imagination (though on one occasion he had summoned puppies for desperately-needed snuggles). And Virgil, coming from years of living with the Other sides who used no such rule in their establishment, respected the rule for the most part, though renounced it on occasion in favour of performing relatively harmless pranks.

Roman could have tattled on him to Logan, though they had only just reconciled, so perhaps it wouldn’t have been the wisest decision. Plus, the next few hours of his time were decidedly booked.

He made his way down the hallway, already drawing up designs in his head. Being so inspired by his ingenious ideas, he almost bumped right into Logan at the top of the stairs.

‘Oh, sorry,’ Roman muttered, wondering how many more times he would utter that word that day.

When Roman looked up, he was unsurprised to see that Patton stood right beside Logan. The two had been almost inseparable for the past two weeks when they weren’t caring for Roman and Virgil, and Roman was absolutely enamoured by their adorable attempts at keeping their budding relationship on the subtle side. They were obviously failing miserably.

What he was surprised to see, however, was a very large cardboard box huddled in both of Logan’s arms. ‘What’s in the box, specs?’

Logan and Patton looked at each other with unreadable expressions, then turned back to Roman and spoke simultaneously:

‘Stationery.’

‘What box?’

The two looked back at each other with wide eyes. Roman frowned, mind reeling with what two people in a new relationship could possibly buy together, have delivered in discreet packaging, and not want to tell - actually yeah, he didn’t want to think about that.

‘Well, that was disturbing.’ Roman cleared his throat, avoiding eye contact as he hurried past them. ‘Forget I asked,’ he called back.

He had no time to worry about their stumbled defences. His sewing machine awaited!

oOo

Later that afternoon, Logan readjusted his position on the couch and crossed his legs with a sigh. He was feeling unusually restless.

Patton and he had efficiently hidden their package some hours previously, thankful that Virgil did not witness their secrecy. It was all for his benefit, though the anxious side could be suspicious at the best of times. They could not afford for his defences to be raised any higher than they were already bound to be for the conversation they had planned.

As Logan waited, he breathed evenly, hoping to dispel his nerves before the other two joined him. Patton had left the room a minute previously to fetch Virgil for the chat.

There was no use in feeling nervous about it, Logan knew. It was only a conversation and truly there was nothing threatening about that. Still, the idea that Virgil could be upset by it disturbed Logan somewhat. He could not predict how the regressor would react to what they had to say. Though, as he so often said to Virgil, unpredictability should not be cause for worry. He took a steadying breath and uncrossed his legs.

Within a few moments, the door to the living room eased open and Patton stepped into the room with a quick nervous smile at Logan. After he had entered, Virgil shuffled in behind him, scratching at his hoodie sleeves and chewing his lip. Logan crossed his legs again.

‘Virgil, have a seat,’ Logan said gently, indicating the spot beside him on the couch. Patton had settled in the armchair.

Virgil’s eyes darted between both of them and the seat in quick succession.

‘You are not in trouble,’ Logan said, hoping that his smile was reassuring.

With a shaky sigh, Virgil perched on the end of the couch. He had sat as far from Logan as he possibly could.

‘Patton said you, uh, you wanted to talk about something?’ Virgil muttered.

‘Yes,’ Logan said. He internally made a note to talk to Patton about open-ended requests and how they could exacerbate Virgil’s anxiety, though pushed the matter aside for now. He carefully angled his body toward Virgil, trying to use more engaging body language as he could sense Virgil might try to close himself off. ‘We need to talk about your recent bathroom issues.’

As predicted, Virgil wrapped his arms tightly around himself and sunk further into the couch. Though he didn’t try to leave (for which Logan was grateful). ‘Oh.’

‘You are aware that Patton spoke to me about you two’s discussion, are you not?’

The question was met with a slight nod from Virgil. Logan did not miss the tremble in his fingers which clawed at his hoodie sleeves.

‘Virgil, I’d like to remind you that neither Patton nor I are in any way angry or disappointed with you,’ Logan said, knowing that Virgil’s anxiety must have been wreaking havoc in his mind.

‘Absolutely not,’ Patton agreed fervently. ‘We love you so much, Stormcloud. This doesn’t change that.’

‘Okay.’ Virgil did not meet either of their gazes. ‘Can I leave now?’

Logan sighed, knowing the conversation was bound to be difficult given Virgil’s attitude. ‘That wasn’t what we wanted to talk about.’

Virgil slumped in defeat.

‘I told Logan about everything you said to me yesterday,’ Patton started gently, ‘and we think we might have a solution to -’

‘You can fix it?’ Virgil asked, finally raising his gaze from his lap to look at Logan pleadingly.

Guilt flooded the logical side. It was not often Virgil felt hopeful about anything. In fact, Logan and the others had been trying to convince him to accept more optimism into his thought process, though unfortunately in this situation it had to be shot down.

‘Not exactly.’ At the look of hurt in Virgil’s eyes, Logan had to contain a wince. ‘You cannot always fix something,’ he explained. ‘Sometimes, the situation is unavoidable and the only option is to adapt.’

‘Adapt?’ Virgil echoed uncertainly.

Logan’s eyes inched over to Patton. They had agreed it might be more agreeable for Virgil to hear the suggestion from his lips.

‘Sweetheart,’ Patton said gently, ‘how would you feel if whenever you regressed you wore a diaper?’

‘No!’ Virgil immediately yelled, his voice cracking.

Logan shared a quick, bewildered look with Patton.

‘No, no, no, no, no,’ Virgil rambled frantically, his hands fisting in the cushion beneath him. Logan was shocked by the abject horror on the younger side’s face. ‘No, I can’t! I can’t, no, no -’

‘Honey, honey, stop. It’s all right,’ Patton hurried to soothe him, holding his hands up in surrender. ‘It’s completely okay if you don’t want to wear one.’

Patton was correct. It would have been completely acceptable had Virgil not wanted to try diapers. But - Logan noted with curiosity - Virgil had not said he didn’t want to. He had said he can’t. The small slip-up suggested that (even if only on a subconscious level) Virgil perceived the concept as unattainable, as opposed to undesirable. Logan felt an obligation to investigate further.

‘Why?’ he asked simply.

‘Logan,’ Patton whispered sharply, sending him a reprimanding look.

‘I won’t have any more accidents, I promise!’

Both caregivers looked back at Virgil in surprise.

‘Virgil,’ Logan said carefully, wary of the panic in Virgil’s eyes, ‘we understand that you do not do it on purpose, hence the term “accident”. We all know now that when you are regressed you cannot control it. Now I am sorry, but you simply cannot keep that promise.’

Virgil squirmed in place, his whole posture tense and alert. ‘Th-then I won’t regress anymore.’

Patton gasped, and Logan could hardly blame him. Though Logan had been prepared for Virgil to turn down the idea, the intensity of his reaction was entirely unforeseen.

‘Why would you say that, Virgil?’ Patton whispered, sounding heartbroken.

Virgil was trembling. He clearly had no answer. Though Logan was not convinced he would be able to reply even if he did have one.

‘Your regression is not voluntary.’ Logan spoke in a calm, low voice. ‘You have no say in whether it happens or not. You yourself told us this.’ He frowned in confusion. Virgil’s reaction was so fraught that it seemed to be inflicting his capacity for rational thinking.

To his vague relief, Virgil did appear to have gotten through the worst of his panic, though he still glanced between Patton and Logan nervously. ‘I can hide in my room,’ he suggested shakily. ‘I won’t bother you anymore, I’m sorry for burdening you, I -’

‘Stop,’ Logan said firmly. He could not bear to listen to the anxiety-driven drivel any longer. ‘I want you to take a deep breath.’

Virgil did just that, and the result was instantaneous. As he exhaled, his shoulders dropped from his neck and his hands eased their grip on the couch.

‘Good, keep going,’ Logan murmured, sharing a concerned look with Patton as Virgil took another shaky breath. When Logan had deemed it safe to do so, he continued.

‘We do not want you to hide in your room,’ he said clearly, being cautious to keep his tone gentle. ‘You do not need to hide your regression from us. You are not a burden.’

Virgil bit his lip but did not protest.

‘You could never be a burden,’ Patton said softly. By the jitteriness of his fingertips, Logan could tell that Patton was eager to reach out and hold Virgil, though he held back. ‘Please don’t hide this part of yourself again, sweetheart. You don’t need to.’

Even as his silence persisted, Virgil gave a stiff nod.

Now that Virgil had calmed down, for the most part, Logan launched into his investigation.

‘Could you perhaps explain why you are so adamantly against the idea of using diapers?’ It was met with bewildered looks of varying intensity from both of the others, so Logan elaborated, ‘In no circumstance would we ever force you into doing something against your will. That is not my intention for this conversation. I would merely like to examine your thought process surrounding the concept.’

Virgil looked imploringly to Patton, though was only met with an apologetic smile and nod.

‘Virgil,’ Logan called softly and was hurt to see the look of betrayal that turned onto him. ‘Please.’

He insisted on holding Virgil’s gaze until the younger side looked away with a sigh.

‘I just…’ Virgil pulled his knees up to his chest in a defensive pose. ‘It’s just weird,’ he mumbled.

Good, they could at least get somewhere with that.

‘Sweetie, it’s not -’

Logan held his hand up, silencing Patton. Though the reassurance was well-intended, Logan believed that simply disparaging Virgil’s views would be ineffective. They had to address the root cause of the issue.

‘And why is it weird?’ Logan prompted.

Virgil’s brow furrowed and he looked up at Logan with wide eyes, apparently (unreasonably) taken aback by the simple question.

‘I-I dunno,’ he said hesitantly. ‘Adults shouldn’t need -’

‘Some adults require incontinence products.’ Logan nipped that train of thought in the bud right away. ‘It is beyond their control, and yet you would call it weird?’

‘N-no!’ Virgil hurriedly defended. ‘No, of course not. That’s not - I meant I shouldn’t need… those.’

Logan muffled the growing satisfaction in his chest as they inched closer to the crux of the problem. ‘And why is it weird for you specifically and not those other adults?’

Virgil’s arms squeezed around his legs, pulling them tighter against his chest. ‘Because it’s, um, not a medical issue?’ he asked quietly, seeming more uncertain of his own argument with each passing second.

‘That is unimportant,’ Logan said. ‘Regardless of the cause, you are still unable to control your bladder on occasion.’

The tension in Virgil’s posture was painfully visible, as was the growing flush to his cheeks.

‘So, I will ask you again.’ Logan scooted himself slightly closer to Virgil on the couch, hoping that the closeness would bring Virgil some kind of comfort. He did not move away. ‘Why would it be weird for you to wear diapers if it is not weird for anyone else to do the same?’

Virgil blinked quickly and opened his mouth. Then he shut it, blinked, looked to his knees, opened his mouth, and shut it again. After a repeat of this cycle, he groaned quietly and buried his face against his knees.

‘You cannot think of an answer because it is an incorrect statement,’ Logan said. Looking at Virgil’s hunched form, he realised that being proven right was not nearly as satisfactory when it caused such distress to someone he loved. ‘I can assure you that your worries surrounding this matter are unfounded.’

‘He’s right, Virgil,’ Patton added. ‘You don’t need to be embarrassed about this, it’s all right.’

Virgil shook his head, though his face was still concealed by his knees. ‘Is not.’

‘It is,’ Logan insisted. ‘Your mental state regresses to that of a toddler’s, so why should we expect every aspect of your physical state to be any different? A toddler cannot be expected to have such a high command over their body.’

‘But I should,’ Virgil argued weakly into his jeans.

‘Not when you’re regressed, sweetheart,’ Patton said. ‘You’re just a baby, you can’t -’

‘I’m not a baby, I’m a pervert!’ Virgil shouted, his head snapping up from his knees fiercely.

Logan’s breath rushed from his lungs, his stomach lurching at such intense self-deprecation coming from the person he had come to see as his child.

‘Stormcloud…’ Patton whispered, sounding close to tears.

Virgil beat him to it. His “sweater paws” (that had been a highly useful vocab card) scrubbed harshly at the tears that fell to his cheeks. The image made Logan’s heart sink.

‘I’m a freak,’ Virgil mumbled into his sleeve. ‘I’m just gross and messed up and attention-seeking and…’ His voice had become squeaky and broken before he trailed off.

‘Baby, no, no, no,’ Patton cooed sadly and rushed to his side at break-neck speed. Squeezing in to sit between the regressor and the armrest, Patton wrapped his arm around Virgil’s shoulders and pulled him to lean against his side. ‘Virgil, honey, none of that is true. None of it.’

Virgil sniffled as Patton kissed his head.

Following Patton’s lead, Logan closed the distance between them on the couch. He placed one hand on Virgil’s knee and squeezed while his other settled on Patton’s forearm gently.

‘Please understand that there is absolutely nothing wrong with your regression or with how your body reacts to it,’ Logan pleaded, feeling strangely helpless. He had been so certain that Virgil knew his regression was valid. What had changed to make him spout this nonsense? ‘As you have informed us and as I have ascertained from my own research, age regression is by its very nature entirely non-sexual.’

Virgil nodded against Patton’s shoulder.

‘It is and always has been a natural state for you,’ Logan went on, sure that Virgil was aware of this already.

As suspected, Virgil nodded again.

Logan frowned. Where could this all have been coming from? ‘And you are aware that it is highly beneficial to your emotional wellbeing.’

‘Yeah,’ Virgil said, his voice wet and choked.

‘And you enjoy it!’ Patton said, injecting joy into his words. Logan saw how his arms tightened around Virgil’s form. ‘That’s as good a reason as any.’

Once more, Virgil nodded.

Logan considered why Virgil might have had such a sudden change of heart towards his view of age regression. It was, of course, possible that he had simply kept these views hidden up until that moment, though they had addressed his insecurities surrounding the matter on multiple occasions over the past three months. With a heavy heart, Logan realised that if these opinions had not originated from Virgil himself, they had to have originated elsewhere and been figuratively drilled into him.

‘Who called you those words, Virgil?’ Logan asked delicately.

Virgil angled his head further into Patton’s shoulder in avoidance.

It was an unusual experience, watching the realisation dawn on Patton’s face. His eyes lost their joyful sparkle and his concerned expression melted into one of pure indignation and - most uncharacteristically - rage. The moral side pushed gently at Virgil’s shoulders, getting him to sit upright to reveal his face.

‘Who was it?’ Patton asked, his voice shaking with what Logan suspected was carefully concealed anger.

Virgil hunched in his seat and met Logan’s eyes for a split second before hurriedly looking down at his knees. ‘No one.’

‘Falsehood,’ Logan said sternly. He did not want to make Virgil anxious at all by prying, but he could not afford for this topic of conversation to be shrugged off so easily. ‘Who was it?’

With a deep, shaky sigh, Virgil rested his chin on his knees and muttered, ‘I mean no one I know.’

Patton sent a confused look to Logan over the head of purple hair.

‘Could you please elaborate?’ Logan asked.

A moment of silence passed, and just as Logan was preparing to ask again, Virgil inhaled sharply, paused, and then spoke.

‘A couple weeks ago I made a Tumblr post about my regression.’ Virgil’s voice was quiet enough that Logan had to strain to hear it. ‘About how I wasn’t ashamed of it anymore and - and about you guys,’ Virgil said. He tugged at a strand of his hair harshly.

Logan reached out and smoothed his fingers over Virgil’s hand, convincing him to release the hair. Their hands both dropped to the couch cushion, remaining joined at Logan’s insistence. He understood where the conversation was heading. ‘I am aware that there is an anonymous question function on Tumblr.’

Virgil’s fingers twitched against Logan’s palm. ‘S-someone kept sending asks saying it was just a… a fetish and telling me I was sick and weird and -’ he cut off with an audible gulp, ‘and a bunch of other stuff.’

‘They’re wrong,’ Patton stated without room for argument. Logan saw the muscle in his jaw jumping. ‘They - I can’t believe someone would -’ His voice was incredibly strained and it strangled his words so much that Patton seemed to almost gag over them. He blew out a harsh breath, the sound something akin to a hiss. ‘This is ridiculous.’

Patton was shaking with the effort to contain his reaction and looked about ready to burst. Glancing down, Logan realised with a hint of concern that Virgil was looking at Patton in surprise and, unfortunately, appeared to be nervous.

‘Patton,’ Logan said, ‘I want you to take a moment to -’

‘No, Logan!’ Patton whispered harshly, red in the face. He snatched his arm off from Virgil then clenched his fists in his lap. ‘They’re bullies. Horrible, mean, cruel bullies. I just don’t understand why!’ he broke into a shout. Virgil flinched and leaned into Logan’s side. ‘Why the hell would someone want to - I mean, how could - To our baby!’

Logan was in full agreement to everything that Patton was saying (even if most of it had to be read between the lines since he seemed so enraged that he could hardly get a full sentence out). But - Logan noted, seeing that Virgil was staring at his lap in shame - this was neither the time nor the place to display aggression.

‘Patton,’ Logan said more firmly, ‘I understand you are angry, but please be wary of the sensitivity of this situation. I am sure Virgil would appreciate calm right now.’

‘I don’t mind.’ Virgil sounded feeble at best.

‘Angry?’ Patton repeated incredulously, actually looking at Logan in shock. ‘I - I’m not angry, I’m just…’ He went silent, the fire dissipating from his eyes and being replaced by uncertainty. Then he whispered, all heat faded from his tone, ‘I’m not angry.’

Logan nodded slowly. It was evident Patton was having trouble identifying his negative emotions, though Logan did not feel it right to divert the purpose of the conversation. He would have to delay the talk with Patton until after they had resolved Virgil’s issue, especially since he suspected Virgil would not open up so readily a second time.

‘Now, Virgil,’ Logan said. He looked at Patton pointedly, conveying that they had to get back to the task at hand. Patton nodded, the tension finally dispelling from his form. ‘These strangers online do not see how this coping mechanism helps you.’ Logan squeezed the younger side’s fingers slightly, earning his attention through a hesitant glance. ‘Their opinions are uninformed and therefore worthless.’

‘I’m sorry, sweetie,’ Patton breathed. He was curled into himself slightly, clearly embarrassed by his loss of control. ‘I didn’t mean to - these people are clearly very damaged,’ he said the word as if it were a substitute for harsher language, ‘and, for whatever reason, they only wanted to hurt you.’ He cautiously wrapped his arm back around Virgil’s shoulders. ‘Those kinds of people don’t have any authority over you or your regression.’

‘I guess not,’ Virgil said. He closed his eyes and breathed deeply, melting into Patton’s touch.

Logan sighed in faint relief, glad that Virgil no longer seemed intimidated by Patton’s outburst. ‘It is a futile task in pandering to these idiots’ prejudices. Your regression makes you happy and so it is indisputably perfect.’

The words earned him a soft smile from Virgil and Logan felt his own expression soften at the sight.

‘Thank you,’ Virgil said with finality.

‘Though,’ Logan started, something still eating away at him, ‘it remains unclear how these bullies made you feel bad about needing diapers specifically.’

Virgil bit his lip, then looked back at the floor. ‘I - I wanted to try them a while ago,’ he whispered.

From the look on Patton’s face, it seemed Logan was not alone in his surprise.

‘It was just so scary whenever I had an accident!’ Virgil quickly defended. ‘I - I didn’t know what else to do. I was stupid and -’

‘Try again,’ Patton interrupted with a squeeze on Virgil’s shoulder.

‘I was dumb and -’

‘Again.’

‘I… was uninformed and didn’t know how to buy them. So I made a post asking for advice.’ Virgil rushed through the words as if wanting them to be over as soon as possible. ‘Then there was a bunch of asks saying it was disgusting and pathetic and hilarious and -’

‘Imbeciles,’ Logan growled loudly, though took a steadying breath and left it at that. He would absolutely be having a chat with Patton later so they could release their frustrations in private, away from Virgil.

‘None of that is true,’ Patton said softly. ‘Do you remember what Logan said about toddlers not being expected to have such a high level of bodily control?’

Virgil nodded.

‘You aren’t aware of yourself when you’re regressed, so you have to trust us when we tell you that when you’re in that headspace you really are a toddler.’ Patton said it slowly and deliberately, not giving Virgil a chance to dispute the words.

Virgil looked up at Logan, seeking confirmation.

‘It was astonishing to experience at first,’ Logan said, ‘but I cannot deny it. It truly is remarkable. And wonderful,’ he added truthfully.

Patton nodded enthusiastically and guided Virgil’s head to look back at him with gentle fingers. ‘As surprising as it was, we can tell it’s very real and natural.’ Patton kissed Virgil’s head. ‘There is absolutely nothing about your regression or your body that’s wrong in any way. Do you understand that now?’

Virgil stalled for a few seconds, though when he finally spoke, Logan could hear it was sincere. ‘Yeah. I think so.’

‘And I’m so proud of you for trying to help yourself, honey.’ Patton pulled Virgil into a tighter hug. ‘I’m sorry we weren’t there to look after you back then.’

‘But you are now… right?’ Virgil pulled away from Patton and peered shyly between both of them.

‘Of course we are,’ Patton replied instantly.

Logan felt a swell of pride and love overtake him. ‘We always will be.’

Virgil hid a smile behind his sweater paw.

‘Kiddo… can you maybe turn off the anonymous option on your blog?’ Patton asked hesitantly, reaching out to card his fingers through the length of Virgil’s hair. ‘I don’t wanna control what you do but it really worries me that these strangers could make you feel so bad about yourself.’

‘Already did,’ Virgil mumbled.

Logan saw that the tip of Virgil’s thumb had found its way to his lips. He was not surprised that Virgil appeared to be slipping into his regression; it had been a distressing conversation for him.

‘Clever boy,’ Patton praised, lightly pinching Virgil’s cheek. He must have noticed the slip too.

A shy smile wormed its way onto Virgil’s features.

Patton gasped dramatically. ‘Oh my, there’s suddenly an adorable baby in the room! Where did he come from?’

The thumb that had rested on Virgil’s lips now pressed between them. Logan recognised the light blush on Virgil’s cheeks as indicative of his impending infantile headspace.

‘Before you regress completely,’ Logan said quickly, wanting to be concise lest he miss the remaining moments of Virgil’s adult mindset. ‘Will you please reconsider our suggestion? We have already purchased some diapers for you as a precautionary measure and I think it will be a good idea for you to wear one today.’

‘I think so too, sweetheart,’ Patton added softly. ‘Just to see how it feels.’

Virgil hummed, though it might have been a muffled whimper.

‘There is no pressure to agree at all. Similarly, if you do attempt it but dislike it then there is no need to continue.’ Logan hoped to reassure any of Virgil’s doubts that might have been inhibiting what was clearly curiosity, perhaps even desire. ‘Though I believe it will at the very least be worth a try.’

Virgil genuinely seemed to consider it.

‘Remember, we’re only doing this to help you feel safe, Stormcloud,’ Patton whispered, running his knuckle against Virgil’s cheek.

Logan gently took hold of Virgil’s hand and eased it away from his mouth so that his thumb left his lips. Virgil pouted at him, though Logan ignored it in favour of asking, ‘What would you like to do, Virgil?’

To Logan’s astonishment, he nodded.

‘Try,’ Virgil said, his voice babyish and muted.

oOo

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NOTE: Massive thanks to my friend Duckie for reading over the first draft of this chapter, giving me notes and cheering me on, it wouldn’t be the same without her! You can find her adorable age dreaming tumblr here: @duckies-little-pond 🐣💛

#agere virgil #little virgil #little roman #ts agere #sanders sides agere #cg patton #cg logan #little/big series #little/big series fics #little accidents big developments #agedre roman

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