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wri0thesley · 3 days ago

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a prize to be won - capitano x fem!reader (5.3k)

you are not there for the destruction of your home. but you are there for the aftermath, when you catch the eye of the captain.

cw: dark content. kidnapped 'spoils of war' reader, descriptions of a razed village and death of everyone reader knows. explicitly fem reader. dubious consent, alcohol. based on this post.

this was a commissioned work.

You have never seen so much destruction.

You have never even thought you would see so much destruction, truth be told; the very idea of such things has never crossed your mind, when your village is ordinarily so calm and peaceful. You have loved your home fiercely and protectively your whole life - you have done everything asked of you, you have shared in the joys and the sorrows of your neighbours. Your home life is a humble one - your father a baker, your mother his assistant, your older brother set to inherit the bakery with the understanding you would work in it until the end of your life too - but it is not one you have ever maligned!

You've felt, perhaps, a rumbling of discontent once or twice - the thought that out there, there might be something more than what you have always dreamed about - but it has always been quickly quashed when you've been called to work, or your father has smiled at you or your friends embraced you. This is a good life you lead, and you are happy to live it.

Your village is supposed to be peaceful.

Your village has stood for years and years; was here for your grandparents and their grandparents before them. There are people who say the great tree in the village square is a thousand years old or more, who'll tell stories about the settlement that sprung up beside it with a laugh about how it will probably stand for a thousand more--

And yet, in front of you is the heart-rending proof that this is not to be so.

You feel yourself start to shake.

You had only gone out for a few hours; to gather some flowers for the bakery's window, some herbs that grew in the woods that your father would turn into deliciously flavoured bread. You had expected to come home, as you have so many times before, to the exact same place that you had left. Who would expect anything else?

But before you--

You can hear shouting and screaming, the beat of boots on the ground. Great plumes of smoke rise up from the houses that you know just as well as your own, as fire devours thatch and wattle and everything else the walls are made from - your own home is on the other side of the village, and it makes your stomach twist and ache to think that it could be following the same fate.

You do not understand.

You drop the basket you're holding, your arms suddenly feeling far too weak to support even themselves, let alone your spoils. Your feet drag against grass as you numbly, desperately, try to make yourself approach the smouldering ruins of your home. Nobody has seen you, not yet - but as you walk, as the smoke stings at your eyes and your throat, you can begin to make out figures striding amongst the carnage.

Big-booted, armoured and weapon-furnished figures, in helmets and furs, barking out orders in an accent you can only just place.

The Fatui.

But why here? Why now? Why your village?

It would be foolish, you know, to go any further. A clever girl would turn tail and run and hide out amongst the forest and the wilderness until the threat has gone and then maybe return to her home to see what the damage that has been wrought is. Your family have always been proud of you for being that kind of clever girl, when you've found errors in the accounting or remembered some little detail or other your harum-scarum brother is too bright and bouncy to keep in his head.

It is not clever of you to duck beneath the fence of the nearest home, to sidle into the garden, and to pick yourself a path behind the houses to try and stay out of sight.

You cannot simply go into the wilderness, not fully knowing if perhaps within that cacophony of flame and noise and horrors your family may still be alive and frightened and able to be saved. You have never thought yourself a particularly brave person, but it turns out that when one is in dire straits a hidden well of courage may be tapped into, and that is how it feels as you work your way through the grassy back gardens, ducking behind hedges and trees and walls and begging all of the Archons you can think of for their aid in staying hidden.

You hear screams, sometimes, and wet plunges and noises that are worse, and you cannot bear to think of what is happening to your friends and your neighbours. If they catch you, what will happen? Will they throw you to the fire? Will they plunge blades into the soft flesh of your body, will they tear you limb from limb, will you even have time to beg for your life before the rush of death is upon you?

You try not to think about it.

You're doing well, you think. You get closer and closer to the side of your village that your own home is on (you cannot go past the bakery - it is far too central, and has probably already been ransacked. You can only ask the Archons for their grace that your family was not inside of it when the Fatui squadron arrives).

And why are the Fatui here anyway? Simply for the pleasure of murder and pain and suffering? There are no riches in this village - there is nobody important, nothing that ought to have dragged a whole army down onto you--

You slide yourself into a small alleyway between two houses. With the sun setting, you are more hidden - and you must cross the centre of the village in order to reach your own home. You cannot stay on this one side forever. The spot is sheltered in shadows, at least, and you will yourself to peer into the murk of the darkness to ascertain whether you can dart out without too much attention.

You hear a crunch of leaves underfoot and your heart flees into your throat. You stop dead where you are, but as the noise gets louder and louder, you realise you have been found. You will not reach your home before the Fatui reaches you. You will not get to give your father one more kiss, your brother one more whisper of how proud he makes you, and bury your face in the sweet powdery scent of your mother's apron for one last moment.

He rounds the edge of the alley and stands there, an impressive figure caught in strands of moonlight, a visor down over his face, a cloak billowing around him. Trembling, you raise your chin to look your death straight in his face.

When the figure speaks, his voice is low and dark and rasping.

"Well," he says. "What do we have here?"

Everything about this man tells you that he is more than just some Fatui grunt. There is a certainty in the way he stands and surveys you, a craftsmanship to his armour that you have not seen in any of the other soldiers, a commanding tone to his voice than can only belong to a man who is used to issuing orders and even more used to those orders being followed to the letter. You are still trembling, and you do not lower your gaze.

You wish you could tell if he was smiling, or if he was preparing to strike you down - but behind his armour, his face remains a mystery to you, no matter how badly you may wish to know.

"Who are you?" He asks you, surprising you. You are expecting death, truth be told; the rest of your village, it seems, is burning around you. There is no reason to suspect you may be spared that fate.

You tell him your name, still trying desperately to cling onto the bravery that has made you lift your chin and stand proudly instead of running away. Far better to die staring it down, you remind yourself, even as it feels that your insides are a snarl of knots begging you to run. You even tell him that your family owns a bakery in the village. Even, at the end, you find yourself asking this;

"And who are you?"

It is enough to surprise a laugh out of him - a strange noise, half low velvet and half wheeze, as if he is unaccustomed to making merriment. That helmet stays levelled at you, and you see a hint of blue fire behind the darkness where his eyes should be, and you get the distinct impression that you are being observed. Sized up. Considered.

"I am the Captain," he says, eventually. He does not elaborate beyond that, but you do not need him to.

Rumours do not often make it this far out, but the exploits of Il Capitano have certainly preceded him. You have heard tell that he is a monster of a man, that his men will kill you as soon as look at you, that he leaves a trail of ruined cities in his wake, let alone villages. If this is truly the Captain before you, then you are in even worse trouble than you anticipated, and any last-minute desperate hopes that your family may be alive vanish on the wind as you swallow back tears.

He must be able to see the shake in your shoulders and the sway in your knees, but you do not let yourself show any more weakness than that. Your gaze stays steady, even as you feel a tear roll down the apple of your cheek.

"Then I suppose I am going to die here," you say, your tone final. You swallow. You lift your chin even more, exposing the soft and vulnerable skin of your throat, hoping he will make it quick. You are all the more aware of your clothing now than you were before - the simple peasant dress, well-made but worn, the skirts and the aprons you had just a few hours earlier gathered herbs in. It feels like almost nothing, standing before Capitano in furs and silver and armour, but it is yours. And a peasant girl dies as a peasant girl lives.

You prepare yourself for the swing of a sword, the gush of hot blood down your neck - but Capitano does not so much as place his hand upon his sword. He simply continues to look at you in that terribly interested way, as if you are a puzzle he desires to solve.

"You would give your life to me so easily?" He asks you. "Give everything up, little flower, and die here?"

"It is no more than everyone else in my village has done," you say, trying to be careful with your words. If you are too rude, perhaps he will drag you into the town square - perhaps he will make an example out of you, before his men. And though you are prepared and expecting to face your death, you would rather not make it even worse than it has to be.

A figure appears at Capitano's side, and then another; two of his men, who immediately fall to their knees and do not pay you a whit of attention.

"We're done here, My Lord," they say, in the voices of sycophants. "We have no useful information. No intel at all."

Is that what they were looking for in your little humble village? Intel about what? Nobody here goes further than the next village over! What could they possibly know that would be of any use?

"Very good," Capitano says, without turning his helmet from you. The two grunts laboriously pull themselves up from their knees, finally sneaking a glance at the peasant girl still standing, wondering what you must be doing here. Wondering if Capitano is about to kill you. "One more thing," he says - the men straighten to attention, waiting for whatever orders their leader is about to give.

You think you hear the ghost of a smile in his voice.

"I wish to take a souvenir," he says. "Bring this one back to camp and put her in my tent."

You are not fool enough to struggle against the Fatui who come to you, who take you by your arms - gentler than you'd expected - to march you on your way. You suppose they do not want to risk hurting you, when Capitano has expressed such an interest - but it rankles in the back of your throat that you are nothing more than a 'souvenir', some thing that can be taken and placed as and where the Captain pleases.

But you are lucky to not have been killed where you stand.

They march you out of your village, and you try not to look at the burnt-out husks that were once your neighbour's homes - you try not to let your eyes desperately seek out the shell that was once your family's bakery, or worse, your home. You keep your chin high and your lips pressed tight together, and all of the thoughts and feelings that are spooling around your head remain silently trapped within there. You do not think you would like anything you will hear from these soldier's mouths.

The campground is more alive than you would expect - and it simply makes you feel worse. When they have meat aplenty, to roast on open fires, when they have fine furs to drape over their tents and books to read . . . why ransack your home? Why not just search for this so-called 'intel' and leave? But you cannot say this aloud. You bite your tongue.

Before you know it, you are brought to the biggest tent of all. It stands tall and royal-blue, imposing and regal in the insignias and crests embroidered upon it. The two Fatui guards push you inside, and you hear the sound of something zipping, and see their shadows take guard outside to make sure you make no attempt at running.

As if you would.

You would not get a hair's-breadth from the tent before you found yourself shot or stabbed or grabbed or worse, and all the more painful they will make it when they realise you are running from their leader. You bring a hand up to smooth over your hair, noting ruefully that in your morning activities foraging and your attempts to sneak around, you are dusty and dirty and out of place. The tent is a strangely clean place, for all of the bloodshed that its occupant must regularly indulge in.

You take a moment to peek around it. There are those fine, expensive furs - there are bottles of wine and alcohol stacked together, a makeshift desk scattered with papers and quills and ink, a bedroll far bigger than any you've ever seen festooned with pillows and blankets and more of those same white pelts. It is only a tent, only designed to be brought from place to place, somewhere to sleep at night and nothing more - and yet within it, there is more luxury than you would have ever seen in your humble cottage home.

Voices from outside.

A low rumble that you now recognise as the Captain makes you stand up, stock-still and straight, from the books you were crouching to read the spines of. You press your hands into fists at your side and wait for the flaps of the tent to open and for the Captain to come in, to kill you or worse, all fury and blood and desire.

It does not happen like that.

Il Capitano does enter the tent, and you notice that he dismisses the two grunts standing guard outside with an order ending '. . . and bring it back here'. You wonder what it is they are to bring back - something to dispose of your body, perhaps? But he does not rush at you. In fact, he strips his sword from his side to rest it in a rack by the entrance of the tent, and then he stands there, regarding you once more.

The silence stretches between the two of you like a thing that can be seen, a shroud of fear on your side and amusement on his. Finally, you break:

"Are you going to kill me now?" You ask him, hating the tremble of your voice. It is difficult to get a read on whatever it is he is thinking, with the mask covering his face, but he tilts his head to the side.

"I would not have brought you here to kill you, little flower," he says. "What do you think I wish to do?"

"I . . ." You swallow. There are hundreds of possibilities running through your head, and you do not like a single one of them. "I don't know."

"I'm not going to hurt you," he says, after a pause, your fear shimmering in the air. "I would not have wasted my time."

"Why not?" That one falls from your lips before you can deadfall it, and your shoulders draw in, all fear. You shouldn't be questioning why he doesn't wish to rip you limb from limb! You should be grateful to still have all of your internal organs on the right side of your body! But . . . you are nothing special, and you do not understand what it is that has saved you thus far.

Capitano crosses the room instead of answering you, and one of his gauntlet-clawed fingers tilts up your chin instead, to look down at you with that inscrutable blue-fire gaze behind the mask he wears.

"You didn't run," he says to you, after a moment. "You didn't scream. You're terribly sweet to look at. You trembled and shook like a leaf, all big wide deer-eyes - and yet you stood firm and strong and brave. Why do you think I had you brought back to my tent, little doe?"

You are saved from answering the question by the tent opening - and those two Fatui grunts from earlier enter, hauling between them what looks like a large tin bath. One of them goes to a corner and begins to poke and prod at a fire, and then they place it before the fire and bow respectfully at Capitano. A creeping tendril of dread strokes down your spine as you look at it, and Capitano calls out a thanks as they leave.

He turns back to you.

"You're filthy," he tells you, and that gauntleted hand strokes over your cheek now, and further down, until it rests against the bare skin of your collarbone. "Will you undress for me and let me bathe you, or do I have to unclothe you myself?"

Oh. Oh.

"I--" You fumble, the truth crashing about you like a tidal wave. Your hands flutter helplessly. But there is no escape, is there? And if you wish to keep your life-- "I can undress myself," you say, swallowing back more protestations and begging. You strip off your apron, and move to the buttons of your blouse - through it all, Capitano's eyes remain hidden by his mask, just a flash of blue fire. But you know he is looking at you. You know he is watching, as your skirt falls to the ground, and then your chemise, and then you are standing bare and shivering in his tent.

"Beautiful," he says, after a moment. "And you'll be all the more beautiful once clean. In the bath, please, little flower."

You give one last lingering look to your pile of clothes - the last remnant of your home life - and hope he will not have them destroyed, before you cross the short distance to the tub before the fire. You lower yourself into it gingerly, expecting it to be either boiling hot or freezing cold - but as you dip a toe in, you find that the temperature is perfect. It soothes the aches and bruises you have from your adventures today, and you can't stop the soft sigh of pleasure that falls from your lips as you fold yourself into it. You hear Capitano let out a low chuckle - and then he is kneeling beside you.

You notice he has shed his gauntlets, now - but he still wears dark gloves beneath them, and he seems not to care if they get wet as he reaches forward to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear.

"I shan't hurt you," he reminds you, in that low voice like the churning of an ocean. "Submit to me. Let me take care of you."

It is a strange thing to hear after everything he has done, but you are at his merch, so all you do is give him a stiff little nod. You wonder if he smiles at your acquiescence beneath the helmet, even as he reaches to a small shelf beside the fire and pulls out a collection of jars and bottles and washcloths and sponges, in colours and shapes and sizes that feels like an excess to you.

He pours something sweet-smelling and floral into the bath water, uses one hand to swish it through so that the sweet scent will permeate your body, and it seems it flows up from the surface of the water in almost-visible swirling curlicues.

(At home you are used to bathing in a similar tin bath, but there is one washcloth for each of you, a communal bar of soap, and the thought of anything so luxurious as bath oils or your own shampoo would get you a scolding for the waste of money. You have never wanted for such things - you are content with your life - but the thought that Capitano would use them, on you, a lowly peasant girl--)

The first thing he does is reach into the water, to swell the sponge - and your breath catches as he leans closer, and then the sponge is slowly working over your body, to clean the dirt and the dust of the day from your skin. You feel like you cannot breathe at his closeness - and you expect him to take advantage, to use this as a way to touch you more--

But he does not. You find it rather strange how his body does not seem to kick off any heat, but he is so close as he leans to work at a particularly stubborn grass stain on your shoulder that you cannot give it more than a single moment's thought.

The way he cleans you is almost worshipful - ritualistic, slow and careful and thorough. Your breath shakes in your chest, as he reaches the curve of your breast. And though he does indeed clean it, though the sponge does indeed brush over your nipple and make it pebble and harden, he does not linger any longer than he needs to in order to ensure your cleanliness.

Even when he switches to a washcloth and he dips it between your thighs - he notices, from the brief tense of his shoulders, that you react to the sensation - he does not push further.

"Your hair, now," he intones, and he moves to kneel behind you - and with those same fingers that washed you like he was a postulant in a church, he works through the tangles, smooths and cleans it, until it lays about your shoulders in clean wet strands.

You think this is to be it, but Capitano is not yet done in this strange pampering - he reaches for other things, for other bottles full of ointments and lotions and potions, and he works those, too, into your skin where it is red or bruising. You can do nothing but stay there in the tin bath, as he calmly continues.

"You will want for nothing, now," he tells you, as he dabs something sweet smelling on your collar bones, behind your ears - you think this is perfume oil, though you've never been able to afford it. "I will take care of you, little flower. You will be my most prized of all."

Your hair, as he works more floral oil through it. And then he is standing, taking your arms to help you up - your knees feel strangely weak, like they will buckle beneath you. You have never felt quite so clean, even after baths at home. Flour always seemed to linger in the cracks of your palms, dough beneath your nails. But you feel as if you move in a cloud of fresh-scented air, as Capitano's massive bulk lifts you from the bath as easily as if you were a doll and wraps a fluffy towel about your body, thicker and more luxurious than the scratchy old ones that you have - had - at home.

You feel strange. Warm and hot and wanted, and fearful at the same time of what Capitano will want from you now he has cleaned you. You can feel a strange stirring between your thighs - an awareness of your body that you are not used to. You have never given much thought to the men of your village. You have always thought one day you would marry, of course . . . but no men have ever caught your attention.

And though Capitano is your kidnapper, though he has lain waste to everything you have ever known - he is broad and mysterious and far more gentle than you would have expected, and him being the first one to touch you in such a way has ignited a fire within you that you do not know how to quell.

"Come over to the bed, little lamb," he says to you - and like a lamb, docile and obedient, you follow him.

This must be it, you think. This is when he will shove you onto his bedroll and have his way with you, wanting as only a man can, using you as nothing more than a receptacle - and then you can once more hate him, and these strange feelings whirling in your stomach will finally abate, and life will put itself back on an axis you understand.

It is still not as you expect. You should not have thought anything would be, in this strange new existence you have found yourself in.

Instead, he cups your cheek and murmurs against your ear;

"Are you hungry? Thirsty?"

You realise you have not eaten all day, and you feel your cheeks heat as you give him a nod. It still feels frightening to let him know of your weaknesses - but as you say it, he produces a tray laden with breads and cheeses, and places it upon the bed between you. You go to take a slice, but Capitano stops you - and then he is hand-feeding you, as delicately and with as much care as he had washed you.

It's delicious. You are used to freshly baked bread, as a baker's daughter, but the soft sweetness in your mouth is something else - you are almost glad that he's feeding you himself, for after the day you have had you are hungry, and you are not sure you wouldn't shame yourself falling upon it like a wolf.

"Pace yourself," Capitano says, and though you cannot see his face there is a smile in his voice. "There is more where it came from. You will not want for anything, my sweet flower. Not ever again."

He decides when you have had enough - your stomach comfortably full, as he moves the tray and takes it across the room for some lowly other Fatui member, you're sure, to clean up. You feel that fear again, as he moves towards you, and you realise the wide bedroll you are on is draped all over with furs and cushions, and you are still in nothing more than the towel he wrapped you in after bathing you.

"A drink," he says, and it is not a request. He brings a bottle of wine and one glass over to you, and you watch as he pours the viscous red liquid into the glass, so like the colour of blood that you have to dampen the fear that goes coursing through your veins. He must notice that you have tensed, for he softens his words as he says; "It will make you relax. It will make this easier. I have no desire to hurt you, little lamb."

So you let him wrap one of his strong, big hands around the back of your head, cradling you as gently as one would cradle a lover. You let him lift the glass to your lips and tilt it, until the red wine - sweet and thick and cloying - slips down your throat as easily as silk. You have drank before, but never something so rich, never something so expensive - never with a man like Capitano beside you.

"There," he murmurs against your ear, cradling you, holding you, his body still cold but firm and strong behind you. "Another sip. Good. Good girl." You swallow what he gives you, and in time - as you're laid there for him, as you're held and coddled and treated as precious glass - you feel that familiar sensation.

A warmth that spreads to your toes and makes you feel as though you're floating on air - a soft kind of airiness, as if the things that are happening around you are not truly real. Capitano does not lean down to kiss you, but you understand why he has carefully gotten you just drunk enough to feel light and expectant when he peels your towel away and tosses it aside, leaving you utterly bared before him on his bed.

"Beautiful," he murmurs, and this time he does let his hands learn the shape of you. This is no quick attempt to clean you - he is not intending gentlemanly cleaning now. This is a desire to hold you and touch you--

And yet he still does not wrest control from you, as you had feared he might.

"I have promised," he murmurs, "that I would not hurt you." The curve of his palm, taking hold of the heavy weight of your breast - your nipple gently tugged between thumb and forefinger, just enough so that your back arches involuntarily and a soft whine escapes your mouth that makes him sigh. "I do not break my agreements, little flower. You are safe."

You ought not to feel safe. You ought to be terrified - you ought to be wondering if, when he has had his fill of your body, he will toss you aside. You ought to be wondering how much of this is a lie. But Capitano's hands are stroking over your waist, your hips, the softness of your thighs. When he urges you to spread them, you cannot help but do so.

"Exquisite," he breathes, as he uses his thumbs to spread open your sex, the coolness of the air hitting it and making you fight back the squirming. You do not want him to touch you. You want him to touch you more than you've ever wanted anything before.

"Lovely," he murmurs, when he leans down and presses his helmet up just enough for a mouth - strangely cold, again, a tongue harder and longer than you're expecting - to wrap around your nipple, for teeth to graze the sensitive skin and your body to go on high alert that he will bite and eat you alive the way that fairy stories and rumours of the Fatui have said that they so enjoy doing.

"Perfect," he murmurs, when he brings his thumb to your mouth and you - terrified and brave, afraid and yielding, unsure and battling with your own conscience - open your lips to let him slide the tip of it past your lips, to rest there.

And when he moves, when he covers you, when you feel the stiffness of something impossibly hard and big pressing against your inner thigh, he murmurs;

"Will you be good for me, little lamb? Will you be my spoils?"

Your throat is dry when you answer him; the only answer you can really give. An answer that gives up your personhood, that reduces you to nothing more than a prize to be won - but an answer that wins you, at least, your life.

"Yes, My Lord. Yes."

#genshin impact posting #not sfw text #dub con for ts #alcohol for ts #commissioned work #writing #capitano x reader #dark content

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thethreefaes · 3 days ago

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“I’ll… refrain from using her name again.” Kiara didn’t even realize she’d let it slip. The exhaustion must have been catching up. But… She understood. She’d be more patient. Closing her eyes she waved Hiccup on.

“Enjoy dealing with that beast. She’s a menace.” The dragon had been getting restless. She’d heard the commotion inside and had been pacing around the hut.

Now Altair laid in front. Tail thumping in agitation as she waited.

Kiara groaned and shifted. Holding Lyra as she drifted off to sleep. She could trust the chief. Letting her guard down around him would be alright.

~~~~~~

Lyra woke before her sister. Her head hurt but she was safe and comfortable under her sister’s wings. Slowly she untangled herself without waking Kiara. The injured fae needed to rest. Let her body fight the toxin.

Lyra rubbed her head as she looked down at Kiara. Resting on the floor couldn’t be comfortable for her. But she looked peaceful so Lyra wouldn’t try to move her.

The hut was quiet and… clean? Everything had been put away. Did Hiccup do that? How long had she been asleep? Looking out the window the sun was lower in the sky than she remembered and Altair was gone.

Lyra stepped outside to get fresh air, sitting in her garden to clear her head. She plucked a leave from one of the flowers and popped it in her mouth. Taking her time chewing it. Hopefully it would get rid of the headache.

“Hiccup!” Lyra ran up to the chief, an excited grin on her face.

“Are you busy? I have something to show you!” She took his hand and pulled him towards Altair and Toothless.

“You know how last month the lightning strike caused the large forest fire?” Stopping in front of the dragons the fae all but buzzing in excitement. If her wings were visible they’d be fluttering.

“I did a thing!” She couldn’t wait to show him.

#~dragonmasterhiccup #~cold beginnings #~rp thread

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angelofthenight01 · 1 day ago

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A dog accident

Wanda Maximoff x Reader

genre: flufy || warnings: none

Summary: On an ordinary afternoon, your girlfriend's crazy friend turns you into a furry four-legged being

You're dating Wanda Maximoff, which in itself is already pretty fantastical. You, a self-proclaimed dork who still gets excited about new socks, are going out with a genuine superhero. It's a love story for the ages, or at least one that you’re constantly trying not to overthink.

And then there’s Agatha Harkness. The woman is an enigma wrapped in a slightly dusty velvet cloak. She's Wanda's sort-of-mentor, sort-of-friend, and a full-time chaos generator. You’ve learned to accept her as a permanent fixture in your life, mostly because Wanda adores her, and partially because you suspect refusing would end with you inexplicably speaking only in limericks.

It's a quiet Saturday. You're sprawled on the couch, a book about the migratory patterns of garden snails open in your lap, but your mind is decidedly elsewhere. You’re replaying a particularly smooth move Wanda pulled in the kitchen last night while making pancakes. It was the way she flicked her wrist, sending the pancake soaring and landing perfectly on the plate. You’ve been practicing it for hours but the closest you've gotten has been flicking butter across the room. You’re shaken out of your reverie by Agatha bursting through the front door with the subtlety of a rhinoceros in a tutu.

“Wanda darling! I need… a thing!” she declares, holding up a glass jar filled with something that looks suspiciously like glowing pond scum. “For… research!”

Wanda, looking as serene and beautiful as ever, emerges from the kitchen, wiping her hands on a tea towel. “Agatha, what is that?” she asks, a hint of amusement in her voice.

“Oh, just a few… essential ingredients for a spell. Nothing to worry your pretty little head about.” Agatha’s smile is a little too wide, a little too manic. You’ve learned that this is her default I’m about to do something incredibly stupid expression.

You, meanwhile, have retreated further into the cushions, trying to become one with the couch. You’re pretty sure you’re invisible, like a well-camouflaged houseplant.

“And you,” Agatha says, pointing a crooked finger directly at you. “You’ll be the perfect… subject!”

Your heart does a little tap dance in your chest. “Subject?” you squeak, your voice cracking like a teenage boy going through puberty.

Wanda looks at you with a mixture of concern and fondness. “Agatha, put the pond scum down. You know you can’t just experiment on random people.” She glares at Agatha with a look that could melt steel.

“Nonsense!” Agatha waves her hand dismissively, which is a mistake because the jar of pond scum slips from her grasp, the green liquid splashing all over you. "Whoops!"

Before you can even register what happened, a peculiar tingling sensation washes over you. Your vision blurs, your limbs feel weirdly heavy, and you feel an uncontrollable urge to scratch behind your ear with your foot.

You blink, and the world suddenly looks a whole lot larger. The couch now looms like a terrifying mountain range, and Wanda, the woman you love, is towering over you looking like an adorable giant. You let out a curious bark.

“Oh. My.” Wanda says slowly, her eyes as wide as saucers.

Agatha stares at you with a mixture of horror and fascination. “Well, that is… unexpected.”

You wag your tail tentatively. Yep, you definitely had a tail. You try to speak. What comes out is a series of yips and woofs. Your hands, or rather, paws, twitch as you try to grasp at the situation. You’re a dog. A fluffy, medium-sized, caramel colored something with comically large ears and a rapidly wagging tail.

“Agatha!” Wanda hisses, her voice low and dangerous. “You turned my girlfriend into a dog!”

“Well, yes, but it was an accident!” Agatha protests, throwing her hands up in exasperation. “I was aiming for a newt, I swear!”

You tilt your head, your tongue lolling out of your mouth. You want to ask if they have any treats, but you can only manage a happy bark.

“Okay, okay, no need to get dramatic,” Agatha says, pacing back and forth. “We just need to figure out how to change you back. I think I might have reversed that spell. Or maybe not, it depends on if I used a pinch of salamander eyes or bat wings. They're kinda similar.”

Wanda lets out a frustrated groan. "Agatha, you absolute menace."

The next few hours are an absolute blur. Wanda and Agatha are now trying to solve the mystery of your transformation. You, being a dog, are mostly just enjoying the abundance of belly rubs and the fact that you can now lick your own foot. You tried to help by bringing them your favorite squeaky toy, but the two witches seem to be too preoccupied with their spell books to appreciate your contribution.

You watch as Wanda and Agatha argue, occasionally throwing out phrases like “counter-curse,” “elemental transference,” and “what did you mean by using the left hind leg of a frog?” You realize this is probably more chaotic than your average Saturday.

At one point, Agatha tries a spell that makes your fur turn bright pink for a few minutes, this was quickly reversed by Wanda as she glared at Agatha. You were actually rather fond of the pink fur, and you make a mental note to ask Wanda to do that again.

Finally, after what feels like an eternity of chanting and potion-mixing, Agatha exclaims, “I think… I think I’ve got it! This final ingredient should do the trick!” She holds up a small, suspiciously sparkly vial.

Wanda looks at you, her eyes full of anxious hope. “Ready, sweetheart?”

You bark excitedly, your tail wagging so hard your whole body wiggles. Anything to be human again.

Agatha pours the contents of the vial over your head. This time, the tingling sensation is different, accompanied by a whooshing sound and a strong smell of lavender. You blink, and you're back in your human form. You’re no longer covered in fur, and your paws are, once again, hands. Your heart nearly jumps out your chest in relief.

“Am I… me again?” you ask, your voice still a little shaky.

Wanda rushes forward, pulling you into a tight hug, her face buried in your hair. “You’re back,” she whispers, her voice thick with relief. “You’re really back.”

Agatha, meanwhile, is beaming at you, her eyes sparkling with mischief. “See? I told you I’d fix it. Just another Saturday for the amazing Agatha Harkness!”

You look at her, then back at Wanda, a smile spreading across your face. This is your life now. A chaotic, wonderful, and utterly bizarre life, and you wouldn't have it any other way.

#wanda maximoff x reader #wanda maximoff #scarlet witch x reader #scarlet witch

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anonymous-dentist · 3 days ago

Text

Blood Moon

The rain, supposedly, is made of blood near the Vampire Castle.

Honestly? Bullshit, the rain is rain, and the moon is the moon, and Roier is going to die, and it's all normal. The grass is just as green as the grass back home is. The stars are the same; Roier waves goodnight to the same sun he's known his entire life when it sets every night.

It's kiiind of disappointing, t-b-h. Roier wants blood. He's going to the Vampire Castle: he wants blood.

The castle itself isn't that disappointing, at least: its tall black stone towers almost seem to touch the stars, and the roofs are the color of freshly-spilled blood.

It's all red: roofs, trees, gates, windows. The flowers planted along the path leading to the castle's broken bridge are red. The ragged banners hanging from the parapets are red. The dim, dying lanters dangling from the trees' skeletal overhanging branches are red.

Castelo Arabutã: the Vampire Castle.

Roier looks at the bones scattered among the road's ruined pavestones, and he smiles.

And then he looks back at the destroyed bridge in front of him, and his smile falls.

(A small hand tugs on the back of his coat impatiently: "Come on, Apa, you're too slow! I'm bored!")

The sun continues to set, complaining its way behind the horizon even through the growing storm clouds. The rain continues to fall. The wind continues to blow, tossing the tails of Roier's headband about like an impatient child.

There's a single light on in one of the castle's towers. It dances, laughing, and Roier is just a little homesick.

But, he figures, he can't die the way he wants back home.

So: onwards!

The bottomless pit beneath the bridge beckons him.

Roier tightens his backpack's straps and reties his boots. He cracks his neck and adjusts his headband.

He waves one final "Goodnight!" to the sun, and he silently asks it to watch over its mother for him.

And then he cracks his neck, lets out a breath, runs, and jumps.

The castle's front doors are easily the size of three Roiers stacked on top of each other. They're big and red and imposing and Quackity would probably be pissing himself at the sight of the literal actual gruesome murder scenes carved into the wood: there's a decapitation, two separate dudes getting sawed in half via the asscrack, a spike getting shoved up a different dude's ass... all that and more just on the square meter or so directly in front of Roier's face.

The door's knocker is a screaming skull cast in black iron.

Roier's hand only briefly hesitates over the knocker before grabbing it and, well, knocking.

THUNK-THUNK-THUNK

The moon starts to rise, cutting silver through the storm, and Roier, finally, is ready to die.

Every child in the Federation knows about the Vampire King. He was born out of blood in a battle thousands of years ago, back before the Federation was even formed. His name was discarded when his humanity was; he's hardly anything more than a bloodthirsty tyrant these days, plotting to destroy the Federation and restore his fallen kingdom with absolutely no considerations aimed towards the common people outside of what blood types they might have.

Famously, the Vampire King kills anyone who visits his castle: vampire hunters, lost travelers, curious historians. Idiots.

Roier knocks again, knuckles white.

THUNK-THUNK-THUNK

Roier's abuelo was a vampire hunter, now forcefully retired and in prison for treason. Roier's best friend (..."friend") is still a vampire hunter. Roier has gone through the training himself, and his son was supposed to start it in the upcoming fall.

Once upon a time, Roier was supposed to be a hunter. Then he met Jaiden.

Now, he's doing what every Federation citizen knows not to do, and he's knocking on the Vampire King's front door.

Thunder rolls, and Roier drops his hand from the knocker and slips it into his coat pocket. His fingers wrap around a loose coin and start flipping it between themselves idly as he waits.

And, oh, he waits.

Nobody knows what the Vampire King looks like. Paintings back home portray him as some tall skinny old man with cheekbones sharp enough to cut a steak with. Roier's abuelo said that he looks like how a cat would look if it was turned into an ugly man by an evil wizard. Cucurucho never spoke of him, probably because they've always been pissy about their twin brother having a huge embarrassing crush on Roier.

What Roier does know is this: the Vampire King is apparently really bad at answering the door.

(Besides, it doesn't matter what he looks like. All Roier cares about is how sharp his teeth are.)

Lightning.

Roier jumps and swears as it strikes a tree back across the bridge and catches it on fire.

He turns to look at it, eyes widening as the tree's leaves all seem to shake the fire off of themselves like a dog coming in from the rain.

Suddenly, the hair on the back of his neck starts to stand on end. His abuelo always told him that he had good instincts, so-

The door opens with a rush of wind and a screamed CREEEAK!! and a cold hand grabs Roier by the back of his coat and then, suddenly, abruptly, suddenly, he's getting dragged inside the castle by a force so strong that it has to be otherworldly.

Roier fights and kicks and reaches out on instinct towards the door even as it shuts, closed by an unseen force.

And then he stops fighting because he remembers, right. He's here for a reason.

He goes limp just in time to be let go and spun around by a hand on either one of his shoulders.

He blinks a few times in surprise as he comes face-to-face with... a guy.

A very pathetic-looking guy.

"Please tell me that you're the babysitter," he begs, a faint accent to his voice that clues him out as distinctly not from the Federation.

His fingers curl into the red fabric of Roier's coat desperately- black painted nails, bitten short.

"Um," says Roier, looking vaguely over the very stressed man's shoulder for the guy supposed to kill him.

The inside of the castle is... nice? Large throne in the middle of the room with a toy bear on the seat. Professionally-done paintings alongside childlike sketches. Crayons and pieces of paper scattered across the floors. A couple of miniature toy cows next to an unpolished, bloody suit of armor.

(His heart clenches, and he fights back tears. It won't do to cry right before dying, that's sad as hell and not how Roier wants to go out!)

There's a faint crash from upstairs and a laugh, and the extremely tired-looking man in front of Roier sighs and hangs his head.

He's... nice? Nice looking. Definitely someone Roier would be more interested in looking at if he wasn't two seconds away from his planned demise: slightly curly hair with a rather charming white streak in it, pierced ears. But then there are the circles under his eyes and the scabs on his lips and-

"I will literally give you a hundred sovereigns if you can get him to go to sleep," the man pleads, looking Roier right in the eyes.

-and the fangs.

Roier is still holding onto his coin, somehow. He squeezes it until the grooves on its sides dig into his palm.

"I don't even care if you're the babysitter," the Vampire King groans, backing off and scrubbing his face with his hands. "I'm just- Richas!"

He snaps his head up and shouts at the ceiling. Roier doesn't know what he's saying, and he definitely doesn't know what the... what the child in the room above them is saying back- are they speaking Purtuguse? Does Roier know Purtuguse?

The Vampire King has a nice side profile. His sleeves are stained brown with long-dried blood, and his vest is stained with blue paint.

Roier wants to cry.

He lets go of the coin and swallows a lump in his throat.

He offers the Vampire King a very charming smile and says, "Lead the way."

(Because he may have come to the castle to die, but he will never subject a child to the sound of someone's last moments.)

The Vampire King looks about ready to cry out of relief as he flips his cape and starts walking towards a side hallway and a red brick staircase leading up, up, and away.

Roier follows. What else can he do?

The Vampire King rambles as they walk, "I don't actually sleep, Pac probably already told you about this, but Richas does, but I don't know how to get a human to sleep anymore, and he won't sleep, and I can't work until he's asleep, and..."

And he keeps talking. He doesn't even seem to realize he's doing it, he's almost delirious in his exhaustion. (Because that's what he has, exhaustion, Roier was a soldier for long enough to know the signs when he sees them.)

Roier tries not to think about the fact that the Vampire King does not, in fact, look like an old man or a cat man or however Cucurucho imagines him. He looks like somebody Roier would have met at Maxo's tavern on a Friday night, or one of the army's reject drafts.

He's short. He's wearing heeled boots, and Roier is still taller than him. Not by much, but! The Vampire King!

The stairwell is long and winding and decorated with dark sigils and painted smiley faces.

The door at the top of the stairwell is bright blue and definitely cleaner than the rest of the castle seems to be. It's... new. Roier thinks. New, and blue.

The Vampire King stops right in front of the door and knocks once, says, "Richas, the babysitter is here."

"Fuck the babysitter!" the child inside shouts.

The Vampire King shoots Roier an apologetic look. His eyes don't look like they're... all there. He's seeing, but he isn't seeing. He's tired, and Roier almost feels bad for him. Almost.

"His other dad always puts him to bed," the Vampire King softly explains. "But Felps is..."

His eyes start to drift, and, for a moment, he actually looks like he's about to cry.

Roier, not willing to watch his future killer have a depressive breakdown, walks right past him and opens the door and walks right into the kid's room with absolutely no thoughts in his head.

He easily dodges a squishy horse toy thrown at his head and leans up against a little wooden desk, hands slipping into his pants' pockets. He looks the kid, stood on top of his bed in a pair of bright yellow pajamas, up and down.

"Hey," Roier says.

He ducks his head to the side to avoid a cow to the head.

The Vampire King slips into the room and closes the door behind him, probably trying to avoid an escape attempt.

The kid points at him accusingly. "You're locking me in here!"

"You need to sleep," the Vampire King sighs. "See? The babysitter agrees."

He nods towards Roier, who just sort of goes along with it, because what else can he do? He doesn't care about anything anymore, what's wrong with going along with the bit?

The kid huffs and flops down so he's sitting criss-cross on his bed. "I don't know him."

"And I don't know you," Roier shrugs. "Doesn't mean I can't get you to go to sleep. I have my ways."

The kid narrows his eyes. "If you touch me, you're dead."

(Gods, he's just like...)

"I don't need to touch you," Roier says. "See, I'm not just a babysitter. I'm also a monster hunter, and I just saw a monster outside."

To the kid's credit, he doesn't super react. But he's also a literal child, and Roier is a literal dad; he knows how to read a kid's face better than he knows how to read a damn book.

Roier pushes off of the table and starts pacing, looking around the room as if looking for a monster.

"It was tall," he continues, voice dropping slightly in volume as he decides to play this shit up, "and its eyes were made of glass. It was looking up at your window and licking its lips because it's the most dangerous monster of all."

He looks around some more before dramatically leaning in and whispering to the kid, "El Mariana."

The child gasps as if he knows what that is.

The Vampire King bites his lip to hold back a smile.

Roier nods, dead serious (pun intended, thanks.) "Mhmm. It's outside waiting to get in and eat you, but! I'm sure you know this, but it can't see you if you can't see it."

The Vampire King adds, "He's right. I saw it, too, that's why I brought him inside. And you know I hate guests."

The kid shuffles slightly towards his pillows and blankets, all piled on top of each other at the end of his bed.

"The best way to trick El Mariana is to close your eyes," Roier explains. "It'll think that you're asleep, and it won't eat you."

The child looks up at the Vampire King. "But it won't get into the castle, right?"

The Vampire King sighs, "I don't know, Richas. Normally, no, but I haven't been able to get Bagi here to fix the wards. Anything can get in."

"I know I'm going to go find someplace to sit down and close my eyes in until morning," Roier says. "I don't wanna get eaten, thanks."

There's an awkward silence as the child looks up at Roier, eyes narrowed in thought.

And then, thankfully, he nods and starts to lay down and adjust his pillows until they're comfy.

"Fine," he grumbles.

He looks up at the Vampire King and adds, "You better get the magic fixed before Pai Felps gets back. He won't taste very good."

The Vampire King nods. "Of course, I'll write to Bagi as soon as the monster is gone."

With one last unhappy grunt, the child closes his eyes, and the room's candles immediately, magically dim.

The Vampire King lets out a relieved breath and slips out the door, leaving it open for Roier to follow.

As they make their ways back down the tower, Roier awkwardly says, "Uh, so..."

The Vampire King nods. "Right, the sovereigns. Give me a..." (He yawns.) "...a minute and I'll get them to you. But you shouldn't leave until the morning, it's a little nasty outside."

On cue, lightning flashes outside so brightly that it turns the vampire's skin translucent.

The Vampire King yawns again, showing off his fangs.

Roier gulps, out of sight behind him.

Who else does he trust to murder him but the most murderous guy on the planet? No one else will get the job done. Everyone else has morals. The Vampire King, famously, does not.

The Vampire King, apparently, is near delirious from exhaustion.

He wont be a good killer now. Roier... should wait until he's more awake. Then, he might even be violent about it.

Casually, Roier shrugs and says, "I dunno, I might stick around for a bit. You need a babysitter, right?"

The Vampire King turns his head to look at him, and Roier just smiles.

Who knows? Maybe he'll get lucky and get slaughtered in his sleep.

(Maybe then he'll get to tuck his own son into bed again...)

#spiderbit #guapoduo #a.d.'s fics i suppose #a.d.'s fics i suppose.#tw: suicidal thoughts #it's a bit of a dark fic...#blood moon au

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tulip-room · 2 days ago

Text

elodea - o. tooru || wc:5.2k || tags: childhood friends to lovers, mermaid au, artist yn, muse oikawa, "pen pals" of sorts, touch starved, something keeps them apart, second chance,depression <//3, bad parental relationships, first time saying "I love you", 5 +1...sort of ! || hq works

When she first meets the boy she’s unsure what to make of him, she knows he looks different than her, she asks where his legs are as they’re hidden under the water and he just laughs. It sounds like the sea breeze itself and refreshes her in a way she had yet to experience. “I don’t have those,” she sees a shine under the water and tilts her head.

“Everyone has legs.”

“No they don’t.” To prove his point he swims closer to the dock she’s sitting on and flicks up what looks to be a tail. The scales shine decadently in the golden summer light, his skin is tanned and there’s an easy smile on his face. “I told you,” she leans down and her hands graze the water. He turns and the motion splashes her with water and she almost falls in. “I didn’t say you could touch it,” his small fingers are just curled over the edge of the wooden dock and his brown eyes stare into hers.

“Sorry,” there’s a slight lisp as one of her front teeth has yet to grow in yet. “What’s your name?”

“Oikawa Tooru,” the water moves gently as she assumes his tail pushes it to keep him upright.

“I’m L/N Y/N,” she holds out her hand and he takes it. When he spreads his fingers she sees the webbing connecting the joints together, she turns his hand over and examines it in comparison with her own. Her mind doesn’t wrap around just what he is until the sun threatens to set over the horizon. They spend hours discussing everything their brains could think of from the color of the water to their favorite foods. “Will you be here tomorrow?” He nods and she hears the call of her grandmother from the top of the hill.

“Will you be here tomorrow?” He tries to ask inconspicuously but fails as she catches on.

“If I didn’t know any better, I would say you enjoyed hanging out with me today.”

“Well…it’s a good thing you know better then.” There’s smiles on both of their faces as her name gets called yet again. “You better get going, come back tomorrow.”

She almost can’t wait to wake up the next day but her grandma reminds her of the chores she has to do. She tries to rush through them, the dishes not dried and put away, mud prints on the tiled floor from when she ran out to feed the horses, her yellow rain boots squeaking as she runs around the townhouse. “Get back in her,” she hears sternly behind her just as she’s rushing out the door. There her grandma stands with his hands on her hips and a stern but soft look on her face. “And where are you off to this morning in such a rush? You have mud on your face,” she licks her thumb and wipes the dirt away much to Y/N’s protest.

“Grandma, stop it!” She pushes her away and tries to wriggle free from her grasp. There’s a moment of laughter from both of them and with a kiss on her forehead her grandma lets her go.

“Okay, go be a kid. Have fun, don’t pick up any snakes you find.” Her grandma warns teasingly before she runs off down the hill yellow rain boots squeaking the whole time. When she makes it down to the dock she sees a familiar head of brown hair and the same shining tail as yesterday.

“What took you so long,” he turns around excitedly before trying to cover it by crossing his arms. “Not that I was waiting or anything.” He makes a point to close his eyes and turn his head away.

“Sorry Fishy, I had to do chores.” She sticks her tongue out at him as she lays down on the dock, it creaks under her movements and she looks up at the clouds. “Have you been waiting long?”

“No, I only got here a few minutes ago.” She hums in response and closes her eyes as she allows the sun to beam down on her. “Do you live here?”

“No, I’m only visiting for the summer.” There’s a strange pang in his chest at the words, he’s only known her for a day at most and he already knows he’s going to miss her presence. He shakes the thoughts away and pulls himself up so only his tail is left in the water and joins her laying down. She can hear the splashes of protest from the water and hear his breaths as he hoists himself up. “Do you live here?”

“Yeah, I live by where the lake meets the ocean.”

“That seems far,” if she remembers where he’s talking about.

“It’s not bad, maybe a five minute swim?” He questions himself and then they sit in silence. “Where do you go after the summer?”

“My mom got a new job so I have to go move in with her. I want to stay here though, it’s where all my friends are.”

“Oh, how far away?”

“Two hours,” she sighs and crosses her arms over her chest. He finds his head shifting to look at her, the light tracing her face and he wonders if her skin is as soft as it looks.

“Oh, that’s really far.” There’s a somber tone for a few minutes before the children start pointing out clouds and what they look like.

He knows the time is passing because her front tooth has started growing in and her lisp starts to go away. “Are you coming back?”

“Next summer,” she hums. It’s become routine for them to lay on the dock together. They pretend the time doesn’t pass as quickly as it does and live in their moment. Their moment of warm sunlight and frogs croaking in weeds, of the wind whistling through cattails, and of dragonflies buzzing and flying along the water’s edge. “Can I see you here next summer?”

“Of course.” They both know their weeks together are drawing to a close. Can feel it as the weather starts cooling down and their days get shorter. She goes to school to finish out the year but she always comes back to him when she gets back. By the final week of summer her tooth has grown in and her lisp has gone away. It gets chillier at night and he stops joining her on the dock.

“I got you something,” she says as she rummages through her bag, post it notes and pencils fall out as she grabs hold of what she wants. It’s a necklace, there’s a plastic bag holding it in but it’s clear as to what it is. She pulls out the delicate chain and he can spot a seashell hanging from the chain.

“I love it,” he answers and takes it from her hands before she can say another word. After he puts it on he holds up a hand. “I have something for you too, I’ll be back in ten minutes. Wait for me?”

“Always.” Her feet dangle over the edge but she’s careful not to let her shoes hit the water. Around ten minutes later an out of breath boy pops his head out of the water. He holds a bag in his hands and holds it out to her. She leans forward and grabs it, inside she finds a bracelet of sea gems and smiles. “Thank you,” she puts it on and admires how it twinkles in the light of the setting sun.

ii.

It’s easy to tell they’ve both grown older when she visits again the next summer break. Her limbs have grown longer and his voice has gotten deeper. Their routine continues when she returns. They manage to make it halfway through the break before he stops showing up every day. She waits for him with her knees curled up to her chest and her chin resting on her knees. Her arms are wrapped around her legs and it’s almost time for her to go back in when she can see the faintest shimmer of what she hopes are scales. A smile grows when the shimmering gets closer and she can just make out a familiar head of brown hair. “What took you so long clamshell?”

“Sorry,” he tries to catch his breath and reaches into his seaweed bag. “I can’t always be here anymore.” He hands her the conch and the inside contrasts with the rough outside as she runs her hands over it. “Just blow into it and I’ll come as soon as I can.” She nods and he must hear something she can’t because she can see his face drop. “I’m so sorry.”

“It’s okay, go do what you need to do Tooru,” with one last solemn look towards her, his head ducks under the water and she watches as the shimmering scales grow farther and farther away from her. She continues to sit on the old dock for a few moments longer as she turns the shell in her hands. The air is hot and humid and sticks to her skin like glue, the dragonflies buzz as they graze the water lines and her mind wanders to last summer and what could have changed so suddenly. She stands up from the chipping dock and tredges her way back up the hill and into her grandma’s home. It’s cool inside and she can smell the beginnings of dinner being started.

“Well, aren’t you back early.” It’s more of a statement than a question as her grandma throws her a glance from where she stands. “Where in the world did you manage to find a conch around here?”

“It was a gift,” she mumbles and sits down at the table. The cloth is a pale yellow with small embroidered flowers over it in small square designs. The shell clinks softly as the tablecloth acts as a buffer for the noise.

“You don’t seem very happy about the gift,” she lays her head down in her arms and stares out the window. She tries not to think of the sea or the lake, it will make her think of him and the surprisingly large hole he’s left for her to fill without him. She feels a hand on her shoulder as a chair screeches against the wood. Her grandma sits down while the pot boils in the background. “What’s going on little love?”

“One of my friends that I was excited to see is too busy to hang out the rest of the break.” Her grandma chuckles lightly and she glares lightly. “What’s funny?”

“That’s part of growing up, it’s okay to not see them all the time. The person is still your friend and you still care about each other?” She nods her head at the question. “Then, nothing else matters. Get that frown off your face, little love and help me finish dinner.” The chair scoots against the wood and the table shifts its weight as her grandma uses it to help her stand. She follows close behind and they talk about school, how the garden is coming along, the horses, and everything they can think of. She’s missed this, the feeling of home and the sea breeze.

Despite herself she goes back the next day, she waits and she waits and waits. The air turns chilly and the fireflies start coming out and she knows he’s not coming today. She pulls the bracelet off her wrist and finds herself becoming calmer as her thumb rubs over the gems, they’ve been smoothed out among the edges and she finds herself smiling. He’s not entirely gone, he’s still with her when she smells the salty air of the sea or feels the wood beneath her. This is their spot and that doesn’t change just because one of them isn’t there. She rushes back up to the house and digs through all kinds of drawers, she knows she’s making a racket but her grandma doesn’t say anything to her. She just holds a fond look in her eyes as she watches her write a short letter and take a piece of geode with her.

The geode wasn’t very old, at least in her possession, only having it for a few months after a class trip to learn about the different kinds of rocks. Her rain boots are tighter this year than they were the year prior but they still squeak as she runs down the grassed hill of her grandma’s backyard and towards the dock, their spot. She folds the paper and sets the geode on top, with a hopeful look towards the horizon she heads back up the hill and disappears into the comforting home of her grandma. She’ll have her summer memories forever, she’ll remember the air sticking to her skin and the boy with chocolate hair that she met on a dodgy dock. She’ll remember the sea breeze and her grandma’s cooking. She’ll remember the joy she feels when she’s here even long after she’s left.

iii.

She gets used to the walls of her school, makes friends among the people in her classes. Tries to forget her time at the lakehouse. Her grandma has been sending her letters, she’s not sure how her grandma figured it out but she hasn’t made up her mind about whether she’s happy with it or not. Her heart hurts when she thinks of the lakehouse, how she hadn’t been able to go this year. Regardless of her feelings, she still sits at her desk every night and writes the perfect response to Oikawa’s letters. She sometimes sends little trinkets she thinks he’ll like and he’ll send back pieces of sea glass or a piece of coral. The space on her desk begins to fill quickly.

She enjoys the little letters they exchange because although she’s not with him it’s like she can still smell the sea and hear his laughter in her mind if she closes her eyes it’s like she can picture herself laying on the dock with a warm body next to her own, knuckles just grazing against each other slightly and not making motions to move further. The quiet breaths she can almost hear over the buzz of bugs and the croaking of frogs. She misses the sticky air and the words that hang in the air and her grandma’s cooking. She misses her sea breeze.

The weather grows colder and she finds the letters coming slower and fewer. Soon they stop altogether and her mind starts straying from pretty eyes and prettier smiles. She finds herself trying to latch on to anything that she thinks she can keep. She finds safety in art, in making something from the ground up, she enjoys the chalk that stains her fingers and the paint that litters her clothes and winds up on her cheek. Her sketchbook is filled with scales and pretty brown eyes, it’s filled with landscapes of the sea and a creaky old dock with a hill behind it. Of sea gem bracelets and seashell necklaces.

She finds herself driving to the sea more often than she thought she would. She sits there for hours on the beach and just looks towards the horizon, smelling the air and listening to the birds chirp and the children laugh. She finds the cold air nostalgic in a way, the breeze hitting her cheeks and making her nose run. She wraps a cardigan around herself to sit on the rocks for longer. The sting of the wind is a familiar friend and is almost as familiar as the sting in her eyes. She doesn’t bother wiping the tears away, she has grown to the familiarity of them rolling down her cheeks as she tries to keep her breathing level. It’s a failing attempt and she lets out a dry cough. “I didn’t think I would miss you this much this soon.”

The day her bracelet breaks is the day she stays home from school and doesn’t move from her bed. There are parts of chipped gems embedded into the carpet of her floor, when she gets up to grab water she cuts her foot on one of the pieces. She pulls the shard out with a pair of tweezers but can feel it already cemented in place and forever a part of her. A part of the sea will be with her.

She finds it in her the following day to tediously pick the pieces out of her carpet. She steals the superglue from the junk drawer in the kitchen and spends the rest of the day gluing them back together. It’s not the same as it was before but she makes a pair of earrings and a hair clip. The cord holding them together is beyond saving. She wonders as she clips her hair back how Oikawa is doing, if he misses her like she misses him. She hopes the answer is yes, hopes that she lives in his mind as much as he lives in hers.

“Where are you,” her words die like a whisper in the wind. Realistically she knows where he is, the same place he has been that she hasn’t. She feels her phone buzz in her pocket and sighs as she stands up, the wind almost blows her over as she gets up on unsteady feet. She makes it to her car and sits with her head against the horn of the wheel for a few moments. She drives home fifteen minutes later, she’s unsure of where the time passed. It’s been doing that a lot, jumping around and hiding from her when she’s not looking.

Her keys clatter against her wooden dresser, it’s covered in paint; some of it peeling off already as she hadn’t wanted to seal it in place. She needs to get a new carpet but that means letting go of the pieces she couldn’t find but knows are there. There’s a lot of things she needs to do but hasn’t. She’s tired.

iv.

The day of her graduation is the next time she sees the lakehouse. Her home in the process of being sold as her mother has to move yet again for her job. This time she won’t be pulled along every which way. She doesn’t let go of her grandma for what feels like hours, just basks in her warmth and honey smell. She gets pushed off weakly and her grandma shakes her head. “Quit that, people will think I’m dying if you keep that up,’ she sends her a wink and Y/N finds herself laughing.

“You can’t get rid of me that easily.” Her grandma lets out a hearty laugh and bumps her hip lightly. Her legs want to pull her to the door leading down a familiar path but she refrains. There’s no chance he’ll be there or want to talk to her. She hadn’t realized how long she had been looking at the door until her grandma speaks up.

“Go see him,” there’s love in her eyes as the two make eye contact. She motions with her head to the door.

“He won’t want to see me,” she turns her head away and her grandma shakes her head.

“He’s been waiting for you, said that’s why he stopped sending letters. To force you to see him.”

“I don’t know if I’m ready.”

“Don’t leave him waiting for too long dear, love like that may not be fickle but it’s difficult to care for when there’s no one helping you.”

“Okay,” instead of going to the dock she locks herself in her old room. Her yellow rain boots sit in the corner and her vanity is still as she left it. There’s a printed photo of her with Oikawa hanging in the top right corner, the edges are curled and it’s entirely too bright but it’s obvious to her what it is. There��s pearls and rocks, and all kinds of trinkets she remembers Oikawa bringing her and her rushing back up the hill squeaky boots and all to give him something in return.

“A kiss will do,” he jokes and presents his cheek to her. She laughs and pushes his head away.

“In your dreams,” she sticks her tongue out at him and trips slightly on the wood as she races up and over the hill. He had grown used to the sight, of her ponytail bouncing as she ran over that grassy hill. He wishes he could go with her but he knows he can’t, he’s fine with how things are. Both of them here and happy. Comfortable, just with each other.

Her hands comb over the old stacks of homework she hadn’t gotten to throwing out before her move. Her stuffed animals are still on the bed and her bed is made with the same pink sheets that they had 8 years ago. There’s decals on her wall of sea creatures and she remembers painting a fish near her bed (she hadn’t quite figured out how human anatomy worked yet). She smiles as her hands trace over the slightly raised surface, her head laid on her pillow and her hair furled out around her. She felt at home again.

She doesn’t end up going to the dock. She avoids it while she moves her stuff and the only box left to unpack is the letters. It stays taped shut and in a corner in her closet.

“You’ll never make a living this way darling,” the words are already festering as she eats lunch with her mother. “I mean really? Art is a hobby not a living.” Her mother’s tongue clicks against the roof of her mouth as she brings her cappuccino up to drink it. “Go get a degree in something useful.”

“I like what I do.” Her grip on her fork tightens but she does her best to keep her voice level.

“A children’s book? And about a mermaid? I mean, this just isn’t going to sell enough for you to live off of. You don’t want to mooch off your poor grandmother for the rest of your life do you?” Her teeth grind against each other and she shoves another bite of food in her mouth to keep herself quiet. “Come on darling, I’m just thinking about what’s best for you.” Her mother’s hand rests on top of her own across the table. She turns her head away and pulls her hand back. “Oh, don’t be like that.”

“Art is what I want to do Mom, I want to be an artist. I am an artist.”

“You’re just someone with too many thoughts and access to paint. Talk to me again when you let go of this silly ‘dream’ of yours.” Her mother wipes her mouth and throws some bills on the table before walking out the door. She stays there until the waitress comes and she pays the rest of the bill. Her walk home is cold, the heat of the air not doing anything for her. She pours all of her frustration into her art. By the end of the day she has two books drafted out and they’re sent to a publishing company.

She finds herself on the dock with the conch in her hand, she flips it over and brings it up to her mouth. Her forehead rests against the shell as she sighs, this isn’t what he meant when he said to use it if she needed him. She does need him, she’s missed him more than she’s allowed herself to. Without another thought she blows into the shell, nothing happens for a little while but then she sees a shimmer in the water.

“Hi,” she doesn’t need to look from where she now lays on the dock to know he’s there. “I’m sorry.”

“Me too.” There’s a plop as he lifts himself to lay next to her. “Want to talk about it?”

“Not really. Do you?”

“Not really.” They sit there with their knuckles grazing each other and she doesn’t have the energy to make comments on how nice he looks, she turns to him and puts her head on his chest and he wraps an arm around her. “Let’s just stay like this for a bit.”

“Yeah,” she starts. “Yeah, I would like that.”

In six months time, before her birthday, the books are put on shelves and when she sees them in libraries she can’t help but smile. She signs any copy that someone brings her. Six months after that the second book comes out. Her grandma throws her a small party when she comes back home. “I’m so proud of you,” she’s pulled into a tight hug. “Go tell him,” her grandma ushers her out the door and she laughs a little.

The conch has become a way for her to ask to see him instead of a danger tool. He doesn’t complain and tells her how he enjoys seeing her again. “I did it,” she whispers as her head rests on his shoulder.

“You did,” he whispers it gently into her hair like a kiss.

“Thank you for coming back.”

“I didn’t leave.”

“Turns out you were the one waiting for me,” it’s meant to be a joke but she knows he sees through it when his hand rubs up and down her arm slowly.

“Always.”

“I got you something,” she lifts her head and sees his smile as he shakes his head. He’s grown into his face, his tan has evened out and there’s a trail of freckles on his shoulders and down his arms. “You can’t say no.” He laughs and it still makes her think of the sea breeze. He’s still the place she feels most calm.

“Okay, let’s see it.” She reaches into her satchel and it reminds him of the girl he used to know. The girl with a missing front tooth and a lisp, whose pony tail bobbed as she ran up the hill away from him, the one who rummaged through her bag and gave him something he wasn’t aware would be so dear to him. She pulls out a plastic bag and he can’t help how his smile grows.

“I know you fixed it but…I wanted you to have a better one. Not something I bought at a bookfair for cheap.” The chain is golden and the seashell hanging from it is different from the one he’s since turned into a bracelet. It’s a conch shell and he shakes his head. He carefully puts it on and he wants to kiss her so badly he leans forward, she shifts closer to him too but he pulls her into a hug. His face is buried in her hair and he takes a deep breath. Lemongrass and lavender.

“Thank you for coming back.”

“Thank you for waiting.”

vi.

“You never told me what you wrote the book on.” He asks as her feet dangle over the edge and his arms rest on the end of the dock.

“Us,” she finds no reason to be embarrassed although she can feel her face burning. He laughs and she finds a smile appearing on her face as he does so. “Stop laughing, what’s so funny?”

“How did we get turned into a children’s book?” He looks at her with a lopsided smile and she leans down closer to him. Their foreheads close to touching and a piece of her hair falls from behind her ear.

“Remember all those games we made as kids?” He tucks the stray strand of hair behind her ear and she can see his eyes looking at her lips before darting back up to her eyes. “The ones where we were pirates or royalty?”

“Yeah,” he says quietly as he tries to force himself to stop looking at her lips, it’s difficult when she looks so excited. There’s a hammering in his chest and he wants to hide away. The gold chain feels tighter than usual as it sticks to him from the water. “That’s what you wrote about?”

“Yeah, you were all I could draw for a while.”

“Couldn’t keep me off your mind?” He teases and pokes her arm.

“No,” she answers honestly. She’s been growing tired of their game but wasn’t sure how to stop it. She took the opening he gave her and can only hope this goes well. She sees his eyes widen and his lips part as a sharp intake of air makes his chest rise up.

“Can I kiss you?” Finally, she nods her head and he wraps his hand around the back of her neck and pulls her down to his lips. They both smile into the kiss and have to part as she starts giggling. Once it happens a few times he can’t stop himself from laughing with her as he kisses her face. “Stop giggling,” he says between laughs. He doesn’t really want her to stop, her laugh reminds him of home.

“I can’t,” she throws her head back with a laugh and he thinks she couldn’t look any more beautiful than she does at this moment. She’s not aware of what happens until there’s a splash and she feels water encompass her. She swims to the surface and splashes him. “How dare you!”

They splash around in the water and once they’re out of breath he reaches up and wipes the wet strands away from her face. “I love you.” It’s the first time they’re said the words but not the first time they've felt.

“I love you too, even if you do pull me into the water for no good reason.”

“Because I wanted you to be closer. I think that’s a pretty good reason.”

“Okay, I’ll accept it. But only because you’re cute.”

“Gee thanks,” he rolls his eyes and it’s an odd feeling for her feet to brush against the scales of his tail. She enjoys hearing his heartbeat below her ear as they wade in the water. “You know what I’ve always wanted to do?” She hums in response and lifts her head from his chest. “I’ve always wanted to dance with you.”

“And how is that going to work?”

“Hold your breath,” she shakes her head but follows his instructions. The quiet envelopes her as their heads drop below the surface. Her eyes open slowly and she can see Oikawa already smiling at her, he holds his hand out to her and she takes it. He’s able to spin her around once before she tries to go back up for air, he shakes his head and pulls her closer to him. She tilts her head and he brings their lips together as he blows air into her mouth. She smiles at the kiss and they stay under the water for a little longer before she breaks the surface.

“I can’t believe you did that.” She laughs although her chest heaves up and down from exertion.

“You liked it.”

“Okay, it was a little fun.” She coughs into her arm and he helps her over to the ladder of the dock and watches as she holds on to it.

“You can hold onto me.”

“I know, I am. I won’t let you go this time.”

“You better not.”

“Why not going to wait for me again?”

“I would always wait for you, no matter how long. I just don’t think I can let you go now that I actually have you.” She smiles and pulls him into another kiss. “Oh do I get kissed if I say cheesy things?”

“Shut up,” she says against his mouth as he smiles and complies as he kisses her back.

taglist (gen, fill out this form) @cheriisae @cherrysurf @hiraethwa @hatsukeii @szyvrue

this is not only for lalechingo but more importantly for @lale-txt since it's her birthday today <333 everyone go wish her a happy birthday and I hope you guys enjoyed this story I told <3

#haikyuu x reader #haikyu x reader #hq x reader #haikyuu x y/n #hq fluff #oikawa x you #oikawa x reader #oikawa fluff #oikawa tooru x reader #haikyuu fic #oikawa fic

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atangledfate · 3 days ago

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She tried her best to get to known Duo, learning about his past and why he came to them in the first place. It didn't help that the lad was pretty jumpy and a bit timid. But in training he seemed to catch on real fast and, was always on point when she needed him. It had been a rough that first day but she'd come to rely on him somewhat. He was calmer then tangle and more personable then Whisper. Lanolin had really sort of taken to the kid, though she always felt he was hiding something. Everyone had there secrets right?

Walking through the library it really was a grand place. It reminded her so much of the archive at restoration only less work and more a place of learning. She could probably have gotten lost here for hours and not even realized. Though she was happy to find whisper in a corner with a stack of books she'd picked out. Though the two nearly missed her the way she could blend in even here was earie at times. The wolf watched the two pass by with an eye peeking open though didn't interrupt the two in there task.

" Well... whisper is where she said she'd be... not to surprising. Looks like she's found something of interest... let's check on Tangle... Honestly more worried about her then i am anyone else... "

================================================

Back in the Magic section Tangle gripped the big lizards hand Gentle knowing her Tail could easily CRUSH steel and bend titanium! The last thing she wanted to do was accidently hurt somebody! She was pretty good about controlling her strength though! her bright smile and up beat demeanor had always led her to easily making friends, and being a jot to be around. Like a ray of sunshine, people did seem to flock to her.

" Oh WoW second big royal type i've met! What are the odds..."

She rubbed the back of her neck a little surprised he'd wanna see her in action! though she guessed they were as curious about them as the other way around.

" Heh, You'd be the second Sensei i'd picked up in as many weeks! I'm sure Mighty wouldn't mind, he's always saying i should keep pushing my limits! But i wouldn't mind... Long as the boss sheep is ok with it..."

" Oh my tail? Eh well its pretty special! not even my brother can do what i can with mine! We mobians are sometimes born with gifts. Sonic got his speed, Lani can control sound! and i got a super stretchy tail! in retrospect... guess i got the weird power! "

============================================

Lanolin crossed her arms from here they could see Sedan and Tangle talking and, they seemed just fine. Though she did wonder who they were exactly. But by Tangle's body language she was enjoying the conversation. Which only left Duo missing, and that kind of worried her. Her hand on her chin as she looked across the magic section and back across the rest of the library. Yet before she could get to worried a gentle tap on her back made the sheep let out a cute BAA! in shock! causing both her hands to clamp over her mouth! well that was embarassing!

" AH! "

She whirled around to find Duo reeled back as if he'd done something wrong! clutching a book in front of him! how he managed to sneak up on them was a mystery, and yet there he was a history book on application of magic in every day life.

" ah---umm Ma'am... sorry you walked right past me, an i heard my name an--- ah are you ok? "

Reyna could see that, Duo seemed to have a steady head on his shoulders. Plus, there was the fact hopefully Whisper could help them as well.

"Hopefully he'll be alright then. I'll trust your stance on him." She says nodding. She doesn't see Tangle in fiction, but it's pretty close to magic. So she leads Lanolin down that way, figuring that the Lemur might have tried to head there instead. They would pass through the sections Whisper and Duo were in too, so it was a win win.

Sadan is impressed by the dexterity with the tail. Very few people have such skill, even if it's clear this isn't a normal tail by any means. He shakes it happily, very interested in this Lemur already.

"Sadan, Emperor of the Ancient Empire. A pleasure to make your acquaintance Tangle. If you seek a teacher, I'm sure I could find time to give you a lesson or two. I, for one, would like to see your own skill in action. Very few can use their tails with such dexterity after all." He introduces himself, admitting his admiration.

As they don't see Duo, Reyna feels confused. She was expecting Tangle to move, especially since fiction wouldn't offer as much insight as magic. However, she wasn't thinking Duo would be somewhere else.

"Huh. Where do you think Duo went?" She asks Lanolin. The sheep would know the cat better than her, so it'd be wise to ask.

#The Diamond Cutters #Lanolin #Duo #Tangle #Whisper #The Red Prince #Sadan #guide of rivelon #Reyna

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lulublack90 · 14 hours ago

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Prompt 24 - First Pet

@wolfstarmicrofic January 24, word count 746

Every day for the past two weeks, Remus had been stalked on his way to and from work. His stalker knew exactly when he’d leave the flat or the school, then from out of an alley or around a corner he’d appear. Remus had tried running, he’d tried shouting, he’d even tried squirting water at him, but nothing worked, the little, scruffy, black puppy always found him.

“Hey, Mr Lupin, your puppy is waiting outside the gate,” Gavin piped up during personal reading time. Remus looked up.

“It’s not my, oh, never mind,” He moved over to the window and looked out at the sad puppy eyes staring back at him. He warred in his head for a few minutes before he sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose as he came to a decision. “Is anyone going to dob me in if I bring a puppy to class?” A chorus of no’s sounded around the classroom. “Do not misbehave while I’m gone,” He warned them, he didn’t have to, as all the students in his class were amazing and as usual the best behaved in the school.

He’d taken his big coat out with him and hurried across the paved court at the front of the school. As quietly as possible, he opened the wrought iron gate and whistled for the puppy. The puppy came plodding along, tripping over his too-big feet. “Hi,” Remus breathed as he stroked the scruffy puppy for the first time. He picked him up and bundled him into his coat. The puppy was so light. Remus hurried back into the warmth of the school.

“He’s so cute!”

“Can he come in every day?”

“He’s such a good boy,” Remus’s students gushed. The little puppy was having the time of his life, going from student to student before settling under Remus’s desk for a long nap.

Somehow, Remus got to the end of the day without anyone finding out about the puppy sleeping under his desk. Remus put his coat on and tucked the puppy down the front, holding his little butt to keep him from slipping.

“Oh, Mr Lupin,” Ms McGonagall called out, just as he was about to walk out of the door.

“Yes, Ms McGonagall,” He turned his head and smiled pleasantly at her.

“Don’t forget it's parent's night on Friday,” She reminded him.

“Of course, Ms McGonagall,” He said, forcing his smile wider. He turned to leave again.

“Oh, and Mr Lupin,” She called after him again. He stopped walking. “Please refrain from bringing your dog into class again tomorrow.” Damn it!

“Yes, Ms McGonagall.” Finally, she let him leave.

Their flat was only a short walk from the school, and he knew just how Sirius was going to react when Remus showed him the dog.

“OH MY GODDDDDDDD!” Sirius squealed when the puppy jumped into his arms, putting his huge paws on Sirius’s chest so he could lick all over Sirius’s face. “Remus, I love him!” Sirius said, wrapping his arms around the wriggling pup. “What’s his name?”

“He doesn’t have one yet,” Remus told him. The puppy jumped off Sirius’s lap and began exploring the flat, his enormous paws making soft padding sounds as he did.

“What about Padfoot?” Sirius suggested.

“No, that’s totally lame,” Remus scoffed.

“Alright,” Sirius pulled a face at him. The puppy was snuffling around making a terribly loud noise as he sucked in air, smelling everything in front of him.

“Snuffles?” Sirius asked, and before Remus could say anything, the pup had launched himself at Sirius and was licking him again.

“Snuffles?” Remus said. It was almost as bad as Padfoot. The puppy jumped off Sirius and landed in front of Remus, plopping his little butt on the floor as he looked up at Remus, wagging his fluffy tail.

“Yay, Snuffles,” Sirius cheered, and Snuffles ran back over to him.

That night, Remus’s stalker ended up in bed with them. But only after the bath, Remus insisted he needed and took up far more room than a little puppy should in a kingsized bed, but he was so damn happy that Remus couldn’t find it in his heart to tell him to get down. They slept surprisingly well, Snuffles between Remus and Sirius, snoring softly. “We’re keeping him, right,” Sirius asked quietly, stroking Snuffles’s head.

“Yeah, I think we are,” Remus smiled at him, leaning over and kissing him before turning off the bedside light and snuggling down to sleep.

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prettylynnpup · 2 days ago

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The Bully/The Tail

It was college. As far as you were concerned, this place has been nothing but living hell for the last three years. But, you're in your last year, so you'll be out soon enough, right?

It would be easy to lay low and just cruise through this year until you're out, but laying low has never really been your forte. You prefer to be authentically yourself, which typically involves a tail and maybe ears, since they feel the most authentically You.

Unfortunately, though, wearing a tail and occasional ears is the farthest you can get from "laying low". As far as college students are concerned, you're a walking practice dummy for some of their worst insults. Not that you really mind anymore - after three years of it you find yourself tuning most of it out pretty naturally.

The problem only really became prevalent when one specific bully - Vee - had come up and yanked on your tail. This wouldn't ordinarily be a problem; you don't literally have a tail, after all. But, the night prior you'd listened to one too many hypnosis audios (a guilty pleasure of yours) and hadn't realized the sheer degree to which you could now feel it.

*tug*

Vee pulled on your tail and you yelped in surprise, both at the pain you felt and the fact you could feel the pain at all. How was that possible? It's just a little clip-on tail, isn't it?

Unfortunate enough for you, both you and Vee were now plainly aware of the fact that you could feel the tail. More unfortunate for you, was how sensitive the stupid thing was. Just petting it was enough to make you pant and squirm, who knows how much further it could go.

*pet*

You moan in response. You weren't expecting to, but Vee petting your tail is making you feel dizzy. It's just, so fucking good. You accidentally bark at her when she stops. "Oh my gods. The little loser can actually fucking feel when I touch its tail. That's so fucking pathetic." Vee laughs at you, and you turn bright red in shame? embarrassment? horniness? You weren't sure, but you're definitely blushing.

*pet*

Oh gods she's starting again. You collapse to your knees in pleasure, but Vee comes over and picks you up. You're half convinced that she's just going to beat the shit out of you right then and there, but she hesitates.

*pet*

You're still lightly moaning and barking at her, and she isn't stopping. Why isn't she stopping? Fuck it feels good. You're losing yourself in the bliss of being in her arms and letting her pet your tail.

*pet*

"Hey dumbass, we're going to go to my car, got it? You're going to follow right beside me, and maybe if you can make it there without fucking moaning, I might reward you."

*pet*

A reward? Why would Vee reward you? Doesn't she hate you? Well, you just have to keep your moans in till you get to the car, which ends up being easy enough. Before long you're there, both in the back seat of her Jeep, Vee on top of you and straddling your waist, her hands slowly tracing all of your body's little perfections.

"Fuck, you're beautiful..." Vee admits, letting her persona crack just a tad: She's been waiting for this for a long time. She is the one who made the audios you listened to, after all, but you didn't need to know that.

*bite*

You moan louder than you have in front of anyone before when Vee bites your tail. You unintentionally thrust into her, which she reciprocates.

"Wow, you really are just a little puppy, aren't you? I'd had my suspicions before but this confirms it, you're just a pretty little mutt..." Vee looks over you. Once again taking in your form before looking into your eyes.

"Do you really need these clothes on, puppy?~"

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#trans puppy #t4t puppy #puppypl4y #puppyposting #mtf puppy #puppy sub #lynnposting #hornyposting #owned pup #puppy dom #good puppy #dumb puppy #bd/sm puppy #lynn's tails!

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ashblooddragons · 3 days ago

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The Red Queen (Chapter 15/?)

Series Masterlist

115 ac

Your Pov

Sit next to Aegon as Ali gets dressed for his second nameday celebration. She's wearing a pretty red dress, but I think she looks better in blue.

I look down at my dress, it's a pretty red with gold embroidery of dragons on my chest. But I wanted to wear my pink and silver dress but Papa said that would be impractical and we needed to show our house colors.

I look down at Aegon when he says my name, well at least something close.

“What Aegon?” I ask as he holds up his wooden dragon.

“Oh well thank you.” I say as he hands it to me before going to grab his other one. I look down at the dragon, these used to be mine before I gave them to Aegon. I remember Kepus and I playing with these together. But they're no longer mine so I must accept the bite marks along the tails and the chips on the spines.

“Roar!” Aegon yells shoving his wooden dragon in my face. It startles me to the point I gasp and fall back on my hands.

“Aegon darling, nice play remember?” Ali says from her seat in front of her vanity as her maids do her hair.

Aegon pouts before looking back at me. “Sowy.” He says moving forward to hug me.

“It’s alright, you just spooked me.” I say hugging him back before kissing his brow and letting him play again.

I stand before turning to Ali. She looks so beautiful, I hope I look as beautiful as her when I'm married. But I also notice how tired she is. How she seems like she hasn't rested in days, mayhaps moons. And I know why, it's the babe she winces each time it kicks or moves.

Just like Mama did with baby Baelon. I think before shaking the thoughts from my mind. There is no use for them, they only bring sadness to a happy day.

“Look at you, my darling girl.” Ali says from her plush brown armchair, her feet propped up by a small stool with feather pillows atop it. “You look lovely, though I know you wished to wear another dress and for that I am sorry.”

I shake my head as I walk over to her and rest my hand upon her round belly. I feel each movement, each kick, it seems almost like magic itself is inside Ali but I know it is the gods gift to women not magic.

“It isn't your fault, besides Papa has his reasons.” I respond with a tight smile.

Ever since Aegon was born Papa has been…irritable. At times I wonder if he is even cruel. He says such awful things at times, specifically to Ali. I don't understand why, nor do I want to. For if he can be that cruel outwardly what is his mind like?

I feel Ali rest her hand over mine tapping each of my fingers to get my attention once more.

“You have been lost in thought lately. Is your studies too difficult? Tiring perhaps? Your Father has put much stress upon you, I don't blame you for being tired.”

I feel my heart squeeze at her words. No one has noticed my tiredness, my lack of excitement. I know I need these lessons, that I need to learn how to rule. But at times I wonder if Papa remembers the girl who loved to fly, who loved to dance at feasts, who wanted to play and laugh. I at times find the answer to be he doesn't. Or more likely he doesn't care.

But instead of laying all my worries upon Ali I only shake my head with a joyful smile. “I'm fine, I need to learn how to rule so I can be a great Queen.”

It's there for only a second before she gives it. Pity. She knows I'm lying, knows I panic at times to the point I can hardly breathe. But she lets me have this, let's me have my fib, if only for now.

“Good.” She says before looking at Aegon and then the clock.

“I think it's time to go. Wouldn't want your twos Father wondering where we are.”

The walk down to the council room is long, but also feels like a blur. I feel the eyes of court on me, feel them assessing my posture which I know is straight after my new Septa, Septa Joy, made me stand and walk back and forth for hours each day until she deemed it perfect. The name Joy does not match that woman at all.

I know not why Papa made me switch Septas, why he separated me from Laena and Nymeria. Only that he deemed I needed a stricter woman to guide me than the sweet Septa Martha.

I know my dress has no wrinkles as I had to learn how to sit properly so as not to ruin a dress. I know my hair is perfectly braided around my head because Ali did it. I know I look the perfect Lady, the perfect Princess, the perfect heir.

But just as I know how I look I know how different I feel. I don't feel like me at times, I feel like a character in my books. Like I'm playing a part in a play like those fools and jesters Papa brings to feasts.

I don't feel like me anymore. Unless I'm with Laena and Nymeria or Ali. They know me, they care for me, they don't care if I seem proper, they want me to play and have fun. But Papa? No, he sees the perfect Heir who will rule after him, and though it hurts he now talks to me, listens to my words, nothing like before where we only spoke at dinner and even then it was sparse.

As we enter I hear them chant for Aegon, I can't help but smile. He is such a sweet boy and he deserves all this praise.

“Ah there's my boy!” Papa says before taking Aegon from Alis arms.

This Papa is so different to the one at dinner. He is joyful, laughing, but at dinner he is quiet, cold even. It's a bit jarring to see but I know better than to ask why he has changed his attitude.

“Ah! And my heir and Queen as well. What a lovely surprise.” Papa says almost jokingly but I see the look he gives us.

You should've been here sooner.

“Yes, terribly sorry for our untimeliness, I'm afraid the babe was lively this morrow.” Ali responds for us with a tight lipped smile.

“No need to apologize, you both look lovely by the way.” Papa says as he tries and makes Aegon laugh with silly faces.

I sigh looking down at my dress once more. It truly is pretty, just not beautiful like my pink one.

“May I say the young Prince looks just like you, Your Grace?” Some Lord says from beside Papa. I take this as my leave to find Laena and Nymeria.

I push past Lords and Ladies who grumble as I had taken their attention away from Aegon. But I don't care, this week I have the chance to finally play and be myself, not the perfect Princess with the kind smile even when a Lord or Lady is being rude.

I find Laena and Nymeria quite quickly, for they are both giggling next to a platter of cold meats and cheeses.

When I walk over Laena exclaimes my name before hugging me tightly. “I'm so excited! I heard there is a white heart in the forest.”

I think about the story of the white heart, how if a man killed it he was destined to be King. Of how it is a symbol of power but also of peace. And for some reason I hope it is not killed, for it is often called the King of the forest and if man needs rulers then so do animals.

“I wonder if it will get caught, perhaps I should have Daisy fly out and scout for it.” Nymeria says, taking a sip of her lemon water.

I frown at the thought of Nymeria's Ill tempered hawk. The bird only listens to her and claws and pecks at anyone else who walks past.

I would much rather Daisy stay here but if she truly wishes for the bird to come I will not deny her. I think before reaching for a piece of cold honeyed ham.

“Perhaps not, she is a beautiful bird but I think she needs to be trained on how to be nicer.” Laena says and I can't help but giggle at Nymeria's shocked face.

“Daisy is an amazing bird!” She demands but then frowns when she notices Laenas wrist where Daisy clawed at her for no reason besides walking by.

“She is an amazing bird, though just not as amazing with others.” I say with a shrug before taking a bite of a raspberry and honey cake.

Laena nods her head in agreement before we are interrupted by Nymeria's sister Myrielle.

“Sorry to interrupt but I need my sister for a moment.” She says before gliding by Nymeria groaning behind her.

Laena and I watch as they leave before looking at one another again and giggling at the fact Nymeria will probably be told her brown dress isn't suited for the festivities.

“I heard Myrielle is betrothed to the Queen's brother Lorenet.” Laena says with a smirk before pointing to the man in question.

I take him in, he looks like Ali. From the auburn hair to the pale freckled cheeks. Though his hair seems straight compared to her curls.

“He's handsome.” I say before turning to look back at Laena again.

Laena only hums before taking a sip of her lemon water assessing the Lord as if it were life or death. “But why him? She could be with someone with more power so why him?”

I frown at the question, for she's right, why him? He has no lands besides what his uncle gives him, no wealth of note. So why him and not another of more influence?

“Maybe she loves him? That's always a good reason to marry.” I say which seems to satisfy Laena’s curiosity for now.

We continue to gossip back and forth on what we've heard throughout the Keep. “And I heard that Lady Sofia Swann was caught indisposed with a stable boy.” Laena says just as Papa walks over to us.

I notice his look of distress mixed with anger and already know who has caused it. “Have you seen your sister? She was to be here almost an hour ago.”

I only shake my head watching as he moves about asking lords and ladies if they have seen my sister.

“Why would he ask you? Why would you know, she never was kind to you.” Laena says with a scowl towards Papa.

I shrug with a sigh. “Probably because he doesn't want to admit me and Rhaenyra’s distance. Or should I say a relationship that never even formed.” I say with an annoyed sigh.

I know Papa doesn't want to admit me and Rhaenyra don't get along, I've tried, I know I have. But no matter how hard I try she pushes me away, hurts me with cruel words or hands. At some point I just…stopped. I stopped caring if she loved me, I stopped caring if she looked my way, I just stopped caring.

“Seven hells, when is this hunt gonna begin!” Laena groans out as she watches as men guzzle wine and ladies sip tea. I can't help but giggle at her obvious disappointment in the activities of this small feast. There is only so much gossip girls can do before they've said it all.

“Let us hope it will be soon.” I say watching as Ali walks out of the council room for some reason.

I look to see who has Aegon to find Papa does. I frown at this, Papa doesn't spend much time with Aegon and yet he is telling stories left and right about him. It is odd that Papa has so many, or Papa is fibbing which is much more likely.

“He looks so much like the Queen don't you think?” Nymeria asks out of the blue. We both turn to find her in a new dress, this one a pretty pink with yellow lace along the hem. I have to fight the jealousy that rises in me at the sight.

“I think so, but Papa and the rest of the court says he looks like him. I think he had Papa's hair, and his Violet eyes are similar to Papa’s. But other than that he looks like Ali.” I say to which Laena and Nymeria nod in agreement.

“So what do you think the Quee–” Laena starts before Papa announces it is time to depart to the Kings woods.

“Well I hope you all have a wonderful ride up there. Let us pray my carriage won't be too tension-filled.” I say before a giggle erupts from me as Nymeria and Laena pretend to pray as they walk towards their carriages.

I turn to mine to find little Aegon on his nursemaids lap, Papa smiling at him, Ali avoiding Rhaenyra’s stare, and Rhaenyra glaring daggers at Alis belly.

Seems Laena and Nymeria's prayers didn't work. I think before climbing into the carriage for a long ride.

Special thanks to my bestie @sugutoad for making the header for this fic! I swear I'd be lost without you girly!

TAGLIST: @sugutoad @ilikefelines @classicsimpforaaronwarner @sachaa-ff @mmogurl @athzhowakar @themoonlitquill @thelastemzy @fallenxjas

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pupdoc0916 · 2 days ago

Text

Memory

Knuckles was always impressed. He had turned the dining table chair towards the kitchen to have a good view, something he did every Saturday morning. Eyebrows raised with each flick of the wrist. His hands tightened gently on the seat of the chair with each movement. You would think after all this time it would cease to be interesting…but here he was.

He managed to keep himself just to the side, out of the vantage point of the person of interest that he so keenly watched. His head almost involuntarily cocked to the side as he watched the movements before him. Eventually the soothing scent of pancakes began to fill his nose. He sniffed a few times, nose turned toward the ceiling for maximum uptake. He closed his eyes as he took in the smell, allowing a small smile. As his body relaxed with the scent there was a small slip of the hand on the chair causing him to lurch forward and creating a soft grating sound as the legs of the chair inched back across the floor from the movement.

He paused, afraid to move a muscle lest he make another noise, muscles taught. Nothing happened, the quiet remained, only the sound of a sizzling pancake filling the air. He let out a soft breath and finally began to relax his muscles in relief.

“Knuckles?”

Muscles froze again and as he slowly raised his gaze in horror, his eyes met the chief of the tribe. He pulled back, almost imperceptibly, under the unexpected scrutiny. Their eyes locked, his amethyst eyes almost afraid to break contact. Finally, after a moment, the patriarch’s blue eyes softened and a gentle smile crossed his lips.

“You know…I’ve felt some eyes on me over the past few Saturdays.” Tom spoke, voice light and humorous. “What’s going on, big guy?”

Knuckles didn’t move, expression tight. He had a question he wanted to ask, now that he was caught. A question he never had gained the courage to voice over many weeks of watching. A question he still couldn't find the courage to speak. He drew his head back again, almost sheepishly, allowing his gaze to drop.

He could feel Tom’s eyes on him, reading him, probably judging him. What a coward he was that he could not voice what he really wanted.

Before he had time to process the movement, Tom had taken a few steps closer, close enough to place a hand on the echidna’s taught shoulder.

“Breakfast isn’t going to be ready for a bit longer. You know how Sonic is…snoring the morning away.”

Knuckles kept his eyes downcast, feeling a sense of embarrassment settle in. His gloves gently rubbed together in his lap. He swallowed hard.

“But, I don’t suppose you’d want to help me?”

The offer had Knuckles snapping his gaze upward, meeting the twinkling eyes of the man in front of him. He couldn’t stop the sliver of excitement that crossed over him.

“I…I would like that…” he heard himself speaking, voice softer than he had intended.

“Well, alright then!” Tom exclaimed. “Come! Enter my kitchen of solitude where I make the magic happen!”

Knuckles slid off the seat, following Tom into the kitchen, a few paces behind. He couldn’t help but feel a bit excited at the prospect. He was finally going to get to watch up close.

“So, pancakes…” Tom started, pulling up a stool so Knuckles could reach the stove more easily. He stepped up without hesitation, taking in the set up in front of him. A set up he had already memorized with weeks of watching. “I mixed the batter already, it’s in that bowl.” He gestured to the bowl to Knuckle’s right.

“Go ahead and grab the bowl.”

Knuckles reached forward and picked up the bowl, bringing it closer to the stove. His tail began to twitch subtly.

“Alright, you take the bowl…”

Tom took his hand and placed it over Knuckle’s wrist to guide his hand to the hot skillet.

“You pick up the spear in the center, tip always pointing forward. That’s right…” His father’s hand on his wrist, guiding his hand to the training weapon in front of him.

“Then pour just the right amount…whoa whoa, not too much. There you go…” Tom’s hand cupped his gloved hand as he helped him tip the bowl and allow the batter to hit the skillet.

“Place your other hand on the middle to gain control of your weapon…” Hands larger than his own enveloped his to help him hold the spear. His small hands tightened over the weapon, his tail wagging with excitement. “That’s very good, son.”

Knuckles swallowed hard, pushing the memory to the back of his thoughts and refocusing on the task at hand.

“Ok…now we watch until the pancake cooks through. You’ll know when the top starts to bubble.”

“Now…plant your feet and separate your hands. This will give you control and strength.”

“Now here’s the fun part.” Tom spoke, drawing Knuckles attention back forward. His amethyst eyes focused back on the pancake, watching the bubbles rupture and reform over the surface.

“You take the spatula in your hand.” Tom took his hand and closed his fingers over the handle. “And you’re going to slide it under the pancake and flip. The key is to not flip too hard or too high when you’re beginning. Just a flick of the wrist. Are you ready?”

“Now you take a step forward and thrust your arms.” He felt his father’s arms wrap around his tiny frame to grip each of his hands with his own. His father knelt on his knee so they were both on the same level. Their cheeks touching, the warmth of his arms, his scent, safety…

Knuckles suddenly dropped the spatula from his grip, clumsily taking a step off the stool next to Tom.

“Hey, buddy, you OK?” the man asked, voice filled with nothing but surprise and concern.

Knuckles took a few steps back, eyes fixed on pancake in the skillet, the smell of burning batter filling his nose.

“Knuckles, buddy, what’s wrong?”

Knuckles could barely hear him through the buzzing in his ears. He continued to take small steps in retreat until his back made contact with the wood of the doorway. The contact snapped him out of his reverie and he shook his head. His eyes looked up and made contact with Tom’s, filled with nothing but concern and care.

“I…I’m sorry…” he stammered. Then without another word he turned and ran to the back door, almost running into his matriarch in the process. She quickly stepped back, avoiding his body as he flew toward the exit. His hand grabbed the handle, wrenching the door open and he fled, losing himself in the trees.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The firm log behind him dug into the skin of his back and his elbows pressed into his knees but he barely paid the discomfort any mind as he rested his head in his hands, shutting out the rest of the world.

His breaths had soothed long ago, but not before they had almost suffocated him with their urgency. His chest not complying with his body’s orders, his heart threatening to beat through his chest. It had taken time, but he had been able to gather himself enough to find the oxygen he needed. And, through his lightheadedness he had found his way to the mossy log behind him, bracing himself against it and wrapping his arms protectively around his head, burying his eyes in his hands and knees.

He had lost track of all time, but his senses could take in the increasing heat on his back as the sun rose through the sky, filtering through the fall leaves. But he didn’t care. He continued to hide like the coward he was.

He was so ashamed, letting his feelings catch him like that. Memories that seeped into his consciousness, immobilizing him, hurting him, breaking him…

What was happening to him?

For years he had been able to push his feelings, his memories away, locking them away somewhere safe. Remembering his father was painful. Remembering his father was a liability as he made his way across the galaxy.

But now…now that his quest was over…now that he had found a new normal…the memories were breaking through, flooding through his defenses and drowning him when he least expected it.

How was he supposed to go back and face Tom after acting in such a way. Tom was a gentle and caring person. He would worry…he probably was worried…with how Knuckles had acted this morning. But how was he supposed to explain that it was nothing the man had done. That it was Knuckles’ own head, his own weakness, that caused him to run away.

He was such a coward.

A cold wet pressed into the crook of his elbow pulling Knuckles out of his swirling thoughts. He started, his head lifting in surprise at the unexpected contact. His head turned quickly toward the source and he was immediately drown in slobber as a tongue made its way quickly over his face, covering him in the creatures own sense of care.

Knuckles scowled in disgust and pulled his head away, out of range of the exuberant tongue and his eyes met the blank but warm eyes of the resident wolf. He put his hand up to block the next onslaught of attempted licks, earning him a soft whine and studying eyes.

“What brought you here, wolf?” he found himself asking, getting nothing back but a blank expression. Ozzy tilted his head and brought his head forward to nuzzle into the echidna’s side.

“I did.”

Knuckles startled at the new presence, shooting his gaze upward to meet the soft blue of his chief, Tom. He swallowed hard but did not advert his eyes. He had already been enough of a coward today.

“Hey, big guy. Can I sit down?”

Knuckles stared back, taking in the tall form as he slowly made his way closer. He found himself nodding lightly.

He felt a soft gust of wind as Tom sat down heavily next to him. He appreciated that Tom had sat just far enough to prevent surprise contact. Knuckles was unsure if he could handle it in his current tumultuous state.

They sat in silence for moments, the only noise was the panting from the canine near by who refused to leave Knuckle’s free side. He gave the dog an annoyed look which caused the wolf to push his face further into Knuckles’ glove, begging for pets.

“I hope it’s OK that I came to find you.” the man’s voice cut through the air causing Knuckles’ attention to shift toward him in surprise. “I just…after this morning…and then you didn’t come home for lunch…” his voice trailed off. “I was worried.”

Knuckles grunted softly in acknowledgment.

“I hope I didn’t do anything wrong,” Tom continued to ramble. “I know we haven’t really…we haven’t gotten very close over the past months.” Knuckles glanced toward him at his words. “And it’s OK!” he continued, seeing the shift in the echidna next to him. “I know you and Maddie…just…she makes you feel comfortable. And I’m so glad for it. But…I just want to make sure I haven’t done anything to hurt you…”

The chief’s voice trailed off softly. Knuckles turned his head fully toward the man at his words. Tom was looking forward, his eyes watching the leaves swaying, looking anywhere else but where the echidna sat. Knuckles frowned, guilt settling in the pit of his stomach. The man thought what happened was due to his actions. He had never meant for that.

He turned his gaze forward once again, his hands gently wringing together in his lap. He swallowed hard, trying to find his courage.

“It is nothing you have done, Lord of Donuts.” he spoke softly. “Nor is it anything you have said.”

He watched the man nod softly out of the corner of his eye.

“I…I’m glad, bud.” he spoke, his blue eyes glancing toward the echidna. “I just…I want to be your friend. I want to be someone you can count on and trust. I feel like I’m failing at that. But most of all, I do not want to ever make you feel uncomfortable.”

Knuckles swallowed hard, dropping his eyes to the forest floor. The man was really trying. And Knuckles had no ill will against him. It was not the man’s fault that he reminded him of his father…

He took a deep breath, pulling his arms around his chest.

“I do not know how much you know of my past.” he began, voice soft, uncertain. He did not want to speak of his past, of his memories, but this man had been nothing but kind to him and Knuckles owed him at least an explanation of his troubles.

Knuckles felt blue eyes watching him but could not meet them as he continued. “I…before my tribe was killed…I…I had my father.” he couldn’t stop the shake in his voice. He took another breath, fighting for his courage. “My mother had died, before I had even hatched from my egg. My father…he was all I had…he was my whole world.”

A lump had formed at the back of his throat and his eyes began to burn with the shimmer of tears, but he refused to cry. He clenched his teeth against the pain.

“He was kind, and gentle, and loving. He always put me first. He was always on my side. And he always wanted what was best for me…even if I didn’t recognize it at the time.” Knuckles let a sorrowful smile cross his lips.

“You…you remind me of him…greatly…”

He felt the need to pause, allowing his eyes to drift shut. He took a moment to gather himself. To feel. To miss. To grieve.

Another nudge into his elbow interrupted his attempt at calm and he cracked his eye watching the wolf attempt to push his head through the crook of his arm. Knuckles pulled his lips together and gave a soft shake of the head, then lifted his arm allowing the dog to move forward, laying his head in the echidna’s lap, tail beating happily against the trunk of the tree.

“I’m sorry.” Tom said softly, gazing gently at the boy. “About your father. I am beyond flattered that you think I’m similar.” Tom sighed and pushed himself a bit closer, laying a gentle hand on Knuckles’ shoulder. “I definitely understand now, why you keep yourself distanced.”

The echidna took a deep breath, the unexpected contact of a hand on his shoulder almost jarring. He tried to swallow down the guilt that rose with Tom’s words. His eyes drifted closed, as if shutting out the world would shut out the pain.

“I…” he started, getting choked on the lump ever present in his throat. “I…apologize.”

He felt a shift next to him, causing him to pull his eyes back open. Tom had nudged himself slightly closer, his penetrating blue eyes looking toward and meeting purple. He gave Knuckles a soft smile and let out a soft breath.

“First off, you will not apologize.” He started, his voice soft but firm. “You are allowed to have your feelings and with something this big, it can be hard to figure them out.”

Tom shifted his arm further, now resting across the echidna’s shoulders. Knuckles tried to remember to breathe.

“Second, I just want you to know…the last thing I want to do is replace your father. You loved him and you lost him so young. You are still grieving the loss. And you never have to think of me that way, not if you don’t want to. There is no pressure with our relationship.”

Knuckles lowered his head shamefully. Feelings are not something he allowed to take him over, and yet, his feeling had dictated a distance between him and the man next to him. A distance that Tom didn’t deserve.

Knuckles finally found the courage to meet Tom’s eyes at his words. Eyes that held nothing but truth, concern, and understanding.

“I…I do appreciate that.” the lost boy answered truthfully. “Though I feel I do not deserve your patience.”

The hand on Knuckle’s shoulder gave it a squeeze. Knuckles swallowed hard, a tightness in his chest forming. But when he finally trained his gaze back up, a smile met him, reassuring and ever present.

“You deserve everything.” Tom answered. “You’re a great kid, Knuckles. And I’m so happy we were able talk about this. “Thank you…for being so honest with me.”

The arm that lay around his shoulders, pulled him into a one sided hug. A warm feeling overtook him and he found himself leaning into the safety it promised.

“Thank you, Tom. For everything.”

The grin on Tom’s face widened at his words.

They sat quietly for a time. A man, his son, and their dog. They let the quiet of the forest settle over them, bringing a new calm, a new understanding. But all calm must come to an end, in the form of a wayward wolf that began to chase a few of the rustling leaves, introducing a new form of chaos. Tom chuckled.

“Ready to go home, Red?” he asked, pulling himself to his feet and reaching a hand down toward the boy. “I believe a pancake lesson still awaits.”

Knuckles let a soft smile form on his lips and he reached up to gently take the offered hand.

“I would like that…Tom.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Sunday morning started like any other. Knuckles rose early, quietly making his way from the attic so as not to disturb his sleeping brothers. He made his way to the roof and sat, cross legged, turning his face toward the rising sun. A ritual that he had come to enjoy, gaining a moment of peace before the house exploded into action.

But today held a greater excitement than normal. Tom was going to teach him how to make pancakes. He was going to get to help make breakfast for the first time. Sunday wasn’t even a normal day for the fine delicacy, but his chief had made an exception just for Knuckles so they could pick up where they left off yesterday morning.

His lesson would be starting soon. But now, now he could take in the quiet of the emerging day. A gentle breeze tickled his quills and he took a deep inhale of the chilly morning air.

He could imaging his fathers soft fingers running through his quills. A deep embrace with the warmth of the rising sun. A hand lifting his chin with the current of the wind.

And Knuckles didn’t feel melancholy or lost. He didn’t feel angry and scared. Knuckles felt peace. And with that feeling he pulled himself to his feet and made his way to the kitchen. There were pancakes to be made.

@year-of-the-echidna

#knuckles the echidna #knuckles wachowski #tom wachowski #memory #dealing with grief #year of the echidna

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divinehatred · 2 days ago

Text

LET ME IN.

a drabble of what happens at the end of chapter 3 in this au.

As the final dregs of your fear leak away from your mind, your body, your soul… you don’t understand why, but you still feel horrible.

It’s been building, bit by bit, as you traveled through a labyrinth composed of your own emotions with the Builder himself as your sole companion. A festering, mangled feeling, like your heart is tearing itself into pieces and then tying those pieces into countless, impossibly tight knots.

A hand presses to your chest, your face contorting in pain. Why? Why does it hurt so much? Are you having a heart attack? Are you dying?

A firm hand rests on your shoulder, startling you. “I’m proud of you, Hero. You did it.”

Right. It’s over.

Isn’t it?

Then why do you feel so..?

“You got rid of all of those little obstacles in our way.”

Obstacles..? Emotions aren’t…

His grip on your shoulder turns into more of a vise, digging his nails into your flesh.

It hurts. “You got rid of everything keeping you from being perfect.” He emphasizes the final word in his statement in a tone of voice not unlike a snarl, endless malice dripping from it.

A deep, horrible, burning sensation creeps out from where his fingers dig into your shoulder. You can’t move. You can’t stop shaking. You can’t breathe. You can’t. You.

“All that’s left to be done now… is to let me in.”

Your mouth is dry. Your eyes won’t focus.

He glances at your face, circling around to be in front of you without letting go.

“...you can at least do that, can’t you, Hero?” His tone is sickeningly sweet, a mockery of the helpful, kind man he had been pretending to be before. “Don’t tell me you’re still too weak even with those pesky emotions of yours out of the way. We can’t have that, now, can we?”

You shakily extend the fingers out of one of your hands, tuck in your thumb, close your fingers over it, and extend them again. The gesture catches his eye, making him laugh.

“Help? You want help?”

He leans in close, hissing in your ear.

“There’s nothing left to help you in here.” He pulls away, giving a condescending grin. “Just us. Just me.”

His hand leaves your shoulder. The pain remains. He moves to stand across from you, hands folded behind his back.

“But I can see you’re not convinced yet. So let’s change that. Shall we?” His head tilts ever so slightly to the side.

“In your current state… in order to wield the Ghostwalker… you’ve been made clean. Clear. Open.”

His smile widens. Were his eyes always so red?

“Weak.”

Each syllable feels like a nail being driven through your skull.

“Corruptible.”

His figure warps like a mirage. He’s larger than he was seconds ago. Looming.

“Defenseless.”

He’s more like a silhouette than a man. Pale, pulsating with pure hatred.

“Exposed.”

You can see his heart over his chest. It’s beating in sync with yours.

“Susceptible.”

It breaks in two. A wicked, devilish tail curls out from behind him.

“Vulnerable.”

You’re burning up. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts.

“You’re finally,” he laughs, “all,” he looks down on you, “MINE.”

The sheer weight of his hatred is nauseating. It feels like your eyes are being held open, like you’re being forced to see what your god has become. One has to wonder… is this your fault? Should you have ever gone on this journey?

Did he ever really need to be saved?

Was this a mistake?

let me in

Is the King okay? You saw him melt. Did you kill him?

Let me in

And… and Brad. Will he recover from that? Will he die?

Let Me in

Do they hate you?

Let Me In

Do you hate them?

LEt Me In

Do you hate yourself?

LET Me In

Do you hate?

LET ME In

Do you HATE?

LET ME IN

You can’t…

LET ME IN

You…

LET ME IN

It’s… it’s so… hard to…

LET ME IN

…think…

L E T M E I N

okay.

#block tales #blocktales #player #builderman #hatred #divine hatred au #post | musings #text only | diatribes #writing | enscriptions #our hero | the hero of the story

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mischievouslittlecreature · 2 days ago

Text

Part 26: Do You Love Me

Summary: Lucy comes home.

Word Count: 7,411

Warnings: Sexual content, trauma around finding a loved one attempting suicide, suicidal thoughts, codependency, insecurity, past suicide attempt, and references to pregnancy.

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Chapter 19: Your Home is Here with Me

Lucy fought the urge to fiddle with her fingers or the edges of the bandages still wrapped around her wrists, watching Arrow House slowly draw in closer, the car bumping along the drive. Beside her, Tommy reached over and took one of her hands in his, thumb stroking over her knuckles.

The car finally pulled up beside the front doors. Tommy stepped out first, a stabilizing hand held out to her as she climbed out after him. Her strength had steadily been returning over the days she’d spent in the hospital, but she was still a little unsteady on her feet sometimes.

Frances was there to greet them at the doors and take their coats. She smiled kindly at Lucy, informing Tommy of the arrangements made for dinner before leaving them be.

Lucy wrang her hands together, looking around the big entryway. Nothing seemed to have changed from the last time she had been there, but it all still felt oddly foreign. It was strange to be back. Especially after she had been so sure that she never would be.

The house seemed even quieter than usual. Echoing with emptiness. Lizzie and the kids weren’t there, and the silence that their lack of presence wrought was deafening.

That was, until the skidding sounds of approaching nails on the floor sounded, and then Asher came bounding into view. He practically charged at her, tail wagging furiously, rubbing and bumping against her legs.

“Hey, buddy,” she let out a breathless laugh, stroking his soft black fur. Asher’s tongue lolled from his mouth, half raising up onto his hind legs to try to lick her face.

Just as he was starting to calm, merely nuzzling at her palm, there was a soft meow, and Trouble came prancing into view, her little paws not making even the slightest sound as she jogged towards Lucy to rub against her legs with a loud purr.

“Hey, babies.” Lucy bent to give them each scratches behind the ears. She was distantly aware of Tommy coming up behind her, reaching out a hand to the animals. Asher let him stroke his big black head happily, but Trouble promptly stuck up her nose and dodged his attempts to pet her, trying to bat at him with one of her paws before he managed to pull his hand away in time.

“She’s been cross with me since you left,” he explained with a soft huff of amusement.

“Troubs, come here,” she coaxed the cat towards her. “Now that wasn’t very nice, was it? I told you that you were to take care of your daddy when I left.”

Trouble just looked up at her and meowed, tail flicking. Lucy rolled her eyes. Children.

“Dinner will be ready in about an hour.” Tommy turned to fix his gaze on Lucy. “What do you want to do? We could just go up and rest, or we could take Ash out, or play a game in the library–”

“Actually, I…” she paused, well aware that what she was about to say may very likely– and justifiably–not be taken all that well. “I’d like to wash the hospital smell off of me.”

Tommy went still, a bit of the color going out in his cheeks.

“I promise that I’m not going to…” she trailed off, biting her lip. He had every right to be wary and jumpy when it came to that topic. But, she had to bathe sometime. “You can sit with me, if you’d like.”

He relaxed a little at the suggestion, but still eyed her nervously. “If you’re sure that’s alright…” She could see him at war with himself; wanting to respect her space but scared to leave her out of his sight for too long should he run the risk of losing her.

“Yes, it’s alright.”

“Bath it is, then.” Taking her hand, he led the way to the stairs, Asher trailing behind them.

“Tommy, this isn’t the way to my room.” She pulled him to a stop when he turned right at the top of the stairs rather than left, jerking slightly where their hands were still joined. Tommy looked over his shoulder, lips pulling up a little at the corners.

“It is now.”

“What…?”

“Come on,” he gave her a light, almost playful tug, pulling her back into movement down the hallway. They passed Lizzie, Charlie, and Ruby’s rooms and a few more doors before Tommy came to a stop at one near the end of the hall, fumbling with the knob. “Here,” he moved back, holding the door open to let her in first.

The room was bigger than the one she’d previously been staying in, with larger windows and significantly more space between the furnishings. It didn’t seem so cramped and dark. All of her things had been moved into the room, even the portraits on the walls.

“You should get more light during the day.” Tommy was standing by the door, fiddling with his cigarette case. “And you’ll be closer to everyone.”

She stepped deeper inside, examining the view out the window of the front drive.

Tommy shifted from foot to foot, nervous. “If you don’t like it, we can move you to somewhere else…”

“I like it.” She looked back at him, and he smiled at her softly, gesturing with his head towards the door to his left.

“Washroom is in there.”

While she went to investigate, she could hear him ushering Asher and Trouble in before closing the door to the bedroom, encouraging them to lay down in their respective beds. Listening to him talk to the dog and cat made a semblance of a smile pull at her lips.

Going to the bathtub, she twisted the knobs, testing the water with her fingers before putting the plug in place. Straightening, she watched the water slowly rise, a cold shiver going down her spine at the memory of the last time she’d done this.

“You alright?” Tommy asked from the doorway.

“Yeah.” With shaky hands, she started to unbutton her shirt.

She could feel his eyes burning into her as she undressed. Another shiver went down her spine, this time for completely different reasons. This was the first time that he’d seen her naked since she’d moved out.

He pulled up a chair to sit beside the tub after she got in. Lucy let her eyes slide closed, head tipped back against the rim of the tub, arms dangling over the sides to keep her bandages from getting wet. Movements careful to avoid accidentally tugging on the red strands, Tommy set to work washing her hair for her. His stocky fingers felt nice against her scalp. Warm and big and gentle.

It was nice to be looked after and doted on. And he had been right, when he said that she needed him. Much as she tried to hide it.

I’m so fucking selfish. Here they were, in the midst of planning what was perhaps the most high stakes strategy in the gang’s history, and she was off monopolizing all his attention.

“Dip,” Tommy’s voice, soft and low, interrupted her thoughts. She did as instructed, dipping her head back into the water so he could rinse the soap from her hair.

His declarations of love while in the hospital had begun to stitch the broken pieces of her heart back together. But the wounds that had left it broken in the first place were still raw. Still tender and healing. She expected that they would continue to ache for a while.

“Tommy?” she asked once her head was lifted from the water.

“Hm?”

“Was moving me to a new room your idea?”

One side of his lips quirked up. “Actually it was Lizzie’s.”

She felt her brows crease at the revelation. A part of her felt horribly bad for agreeing to return to Arrow House before actually talking to Lizzie about it first. But Tommy had simply been too persuasive. She couldn’t say no to him anymore. Not when he was begging her to come home. And especially not after it became clear how much pain she’d caused him by leaving.

She couldn’t keep hurting him like that.

Overall, she was feeling much better than she had been. It was almost like a fog had lifted from her mind and she could finally think clearly again. But there were still a few hitches, here and there. A few things were still bothering her.

“Are you in love with her?” The question burned on the way out, but it needed to be asked before they could move fully forward. She needed to know what she was stepping back into.

Tommy froze. “No. I’m not.”

She felt awful for the little sigh of relief that left her at that.

He leaned forward, wrapping his arms around her. He’d pushed up his shirt sleeves to his elbows to keep them from getting wet. Warm lips pressed to her neck. “I told you that I love you.”

“You can love more than one person at a time.” With a sigh, she pushed at the water in the tub, watching the way that it rippled. “I still can’t help but feel that if it weren’t for me–”

“I still wouldn’t fucking love her.” He wasn’t shouting, but his voice was firm. Definitive. “We’re not…good together, Lucy. You ought to know that better than anyone with how much you’ve seen of us together.” He blew out a deep breath. “It’s no one’s fault. Not hers. Not mine. And certainly not yours.”

She was trying so hard to believe him. She was so fucking tired of feeling so guilty all the time. She just wanted to let it go. To let herself be happy. Didn’t she deserve that, after all the pain that she’d been through?

As if reading her mind, Tommy turned her face to look at him. Concern shown brightly in his eyes. “You have to stop punishing yourself, love.”

A little sob left her throat. “I don’t think that I know how.”

His face softened. “I’ll help you. Eh? Just talk to me. Tell me where you’re feeling guilty. Let me help you carry it.”

“I can’t ask that of you–” He already carried so much guilt inside him. She could not possibly ask that he shoulder hers as well.

“I can take it. We help each other, remember? That’s what we do. So let me help you, sweetheart.”

She sniffled, chest spasming, reaching up to cradle the back of his head, bringing his forehead to rest on hers. “I’ll try.”

“That’s all I’m asking, love.” His hand stroked through her damp hair. “But…you know, if it really is too much to take, I can still divorce her…”

Lucy sighed. “And take a hatchet to your reputation in the process? No, Tommy. She’s too important.”

“So are you.”

“She’s the mother of your children. For that alone, she will always be more important than I am.”

“But I love you.” His expression was baffled. “I love you. Not her. Doesn’t that count for something?”

“Of course it does. I just…” she slammed her eyes shut, realizing that she was teetering dangerously close to spiraling again. “I just don’t want you to throw away everything else in your life for me.”

“I know. And thank you for that, love. Really. But understand that if I have to choose…” he sighed. ��She doesn’t have a chance.” He smoothed some of her hair back. “I can’t be happy without you. She’s not more important than you. She never will be.”

Taking hold of his hand, she raised it to her lips, pressing kisses to each of his fingertips. When she was done, he stroked the back of his knuckles across her cheek.

“I need to talk to her.”

He frowned, protectiveness flaring up in his eyes.

“If I am going to come back to live here, I need to know that she really is okay with it.”

“She told me to bring you home.”

“I know. But…you know what she can be like.”

“Yeah.” He wiped a hand down his face. “I really do think that she’s started to accept things, love. For real, this time.”

“We can only hope, eh?”

“And I’m not putting up with anymore of the shit with her taking swipes at you, or being cruel towards you, or trying to make deals that fuck you over. I’ve been too lenient on her about it.” He shot her a look of regret. “I’m sorry.”

Lucy frowned. “You’ve never failed to tell her off when she’s been unpleasant towards me. What else can you do? Put her in a timeout?”

“Maybe. If she insists on continuing to act like a child.” The look in his eyes had turned stubborn. The kind of stubborn that meant it would be more likely to get the earth to start spinning in the opposite direction than to get him to change his mind. “I’m not letting her get away with that shit anymore.”

Lucy reached out to touch his face, tilting her head up to brush their lips together. “Thank you for protecting me.”

“Always.” He turned his head to give her neck a little kiss. “Come on, let’s get you out of there before you start to prune.”

He let her hold onto him for stability as she stepped out of the tub, then immediately helped towel her off and swaddled her in a big, comfy robe, looking her up and down to make sure she was warm and comfortable. While he tended to draining the tub and putting the soaps away, she went to get dressed.

Dinner was a quiet, simple affair. They sat at the dining table, eating the steak, potatoes, and vegetables that the chef served them.

Tommy told her about a new horse he was thinking of offering a home to at the mansion’s stables. The poor thing was a racehorse who had suffered an injury on the track and had to be retired early. A white, sweet, even-tempered if shy stallion, intelligent enough to have caused his previous owner some trouble here and there.

Lucy thought it was an absolutely splendid idea.

“Are you sure that you’re feeling okay?” he asked, while they were out taking Asher and Cyril for a brief walk around the grounds before they turned in for the night. Lucy wasn’t all that surprised at the question. She’d probably spooked him a little with all her talk whilst in the bath.

“It…all feels really…raw, still. But…” she worried at her lower lip. “I think so.”

His arm had found its way back around her at some point while they walked, palm rubbing soothingly up and down her bicep. The warmth from his touch made her feel comfy and drowsy.

“Let’s go to bed,” Tommy said softly in her ear when he noticed her yawning.

They went inside and took the dogs off their leads. Cyril lumbered away, probably to go sleep in Charlie’s room. Asher followed them to theirs.

Tucked into one corner of the room, where she hadn’t noticed them before, were her suitcases filled with her things from Charlie’s.

“Lizzie picked them up when she went by to get Asher,” Tommy explained at her quizzical look.

She pulled one up onto the bed, opened it, and immediately felt her face turn approximately the same shade as her hair. Tommy looked down into her suitcase, brows furrowing, and then his face broke into a delighted, smug grin.

“Ah. So that’s where all of my Henley’s went.”

Shit. She’d forgotten about them.

“They…they’re soft,” she defended. “And…” Tommy raised an eyebrow. She fumbled with her rings, suddenly bashful, voice quiet. “They smell like you.”

After a few wears of the first henley she’d nabbed when she left Arrow House, the scent of him started to fade away. So she’d snagged another while they were staying at the London apartment one night. And then another. And another. She always meant to start switching them out, but she kept forgetting them at the yard.

She looked at the little mountain of white shirts sitting in her suitcase, shifting from foot to foot and feeling her embarrassment burn from her ears all the way down to her toes.

“It’s pathetic, I know–”

“I sprayed your perfume around our room every night and on your pillow after the scent in the sheets started to fade.”

She felt her lips twitch upwards at the revelation. It was oddly sweet; to know that he’d missed her that much.

Neither of them spoke as they got changed. Though she did aim a light swat at him when he snickered as she slipped into one of the several henley’s she’d stolen. When she turned around after depositing her clothes into the hamper, it was to find Tommy shirtless, unbuckling his belt with one hand while running the other through his hair. She felt her throat go instantly dry, a little pulse starting to ache in her core. His muscles flexed as he pushed down his trousers to leave him in just his white underwear.

She quickly looked away. Before he could catch her staring.

She was far too tired and emotionally drained for sex. But still…

She’d fucking missed him.

The doctors had ordered her to take it easy, at least until the stitches came out. Taking into account how long it had been, she was pretty sure that once she and Tommy started fucking again, they weren’t going to be stopping for a good long while.

They’d have to restrain themselves. Just for a little while longer. Maybe a week or two.

Crawling into bed, she hummed contentedly at the soft mattress, snuggling down into the pillows. A moment later, Tommy sat down on the edge of the bed beside her. Still in just his underwear and nothing else. Because apparently he liked to test her self control.

“Is this okay?” he asked, large hand resting on her thigh over the blankets, gaze darting to the space next to her on the bed.

Lucy nodded, wrapping her hand around his wrist and giving him a little tug. “Yes.”

He sank in beside her eagerly, immediately hooking an arm around her waist and pulling her to lay her head on his chest. She tangled her legs with his without even thinking, simply running on instinct as she settled into him, letting him snuggle against her.

“Fuck, I missed this,” Tommy whispered, face pressing into her hair and inhaling deeply. The smattering of hair on his chest tickled her cheek, and she caught herself breathing in his exquisite scent of cologne, smoke, and pine.

“Mm,” she hummed unconsciously in agreement, letting herself get lost in the feeling of being held by him.

She had almost forgotten how good it felt to be squished against his firm muscle. How safe. It had been so long since they last laid beside each other in bed. The warmth from his torso seeped into her, the steady stroke of his fingers at the nape of her neck helping to lull her.

“Tommy?”

“Yeah, baby?”

She swallowed. Just two more things. There were just two more things that she needed to ask him. And then she could rest.

“Tell me you weren’t choosing her over me that night you made that deal with her.”

She felt the muscles in his chest go stiff. And then he was using a finger to tilt her head up to meet his gaze. In the dark, his blue eyes were even more piercing.

“Of course not. I can see why you’d think that. But I swear, that wasn’t what it was. I was just being drunk and stupid.”

She nodded, but he must have sensed that he had not wholly convinced her, because he persisted.

“I’d never put her before you. I don’t care if that makes me an awful person or not. You’re my priority. Always.”

“You said you were going to kill Mosley for her.”

His brows pulled in. “I what?”

She nodded. “The day that the opium shipment came into the yard. You told Arthur that you had other strategies in mind for dealing with Mosley. But he’d spoken badly to Lizzie, and that was why you had decided to kill him.”

Tommy was quiet for a moment, processing. “I did say that, didn’t I?” He cleared his throat. “Right. Listen. There’s something that I didn’t tell you. Because we weren’t really talking much after it happened, and I didn’t want to worry you or push you away anymore than I already had.”

A foreboding chill washed over her. “What is it?”

“Mosley threatened to kill you.”

She stared at him, mouth slightly open. “He what?”

Tommy nodded. “He said I was to sack you or marry you off to someone else, or he would have you killed. That was why. I didn’t…I wasn’t going to tell Arthur that. I wasn’t going to tell anyone.”

“Oh.”

“He was rude to Lizzie. And I’m annoyed about that. But I didn’t decide to kill him until after he threatened you.”

She nodded slowly. “I have to tell you something.” He was being open and honest with her, and it felt only right that she do the same. “But you have to promise not to completely fly off the handle.”

Tommy’s brow rose. She looked at him expectantly and he huffed. “Alright. I promise. What is it?”

“During Lizzie’s birthday party, I escorted Mosley to your office. I told you that he just touched my hair and made a lewd remark?”

“I remember.”

“That wasn’t…all that happened. He, erm. He grabbed my breast.”

Tommy was silent for a long time, just staring at her. “What.” It wasn’t so much a question as a statement. Lucy could hear thunder brewing in his voice.

“Yeah. He…he touched my hair, and then he grabbed my right breast. I had bruises from his fingers the next day.”

Both of Tommy’s hands flew up to touch her face, stroking her hair out of the way. Fury was still apparent across his features. But she could see horror there as well.

“You should have told me,” he said quietly.

“I know. You’re right. I should have.”

“Are you okay?”

“Yeah.”

“He didn’t do anything else?”

“No. He suggested that we could…you know…” she felt Tommy’s grip on her tighten a little. “But I told him no and got out of there right after he grabbed me.”

Tommy’s lips smacked together. She could see him thinking hard behind his big blue orbs. She poked him in the chest.

“What are you thinking?”

“I’m trying to figure out if it’s too late to change our plans for him to something more…bloody.”

“You promised you wouldn’t fly off the handle!”

“Oh, believe me, love, that is tame for what I really want to do to him.”

She huffed out a laugh equal parts fond and exasperated, dropping her head to press a kiss to the center of his chest. Wrapping both arms around him, she snuggled back into his body. Tommy petted and kissed her head.

“You’re sure you’re alright?”

“I’m sure.”

He pulled her closer, grip tightening protectively. “I won’t let him hurt you,” he growled. “He will never touch you again.”

Lucy stroked her fingertips across his ribs. “Thank you.” She nestled down into him. He was so warm. Like her own personal little furnace.

“Go to sleep, sweetheart,” he said softly, kissing her hairline and wrapping himself a little tighter around her. Exhaustion was rushing up to meet her, leaving her with little energy to do more than nod and let her eyes flutter closed, drifting off with his warm touch all around her.

∗ ∗ ∗

Tommy stirred, letting out a soft groan as wakefulness snuck upon him sluggishly. His body felt heavy and relaxed, comfortable against the mattress and warm under the blankets. Eyes cracking open to stare at the canopy, he grunted at the realization that it was still the middle of the night; no sunlight yet filtering in through the curtains. He turned, stretching as he did, burying his face half into the pillow, fully intending to fall back to sleep. Arm shifting, he reached out across the mattress.

The space next to him was empty.

Immediately his eyes snapped open, sitting bolt upright, all residual drowsiness leaving him in seconds.

Further investigation only further confirmed that Lucy was not in the bed with him, nor anywhere else in the room. His gaze darted around frantically, squinting through the darkness at the armchair and the windowsill to see if she was seated at either. Nothing.

The door to the washroom was closed.

Panic flooded over him in a massive tidal wave, sucking him in and out to sea with nothing to keep himself afloat. His heart leapt into his throat, breaths hitching, dread spreading through his veins.

No, no, no, no, no, not again, Lucy!

He scrambled out of the bed, almost falling over himself when his legs got tangled in the sheets. Imaginings of opening the door to find her laid out in the bathtub again danced across his mind. Her blood overflowing the white porcelain to drip out onto the floor, her head lolled back, hair as crimson as her blood hanging down, her eyes closed, never to open again because this time he was too late and now he’d lost her forever.

He practically hurled himself at the door, hand just closing around the knob when it opened and he nearly crashed into her.

“Lucy–” he choked out, throat too constricted with panic to manage anything more.

She looked up at him with wide eyes, blinking hugely.

For a moment, all they could do was stare at each other.

“I, erm,” Lucy spoke first, “I had to use the loo.”

Tommy blinked slowly, processing, realizing that he could still hear the sounds of the toilet running in the washroom behind her. “Oh.” A relieved breath left his lungs, some of the panic draining from him.

She looked at him guiltily. “‘M sorry. I didn’t want to wake you.”

She kept looking at him like that, ever since she woke up in the hospital. Like she felt truly horrendous for what she’d done. The expression made his heart twist. As if she had anything to actually be sorry for when it was his boneheadness that threw them into this whole mess in the first place.

“It’s okay. I just…I woke up and you weren’t there.” He must have been even more tired than he originally thought for her to be able to sneak out of bed without him noticing. Normally he slept so lightly that even the smallest of noises or twitches from her was enough to have him springing awake.

“I’m sorry,” Lucy said again, wrapping her arms around herself. Tommy shook his head, reaching out to her, grateful when she let him pull her into his arms. Touching her helped to soothe his still pricked nerves.

“Don’t apologize,” he said, pressing his lips to the bare skin of her shoulder. “Let’s go back to bed.”

She let him guide her back over to the mattress, laying down and settling her head in its spot on his chest. Tommy could have cried at the feeling of her nestled safely back in his arms. It felt so right having her there. As if the missing piece of his heart had been returned to its right place.

“It’s not that I don’t trust you…” The last thing he wanted was for her to think that he didn’t have faith in her. He just worried, that was all.

“I know.”

“C’mere,” he said, even though she was already pressed so close to him that he could feel her heart beating against her ribs. One of her arms slipped around his waist as he drew her tighter against him, burying her face in between his pecs while he stroked her hair. “Comfortable?”

She nodded wordlessly, and he had to suppress a smile to himself. She was far too cute for her own good.

He was half tempted to roll her over onto her back, slot his hips between her thighs, and…

No, no. She needed to rest.

There would be plenty of time for love making later.

He watched over her as she drifted off, growing heavier in his arms until her body fully relaxed.

His gaze shifted to the white bandages still wrapped around her wrists, and the guilt he had momentarily forgotten boiled back up.

She seemed to be doing okay. And at least she was talking to him again. Giving him chances to explain where she had misinterpreted him. So long as she kept coming to him with her insecurities, he could help her. He could set them straight.

But were most of her insecurities not a result of his fuckups? If he hadn’t gotten Lizzie pregnant, if he hadn’t married her, then none of this would have happened. Lucy wouldn’t be so depressed and doubting her self worth at every turn. If he’d been a good lover to her, she never would have fallen into such a dark pit of despair.

There had once been a time when he had vowed that, despite knowing he could never deserve her, that he would try to. He would always love her, and treat her well, and cherish her as long as he had her.

How badly he had fucked that all up.

She would be so much better off without him. They all would. Maybe, she’d even stand a chance at being happy.

At the end of the day, that was all he ever wanted for his Lucy. For her to be happy.

He’d hurt her. Deeply. It didn’t matter that it wasn’t intentional. He’d broken her heart. That was something he would never, ever, be able to forgive himself for.

∗ ∗ ∗

He knew that he was hovering, but he didn’t really care. When Lucy was out of his sight, even for a few minutes, he found himself growing anxious, memories of finding her in the bathtub, of the weight of her limp, almost-dead body in his arms, dancing through his mind. So he stuck to her like glue, keeping near her as often as he could.

She didn’t seem to really mind, thankfully. If anything he suspected that she was secretly enjoying the attention. Considering how lacking of it she had been until recently, he supposed that it shouldn’t be all that surprising.

He flinched with guilt at the reminder of how shitty of a lover he’d been to her.

After Lizzie returned home with the kids, he’d been on his guard, but as promised Lizzie had remained on her best behavior, giving them space and allowing ample time for Charlie and Ruby to spend with Lucy.

Both kids were ecstatic to have her back home. It was good to see, especially considering he knew that Lucy often fretted over what they thought of her. He hoped their reaction to having her back would put at least some of those worries to bed. They loved her. She was their other mom.

“Tommy?”

“Hm?” He was lounging on a couch in the drawing room, reading the newspaper and sipping a glass of whiskey while Lucy dozed with her head in his lap. He looked up at Lizzie where she stood in the doorway with a raised eyebrow.

“There’s a gentleman named Mr. Harken here to see you.”

He frowned, then felt his features smooth into dismay and exasperation when he remembered. “Shit.”

“What?”

“I’m supposed to have a meeting with him about the foundation today.”

“You didn’t reschedule it?”

“I forgot.”

Lizzie rang her hands together. “I can send him away, if you’d like…”

He pulled his glasses off and rubbed at his face. It had been an ordeal to get on Harken’s schedule at all. If he canceled, he would have to wait months before seeing him again. If he managed to even get another meeting with him. Harken was known for being fickle, and rudely canceling an appointment when he’d already driven out all this way was unlikely to endear him towards Tommy.

He looked down at Lucy still slumbering in his lap. The thought of leaving her alone for a prolonged period of time made his throat close up.

“I can stay with her.” Lizzie took a cautious step into the room. Tommy shot her a wary, suspicious look, and she held up her hands. “I promise I’ll be nice.”

He looked her up and down, weighing his options in his head, then glanced back at Lucy. Asher was laying on the floor by their feet, and Trouble was curled up against her side.

“I won’t be long,” he said, both a promise and a warning. Lizzie nodded, going to sit in one of the armchairs across from the couch.

“We’ll be here.”

He eyed her for one final moment before carefully maneuvering Lucy’s head from his lap without waking her, resting a cushion under her cheek instead. She stirred only slightly when he pressed a quick kiss to her cheek. Asher lifted his head as Tommy stepped around him, and he gave the dog a scratch behind the ear while he passed.

You keep an eye on her for me, eh, boy?

The dog’s tail thumped against the rug, and Tommy half wondered if he really was able to read his mind.

With each step further away from Lucy, his anxiousness grew, fingers slipping into his pocket to procure his cigarette case as he stepped out the door.

He’d make this quick as he could. She might not even be awake by the time he got back.

∗ ∗ ∗

When Lucy opened her eyes, the first thing she noted was that she was considerably less comfortable and warm than when she’d fallen asleep. Instead of resting on Tommy’s thighs, her head was tucked on top of a pillow, laying on her side on the couch with a blanket laid over her and Trouble curled up against her stomach, purring.

The second thing was that Lizzie was sitting in the armchair across from her.

Wincing at some stiff pain in her shoulders–she really ought to know better than to try to nap anywhere that wasn’t her bed–Lucy sat up, rolling her neck to try to encourage her muscles to loosen. Trouble meowed at the movement, standing, stretching, and promptly settling herself into her lap. She gave the cat a few scratches under the chin, noting the way that Trouble eyed Lizzie suspiciously, the tip of her tail flicking back and forth.

My own little protector, she thought fondly.

“Did you sleep alright?” Lizzie asked, setting aside the magazine she’d been reading. Lucy shrugged noncommittally.

“Where’s Tommy?”

“He had a meeting that he forgot to cancel. Something about the foundation with a man named Mr. Harken. He’ll be back soon.”

“Oh.”

She focused her attention on the cat in her lap, stroking her soft fur to try to help calm the nerves that sprang up at being alone with Lizzie. She could feel the other woman watching her, shifting back and forth in her chair. Awkwardness permeated throughout the room.

“I’m sorry that I’ve been such a shit to you.” That had Lucy’s eyes finally darting up to meet Lizzie’s, widened at the sudden, wholly unexpected apology. Lizzie had a cigarette clutched between her fingers, digits shifting against it anxiously. “I think that I just…got lost.”

Lucy’s lips parted, face pinching with confusion. “You don’t have to apologize…”

“Yes. I do.”

She shook her head. “I’m the one who’s been a selfish cunt. I should have left the moment he told me you were pregnant. You all could have been happy…”

Lizzie cast her a bewildered, sad look. “No, love, I don’t think we could have.”

“I can pack a bag. I can be gone before he even gets out of that meeting. Neither of you will ever see me again,” she offered, borderline frantic. Anything. Anything to alleviate the guilt that she felt for what she’d put Lizzie through.

“Lucy…don’t you understand? He’s been distraught since you left. I think…I think he’ll die without you.”

Lucy sniffled, wiping at her nose with the back of her sleeve. “I’m offering you what you’ve always wanted, Lizzie. Just take it.” Put us both out of our misery.

“I don’t want you to leave.”

“No?”

“No. Maybe at one time, but…all it took was a few hours after you moved out for me to realize what a mistake it was. When I put those rules in place, I didn’t realize they would drive you out. I just thought you and him would spend more time at the apartment in London or the Midland. You two are hardly here much anyway.” Standing from the chair, she approached Lucy, moving to kneel on the floor in front of her so they were at eye level. Trouble made a noise that wasn’t quite a hiss, but was close. Lucy settled a hand on the top of her head, both to try to calm the cat and to quiet her own anxiousness. Lizzie took Lucy’s other hand. “I’ve missed you. The kids have missed you. Tommy’s an absolute nightmare to be around without you…don’t go. Don’t leave us again.”

Her breaths trembled in her lungs, tears building up against her lash line. “I feel like such a piece of shit all of the time, Lizzie. I feel like…like I stole him from you.”

“You didn’t.”

“Don’t act like you’ve never thought that.”

“Of course I have. Doesn’t mean it’s true.” Lizzie looked down. “He told me after the ballet that he’s not in love with me.” She let out a soft, bitter laugh and closed her eyes tight, letting out a hard, trembling breath. “And I suppose a part of me is still bitter. And angry. About all of it. And I think that part of me always will be. But…” she opened her eyes, and Lucy could see the resolution and resignation in them. “I think that it was what I needed to hear. Ever since that night, I haven’t felt like I’m…waiting around. Hoping for something that I may never get. I can move on now. I don’t intend to leave,” she clarified swiftly, “but I can just…focus on the children. On the house. And Tommy’s only…there. More a…friend or companion than a husband or lover,” she shrugged. “I figured that, after everything that’s happened, everything I’ve done for him, if he was going to fall in love with me, it would have happened by now.”

“I’m so sorry,” Lucy whispered miserably. Lizzie shook her head, smile sad, but also tranquil.

“Don’t be. I have this,” a tilt of her head indicated the house. “I have my kids.” Her hand tightened around Lucy’s. “But he needs you, Lucy. So, you and I have to find a way to deal with each other. I’m tired of all the resentment between us. All of the bitterness. It’s very unprogressive.”

Lucy couldn’t contain her snort, eyebrow raising. “Are you really suggesting that we make a pact to get along in the name of feminism?”

Lizzie’s lips pressed together into a small smile. “More in the name of our shared sanity, really.” She looked down at their clasped hands. “We were friends once, weren’t we?” she asked in a softer voice.

“I’d like to think so.”

“I miss that,” she looked out the window. Lucy tightened her fingers against hers.

“Me too.”

“I’m sorry for what I’ve put you through recently. It really wasn’t my intention to make either of you so unhappy. I can’t promise that I won’t get jealous. Or bitter sometimes. But I will do my best not to make it your problem anymore.”

“Thank you. I’m sorry too. Really.”

Lizzie swiped a finger across her knuckles. “Thank you.” Gingerly, her hand reached up to brush across the bandages still covering Lucy’s wrists. Trouble made a sharp hiss, half rising from her spot in Lucy’s lap.

“You, hush,” Lucy chastised her, urging her to lay back down. “Be nice.”

Trouble looked at her with eyes that were extremely unimpressed, but laid her head back down against her thigh, little sides expanding with an overly dramatic sigh. Lizzie snorted, retracting her hand and tapping her cigarette into the ashtray on the coffee table beside her. “He loves you so much.” There was a glimmer of sorrow and longing in Lizzie’s eyes that made the guilt in Lucy’s chest twist. “Don’t take it for granted.”

Dropping her eyes, she absentmindedly gave Trouble’s belly a few scratches when the cat rolled over for her. “I won’t.”

Unfolding herself from her position on the floor, Lizzie eased herself back into the armchair she’d been occupying previously. Placing her cigarette between her lips, she reached for the deck of cards resting on the table.

“Do you want to play?” Lizzie asked, already starting to shuffle.

It had been a good while since she’d played cards with anyone. Something that used to be a regular occurrence. So many long nights in the Garrison had been passed by playing hand after hand with Tommy and his brothers, downing whiskeys and laughing around cigarettes.

“Sure.”

Lizzie’s lips pulled into a smile, and she started dealing out the cards.

They’d just finished up their first hand when Charlie and Ruby came wandering in, done with their lessons for the day. Cyril was right behind them, lumbering over to lay down next to Asher. Ruby sat down on the floor beside the two dogs, while Charlie climbed onto the couch next to Lucy, crowding into her side. Lizzie dealt them in, and by the time Tommy returned after the next hand, they had a rather lively game going.

He stood there, watching them play with his hands stuffed into his pockets, smile tugging on the edges of his lips, eyes shining with fondness when Lucy’s gaze lifted to meet his. The expression on his face only softened further when their eyes met.

“Dad, are you gonna come play?” Charlie asked. With a chuckle, Tommy came over to sit on Lucy’s other side on the couch, taking his hand of cards from Lizzie.

“Did everything go alright?” Lucy asked him in a quiet voice. He cast her a fond look, plucking his cigarette from his lips while his gaze shifted from her to examine the cards in his hand.

“Everything went fine.” He spoke lightly, nothing but ease in his eyes. Satisfied, she returned her attention back to playing her cards. Sometime during the game, his arm found its way around her shoulders.

∗ ∗ ∗

“You don’t have to come. Not if you don’t feel up to it,” Tommy told her later, when they were lying in bed with her head on his chest and his arms around her, the dark and quiet surrounding them.

“I can handle it. I’m mostly healed now, anyway.”

He was quiet for a stretch of time and she frowned, head shifting so she could squint up at him in the darkness.

“Do you not want me to come?”

“It’s not that. It’s just…” he sighed, head tipping heavily against the pillows. “It’ll be dangerous.”

“So is nearly everything else that we do.”

“You know what I mean.”

“Mm,” she acknowledged with a hum. “I want to be there.” If something happened to him, and she wasn’t there, she would never forgive herself. And she would go insane sitting around, listening to the radio and waiting to hear if the assassination had been successful or not.

His arm adjusted around her, thumb stroking over her shoulder. “Alright. Just…do something for me, then?”

“What?”

“Stay close to me.”

She tilted her head. Under other circumstances she might have teased him for his overprotectiveness. But he was right when he said that this wasn’t like other circumstances. There was an awful lot that could go wrong. “Okay.”

He hummed, kissing the top of her head. “Thank you.”

His fingers stroked delicately against the scarred skin of her back. He pressed a few kisses to her neck, then settled there, body relaxing with a contented sound against her.

“Love you, honey,” he mumbled sleepily.

She turned her head to kiss the hollow of his throat. “Love you too, Tommy.”

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#peaky blinders #tommy shelby #lucy winters #tommy shelby x oc #lucy winters x tommy shelby #love me where i'm most ruined #lily writes #peaky blinder fanfic #peaky blinders oc #tommy shelby fanfic #thomas shelby fanfic

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yandevsworld · 2 days ago

Text

This year you were invited to a haunted house with your friends, however this year was a little different.

A frighteningly large mansion stood before you was decorated with skulls around the front yard, which weaved between cobwebs and gold branches, and the car came to a complete stop as it approached the house and halted near the house, and music emanated from outside the home.

The sigh of relief escapes your lips as you step out of the car, watching it take off without looking back and letting the cool air of the hills pass through your body as you make your way through the large black gates, leading to the manor.

Your hands straightened your fairy costume as best you could, the bottoms of the dress were ruffled with matching green color that hugged your thighs in the right places—beautiful light green wigs that were attached to the back of your costume were just the right touch to complete the look.

Upon reaching the main entrance of the party, you exited the vehicle and walked up to the main entrance, passing through a large door decorated with a skull around the edges, where you nervously reached for the handle and knocked on it twice. The large door to the manor with a creek was opened by your friends in their ghost costumes, and they opened the door to the manor letting you inside.

When you stepped inside the large mansion decorated with jack-o-lanterns all around the living room and people dancing on the floor in the living room having a good time as your friends brought you in, the scent of cigarettes permeated your nostrils, followed by the smell of cheap alcohol.

When your friends brought you inside, you noticed a statue sat atop a glass display case in the middle of the room, with sharp black tallets to the ten-foot-long forked tail, black wings that were attached to his back, not to mention the infamous big horns that adorned his head.

In the center of the room stood a statue of a demon with green eyes that bore deep into the soul as if it were alive. While you scanned the creepy place, you felt a sense of dread coursing down your spine as you surveyed it, feeling your stomach curled in fear at the thought of being watched by a demon statue. Part of you even thought that maybe you are just paranoid and need some drinks to relax you. Demon's aren't real, you think to yourself.

The moment you stepped deeper into the room, you heard the creak of the floor beneath your feet as you stepped; the chill of the air crept into the mansion as you stepped deeper into it; the gargoyle above the fireplace caught your attention, but as you continued in the room, you quickly put it aside, ignoring it as you into the living room.

As soon as your friends left to get more drinks, the demon statue in the display case smirked down at you for a minute, then turned back into stillness, as if nothing had happened, as if nothing had happened at all.

I’m starting to see things. Maybe it’s just my imagination?

Trying to comprehend what was happening, you blink several times, rubbing your eyes, and eying yourself trying to secure a grasp on what was going on, while your eyebrows knitted together in an attempt to make sense of what was happening.

“Guys that statue moved and smirked at me.” you stammer out, there was a slight hesitation as you looked over at the demon statue, wondering if it would move again, but it didn't seem to be moving, it stayed still the entire time in front of your friends who gave you puzzled looks throughout the whole situation.

“The place is pretty old, maybe it’s the manor setting in after being here for years.” your friend shrugged it off aside before pulling you along to the living room— As you walked from one side of the room to the other, a variety of games were displayed to you trying to ignore the nervousness you felt inside.

Despite the fact that you may start thinking that you are going insane due to the demon statue, you quickly returned to the party with your friends and had a few sips of vodka in an effort to calm your nerves slightly.

At the party, there was nothing but silence for the rest of the night. As you were playing cup pong with your friends, suddenly, you heard a loud crash, as if a glass bottle had shattered on the ground, leaving some people in a state of panic and freaking out, as if they had been struck by a flying object.

Once you spotted the damage, you ran over and, as you inspected the damage, your breathing stopped as you saw the glass display case was shattered and the demon was gone.

Why the hell were your friends disappearing?

One by one.

The sound of one of your friends screams suddenly fills your ears, leaving your entire body, frozen and before you know it, the lights have suddenly dimmed and they have suddenly disappeared, and now everyone is becoming worried about their disappearance before the room has again been filled with lights, and we are all beginning to worry about them.

This situation is spiraling out of control, so you needed to get out.

Now.

Your friends and you run over to the front door of the manor in order to try to unlock it, but it is locked so tightly that it is impossible for you to do so, like it has been locked intentionally by someone or something.

Upon realizing that you were all alone in the manor, you felt a sense of dread creep up in your stomach. You tried to find your way through the unfamiliar hallways of the manor calling out your friends' names but they didn't respond—all you heard was a whoosh from behind you as you sped down the hallway, trying to find a safe place to hide, but your panic makes you run faster, as if you were running for your life.

Your eyes fall upon an old room in the manor in which you hope to be able to hide in, so you quickly open the door to the room as quickly as possible. Nevertheless, before you are able to escape, you lock the door behind your back. You were lying on the ground, trying to catch your breath, when your heart pounded in your chest as you tried to catch your breath.

When you saw the flickering lights, you hoped that there was still power on and that you could escape, but as soon as the lights flicked off, the darkness returned and the hope was quickly dashed.

It wasn't long before you heard scratches being made on the floorboards of the room. It sounded almost like a cat scratching against the wooden surface, and immediately after you heard the scratching sound, you heard a deep, dark chuckle from the shadows of the room, which caused your heart to race even faster, leaving you speechless.

There was no doubt in your mind that there was either an animal or a ghoul after you, or that someone was taking your friends one by one. Only thing could be hoped for - that they would be okay.

It couldn't get any worse right? right?

You were wrong..

The tall muscular demon stood in front of you about ten feet tall and towered over you with his sharp canine teeth, his ten-foot forked tail, and the black wings hooked to the back of its body. Not to mention its renowned large horns from the same display case he escaped from. The only thing you could do was stare at him for a moment before you could utter a word before he spoke out in front of you.

“Staring is rude, you know sweetheart.” Toji remarked, as he lifted your head up with his claw-like fingers, allowing you to meet his gaze, allowing you to smirk for a moment while his breath tickled your neck, causing your hair on the back of your neck to stand up straight.

His words were so frightening that you could practically feel the fear taking over your body at the very same moment you felt your heart lurch to your stomach, as you became uneasy at what he was saying to you.

It took you a second to believe your eyes when you saw the demon from earlier in the display case. This was the same demon that haunted you and your friends all night long without you ever being aware that he had been doing it.

“w—who are you..” y/n stammers out while swallowing harshly, you felt your throat go dry at the sensation of the demon loosening his grip on your chin and then walked back into the room, taking a seat on the worn down chair on the other side of the room where a warm moonlight was shining through the windows.

With his large muscular body, his scar on the left side of his body, his huge black horns, and the long black wings that adorn the back of his body, and those green eyes looking down over your shoulders, looking over at you from over your shoulder, the sight of this monster impresses with its intimidating presence.

“w-who- who are you… ” toji said mocking your frantic tone,While he was sitting in the old wooden chair, you were shocked at how well he had been able to support your weight despite his large size and the fact that he appeared to be heavier and larger than normal for a man of his size.

“Name’s Fushiguro Toji..and you?” he replied, he replied, answering your question, as he leaned back in the old chair that makes a creaking sound every time he leaned back and forth in it. As he rocked back and forth in it, he hummed to himself swaying his tail side to side.

“Y/n.” you replied to him, you watched him walk over to the other side of the room where there was what appeared to be an old record room, it looked as if it had never been touched for many years.

A lot of dust was covering the old furniture and records in this room, as he walked around the other side of the room, to the other side, which appeared to be a record room in an old country manor, with old records and antique records decorating the walls. All over the vintage records and antique records adorning the walls, there was a lot of dust accumulating on them.

The last owner of this house probably never knew that it was haunted by a demon all these years as there was dust on everything.

In the midst of a brief moment of silence, you turned to admire Toji's features for a moment. A messy black hairstyle swayed around his head, a sharp scar just at the edge of his lip beside the right side of the left side of his mouth, his legs crossed over one another, and green eyes stared for the second time at you in your form.

“I have a proposal for you, sweetheart. C’mere.”. It was impossible for you not to feel a little nervous as you took a few steps closer to him

The blood was pumping through your veins, and you felt a knot in your stomach as you tried to maintain your composure, and as you stopped in front of him, it was as though you felt a tightness in your throat, and as you slowly raised your head to meet his gaze, you could feel a level of shock creep over you.

The sudden closeness you felt and the warmth that emanated from his body took you by surprise, especially since he was a demon and you were unprepared for it.

His long tail had appeared to pull you towards him as he lowered his face to speak with you, and you felt that sharp end pulling you towards his body until you were flush against him when he lowered his face for you to hear him. For someone like him, the warm feeling was strangely comforting and comforting. As he continued doing so, you felt your body beginning to warm against him as he allowed you to feel yourself becoming warmer against him.

Fuck… even for a a demon this guy is handsome as fuck.

“What is it?” Your heart was pounding, your palms were sweaty, and without a doubt your heart was pounding as you took a deep breath and tried to appear relaxed– you didn’t know if he could sense your fear or what he’s capable of..

It did not take you long to calm down, to relax, and to subconsciously press your body against his chest, even though he was scanning your entire body up and down, and his hands kept reaching down toward your waist while maintaining a firm grip on you.

Despite the fact that the talons were digging into your hips, even though his eyes were scanning your entire body up and down, it was not enough to hurt you, but you could feel his talons digging in the soft flesh of your hips.

“So here’s the deal.”he murmured against the shell of your ear, as he continued on with his words “I can’t leave this manor until well you know how those stupid tales go.” Toji rolled his eyes at his self-created comment, he realized that he is more attracted to you than ever before.

“I’ll do it, you do realize you're going to have free my friends afterwards too.”

“Of course, sweetheart, you have my word. I’ll be slow with you, don't worry.heh.

Toji placed hot wet kisses against your neck sending shivers down the spine of your body as he played with your breast underneath your shirt while his hands roamed under it,

—rolling and pinching your sensitive nipple while using his free hand to squeeze the other breast between his fingers while gently latching his lips on your sensitive nipple-wanting to give you more attention you needed.

“——Fuck…” Your lips prick up with a gasp as you’ve felt Toji’s smirk as he grinds his hips against you slowly, feeling the dick rub against your clothed pussy as he grinds his hips and grinds his hips building up more friction between the two of you.

“I barely even touched you and you're already screaming my name sweetheart?” His lips curved into a dark chuckle when he removed his mouth from your nipples.

—-A wet pop was heard as he admired his work, as he grinded his hips against yours, you felt a damp spot forming on the outside of your skirt as he admired his work, a grin spreading across his face as he realized how much you were turned on by him.

“—toji..need you.” you breathing heavily against him as you ghost of over the lips before kissing him deeply, toji hands hooked your underwear yanking them down to your ankles in one go

—-tracing his the pad of his thumb against your pretty pussy in circular motion, making you gasps and arch your back against you as he began to curl his fingers inside of your pussy and make you gasp once again, placing the back of your head against his shoulder, digging your nails into his back, pulling on his wings as harshly a soft grunt escaping toji’s lips at the pressure-secretly enjoying it.

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redux-iterum · 2 hours ago

Text

Charred Legacy: Chapter Forty-Three

(AO3 counterpart here.)

Before Fireheart could really ponder over Yellowfang’s words, he was back to work—though now, at least, with a strengthened, newly bloomed energy. Whitecloud gave him orders and discussed tasks with him, looking at him as keenly as he had before Fireheart had talked to him about deputyship. Perhaps he sensed Fireheart’s returned willpower… not that it really mattered. Fireheart had a job to do, and he was going to do it.

As if to praise him for his brightened attitude, the oppressively cloudy skies turned ragged and patched, revealing the stars and the moon. Suriin’s half-shut eye grinned as the air’s chill lost its biting edge, apologetically pulling the fog back.

“Don’t let that ease you,” Yellowfang said to Fireheart one clear night. “Things that frolic in the mist are still about. Follow not a silhouette or a scent you do not recognize.”

Not the least of which being the dogs, Fireheart thought as he nodded respectfully.

The snow was not keen on going away; it hardened and crunched under paws, sticking to the ground and turning brown, losing its oddly calming beauty. Cats had to step carefully to avoid making too much sound, often following well-trod paths where the soil rebelliously fought back and reemerged. Granted, it was still freezing, but it was so good to have solid ground under Fireheart’s paws again.

However, despite what Fireheart had been told, prey did not return as quickly. The plant life of the forest had not grown back yet, leaving most of the prey that had not retired underground or fled south in the fall to wander further away from the usual hunting spots in search of anything they could eat. What could be caught was still skinny and stringy, and most of it went to the nursery’s tenants and the elders. Fireheart wondered more than once, going to bed with a growling gut, if this was how ShadowClan felt all the time.

That wasn’t the end of their troubles. The dogs were still wandering around, now in the south, never spotted but always scented to varying degrees of freshness. The Clan was left with very little fresh ground that had anything to hunt, but no one was bold enough to risk heading south and testing their luck.

Greystripe, though, had an idea, one that he whispered to Fireheart for him to suggest (“I don’t think Whitecloud would be keen on hearing it from me,” he said). Fireheart quickly went to the deputy as he was visiting his aunt in her stinking den and reported it to them both.

Whitecloud blinked. “You think we should try it?”

“I do,” Fireheart said, trying to ignore the squint of puzzlement Bluestar was giving him. He had long given up on her remembering him. “We really should have been hunting there earlier, but, well, the dogs made that a bad idea. But now that they seem to be near Sunningrocks…”

“I understand.” Whitecloud’s eyes were lit with approval. “Get a patrol together and head that way. I hope you find something good.”

Fireheart bowed his head to both of his leaders and backed out of the den, turning around and trotting back into camp. It was still very early; only a few cats were awake, none of them eating the meager rations that could hardly be called a prey-pile.

“Teaselfoot, Sandstorm, Frostfur,” he called. “Could you come with me, please?”

The cats in question looked up and joined together in front of the smaller warrior, but they all regarded him with the same respect they gave Dustpelt and Whitecloud. It did, admittedly, make Fireheart feel just a little bit taller.

“I’ve spoken with Whitecloud about an idea of where to hunt,” he explained. “You don’t have to come with me if you don’t approve, but I think it’s going to guarantee us a meal or two.”

Teaselfoot’s ears perked. “Well, well, Fireheart’s going to suggest something unusual. That’s new.”

Frostfur swatted him with her tail. “Where are we going?”

Fireheart braced himself for protests. “The Houses.” Before any of them could react, he hurried on. “The humans constantly have their seed-bags full in their yards. I know how well those squirrels and birds eat. We couldn’t go there before because, you know, the dogs, but I think we should try our luck while the dogs are elsewhere.” Sandstorm narrowed her eyes. “Yes, I know, the Clan doesn’t really know how to hunt there, but I do. I can give you some tips as we go. Are you interested?”

The older warriors looked between each other, silently trading curiosity and skepticism. Fireheart held his breath, waiting for all of them to say no.

Frostfur was the first one to speak. “I think we should do it. I’m in.”

“Yeah, I’ll go too,” Sandstorm said. “If for nothing else, for a chance at a decent meal.”

Teaselfoot sighed dramatically with good-natured teasing. “You’re really twisting my tail here, Fireheart, but I suppose I can’t refuse the offer to feed my Clanmates.”

Fireheart snorted. “Feel free to turn around at any time. Come on.”

The patrol was in the woods in moments. The snow outside of camp had been trampled down enough that there were plenty of paths to take to keep their steps quiet, even as they thinned out the further away from home they got. Fireheart picked the one he knew best and started off at a brisk pace, his Clanmates following and chatting behind him.

“If only the dogs hadn’t been here this winter,” Frostfur said. “We could’ve gotten so many good meals.”

“Yeah, but then we’d have to contend with kittypets whining about strangers taking their food,” Sandstorm said. “No offense, Fireheart.”

Fireheart looked back at her. “Actually, I didn’t know any cats who hunted when I lived there. One cat told everyone he did, but I know for a fact he never left his yard.”

“Ooh, kittypet lore.” Teaselfoot craned his neck forward. “Was he the one that told you about us?”

“Oh, no, everyone knew about you,” Fireheart said, turning around again. “Even far back into the neighborhood, kittens were warned to never go into the woods, or they’d be eaten by giants. I don’t think the grown-ups believed it, but it kept everyone behind the fences.”

“As they should be,” Sandstorm said. “You think you’ll see any cats you know, or are they scared of the snow?”

Rosy and Smudge, please don’t find me and give the game away, Fireheart thought. “It’s a little too cold and dark for them right now, I’m sure. My one friend only ever came out at night because I liked to, and I’d make him explore with me. If he’s still around, he should be asleep.”

To his relief, his Clanmates accepted this, turning to each other now and talking about hunting. Fireheart led on, offering a word or two when a question was lobbed his way.

They were within sight of the Houses when a strong scent hit his nose. He stopped, lifting his tail for everyone to copy him, which they did.

“Humans are close,” he said in a low voice. “Look and see if you can spot them before we get to the street.”

Sandstorm growled under her breath. Hesitantly, the patrol continued on, their eyes, ears, and noses keen. The evergreen plants were reoccurring through this part of the forest, blocking their usually clearer (albeit branch-infested) views. Wherever the humans were, they were being quiet, too, and this close to the Houses, their scents were more or less everywhere.

Finally, a voice sounded off, shouting into the woods and making all of the cats jump. Fireheart crouched and scooted to the right until he was well-hidden by a bush and could peer out of it, his Clanmates following suit.

Through the stiff leaves and bare twigs, there was a pair of humans. Both were garishly colored with their heads covered and hair hidden. The shorter one was speaking to their companion—from the tone, they were scolding them, and by their loud whisper, they were not eager to be heard. The second one’s face twisted and stretched in a grimace, but they said nothing, just shifted the long grey thing in their paws and lifted it slightly.

“Stars help us,” Teaselfoot whispered, sounding almost scared. “I know that thing.”

Fireheart looked at him. “What is it?”

“A rronakrak*.” Teaselfoot’s tail puffed out in agitation. “I’ve heard of them in stories. They’re the claws of humans.”

Fireheart peered at the thing. “It doesn’t look too dangerous to me.”

“You’ve never seen one before?” Sandstorm hissed. “I thought you had a stone that showed you things.”

“I guess it didn’t have one of those on there.” Fireheart rolled a shoulder as best as he could. “What’s wrong with it?”

Frostfur now, calmer than the younger warriors. “Stories say a human just points that thing at something, and the end of it explodes with thunder and fire louder than any noise in the world.”

“And then whatever it was pointed at dies instantly,” Sandstorm added with another muted growl. “See, this is why humans are mucked up. They have the audacity to steal the fire of Horoa and turn it into a tool of murder. So many animals just trying to live their lives get killed by what should be ours, and should never be a weapon used by some random mortal.”

Fireheart frowned in confusion. “I thought Horoa kills things, too.”

“Monsters and wraiths, sure,” Sandstorm said flippantly. “But they don’t count. They’re dangerous and ought to be dead.”

Fireheart was about to ask, “Well, didn’t his fire nearly kill us?”, but the humans started walking forward, heading past the faces of the cats, still talking to each other. Human-like, they never noticed their audience, and shuffled through the snow further into the forest. The rronakrak was pointed down the entire time, harmlessly cradled in its bearer’s hold.

“What do you think they’re going to kill?” Teaselfoot whispered, as if the humans could hear them from this far away.

Fireheart immediately perked up. “I think they’re looking for the dogs!”

“We should be so lucky,” Frostfur muttered. “They’re probably going after a deer or one of us.”

“We have no reason to be killed,” Fireheart told her with a bit of sternness, like she was a paranoid apprentice. “If they wanted us dead, they would have done it before I ever came to ThunderClan. I saw the humans before the fire with one of those things, and never before that. It’s most likely dog-related.”

His Clanmates didn’t look convinced, but he could see the hope dawning in their eyes. He gave a firm, supportive nod, then beckoned with his tail.

“Come on,” he said. “Let’s get some prey before they come back.”

Whitecloud was somehow calmly startled when Fireheart’s patrol burst into camp, each carrying a piece of prey (Fireheart had two; he hoped some cats noticed). They tossed their prey onto the pile and rushed up to Whitecloud, ignoring the surprised looks on everyone’s faces.

“We saw some humans in the woods,” Fireheart said immediately.

Hisses and growls, as he had assumed, followed this news. Whitecloud waited for the noise to stop before asking, “Did you see where they went?”

“They were on the Houses border,” Fireheart explained, “and they went deeper into our territory. We didn’t see them again—we just hunted and came back here as quickly as we were done.”

“Then they could be anywhere,” Dustpelt said, coming to stand beside Whitecloud. “Would you say they went south…?”

Fireheart nodded, finishing Dustpelt’s thought. “Where the dogs are.”

“They had a rronakrak,” Frostfur added. “Fireheart thinks they’re looking for the dogs.”

Murmurs followed this, cats looking at each other questioningly, as if their Clanmates had the answers.

“Humans don’t usually hunt dogs,” Whitecloud mused. “They hunt with them. But the deer aren’t around yet, either, and the pheasants are gone…”

“There’s no other reason for them to be around,” Fireheart said. “They don’t kill cats with those, do they?” At Whitecloud’s headshake, he continued eagerly, “So the only thing here of interest is a pack of cat-killing dogs. I’m sure of it now—they’re here to help us.”

Dustpelt frowned. “That’s very ideal, Fireheart, but we can’t count on that to be the end of our problems. You have the chance to be wrong.”

“As in anything,” Fireheart replied simply. “But I have the chance to be right, too.”

Dustpelt gave him a skeptical head-tilt, but he said nothing else. The Clan spoke to each other—and, to Fireheart’s delight, a few of them seemed optimistic at the prospect.

“What’s our next move?” Mousefur asked. Fireheart wasn’t sure if she was asking Whitecloud specifically, from how her head turned to him and Dustpelt too.

Whitecloud took a moment to close his eyes in thought, before opening them again and moving to the meeting stump. The Clan gathered around immediately; all faces turned up to him with hope and fear.

“As long as the dogs are still scented in the south,” he announced, “we will continue to hunt in the north. Fireheart, it’s clear that your hunting patrol to the Houses went well—” Exclamations interrupted him as cats stared at Fireheart. “I approved it, everyone, stay calm. I think that we can make a couple trips here and there beyond that border, if hunting doesn’t improve here in our own territory. Fireheart, you won’t mind leading more patrols that way?”

“I’d be happy to,” Fireheart responded, his own voice loud and clear.

“Then that will be an emergency plan.” Whitecloud’s tail waved and curled. “For now, we’ll keep our noses to the ground and watch the humans if they continue to tramp around our territory. Stay north, and stay close to camp if you can help it.”

“When can we train outside again?” Brackenpaw shouted, clamping his mouth like he hadn’t meant to say that out loud.

Whitecloud gave him an amused look. “When we can safely say the dogs are gone. If Fireheart’s right, and those humans are here to take care of them for us, that may come sooner than later.”

Out of the corner of Fireheart’s eye, Cloudpaw shuffled his feet uncomfortably, his tail tucked between his legs. Fireheart made a mental note to keep an eye on him tonight.

“Is that all the news?” Whitecloud asked Fireheart. At Fireheart’s nod, he said to the Clan, “For now, let’s stay inside camp tonight. We’ve got prey to last us for a night, and we’ll send out multiple hunting patrols tomorrow.”

Like a waterfall, he smoothly jumped down from the stump and passed through the crowd as it dispersed. Willowpelt caught up to him and asked something Fireheart didn’t catch; he disregarded it and padded to the prey-pile (thankfully larger than usual), picking out one of his catches, a fat squirrel. He immediately turned and walked to the nursery, where Goldenflower was sitting alone.

“Where are the ants?” he asked, setting down the squirrel in front of her.

“Asleep, thankfully.” Goldenflower licked his ear. “You look starved, honeymouse. Why don’t you have this?”

Firehear couldn’t help staring down at the squirrel, his stomach threatening to growl. Looking back up at his mother, he said brightly, “I only need half.”

Goldenflower purred and crouched, nudging the squirrel until the bottom half was pointed at Fireheart. He crouched himself and started to eat, forcing himself not to rush.

As he ate, he eyed the cats around him. They were talking about the dogs and the humans, mostly. It pleased him that more of them looked hopeful than afraid.

You have faith that StarClan’s looking out for us, he thought to them. Have faith that this might be their doing, too.

*”Rronakrak”: a gun - literally “thunder-stick”.

#warrior cats #redux iterum #iterum #chapter #chapter forty three #book three #arc one

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