#my fanfiction was fun for me to write

[poorly-drawn-mdzs]

Happy Birthday to Fallen London; My favourite British people beefing it with bats simulator.

[zephyrchama]

Make barbatos fanfics pls

The memory of your recent mishap kept playing in your mind. It was a complete mistake - you hadn't intended to drench Barbatos in tea. Despite him being more than capable of protecting himself, you foolishly attempted to shield him from whatever toxic concoction Solomon was cooking up. One thing led to another, a massive pot fell over, there was an ear-deafening clang, and Barbatos was on the ground. Sopping wet.

He wasted no time in excusing himself to clean off, leaving you to bear the weight of your sins. Anyone could have easily cleaned the mess with magic, but Barbatos instead opted for a shower for some peace and quiet to calm down. Solomon was left to scrub the floor by hand since he started this issue in the first place.

As all of the castle's linens had been conveniently gathered in the laundry room to be inventoried, you took it upon yourself to grab a clean towel and deliver it to Barbatos.

You could hear the water running from down the hall. It was so loud, you weren't sure Barbatos could hear you. Wisps of steam escaped from the cracks around the bathroom door. You knocked. There was no answer.

"Barbatos?" you called, knocking again. There was no answer. Only the running of water. He was probably already in the shower. You could take this opportunity to grab his soiled uniform and clean it before the stains permanently set in.

With that plan of action, you opened the door. Barbatos was not in the shower, despite the running faucet. In fact, Barbatos was stark naked in the middle of the room. A washcloth in his hand indicated he had already obtained his own towels. He had his back to the door, as if he was just about to enter the tub. He made eye contact with you over his shoulder, eyes wide.

That one second felt like an hour.

His posture was superb. A mix of tea and condensation from the muggy bathroom air trailed down the curve of his spine, fine enough to be in a medical textbook. Your eyes followed, down to the base of his tail and the derriere behind it. Two fabulous, firm full moons. A sight rarer than anything else in all the three realms.

"Did you need something?"

Barbatos' usual polite tone was punctuated with umbrage. He placed a hand on his chest, as though shielding his visage.

"I'm sorry!" were the first words you spat out, on reflex. Coherent thinking failed you in the face of such art. Sentences started falling out of your mouth and you hoped they made sense. "I thought you might need a towel, so I got one from the laundry and came to give it to you. I knocked! I did, I knocked, but you didn't answer so I came in to leave this."

You held the towel forward with both hands as an offering. "And I was gonna collect your clothes so I could wash them. As an apology for, ah, that other thing I did. Sorry."

You stared at the ground. Even Barbatos' ankles were pristine. A little bony, tapering down at the sides that led to his slender feet. You watched his weight shift as his tail curled closer to his body.

"How thoughtful. I'd appreciate if you could hang it on the towel bar. I will handle my clothes myself, later."

"Right, of course." You swiveled and diligently hung the towel up. The dirty clothes in question were on the ground, still soaking wet, neatly folded in a square. You looked from them back to Barbatos. He was rooted in place, not budging in the slightest. One wrong move, and who knew how much you'd see?

More than the current eyeful, that's for sure. More than the slope of his shoulders. More than the rise and fall of his upper body with each fresh breath. More than the sight of his wet hair clinging to the curve of his jawbone and the tenseness in his arm when his painted fingernails wrapped around the tiny washcloth.

"Do you need anything else?" he asked. An obvious cue for you to leave.

"I'm good," you said. It was hard not to ogle at the size of his waist fully unobscured by clothing, and its ratio to his hips. "Do you... need any help?"

"I am fine. I will be taking my shower now." His voice echoed around the bathroom as you finally left. It echoed around your head, too, when he said, "be good and wait for me."

[bratbarzal]

On My Side (NH13)

Pairing: Nico "I think the hockey gods were on my side" Hischier x Fem!OC Poppy

WC: 6k

part of the On Your Side universe

*This is a bonus chapter set after the ending of the overall fic, and can be read as a standalone if you haven't read the fic, but if you want to understand their dynamic and Poppy's personality a little more, you should!!!

Description: 18+ MDNI, Nico comes home to Poppy after scoring his first ever career hat-trick for the Devils. Way more fluff than smut but Nico is down bad as always.

A/N: You're all a bunch of enablers and that's all I have to say on the matter!!! Hope this fills the void while I continue to struggle with chapter ten lmao there is mention of Baby Cheeto in here but no spoilers for her name. Nico calls her Bug as a nickname, like _____-Bug, Chäferli (little bug) or just Bug for short, but it isn't her actual name. I can't use Cheeto forever lmao. I was literally trying to think of a title and remembered he said the words "on my side" WHAT IF I TOLD YOU HE'S A MASTERMIND he's an oys!truther if I ever saw one! Painfully obsessed with Poppy if you ask me. Also the way Cheeto would rock the heck out of this it's so cute I had to share

Nico Hischier likes to think he’s a patient man.

Finally scoring his first career hat-trick after 8 years in the NHL, after 476 games played with the Devils, would be the ultimate testament to that.

Doing so in the first ever game with his daughter in attendance - on home turf, his mother and Poppy holding her up in the family suite during warm-ups in her little Devils teddy sleeper that he can only just make out from down on the ice, but has his rampant heart beating out of his chest all the same - has him thinking that maybe, after all those years, after all those games, the stars had been aligning for him the whole time. 

And it was that sort of patience he had tried to tune into since the end of the second period, when he knew Poppy had left early to try skip traffic and get their little girl home safe for bed.

It’s what he tries to channel in the aftermath of the game, swarmed by reporters in the locker room, trying to remain polite and professional, not rushing them through their questions or giving half-assed answers - knowing he owes a lot more than that to the organisation that has allowed him to get this far. Trying to save just a speck of energy to give when he finally gets home, collapsing into the warm embrace of the girls he knows are waiting patiently for him.

It’s what he holds onto when he has to take a detour on his way home, dropping his mom off at her hotel and trying not to visibly squirm in his seat as she regales him with stories of how his daughter had captured the hearts of everyone she encountered, swallowing down the slight jealousy that he hadn’t been there to see it and clinging to the fact that he had his own success elsewhere in the night - success that played second fiddle in his own mother’s eyes to the experience of sharing her granddaughter’s first ever game with her, an experience he had to endure twice as she called his father from his car, deep chuckles ringing through the speakers as he tried to get a word in edge ways beyond her excitement.

It’s what has him shaking with anticipation as he almost skips down the hall to their apartment, mustering up the rest of his energy to walk into their home without the weight of the world on his shoulders, leaving any doubt, any insecurity, any lingering self-deprecation at the door so he can bask in this moment with the two hearts that are shaped entirely to fit him into them.

And it’s what has him shaking off whatever disappointment tries to creep in when he sees his little girl asleep in Poppy’s arms, knowing whatever tiny part of her he will ever get will always be enough - even if her big, glassy eyes aren’t looking up at him, even if he doesn’t come home to one of those heart-stopping beaming smiles she has started to give to him whenever he enters the room - her being here, sleeping safely in the arms of her beautiful mother, and him getting to come home to whatever version of them he can, is more than he could ever ask for.

“Well, well, well, if it isn’t the hat-trick hero.” Poppy’s soft voice carries to him as he makes his way over, dropping his bag on the floor and keys on the counter, heading straight to where she is now standing and pressing a kiss to her waiting lips. “Hi, handsome.”

“She didn’t wanna say goodnight to her daddy, huh?” He tries not to sound too dejected - he’s supposed to be on a high, after all - but after half an hour of his mother unintentionally bragging about all the attention she had been giving to her Gromi all night, he can’t help the slight sag of his shoulders - especially knowing that she’s going to be spending the morning with his mom tomorrow, too.

“Sorry, baby, we watched a little of you on the TV and then she got hangry,” Nico finds himself hypnotised by her still figure, enamoured with the way she exudes sheer calmness. The smile that creeps up on his lips seems to do so by muscle memory - a dopey kind of smile he’s probably had plastered on his face since she came into the world kicking and screaming 2 months ago, a smile permanently etched into his features from probably even before that. “I promise I tried to keep her up, she literally fell asleep on my boob.” Poppy whispers, watching with warm, glittery eyes as Nico takes in the sight of his two favourite people in front of him - Poppy already changed into one of his shirts, settled for the night, and his baby girl all cosy in her little teddy bear onesie, pacifier bobbing between her plush little lips.

“Look at her hat,” he pouts, running a finger along the folded seam of the way-too-big beanie Poppy has perched on top of her head, the knit fabric falling just short of her closed eyes. “That’s adorable.”

“Your mom put it on her before we left,” Poppy chuckles lightly, “Wanted to keep it on until you got home, we had to celebrate the hatty properly.” Her brows raise as if gesturing to the bill of the cap on her own head, one of his, he’s sure - no doubt stolen from their closet as soon as she got home.

“My little good luck charm,” he leans down to press a kiss to her cheek before he lifts himself back up and bends toward Poppy, “Gonna have to start coming to all the games.”

“I’ll let you break the news to her when she wakes up,” she hums as he presses his lips to hers, “She has a very low tolerance for everybody telling her to smile and getting all up in her space, been grouchy all night.”

“Just like Mami, huh, bug?”

“Oh, you think you’ve got jokes now?” Poppy scoffs as she steps back, ready to take their daughter to bed.  “Score your first hatty and you think you’re funny?”

“Always been funny, babe,” he smirks, flicking at the cap sat on her head before he takes it off, flipping it to place on top of his own and following her down the hall. “I’ll prove it to you when I get her first laugh.”

“She’ll be laughing at you, not with you.”

“Better than nothing.”

Nico sits on the edge of their bed as Poppy reaches into the crib to retrieve the sleeping bag in there before she lays it down beside him. He does the work unzipping and readying it for her to place their daughter inside while she rocks her still-sleeping body, and the two of them work in tandem to get her inside before zipping her back up, with Nico softly pulling the beanie from her head and watching her fluffy hair fan out in its absence. 

He runs a gentle hand over her head to smooth it down as Poppy lifts her, and leans into where she offers her up for a kiss before she puts her in the crib. Nico watches with a soft smile etched into his features, the familiarity of it all spreading warmth throughout his chest, his favourite part of every day being this - sharing a goodnight routine in the comfortable quiet, the two loves of his life safe and happy within arms reach.

None of it feels new or daunting anymore, just easy - and despite the constant warnings of it not always being this way, Nico just wants to feel it to its fullest extent; sheer happiness and serenity. 

Poppy returns to the front of him, and he instinctively spreads his legs to accommodate her, palms laying flat against his chest and his hands falling to her hips. She just looks at him for a good few seconds, eyes shimmering with admiration, lips tugged between teeth and a head tilted as her expression flickers into something more intense. 

Her hands travel down his arms, wordlessly, until she grasps at his wrists and pulls him to stand, leaning up to press a fleeting kiss to the corner of his mouth. “C’mon,” she whispers while her lips are still against his skin, “Wanna celebrate you.”

As if getting to come home to her isn’t celebration enough.

He follows her back through the hall with their hands clasped together, arms stretched between them so he can watch the hem of his shirt ride up against the backs of her soft thighs, and he starts to feel his throat go dry.

He thinks of all those mornings they would spend in the kitchen together in the summer, his shirts a little tighter around her pregnant belly, riding up against her curves and leaving very little to the imagination when she’d wear just his t-shirt and nothing else.

She’s wearing panties now, he can tell, could see the bottom of them peaking out when she’d leaned over to put their daughter in her crib. But he doesn’t mind inching them off, quite likes the slow pace of unwrapping her like a gift - a well-deserved present for all his hard efforts on the ice.

It’s where his fingers find themselves almost immediately when she stops just short of the couch, spinning and practically launching herself into his waiting arms. He can’t help but chuckle as they collide, large arms wrapping around her frame as she melts into him, hands gripping either side of his jaw to pull him down in a clash of teeth and tongues. He palms at her ass as she presses her hips forward, fingers slipping under the hem of her panties and wriggling under them until his knuckles are covered by the fabric, squeezing at the flesh until she groans into his open mouth. 

He feels deft fingers working between them to rid him of his own clothes, clumsily popping open the buttons of his jacket before working their way up his chest, slipping into the arms and helping him shrug it off. The weight of it drops to the floor with a heavy thud, and when her hands return to his chest for the next item of clothing to be removed, she pushes him back with an exaggerated huff.

“Baby, how many layers do you need?”

“You in some kind of rush, or something?” He chuckles, chasing her lips with a crane of his neck, getting a quick kiss in before she pushes him back again with palms laid flat on his broad chest.

“Your daughter has some sort of radar for when we’re within 2 inches of each other,” she says as her hands slide down, the feel of them through the extra layers he has on still present as she travels past the hard ridges of his abdomen. She grasps tight at the bottom of his hoody, and he lends a hand to tugging it up and over his head, throwing that to the floor, too. “We gotta get a move on before she wakes up,”

“My daughter?” He scoffs, removing his undershirt while she’s distracted, relishing the feeling of a heavy gaze on his chest once it’s fully revealed to her hungry eyes. “She’s really given you such a hard time that you’re disowning her?”

“She isn’t letting me have a hard time at all, that’s the problem.” Her hands reach back out seemingly of their own volition, fingers fanning out across his skin as her stare glides down, the weight of it sliding down his skin to the point he feels the hairs on the back of his neck stand to attention. 

“That was weak for you.” He teases.

“I’m out of practice,” she pouts, closing the distance once more and pressing her lips to the slightly stubbled skin of his jaw, nipping at the flesh as her ministrations travel across his features, his jaw, his neck, the spot just below his ear, where she mutters, “Wanna show you how proud I am of you,”

“Oh yeah?” He asks as she works at the button of his pants, pushing until they pool at his feet and he can kick them off.

“Mmhm,” she moves her kisses back to his waiting lips, “Been waiting to get my hands on you all night.”

“Been waiting to get my hands on you all day,” he mutters back, bending to lift her with hands gripping her ass, “Been thinking about you teasing me in the kitchen this morning,” he starts heading for the couch, mind spinning as she continues kissing him - thinking of all the plans she had been making for the two of them while his mom takes Little Bug out in the morning, finally giving them some much needed, uninterrupted time to themselves. Plans of wasting the morning away between the sheets, sharing showers, having no responsibilities other than paying attention to one another. “Thinking about having you all to myself tomorrow."

“You gonna let me give you a preview?” 

He chuckles as he falls back onto the couch, all grace thrown out the window as they sink into the cushions, her still holding onto him and now straddling his lap, lips stretched into a blissful smile as he looks up at her.

She presses them straight to his, and he can’t bring himself to mind the way their teeth clash at her eagerness, hips grinding down onto his as she settles onto her knees.

He could spend forever kissing her like this, sensual and sloppy, the slight scratch of her nails against the sides of his neck and his grip on her thighs guiding her movements straight onto the aching growth between his legs.

He bucks up to meet her, and their lips part with a wet smack as she groans. 

"Bet you can’t wait for me to shave, eh?” he smiles as he swipes a thumb across the space between her nose and lip, the skin red raw from the scratch of his moustache.

“You know damn well I’d ban you from ever touching a razor again if I could.” She says, breathlessly, slowly thrusting down onto him.

“Tell that to your little red muzzy, you’re giving Luke a run for his money,”

“Hey,” she swats at his chest in feigned outrage, “The kid tried his best!” 

“No more talk about Hughes when you’re sat on my lap,”

“You brought him up!”

“Thought I was getting a preview,” he groans as he shuffles, reaching between them to slip a hand between her legs, tucking his fingers beneath her panties and swiping against her heat. “Jesus, Poppy.”

“Told you I’ve been thinking about you all night,” she pecks at his lips again, raising her hips a little to give him further access to slide his fingers through the almost excessive wetness that’s near enough soaked through her panties. 

He prods at her entrance, two fingers slipping straight in until she’s gasping against his cheek in sheer bliss. His digits move with ease, working his way up to his knuckles as he drinks up her pleasured moans, his chin tilting until their open mouths just press together without kissing, panting against one another as he works her up. 

He pushes the fabric of his shirt up her thighs with his other hand, exposing his handiwork to hungry eyes so he can see the way she glistens between her legs - can see the way his fingers slide in an out of her.

She takes his shirt off, throwing it beside them on the couch so she can see too, looking down for only a moment before she’s throwing her head back.

He’s so hard just watching her that it’s almost painful - straining against the seams of his briefs until they’re tenting beneath her. And she must notice, nimble fingers working him out until he’s thick and hot and heavy in her palm, gripping around him in with her thumb swiping at his tip, hips shuffling until his fingers slip out of her heat and she can move on her knees to hover above his waiting cock. 

He takes a hold of himself while her hands raise to steady herself on his shoulders, and he waits with bated breath as she lowers herself, sinking past her entrance until he’s sheathed entirely, tight, wet walls wrapped around him in a long-awaited embrace.

Their moans fall out in sync, both of them stilling, the only movements between them being the soft rise and fall of panting chests. 

It’s a minute before she starts to rock her hips, leaning back down to distract herself from whatever unease needs to fade away with the press of her lips to his - tongue swiping at his, sucking and nipping at the muscle as she works herself to the point where she can lift herself up a little.

“Fuck me,” he whines out in an elongated groan as she sinks down on him again, tight and slick and warm, and he feels tension in every cell in his body, strung taut to the point where he feels like he could snap entirely in any given moment.

“I’m working on it,” she pouts, “Think I overestimated my talents here,”

“Think you’re very talented,” he hums, pressing a kiss to her jaw as he lays large hands on the dip of her waist, fingers tickling into the arch of her back so her movements are a little smoother, a little more fluid. “So good to me, yeah? Just need a hand.”

He guides her hips into a steady rhythm - up, down, forward, back - until she’s rocking onto him in a mind numbing pace. 

God, he thinks, this is heaven.

It’s been so long since he’s had her like this. Probably all the way back in Switzerland in the summer, and he thinks a lot about this situation mirrors that - trying to stay quiet, trying to feel as much of each other as they possibly can without drawing attention from sleeping parties one room over. 

He remembers thinking, all those months ago, that it wouldn’t be possible to love Poppy any more than he did, then - that he couldn’t possibly feel more for her than he did when he shared that part of his world, and she had embraced it with open arms. She had blended straight into his family, had adapted herself to his routine, had brought new life and colour to what he had always considered vibrant, anyway, but she had changed the meaning of it all.

But she had done the same to life in Jersey. 

Long gone were any feelings of homesickness he used to get - especially around this time of the year. Fully immersed now into his season, summer seeming too far from his reach that he started to forget what home felt like. But not anymore.

Home is Poppy. Home is their baby girl sleeping soundly in the next room. It’s playing one of the greatest games of his career so far, meeting milestones he had been reaching for for so long, standing in the centre of the arena he has built his career in, hearing the rapturous cheers of fans chanting his name, and driving back knowing the love garnered there could never possibly compare to the love waiting for him in his apartment.

He brings her face down with a palm splayed gently across her jaw, fingers reaching back to tickle at the nape of her neck and thumb swiping tenderly at her soft cheekbone, until their mouths collide. He shifts his hips to meet her ministrations, finding a rhythm that has her gasping into his mouth, enough that his tongue can slip past the seam of her lips and press against hers - hot and fervid and eager.

He wonders as the pressure builds if this passion will ever wither. If this need to profess his love for her will ever wain away, if he’ll ever be casual about the way in which she has become the entire centre of his universe.

He hopes not. 

He hopes when he’s 80, he looks over at her and his heart still hammers in his chest. He hopes his mouth struggles to make sense of all the ways in which his brain tries to convey what she means to him - hopes he still stutters around his sentences and feels weak to the very base of his spine at the mere thought of her. 

In fact, he doesn’t hope at all.

He knows he will.

“You feel so good,” Poppy mutters into his mouth, panting against his swollen lips, “I’ve missed this so much.”

“Yeah?” He thrusts up, “You missed being full of me?”

He’s missed this far out look in her eyes, glassed over and almost gone as she nods in response - they haven’t really been able to get to this stage with their quick fumbles and rushed hookups in the last 2 weeks since she got the all clear from her doctor for them to start being intimate again. Sure, they had developed other methods over those first 6 weeks, making good use of hands and mouths in whatever limited time they could find together, but nothing compares to this.

To being attached at every point like they are one.

“You gonna come for me?”

He still remembers her tells, fluttering lashes, trembling thighs, stuttered breaths all combined with the spine tingling way in which she tightens around him, and he manages to time it so they come together, one final burst of energy used to lift his hips just as she sinks down, body slumping into tremors that wrack through the both of them.

He holds her in place for a second, large hands pushing his shirt up her back as he starts to rub circles into her flesh, soothing her back into a softened consciousness - hazy and frazzled but still in tune with every movement he makes. 

Her nose presses into the expanse of his neck, lips pecking at all the sensitive spots she can seek out as they both try to catch their breaths - and he realises she was probably right before, they haven’t had time like this for a while now. 

Still, he’ll take what he can get.

She lifts her hips just enough for him to slip out, and reaches to the small table at the side of the couch where she has miraculously stashed a pack of baby wipes. She takes two out, using one to clean the both of them before she bundles it into the clean one and discards of it back onto the table to be disposed when she eventually gets the feeling back in her legs.

And it’s as soon as Poppy’s legs give way and she collapses into him that they both hear it - a soft wail carrying through the monitor behind the couch. Cries filling the space around them and bursting their bubble with an almighty pop!

“Told you,” Poppy mumbles into his neck, skin sticky with a soft sheen of sweat. “Won’t even let me get a hatty of my own,”

Nico scoffs, snorting out a loud chuckle that shakes where she rests on his chest, and despite her feigned irritation, she feels her cheeks puff out into a soft, unbreakable grin. “Like you’d have lasted 3 rounds.”

“What happened to me being very talented?” She pouts, mustering whatever strength she has left to push herself up, swinging a leg back over and moving to stand, only for him to grasp back at her, pulling her until her back falls into the plush of the couch.

“Talented, Poppy, not super human,” he chuckles, standing from the cushions and tucking himself back into his briefs. “I’ve got her.”

“It’s probably wind, I changed and fed her before she went down.”

He presses one last kiss to Poppy’s head before heavy feet carry him down the hall toward their bedroom, where their daughter’s crib is temporarily positioned until she starts to sleep a little further through the night. He doesn’t bother flicking the light on as he enters, able to follow his muscle memory straight over to where she is without tripping over his own feet, and he lifts her as soon as he can, cooing at her as she cries into his chest.

“I’ve got you, Chäferli,” he mutters as he rocks her gently, large hand completely encompassing where he can feel her back through her sleeping bag. “Daddy’s here,”

He reaches over to shut off the monitor before he ambles over to his and Poppy’s bed, sitting with his daughter still clutched to his chest, little hiccups coming out as his hand tries to work up her wind. 

“Got yourself all worked up, huh?” He asks, so deep into his routine of talking to her about anything and everything that he no longer second guesses it. “My little bug, you’re okay.”

It takes a good few minutes to calm her down, to the point that Nico thinks she might even be hungry and he’ll have to call Poppy in, wiggling a finger between her lips to see if she latches on, but he continues to pat and rub at her back until she burps, and her cries turn into little coos, that turn into soft pants with wide, sparkling eyes staring up at him in wonder. 

He looks down at her in the same way, dark eyes flitting across her every feature. Across the soft but thick head of hair, the crazy long eyelashes, the puffy lips and the little button nose. 

She looks so much like Poppy that he feels his chest ache every time he looks at her - but it’s a good kind of ache, a longing and content kind of ache, that only aches to remind him of everything he stands to lose if he doesn’t work hard enough to keep it.

“Gromi told me you were charming everybody at daddy’s work,” he tells her with a soft smile, the pad of his finger pressing at the tip of her nose. “Says she’s gonna have to show you off around the city on her own tomorrow.”

Tiny fingers reach up to clasp around his, holding on and clutching with a grip he’s sure wasn’t so firm that morning when he had said his goodbyes. 

“Careful, bug,” he tells her, “You hold Papi’s hand too long and he won’t let you go.”

Wide eyes gleam back at him, and he watches in awe as they start to crinkle in the corners. 

He becomes all too aware of the hammering of his heart, and lays her beside him on the bed in fears that the echoing thud of it beating against his chest might disturb her. He curls up beside her, making sure she’s flat as he gets himself comfortable, and just lays there for a good few minutes, watching her as she watches him.

There isn’t a feeling in the world that compares to this, he thinks. He could score a hundred hat-tricks, have a million people chanting his name, and it won’t come close to how adored he feels in this moment, how proud he feels to have played any part in making a little human so perfect and beautiful.

He leans forward, kissing softly at her puffy cheek, careful not to press too hard that she feels the scratch of his moustache, and he relishes the little squeal of what he hopes is delight she gives in return. 

Poppy gives it 20 minutes before she decides to venture through to their bedroom, having cleaned up and busied herself sterilising bottles so they’re ready for Katja to come pick up in the morning. It’s been a rare occurrence lately that Nico has had his one-on-one time with their daughter, him being so busy with training and their trip to Florida - and he wouldn’t say it, wouldn’t fess up to the ways in which it gets him down, but she knows he feels like he’s missing a lot. 

She changes so much day to day - discovers so much about the world around her - and as much as Poppy tries to save things for him to see on his own, tries to find the balance between sharing the little moments she gets with him and letting him experience them for himself, she knows there’s nothing she can do to keep that nagging voice at bay.

He’s always been that way, unable to completely silence the thoughts that tell him no matter what he does, it isn’t enough. 

He’d even done it tonight - his first career hat-trick, him being the first Swiss-born player to score a natural hat-trick, a stadium filled with fans chanting his name, dominating a team the Devils hadn’t beat at home in close to 10 years - and it hadn’t been his best performance. 

She would gladly spend the rest of her life convincing him he’s good enough, she thinks. 

Her and their little Bug being the ones who get to welcome him home after a night like tonight? She doesn’t know what she did in a past life to get the Gods on her side like this, but she’d do it again a thousand times over.

As her feet pad softly down the hall toward their room, she listens out for the soft voice she usually has the pleasure of eavesdropping on when she thinks he doesn’t know she’s hovering on the other side of the door. A soft voice that tells their little girl exaggerated stories from his day about her uncles, about his games, about whatever he got up to while he was away and what he brought back for her from his travels. But this time, it’s quiet - the peaceful kind of quiet that wraps around her like a blanket, tranquil and warming as she pushes the door open and steps into the room.

Nico is curled up on his side of the bed, on top of the covers, and his arm is draped gently over their daughter’s sleeping bag, their faces inches apart as soft snores fall from their parted lips. She inches closer as quiet as she can manage, leaning over them and taking in their similar profiles - the gentle slope of their mirrored noses, dark lashes framing closed eyes that are turning darker to match her daddy’s day by day.

If anyone had told the Poppy of last November that this is where she would be now - that this is where she’d be with Nico - she never in a million years would have believed it. 

He has transformed her life in such little time that she can barely remember the before. Can barely remember a night she fell asleep in any other bed, by any other side, or woke up to anyone else. Can barely remember feeling anything close to this kind of happiness, this kind of content.

It’s like he’s introduced her to a whole new level of feelings. Ones she struggles to describe, like there’s no word in the English language that could possibly convey what he means to her.

Maybe his language has a word for it. Something that she’s never heard before, but just sounds right. Like she knew it somewhere much deeper than her brain allowed her access. She’ll have to ask him, tomorrow - when they finally have a morning to themselves and she can work up the energy to crawl out from under the sheets with him.

A part of her wishes she could take a snapshot of this moment - could send it back in time to the Poppy who never thought this kind of life would ever find her. The Poppy who was drifting, coasting, floating, afraid of landing on her own two feet and having to drag them for the rest of time through unfamiliar territories. The Poppy who pushed down her ever expanding adoration for the man currently cuddled up to their entire life in the bed they share, who convinced herself he could never possibly feel the same way, and wasted years of her life when she could have had this.

But another part of her thinks, what’s the point?

She has him, now. 

She’ll have him forever.

She allows herself to watch for a minute as they take deep breaths in sync, all the post-game tension in Nico’s body long melted away, before she quietly shuffles over to the bathroom to get herself ready for bed. 

She manages to make her way back over in the dark without stumbling, by some miracle, and reaches over to pick her baby girl up without interrupting her sleep, standing beside her crib and rocking her a little just to make sure she’s still fully drifted off - relishing the feeling of soft puffs of air falling into her neck as she cradles her.

Nico must wake at the loss of contact, instincts kicking in immediately when he can no longer feel the little body that had been resting under his protective arm, and when Poppy looks back over, she can see the reflective glint in his eyes as he watches her - soft and adoring and tooth-achingly sweet. 

Instead of putting her down, she bounces gently on her feet back over to Nico’s side of the bed, sitting beside him as he shuffles up, and the two of them just watch their daughter as she sleeps. 

For all the times they have been warned that this bliss is temporary, that it’s just a phase, Poppy can’t see it ending for as long as Nico looks at her like this. Like he has the entire world sat in front of him. 

“She was smiling at me before,” he whispers as he repositions himself, legs spread so that Poppy can sit between them. “Was trying to get her to calm down, and she was just looking straight at me with those big sparkly eyes and she smiled right at me.”

“She was doing it a little when we got home, earlier.” Poppy whispers back, hoping he doesn’t mind her raining on his parade a little to tell this story, “We just caught your interview on TV after the game, and there was this close up of you, and she smiled so big, Nico. She never smiles like that for anybody.”

“That’s ‘cause you snitch on her and tell everyone it’s gas.”

“I don’t want anyone else thinking they’re special.”

“But I am?” He asks, reaching to swipe the back of his finger softly against her cheek, the soft moonlight sifting into the room reflecting off of the ring on his finger, the quick glimmer enough to catch Poppy’s eye, to distract her so much that she can only hum in response, lips curving into a tender smile. 

“Yeah,” she breathes, the tranquility of the room a stark contrast to the way her heart erupts into thunderous applause for him - akin to that of the stadium full of fans earlier that night. Thousands of voices chanting his name, singing his praises, cheering him on for all the glory he brought to their night. He brings that to Poppy, tenfold, every day. “You’re really special.”

He leans over their sleeping daughter to press a loving kiss to Poppy’s lips, careful not to disturb the little angel between them, and Poppy kisses him straight back, fervent but fleeting.

“I’m so proud of you, baby.” she mutters into his mouth, careful not to invest too much of herself into another moment they’ll swiftly get interrupted from. 

“You gonna show me in the morning?” He mumbles back, their lips still touching, noses pressed together, his hand still cradling her face. She nods, and he feels her cheeks round into his palm. “Gonna give me that hatty you promised?”

“Gonna give you whatever you want.”

“Another baby, Frau?”

She scoffs, swallowing down the fizzing feeling at the back of her throat the nickname. 

“Ask me again after your next hat-trick.” 

[ultravioletbrit]

“gone” - Jegulus microfic - @into-the-jeggyverse - 518 words

Part 4/5 (part 1, part 2, part 3 /part 5)

For a moment, Regulus still considers making a break for it but instead he takes a deep breath and turns to face his brother. They stare at each other for several moments, a myriad of emotions flicking across Sirius’ face as he opens and closes his mouth without saying anything. Regulus is struggling to find the right words also, but he’s saved when James breaks the silence.

“Did you really just try to sneak out the front door?” He asks.

Regulus’ stare slowly shifts from Sirius to James.

“And I was almost gone, if you didn’t notice.” Regulus defends himself.

“But we’re standing right here.” James gestures to emphasize that they are in fact standing very close to the front door.     

“Your point?” Regulus defiantly crosses his arm.   

“Hey guys?” Regulus faintly hears Sirius in the background.

“My point is that this is apparently your brother, which I’d still like a bit of an explanation about.” James starts.

“I can—” Sirius tries to interrupt.

“But regardless, there’s obviously something going on between you two.” James continues, ignoring Sirius.

“Yeah, but that’s—” Sirius tries again.

“So clearly, he’s not letting you leave without talking to him. And I’m definitely not letting you leave without getting your number.” Again, James talks over Sirius.

“You’re what?!” Regulus and Sirius ask at the same time.

“What makes you think I’d give you my number?” Regulus asks.

“Hey Reggie, good to see you, what are you doing here?” Sirius turns to the side—not facing Regulus—and dramatically asks no one.

“Do you not want to give me your number.” James smirks.

Sirius turns the other way, still talking to no one, “Hey Sirius, long time, no see. Funny story actually.” Sirius says in a mocking voice.

“I… …” Regulus tries to answer James.

Sirius turns around again. “Oh yeah? I’d love to hear it.” Sirius continues talking to no one.

“So, you do want to give me your number.” James’ smirk grows.

Sirius turns again and continues in a very dramatic mocking voice. “Well, Sirius, I just love you sooo much, I couldn’t be without you.”

“I never said that.” Regulus fires back at James—but also inadvertently answered Sirius’ statement.

Sirius turns to respond to Regulus until he realizes that Regulus wasn’t talking to him, then drops his shoulders. “I might as well be talking to a mirror.” He tosses his arms up.

“No… but you hesitated, love.” James’ smile softens and Regulus hates to admit that he has to fight to restrain his own smile. James opens his mouth, but Sirius cuts him off.

“OKAY, that’s enough!” Sirius stands between them and grabs Regulus by his ear and starts pulling him towards James’ couch.  

“OUCH!” Regulus yelps. “You are hurting me!”  

“Well, normally, I have a very sweet disposition, but you lost that right when you ignored me!” Sirius shouts and Regulus continues to yelp.

“Okay, wait a minute, Sirius.” James tries to jump in.

“I did my waiting! Twelve minutes of it, while you two were doing… whatever the hell that was.” Sirius throws Regulus on the couch. “Now sit. I want answers!”

[mellohiizz]

mel mellohiizz............ can i beg for uu!parrot and uu!clownpierce art

i love the parallels between them, it's so fun to think about

[sunsetsandsunshine]

~ 𝚃𝚑𝚎 𝚙𝚛𝚘𝚖𝚒𝚜𝚎 ~

·̩̩̥͙＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚𝙸 𝚠𝚊𝚜𝚗’𝚝 𝚔𝚒𝚍𝚍𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚠𝚑𝚎𝚗 𝙸 𝚜𝚊𝚒𝚍 𝚂𝚘𝚗𝚒𝚌 𝟹 𝚋𝚛𝚘𝚞𝚐𝚑𝚝 𝚋𝚊𝚌𝚔 𝚖𝚢 𝚂𝚘𝚗𝚒𝚌 𝚑𝚢𝚙𝚎𝚛𝚏𝚒𝚡𝚊𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗 😭👍🏾…˚*• ̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*＊·̩̩̥͙

𝙶𝚎𝚗𝚛𝚎: 𝙷𝚞𝚛𝚝/𝙲𝚘𝚖𝚏𝚘𝚛𝚝 

𝚆𝚘𝚛𝚍𝚜: 𝟺,𝟸𝟽𝟻

𝙻𝚎𝚎: 𝙺𝚗𝚞𝚌𝚔𝚕𝚎𝚜 🥊❤️

𝙻𝚎𝚛: 𝙼𝚊𝚍𝚍𝚒𝚎 🥨💜

𝚂𝚞𝚖𝚖𝚊𝚛𝚢: 𝙴𝚟𝚎𝚛 𝚜𝚒𝚗𝚌𝚎 𝙺𝚗𝚞𝚌𝚔𝚕𝚎𝚜 𝚌𝚊𝚖𝚎 𝚝𝚘 𝚕𝚒𝚟𝚎 𝚒𝚗 𝙶𝚛𝚎𝚎𝚗 𝙷𝚒𝚕𝚕𝚜…𝚑𝚎’𝚜 𝚕𝚎𝚊𝚛𝚗𝚎𝚍 𝚝𝚘 𝚊𝚍𝚊𝚙𝚝. 𝙵𝚘𝚛 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚖𝚘𝚜𝚝 𝚙𝚊𝚛𝚝, 𝚊𝚝 𝚕𝚎𝚊𝚜𝚝…

(𝙰/𝙽: 𝙰 𝚖𝚘𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚛 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚜𝚘𝚗 𝚛𝚎𝚕𝚊𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗𝚜𝚑𝚒𝚙. 𝙽𝚘𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚖𝚘𝚛𝚎…𝚗𝚘𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚕𝚎𝚜𝚜. 𝙳𝚘𝚗’𝚝 𝚋𝚎 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚐𝚞𝚢! 𝙺𝚒𝚗𝚔/𝙽𝚂𝙵𝚆 𝚋𝚕𝚘𝚐𝚜 𝙳𝙽𝙸!!!)

𝚆𝚊𝚛𝚗𝚒𝚗𝚐𝚜: 𝚃𝚒𝚌𝚔𝚕𝚒𝚗𝚐, 𝚜𝚎𝚕𝚏 𝚠𝚘𝚛𝚝𝚑 𝚒𝚜𝚜𝚞𝚎𝚜, 𝚍𝚎𝚊𝚝𝚑 𝚖𝚎𝚗𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗𝚜 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚜𝚎𝚕𝚏 𝚑𝚊𝚛𝚖 𝚜𝚝𝚒𝚖𝚖𝚒𝚗𝚐. 𝚁𝚎𝚊𝚍 𝚊𝚝 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚘𝚠𝚗 𝚛𝚒𝚜𝚔!!!

＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚𝙼𝙰𝙳𝙴 𝚃𝙷𝙸𝚂 𝙸𝙽 𝙻𝙸𝙺𝙴 𝚃𝙷𝚁𝙴𝙴 𝙳𝙰𝚈𝚂 𝙳𝙾𝙽’𝚃 𝙴𝚅𝙴𝚁 𝙿𝙻𝙰𝚈𝚈𝚈𝚈𝚈˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊·̩̩̥͙

Maddie almost fully leaped out of her spot on the bed her and her husband shared as she suddenly awoke, her eyes darting around the room before taking a deep breath, relaxing herself. 

She didn’t need to use the bathroom…

And she made sure all of the kids (+ Ozzie) were in their beds…

So why did she feel so…uneasy?

Tom broke through his sleep at the sudden movement from his wife, holding her hand as he rubbed it with his thumb gently, “Everything okay, love?” He mumbled out groggily. 

Maddie couldn’t help but let out a small chuckle at her husband’s sleepy voice, giving his hand a quick kiss as she got up from the bed, “I’m fine, babe. I just…I-I just…” She trailed off.

The cop yawned, raising a brow, “Having those random feelings of uneasiness again?” 

The woman in purple pajamas nodded. 

“Gonna go check up on our kids?”

She nodded once more.

“M'kay…” The famous Donut Lord yawned, drifting back to sleep, “Just call me if you need anything…” He mumbled as he closed his eyes and snored like no tomorrow.

Maddie rolled her eyes fondly, putting on her fluffy purple robe that was hoisted on a clothing hanger as put on her house slippers, going upstairs to the attic. 

The nurse quietly made her way to the attic, her heart racing with a sort of…adrenaline as she made her way to the beds…

…Although, she didn’t know why.

First, she made her way to Tails' bed, who, was soundly sleeping peacefully underneath his blankets. Maddie kissed his forehead, adjusting his noise canceling headphones on his ears as she further tucked him in as she made her way to Sonic…

And ohhhhhh, Sonic…

The kid was basically sprawled along his bed like a used up rag-doll…

…Which, Maddie didn’t know whether to mark it off as concerning or impressive. 

Maybe both.

The adult wrapped the blue hedgehog in his favorite blanket, kissing his forehead and subtly giggling as she saw him smile in his sleep at the kiss.

Lastly, she made her Knuckles' bed…

…That was missing, well…Knuckles. 

The woman took a deep breath, taking her phone out of her robe pocket as she tried to calm herself. 

He was going to absolutely GET IT if he went out 'adventuring' again. 

Maddie could not handle another week asking random people in Green Hills of the red echidna’s whereabout’s…

…Her heart just could not take that amount of stress anymore!

And if Wade was even the SLIGHTEST bit responsible he was going to GET IT too.

The brown eyed human made her way downstairs, relief washing over her as she saw the back quills of a familiar red fellow sitting at the bottom of the stairs that led to the kitchen. 

“…Knuckles?” She quietly said. 

The echidna swiftly turned around at the woman’s words, his pupils sharpening before softening upon realizing who was behind him. 

As he met her concerned yet loving gaze, he looked away, focusing on the wooden floor as if it was the most interesting thing as of right now.

Well…at least it was just Madeline. 

Or 'Pretzel Woman' as the red themed teenager liked to call her.

It honestly could have been way worse…

…The blue themed hedgehog could have awoken instead of Maddie…

…And that would have been a whole other problem Knuckles did not have the time or patience for. 

The teenager forced himself to relax slightly, his shoulders still tense in case of anything or…anyonedeciding to…surprise him.

Because he was an echidna warrior! He simply just did not get sneaked up on. 

“Pretzel Woman.” He hummed, “I would not have expected you to be awake at such hours…” 

“I wish I could say the same for you, sweetheart…” The 'Pretzel Woman' in question chuckled lightly, coming down and sitting on the stair the small teen was stifly sitting on, “What are you doing up, love?”

“I am keeping watch.” Knuckles stated simply, his seating spot remaining on the steps but his eyes darting in every which way around the house, seeming to look for a nonexistent threat. 

Or grapes. Those he will always look out for.

“Did…I wake you?” His violet eyes morphing into one of guilt, “I am sorry if that is the case…I tried to be as silent as possible whilst scouting this evening.” 

“No no! Not at all.” Maddie quickly assured, “I-I just…had a certain…feeling to get up, y'know?” 

But Knuckles did not know, only quietly nodding his head as he tried to make sense of what the chocolate eyed human was stating, “…I see.” He hummed once more, now looking up as he peered on the outside door, his eye ridges creasing together. 

Maddie fiddled with her fingers anxiously, not appreciating the sudden silence as she tried to collect her thoughts to think of what to say next.

Because, truth be told…Knuckles has been doing this…'guarding' business ever since he came to live in Green Hills. 

And it was somewhat nice the first week…

A tad bit jarring the second week…

But now it was the third week. 

And Maddie cannot recall one time she has seen Knuckles shut his eyes for more than a second.

“You are distressed.” The short teenager concluded bluntly, observing Maddie’s facial expression and body language, “Are you perhaps…cold?” 

The woman let a small smile strech to her features at that, “I’m not cold, sweetheart. But thank you for your concern.” She said gently, resting her hand on the teenager’s shoulder but drawing it back as the teeanger in question stifened further at the sudden contact. 

“But…I am worried.” The purple cladded woman stated, well…worriedly as she put her hands on her lap. 

The fifteen year old’s eye ridges knitted together in slight confusion, letting out a small: “Oh.” 

He looked up at her, “Why is that?”

The nurse started, “You’ve been staying up—”

“Scouting.” Knuckles politely corrected.

“—scouting…” She corrected herself, “…for three weeks straight, Knux. Aren’t you tired?”

“No.” The violet eyed teen uttered, “An echidna warrior is only tired when they need be. Which, I am not.” He stated, ironically burying back a small yawn that was bubbling in his throat.

Which, did not go unnoticed by Maddie. 

“Everyone gets tired eventually…” The human said, “It’s not healthy to just…skip sleep, hun. It’s not good for you.” 

“Only I know what is good and what is not good for me, Pretzel Woman.” The red echidna huffed, completely brushing off the other’s concern, “I will sleep when my duty is done.”

“Your…'duty?'” Maddie repeated.

Knuckles nodded, putting his right fist on his chest as he spoke, “I have promised you, the Lord of the Donuts, the loud hedgehog and the anxious fox to guard the Master Emerald, yes?”

“Well, yes, but—”

“And I have also promised to protect you all.” He announced proudly and matter-of-factly, “A protector never rests.” 

“Hun…I think we’ve proven we’re more than capable at protecting ourselves.” The human lightly joked as she almost immediately regretted her statement and tone as she saw the teen’s expression shift from proud to…distress. 

And there it is...

…You have such a wonderful way of words, Madeline…

…SUCH a wonderful way with words…

A flash of hurt made their way through Knuckles' eyes, though, he tried to hide it as we looked away, glaring at the floor slightly he hugged himself, which made the human feel even more guilty, “…I…I am aware of that fact.”

And immediately the adult started to backtrack at the teenager’s now almost distraught and downtrodden expression, “I-It’s not that we don’t appreciate it— appreciate you, love. I just don’t want you collapsing randomly one day because you’re staying up every single night keeping watch of us and the house.”

“I do not collapse.” The kid said in an almost defensive-like tone, “And when I eventually will, I would gladly do so knowing I have protected you all to the fullest.” 

And right then and there Maddie could have sworn she felt her heart stop at that, feeling the smallest twinge of lightheadedness as she curled her fingers, forming fists on her lap. 

“No!” The human shouted, lowering her voice as she realized she yelled a tad bit too loudly, making Knuckles flinch slightly at the sudden exclamation, “No no no! Knuckles, where is this coming from?!” 

The nurse pinched the bridge of her nose, trying to stay calm but found it really difficult due to the fact one of her kids openly stated he would be fine literally DYING if it meant he would fulfill his 'duty', “I don’t want you staying up guarding, scouting— whatever you call it! I just don’t want you doing any of those things!” 

The echidna’s face morphed to a frown, “But—“

“No, Knux…” Maddie said, her tone leaving no room for argument…

…The 'Mother voice' if you will…

“This is the last time you’re doing something like this. End of story.” The purple cladded human said, crossing her arms across her chest.

And then again, there was…a small silence that fell between the two. 

A silence neither of them liked at all. 

But the air was too thick with…all of a sudden tension that they both stayed quiet, in fear they would say the wrong thing…

…Again.

But eventually, the red echidna couldn’t take the silence; couldn’t take the tension any longer. 

He looked at the figure in front of him once more, fixing his composure to appear more confident…but ultimately just appearing to be straight up panic-stricken. 

“Then what can I do…?” He mumbled out meekly.

Maddie’s hands dropped to her sides, her eyebrows creasing together, “…What…do you mean?”

“To…To repay you all.” The violet eyed teenager further explained, mentally punching himself for sounding so completely and utterly…weak, “To make up for what I’ve done previously. T-To…guarntee my stay in the Wachowski clan.”

And those words alone spoke measures. 

The nurse’s heart might of well dropped all the way to the floor, because all of a sudden she felt like she could not breathe. 

She puts Knuckles' hand in hers, even though the echidna’s hand was obviously and ultimately TWICE her hand size…she didn’t care.

For crying out loud this was her son.

And she would never ever forgive herself if after this he would continue to think otherwise.

Then…

…Everything clicked. 

“…Sweetheart…did you…d-did you think we were going to…kick you out…?” She asked as if she already knew the answer, afraid of what the other would say. 

The short teenager picked up quickly that Maddie somehow knew now, guilt almost immediately hitting him like a train as he hugged himself with his free hand, looking down at his lap, “Yes.” He admitted, hugging himself more as he saw the other start to become teary eyed, “Before coming here to the Wachowski residance…I was responsible for so many casualties…” He muttered, “…I still am.”

The teenager’s tail droops, bringing his fist to his face to try and hide his also now tearing up expression, “I helped Robotnik seize control of your town and almost the entire planet…” 

“…I-If I had just listened to Sonic…your house would not still be under repair. You and the Lord of Donuts would not have to call that 'Uber' you always speak of every morning to simply go to your designated jobs!” He yelled, not really caring if anyone else besides Maddie heard him at this point.

“Growing up, my Father always told me to never put my hands on someone else unless they did so to me first…” He murmured, a hint of fondness in his tone speaking of his as of late Father.   

“I broke that promise when I met Sonic.” He mumbled out, ignoring the feelings of his eyes starting to become more wet, “But…B-But above all else…all my Father wanted for me was for me to be a good person…”

Knuckles let out a small sob, harshly wiping his face as his shoulder hung low…

…Out of hatred or frustration…? 

Maybe a little bit of both…? 

Maddie wasn’t sure.

“A-And I promised him. I swore on my life I would live by those two promises…” The small echidna hiccuped, yanking his arm away from the human as he gripped his arm with one hand until he couldn’t feel it anymore, “A-And I f-failed those two simple oaths b-by j-j-just acting so f-foolish…” 

The taller figure watched the other shake with sobs, swiftly scooting closer to him as she gently held his wrists to stop him from further hurting himself.  

“Oh, sweetheart…” She mumbled, her heart heavy as she saw the teenager duck his head further, “Hey…hey…” Maddie whispered, cupping the echidna’s face in her palms.

And to be completely honest? Knuckles wanted to hurt himself further as he did nothing but melt to the small but impactful form of affection…

“Can you look at me?” The nurse carefully asked. 

Knuckles quietly looked at her, his face scrunched up to try and attempt to stop the tears freely flowing down his cheeks like a waterfall. 

Maddie sighed sadly, wiping his tears with her thumb as she gently rubbed his cheeks, “I need you to listen to me, okay?”

He shakily nodded.

“You are a good person.” She emphasized sternly, “One mistake that you made doesn’t automatically define your worth.”

“This…” She said, gesturing to herself and Knuckles. “…is not a transaction. We are giving you a room to sleep in because we love you. We are giving you clothes to wear because we love you. We are giving you food to eat because we love you…”

“…Even though I would prefer you eat something other than grapes.” She tried to joke, which ended up finally working very effectively as she saw a small but genuine smile appear on the echidna’s face.

Knuckles couldn’t help but let out a soft snort, rolling his eyes before focusing on Maddie once again, “My grapes have nothing to do with this…” 

“And I do also consume Cool Ranch Doritos from time to time…” The teen mumbled, “So saying I onlyeat grapes is inaccurate.” 

The nurse gently squished his cheek playfully, “And this?” She gestured as she wiped away his tears once again, “Is because I love you. Not because I’m expecting something in return.” She explained as she now put his hands in her’s as if the size meant nothing to her…

…Because it didn’t.

“Robotnik tricked you. He tricked you into thinking he was a nice man. That isn’t your fault.” The human sternly announced once again. 

The red furred echidna shook his head, “But I endangered everyone—”

“—But you also saved everyone.” The purple pajama wearing woman quickly added, “You tried to fix your mistakes…don’t think I didn’t see you punching those egg robot thingies, hun. You weren’t messing around.” 

“I am not prone to be one who 'messes around…'” He said, his eyes almost jumping out of their sockets as Maddie planted a small kiss on his forehead.

“And that? That is because…” She gently urged on.

“You…Y-You love me...” Knuckles finished, almost choking on his own words, before lightly pushing her away in an attempt to get her to leave…

…Because she would eventually…

…Right?

“…Y-You hardly even know me.” The violet eyed echidna whispered, looking up at the taller figure as she gently bumped her shoulder with his.

“Doesn’t mean I can’t love you.” Maddie exclaimed as she smiled warmly, the warmness somehow making its way to the echidna warrior as his heart fluttered in his chest.

A small, subtle blush appeared on his muzzle as he looked away, trying to hide his expression. 

He cleared his throat, “I…suppose that is true, Pretzel Woman…”

“Just 'Maddie' is fine, sweetie.”

The fifteen year old swallowed, wiping his eyes with his arm as he finally looked at the taller.

And if Maddie squinted…she was almost 100% sure she saw a small sparkle in the child’s eyes. 

“Alright…Maddie.” The teenager announced shyly but proudly, resting his head on the other’s shoulder.

The nurse had to keep in literally every single fiber in her body to stop herself from squealing like a high-school preppy girl. 

“You don’t owe us anything…okay?” The brown eyed woman stated, “You’re apart of a family, Knux. And one doesn’t protect the whole family…we all protect each other.” She rubbed Knuckles' knuckles gently and comfortingly with her thumb, “You’re a Wachowski. And the Wachowski’s stick together.”

And just like that, another silence fell among the two…although, this one was less tense which Maddie could not be more grateful for. 

But the nurse couldn’t shake the feeling that something was being left…unsaid and undone.

And if you knew her…you knew dang well those two words were just simply not apart of her dictionary. 

“May I give you a hug?” She asked somewhat hesitantly, but couldn’t stop the smile spreading to her face as she saw the echidna perk up at the mention. 

The red echidna collected himself, clearing his throat again as he glanced up at her, “You may.” 

The human wrapped the echidna in her arms, her smile doubling in size as she felt the teen wrap his own arms around her…somewhat stifly and awkwardly. 

But hey, he was trying.

“I love you, Knux.” The chocolate eyed woman hummed, “And you don’t have to say it back if you aren’t ready.” 

The violet eyed echidna nodded, shyly burying his face into the other’s shoulder as they continued to embrace.

“Do you…want to go back to your room…?” Maddie asked in a tone signifying she was alright with a 'yes' or a 'no'. 

The warrior only held Maddie tighter at that, shaking his head as he buried his face into her shoulder harder, “In…I-In a little bit…” He answered honestly, “I do not want to go just yet…” 

“That’s fine.” The human assured, “How about…we stay on the couch for a while? I bet it’s way more comfy than these old stairs.”

The red furred echidna nodded, “…Alright.” 

He followed the taller to the living room, sitting on the couch as she did, watching her as she flipped through the channels.

“You okay with watching 'F.R.I.E.N.D.S.?'” The woman asked as she flipped to the Nick-at-Nite channel, relaxing on the couch cushion. 

“I am very fond of my companions, yes.” The young warrior nodded, resting his eyes on the TV as this so called….'F.R.I.E.N.D.S.' show started to play.

The two sat on the couch for a while, small chuckles and snickers being shared as they reacted to the show in front of them. 

Knuckles yawned, crossing his arms as he rested his head on Maddie’s arm which the older did not pay any mind to, subconsciously scratching his quills.

The younger’s eyes widened, not moving away from the touch but seeming genuinely shocked by it, “What are you doing?”

At that, the human quickly drew her hand away.

Shit.

“O-Oh, I’m sorry, baby.” She said apologetically, cursing herself for making it seem like she was trying to rush him with anything…

“It’s just a thing I do with Sonic and Tails— they find it calming. I’m sorry, I should’ve asked. It’s just…kind of an instinct…” Maddie said to Knuckles as he looked down, fiddling with his gloved fingers as he looked anywhere but the person beside him, “You do not…have to stop if you do not wish.” He admitted quietly, “It feels nice…”

The nurse tried (and failed) to hide yet another dorky grin that spread to her face as she gently ruffled Knuckles quills once more, cooing on the inside as the echidna subtly leaned into the touch, trying his absolute best to concentrate on the television but obviously clearly enjoying the affection as his tail wagged softly against the couch. 

As the TV ran, Maddie moved her hand to scratch where Knuckles' ears would be and the young warrior absolutely melted at the new touch, his tail wagging faster.

The purple cladded woman fondly smiled at the reaction, moving her fingers to gently scratch the back of the echidna’s neck but nothing would have prepared her for the loud shriek the teenager let out as she did so.

The violet eyed fifteen year old covered his mouth in shock as the human retreated her hand back, her face morphing to worry once more, “A-Are you alright? Are you hurt?” 

The echidna swallowed, not even trying to hide the small blush that appeared on his muzzle now as he put his hand to the side, “I-I am…uninjured.” He said as calmly as he could muster, “I apologize for startling you…I also startled myself…” 

“It’s okay, sweetheart…” The purple cladded human said, “…But what happened?”

“I am…not sure.” Knuckles explained as he rubbed the back of his neck as if to redo the feeling he just felt, “You touched the back of my neck and it felt…odd.” 

“Odd?” Maddie repeated. 

“Odd.” Knuckles said again.

The nurse raised a curious brow, lightly poking the red furred echidna where she was once scratching him as he burst into surprised and confused giggles.

The fifteen year old shook his head back and forth, scrunching up his shoulders as he lightly tried to pry the other’s hand away.

What…was this?

And why did it make him feel so…giddy and carefree?!

“C-Cease thihis s-sohorcery ahahat once!” The violet eyed echidna giggly demanded, hugging himself and falling down on the couch, “Ceeheease ceeheease ceeheeheeheease!!” He snickered as Maddie gently started to spider her finger nails along his sides. 

“It isn’t sorcery, love. Your just ticklish.” The adult chuckled, putting one and one together. 

“N-Nohohoh Ihi ahahaham nohot!” The red furred teen denied through his chorus of laughs, “Ahan ehechidna waharrior woHOULD neHEHEver hahave suhuHUCH AHA c-chihildish weeheeakness!” 

“Really?” Maddie smiled, intrigued as she gently prodded the other’s lower ribs, causing the other in question to automatically jerk, throwing his head back as he buried his heels in the couches cushions, “NOHOH thIHIs ihihis CHIHIHILDIHISH!!” He desperately squealed. 

The woman in purple pajamas couldn’t help the small coo she let out at the teenager’s adorable reactions…

…And Knuckles didn’t even need to look at her to know she found his once-in-a-full-moon flustered expression very amusing.

“Awe, Knux…” The nurse lightly teased as her fingers continued their ticklish torment on the echidna’s ribs. 

“NOHOH— snrk! DOHOHON’T!!” The echidna in question cried as his cheeks started to match his fur color, internally cursing his natural body movements as his tail wagged happily once more.

“Don’t what~? Don’t tickle you?” Maddie sweetly asked, only receiving a small but LOUD snort from the other as she moved down to gently scratch along his stomach, “Looks like I found a bad spot, huh, bud~?”

“IHIHIT IHISN’T snrt BAHAD!!” The teen insisted, banging his fists on the couch, “IHAT JUHAH—! SNRT! JUHUST FEEHEELS OHODD!!”

“Interesting…” The adult hummed, pretending she was pondering something as he dug her hand’s into the violet eyed echidna’s underarms, wincing slightly as he let out a sharp scream before descending into loud cackles.

“This feel odd too?” She asked innocently. 

“IHIHAT’S snrt snrt EEHEEVEN WOHOHORSE!!!” Knuckles laughed, “G-GEHAT snrt AHAHOUT OHOF THERE!” 

“Get out of where~?”

“THEHEHEHERE!” The teen quickly retorted, trying to gesture to his underarm but anytime he tried to the other would just simply make her touches even lighter, “MAHADDIE DAHAHON’T AHACT snrt STUPID!” 

“'Stupid~?'” The nurse dramatically gasped, “And here I thought we bonded!” She huffed as she fluttered her fingers in the crooks of the teen’s neck and under his chin.

And truth be told…Knuckles was absolutely, positively embarrassed of this whole ordeal.

And to be honest…he could have gotten up anytime he wanted…

…But he didn’t.

He hadn’t thought he’d ever feel such…happiness and carefreeness ever again…

…But it’s like Sonic always said…

'Hope is a hedgehog’s greatest weapon.' 

“SNRT! NOHOH!! STOHOP SNRT IHAT!!!” The echidna wheezed out, his legs frantically kicking behind Maddie.

“Guess this is your sweet spot…” The woman smiled brightly. 

“NAHAHAH! SNRT! NOHAHOTHING AHABOHOUT SNRT SNRT MY NECK IHIHIS SWEEHEEHEET!!!” The young warrior cackled loudly, tears welling up in his eyes…

…And for the first time in…well, forever…they were happy ones. 

“AHALRIGHT!! AHAHALRIHIGHT!!!” He relented, lightly pushing on her hands, “IHI SURRENDER! IHIHIHI SURRENDER!!” 

And just like that Maddie immediately let up, sitting back as Knuckles let out a couple more aftermath giggles.

“You okay, baby?” The human asked, wiping away the rest of his happy tears. 

“Y-Yehes. I aham snrt fine…” The red echidna hummed, sitting back on the couch as he layed his head on the figure’s shoulder again. 

“Thank you, Mo—“ Knuckles' eyes widened, quickly catching his slip-up, “M-Maddie. Maddie. Thank you, Maddie.” He exclaimed quickly, quietly praying to his echidna ancestors that the purple pajama wearing woman did not catch his mistake.

But judging by her wide eyes and agape mouth…she most likely did.

“Uhm…I-I must go to my sleeping quarters now…g-goodnight.” Knuckles stammered under his breath quickly and quiety, not waiting for the other to give an answer as he basically sprinted to the attic, quietly closing the door to not disturb his brothers whom were soundly fast asleep. 

Maddie slowly got out of her state of shock, her heart basically leaping out of her chest as she fondly smiled, shutting off all the lights in the living room and kitchen before taking one small glance at the closed attic door.

She felt…so warm and…so fuzzy…

Instead of her heart dropping…she honestly felt like it just soared to heaven. 

“Goodnight, son.” She whispered, wiping her eyes as she slipped into her and Tom’s bedroom, going under the covers next to her husband and going back to sleep. 

·̩̩̥͙＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚𝙵𝙸𝙽˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊·̩̩̥͙ 

(𝙿.����.: 𝙸𝚏 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚎𝚗𝚓𝚘𝚢𝚎𝚍 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚏𝚒𝚌, 𝚙𝚕𝚎𝚊𝚜𝚎 𝚛𝚎𝚋𝚕𝚘𝚐!!!)

[marysdonuts]

Tom and Jerry

school clown!Hoshi x top student!reader

Synopsis: After transferring schools the attention seeker Soonyoung keeps getting on your nerves. Fortunately it is way too easy to make fun of his somewhat lacking intellect. One day you take your snarky comments too far and Hoshi is all fun and games, until he wasn't

Warnings: smut, enemies to lovers, high IQ (f.) x low IQ (m.), slight angst, school setting, classmates, public sex, revenge sex, dirty talk, crack, spanking, fingering, penetration, inferiority complex, questionable fashion choices

WC: 1.4K

Status: part 1 (ongoing), part 2

a/n: join my taglist to get notified about new chapters

Changing schools was easier than you thought it would be. You were halfway through your senior year of high school at the crisp age of 17. The family had to move to different city for work. Making new friends was effortless - you were intelligent, good looking and fun to be around. Of course, big part of your popularity was thanks to the charm of the next new thing which always attracted many admirers. You were getting straight A's, enjoyed busy social life, everything seemed perfect.

Well, almost perfect.

If it wasn't for Hoshi Kwon. The school's appointed clown, now pushing 19 years old, he failed his senior year twice. Pathetic, how could somebody be so stupid? You hated him the moment he showed up on the first day of school - in purple suit, tiger print on the collar with matching hat. Cane in hand. Kicking the door open while singing Sherlock from Shinee he danced can-can. His legs flying up to the rhythm of - I'm so curious yeah! Everybody loved the performance. Everybody except you. The fuck? Where did he even get that ugly ass outfit and apparently his real name was not Hoshi but Soonyoung. Who the hell calls themselves Hoshi? Does he think he is a celebrity? Stupid ass name.

After the teacher assigned him as your desk-mate he made it his mission to annoy you. Teacher's reasoning being - he might calm down sitting next to the top student. Such a nonsense. Isn't it their job to know how to control the kids? You weren't getting paid enough for this. In fact, weren't getting paid at all!!

//

On Friday he arrived to class more excited than usual.

"Look at my fit!" kicking his foot proudly on the wooden desk in front of you. Before you had time to push him off he continued

"Do you like my new shoes?" expecting compliments

"I haven't seen uglier shoes in my entire life." you responded with no emotions what so ever

"What do you mean ugly" his already small eyes squinting into straight lines, eyebrows frowning comically

You couldn't help but laugh. He looked like cartoon character

"Now you laughing at me too?!" Stomping the foot that was still resting on your desk " They are Balenciaga!" still stomping

"They look like boats," lazily resting your chin on the top of you hand "if refugees used these," pointing at the monstrosity "instead of those tiny motor boats, their survival rate would be 100%"

You could hear an audible *gasp* leaving his mouth and muffled laughs from the classmates sitting behind you.

"You are the worst!" he cried out "Do you even know how expensive they were.." tear forming at the corner of his cartoony eyes

"Probably as expensive as the donations your parents must be sending to the school each year to keep you studying here" your voice full of disdain

"wow a kick under the belt now, huh?" you could see the wheels in his little hamster brain spinning at full speed

"You will regret this" was all he could come up with in the moment

"I don't think so" smirk on your face beamed with satisfaction but the sudden dark shadow crossing Soonyoung's usually friendly face put a knot in your stomach

//

Much later that day, after your extra-curricular classes finished, you are standing in the dimly lit locker room reorganising the mess compiled after busy week. School was already empty and you loved the silence. The long halls full of lockers did look a bit spooky now but it wasn't your first time being there alone.

Squeeky steps approaching from behind you. Sounded like one of those Crocs.

"Anybody there?" you were sure it was just your imagination, simply asking the ghosts a rhetorical question

"What if there is.." vibrations of low growl echoed thru your ear sending shivers down the spine

"The hell..?" catching a glimpse of Hoshi in your peripheral vision. Why is he here this late? You knew damn well he ain't taking any extra classes.

"I was waiting for you..." his voice even closer now, hot breath touching the exposed skin of your neck. He was so close to you. You could hear his heart beating. Du dum. Du dum. Du dum. Stable. Confident. In control. Yours on the other hand reaching high frequency of dudududududum.

"What do you think you are doing, Kwon?" forced annoyance in your tone trying to mask something that was hiding a bit deeper. Panic perhaps?

"You tell me," he laughed but it sounded more like a threat "aren't you the one who knows it all?" Pressing the weight of his athletic body on yours, something hard forcing itself against your bottom made you gasp

"h-hey what's your problem.." you tried to sound intimidating, voice betraying you suddenly, only producing shattered whine

"You" not waisting one more second Soonyoung licked the curve of your neck completely sandwiching you between his throbbing heat and your cold locker. Kissing your sensitive skin as if he was waiting for it for so long. Wet kisses quickly becoming possessive bites leaving marks as his signature.

"oh fu-" was all that managed to escape your quivering lips as his hand spanked your ass with such force, it took your breathe away. You didn't want to admit it, but this situation? It was making you so incredibly wet.

Yes, you did hate him. Yes, he was annoying and loud. Always wanting to be the centre of attention. Apart from that you couldn't deny how good looking he actually was. Only person in school who could pull off blond hair and those horrendous outfits.Oh and how the lean muscles played on his body during P.E. class..? Except for his personality, he was 10/10

"You don't have any smart comeback now, do you?" Slapping you once more. Making you loose your breath - again.

"You look much nicer like this" the hand on your bottom started to move lower. Pushing your legs apart with his knee, making a way for his long fingers. Lightly tracing the center of your soaked panties

"stupid uniform-" you cursed. Why the hell did boys wear trousers but they made girls wear skirts? The last line of defence has been crossed.

"Oh?" rubbing the wet fabric "you are dripping all over your pretty panties" the strokes becoming spirals, combining your folds and the textile into unified mess

"I-I'm not..!" knees weakening into his skilful movements

"Mmm, I thought top students are not allowed to lie" forcing two fingers inside of you without warning. Deliciously thrusting into your pool of need.

"shut up-" already moaning. What the fuck am I doing? Now pushing your ass to meet his motion.

"If you are going to fuck me, at least do it right" another push against him "or are you too stupid even for that?" you mocked him, taking at least a bit of your power back

All you could hear was Hoshi's sinful laugh and clinking of metal as his jeans came undone collapsing on the tiled floor. His throbbing member now on your clit soaking in the wetness you produced. Gliding teasingly over it

"What if I don't want to?" rubbing in painfully slow rhythm, making you see stars

Hoshi was very much enjoying this moment. Moment of having upper hand on somebody he couldn't challenge intellectually, on somebody who always knew what to say, somebody who was making him feel and look small. Crushing his ego on everyday basis. Fortunately you were just his type.

"P-please..?" heard yourself saying. Almost as surprised as he was. But fuck it, his dick felt so good on you pussy and it was long time since you had any intimacy. It made you uncharacteristically needy. What's wrong with little steamy sex in the locker room? Nothing. Yeah.

"Please Soonyoung, I want to feel you inside of me. I can't take it anymore. You win."

Grin from ear to ear Hoshi finally entered you with such an enthusiasm like a kid getting the toy he really wanted.

Holding you by the wrists you were hanging off in empty air. Slapping the balls against your needy pussy he was pounding you mercilessly. Waves of pleasure running thru every inch of your body. You didn't notice it before but now you could feel it clearly. His dick had a curve to it and it felt fucking good. On every thrust the tip hitting you exactly where you wanted. You were full of him.

Why is it always these good for nothing guys who fuck the best? Or maybe you were just too harsh on him? You pondered as the following thrust almost took you over the edge, making your head fall forward.

And down there between your trembling legs pair of hideous Balenciaga sneakers

[myokk]

fast sketch of ominis & fast intro to the ominis longfic I'm working on!! This is going to be the most self-indulgent pride and prejudice ripoff that ever existed, 100% based on the ominis of my oneshot💘

I am just OBSESSED with exploring the idea that he’s a natural legilimens & OBSESSED with the thought that he thinks too much for his own good🫶🫶🫶

Ominis Gaunt has always suspected he is cold-blooded.

It makes sense, really.

He always seems to be cold: frigid, long fingers that are often stiff and difficult to move; goosebumps raising the skin of his arms and the back of his neck any time he walks through the drafty halls of the dungeons; even his eyes, he has been told, are reminiscent of ice. They are apparently quite unsettling. The only time he feels comfortable in his body is when he basks in the heat of the sun.

His earliest memory is of the cold. It went like this: he was four years old: his older brother, Marvolo, had led him outside as a joke, he swore up and down that it was just a small joke, and how was he supposed to know that poor, blind Ominis would not be able to find his way back home? When his parents had finally found him, his frail mother sobbing and holding his tiny, blue, hypothermic body to her chest, Ominis remembers feeling quite perturbed at the disturbance. Couldn’t he just be left alone, in the silent soft snow?

He does not know if he has ever felt warm since.

As he strides through the dungeons, the copious amount of warming charms he casts on himself do not seem to be enough, but he keeps casting them anyways and also: wrapping his wool scarf more tightly around his neck, quickening his pace in the hopes that blood flows more easily through his limbs, wishing that he had remembered his gloves. Winter is always a terrible time of year (this winter more terrible than usual), and every breath of warm air leaves his lips reluctantly. How he wishes that he could just hold on to it a bit longer and yet the warmth leaves him precisely fifteen traitorous times a minute, the frigid air gleefully entering and burning its way down his throat in response. Maybe it’s a punishment of some sort.

His whole life has been defined by punishments and sometimes he preoccupies himself with the thought that it is the only way he can view the world. Most of the punishments are manifested in curses inherited from his family. (His parents and Marvolo insist that they are gifts, but Ominis begs to differ.)

First, his blindness: the only true punishment-curse that even his family rejects: caused by inbreeding, no doubt. He did not cry after his birth and his mother cradled his tiny body in silent arms, lovingly whispering nonsense-evil-Parseltongue to him but when he opened his eyes and she saw a brilliant celestine blue with no iris, she screamed in horror and shattered the frigid peace of the room. His parents tried everything to fix him, make him whole, throwing money at various possible solutions to no avail. Magically induced disabilities are not, apparently, curable by magic.

Ominis is not sure that he hates being blind, although he suspects everyone thinks that he should. It is as much a part of him as his fifteen-breaths-per-minute, and he thinks that vision is not all it’s cracked up to be. He is always terrified at the thought that his tenuous hold on sanity is only due to the fact that he cannot see, until he realizes he shouldn’t be terrified of hypothetical situations that cannot come to pass. He consoles himself with the thought that maybe, if he has had to give up his vision for his sanity, it is a small price to pay. Although, he also thinks sometimes that it would be nice to live a life without any morality holding him back.

He is entirely too introspective, after all.

It is precisely this introspection that is his downfall in this moment (and his cold blood). Ominis is so busy casting warming charms on himself and thinking in circles that he cannot use his wand to help him sense his environment and so he should not be surprised when he crashes into her.

And yet he is. Terribly surprised.

Maybe if he were not so caught up in his own thoughts he could have paid more attention to his surroundings. Instead, he spent too much time ruminating on his reptilian heritage and has now barreled head first into his arch-nemesis.

Rosalie Harris.

The girl who has stolen his oldest friend from him.

The girl who is currently making angry noises as she clambers to her feet and is picking up the things that he has crashed everywhere. Even if he could see, Ominis is not sure he would help her. Helping her would be akin to betraying himself, after all.

“Hey! Watch where you’re - oh, hello, Ominis.”

“Rosalie,” he says shortly, nodding his head where he thinks she might be standing and stepping to the side. He tightens his grip around his wand, feeling the texture of the wood change from rough to smooth as he runs his thumb down it. Smooth where he always seems to worry it, rough where the wood refuses to yield to the brushes of his thumb.

He surreptitiously casts the spell - he has at least done it so many times he no longer needs to say it out loud - and his surroundings light up. Or, he supposes that is the most apt description, considering he cannot actually differentiate between light and dark. He senses Rosalie’s silhouette to his left - she is standing with her arms crossed and her foot taps impatiently as she waits for him.

Waiting for what? he thinks, slightly irritated. She never seems to leave him alone and he wracks his brain trying to think of something, anything he can say to get rid of her.

Maybe if he speaks in Parseltongue, she would finally be scared away for good. He does not really want that second reminder of his family’s curse, though.

His family preferred speaking in Parseltongue with each other, believing the ability made them morally superior to everyone else and Ominis had not even realized until he had arrived at Hogwarts that no, it was not normal. When his name had been called at the Sorting, furious whispers had erupted amongst all the students, and his every step (terrified, confused, unsure - he had still been getting used to using his wand to navigate his surroundings) to the stool at the front of the Great Hall was plagued with a susurration reminiscent of snakes. Except these whispers, sneaking their way into his mind, had been unkind and overwhelming.

(He had not realized in that moment that he was also hearing their thoughts.)

Maybe now, with Rosalie standing in front of him and just annoyingly waiting for Merlin-knows-what, Ominis should use his Legilimency to find out what Rosalie wants. (He hates it, though.) It would not be difficult. (The thought makes him shiver in horror because he doesn’t want to abuse the ability.) He can feel the edges of her mind, her magic, and all he has to do is reach out - she is right there, and -

“Ominis?”

Her arms are crossed, he hears an impatient huff.

Why hasn’t she left him alone yet?

Hadn’t the Hogwarts Express already left the station, bringing all of the students home for the winter holiday? Ominis had thought he would be one of the only students left in the castle, and if he is being honest with himself, he had been looking quite forward to having the place to himself.

Ominis’s winter has just gotten infinitely worse.

Going to Gaunt Manor for the holidays is out of the question (he will not think about the nightmares that have been plaguing him ever since he received the owl demanding he go home), and Ominis does not want to be more of a burden to the Sallows. They already do enough for him over the summer, and Sebastian and Anne have convinced him to go to Hogsmeade with them at least twice over the next two weeks. Besides, with Anne’s curse progressing, Ominis does not want to be in the way.

“Why are you still here?” Ominis asks. He knows his voice comes across as cold as his blood, blunt, but he cannot help himself. Ever since Rosalie arrived - her entrance to Hogwarts also causing quite the stir - Ominis has been intensely annoyed by her presence. She is too happy. Too carefree. Too…well, everything he is not.

And, she does not seem to leave him alone.

Rosalie is always there, always hanging around Sebastian. (Taking Sebastian away.) He even showed her the Undercroft, which had almost caused a rift in their relationship. Ominis could not believe that Sebastian would be so careless, showing someone who for all intents and purposes is crashing her way into their lives, forcing them to pay attention to her. They barely even knew her, and yet Sebastian thought it was a good idea to show her such a sacred place?

(It does not help that she is intelligent, and Ominis has caught himself on more than one occasion about to ask her about her opinion on something before he catches himself.)

“I was looking for you.”

Ominis tilts his head at that and fiddles with his ring. He considers walking away, leaving -

“I mean…Sebastian said that you were also going to be here over the holidays and since everyone else just left I thought -”

“Thought what?” Internally, Ominis winces at the biting tone to his voice. It came out harsher than he intended, his voice loud and echoing through his mind, bouncing off the cold, stone walls surrounding them.

[yurozo]

resident evil (university au headcanons)

a/n: this is purely based on the beginning of my last year :( feeling bittersweet

chris redfield: a third year sports medicine/kinesiology student. if you're looking for someone who almost always has a water bottle full of creatine in his bag, chris is your guy. he's never the type to dress up, especially because he insists on 8am lectures to 'increase his productivity', so he's usually in sweatpants and under armour compression shirts. he joined the rock climbing club at claire's insistence of getting involved around school, but is unfortunately still getting the hang of it. it's hard to lift all that bodyweight, so the majority of the time he just hangs there. has very little social life. he'll go to a party, drink a single beer, then leave. turns women down because it would mess with his schedule. he's paying a lot of money to be there, and save for a bit of attitude towards his professors, he takes his studies seriously. diet-wise, this man preps like a mfer. protein peanut butter shake at 7.30 am no exceptions, within a 20min time limit of his workout. the dorm fridge has an ungodly amount of boiled eggs. toxic trait: does that white man hand raise when he has a question, and usually only thinks about what he's going to say after his hand goes up. jill valentine:

sociology major, criminology minor. has her schedule perfectly planned out so nothing is before 10am. she can and will ignore chris' pleas to meet her on campus beforehand, usually preferring to go for a coffee before a lecture. is never seen without some source of caffeine in her hand. jill isn't a huge fan of sociological theories, instead choosing to focus on the statistics aspect of it.

her dorm room is an absolute nightmare. there is not a single space on her floor that is not covered in clothes, but has no shame in bringing people over despite this. she'll just kind of awkwardly shuffle them away with her foot to make a pathway.

isn't part of any clubs, mostly because she can't be fucked for that kind of socialization. people always hit on her during class anyways, so it's not like she's hurting for company. she usually hangs out with chris or claire on campus, goading chris into doing something with her or letting claire drag her along into studying. toxic trait: has a windowsill full of empty monster energy drinks. leon kennedy:

a math major, criminology minor. has absolutely handed in multiple sheets of homework with tear stains in the corners. for how nonchalant he seems to be on the outside, he really does take his studies seriously, and always shoots for a perfect gpa. he's primarily seen haunting the third floor library, always looking like he's in a perpetual state of agony.

despite all the silent attention he gets from people during lectures, he does not entertain it whatsoever. the man is there to learn. he has one class with jill where they sit in complete silence together save for a couple of witty jokes at the professor (or other students) expense. the professor both loves and hates him. he's a frequent visitor of office hours, but his assignment is always printed and crushed in his fist. he's had a few short-term girlfriends in university, but nothing long-term. he firmly believes that he has rizz, but he does not. most people just let it slide because he has that attractive weird aura around him. toxic trait: unironically shushes people during a lecture. claire redfield: engineering major, communication minor. another person who takes her studies fairly seriously. the fortunate thing about claire is that she doesn't particularly have to try, the good grades just descend on her from the heavens. it makes chris furious. however like jill, she is not a fan of mornings and is usually seen frowning angrily at the board.

has a friend with a house off campus to store her bike so she can fix it up on her days off, using her engineering notes of course. she's part of a few clubs, but isn't fond of being part of leadership or anything. claire goes purely for the vibes.

goes on a couple strings of dates with guys, but always refuses to go out with people from her classes. she's seen it crash and burn so many times that she's not doing herself. will, however, recommend other people to her brother. toxic trait: pulls up to campus at 9am with the loudest motorcycle engine known to man, and always slams her helmet down on her desk when she sits down.

[staticymaticyyourlifeisatravesty]

A Dove's Rest

Tags: Fluff, sexy bird back, general softness, Sanguinius being tired

Sanguinius x GN Reader 🩸🪽

To those that made me want to write this: @justeverythingnothingelse @yanagikou @druidwolf21 @cosmic-cryptid-from-beyond @justfreakynothingelse @twentyplusinterestsinatrenchcoat @little-miss-bioweapon121 @magnus-the-bed

  You had been waiting patiently for Sanguinius to come back, it had been a long week since you last saw him and he’d been looking more and more stressed, hardly having any time for you. Tonight, you were determined to take care of him. To give back what he had given you. 

It took a full hour before the Great Angel came into your shared bedroom. He looked tired and haggard, exhaustion clear in his face. 

“Come, my love, lay on the bed, you must be tired” You say to him taking his hand and leading him to the bed, he was already out of his armour, and you could see the tension in his shoulders, the way his wings were held stiffly, little things that no one but you were able to notice. 

Sanguinius, on his part, doesn’t really find it in him to protest much and does as you say, laying on his belly and giving a faint groan that inadvertently escapes his lips. The groan is a little louder and a lot more pleasurable once you begin to massage his back. 

Oh, how magnificent it was, with all its different muscles; muscles that one couldn’t find in any other creature. Your hands begin to knead the tense muscles, starting up on  his shoulders and in between his wings. With how large he was, you ended up having to sit on his back in order to better massage it. He seems to relax beneath you touch and he quivers slightly when your hands release a particularly sore knot in his shoulder. It isn’t long until his feathers begin to fluff up and you know if you were to see his face, that his eyes would be half lidded in pleasure. 

A deep vibrating purr can be heard coming from his chest, and you can feel the vibrations both beneath you, and beneath your fingers. Sanguinius for his part, guides you to where you should massage, not with words, but more a gentle, although awkward nudge with one of his wings, and you end up massaging the muscles that don’t exist on even normal astartes that connect to his wings, for they’re the stiffest. Seems he must’ve had them folded tightly against his back for long periods of time again. He always got stiff like this when he did. Still you worked the muscle, pressing little kisses along his wings, earning delightful purrs and coos from the man beneath you; sounding more akin to a pigeon than the powerful primarch that he was. 

As you continue, his wings slowly begin to fall into a more natural and relaxed position, Sanguinius relaxing with each tender kiss and the ache of his muscles begins to slowly fade. 

It takes you a few moments to realize he must’ve fallen asleep because he doesn’t seem to be nudging you anymore, and he’s not leaning into your kisses. The most he’s capable of is a lazy cooing purr, and a half hearted attempt to get you beside him so that he could cuddle you properly. 

Laughing quietly at the puddle that happens to be named Sanguinius, you slide off his back gently and crawl beneath his wing. You are very quickly brought in close and he nuzzles your hair as he whispers, “Thank you…I’ll have to repay…” 

Sanguinius doesn’t get to finish his sentence before he’s fast asleep again, and you smile widely as you cuddle up close, soon falling asleep to the sound of his purrs.

[broareweabouttoviberightnow]

"Well someone's home early." Darry ruffles Pony's hair as he tries to slip past him 'n into the hall. Pony ducks under his hand, makes a small noise in hello. Darry immediately straightens up, notes the lack of work shirt he left with this mornin'. "Ponyboy Michael back it up 'n bring it here."

Pony lets out a long groan but turns 'n trudges back. Darry rakes his eyes over him. Pony stares at the ground. "Why are you back so early?"

"'Cause I got fired ok! Jesus!" Pony throws his arms up, stomps the ground, 'n whips his head to look back at his older brother.

"You what?" Pony lets out a huff 'n quick smart Darry's hand flies up to cuff him around the ear. "Pony this is the fourth time what the hell happened? And let me tell you it better be a damn good reason."

Pony can only match Darry's glare for a moment before he drops back down to starin' at the carpet. "I kinda called a customer a bitch."

"You huh?"

"Look, Darry, you weren't there so lay off, ok! She was talkin' to me like a was trash, alright? I dunno. She was actin' like I was stupid 'n she called me a son of a bitch 'n I told her I wasn't her damn son last I checked." Pony hitches his shoulder 'n Darry is suddenly glad Pony's scowlin' down at the carpet by the way his lips twitch. It wasn't funny.

"Ponyboy Michael since when has it ever been ok in this house to call a woman that?"

"Since she deserved it real bad." Pony mutters 'n Darry's fingers catch his temple. "Ow."

"I outta skin you just for that."

"Aw, Dar, look. I'm sorry, ok? I ain't discriminatin' or nothin'. If she'd have been a guy he would have been actin' like a bitch too." Pony scuffs his toe on the floor 'n Darry shakes his head in bewilderment.

Glory, sometimes Pony would say somethin' 'n it would make Darry feel like he was twenty 'n Pony was fourteen again 'n Pony's moods were enough to make him want to put the kid's head through a wall. 'N then he'd blink 'n they were sixteen 'n ten 'n he actually would. But that one hurts a bit 'cause then they had someone to holler 'n make them make up.

"Pony, how old are you?" Pony rolls his eyes, already knows Darry's line.

"Too old?" Pony glances up 'n Darry arranges his features into a passable impression of their ma's does it look like I'm laughin', mister? glare.

"Too damn old." Darry nods firmly. "You're sixteen now, Pone. You need to get a hold of that mouth. How many times are we gonna have to have this conversation?"

"Too damn many times- yeouch!" Darry's palm clips the back of his head 'n Pony's hair falls into his eyes.

"Don't you go gettin' fresh with me lil' boy." Pony's dry humor suddenly falls away 'n he's spittin' mad.

"Darry, you wouldn't get it, alright? I'm sick of workin' for a bunch of assholes who treat me like shit 'n takin' bull all day from people who look at me like I was born to spit shine their shoes. You just don't get it." Darry sighs, rubs a hand over his eyes.

"Pony, c'mere." This has become their routine. Back 'n forth, stern, sarcastic, angry, tired. Pony seethes but allows Darry to push him to drop down into one of their kitchen chairs. "I wouldn't understand, kid? I've been bustin' my back since you were twelve on the roofs of people who think greasers were born to bag their groceries 'n clean their floors. If anyone gets it, Pone, I do."

Some of the tension drops out of Pony's shoulders 'n he worries at his lip.

"You think Soda likes havin' to work on the cars or people who treated him like a failure 'n a dead-end dropout when he quit school?" Pony winces but Darry is damn tired of havin' to chase the kid around his own self-righteousness so he drives the lesson home with, "Do you think Dad liked patchin' up shingles from dawn til dusk? Or ma washin' the clothes of the women she used to meet after school who married up 'n moved west 'n forgot all it took was a bit of bad luck to end up right back on the East side? Sometimes the world ain't fair, Pone. Don't mean you get to lose your temper every time someone gets your goat."

The angers dropped right out of Pony 'n Darry sighs, pulls his chair so the kid can lean against his chest. He does without hesitation.

"I'm sorry, Dar. Sometimes... I dunno. It ain't fair. You're ten times the person those assholes in their fancy houses will ever be. Soda don't deserve to be treated like he's stupid. I just... I dunno. How do you deal with it?" Pony pulls his head back, blinks up at him with those green eyes that look like the sea after a storm's rolled through.

"Y'know... back when I first started workin' with Dad, a thousand years ago," Pony snorts, "I was mad about that all the time. God, I couldn't stand the way they looked at him. The way they talked about us. I didn't know how the hell he did it." Darry strokes his hand absent-mindedly through Pony's hair 'n he presses closer to him.

"It was just too much for me one day. We were behind schedule 'n behind on men 'n the guy who had hired us was hollerin' his head off 'n I turned right around 'n socked him right in his nose." Pony sits back suddenly, eyes round in surprise.

"You?" Darry chuckles, brushes Pony's bangs off his face.

"Yeah, kid, I don't know why you're so shocked. We've had enough fights to last a lifetime." Pony rolls his eyes, shifts around in his chair.

"I guess, I dunno. You always have it so locked down."

"Yeah, well, I do now. But it took a lot of time. Glory, maybe you were too young to remember properly but I swear sometimes I turn around 'n it's like dealin' with a younger me." Darry snorts at a memory 'n Pony raises an eyebrow. "I remember one time ma had gotten so sick of me 'n she told me she hoped one day I had a kid just like how I was to give me the same grief. Glory, I think she'd be laughin' now."

Pony's smile is a little wet but it's there 'n Darry won't mention it as long as Pony doesn't point out Darry wipin' at his eyes with the back of his sleeves. "What did Dad do? When you punched that guy?"

"Well, he was plenty mad. He sat me down 'n I told him it was unfair that we had to take whatever kinda treatment they decided to give us. 'N he grabbed me by the shoulders 'n looked at me like he always did when he was real serious 'n he said Darrel you catch more flies with honey than with vinegar."

Pony's face twists up in confusion 'n Darry laughs. God, he could look straight back through the years 'n picture himself starin' up at their dad the same way. "What does that have to do with anythin'?"

"I'll tell ya, kid. He dragged me back in the next day 'n made me apologize 'n then he shook the man's hand 'n left him with this sticky sweet smile 'n promise that he was real sorry for me 'n my behavior. Then he hauled me up a ladder 'n showed me how he would repair the man's roof so it would hold for another six months. Exactly. 'N when we left he shook hands 'n left him his card with the offer to come back if anythin' else ever went wrong. 'N you know what? The man was so impressed with his attitude 'n his work when that roof went up again in six months he called dad right back."

Darry chuckles 'n refocuses on Pony whose jaw is damn near on the floor. "That true?"

"Now, don't go makin' a liar out of me. Every word."

"Shit. You know? That sounds just like Dad."

"And he was right. Look, it sucks kid. It does. People are never gonna look at you like they should. There are always gonna be assholes who think they're better than you. You keep your damn head up 'n it doesn't matter at all. You fix the roof. 'N if it leaks you make sure you make yourself a lastin' impression."

Pony bites his lip, plays with the bottom of his shirt. It takes another minute but he nods, shoots Darry a lil' grin. "You know, I'm sure I left an impression."

"Yeah, like the type of impression I'm about to leave on your ass, kid." Pony yowls indignantly 'n dives off his chair to get away from Darry's snatch. Darry doesn't go for him again, settlin' for rollin' his eyes 'n not meanin' it at all.

"Hey, Dar?"

"Yeah, kid?"

"I'm gonna go back to the store tomorrow 'n ask for my job back. D'you mind... vouchin' for me?" Darry studies him for a moment. Pony's heart always was too big. The unfairness would always hurt. But the kid would figure out how to muddle by. Darry had.

"Sure, Pone. Just this time? Don't go ruinin' my reputation by callin' no one a bitch." Pony grins 'n opens his mouth. Darry cuts him off with a pointed finger 'n a raised brow. "Even if they deserve it real bad."

[mxltifxnd0m]

you did what? ── . ✶ sam and dean winchester

summary: dean has the bright idea to play never have i ever

pairings: platonic winchesters x afab bi! reader, implied past! ruby x afab! reader warnings: none really, no use of 'y/n', reader is afab but no pronouns are used, fluff, humor, drinking, mentions of sex, reader is bisexual, kinda edited; all mistakes are my own word count: 2.0K a/n: was supposed to be a silly blurb but its a one shot lol. also this is so self indulgent lmaoo and i was talking about this with mari on the phone, i just love bi!reader fics and shocking the winchesters with information i also love love ruby and i need to write her so bad so if any one wants me to to write the aforementioned event mentioned i will LOL winchesters masterlist

YOU HONESTLY DON’T know how you got here. Well, you do, but you’re slowly regretting your decision to ever befriend the Winchesters, wanting the ground to swallow you whole as they stared at you incredulously. But it wasn’t your fault that their dad would use your Mom’s house as a dumping ground for the two of them when he was on a hunt in your state. While your Mom graciously took them in every time, you knew, even from a young age, that she had her gripes with the elder Winchester, who dragged his kids across the country hunting monsters. 

Growing up with the Winchesters was certainly interesting. You liked hearing the stories that Dean would tell you and Sam about hunting since your Mom retired as soon as she had you. You remember any time that they came over, the three of you were like peas in a pod (your Mom’s words, not yours) and would play and mess with each other each chance you got (typically, it was Sam and you versus Dean most of the time).

As the three of you got older, you saw each other less. Still, you tried to keep in contact—but eventually, Sam went to college, and you guys stopped talking to each other altogether. Until they ran into you on a hunt while trying to find their dad. After the hunt, you guys reconnected at the bar in town and traded numbers. 

Throughout the years, you would run into them on hunts and help them out if they needed it as their lives increasingly became crazier and crazier. 

Currently, you were sat at the map table next to Sam and across from Dean in the bunker that they had found due to their grandfather coming from the past looking for John (which was the weirdest thing that they told you when they invited you for the tour of their home base, but then again, weird is normal for those two). The three of you were having a lazy day due to there being nothing in the news that seemed to be your brand of weird and would warrant the three of you to have left the bunker.

You spent most of the day lounging in the clothes you slept in. After dinner, Dean pulled out his good scotch and three glasses, poured each of you a healthy amount, and started to talk about old hunts and reminiscing on the past. You were about a glass in, now on your second one, when Dean suggested that the three of you play Never Have I Ever, which Sam protested against. When Dean looked at you for the tiebreaker, you shrugged, saying why not since you had nothing better to do. 

Dean grinned at you and sent a smug look to his brother while Sam rolled his eyes at him. 

The questions were pretty tame until they started to venture into the types of conquests that either of you three had throughout the years, which made you learn a little too much about their sex lives (you already knew enough about Dean’s, but now you had to hear Sam’s which was very interesting, to say the least). 

Dean had just finished taking a sip of his dwindling glass. “Okay, my turn.” He had a mischievous glint in his eye as he shot a look at his brother.

“Never have I ever slept with a demon.” Dean had an arrogant smile on his face as he leaned back in his chair. 

The question was clearly a dig at his brother, to which Sam had scoffed and shook his head. Sam lifted his glass off the table and took a healthy sip of it before putting it back down. His brows furrowed when he saw Dean’s mouth agape in shock. He glanced at you, setting your drink down on the table as well. 

Sam looked at you, confused as to why you took a drink before it hit him, his confused expression morphing into one that mirrored his brother’s. 

You felt warm, slightly embarrassed by their gazes on you. You knew that this was the reaction they would have toward you, but it still didn’t feel the best. 

“Wh-what? When? How?” Dean sputtered out as he looked at you like you were crazy. 

Sam stayed silent, the questions flooding his brain, but Dean had vocalized most of them for him. 

You cleared your throat. “Well, I think it’s my turn anyway. So never-” 

“Nope, we’re not playing until you answer the question.” Dean cut you off and stared at you intently. 

“It’s not any of your business, Dean.” You said through gritted teeth, wanting to move on from the conversation. 

“If you don’t tell us, I’m just going to assume the worst and think you slept with Crowley.” Dean pointed at you before taking a sip of his drink. 

Your face screwed up in disgust. “EW! No, I didn’t sleep with Crowley. I’d rather be chewed up by a wendigo than even kiss him.” 

“Did you know they were a demon before sleeping with them?” Sam questioned. 

You whipped your head to stare at Sam in disbelief. “Really Sam?” 

He shrugged. “Sorry, but can’t blame me for being curious. You’re the last person I’d expect to sleep with a demon.” 

“Has anyone told you curiosity killed the cat?” You snarked as you narrowed your eyes at the shaggy-haired man.

“Yeah, well, satisfaction brought it back.” Sam quipped back as he shot you a smug smile, and you were debating on escaping to your room, but you knew that they would not give up the interrogation until you told them. 

You let out a defeated sigh, leaning back in your seat. “Yes, I knew they were a demon before I slept with them.” 

“Okay, who was it? Was it anyone we knew?” Dean asked. 

You sighed before nodding. You took a sip of your drink before glancing at Sam. “Uh, it was Ruby.” You mumbled into the rim of your glass. 

Neither man heard you. “Sorry, we didn’t exactly hear that.” Sam said. 

Dean nodded. "Wanna say it louder for the the two of us?"

You scrunched your nose, placing your glass on the table. “I slept with Ruby.” You said louder than before, avoiding their gazes. 

Both men were rendered speechless. You and Ruby infamously didn’t get along. There was an animosity between the two of you from the moment you spotted the brunette in Sam’s room when Dean came back from Hell.

Yeah, Sam tolerated her most of the time, and Dean didn’t trust her at all and kept her as far away from him as he could, but the two of you butted heads like no other. There were a couple of times when they thought you were going to kill her, but apparently, that wasn’t the case. 

Dean opened and closed his mouth a couple of times, trying to find any words to say before shutting it. 

“Oh." Sam cleared his throat. "But I thought the two of you hated each other?" 

“We definitely did.” You nodded. “But, it was only once. Well, maybe it was like a couple of times actually now that I’m thinking about it.” 

Dean looked at you wide-eyed. “I have so many questions.” 

You rolled your eyes. “Just ask them.” You wanted this conversation to be over and done with. 

“How did it even happen the first time?” 

“Do you remember that haunting a couple of hours away from Bobby’s place? In Topeka?” You asked them, trying to jog their memory. 

“Not really.” 

“Well, the two of you were a little busy with the seals so I went and checked it out and I wrapped it up pretty fast. But when I went back to my motel room after burning the bones, she was there.” 

You remember it like it was yesterday. You were exhausted from digging up the grave, used to having one of the boys helping you, or even better, they were doing it while you held the flashlight. But they stayed behind at Bobby's. So you were left to do it yourself. You were tired and covered in dirt, and all you wanted to do was shower and fall face-first into the rickety motel bed and sleep for twenty hours. 

But when you opened the door, you saw the irritating smirk stretched on Ruby’s lips as she sat at the table near the kitchenette in the room you were staying in. 

“She was being annoying as per usual and I was trying to get her out of my room, but then of course she had to provoke me and we started to argue, then the next thing I knew, I had her pinned against the wall and kissing her. And you can probably guess the rest.” You scratched the back of your neck sheepishly as you looked down at your almost empty glass, avoiding the burning stares of the Winchesters. 

You decided to down the rest of the liquid in your cup before placing it on the table. You looked at Dean to see a faraway look in his eyes, and you squinted at him before realizing what he was doing. 

“Hey!” You clapped your hands to try and snap him out of his daydream. “Stop imagining it dude, that’s gross, not to mention really weird.” 

You shook your head and glanced at Sam to see the same look on his face. Then, you scowled at him, snapping your fingers in front of his face as well. 

“Are you kidding me Sam?” 

Sam blinked and shook his head, having the decency to look apologetic. “Sorry, it’s just…” He trailed off. 

“It’s hot. You know, that you and Ruby fu-” 

“Finish that sentence Dean and I swear that I’ll make sure that you’ll have a black eye in the morning.” You cut him off as you glared at the man sitting across from you. 

Dean raised his hands in defense. “I was just saying. Besides Sammy here was thinking about the same thing, probably even more considering he slept with her too.” 

“Shut up Dean.” Sam shot a scowl at his brother. 

You raised an eyebrow at him. “Don’t tell me you actually were though.” 

Sam’s silence spoke volumes, and you just shook your head at him. 

“So, are we done with this interrogation or can we continue on with this stupid game.” 

“One more question.” 

You groaned at Dean’s words. “What is it?”

“Did she ever tell you who was better in bed, You or Sam?”

“Really Dean?” Sam sighed tiredly (but secretly, he wanted to know).

You couldn’t help the smirk on your face at the question before you shook your head and got rid of it. “Not gonna answer that one.” 

Dean grumbled before finally moving on from the subject. The three of you stayed up pretty late before you retired for the night. You were about to get into bed after getting ready to sleep, but there was a soft knock on your door. You padded over to it and opened it to see Sam in the entryway. 

“What’s up Sam?” You asked softly, wondering why he was at your door this late. 

He looked a little nervous as he ran a hand through his hair. “Did she actually tell you?” 

You furrowed your brows. “Who?” 

“Ruby.” He murmured. 

Oh. Oh. You sent him a playful smile. “Why? Did you want to compare notes?” You teased, and you could see the slight blush grow on Sam’s face. 

Sam started to stammer, and you couldn’t help but laugh gently at him. You reached out and rested a hand on his arm to stop him from stuttering out a useless excuse. 

“She never told me who was 'better'. Ruby never stayed long after we would sleep together.” You told him with a slight smile on your face. 

He nodded in understanding, his shoulders relaxing at your answer. You squeezed his arm before telling him ‘goodnight,’ and he did the same before walking down the hall towards his room. You closed your door and smiled to yourself. 

What he doesn’t know won’t hurt him. 

[join my taglist !; read rules before sending in an ask]

[mae-lou-ron]

Some friendly advice: if you want to get into writing fan fiction, don’t be like me and pick a fandom where the characters tend to lose their body parts at an alarming rate.

[a-scary-lack-of-common-sense]

Actually writing a HWINEBHABWNAJCAHOWEEATOWEUB AU fic with a solid story line because there's too much stuff going on in this goddamn AU and I need to organize it a little!!

[sentientcave]

Masquerade

You've come to this masquerade ball to finally dispatch the man you've wanted dead for nearly ten years, but he's always ruining your plans, one way or another.

Contains: 2nd POV OC (sorry about all the blushing), werewolf MMC (sadly he doesn't do any fun werewolfy things he's just a guy with sharp teeth here), vague fantasy setting, murder attempts/reminiscence of murder attempts, a long and storied history only alluded to, what do you do when your bitter enemy turns out to be a silly little guy who just wants you to love him?, oral sex (w receiving), P in V sex, this spawned a whole ass novel and it's so so different but this lowkey holds up.

See end for Notes

~10k words - NSFW - 18+ MDNI

“My, don’t you look exquisite,” a voice purrs in your ear.

You freeze in place, glad that the mask hides the colour that springs to your cheeks. You feel like a naughty child caught with your hand in the cookie jar, an unwelcome guest at his masquerade. You thought you could escape notice, slip through the crowd of finely dressed nobles and plunge your knife into his chest at last. But he had managed to find you first. You weren’t ready. You hadn’t been to the garden to pick up your hidden cache of weapons, you had nothing but your silver hair-stick to dispatch him with.

His heavy hands land on your shoulders. “Don’t muss up your pretty hairstyle just yet, darling,” he whispers in your ear, his voice rasping like sandpaper. It’s as if he can read your thoughts. Or perhaps, after all these years, you’re simply predictable. “There will be plenty of time for that later.”

You flinch at the cold press of his mask against your bare shoulder. You shouldn’t have disguised yourself as a guest. You feel defenceless, wrapped in silk and sheer chiffon, a neat little morsel delivered straight into the wolf’s jaws. He could shift in a second and shred you into little pieces, like he had threatened to do so many times before. You try to still your frightened, thumping heart, and pull away, turning to face him at last. “I’m afraid I’m not sure what you mean,” you say, because it’s worth a try at least, but he’s laughing before you can even finish, the smiling mouth of his gold wolf mask mocking you. His yellow eyes glitter from it’s depths, watching you.

“Oh darling, I would recognize you anywhere. I hoped you would be unable to resist my invitation.”

“Your invitation?”

“Yes, dearest. All of this was for you. I knew you could not resist the chance to get so close to me again.”

“To kill you,” you remind him hoarsely.

He chuckles and takes your hand. “Perhaps. For now, a dance, I should think. You haven’t danced all night.”

You dig in your heels, trying to resist his insistent pull, but he simply wraps an arm around your waist and tugs you closer. “I don’t dance,” you tell him sharply. “Let go of me.”

“You’re a liar,” he replies, spinning you into place, one hand on your lower back, pinning you against his chest, and the other still clasped around your wrist, sliding up to engulf your hand. He simply tugs you along with him as he moves, sweeping you along to the music, holding you so unbearably close. He could lift you off your feet with ease, if he chose to, and you don’t have enough power to resist. His scent clouds your mind, cedar soap and clean, animal musk, one of many hints of the wolf that dog him even in his human shape. “You forget, I knew you in your past life. Or have you forgotten that I once sat in your father’s halls? I have seen you dance.”

It was so long ago now, another life, before he was only the wolf to you, and before you were the thorn in his paw, that you almost had forgotten. You had hardly given him a second thought at first, he was just another visiting knight, here one day and gone the next, handsome, but beyond the concerns of the girl you once were. “You failed to make an impression,” you tell him sharply, although it’s not true. You do remember his yellow eyes watching you one night, though he never asked you to to dance. He never spoke to you at all.

Not until after. He saved you, of course, from the bloodbath, because he had claimed you. He hadn’t so much as said a word to you before he burst into your bedchamber, monstrous jaws dripping with your fathers blood, yellow eyes wild. You still remembered beating him back with the fire-place’s iron poker, and jamming the tip into his chest before you ran for your life.

“I knew you were mine from the first,” he continues. He seems frighteningly aware of your thoughts, as if his own version of the memory is playing out behind his own eyes. “My lioness, avenging her wicked father with a poker. I still bear your mark, just above my heart.” He presses your entwined hands to his chest for a moment. “I’m certain you remember that, at least.”

“Unfortunately.”

“The only unfortunate part,” he says patiently. “Is that I did not take you as my mate that night.”

His words lance through you like lightning, burning everything in their path. Your knees nearly buckle, and if he were not holding you so securely, you would sink to the floor in a useless puddle of silk. How dare he make you weak, after everything he’s done to you? But anger gives you strength, reinforces your spine with steel, and you wrench away, glaring at him, wishing you could set him ablaze with your eyes.

The music falters. You look up, at the musicians gallery, then around the room. Everyone watches, pretending not to, jewelled masks concealing furtive eyes and whispered words. Your own mask feels insufficient, lightweight and flimsy under the wolf’s eyes when your eyes return to him. He takes your arm, his grip tight, but not bruising, and guides you out of the ballroom, into the cold night air. The dark gardens are just a little too far for you to jump down from the wide stone balcony, and there are no stairs leading down. If you jump, you’d probably break your leg, and then you’d be helpless.

“What do you think of our home?” he asks. “Have you snooped around yet, my darling? Planned all your exits and hidden away your weapons and armour? I made sure you’d have plenty of opportunity. I know how you love to prepare.”

“I’m surprised you haven’t found them already.”

“I have been busy with other preparations,” he says mildly. “But I thought I smelled something of you in the corridor by the library.”

You flinch, only confirming that you had in fact been there, hiding your leather armour inside a large vase. “Preparations for what?”

“Your homecoming. The king has made it clear that it’s time to reign you in, or he will have someone else deal with you.” He pulls the mask off at last, setting the golden wolf on the balcony. Sweat glimmers at his temples, catching light from the ballroom behind them. He offers you a wry smile, his sharp white teeth flashing. “I’ve been too lenient with you.”

“Lenient?” you ask, incredulous. “I’ve been trying to kill you.”

“Those who attempt such things do not usually live long,” he reminds you. “I don’t often show mercy. I’ve allowed you to live free, in the hopes that you would come to me willingly, in time. Now it seems I can no longer afford to continue our little game. You will stay with me, or someone else will be sent to arrest or kill you.”

You press your palms into the smooth railing, wishing desperately that you could absorb the cool, dependable steadiness of stone through your skin. You look at him for a moment while he stares out over the dark gardens, his yellow eyes tracking movement you can’t see.

He’s always dressed in black, like a man in mourning, his black curls cropped short around his slightly pointed ears, beard neatly trimmed. He wears little jewellery for a man of his station, just the yellow-gold signet ring with it’s heavy, dark blue sapphire on his finger, and the gleam of jet buttons down the front of his tunic. You were more used to seeing him in his armour. The heavy black plate suits his brutality better than black-embroidered silk.

Silk offers no protection, no shield over his wicked black heart.

You pull the hairpin from your own neatly arranged curls and move fast, striking at his chest, but he catches your hand easily, his amber eyes meeting your fury with amusement. “You just can’t help yourself, can you?” he asks. “Stubborn creature.”

He plucks the pin from your hand and spins you around, pushing you into the railing with the oppressive weight of his presence. Your protests are weak and hardly noticed, but you fall silent when you feel the rough pads of his fingertips on the back of your neck. He gathers your hair up and pins it back in place, not as neatly as you had done earlier, but sufficiently.

“What are you doing?” you ask numbly.

He turns you around, still standing far too close. You stare forward, at the point where his skin meets the collar of his tunic, your eyes glued to his pulse. You wish for teeth as sharp as his own, so you could tear out his throat. His fingers curl under your chin, nudging your face up, forcing you to look him in the eye again. “Just returning your pin,” he says, smirking. “Why do you seem so flustered, darling?”

“Why don’t you just kill me?” you ask. Your hand lifts up to knock his away, but you touch him instead, fingertips ghosting over his knuckles. You know he’s capable of crushing you with hardly a thought. You’ve spent the last ten years learning all you could about him, hunting him down again and again and again with a single-minded determination. He likely could have killed you a thousand times over, if you’d been just a little less careful, or he a little less eager to capture you instead. He should have killed you. You don’t know how to stop anymore, you don’t know how to let go of the terrible anger that burns you up every time you think of him. You want him to suffer, to lose everything, to hurt the way he hurt you. “I’ll never stop.”

There is a flicker of sadness in his eyes, and it pings against your heart uncomfortably. “I never could,” he says, all traces of his smirking, superior air gone. His thumb strokes along your jaw. “I begged the king for your life. Your father may have been a traitor, but you were an innocent girl, and I do not enjoy killing innocents.”

“I’m not innocent anymore.”

“No, I suppose not. But you’ve committed no crimes that I cannot forgive.”

“I don’t want your forgiveness.” Your voice is hardly more than a hoarse whisper. You want to shout, but his hand on your skin seems to leech all the power out of you.

“You have it regardless,” he whispers back, low and intimate as a lover. He touches his forehead to your mask, his eyes boring into yours, twin suns scorching everything in their path. “And someday I will earn yours.”

“Never,” you hiss. You return to your senses and push his hands away, shoving hard against his chest. “I hate you. I’ll always hate you.”

He tugs your mask off and tosses it to the side, tired of pretense. “If you hate me so much, why does your heart beat like that?”

“I’m afraid of you,” you snap.

He laughs harshly. “No you’re not. You’ve never been afraid of anything, my darling. It is one of the things I love best about you.” He leans in closer, the tip of his nose just brushing yours. You can feel his breath on your skin, the sharp smells of whiskey and mint setting your nerves on edge. For a moment, you think he’s going to kiss you, and you freeze, heart pounding, face turned towards him, waiting for the axe to fall.

But he withdraws instead, leaving you to face the consequence of unrealized want. His words prick at you like the point of a sword. Love. As if he would know the first thing about it. As if he knew you.

But he does know you, you realize with a start. He made you. His actions had set you on your path, and his choice not to kill you, each time that he should have, had created the determined, single-minded, furious woman that you had become. The carefree girl who you had been was long gone, dead the first time the wolf’s jaws closed around your throat. It burns you to think that he’d shown you mercy all along, that you had escaped capture or death by his leave, rather than by your own cunning and skill.

His eyes remain on your face, reading your thoughts like you’re a book laying open, waiting for him to happen by and discover all your secrets. “You have become worthy of me,” he continues ardently, pressing your hand to his chest again, anchoring it with both of his own. “I would have kept you like a bird in a cage if I’d taken you then. A pretty thing to amuse me and adorn my halls. But you are no trophy, my love. You will not survive in captivity. Even now, with the king’s sword hanging over your head, I will not force you to stay.”

“Is this some sort of trick?”

“I used to wonder the same thing. A cruel trick of fate, that my mate would hate me so fiercely.”

“You killed my father,” you hiss at him. You yank your hand away, desperately stoking the anger that has kept him at bay all these years. Each time he calls you mate and darling and love your resolve quakes, and you have no sword in your hand to make him regret it, like you usually would.

“He was a traitor. I had orders.”

“And what comfort will that be when your orders are to kill me?” you ask, sneering up at him. “What will you do when your orders are explicit and undeniable, and you are to kill me on sight?”

“I’ll never see you again.”

You aren’t sure what you expected, exactly, but it always trips you up when he speaks plainly. “What’s that supposed to mean?” you snap.

“What do you think it means?” He hurls the words back at you, his anger lighting from your own. “It means I would pluck my own eyes out before I’d kill you. If the king ordered me to hunt you down I’d stay one step behind you until we reached the very ends of the earth. If he came outside this very moment and told me to snap your neck—” He shudders, shaking his head like a dog shakes off the rain, and when he looks back at you the anger is gone, hidden away again behind his steely resolve. “Loyalty only goes so far. He knows not to make an order I cannot follow. If he truly wants you dead, he’ll ask another.” He glances over his shoulder, keen yellow eyes fixing on a point somewhere inside. “I hope it does not come to even that.”

“But why?”

He lets go of your shoulders and turns around, stalks a few feet away, and turns again, pushing both of his hands through his hair in frustration. Because I love you!” he snarls. “You had me the first day you tried to run me through. Oh I wanted you from the first moment I laid eyes on you, beautiful thing that you are, but it was the first moment that you tried to cut my heart out that I knew there could be no other. You have no idea what it’s like, to love such a stubborn, foolish, bitch of a woman? Do you understand what it will do to me, when you leave? But I have never been able to keep you by force.”

“But you let me go,” you say numbly. “You said—”

“Let you go?” He laughs, striding back towards you. “Oh my love, you misunderstand. Just because I couldn’t kill you does not mean I didn’t try to keep you. But you have slipped every chain I’ve placed upon you. I’ve never pulled my punches. I would not disrespect you so.”

“You called it a game—”

He inclines his head towards you. “I did. Perhaps I should not have. But it was easier to think of it as a game. A test of my own worthiness. I admit, I have always looked forward to your attempts on my life. It’s good, I think, for a man to be beaten once in a while, to keep him sharp. Otherwise he forgets to be vigilant.” He sighs, touching the edge of an old, silvery scar on your shoulder, brushing a loose strand of your hair out of the way. “Besides. We’ve both made our marks upon the other.”

“I’ve gotten you more times than you have me,” you say, lifting your chin imperiously. “Two or three times I really thought I’d finished you off.”

“Are you so certain of that?”

You think about it. “Yes.”

“Care to make a wager, dearest? If you’ve left more marks on me than I on you, you may ask anything of me.”

You draw in a steady breath. “And if I lose?”

He grins. “Not so confident now, are you? I only want what is freely given, so you needn’t worry. You can name your own penalty.”

“How magnanimous.”

“I can be,” he says. “Now, shall we inspect each other here, or would you prefer somewhere more private?”

The thought of being alone with the wolf makes you shiver, but it’s not revulsion that you feel, it’s something far worse. The dark, cold balcony seems a world away from the golden ballroom with all it’s legions of beautiful, elegant guests, but it’s only panes of glass that separates you from them, hazy from condensation, opaque enough that you doubt anyone can see through them. It makes no material difference, in the end, but it’s winter, and the cold seeps through your dress easily, your skin only warm where he touches you. “Ah, yes,” you say nervously. “Perhaps somewhere more private.”

“And warmer,” he adds. “As stunning as you look, I do not believe you are dressed for the weather.”

As if on cue, a snowflake descends from the dark sky. You reach out your hand, catching it against your palm. A moment later, the sky is thick with snow, fat, fluffy flakes catching the light and turning the world white. You look back at him. He looks softer, somehow, with that little dusting of snow catching in his thick curls, melting flakes glittering like diamonds on his shoulders. For the first time, you’re struck by how young he looks. He was a man grown at your first meeting, and you had always thought of him as much older, but you know now that he couldn’t be ten years your senior. You suspect it’s much less than that.

It changes something in your perception of him. Softens him.

“Why are you looking at me like that?” he asks, stepping in close again. Although you’ve hardly moved an inch since you came out to the balcony, he’s full of restless energy, moving away and back again like he’s tethered to you by some invisible string. He tilts his head to the side, his keen predator eyes practically glowing in the soft light.

You were glad your face was already flushed from the cold. “I was just thinking. You look so…” You trail off, thinking of the best way to phrase it.

“Handsome?” he suggested. “Strong? Irresistible?” He wiggles his thick black eyebrows, grinning wickedly, making you laugh despite yourself.

“I was going to say young, actually,” you say. “I was wondering what sort of boy you were.”

He holds a hand out to you. “I’m sure there’s a portrait somewhere, if you’re curious. Now come along, pet, I don’t want you catching a cold out here. I do have a wager to win.”

You hesitate. All the ancient, bitter anger and sadness wars with something new in your chest. It’s been so long since you wanted anything more than vengeance. Ages since the last time you felt deep, aching want for someone’s hands on you, if you ever even had. The obsession between you, at least, was mutual, and you had traded the excitement of romance for the thrill of the hunt, the clash of your sword against the wolf’s. His taunting sounded better than flowery poetry to your ears, and you could not help but seek him out every time the loneliness of your new life became too much to bear. He had been your focus, your centre, your reason for existing for so long that you can no longer deny what this is.

Love is not always kind. Between the two of you, it’s become a desperate, wretched thing, living on scraps of attention and hungry looks traded in battle.

His fingers close around yours, and you realize that you’ve reached out and taken the offered hand. You look at him, and he’s smiling in a way you haven’t seen before, half-hitched up on one side, almost shy.

He twines his fingers through yours and leads you back through the ballroom, slipping around the edges of the crowd like the wolf he is. No one seems to pay either of you any mind, although you feel curiously bare without your mask, as visible as a hare in a field to the eyes of a hawk. But your hunter is holding your hand, his thumb stroking over yours soothingly, like he can sense your unease.

Despite that small reassurance, you’re grateful when you step into a nearly empty corridor. A few well-dressed servants carrying trays bustle between the ballroom and the kitchens at the far end, but your wolf leads you the other way, through a few hallways littered with decorative items and portraits of long-dead nobles with eyes that seemed to follow you. You had been there only a few days earlier, but it looks different now. Perhaps it’s that you aren’t on constant guard for the wolf. He’s already here, holding your hand, pretending that he’s not watching you, just as you pretend to look at the portraits and statues and expensive looking vases you pass by, stealing glances at him only when you think you can get away with it.

The silence between you is almost comfortable, both of you too caught up in your individual tumble of thoughts to put anything to words. It’s impossible to tell what he’s thinking. You wonder if he feels like he’s won already, but there’s none of his usual taunting or his infuriatingly handsome smirk. He looks serious, black brows lowered in a sort of pensiveness that you’ve never seen from him. Of course, you had only once gone so long in his company without attacking him physically, and you had been tied to a chair, at the time.

“Do you remember, a few years ago, the hunting lodge just above Lake Pym?” he asks.

You laugh. “I was just thinking about it. Why?”

He stops in front of a door and leans against the frame. “Do you think you’ll be able to go as long without trying to stab me this time around?”

“That depends on whether or not you tie me up again,” you quip back.

“Don’t say such things,” he warns you, opening the door and holding it open, letting go of your hand for the first time in ages. Your fingers feel cold without his touch. “You’ll give me ideas.”

“You’ve made far too many confessions tonight for me to believe that you didn’t already have ideas,” you tease. Funny how easily that comes, like you’re old friends and not enemies. A tidy little fire burns in the stone fireplace, with a cozy arrangement of rugs and furs laid out before it. A low table sits ready, carrying wine and glasses and a few plates of the sort of interesting finger-foods that they had been serving in the ballroom. Raising your eyebrows, you look back over your shoulder at him. He hadn’t spoken to anyone on the way in, which meant that it had been all prearranged.

He closes the door behind himself and leans against it, grinning sheepishly. “I live in hope.”

The room - his room- is neat, a big bed with four posts carved like small trees, green-velvet curtains tied back neatly, is the first sign that he might actually like colour. You imagined him always in sombre black and white, dark hair, white teeth, dressed like the reaper and often so employed. But perhaps he isn’t as stark as you’d always thought. His furniture is solid and well-made of warm-toned wood, and the bookshelves that flank the fireplace are stuffed with books, the odd space cleared out for knick-knacks and trophies. You had never considered that he might like to read. It isn’t something that has ever come up before.

The wolf sits down on the furs and nudges a black lump by the fire. The shape uncurls into the biggest, fattest, blackest cat you’ve ever seen and pads over to you, sniffing your skirts suspiciously.

“You have a cat?” you ask, because it seems unlike the picture you’ve built up of him over the years. Another thing you missed. You had been so focused on him as an enemy that you had hardly stopped to consider him as a man. You sit, and the cat drapes itself across your lap, purring already in anticipation of a good scratch.

“I don’t have a cat,” he corrects you loftily. “Smudge is the matriarch of a proud line of excellent mousers, and she is a valued member of the household. One cannot own a cat, I have learned. One co-habituates with cats.” He leans over and gives the cat a little scratch under the chin, his knuckles just barely brushing your knee as he withdraws. “She isn’t usually very friendly, but she must recognize a fellow assassin when she sees one.”

“I’m not much of an assassin, I’m afraid she’d be terribly disappointed in me. I’ve failed to kill my only target, and I have been at it for quite some time.” You give the cat a scratch behind the ears. “I’m sure her record is much more impressive.”

He frowns and looked at you in a funny way. “Have you never taken a life?”

“I’ve tried very hard to avoid it. You’re the only person I ever wanted dead, and I— I wanted to be better than you. I wanted my hands to stay clean, so I could beat you and still keep my sense of…” You look down at the purring black puddle of fur in your lap rather than at the wolf. “Oh I don’t know. Righteousness, I suppose.”

“So sweet that you wanted me to be your first,” he teases.

You know he means first kill, but you turn pink anyway, and there is no cold wind to blame for your rosy cheeks this time. There were many firsts that you had missed out on, in your bid for vengeance. “Perhaps I still do,” you snap, not thinking about the double meaning until after the words have left your mouth. You scramble to clarify. “My first kill— Not— Ugh.” He begins to laugh, and you cover your face with both hands, wishing the floor would open up beneath you and swallow you whole. “Stop laughing!” Your voice is muffled by your hands, but there is no way that his keen wolf’s ears don’t hear you perfectly. “That’s not what I meant!”

He snorts. “I know, pet. It’s a bit late for that, I should think.”

You peek at him between your fingers, and his eyebrows shoot up.

“Darling.” He leans over and gently takes hold of your wrists, prying your hands away. He is mercifully no longer laughing, but the look in his eyes only makes your face burn hotter. “Please don’t tell me that you’ve never taken a lover.”

“There was never a good time,” you manage to squeak out. It was half true. There had been offers, and moments when you’d been sorely tempted to share someone’s bed for the night, but the few fumbling kisses you’d shared with young men had failed to thrill you the way that crossing swords with the wolf did.

He sits back with a groan. “You’re always throwing wrenches into my plans.”

“How on earth could that have anything to do with your plans?” you ask hotly.

“Darling, don’t be so naive. My plans were obviously to seduce you into my bed so I could out-perform every man who had ever touched you, forcing you to admit to yourself that we belong together. But I suppose that would have been too easy.”

“Too easy!”

“I would never imply that you would be easily seduced, my love, only that I am fairly confident that you would have a harder time denying what we are if I were to employ my considerable athletic ability with the task of making you come undone.” He smiles ruefully. “But seduction isn’t fair if you’re a virgin. I’ll have to win your heart the old fashioned way.”

“The old fashioned way?” You stare at him, incredulous. “What, you’re going to court me?”

“I’m certainly going to try,” he says, turning toward the table to pour you a glass of wine. “It’s the long road, but you’ll find I’m usually more than willing to take the scenic route.”

“You’re insane,” you say weakly, accepting the offered glass. “You must be.”

“Must I be? Like you said, I’ve made far too many confessions tonight, you must know that I do not mean this as some passing fancy. I think it would be a waste to continue this bloody crusade of yours. For both of us. I confess my bias in the matter, as I rather enjoy living.” He shrugs, looking at you over the rim of his own glass. “Do you? Has your life been all you wished for, these past ten years? You’ve forgone comfort, education, friends, romance, children— Do you want none of those things?”

“Of course I do—”

“Then take them. Everything you want is yours if you stay.” He takes a sip of wine and winces, face screwing up like a child tasting something bitter. “Ugh, I hate wine.”

“I know. I was wondering if you were going to drink from that glass you’ve been waving around.”

“I just wanted to indicate that it wasn’t poisoned.” He sets the glass to the side, still grimacing. “Just in case you were wondering if I was still trying to trick you.”

“It had crossed my mind.”

“Perish the thought, my love.” He stretches out in front of the fire, propped up on one elbow. “I’ve laid down my arms. If you must end this once and for all to free yourself, so be it. But I do think my alternative is better.”

You set your wine to the side as well and reach back to pull the silver hair-stick from your curls. You consider it, for a moment, pressing the point into your fingertip, not quite hard enough to draw blood. He watches with an inscrutable expression, making no move to disarm you. The cat slips out of your lap and stretches, moving off into the shadows again, either unaware or uncaring of the danger to her house mate. Or perhaps she’s simply more aware than you that there is no longer any danger.

You reach out and place the make-shift weapon on the rug in front of him.

The crackle of the fire is the only sound for a long moment. The wolf was rarely rendered speechless— getting him to shut up was usually the more difficult task. But he simply looks at you, like you’ve performed a miracle in front of his very eyes.

You slide one of the plates of food off the table and set it on the floor between you, something to hopefully distract his attention a little. You pick up one of the little triangle pastries and take a bite, catching crumbs with your other hand. You eat two more, realizing that you haven’t eaten in hours, and wait for him to break the silence.

He sighs and rolls onto his back, tucking both hands under his head. Firelight dances over his skin, burnishing his features like well-polished bronze. Although you have known him a long time, you’ve never studied him like this, while his eyes are closed and his usual grin is smoothed out into a peaceful smile. He looks noble, like a hero from the epics you used to read as a girl, more like you remembered from the days before everything changed.

“You’re staring,” he says without cracking an eye.

“How would you know? You haven’t opened your eyes in ages.”

“And how would you know that, if you haven’t been staring?”

He has you there. “Alright, fine. I suppose I was. I was just thinking about… about before.”

He opens his eyes. “How long? We do have a rather storied history, don’t we, love? I myself have been thinking of Lake Pym.”

You smirk. “I bet you have. I had a feeling you were rather enjoying yourself.”

“I was. It would have been more fun if you were a more willing guest, or if I at least didn’t have to keep you tied to a chair the whole time.”

“You wouldn’t even let me feed myself,” you lament, though you can’t help the traitorous note of amusement in your voice. “It was terribly humiliating.”

“Revisionist drivel!” he snarls playfully. “I did untie you so you could feed yourself, and you tried to stab me. You forced my hand.”

You blink. “I suppose I did.”

He leans closer. “I suspected you just wanted me to take care of you. You were too proud to ask me for what you wanted, so you forced the situation. And snapped at my fingers the whole time like an absolute menace.” He holds up his right hand and displays a white mark around the first knuckle of his thumb. “That’s one, by the way.”

“I only bit you because you stuck your finger in my mouth,” you reminded him.

“Ah, I suppose I did get a bit carried away, didn’t I? There was just this moment when I touched your lip…” He reaches out as if he wants to repeat the remembered gesture, perhaps hoping for a better outcome, but he hesitates, dropping his hand. You almost wish he hadn’t. “Are you still too proud, my love?”

“Yes,” you whisper.

He senses your weakness. The way the answer drips with doubt like blood from a wound. “Will you let me kiss you?” He moves closer, anticipating your answer before it leaves your lips.

Your breath catches in your throat. “Yes.”

At long last, he closes the distance between you, hands cradling each side of your face. He just barely brushes his lips against yours, and holds you back when you try to chase him, his familiar wolfish smile lighting up his face. “Not so fast, my darling. You’ll have to ask nicely, if you want a proper kiss.” He unbuttons the cuff of his black shirt only a moment later, his eyes dropping away from yours for a moment, and then rolls up his sleeves. “Two and three, respectively,” he says, pointing out two more scars along his forearms. They were both from similar situations. Two times that you had disarmed him and made him bleed for it. You reach out and touch the silvery marks, feeling the smooth gap in his arm hair and the fully repaired muscle underneath the flawed skin. “You’re a better swordsman than I,” he says, reaching up to unlace the top of his tunic. “I might have had the edge of experience, at the beginning, but you quickly caught up to me, didn’t you? It was a good thing you were so scrupled about killing people other than me, or I’d have lost far too many good men to your blade.”

“You’re just trying to flatter me.”

“Is it working?” He pulls the tunic and shirt off in one go, baring his chest. There are a few scars there that you could not claim, and two that you can, although your eyes are drawn to one in particular. The ugly, uneven star right next to his heart, where you had run him through with the iron poker on the night of the wolf. “This one is my favourite,” he tells you, pressing one of your hands to the scar. “The first time you tried to kill me. Jon had to half-heal me himself, or I wouldn’t have made it to a proper healer in time. It’s partially why there’s such a scar. He’s always been terrible at the more subtle magics, but if you want something blown up, Jon’s your man.”

You laughed. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

“Make sure you also note, in that treacherous little mind of yours, that he will not employ his considerable magical gift with the task of making me explode. He is still rather fond of me, even after all these years.”

“It is good, I think, to have a king that is so well-versed in the art of restraint,” you say mildly.

“Oh yes, I imagine it is.”

“So is it really just the five scars?” you ask. “That’s all?” Despite the truce the two of you had settled into, you felt strangely disappointed that your obsession with killing him over the last decade had resulted in only a handful of scars. It all felt like a waste. You try to console yourself with the knowledge that he heals more rapidly than most men. The scars you have left are despite that.

“There’s one more, on my thigh, but I imagine you probably don’t want me to take my pants off.”

You do want him to take his pants off. “Yes, that’s very thoughtful of you,” you say instead. “I suppose you’ve won, anyway. I have a lot more than six scars from you.” You had expected that his life as a warrior would have marked him more significantly. You’re covered in scars, faded and fresh alike, and there is no getting around the fact that you feel like you’ve stitched yourself up so often that you look as worn down as your oldest, ugliest shirt.

The disappointment in his eyes is gone so quickly that you aren’t entirely sure you hadn’t imagined it. “Well, I suppose I’ll have to take your word for it, won’t I?”

“You’re just trying to get me out of my dress,” you say hotly.

“Obviously. You look very lovely in it, of course, but I have been hoping for the chance to peel it off of you.”

You shake your head. “I think you’ll be a bit disappointed.”

“Never. What would possibly deter me at this point, darling? If stabbing me through the heart didn’t erode my affections, what could?”

“Oh I don’t know,” you say thoughtfully. “I could have scales, or a tail—”

“I have a tail,” he reminds you. “And I’m quite positive that you’re human, so I’m not worried about scales. Or strange birth-marks or stretch-marks or scars, either, by the way.”

You take a deep breath and stand up, turning your back to him. “It would help if you could undo all these buttons for me,” you say, sweeping your hair in front of your shoulder. “There are so many of them.”

He jumps to his feet and scrambles to help. A few buttons plink to the floor, torn free in his haste. “I’ll have it fixed,” he says hastily. “And I’ll buy you new gowns. As many as you can stand.”

You glance over your shoulder, nervous laughter stilling on your tongue when you see the look in his eyes. You turn forward again, sliding your arms through the sleeves and shimmying the gown to he floor. He gives you a hand to steady yourself as you step free. “I— I don’t want— I won’t stay.”

He hums in response, gathering up the gown and laying it over the back of a chair.

“I won’t,” you repeat yourself, as if the words will sound convincing the second time. They don’t.

“I already told you, darling, I won’t make you stay. It’s up to you.”

He draws you back to your seats in front of the fire, and you offer him your arms. You’re riddled with fine scars, most of them faint, little nicks from his blade. His hands slide up to your shoulder and gently tug the capped sleeve of your chemise to the side, baring the imprint of his jaws. His thumb runs across the marks, his other hand landing on your knee.

“I wondered if I’d bitten you that night.” He moves closer, his tongue moving over his sharp canines as he sighs. His fingers trail down your arm as his touch drops away. “You never turned, so I wasn’t sure.”

“It doesn’t always take,” you say, using his shoulder to help you back up to your feet. “I think it depends on the moon. New moon, that night. If you were any other wolf you never would have shifted.”

“I suppose that makes sense.” He settles back on his heels, looking up at you. “I can’t say I’ve thought about why some bites take and some don’t. I’m not as observant as you, my love.”

Laughable, when his senses are many times greater than your own. It’s not his observations that are the problem, it’s the connecting cause and effect, thinking about consequence for more than a moment. He’s faced so few consequences in his life that it doesn’t come naturally to him. You, on the other hand, are a mess of consequence, action and reaction measured and weighed, failures poured over until you can see every mistake you’ve made, follow the tracks to how things could have been, if you’d done it all just a little differently.

You pull your skirt up so you can untie the ribbon that holds up your stocking, and he slides it down to your ankle. “This one’s only indirectly your fault,” you say, angling your leg so he can see the trail of pocked scars that wrap around your knee and up your thigh. “When I jumped down that ravine. Scraped myself up on the rocks.”

He tuts, hands reaching for these scars too. It’s just an excuse to touch you, certainly, but you make no move to stop him. You just hold your skirt up, giving him unfettered access to your skin. His amber eyes flick up to your face, and he leans forward, pressing his lips to your knee.

There’s no halting the soft “Oh” that falls from your lips, but he would have heard even the softest catch of breath. There’s no hiding from him, and it terrifies you, leaves you so unsteady.

His eyes flutter shut for a moment, his exhale warm against your skin. “You shouldn’t show me any more,” he tells you. “I find myself wanting to kiss every inch of skin you show me, and I worry that you won’t stop me if I try.”

You sink back to his level and pull your stocking back up, tying the ribbon around your thigh again. “Would that be so bad?”

He groans and lays back on the furs, hands neatly folded on his stomach. “I am trying to be a good man for you, darling. You deserve more than I can give in one night. I need at least a few weeks to make you fall hopelessly in love with me before I can do anything that would tempt me to take you to bed.”

You run your palm over his stomach, feeling the soft pelt of hair over his warm skin, letting your curiosity guide your fingertips. You feel the expansion and contraction of muscle as he breathes in and out, tucking one hand under his head so he can watch you more easily, his eyes barely open.

You have to admit, he is handsome, especially relaxed like this. Only a few short hours ago you would have found the idea of him kissing any part of you abhorrent, but now you find yourself similarly compelled. You take his hand and kiss his knuckles, the tips of his fingers, the palm of his hand.

“Come here, you little minx,” he growls, trying to pull you down on top of him. You pull back, and he lets go, still worried about pushing you when you’ve made so many overtures in such a short time.

You had expected him to hold on tightly, however, and overbalance, tipping over the other way with an inelegant little squeak. He laughs as he sits up, and you do too as he helps you back upright. He lays back again, and there’s no resistance when he takes you with him this time. He tucks you into his side, and you look down at him, chin propped on your hand.

“I rescind my earlier statement,” he says.

“Which one?”

“You don’t have to ask nicely for a kiss, darling. I worry that you’re too prideful to admit that you might like one, but if you can steal one whenever the mood strikes you, I might be lucky enough to receive a few impulsive ones that your good sense isn’t fast enough to stop.”

You huff. “Is this your way of asking for another?”

“It’s my way of asking for as many as you might want to give me,” he says. “There is, of course, a standing offer of anything you might like that is within my power to supply. I think it prudent to remind you.”

He’s a ridiculous kind of man. You’d always thought his tendency toward verbosity was just him grandstanding, but now you see it for what it really is. He wants to be understood by you so desperately that each sentence becomes overwrought, less clear for his efforts to imbue each word with meaning. Your own tendency toward blunt, inelegant language is an almost laughable counter. You say little, and hide everything you can, and he reads you plainly. He speaks like a poet, puts everything out in the open, and you misunderstand him on purpose.

Perhaps that’s why you didn’t see this for what it is a long time ago. If you were not so determined to make an enemy of him, perhaps you would have noticed the softness in his eyes, the way he looks at you as though you’re the sunrise and set, like you’re the moon and all the stars in the sky.

You kiss him, before he can open his mouth to speak again. There’s nothing lacklustre about the way your lips slide over his, the way your breath mingles, the way he makes little noises of satisfaction, unable to be quiet even with his tongue flicking over your top lip, encouraging you to open up for him. Angling your head to keep your noses from smushing together, you oblige, letting him lick into your mouth, his arms circling you, holding you tight against his body.

You can't put a name to the feeling that sparks between you, but it's the thing that's been missing from every kiss you've had before.

The heat, the need of it all burns away all that remains of your carefully maintained resolve. He loves you, fool that he is, and you're not sure you could survive without him now. Is that what love is? To mourn even the thought of their absence from you, to cling tightly and never let go? To sink into each other until you're one, two halves of the same whole?

He kisses you until you're breathless, lips swollen from the tug of his sharp teeth, jaw curiously sore from moving in a new way. You pull back first, braced on one arm as you look down on him. He's beautiful, more than human, wild-eyed and fey, but solid and warm beneath you in a way only a man could be. His imperfections make him dearer to you, not just the marks you've drawn on his skin, but the gap between his two front teeth, the way one brow arches a little more than the other, giving him that permanently skeptical look that had always made you feel he was making fun of you. The crooked smile, the notch in one ear.

You know his face more intimately than your own, but you still want to look at him, especially through this new lens.

“I don’t think I want to wait,” you admit. You’ve waited long enough, haven’t you?

“Are you certain?” he asks.

“I don’t see what difference it makes, really.”

“It makes a great deal of difference. I’ve taken enough from you, I don’t want you to regret it.” He gazes up at you, tracing along your jaw with careful touch.

Your heart races rabbit-quick in your chest, and although you're the one looking down at him, you feel pinned in place by the wolf's eyes alone. "Then make sure I don't," you say softly. "I can even promise not to make another attempt on your life until the morning."

"Darling…"

"Please. I don't know how I'll feel tomorrow, but tonight I think I want your hands on me."

"You think?" His fingers catch around the back of your neck, as though he's waiting for some cue before he pulls you back into his arms.

“I know.”

He pulls you down for another kiss, rolling the two of you so his big body stretches over yours, your underskirts bunching up as he slots his thick thigh between yours, pressing against your core. He holds most of his weight off of you, but you’re still trapped beneath him. For the first time in a long while, there is no panic, no desire to fight furiously for freedom. You feel quite content where you are, especially when his thigh flexes, rubbing against you firmly, sending a shower of sparks through your belly. You gasp against his mouth, your hands skimming down his sides gingerly. When he does it again, you dig your fingers into the muscle of his back reflexively, murmuring apologies as his lips leave yours and slide down your bared throat.

“Don’t,” he growls against your pulse, dragging his tongue roughly over your skin. “Don’t apologize. You won’t hurt me.”

His teeth graze the slope of your shoulder, finding the older scar from his lupine jaws. You let out a shuddering gasp when he bites down lightly, not even hard enough to leave a mark. There’s a part of you that wants him to leave a mark, a bruise if not something more permanent, but you’re not sure you’ll be able to convince him out of gentleness tonight.

He kisses down your chest, grinning up at you when he reaches the top edge of your corset. “You are still wearing far too much clothing, my love. Come here.” He stands in a smooth movement, and you’re untethered without the weight of his body against yours, but only for a moment. He helps you to your feet and leads you to the bed, taking a seat on the edge and pulling you between his knees, turning you so he can loosen the laces of your corset.

You shed the garment as soon as you’re able, as well as the extra petticoats. Your chemise is thin, loose material, obscuring little, but you leave it on while you sit beside the wolf, toeing your heeled slippers off and nudging them under the bed and out of the way. Hands folded, you wait, heart beating like a drum. You feel so strange, almost outside your own body, watching him unlace his boots and tug them off impatiently.

He stands to strip off his trousers, and you quickly avert your gaze, looking down at your hands rather than see him in his fully undressed state. You have a rough idea of what you’d find, you’ve been in the public baths more than a few times, and even doing your best to be respectful, it’s hard not to see something. But seeing something in a setting where everyone is minding their own business is a lot different than seeing something up close, especially when you might be expected to do more than just look.

“We don’t have to do this, love,” he says, kneeling in front of you, clasping his hands around yours. Your eyes fly back up, landing on his face. His chuckle makes your cheeks burn. “If you’re nervous—”

“No,” you say quickly. “I want to. I’m just— I hate not knowing what I’m supposed to do.”

“I wouldn’t worry about that darling. It’s your first time, I should think the responsibility rests on my shoulders. All you have to do is tell me when you like something and when you don’t.” He leans forward, forcing your thighs apart to accommodate the bulk of him, and kisses you, all sweetness. “And if you want to stop, we stop. Anything more than that can wait at least until the second or third time.”

It sounds so simple, put like that.

“Besides,” he adds, giving you a wicked grin as his hands move to your hips, the movement rucking your chemise up further on your thighs. “You’ve always been a quick study.”

Well, he’s right about that. His lips find your throat again, pressing languid kisses down your chest until he reaches the edge of your chemise. His eyes flick upwards, seeking permission before he goes further. You untie the simple knot with one hand, the other petting through his soft curls.

He noses aside the thin fabric to find your nipple, latching on with a contented hum. The act sends tremors down into your core, intensifying as his tongue flicks across. You pull in a shuddering breath, and your exhale becomes a whimper when his teeth nip at you, his other hand coming up to grope at your other breast, his touch warm and appreciative before his grip slides down to your hips and he tugs you to the edge of the mattress.

He pulls away from your breast and kisses you properly again. “Do you want more?” he asks. “Can I taste your pretty cunt, darling?”

The desire in his words sends a shiver down your spine. You nod, and he sits back on his heels and kisses all the way up your thigh, although he pauses and pulls back to your other knee, kissing his way up again, this time sinking his teeth into your inner thigh, not hard enough to really hurt, just enough to make you jolt, your pearl begging for any kind of friction. When he passes over your cunt to mouth at your other thigh, you whine, shifting even closer to the edge of the bed. You can feel your cunt dripping, the air strangely cool on your wet skin.

A pair of mischievous eyes glance up at you. He’s doing this on purpose. He started all of this, and now he has the gall to tease you. Glaring in response, you grip him by the hair and pull him in, determined to put his clever mouth to better use than smirking and biting you when you need him elsewhere.

To his credit, he makes no complaint and does what he’s directed, slipping his tongue between your folds, lapping up the slick arousal. His big hands push your thighs up so he can get a better angle, and he kisses your cunt with as much passion as he did your lips, if not more.

The feeling is electric. His mouth scorches, sets you alight in ways you’d never imagined, the occasional scrape of his too sharp teeth against you thrilling. It’s too good, has you fighting his grip even as your fingers are still tightly wound into his hair, holding him close. It’s too much, but if he stopped it would be so much worse.

If he minds your writhing, he doesn’t show it. You can’t help the sounds he pulls from you, but he’s louder, as though this is more for himself than for you. He groans when your hips buck against his mouth, pants when he lifts himself away enough to breathe, his amber eyes gleaming, fixed on your face, except the few times they flutter closed, just for a moment, savouring your taste.

His nose nudges your pearl as his tongue presses inside you. You grip him so tightly to your core, your hips shaking so hard that you’re surprised you don’t break his nose. The hot, molten cataclysm that’s been pooling somewhere behind your belly button overtakes you, sweeping you away, limbs seized, unable to out-swim the current. You can’t see past the stars in your eyes even after your legs relax and you force your hand to unclasp his hair, finger by finger, so you can lay back on the mattress, breathing hard.

He crawls up onto the bed and pulls you toward the centre, a self-satisfied grin on his face. His cock presses into your thigh, insistent for attention, the tip peeking out and leaking against your thigh. He ruts against you when he kisses you again, his close-cropped beard soaked with your arousal. You can taste yourself on his tongue, tangy and bitter-sweet.

You lay twined together, forehead pressed against his as you both catch your breath. One hand gently brushes up and down your spine, the other pulling your leg up over his hip. “How was that?” he asked.

There may not be words for what you feel. Maybe there are, but they’re beyond you right now, washed away with all the resistance in your body. You settle on nice, which makes him laugh.

“Only nice, hm? I suppose I’ll have to work harder.”

“Better than nice,” you assure him. “I— I liked it a lot.” It’s still insufficient, so you kiss him again, hoping he won’t ask any more questions.

He does, after a long moment. “Are you ready for more?”

“There’s more?” you ask. “Or— for you? Do you want me to—”

“No, there’s no need for you to do a thing, love. The next part is for both of us.” He rolls onto his back, taking you with him effortlessly. He reaches past you with one hand while he kisses you sweetly, tongue pushing into your mouth at the same moment you feel his cock slot against your entrance. He pushes in gently, halting when he meets resistance, fucking shallowly into you until you relax enough to let him bury himself deeper into your body.

You tuck your face down against his chest, focusing on the feeling of his cock stretching your cunt, so deep inside you that his presses against your womb. He tries to keep himself still, but his hips buck slightly, tearing a groan from your chest. There’s no stopping the way your cunt squeezes down on him in response, nor the way your hips grind against him. He makes a choked sound, breathing out shakily when you push yourself up to look at him.

The angle change nearly has you collapsing back down, but he takes pity on you and flips you both so he can take the lead. “Hello, pretty thing,” he says, giving you another kiss and a firm grind into you before he starts moving his hips, slowly working himself in and out of your cunt, lips settling against your ear so he could tell you how well you’re taking him, how good you feel around his cock.

Any ability to respond is quickly fucked out of you, your breath punched out with every deep thrust, your world shrinking down to a handful of sensations: his lips on your ear, the weight of his body and the delicious drag of his cock against your inner walls.

He works his hand between you to rub at your pearl, the heel of his hand pressing down on your lower belly. The thought that he can feel himself inside you with your hand is one of the last fully formed ones that cross your mind, because he growls and picks up the pace, unrelenting until you’re shaking and babbling and clinging so tightly to him that you’re certain you’ll leave permanent marks.

He drags you up another precipice and throws you over, his forehead pressed to yours, watching your face as you shake and cry out. He ruts into you, and you can feel him fill your cunt, his cock twitching, rooted firmly inside you. He doesn’t pull away, just throws himself onto his back, holding you tight to his chest.

His heart beats like a drum under your ear, slowing gradually as he catches his breath. His cock slips free, and you stiffen slightly as his spend leaks from your swollen cunt, spilling onto his belly. He pops his head up as soon as you tense, and huffs out a laugh, kissing the tip of your nose.

“Sex can be a bit messy. Come on, love. Let’s get cleaned up.”

Your legs wobble when you try to stand, but he happily slides a supportive arm around your waist, leading you into the adjoining tap room. Once you’re both cleaned up, he coaxes you out of your sweat-soaked chemise and wraps you in one of his shirts and you both sit back down in front of the fire.

You pick up your abandoned wine glass, holding it with both hands as you eye the wolf. He looks content, satiated, like he’s had his fill of you. There’s a little tremor of unease that settles in your belly. Now that the chase is over, will he still want you? Do you still want him to want you? At the beginning of the evening you had been determined to kill him, and now…

He looks back at you through half-closed eyes, and unfurls his arm. “You’re too far away,” he tells you, voice a warm purr. “And you’re thinking too much.”

It’s still unfair, how easily he reads you. An open book, pages left open for him to flip through at his leisure. Despite your trepidation, you walk forward on your knees and sit against him, knees tucked under his arm. His fingertips trail up your thigh, over your knee, down your calf, and back, over and over, as he waits for you to speak.

“What happens now?” you ask at last. “Do we go our separate ways?”

Hurt flashes across his face before he can hide it behind a neutral mask. “If that’s what you want.” His fingers continue retreading their path while silence builds between the two of you. At last, he pulls in a fortifying breath. “Is that what you want?”

There’s raw desire in his eyes, not tempered in the least by your coupling. He offers you everything so easily that it feels like it must be a trick, but he wouldn’t work so hard to hide his feelings if he didn’t care for you, if this were a trap. If you stay, it has to be your choice, not made because of his own want for you to remain by his side.

The anger that kept you warm in all your years out in the cold is gone. Killing him won’t bring your family back from the grave, it would just place another soul in one. The desire for revenge truly burned out a long while ago, and you couldn’t admit that only embers remained. It was why you were so desperate to end it tonight, to close the chapter and look forward to something new.

It’s so like your wolf to ruin your plans. This time, you’re not sure you mind.

“I’d like to stay,” you say at last.

He’s on you so fast that you drop your wine glass, spilling red over the furs. It’s hard to stop laughing enough to kiss him back, trying to point out the mess to him. He growls something about not giving a damn as he gives up trying to kiss you through your smile, and presses his lips to your pulse instead.

In the end, with all the history between the two of you, what’s one more mess?

It's been almost five years since I started writing this short story, and I had fully expected not to finish it. I was caught up in the story in the peripherals, the potential history between Cat and Valter. This scene no longer fits in the overall narrative, even if there are still threads of it that remain unchanged, so I feel like it's safe to share. I'm working on the third draft of The Night of the Wolf, sorting out the mess of my second draft (so many changes it might as well be a second first draft) and I think there's a very real possibility that I can actually finish it, and that's in no small way thanks to all of you. I have been writing for a long time, but it's only been in the past year that I've shared my work with anyone, and it's been a really lovely experience. Thank you for reading my silly fanfictions, thank you for reading this, and I hope to share more bits of original work going forward, if there's any interest. (But don't worry, I'm still gonna finish the fanfictions. I show no signs of stopping yet)

C. T. Cutter

(Also, special thanks to my best human person @dragonnarrative-writes for making me finish this and being so so kind to me about my work and encouraging me always. I am bad at accepting compliments but I appreciate them all the same)

Image Credits: 1 - 2 ~ Dividers by @/cafekitsune

[iridiss]

Aaron’s such an underrated character on Aphblr tbh. He’s become one of my favorite characters in the cast as I rewatch more and more of Mystreet. Aaron will tease you, but he’s also one of the best characters in the cast to go to for emotional support. He’ll tell you as it is, smack you upside the head when you’re being crazy and shake you back to rational normalcy, but then he’ll sigh and tell you you’re gonna be just fine and everything’s gonna be okay. He is the number one (and on occasion only) holder of brain cells in the whole neighborhood. He’s the most sensible, and often the word of wisdom/rationale, much more so than Katelyn or Lucinda or Zane or Laurance are. This can often make him come off as a serious character, but he’s still down to clown! He just does it in a different way!

He’s supposed to contrast Aphmau’s louder, more extroverted, playful, ditzy, eccentric personality, by being quieter, more rational, more responsible, more cautious and careful, more reserved, a word of wisdom to contrast her crazier, chaotic energy and pranking and punning and ponies and general whimsical tomfoolery. But that does not, by any means, mean that he is not participating in the antics. Just because he’s the only one who thought to bring a first aid kit and a safety harness doesn’t mean he’s not jumping off that cliff with everyone else in this crazy cast. You tell him to dig, he’ll bring shovels. He may sigh or say “oh god not again” when shit goes awry or the gang decides they are Dead Set on doing something insane for the 10,000th time, but by god he will commit. Aphmau kidnaps a baby and goes on a mad chase for a comedic bit, and he never complains about how “stupid” and “reckless” and “obnoxious” his girlfriend is, he just says in a completely calm tone, “Now if you’ll excuse me, I need to go save my girlfriend.” And he chases after her immediately lmao.

Aaron enables the antics and participates in them, and if you rile him up or challenge him damn well enough, he will throw himself into the group antics with an unbeatable, fiery fervor. If the boys decide they’re all gonna pretend to be Santa and his elves in order to cause prankster-variety chaos one day, Aaron would join in and go right alongside them. He’s here to make sure it all goes to plan. He’s here to make sure you don’t break any bones when you jump off that roof like a madman. He’s here to help you run away from the cops, help you break into the building. He may chide you for doing it in the first place (“do you even know what you’re doing?!”), and if needed he may drag you back home if you’re barking up the wrong tree and it’s nothing but detrimental to you, but if it’s viable for the bit, he absolutely will show you how to break a window correctly.

And he can be a little shit if he wants to, too!! He can snicker at you and tease you and make quips, and I bet if Aaron himself dedicated his energy to it, he would make the best of pranks. He’s not an asshole that’s full of himself and too serious and stoic and cool for being silly, he’s not a whiny bitch, he’s actually very incredibly supportive. At times, much more so than Garroth, Laurance, Zane, Katelyn, etc. He’s reliable, he trusts Aphmau a lot, he knows how shittily Aphmau cooks and still does his damndest to support her, and he will force himself to eat her biohazardous cooking just to make her happy. He is the chef of the household. He’s good with animals, animals love him. He’s a kind guy!!! He’s just got his own unique energy and vibe to him, that no one else in the cast really has, and I really appreciate that core trait of him. He’s a grounding character. He’s probably got his own ways that he’s weird and eccentric that are a lot more hidden than Aphmau’s. If we didn’t have Aaron, the entire neighborhood would have burned down ages ago, ten times over.

I genuinely do believe he’d make a fantastic dad, being a combination of a soft and gentle and tenderly loving man, and responsible enough to always bring safety helmets and bandaids and snacks, very supportive of his kids development, emotionally available as a great source of genuine advice and wisdom while still getting plenty of encouragement. He would probably want to make an effort to be a very different parent than his father was, and since he was emotionally neglected as a child, he would refuse to do anything similar to his own kids. He’d be a good influence (and Aphmau would be the bad influence LOL)

He’s kind of a teddy bear of a man <3 If he weren’t so heavily wolf-themed, I’d say a bear would be the best animal that’d fit his personality and energy. He’d protect you like a bear, he can be really fucking terrifying if he wants to, but he’d only use that power to make sure Aphmau gets what she wants and needs to make her happy. He’d never use that terrifying intimidation factor of his on his friends and loved ones, never as anything more than a single look that has a derailing Garroth/Laurance/Travis/Dante/Gene/etc. get right the fuck back on track and start backpedaling, like if they started saying or doing something careless or stupid that made Aphmau feel worse. He’s quiet and reserved with that tired, grounded, solid energy of a bear. He’s a big guy. But he can also be really soft and supportive and sweet. He takes more time to come out of his shell and let down his walls, but when he does, he really dedicates his life to the few people he manages to trust. And it’s that thick outer shell that makes Aphmau a good match for him, because she’s kinda the only character in the cast who’s able to bring him out of his shell so easily.

She’s kind and extremely friendly, unstoppably and unendingly so. She’s sweet and naive and selfless in the way that proves to Aaron that she’s not trying to get anything out of him, she’s not lying to him, and she would never neglect him or just…abandon him like a discarded toy once she’s through with him. She’s not scared of him. She sees the best in everybody, and sees that there’s something more underneath that scary, prickly outer shell of defenses that’s managed to push everyone else away and keep the likes of Laurance and Garroth and Katelyn on their toes. She sees what no one else does, she sees the true beauty and the kind heart he has underneath. Even in MCD, when he’s literally held a sword to her throat and threatened her life multiple times, she can still sense that he’s full of shit and there’s a kind heart underneath, and if she does a little cultivating, extends a hand of gentle kindness and genuine affection, a kind of love and affection he’s never really seen before and been starved of all his life… it works wonders, and he steps out to meet her. He changes, drastically, because she sees the best in him, and that makes him want to become the best version of himself that he can be, for her. Where he might hate himself and grapple with feeling unloveable, Aphmau is there to remind him none of its true. And so he tries to keep her nightmares away in return, sticking by her side, taking care of her, cooking for her, encouraging her to keep doing everything she does best, defends her against the bullies that make her feel like she’s not good enough, and takes her by the shoulders to remind her that she is good enough, and all the voices out there and in her head that tell her she’s not are full of shit. Because he knows first-hand, better than most, the good things she brings to those around her and the wonderful presence she is in others lives, and how wonderful she is as a person. He trusts her. He’s here to guide her along in her path to becoming her fullest self, to give her that last big nudge to boost her along the way. Likely on a cosmic level, mainly, with her becoming Irene.

He’s very sweet, he’s sweet to Aphmau, Aphmau’s even sweeter to him, and genuinely I’ve learned to love the big, fluffy guy and I really appreciate him and his impact on the other characters the more and more I see of him. I don’t really know how I would enjoy Mystreet or MCD or the Aphverse without him. If he were real, I would love to give him one big hug, I bet his hugs would be amazing (topped only by Garroth’s rib-crushing bear hugs)