#cw self harm implication | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

mamayan · 9 months

Note

I would murder for more Aizawa but that's not what this ask is about tee hee~

My boy Mirio except it's him and reader's first time and reader can't keep up with his stamina 👉🏽👈🏽

Ah yes, my golden boy. My golden retriever. My goodest boy award winning champion. Mirio Togata! Your request is comin’ right up! ♡ not proof read!

☆彡Moderation★彡

Mirio Togata x Fem! Reader

CW: Established Relationship • Future AU • NSFW • Fluff! • Virgin! Mirio • Virgin! Reader • Penetration • Praise • Overstimulation • Humor (he’s a goof) • Fingering (F) • Oral (F) • Size Kink • Creampie

He’s looking at you again.

With those eyes. The ones that sparkle and say “look at how cute I am!” while a pink hue covers his cheeks.

You pointedly ignore the look, resuming work on your laptop while he sulks over on the couch. You weren’t going to give in, he’s had a long day of patrols as a pro-hero, and needed to be prioritizing sleep. Hence, why you’re working even though your boyfriend arrived late in the evening to see you. His face popping through your front door to announce his presence nearly sending you to an early grave.

“Hey babe! I brought Thai food—,”

“Kyaaa!” You’d thrown the cup you’d been washing right at him. The ceramic mug neatly caught in his hand, also coming through your door. His boisterous laugh only earning him an earful as you repeat your request for him to knock like a normal person.

“Sorry, I always forget! I just get so excited to see you!” You can imagine a golden fluffy tail wagging behind him and droopy ears on his head. His attitude akin to your neighbor’s dog.

“What’re you doing here so late Mirio?” Your pointed look had him deflating, and it makes your chest feel stuffy to see him so.

“I just wanted to see you…?” How were you supposed to send him away?

“When is the last time you’ve had a full night’s rest? You need to sleep Mirio.” Your worry far greater than anything else as you fret over him. He sets the food down in the kitchen, moving his tall and imposing frame towards you. You’re quickly wrapped in his strong arms, squished gently to his chest as he just breathes you in for a moment. It’s impossible not to relax, to let him take a little weight despite it being him who needs the burden lightened. “I just want you to take care of yourself…” your sweet confession has him nearly dropping to one knee, but well aware a marriage proposal so quick to your new relationship might have you scampering away.

“Hmm, then, could I stay the night here?” His words have you tensing up nervously, aware of the implication and not naive to what it can lead to.

You don’t mind, really, but once again your thoughts stick to his lack of sleep and self care lately. He’s been working nearly 18 hours a day for the last week! It’s a criminal offense, those hours.

That’s how you’re here now. Finishing up work and trying to pointedly ignore Mirio’s soft blue eyes glittering for your attention. Despite his size and figure, his face makes even children trusting of him, looking incapable of bringing harm. You fell in love with the man for far more than just such simply reasons, but it certainly wasn’t a disservice that your boyfriend was so cute.

You don’t notice he’d snuck up on you, only startling as thickly corded arms snake over your shoulders and chest. He leans his head on top of yours, looking down at your work.

“Mirio, you can stay here, but go to bed please—,”

“Are you scared?” His questions pauses your rant, and you tense under the weight he’s leaned on you. The slight change in demeanor is all he needs to drop his arms, and you’re a little embarrassed and ashamed when he moves away from you.

Only for his hands to grip the bottom of your chair and turn you completely around.

He’s crouching down now, though with his height and size, even with you sitting he’s nearly eye level with you. His face, normally like sunshine and smiling, is uncharacteristically stoic. His gaze somewhat darkened as he seems to silently command your full attention.

“Sunshine,” you try not to show how the pet name makes your heart flutter, “If my presence is making you feel pressured in any way, I promise it is no big deal for me to go sleep on the couch, on the floor, or go home.” You go to open your mouth, defensive because you didn’t want him to leave or sleep anywhere but on a comfortable bed. He’s quick to gently wrap a large hard over your jaw, hushing you as making you look up at he stands to loom over you.

It’s not threatening. Even with how big and bulky the blonde is, his aura of protection and kindness is undeniable.

“I want you, all of you, but do not doubt for one second in your mind that I am a man who can’t wait. I have never loved a woman like I love you, I’m nervous and scared too, I’m not experienced nor can I confidently say I’m going to always be able to keep my excitement in check but…” he leans closer, you can feel the warmth of his breath and smell his cologne. “I will always respect what you want.”

He finishes so firmly, no room for any other thoughts but his sincerity, that you feel your eyes water and lip wobble. How many losers had you dated before, who grew vicious and mean when you rejected them? How many said hateful words and comments like that’d make you any more open to sex? How many left you because you wanted to get to know them as a person before you let yourself be so vulnerable?

“I love you too,” your voice is a little hoarse, but you wrap your hands around his wrist, keeping his touch on you as you let yourself relax. You look up, to his soft shining eyes and sweet smile, and you can’t help mimicking it. Letting your lips tilt up because even though your heart is so full it feels like it’ll overflow, you are happy and so sure of him. You’ve been sure of him, but the topic and approach just lost on you. He’s been so busy working as a hero as well, saving lives and people, that you’ve felt guilty taking time he could be resting away from him.

“You aren’t tired?” You feel so shy, despite knowing him and always being so comfortable around him. It feels different.

“Not even a little.” He chuckles, and you’re truly gone as you move one hand away from his wrist to curl into the fabric of his t-shirt. Tugging him down further, so you could kiss him. Slot your lips against his thin and soft ones, and further solidify your resolve.

“Let’s go to bed Mirio…” you break the kiss, to really look into his eyes. They widen slightly, and his face flushes deeper than you’ve ever seen before as he stutters out, “A-are you sure? Like… uh, just bed or…?” You giggle, grinning as you feel your nerves evaporate in the presence of his.

This big strong pro-hero, stuttering and blushing while waving his hand in panic, because you invited him to bed.

“No, not just bed, unless you lied and you really are tired?” Your sly smile and quirked brow set him off, his huff and grumble as he scoops you up into a Princess carry adorable.

“Not tired…” he grumps, marching you nearly mechanically to your room, toeing the door open and setting you down on your mattress. He nervously rubs a hand on the back of his neck, not looking at you as he mumbles a bit awkwardly.

“Okay… so you said not just bed, but could you possibly say… it?” He’s sheepish and you feel overcome with the need to tease him. You bat your lashes, looking coy and so beautiful he really finds it difficult to swallow as he looks down at you before averting his eyes again, trying to stay on topic.

“Say what Mirio…?” You sit up on your knees, reaching to hook a finger in his belt loop and tug him closer. You hardly have to use any strength, his body automatically following your nonverbal orders perfectly. Your head is at his chest like this, perfect height to run your hands softly over his torso and slip under his jacket to push it off his shoulders.

He lets you. No fight or push back in him as you feel yourself becoming emboldened. He makes you feel confident. Like whatever you’re doing, however you’re doing it, is right in his book. Maybe it’s just right that you’re touching him.

“Say that I love you…?” You’re clearly teasing, your smile too saccharin and eyes too mischievous. He chuckles, soft and quiet, keeping his hands off you but allowing you full access to him. It’s on purpose.

“I love you too pretty girl, but not quite what I meant…” his jacket drops to the ground, and you’re working on his shirt next, shivering at the feel of his solid muscles beneath your finger tips.

“Oh? Say that I’m so lucky you’re mine…?” He wants to touch you, but he also doesn’t want to ruin your fun. It’s a battle of will for him at the moment. When your soft small hands can’t reach any farther to push his shirt off and he has to help you, his jeans feel too tight.

“Fuck, I’m lucky you’re mine, my girl who loves to tease me.” You giggle again, feeling jittery and aroused as he throws his shirt next to his jacket, upper body naked and in full view for your eyes to feast on. You’re hands aren’t innocent either, and while you’ve felt him up plenty during your make out sessions… once more it feels different. Warmer and more passionate.

“Mhm… then, say I want you to make love to me? That I want you inside of me? To touch me?” He moans, shivers racking his body visibly as he finally gets his permission to touch you.

You squeal in excitement as he pushed you, your back hitting the soft sheets as he leans over you with a wicked grin. He looks victorious. “You said,” is all you get before he’s kissing you like lives depend on it, lips parting for his tongue to invade and swirl around your own. Nipping and sucking on your lips as his calloused hands run up your sides and squeeze you. You moan up into the kiss, muffled as you wrap your arms around his neck to anchor him to you. Your hands naughty, moving to run through his soft locks and tugging.

He groans, pulling away and grunting when you do it again, his gaze darker than before as he smiles. “Keep teasing me baby, you look so pretty like this.” You gasp in pleasure as he grips your sleep shorts, yanking them down and swiftly off your legs. They’re tossed to the floor as he does the same to your shirt, leaving you beneath him in only a thin bra and panties.

It’s the most he’s ever seen of you.

You don’t get a chance to feel anything but purely embarrassed as he moans, his forehead connecting with your chest as he grips your arms tightly. “S-sorry, just—you’re so cute. I need a moment.” You heat up, stomach filled with butterflies as you huff a laugh. His display dramatic but endearing. It’s not hard to make him sit up, as your hands go to his jeans and work on opening them up, setting off a whole new display of theatrics.

“Fuck, fuck, your hands look so cute, do you want me to help? No? Oh, oh fuck so soft, wait—,” you don’t wait, not when he sounds so desperate, no when you’re so desperate. Just to touch him. Feel him. Make this powerful pro-hero adored by the masses crumple under your hand, because of you. You try not to make a face, as your hand finally does feel and wrap around him… and your fingers don’t quite all touch around. No, you try not to flinch or show your astonishment because only pornos had actors this big, but Mirio is hanging on to your every reaction. He doesn’t miss it. You wince, lips parting a bit as his pants hang off his hips and you hold his hard cock in your hand.

It’s hot, physically hotter than the rest of his body, and you’re slightly clammy as you give a few experimental jerks like you’ve seen in videos.

“Ah, mhm, here baby, like this…” his hands are so much bigger than your own, it’s more obvious as one wraps around yours to show you how he likes to be touched. He tightens his hold, moaning a bit as he watches and essentially uses your hand like a sex toy. Harder and faster than you’d done it, working his uncut cock up further and somewhat strangling to tip before dropping back down. You’re enthralled, watching the reddened head leak all over you both, his pre-cum copious, helping as a lubricant to make the movements easier.

“Does it feel good?” You can’t help it, as he semi leans over you and masturbates with your hand, you ask a somewhat rhetorical question.

His smile melts the anxiety like the sun melts ice. “I feel like I’m going to die I’m so close to coming.” His honest answer has you simmering. “Is that okay? Can I cum for you?” His breathing is labored, little grunts and moans mingled but he doesn’t look away from you or the soft skin revealed to his eyes.

“Y-yes…” you feel silly for the words which nearly came out, but he seems to see right through you.

“I need you to say it more clearly.” He’s moving his hips now, pushing more of his fat cock through the grip of your fist and making the muscles in your hand ache, but you refuse to release tension. You swallow the embarrassment, because this is Mirio and even if he did laugh, wouldn’t you follow too?

“I want you to cum for me Mirio, cum in my mouth.” It sounds like a line torn from a sex tape, but it’s a line which apparently has him seizing up because suddenly your yanked forward into a sitting position. His cock right by your lips, his hand using your own to work himself furiously as you instinctively open just before he gasps and his load shoots in spurts onto your tongue and lips. “So hot, fuck you’re so hot, so pretty like this…ah,” his head is thrown back as he slows his vicious abuse, your concern for his well being unnecessary as he comes down from his euphoria. You swallow, and while you’d heard horror stories of how men taste, you note it’s mild and a little salty. He doesn’t taste bad at all.

Your hand is sticky and wet as you pull it off him, shiny strings of pre-cum and actual cum breaking off his softening erection as peer up at him.

Despite having a redder than usual face, Mirio looks the same. Grinning and proud looking as he shuffles off the bed to fully remove his clothes.

You really thank whatever star granted you such a man. His entire body sculpted and powerful, each muscle on display and you giggle as he flexes dramatically for you, climbing back onto the bed and encouraging you to lie back. “Thank you sweet girl, but don’t you think I also deserve a taste?” His innuendo not lost on you. Your heart picks up, but you nod with a nervous smile as you let him strip your remaining undergarments off so he could have full access to you.

Like with everything about Mirio, he isn’t shy.

Quick to use those big hands to spread your thigh, keeping you open with his own as his hands smooth up your hips, over you soft belly and up to your breasts where he leans over to capture a nipple in his mouth. You can’t quiet the noise it draws from you, your hands tangling again in his hair as you moan. His tongue lavishing your hardening nipple, wetting it and sucking as he stares and tracks every little piece of information you give to him. Like learning the moves of a villain in battle, Mirio is consciously memorizing your movements and habits to see what makes you react more.

Your hips move against nothing, his thighs keeping you spread and your wet cunt exposed to the cool air in the room as you twist and writhe beneath him. He’s gentle, even as he nips and sucks bruising marks onto your chest and up as he kisses to your jaw. “Mirio…” you mumble so sweetly it makes his teeth ache, and he doesn’t stop himself from sinking into your neck a little roughly with his teeth. Your sharp gasp turning into a moan as he licks the sting away.

“You’re so cute, so precious, all mine. I’m so lucky, aren’t I?” He’s murmuring against you, finally bringing his lips up again to kiss you deeply. His tongue and scent distracting as he lets a finger trail through your slick, jolting you with the shock of pleasure as he brushes over your clit. “Does it feel good?” His teasing voice is right beside your ear, and while you can’t see him, you know he’s enjoying the payback. You huff a laugh, hardly focused on his words as you’re forced to accept the minuscule stimulation he’s giving. Teasing and not enough.

You turn your head, using your grip in his hair to make him stay while you whisper in his ear. “It feels so good… but it’d feel better inside me.” He groans, his cock once again aching and hard as he rests his head in the crook of your neck while he allows his finger to push inside your pussy. If you’d thought his cock was hot, you had no idea how warm inside you were. Mirio momentarily stunned by the intensity of your body temperature as he’s forced to imagine the tight wet space stretching to fit him.

“I think I’m going to lose my mind…” his whisper is barely audible, and you don’t get a chance to question him as he adds another finger, this time you feel the stretch. “Mirio, oh,” you tremble beneath him, hands leaving his hair to wrap around his free hand braced on your hip. You can’t help but watch, feeling so wound up felt both incredible and frustrating all at once. “I want to cum, Mirio, please,” your little whines and moans were already leaving him dizzy, but your begging with those wide watery eyes made it hard not to get rougher with you. Your pussy soaked his hand, the wet squelching of each thrust of his fingers inside of your gooey walls making you twist and grind your hips onto him.

“M’gonna cum…” the build it up quick and slow all at once, Mirio finally hitting a spot inside that had stars bursting in your eyes. The tight coil in your belly snaps as you shake and come apart for him. “That’s it, so good…” he’s working you down slowly, easing the speed and intensity as you come down, kissing your forehead so gently.

You drowsily look up at him, as he brings his fingers to his lips and noisily sucks each one clean as he holds eye contact. You huff in embarrassment, trying not to show how arousing the display truly way. “Do you think you could cum on my tongue next baby?” His serious expression was enough to have you focusing despite the lull of your body.

He wants to make you come again?

You couldn’t help but feel giddy, nodding and letting out a happy giggle as he kissed your cheeks, nose, and lips. “Thank you pretty girl.” He never ceased to amaze, because should it be you who was thankful? It hardly mattered as your attention drifted to his lips traveling down, leaving marks in his path to your sopping wet pussy.

“So pretty,” he chuckles as you shy away, feeling odd having him just stare at you. His hands moving to spread the lips of your cunt to stare at your twitching hole he wanted to fill so badly. His blue eyes are nearly black, his pupils blown wide and face so flushed he appears intoxicated. “Don’t just stare—oh!” He’s on his elbows the next moment, hooking around your thighs and spreading you wider as he comes within an inch of touching your pussy. His mischievous gaze holding your own as he sticks his tongue out to lick one fat strip up your folds.

“Fuck,” you shudder, the foreign feeling consuming. So much softer than any toy or time you’ve used your fingers. It’s feather light at first, ticklish and textured as he laves at your clit lazily, letting you adjust to the sensations. It’s not long before your hips are wiggling, your little moans getting louder. The sounds of him lapping at your cunt naughty and arousing to your ears. Your hands were back into his hair, trying to pull him closer as he experiments with pressure, speed, and location.

Direct kitten licks to your clit drives you wild, the soft little sweet sensations making you shiver and gasp. His tongue delving inside of you makes you grind harder against him, soaking his face. When he sucks on your clit though, you come almost instantly, crying out in panic as he tears a viscous orgasm from you too quickly.

“Mirio! Hgh!” Your back arches off the mattress, and you nearly tear his hair out as he watches up in amazement as you jerk in his hold, further soaking him as you come. He didn’t expect such an intense release, but as you twitch and gasp for air he kindly wastes none of your release. Licking you up and moaning as the mental video of you shattering beneath him plays.

“That was perfect, you did perfect, thank you,” he’s kissing you senseless, pushing the taste of your own release into your mouth as he knocks your thighs almost painfully far apart and settles himself between them. You felt so small like this, caged in by his enormous frame and kind eyes. His hair messy and falling a bit into his face as he traces his thumb over your cheek. Letting you fully catch your breath.

“How do you feel? Are you tired?” His question sparks a bit of rebellion in you, as you eye him with the same pout he’d aimed at you earlier tonight and the same words, “Not even a little.”

He laughs, boisterous as he pulls you into a hug so familiar and like Mirio, nuzzling into you and kissing you with such affection it makes you laugh as well. “I love you sunshine, you know that?”

“I do now,” you quip, kissing his nose as he grins.

“Good,” he kisses you deeper, pulling your focus to his lips as he grips his leaking cock and lines himself up, letting your slick coat his tip as he pressed forward a little.

The sting is a bit sharper than you expected. Gasping into the kiss and making him pause as he checks on you.

“M’fine,” you’re forced to verbally assure, least he stop and you wouldn’t put it past him to do so.

“You tell me if I’m hurting you, promise?” You nod, doing your best now not to let even a peep even as you feel the stretch and burn of him pushing inside. It doesn’t hurt but it’s a strangely new sensation as your muscles spasm and clench around the hard cock splitting you open.

“So tight,” your eyes lock onto his ruined expression, taunt and twisted as he whines, finally letting his tip press up against your cervix where you’re left out of breath and panting. He bites his bottom lip, hard enough to nearly draw blood as he waits, because that’s what it said online and he’d be damned if he hurt you by being impatient.

It’s you who has to initiate movement, wrapping your arms around his neck as the burn inside you fades and the need for friction increases, your hips moving and cunt clamping down. It drags another hissed moan from his lips, his hips automatically bucking a little and making your voice mimic his.

“Yeah? Feel good sunshine?” He’s breathless, already close to an orgasm but refusing to give in before you do. You nod, clinging to him and the feeling of being so full and pressed against his hard body as he begins to rock into you.

“You feel so good, made for me aren’t you baby? Made for my cock.” You aren’t ready for his words as you shiver, his thrusts slow but gaining in power as you relax and allow him in deeper. “You sound like it feels good, should I go faster?” He’s speeding up before you even nod, delirious and pussy drunk as he holds you close, arms around your back and head as he pants into your ear, licking the shell and moaning for you as you mewl and lock your legs around his waist.

You feel the coil winding up in a new way, less noticeable at first but building and drawing your attention as you begin really crying out. His cock slamming into you, hitting inside just right that it leaves you scrambling for even a single thought as pleasure consumes you both. He’s lost in you more so, overcome with delight and pleasure as he ruts into you. His focus only on getting you to come so he can too, his energy mounting despite his strenuous efforts.

“M-Mirio~ m’gonna— again, oh please, I need—,” your voice is hoarse as you cry and moan for him, babbling adorably as you try and plead for him to give it you. To let you cum for him.

“Fuck, you need to cum? Go ahead sunshine, all over my cock, cum for me.” He’s smiling but it’s more of a flash of canines as he moves a hand between you, thumbing at your clit and giving you the final push over the edge as you do cum. “Inside me, cum inside,” your voice has him losing reason as he fucks you. Balls slapping at your ass as he pumps himself into you fast and hard now. Pussy gripping him as he moans, crying out into your throat as he finishes right behind you. Spilling his hot load deep into you, but his hips don’t still.

“Fuck fuck, you feel so good, so good sunshine, fuck, could die like this, so good,” he’s senseless, coming apart as he just keeps moving.

“M-Mirio—,” it’s too much.

His cock doesn’t soften. His hips working in short hard thrusts but they’re beginning to lengthen you realize. The pleasure is blinding but as it drags on, you panic, stuttering through your words as you try to grab his attention.

His eyes are half lidded, hair covering one up as he licks his lips and focuses down where you’re both joined. Mesmerized by how your little cunt takes his cock, how wet you are, how good you feel.

“S’too much!” You sink your nails into his forearms, but he’s just fucking you harder, moaning and losing himself as you feel another orgasm approaching. “Mirio please I can’t—oh, wait I— hah, please!” You feel light headed as he continues pounding and screwing you stupid, your body jerking a bit with the force of his thrusts as he grips you tight to keep you from getting away. You realize he’s mumbling under his breath, sweat dripping down his face and body as he works you both into overstimulation and another orgasm.

“Gonna fill you up, fuck, see you dripping my cum for days, fuck,” he’s unfocused as he sits up, pulling you almost into his lap as he grips your hips and angles them to better sink into you.

“m’coming—!” your vision goes dark for a moment as you’re wracked with another orgasm so close to the last, losing logic as he keeps going, moaning and whining as he grits his teeth and comes again soon after.

“Shit, I’m coming,” he nearly crushes you with his weight as he once more pulls you to his chest. This time he stills, and you feel his cock twitch every few seconds, his warm cum painting your walls as he kisses your neck and face. Your tired limp body in his arms too weak to really reciprocate much.

“Thank you baby, so good for me…” you’re ready for sleep to pull you under as Mirio showers you with affection, but your eyes snap open in panic as his deflated cock starts to harden again. “Fuck just need you one more time… one more…” you whine, hand pushing as his face but his hips are already moving and sliding his thick cock out of you before pushing in.

“Mirio—,”

“One more time, you can do one more for me right sunshine?” His soft eyes, sweet smile, so charming and disarming. You nod unconsciously, not understanding your tired mistake until he’s flipping you on your stomach and pulling your hips up, realization dawning as he slams back inside and leaves you reeling. “Fuck, thank you baby, so tight shit,” he’s gone.

You learned two things that night.

Mirio is a liar, and one more meant three more… and he gives incredible massages, which you found out in the morning after you woke up sore and angry.

#Mirio Togata #Mirio mha #Mirio bnha #Mirio Togata smut #Mirio smut #bnha Mirio smut #bnha #mha my hero academia #boku no hero academia #Mirio Togata x reader smut #fem! reader #Mirio x fem! reader #Mirio x fem! reader smut #18+#mdni #request filled #Yan loves her mooties

906 notes · View notes

ghouljams · 13 days

Text

A Weight Off His Shoulders

cw: Ghost x f!reader/f!oc, Ghost pov, m!oc, demon au, mild implications of self harm, interrogation techniques, exposition, Ghost grappling with his trauma, depersonalization, I'm holding Ghost at gun point and making him talk about his feelings

Summary: Ghost does not adjust to the few hours he spends without you hanging around. Actually it seems to make things worse.

It’s a strange feeling, Ghost’s shoulders feel weightless, eased of their infernal burden. Yet they’re still heavy. Guilty. He almost misses the pressure, the tightness. It’s like wearing a bulletproof vest, there was something almost comforting about having you weigh down his shadow, and it’s gone now. Ghost grits his teeth, coaxes his nerves away from the edge, hits the punching back in the gym harder than he intended to. He shakes the blow out of his knuckles, readjusts his wraps with a mumbled swear.

“Ghost,” Price calls behind him. Ghost shakes his head, he’s not in the mood for it. A lecture is the last thing he needs. Teamwork and all that bullshit means nothing when he’s- He clenches his hands tightly and throws another punch, he feels full to bursting with energy he doesn’t want to put a name to. Price calls his name again and he ignores it.

Right hook, left jab, right jab, left hook, uppercut. He switches his footing and throws a hard kick, catching the punching back with his shin. Textbook. Price catches the bag, his eyes hard. Ghost settles his foot back onto the matt floor and adjusts his wraps again.

“Know what you’re goin’ to say,” Ghost grumbles.

“Enlighten me,” Price sounds unamused, Ghost knows better than anyone how much he hates to be ignored.

“Team only works if we all do,” Ghost throws another jab, stopping short of the bag. Price doesn’t flinch. “Never needed to be friendly to do my job.”

“So I hear,” Price crosses his arms over his chest, rolls his shoulders back, watching the door. There’s something easy in the motion, unimpeded. Ghost’s eyes flick to the shadows on the wall, then back to Price. The gym is strangely empty, all the life filtered out and the shadows silent. He hadn’t noticed how alone they were until now.

“Where’s your dog?”

Price turns his attention back to him, there’s something sharp in his eyes, something warning. “Thankfully somewhere they can’t hear you call ‘em that.” Price’s tone is even, but dangerous. Ghost clenches his jaw, biting back the words he wants to say. He doesn’t know how Price can’t feel the same rolling disgust about their situation. He’s in the same boat, deemed too dangerous by Hell to exist without an escort. Monster enough to need another monster keeping him company. “They’re off with yours,” Price says finally, “looking over your contract.”

“Which one,” He knows which one, but Price still humors him.

“Not the one you’re hoping for, but if you really want a discharge-”

“I don’t.”

Ghost turns his attention back to the punching bag. He rolls his shoulders, the ease of motion doesn’t sit right. He ignores it. Price lets him wallow in silence, lighting a cigar while Ghost avoids the elephant in the room. Contract. He shouldn’t be beholden to something he never signed. He didn’t mean to summon a demon, he didn’t mean to attach himself to you, he didn’t mean for or want any of this. For God's sake he was barely holding on to his humanity as it was.

Maybe this is good, showing him what he still has to lose, how desperately he still clings to the hope that he could go back. Back to being Simon, to being human, to being something more than a machine part, the teeth on a meat grinder meant to rend flesh apart. He’d always hoped Ghost was just the shell, but maybe he’d spent too long hollowing himself out. Maybe Hell was right and there was nothing left to go back to.

Price lets out a long hard breath, waving his hand to clear the smoke so it doesn’t set off the alarm. He tucks his lighter back in his pocket while Ghost digs his nails into the wraps covering his palms. There’s a ringing in his ears that grows louder as Price smokes.

There’s something wrong with him, something dark and twisted that he was managing, plying with corpses to keep quiet. He was doing well, he was handling it. He was handling having a demon, it wasn’t ideal, but it was manageable. You were a useful tool, he could work with tools. He was a tool, and you were a tool. An unfortunately matching set. He squeezes his fists tighter.

You were so warm.

“So what’s wrong with ‘er?” Price’s voice jerks him out of his thoughts.

“Who?”

“You know who.”

Ghost is quiet. There are a million ways he could explain it. Price would understand, he’d sympathize, maybe he’d even have some advice. There are a million ways he knows he could explain it, but he doesn’t have the words for any of them. He’s never had the words for anything. Probably why he didn’t finish his schooling.

What’s wrong with you? You pushed him, you did something to him during sex that made him want to hurt you. No. He’d already wanted to hurt you, had those awful thoughts festering in the recesses of his brain where he knew they couldn’t hurt anyone, and he’d acted on it. He yelled at you, he slammed drawers and made a fuss. He wanted to hurt you. He did hurt you. You made him feel-

You made him feel like his father, like Roba, like none of the good he’d done meant anything. Hearing you beg- he’s heard those words from too many people: his mother, Tommy, himself. He thought he was better than that. He was kidding himself.

“S’like lookin’ in a mirror,” Ghost rumbles, his voice low enough he isn’t sure Price heard it.

“A mirror,” Price repeats with a disbelieving hum.

“Everything I- Christ-” Ghost drags a hand down his face, feels the friction of his hand wraps against the balaclava and frowns. “I see her and I can feel my old man putting his ideas in my head.”

“His ideas?”

“Wantin’ ta hurt ‘er, wantin’ ta-” It hits him quick, needles his brain. He knows this technique, knows it because he’s heard Price use it enough times before handing Ghost the pliers. He’s too trusting of Price. He’s being interrogated.

Ghost growls and rips the velcro on his wraps, tugging the canvas off his hands with quick motions. The gentle burn of it unraveling from between his fingers barely doing anything to ground him. Price watches him, his smoke filling the room, heavy where it touches his shadow. There’s something crawling in the air, something choking that Ghost can’t attribute to the cigar. The gym is empty, oppressively empty. Ghost’s skin crawls, Price’s stance hasn’t changed, but he’s different, his eyes are harder, challenging Ghost to make a wrong move. His shadow has grown horns.

“We’re not done,” Price tells him evenly. Fire licks at the ice of his irises, sparking anger in Ghost before he can stop it. Even the most docile dog bites its master when cornered.

Ghost cools his fury, fixes Price with a glare as he rolls his shoulders to try and ease some of the tension. Briefly he wonders if he’d feel the same stomach churning pressure with you hanging off of his shoulders. Your weight always seems to negate any other that tries to hold him down.

Price tips his head, and Ghost hears a softer voice tell him, “We’re done.” It bites into Ghost’s blood. He trusts Price, but this? This is pushing it. He’s always hoped to be doing enough good in the grand scheme of things to negate a fraction of the death and destruction. Was that wrong? Were they all being puppeteered by Hell? Was it all for nothing? Should he have felt it; that he’d become worse than his father?

“They got you on a short leash,” Ghost challenges, unable to stop the bite in his tone. Price’s eyes narrow, warning, but all Ghost can feel is the white hot burn of anger.

“I’m tryin’ to help you,” Price assures him, but it feels hollow. Something shifts in Price’s eyes, some twitch in his brow that feels too fleetingly soft. It’s the sort of look that tells Simon, “I got you into this mess, let me get you out of it.” It feels like his ribs could collapse in on themselves, like his lungs are suddenly too empty to fill again.

“You can’t,” Ghost assures him, shoving Simon back into the dark, “there’s nothin’ left to ‘elp.”

Price hums. “You’re a bad liar Simon, always have been,” He takes a drag from his cigar and waves away the smoke of his exhale, “Skip mess and be in my office by 1800.”

It’s not your weight in his shadow that alerts him to your presence. It’s your laughter. Bubbling and just slightly at the edge of raspy, watery, almost. It twists the knife in Ghost’s chest. You shouldn’t sound happier when you’re away from him. You shouldn’t- Actually you shouldn’t be out of your shadows. You never seemed eager to pull yourself out of the darkness before, but here you were loud and bright as ever. Ghost stops his stalk through the hall, parks himself at the corner to listen. Your ever present babble of speech makes his heart flip. He didn’t realize how quiet everything felt without you murmuring in his ear.

“Maybe it’d be best if you stayed with us for a while,” A newly familiar male voice says, the concern is evident in his tone, but it sparks in Ghost’s stomach. Annoyance, must be. The product of disregarding direct orders, not offering advice to someone that isn’t wanted. What a pair they must make.

“Dinnae ken if my back can take tha’,” Soap groans, “May as well have Gaz’s shoulder the way Ahm clickin’.”

Ghost closes his eyes, knocks his head against the concrete wall. Soap. Fine, count him off the list of people he could gripe to, if you’re riding his shadow there’s no reason to go seeking the man out.

“Should have his fuckin’ pelt the way he’s treating you,” Hush grumbles.

“Ghost’s alrigh’,” Soap defends, “just a li’l rough around the edges, dinnae let him get to ya.”

Another flip, his stomach this time. Ghost shakes his head, more than rough around the edges, he’s rough all the way down. No reason to defend a man who’s already proven himself to be demon enough for Hell to keep an eye on. Ghost pushes off the wall and tries not to glance down the hall as he continues his way past the junction. A difficult task when you’re at the other end of it made even worse with the way Hush touches you.

Just a hand on your shoulder, thumb stroking over the army green tee you’re wearing, but it boils in his blood, sings through his ribs like a howling wolf. It pisses him the fuck off seeing you smile at that man. Hush glances his way with a glare. You follow his gaze and your smile drops seeing Ghost staring.

Why does it feel so much like he’s caught you in the act? You’re just standing there, holding his gaze, daring him to look away first.

You’re cute in fatigues.

He tears his eyes off of you to glare at Hush. “Try to keep the insubordination to a minimum, yeah?”

“Ghost,” You sound concerned, on the edge of an explanation that doesn’t come. He doesn’t like it. He turns away, keeps walking.

“Coward,” Hush mumbles.

It stings, but the truth so often does.

You fill his thoughts. An unbidden, contagious, line of thinking that ruins his focus. He thinks of everything but fucking you. Thinks of the way you’d purred, and the way you’d laid against him. He thinks of your voice in his ear, the diagrams drawn in thin air, the weight of shadowed weapons. He thinks of the softness of your hips, the dig of his fingers into your thighs.

He thinks of the way his hands had wrapped around your neck in disgust. Thinks of the way you’d gasped and clawed at him. He thinks of how he’d felt doing it, the wash of guilt and shame that it brought. He’d liked it, and you’d done nothing to stop him.

He thinks of the way you’d smiled at him, the way you’d smiled at Hush. How could they feel so different? How could he feel so different?

He tapes his hands too tight when he goes to beat the bag in the gym for a second time. It hurts each time his fist collides with the stiff fabric. It’s good, deserved even. Men like him don’t get softness.

He remembers the way you’d pressed your lips to his jaw, and whispered for him to get some sleep.

He hadn’t slept so well in years.

Ghost doesn’t bother knocking on the door to Price’s office until he’s already got his hand on the handle. Barely waits to be told ‘enter’ before he’s opening the door. He shouldn’t be surprised to see you, can feel the weight of you starting to slip onto his shoulders just by proximity. It makes him tired, warmth seeps into his bones like a heavy quilt and

“There are three ways humans can acquire demons,” Price’s demon explains, “People like Price who summon them are more traditional by human standards.” Ghost’s eyes fix on Price, what do they mean summoned? Price catches his eye and nods once, short.

“Heard the rumors, figured as long as I was getting blood on my hands I’d do it properly,” Price sniffs, “we do what we have to, to make the world safer. Nothing else to think about.”

“But-” The demon interjects, obviously not happy about the interruption, Price shrugs, “Cases like yours aren’t that uncommon. Plenty of soldiers out there have to compartmentalize their humanity in order to do what’s necessary, you were just a little better at it.”

“Suppose’ to be a compliment?” Ghost narrows his eyes at the demon, they seem unphased.

“It’s a fact. You’ve compartmentalized the humanity most people wear publicly, you’re a dead-man-walking. No time for human emotion, no desire to share your secrets, no desire to learn anyone else’s. You only care about getting closer to the kill you’re tasked with, here to do one job and one job alone.” The demon takes a breath, lets it out and shakes their head. “You take pleasure in your work, some unknown force is paying for what happened to Simon with every enemy you kill. Well, this is what you get-” They gesture to you, “a weapon to help you keep exacting your revenge, with enough humanity to help you sleep at night.”

“Didn’t ask for your ‘elp.” Ghost growls, “was doin’ just fine wi’out ‘er.”

“And humanity was doing just fine killing each other without the atomic bomb,” The demon shrugs, “You adapt, you find better ways to kill each other, and we update our recruitment tactics.”

“The contract sweet’eart,” Price rumbles.

“It’s Hell, the fine print has fine print,” The demon sighs, pinching the bridge of their nose, “If you were expecting a termination clause there isn’t one, the best we can do is revise it.”

“I actually-” Ghost’s head jerks at your voice, it sounds so much smaller than the last time he heard it, you seem smaller, it tugs at something he buried long ago, “-had a thought on that.”

“Let’s hear it,” Ghost prompts. You glance at him, there’s an emotion in your eyes that he can’t put a name to. He knows it well enough, felt it enough times to know when it’s staring him down. It chafes at him, he doesn’t want you to look at him like that. “Good for you to get away from me too, don’t wanna be around a woman that think’s I’m gonna hurt ‘er.” That only seems to make it worse, your smile is so forced that you may as well have a gun to your head.

“You could’ve told me, I wouldn’t have-”

“But I did,” hurt you, Ghost cuts himself off, forcing the correction, “you did.”

He couldn’t have told you. Wouldn’t have told you. What did you need to know about him that you couldn’t see? He was a machine made for slaughter, and you wanted to be the butcher’s knife. That was all you needed to be. He didn’t know why you tried so hard to get closer. He didn’t like-

“If the contract is to provide him some humanity, we just need to get him to a point where he doesn’t need me anymore.” You smile at the other demon. Their eye twitches, their expression impassable.

“If you were unable to fulfill the contract,” Price’s demon starts, before shaking their head, “No, revisions are the best bet.”

“Let ‘er try,” Price decides, “Simon can make adjustments in the meantime.”

“This is exciting,” You chirp, “like a really intense mandated therapy sort of thing.”

Ghost hums, does his best to ignore the way you stretch out on his bed. It’s been less than 48 hours without you and somehow it settles the squirming in his chest to see you making yourself comfortable. It also churns in his stomach. You smile to yourself, pleased. He doesn’t know how you can be happy with the way things are shaking out. Don’t you want to get away from him?

“I was thinking we could start with something really easy, and you could share some music or something,” You say, rolling onto your side, “you know you can really learn a lot about someone from the music they listen to. Me, I like all that techno stuff, the real bee-boop-y crap that you can feel in your chest.”

Ghost tries to focus on the damage he took in the gym earlier, the bruised knuckles, the split that’s broken his skin where the wraps cut too tight. Your voice is so nice to hear again, the softness of it cradles him in a way he can’t explain. Your weight in his shadow presses onto his shoulders, pressure points he didn’t know he could miss until they were gone.

“You look like a metal kind of guy,” You continue, “I don’t mind metal, maybe you we could listen to some of your favorite songs some time, like a date-”

Ghost flinches and you shut your mouth with an audible click. Ghost swallows, digs his blunt nail into the split skin on his knuckle until it bleeds. He needs something to ground him, to keep him from feeling the flush that spreads over his neck. You’d be better off- He’d be better off without you.

“Maybe favorite foods are better!” You try, your voice taking on too much excitement for him to cut out, “I bet you have something really sweet you like, did your mom bake? Mine did and I-”

“Would you stop being so damn cheerful?” Ghost snaps, you flinch to sit up straight and he lowers his voice, “I-” He stops himself, looking away. Silence lapses between you.

“What would you have me do Ghost?” You ask, shoving down the hurt until it cools in your stomach. He shakes his head, avoiding your eye. “You don’t like when I’m upset, you don’t like when I’m happy. Just tell me what to do and I’ll do it.”

“I don’t know,” He admits, the feeling sours in his throat like bile. He can’t swallow it down, can’t put it on a shelf like he always does. He feels the question he always wanted to ask but never had the courage to hear the answer to biting into him. “Aren’t you angry?”

You blink at him, your brows pulling down as your lips do. He doesn’t see where the confusion is coming from, if it’s confusion at all. Your mouth moves as you swallow, working through the words he’s sure you have bubbling in your throat. “No,” you say finally, “I might be later, but right now-” you shake your head, “I’m just drained.”

It kills him. He knows the feeling, the way shutting the door to his room always seemed to take all the air out of him. Anger seemed like such a constant companion these days, he’d assumed it was just that, a constant. “Are you angry?” You ask, the softness in your voice cuts him too deeply. It makes him want to turn and run. Fuck he’s always run from these things, it’s in his nature. Run until he can figure out how to solve the problem. Run away and join the army until he can get his shit together. Run away when his family’s destroyed, run from his name and his face, bury the man that died in Mexico deep in his soul.

“No,” He admits, though that admission feels like iron against his teeth, he’d rather gut himself than put his emotions to words, but he has to start somewhere if he’s going to get rid of you, “I’m scared.”

“I know,” You hum, “can feel it.” You pat the bed next to you, and somehow it feels settling. Ghost takes the steps he needs and perches on the edge of the mattress next to you. The springs creak, dip under his weight, and you lean against his side.

“I’m sorry,” You tell him, “I don’t know how to be good for you.”

“Me neither,” Simon mumbles, feeling your head rest against his shoulder. Your fingers lace with his, thumb swiping over his bruised knuckles. He doesn’t know how to be good for you either. All he knows is you’re the one person he can’t run away from, and it scares the shit out of him.

181 notes · View notes

antlerqueer · 2 months

Text

If you like Yellowjackets, you may like... (books)

If you like the dark sides of the whimsy of girlhood, forest exploring girls all grown up, mystery Read What Lies In The Woods by Kate Alice Marshall CWs death, discussion of suicide, violence, SA implications

If you like unlikable narrators & toxic girl friendships where both of them are victims, but theyre bad for each other, and they spent time apart but now she's back Read When We Were Friends by Holly Bourne CWs discussion of suicide, SA, self harm, drug use

If you like toxic girl friendship, this time in college, murder mystery with a dual timeline Read The Girls Are All So Nice Here by Laurie Elizabeth Flynn CWs self harm, violence, sa, drug use

If you like codependent teen girls with dark themes Read Cherish Farrah by Bethany C Morrow CWs anti-Blackness (including descriptions of violence, micro aggressions)

If you like dual timelines & homoerotic formative girlfriendships (and canon relationships), rivalry but this time it's a girl group not a soccer team Read The Unravelling of Cassidy Holmes by Elissa R Sloan CWs ED (descriptions of the feelings, habits), suicide, SA, racism, depression (descriptions of the feelings), drug use/addiction

If you like Misty Quigley, milf on milf manipulation, unreliable narrators, dual perspective narration, and, of course, some light stalking Read None of This is True by Lisa Jewell CWs mentions of csa, grooming. descriptions of violence.

#yellowjackets #book recs #if ur in book club i literally just copy/pasted my list from there bc i havent read more books since #im simply illiterate now /s

63 notes · View notes

swollenbabyfat · 1 year

Text

Bathtub angel

#failgirl fluttershy #.#..#...#.....#suicide implication #mental illness #self harm cw

160 notes · View notes

h4venpha · 11 months

Text

↳ “𝐈 𝐊𝐍𝐎𝐖, 𝐈𝐓𝐒 𝐎𝐊𝐀𝐘.” — vash the stampede

CW: angst, hurt and comfort, blood, bullet wound, mentions of panic attacks, slight implications of self harm, slight dissociation (like barely but just incase), a little more tristamp vash coded

pulled this out of my ass in 30 mins, i really enjoy writing vash angst i apologize

you frown silently as vash hisses in pain. blood running down his tense forearm as you finally pull the bullet from his shoulder. you can see his jaw unclench as the pain eases just a little.

“there, it’s out.” you say quietly as you drop it into the trash can left of the sink, a solid clank sounding out into the hotel bathroom as it hits the bottom. when you turn back towards vash, he’s leaning against the sink counter, watching the crimson blood make its way over his wrist and into his palm.

vash’s eyes start to unfocus and his breathing becomes unsteady. his blond hair cast over his face as he looks down, yet you can read him so clearly. and he’s either about to have a breakdown or go into a panic attack.

you reach forward with your clean hand and take his jaw in your hand, redirecting him to look at you. and he does, it just takes a few seconds to register your face. when he does, you can see his eyebrows twitch downwards.

“you did what you could, okay? she’ll be alright.” you say softly, referring to the little girl from earlier that he saved. luckily she left the scene with only a few gashes on her arms and legs. yet vash, with a bullet wound and a darkening spot under his eye, still feels guilt eating away at him inside.

“i should’ve grabbed her faster. the moment i saw that guy get up, i should’ve-“ vash blurts out.

“hey. it’s over. he’s being taken care of at the sheriff’s and the girl is fine— you saw her with her mother earlier, right?” you say calmly. you were trying not to throw vash into a breakdown. you could tell he was being raw and vulnerable right now, even though he couldn’t look at you, it was written all over his face.

as soon as the blood trickles down to his fingers, vash is staring down at it. the dark red against his peachy white skin. unconsciously, he rubs it with his thumb, feeling the wetness of it on his finger pads. vash clenches his fist and looks at you with hard eyes. none of his public act, his usual bright personality completely gone. yet you don’t waver.

“you don’t understand,” vash grumbles, his harsh woods rooted in frustration, “you don’t understand at all, i— i could’ve— should’ve stepped in front of her earlier.” he says louder, and you can’t tell if hes scolding you, or himself. “it’s my fault any of that— that happened— it’s my fault! someone was hurt because of me!” his voice is breaking and you swear there’s a tear running down his cheek. you can’t quite tell by the dim bathroom light.

you sigh as vash raises his voice in front of you. it wasn’t something he did very often —to anyone as a matter of a fact— yet when he did, you knew how to handle it. he’s in a bad headspace: his breathing is starting to pick up and his hands begin to shake a little. when he roughly swipes his bloodied fist over his face to wipe his tears away, is when you step in.

you take his hand in yours, his blood smearing on your palm but you don’t care. on the verge of a break down, whenever he balls up his fists, you can tell he’s close to taking his anger out on himself. with a hurt look on your face, you slowly intertwine your fingers with his.

“you know i don’t like it when you talk about yourself like that.” you whisper quietly as you lean in a little closer to him

“i… mmh,” vash holds his tongue, eyes softening, your words hitting him like a truck. you’ve told him this before and he knows it.

a small frown on your face, you reach up with your clean hand and wipe the tears and the smear of red off his face. you squeeze his hand softly in yours.

“it hurts me to hear you say those things about yourself. i… i know you’re not feeling well right now— i know you feel guilty but…” you choose your words carefully, “but, i want you to know that it’s okay. it’s okay, and you’re okay.” you say softly, stroking his cheek with your thumb. vash stays silent.

“you’ve done more than you think, and i know you’ll never believe me, but i’m proud of you. of— of what you do and what you believe in. but i just wish you’d give yourself a little more credit… okay?”

god and vash’s heart aches. your words shoot straight through him and he feels his skin is on fire. he feels himself caving in, both mentally and physically. vash drops forward and onto your shoulder, his hands finding their place around the small of your back.

it is true, the guilt was indeed eating him up inside. your words hit him where it hurts, where he needs it to hurt. if you say he’s okay then… he’ll believe you. it’ll be okay just for a little bit, just for tonight to be a little bit selfish.

you close your eyes as you feel him finally relax, his tired body slumped against yours. you wrap an arm around his waist as your other reaches up to pet his head, fingers gently coaxing his hair. you can feel him crying, its silent, but you’re glad he’s letting it out. hunched back hiccuping and shaking as his tears soak into the cloth of your shirt.

so you stand there, eyes closed as vash leans himself on you. you let him relax into your hold, letting him forget about his burdens and responsibilities for a little while. you hold him up when he needs it most, and he couldn’t be more grateful.

vash stops crying after a little while, just short, huffed-out breaths every now and then. he picks up his head from your shoulder and pulls back to look at you. his eyes are red and a little bit puffy, but theres this faint, real smile on his face. he doesn’t have to say anything for you to understand: i’m sorry. thank you.

vash cups your face with his clean hand, mimicking just like how you did for him. he closes the space swiftly. his lips meeting your welcoming ones as he gently caresses your face. vash kisses you softly, unspoken words passing through his mouth on yours with ease.

vash pulls back slowly just to rest his forehead on yours, his breathing turned even and calm.

“i’m sorry, i got my blood on you.” vash apologizes quietly, pulling back his hand from your back, a sheepish look on his face knowing there’s a blotch of blood on your shirt.

without hesitation, you press his hand back against your body and connect your lips with his again. “i know, it’s okay.”

232 notes · View notes

wyrdle · 8 months

Text

CW body horror, gore, self harm

Do you ever just think about the concept of Ricardio and how Simon as Ice King was basically immortal and indestructible and "The crown's magic keeps me alive" and think of all the horrifying implications of that?

Living through an apocalypse that doesn't have a lot of food, but a lot of corpses. (Also he has sharp teeth) Injuries sustained from protecting Marceline? Yeah, the magic will heal it. Any sort of harm inflicted on oneself in your descent into madness + grief? Poof.

Worst of all from the glimpses of how he's raising Marceline? She was likely given all the best things Simon could scrounge together. BFBDSJS OUCH

Anyway, Post apocalypse Simon brain rot is so intense. This poor man actually living through the Horrors.

#simon petrikov #Marceline abadeer #this version of simon is everything to me #him and marcy are everything to me #i adore them #rambles

106 notes · View notes

patxhwrk · 1 year

Note

greetings. could u write a little imagine thing for ethoslab? watcher!reader or dsmp!reader thanks! preferably male reader. take ur time if u do write it. stay hydrated.

my fuck this is such a good idea thank you anon for being so smart

anyways dsmp reader with angst sorry about that

completely forgot u asked for an imagine so have a whole fic instead. I might write a seperate imagine for this one too tho

-ˋˏ✄— Bubbling Memories

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳ Ethoslab x Male! DSMP! Reader

Pronouns: he/him

"You're more home to me than any house is."

.navigation. // .hermitcraft & empires smp masterlist.

CW!!

—Mentions of character death

—Implications of self-harm & attempt su*c*de

—Blood

—Derealization(?)

Every second spent in that lawless server—ironic, considering it had been laws that started wars—was spent in the echoes of left behind misery. There was never silence in that world. If you managed to stumble upon even a sliver of quaint and quiet, you would find that it would have been better to have the ear piercing noise.

Y/n was lucky enough to have been left with one life. The last thing he remembered from the old server was the sorrowful eyes of his friends waving goodbye as he left. The portal—it vaguely reminded him of a nether portal if it was pink—shrunk as Tubbo's and Ranboo's backs turned to leave.

He hugged the blue stained yellow sweater closer to himself as he turned towards the new server—his new server—as the habitants greeted him with warmed welcome arms.

He was half afraid of building something that took effort. But one reassuring conversation with Xisuma—the man somewhat resembled Dream. Why was his mask fucking green?—coaxed him into building one of the biggest and best things he had ever created in his life. Well, it was just an "improved" Logstedshire, but it was the thought that counts, right? Building it reminded him of the time he spent with his brothers—though one had been a ghost, it was fine. He even put a bell where he and Tommy would—!

His hands stopped swinging the bell.

Tommy was dead. His younger brother had visited Dream in the prison where he was left to die. And he left his brother because he was too much of a pussy to confront the same man who had tormented him until he had a knife barely glazing at the skin of his throat.

He shook his head, running his hands through the mop he called hair as the bell ringed a final time. It silenced before it stilled. And then Y/n left his base.

Voices rang in his ear—was it his?—as he scolded himself for building something that gave him so much horrible memories more than the good ones. Why can't be just be like Ghostbur? Forgetful of the sorrows and always looking at the sun even through dark clouds.

His arms found comfort in himself, wrapping around each other as his nails dug into the skin under the yellow sweater. Wilbur wouldn't mind if he stained it, right? Wilbur would reassure him that it was fine, he was fine, it was all fine. And then he'd take the sweater and wash it. Because Wilbur was a good big brother.

No, Wilbur's dead. His brother was long dead before Philza killed him. Ghostbur wasn't like Wilbur, either.

He walked aimlessly around the server. He would have reminded himself of Ranboo's enderwalking state if he was in his own head. He watched as he passed by builds, ignoring the calls of concerned friends—friends? He had friends now?—as his feet brought him further and further from the build that he longed to blow up. Longed to tear into shreds bare handed as the memories of a pain long buried but never forgotten bubbled back to his head. Longed to feel the blood coat his fingers as his fists crashed through the shards of glass that showed the reflections of himself—a man who was too much of a coward to save his little brother. Too much of a coward to stop his father from killing the brother he looked up to. Too much of a fucking coward to just shove the knife through his chest, in the same place the sword dyed the sweater blue.

He longed to let his hands, his arms, his whole body fucking hurt. The seating hot pain that followed, the ache, the numbness, before it disappeared and he'd wake up with one less life left.

A hand was placed on his wrists. Cold, it was so fucking cold, as it pulled his shaking hands away from the yellow—now red stained sleeves—sweater.

It jolted him awake. Whether it was the cold, the tug of his arms, the way his voice called to him, or his concerned eyes searching for something—just something—in Y/n's unfocused stare.

"Y/n, hey," Etho's voice was gentle. He was patient as he tried to bring Y/n's eyes to his own. "Hey, hey, I'm here."

"I—Etho?" Y/n's voice was barely above a whisper, almost inaudible to Etho if he hadn't been paying close attention to him. "What—?"

Etho's arms wrapped around his midsection, pressing him against himself as his hand raised to hold Y/n's head gently. "Thank void you're okay."

Hesitantly, Y/n wrapped his arms around Etho's neck. He hadn't realized his legs were shaking until his whole weight was leaned against him. But Etho didn't complain, he was strong enough to carry Y/n if he ever needed. And he did now.

Y/n sniffled. He didn't stop the tears flowing out of his eyes as he buried his head on Etho's shoulder. And Etho let him. He buried his head on his hair as Y/n's whole body shook.

Pressing a feather light kiss on the crown of his head, Etho whispered in the quiet forest. "It's okay, you can cry. But it is never your fault. None of it is."

Y/n's eyes searched the distance, and he realized just how far he walked when he spotted the world border a distance away. He sniffled and hiccuped as Etho gently and patiently combed through his hair.

He shook off his thoughts before it could remind him of a memory long past and buried himself further into Etho's clothes. It smelled like redstone, and the glowing red dust was enough to tell Y/n that he was working on a project before hand.

"Let's get you home, shall we?"

"No, not my place. Please don't bring me back there, not again."

Etho nodded. The pain in Y/n's voice stung his heart, and he knew he had to make him feel better. He kneeled down for a short second just to hook his arms under Y/n's knees and bring him up to carry him easier. Y/n's head still nested on his shoulder as he took off to the direction of his own base.

"My place, then."

"You don't have a proper base yet, Etho." Etho felt the upwards tug of his lips. His eyes glanced down to Y/n's whose reddened eyes watched the path they took.

"Hey, it's a home to me and it'll be a home to you!" He laughed to lighten the mood. Y/n's quiet chuckles followed after him and he smiled down at him.

"Thank you, Etho."

"Anytime, sweetheart."

Y/n could take down improved Logstedshire when he felt better. Then, he wouldn't have to do it bare handed. Or alone, he reminded himself, as his eyes found dual coloured eyes.

Right now, he was just content to be with Etho.

—PATCHWRK !

#hermitcraft x reader #ethoslab x reader #etho x reader #ethoslab x male reader #hermitcraft x male reader #dsmp reader #dsmp x reader #dsmp x male reader #dream smp x reader #dream smp x male reader

310 notes · View notes

serasfanfiction · 30 days

Text

CW: Brief discussion of possible self harm. No actual self harm took place.

oOo

"So, the thirsty birds are holding a party, huh?"

Lucifer wasn't certain which part of that statement to untangle first, but he was fairly certain it wouldn't be too flattering for the Goetia. He picked up his woefully non-alcoholic drink, the direction of the conversation suddenly making him wish he didn't have a prior obligation later that day.

Vaggie gave Angel an unimpressed look, arms crossed. She had apparently caught on to the implications of Angel's statement as well. "There's no way you've been to one of their parties."

The spider demon made an affronted noise. "All the big boys and girls love a nasty sinner with a skill or two." Running a hand up one of his long, long legs, he purred, "And I have a skill or two."

It likely spoke to the level of exposure to the porn star she'd had that Charlie completely glossed over the not so hidden innuendo in that claim and instead focused on, "But the Goetia hate sinners. They complain about them every chance they get."

She turned to her father for confirmation, her brows furrowed. He nodded back in agreement. They did indeed complain about the violent and uncivilized manners of sinners whenever they thought Lucifer was listening, for all that they had long since given up on him doing anything about them.

Husk nodded in agreement. He'd likely seen all sorts of demons come through his casino in its heyday. Lucifer peered at the spider demon over the rim of his cup.

He wasn't about to contradict the Angel, though. Using sex to "tame a wild beast" was totally a thing that wasn't exclusive to the human imagination (and he hated that he knew that).

"Oh, sweetie, havent you heard?" Angel leaned forward, his grin downright fifty and his eyes knowing. "All cats are grey in the dark."

Vaggie's frown deepened. "That's not how that phrase is supposed to be used."

Charlie looked back and forth between them, missing something. "What is it supposed to mean?" Vaggie leaned over and whispered something in her ear, which caused Charlie to make a strangled noise. "That is a terrible thing to say about women!" She turned on Angel. "Who said such a terrible thing?"

Angel appeared to be pleased as punch. Without pause, he answered, "Benjamin Franklin."

Vaggie raised an eyebrow, surprised.

Angel took no offense to her response. "You thought I was just a pretty face, didn't you?" He ran the tip of his finger around the rim of his cup like he wished it was something else. "I read, sometimes, and everyone knows about this guy." He leaned his chin on the heel of his palm, shooting Lucifer a leer. "And how could I resist reading about this guy joining some Order into kinky devil worshipping orgies?"

Lucifer took a sip of his drink, a grimace visible in every inch of his body. Not many human groups made an impression on him, but The Order of the Knights of St Francis had. Worse, they hadn't actually been trying, from what he could tell, which made the whole thing worse.

To his understanding, the Order were a bunch of rich dudes who liked some role play and fancied themselves a place they could go a little wild, whether it be at cards or sex. Mockery of religion aside, none of them had ever performed a ritual with the expectation it would work (which was a horrible waste of a sacrifice, in Lucifer's opinion). That was, until one of the members had gotten thier hands on a real grimoire and decided to fuck around and find out by attempting to summon the Devil.

Oftentimes, when humans played these little games, nothing happened. They often got the name wrong and the whole thing turned out to be a dud. Sometimes they got it right, but who they thought they were summoning turned out to be very different from who they ended up getting and that turned into its own can of worms.

And then there were the ones that got it right. Had all the right materials and said all the right words and BAM! Instant Lucifer, King of Hell, at their disposal.

It was tedious and annoying, but it was his only chance at catching a glimpse at Earth throughout the years. And not everyone wanted some depraved, unholy wish, so there was that.

The thing about the attending members of the Order of the Knights of St. Francis was they hadn't expected it to work. They were drunk and having fun. They had thought it was just as real as everything else they'd done up until then. So, when they'd found they'd summoned the actual Devil himself, no one had a clue what to do with him.

What followed was three days of a sliding scale between furious bickering and outright panic amongst the group. The spell said one of them had to ask for something and Lucifer had to grant it (if it were possible). Their heart's desire in exchange for their soul. Only, none of them wanted anything enough to sell their soul for. This might have gone on indefinitely, had not one of them finally stepped up and shouted, "I'd sell my soul any day to make my nagging wife disappear!"

Beyond done with the pompous idjits, Lucifer had accepted the deal. Since the man had failed to specify how exactly he wanted the poor woman to "disappear," Lucifer had simply sent her away to another continent with a portion of her husband's money and the hope she found a better life for herself.

The only good thing about the experience had been the food and wine. The Order had at least not skimped on any of their luxuries, he would give them that.

Placing his cup down on the bar, Lucifer pointed at the spider demon. "For the record, they didn't worship me."

Angel was delighted, as if he'd just been told he was getting everything he wanted for his birthday. "That's the part that wasn't true?!"

"Ooooookay," Charlie interrupted, trying to redirect the conversation back to its original topic. "I can't believe Octavia is turning eighteen. It seems like just yesterday Stolas and Stella were announcing her birth."

If Charlie thought time was going fast after 200 plus years, wait until she hit the thousands.

Nudging his cup over to Husk, who had (mostly) been giving him the silent treatment since Alastor changed his contract, Lucifer pushed away from the bar. "Well, I'm going to go start getting ready." He made an unenthused double thumps up. "Never can start too soon."

Angel raised his glass. "I'd drink to that."

Charlie placed a hand on his father's shoulder. "Are you sure you'll be alright?" The offer to go with him was plain in her question, even if she didn't explicitly say it.

Lucifer covered her hand with his own, his expression softening into a real smile. "I'll be okay, Char-Char." He turned his face towards the ceiling, specifically the right most tower. "At the very least, this should be interesting."

Vaggie crossed her arms. "I still don't think Alastor going is a good idea." She had made no secret of this when he'd announced the ceremony and who his plus one would be.

Charlie's expression was a complicated mixture of thoughtfulness, concern, and guilt. Likely, she was worried about Alastor's motives and guilty she felt worried. It was times like these, where Lucifer could see her fighting with her instincts like this that he really wanted to strangle the sinner for how twisted up he'd already made Charlie with his manipulations. "I am surprised he wanted to go," she settled with. "It doesn't seem the kind of event he would want to go to."

Understatement. Nonetheless, at this stage, only the Radio Demon knew his true plans.

Charlie turned her full attention on her father and Lucifer was overtaken by a sense of foreboding. Sure enough, the next thing she asked of him - everything about her full of concern - was, "Dad, please look after him. None of them are as strong as Adam, but they are stronger than him."

This was what he'd been afraid of when he'd told her Alastor was coming. That Charlie would think for a moment that everyone in the room would be a threat to the sinner rather than the other way around. Lucifer sighed, ultimately unable to refuse his baby girl anything within his power. Sincerely, albeit grudgingly, he promised, "I'll make sure he gets home alive and in one piece."

Not that he had any plans of telling the redhead about such a promise. He'd milk the protection for all it was worth with gleeful sadism.

Charlie's brows smoothed out, her worries abated. It was touching that she still had that level of faith in him.

Holding tight to that warm feeling (he had the suspicion he was going to need it), he conjured a swirl of red smoke, which snaked around him as he transported himself up to the top most floor. Taking the stairs might have given his approach away and he was willing to admit he was in a bit of a mood. The moment he was fully corporeal, Lucifer threw open the door to Alastor's room without so much as a knock, shouting, "You better be decent, because I'm coming in!"

Alastor's bayou was dark, its ecosystem in its own time zone and independent of Hell's. It was only the fact that Lucifer didn't want to seem too interested in anything the sinner had created that stopped him from asking how closely it followed Earth's daily rotation. The sinner himself was seated within full view of the door, the rim of a small, white cup pressed to his lips. His spine and ears had gone ramrod straight at the intrusion. An equally white saucer and a pretty white and blue tea pot, that Lucifer pegged was likely picked out for the sinner by his friend Rosie, lay spread out on his little table for one. The scent of the drink was impossible to distinguish from the general scent of the bayou.

Alastor relaxed upon recognizing him, swallowing his mouthful. Once his mouth was free, he said in a dismissive tone, "Ah, it's just you."

Lucifer strolled in like he owned the place (which he did, actually, and wasn't that something to come back to). A wave of his hand sent the door swinging shut behind him. Ignoring the insult, he said, "Grab anything you need. We're heading out."

Alastor's eyes narrowed at him. "There's still quite a bit of time before the ceremony begins." Pointedly, he took another sip of his drink, loudly slurping as he did. "And I'm busy at the moment."

The blonde remained unfazed. "Thanks to your little stunt yesterday, I have to put some thought into my outfit for once." He gestured to where the wound was currently hidden by the high neckline of his roll down. A pair of red eyes followed the movement, far too pleased despite the clear rebuke in Lucifer's words. "Your reputation might get boosted by our deal being ousted, but I'd rather not advertise it."

Alastor made a considering noise as he took another sip, although if he was pondering the effects to his reputation or the taste of his tea, it was impossible to say. He glanced at Lucifer, pointedly staring at his top. "Why not conjure something up like you did that sweater?"

"It's easier when the thing already exists," Lucifer explained, not that he needed to defend himself to this sinner. To demonstrate, he conjured a simple, base yellow rubber duck. "From there I can modify it-" he gave it a little white top hat, reminiscent of his own, "-Copy it-" a second duck appeared, exactly like the first one, "-Or merge them together." For his last magic trick, he slammed the two ducks together. When he opened them, a duck twice as big as either of the originals lay in his palms.

Alastor took on an unimpressed look of his own, raising an eyebrow at him. "So modify that silly outfit you usually wear."

Lucifer tries to imaging changing his usual outfit and finds the thought distasteful. He worked long and hard on that thing and he's quite pleased with it. "Hm, no. Doesn't fit the style."

The red headed sinner's other eyebrow joined it's twin. "'Style'?" His expression turned shrewd. "You mean that abhorrent circus theme is on purpose?"

Sticking his tongue out at Alastor may have been childish, but he didn't care. For extra effect, he lobbed his latest rubber ducky at the asshole's head.

A shadow darted out from behind the sinner, catching the object mere inches from Alastor's face. He narrowed his eyes at it, turning it this way and that. An unholy grin spread across his face was the all warning Lucifer had before the redhead's head seemed to come unhinged at the jaw, mouth opening unnaturally wide.

Wide enough, in fact, to drop the duck into it. Lucifer's hands flew to his mouth in horror at the poor thing's fate.

With a resounding snap Alastor's jaw came back together, the unmistakable sound of teeth going through rubber slicing through the room. Looking Lucifer dead in the eye, malicious glee plain for all to see in his gaze, Alastor spit the offensive thing out.

No less than fifteen individual pieces of rubber landed on the ground, some rolling off and disappearing into the bayou. It's little head, now split in two and missing it's hat, came to a stop near Lucifer's feet.

Lucifer was in disbelief. He couldn't believe this mangy sinner had the audacity to destroy one of his ducks. Heartfelt, he whispered, "You're a monster."

Alastor cackled. "Perhaps this outing might be fun after all." Leaning over, he poured out the rest of his drink. "The tea was off, anyway."

(Hidden behind his hands, the corner of Lucifer's mouth twitched, uncertain if it wanted to become a smile or a frown. Was it really bad tea or had it already begun?)

Lucifer glared at him as he approached, stepping around the pieces of rubber duckie death like one steps around dog excrement. When he was within arm's reach, Alastor held out his arm in a gentlemanly manner that belied every previous interaction they'd ever had. "Shall we, your Majesty?"

Lucifer eyed the limb like he expected it to turn into a snake and bite him, which seemed to amuse the sinner even more. Grudgingly, he reached out and took it, mostly because physical contact made it easier to transport a second person.

Alastor placed a hand over his, holding it in place. "And where are we headed on this fine morning?"

That was it, Lucifer definitely knew he was hamming it up just to annoy him. Returning Alastor's false honey sweet attitude with one of his own, red smoke began to swirl up around them. Before it took them completely, he quipped, "Down to the Lust Ring."

Alastor's expression as they rematerialized was priceless. One would think the Devil had just dragged this woeful sinner down to the true depths of Hell with the way Alastor was not thrilled with turn of events. It likely didn't help that they arrived to the soundtrack of overly loud wet smacking noises and moans.

Oh no, Lucifer thought, more for Alastor's sake than his own. He really hoped he hadn't picked a bad time. That would be the cherry on top of the sinner's expectations. He spun around towards the noise, relieved when he discovered they'd only interrupted a make out fest.

Lucifer tilted his head to the side, trying to get a better understanding of what he was seeing. His brother was seated at his desk, very into what he was doing, which was apparently making out with an imp. An imp wearing a jester's hat. An imp with very, very stretchy arms? Were those arms? Did imps have stretchy arms? He was fairly certain imps didn't have stretchy arms the last time he checked.

He might have gone on accidentally being a voyeur in favor of trying to work out this odd puzzle, had Alastor not decided he'd reached his limit on everything going on in front of them and cleared his throat.

Asmodeus and the imp paused, both opening an eye to peer at them. The imp glared at them. "Do you mind? We're busy." He frowned, looking at the door and then back at them. "Wait, how did you get in here? We definitely locked the door."

Asmodeus' reaction was much more hospitable. His face broke out into a wide smile, the little faces in his mane both showing joy. "Lucy!" Although his jumping up from his chair was abrupt, the imp anticipated it, altering his grip so he didn't take a tumble to the floor. His arms withdrew and moved around until he was situated comfortably on Asmodeus' shoulder.

Lucifer wondered how long that affair had been going on. Judging from the rather large painting that looked new, but not that new, it must have been for at least the last several months. He didn't have too long to contemplate it, as arms almost as long as he was tall scooped him up with all the ease of picking up a child.

Lucifer might have felt self conscious of this, if Ozzie-hugs weren't 100% worth the indignity. The sin's affections were like a ray of sunshine after a thunderstorm, and he couldn't help but soak it up like a wilted flower. "Hey, Ozzie," Lucifer said around a nuzzle to the side of his face. His new vantage point gave him a much closer view of Asmodeus' partner, who was patiently waiting out the exchange. "Who is this?"

The imp grinned at him, hands curling up under his chin and his feet kicking up behind him. "Name's Fizzarolli, but you can call me Fizz." The rock of his head caused the little bells on the end of his hat to jingle. "And you're the big boss himself."

Lucifer thought he had heard the name somewhere, but couldn't place it. It wasn't unusual for people to know of him, when he didn't know them, so he didn't think anything of it. Asmodeus, however, filled in some of the blanks by saying, "Fizz used to work for Mammon." The smile fell away for a scowl of pure distain. "That awful robot version of him is still at his Loo Loo Land monstrosity."

A light bulb went off. Even several years deep into his self imposed isolation, news of the fire that had broken out due to a fight between something called 'Robo Fizzarolli' and a park visitor had reached him. For weeks, all the servants could speak of was the Loo Loo Land scandal. Lucifer had gotten the impression it was mostly because of the destruction of the robot. The fuss didn't die down until it had been repaired, albeit only barely enough to function.

He studied the imp hanging off of Asmodeus' shoulder. His arms and legs not following the physical laws of nature aside, Fizzarolli was definitely not a robot. Which meant that Mammon had a robot created in his likeness.

Creepy. Par for the course with Mammon, but still creepy.

Asmodeus shifted Lucifer until he was holding his brother with a single arm. The little king, used to the treatment, shifted himself until he was sitting on the sin's arm rather than reclining on it. "We've been trying to get Mammon to get rid of it," Asmodeus went on, his hand now free to curl into a claw, joints cracking a sign of his frustration, "But you know how he can be with legalities."

Which was a roundabout way of saying that Mammon and legal practices barely on speaking terms. Usually, if it was something involving the other sins and anything to do with their rings, the personification of Greed would yield (very, very grudgingly). When it came to anything within his own ring, it was damn near impossible to gain any sort of traction for an argument. At that point, the only beings in existence he'd yield to were Lucifer and God.

Since one of those options was indefinitely AWOL, while the other had been in isolation, it was understandable that Mammon had grown too big for his breeches.

Perhaps it was because Asmodeus' good mood was so infectious. Perhaps it was because Asmodeus was over the moon for his partner. What ever it was, Lucifer found himself offering, "If you want it gone, I could speak to Mammon?"

Fizz looked both happy and a bit flummoxed that Hell's king had just volunteered to get involved with his case, but not like he was about to complain. Asmodeus' eyes turned to crescent moons, his smile was so big. "Lucy! You don't have to do that!"

Lucifer wasn't too bothered by the headache that was dealing with the Sin of Greed on his own turf. He waved off with a roll of the eyes and a huff of only slightly overexaggerated annoyance.

The surprise of their arrival and the pleasantries of their reunion over with, Asmodeus finally turned his attention to the fourth party in the room. "I see you brought company." The fallen angel turned sin circled Alastor, easily pegging him as a sinner. "And who is this pretty cat?"

The redhead's expression was bland, but Lucifer had known him long enough to pick out the calculating gleam in his eye. As Asmodeus was studying Alastor, Alastor was studying Asmodeus. "Alastor, pleasure to be meeting you." He didn't offer his hand, not caring that he might be possibly offending someone easily twice his size. His eyes flicked to Fizz. "I see all the gossip about you two was true."

Lucifer tensed, something about the tone suggesting that Alastor was testing the waters already, although he had no idea how.

Asmodeus merely laughed. "Oh! This cat has claws." He turned that mirth on Lucifer. "You always did like the feisty ones."

Lucifer hissed, even as he blushed. "Oh, no!" He waved his hands for emphasis. "No! Absolutely not! We are not a couple!" He shuddered at the mere thought. They were more likely to kill each other than ever like each other.

One of the Sin of Lust's eyes got wider than the other, his version of raising an eyebrow. Lucifer could already tell he had picked up on there being more to the story. "Oh?"

"I... He's..." Lucifer swallowed, suddenly floundering. His pride was still intact enough he adamantly didn't want to explain that he had had a nervous breakdown and in his moment of weakness, he'd agreed to bring this particular sinner along for support, which was a hilarious concept if one thought about it long enough.

As if to prove his point, Alastor suggested in a faux helpful tone, "An emotional support sinner?"

Lucifer flipped him off with both hands, although he suspected any effect it might have had on the sinner was lost due to the fact that the blonde was still seated in his little brother's arm like a small child. Something he had no doubt the red head was going to bring up at some point in the future, if the sly grin on his face was anything to go by.

Asmodeus and Fizzarolli shared a look. Lucifer refused to think about what totally erroneous conclusions they were jumping to. Thankfully, neither decided to share those conclusions with the class.

"Froggy," Asmodeus asked, voice full of warmth and mirth. "Could you show Lucy's stray cat to the refreshments while he and I chat?"

Alastor's ears flattened as his lips pulled away from his teeth into a sneer at the notion he belonged to anyone, let alone Lucifer.

Fizzarolli pecked his lover's check with a kiss, something Asmodeus responded to with a pleased purr. "Leave it to me." As he withdrew, Lucifer heard the faintest of a mechanical whirl suggesting his arms weren't flesh and blood. Upon touching the ground, the imp tried to wrap an arm around Alastor's shoulder, only for the sinner to side step him. Fizz's lips twisted down into a frown. "What's the matter? Don't like imps?"

Alastor stared down his nose at him. Fizzarolli, like most imps, was closer to a living human's height making it easier to do so. "Make no mistake, I dislike imps as much as I dislike everyone." He lifted his staff like a barrier between them. "Touch me, though, and we'll both find out how much that changes."

Instead of being daunted by the threat, Fizzarolli just placed a hand on his hip and snorted. "You're a snippy one." He walked past the red head, just barely brushing up against the tailored coat in a way that had to be deliberate. "Come on, there's some drinks and candy over here."

Alastor followed after him, his expression suggesting he was more likely to attempt to eat the imp then he was to accept anything offered to him. Lucifer suddenly wondered if it was a good idea to leave them alone with each other. He really didn't want to explain to Charlie that Alastor had gotten himself killed because he eaten the Sin of Lust's lover.

Asmodeus watched them go with a chuckle. "Where did you find that alley cat?"

Lucifer guffawed at the description, unable to help himself. He covered his mouth with his hand as the noise caused Alastor's ears to swerve around to follow the noise. He waited until Fizzarolli had his attention back before saying, "Oh, heh, yeah no. Alastor may be a tease and all touchy feely-" Lucifer wagged his fingers and pulled a face at how territorial the sinner could be, "-But I don't think he's got a promiscuous bone in his body." He paused to think about it, looking at the redhead in question. "I really don't think he's one of yours."

No, Alastor's ego and pride made him all Lucifer's. Joy.

Fizzarolli held out a bowl of multicolored candies, all shaped like mouths and penises. Alastor's eyes went red on black, a shadow darting out, grabbing hold of the bowl, and then tossing it's contents into the nearby fire. Fizzarolli sputtered over the waste.

It was hard to tell where Asmodeus was focused sometimes, him lacking any pupils. "Asexual?"

Lucifer thought about what Rosie had said, about Alastor 'drawing aces.' "Maybe. His friend certainly seems to think so," he said thoughtfully. He turned back to Asmodeus. "Is that what they're calling it these days?"

Asmodeus laughed at him. "They've been calling it that for almost a hundred and thirty years, Lucy!" He moved them closer to the heart shaped wall to floor window behind his desk to give them more privacy. "But I have a feeling you're not here to gossip about a sinner's lack of a love life."

"Ew, no." The older fallen angel shuddered. "And who says I need anything?" Lucifer put on his best bullshitting smile. "Maybe I just wanted to hang out with my favorite little brother."

Asmodeus laughed at him like he thought that was cute, not buying it for a moment. "Flattery will get you everything, except out of answering my question." He jostled his brother. "Out with it."

Lucifer signed. "Fine, fine." He crossed his arms. "I've come to ask the great and powerful Asmodeus for some fashion advice." He picked at his sweater, a slight whine in his voice as he added, "My normal top won't cut it tonight."

There was a twinkle in Asmodeus' eyes. "Oh? You love that outfit! What's wrong with it?"

Lucifer felt wary, like he was walking into a trap. "I need something with a higher collar."

Asmodeus' expression was the kind only a little sibling scenting possibly embarrassing blackmail material they could use against their other older sibling could make. "Lucy! And here I thought you weren't the type to let a hickey linger."

Lucifer stared, uncomprehending. Wait what? Suddenly, he realized how all of this sounded. Horrified, he shoved at Asmodeus' face, even as the sin cackled. "Stop that! It's not like that!" He attempted to struggle out of his little brother's grasp, but Asmodeus was near enough his equal and several times his size to make that difficult. "Wait, don't--!"

He never stood a chance. Asmodeus had managed to get a single finger hooked under Lucifer's collar, pulling the fabric down.

Both of them froze, Lucifer's breathe catching in his lungs. The wound had completely closed up by the time morning had come around again, allowing Lucifer to remove the butterfly stitches and bandage. The skin was still tender and would remain so for another day or two, when it would finally move into the scarring stages. With Asmodeus' knowledge of how quickly injuries healed on seraphim, it was impossible he wouldn't have guessed it had happened recently.

Lucifer transformed into a snake, slithering out and dropping down from his brother's hold. He reappeared in normal form a meter from the window, arms wrapped around his arms. Asmodeus reached for him, stopping without touching him. Lucifer felt horrible for how grateful he was that he hadn't.

He could hear the concern plain as day in Asmodeus' tone, underneath it a promise of violence if needed, as he inquired, "What happened?"

Lucifer wanted to lie and say that it had happened during one of the attacks on the hotel. To broadly claim someone had gotten too close without saying when. It would have even been true, if one ignored which injury belonged to which incident. His hand couldn't give him away either, as the scar had long since disappeared.

The issue was that Lucifer could count the amount of times he been able to lie to Asmodeus on one hand. King of Lies or not, his brother had always been able to see right through him, the truth practically illuminated over his head in bright flashing lights. The lie would most certainly be caught out almost immediately. The thought of telling the truth, however, threatened to close up his windpipe. His pride refused to allow it.

Unable to tell a lie and just as unable to tell the truth, Lucifer stared back at him wordlessly.

Asmodeus studied him: his posture and body language all telling it's own story. "Lucy, I have to ask." Carefully, gently, almost regretful that he had to ask: "Did you do this to yourself?"

At first the contents of the question didn't register. All Lucifer picked up on was that fact that Asmodeus had spoken to him in Enochian. There were so few people in Hell that spoke their mother tongue it was rare to hear someone else speak it. There was likely only eight beings in Hell that even could, those being the sins, himself, and Vaggie. Lilith and Charlie understood it when he spoke to them in it, but only Charlie could speak it back to him. He didn't think he'd heard her use it since childhood, though. It was even possible that Vaggie had no idea her partner knew the language, if she had been trying so very hard not to let slip she was an angel.

And then the words themselves hit like a sucker punch. Anger, a defensive response, rose bitter and sour in his chest. "No," he vehemently denied. "No," he said again, calmer. "I know my... mood," the word tasted wrong on his lips, too light for the darkness of his depression, "Has been pretty low for a while now, but no." HIs hands tightened around his arms. "I don't want to hurt myself. I never did." This was true. He'd wanted to hide away. He'd wanted to disappear. But he'd never wanted to hurt himself.

Their Father had done that plenty enough for him.

Asmodeus reached for him again, hovering as he gauged if Lucifer would let him. "Okay. Okay, I believe you." When he was given a nod, the sin reached out and placed a hand on his older brother's shoulder, the hand nearly engulfing it. A little of that promise for violence trickled back into his voice as he asked, "Is the fucker who did it dead, at least?"

Lucifer found himself once again at a loss. To say yes would be a lie. To say no would invite an inquiry into who had done it and he wasn't entirely certain he would be able to keep everything from all spilling out. He really, really did not want to explain anything about this situation. "I..." He was beginning to wish he had never come here. He hadn't been ready for any of this. He felt too exposed, his throat threatening to close up as his heart kicked up a notch.

Without meaning to, he looked past Asmodeus, searching out the person who had made himself both the bane of his existence and a source of comfort. Being part deer, Alastor's hearing must have been extraordinary. He would have easily heard the hitch in Lucifer's breathing and the racing of his heart from so meager a distance. This was all Lucifer could think of when Alastor turned his head to face him.

He didn't know what his face was doing. Didn't know what Alastor could read off of it. Whatever it was elicited a sigh and a click of the tongue from the sinner. Without a by-your-leave to Fizzarolli, Alastor abandoned his company to cross the room over to where Lucifer and Asmodeus were standing.

Alastor ignored Asmodeus in favor of concentrating on the fallen angel himself. "Come now, sire, what's with that expression?" He held out a hand, offering his poisonous support, if Lucifer chose to take it.

Lucifer knew he shouldn't. Knew he was already beginning to associate Alastor with comfort rather than trouble. Knew he couldn't trust him. He still stepped out of Asmodeus' grasp and reached for him anyway.

He didn't miss the victory as it flashed across Alastor's expression when Lucifer took his hand.

Asmodeus didn't miss it either.

A flash of blue and pink flame. An alarmed cry of, "Oz?!" Asmodeus' voice echoed with his wrath as he asked in plain English, "It was this guy?"

Both Lucifer and Alastor turned, the latter's ears flattening to the side of his head. Too late, Alastor realized the danger he had walked right into. Most people would have cowered before the anger of a sin, and rightfully so. They were huge. They were powerful. They could do a lot of damage with very little effort.

But Alastor hadn't been prey since the day he took a kitchen knife to his father's throat.

The room around them grew darker as shadows coalesced around them, dancing just out of the flames' reach. Alastor's horns branched out as they grew. His form would be the next to follow.

Two paths spread out before Lucifer. Down one path, he did nothing. Allowed the two to fight and for Asmodeus to remove a thorn in his side that he hadn't been able to remove himself. Charlie would be upset, but Alastor would no longer be a danger to her. Down the other, he interfered. Swallowed his pride and explained the situation that he had landed himself in of his own free will. Deescalated the tension before someone got killed.

Indecision locked up his muscles, almost making the decision for him.

Like the beam of a lighthouse, ready to lead weary sailors back to the shore, Charlie's voice cut through the fog reminding him of his promise.

Dad, please look after him.

There really had only been one path, hadn't there?

His wings came into being, large enough to carry two people if he were to take to flight. He caught hold of Alastor's forearm, yanking the sinner off balance as he twisted them around. The sinner hissed at him, but Lucifer didn't spare the time to explain. The three wings, all from the same side, came up and around until Alastor was completely shielded beneath them, cutting both sin and sinner off from each other. His other hand came up to grip Alastor's other forearm, holding him in place behind the barrier.

For the second time in his life, Lucifer chose to stand between a sinner and his own kind.

Asmodeus might as well have been made from stone. Behind him, Fizzarolli looked like he wanted to interfere, but didn't dare get in the middle of a fight between two giants.

Lucifer was apologetic, but resolute. He swallowed his pride, the taste of it burning his throat as it went down. In a language everyone in the room could understand, he explained, "I made a deal. He gave me his terms and I agreed to them." He almost faltered when his little brother remained cold and distant, but carried on. "The knife was an experiment." His hands tightened to signal he meant business. "We will be discussing it later."

Switching to Enochian, smile sweet and tone as dark as the day would be when Alastor inevitably broke his daughter's heart, Lucifer promised, "If he ever proves to be too much of a threat, I will end him."

The two fallen angels assessed each other. If it came down to it, Lucifer would leave with Alastor. The sinner would be safe in Pentagram City. The Pride Ring was Lucifer's territory and Lucifer's alone. None of the other sins would dare impede upon it if he ordered them to stay out.

Perhaps Asmodeus could see his resolve. The choice he had made. With a sigh, the sin allowed his mane to resume it's normal temperature, bringing his anger under control. He didn't look happy about it, but he was letting this go. For now, at least. "Lucy, this was not what I meant when I said you should give sinners a second chance."

It wasn't a joke. Not really. Lucifer took it as the olive branch it was. That crisis adverted, he turned his attentions to his other issue. Only to pause when he got a good look at Alastor.

Alastor's gaze was like molten lava, his hunger a living thing. He looked like he wanted to tear open Lucifer's rib cage and crawl inside it. Like he wanted to devour Lucifer bit by bit, taking his time as he savored every bite. He knew what Lucifer had done, what it had cost him and he was reveling in it.

Some part of Lucifer craved proof he was wanted. That people wanted him around and enjoyed his company.

This wasn't that. This wasn't anything healthy or good, but some part of him wanted this as well, whatever the hell this was.

He was glad he hadn't lowered his wings, yet.

Alastor tucked it all away as easily as he tucked away a large meal. When he stepped back, Lucifer let him go, lowering his wings and tucking them away into his back. The redhead considered him. "Would like to take a break from this conversation, your Majesty?" He gestured to the set up back across the room where Fizzarolli still stood. "There's some rather fine wine, if you're interested."

Lucifer shook his head. "No, it's fine." The adrenaline was beginning to wear off and he really just wanted to pretend this whole conversation never happened. "Go."

Hearing the dismissal, Alastor 'hmmed' to himself. Lucifer was relieved when he turned on his heel and headed back to the receiving area.

Lucifer watched him go, trying not to think about the look Asmodeus was giving him. More to fill the awkward silence, he said, "I'd still like you're help with the outfit."

Asmodeus clearly wanted to say something more, but blessedly didn't. Tapping his finger to his chin, his hand under his elbow, he gave Lucifer his own once over. Seemingly reaching an idea, he said, "I think I know just the thing."

tbc

Part 15

#radioapple #alastor #lucifer morningstar #hazbin hotel #deer lucifer fic #i wanted the ceremony to be in this chapter #but it just kept fighting me #it will be the focus of the next chapter #the next chapter might be late #i only get one day off in the next eleven days

42 notes · View notes

jomamaofficial · 2 years

Text

He Used to Come Back (Childe x GN!Reader Angst Oneshot)

A/N: HELLO MY LOVELY TOES. How have you all been? I've recently been hyperfixating on the Genshin Impact fanfiction fandom (I stopped playing the game a long time ago) and I've decided to write up some slightly self-indulgent angst with our favorite ginger, budget!Ed Sheeran 😩😩. PS: PLEASE FEEL FREE TO SEND ME REQUESTS. CW: Swearing, fainting, pulse checking. TW: Very slight implications of self harm, mentions of blood, and a death scare. Masterlist Word Count: 1444 Summary: You knew what you signed up for when you started seeing the eleventh harbinger of the Fatui. Restless nights were spent waiting for the eleventh harbinger of the Fatui. People warned against your budding relationship, claiming it would become one-sided very quickly. You accepted it but never expected it to die out into ash too quickly... So what happened when one day passed, 2 days passed, one week passed and the second week is about to begin. And he’s still not back?

——————————————————————————————————

Pine shutters crashed against the frosted glass, a gust of ice and hail occupying the perimeters of the house. It cut through the thick silence hanging heavy in the air, making you flinch, your hand flying to your chest.

It’s just the shutters, you had to remind yourself, pulling the thick blanket tighter around your frame, your teeth chattering, your limbs reluctant to move.

Dormant eyes scanned the dormant rooms.

He’ll be back, he always comes back…

It was a fragment of hope, but it provided comfort.

Like the comfort his mother’s hand-knitted blanket provided on a regular Snezhnayan night.

Except tonight wasn’t a regular night.

The gale penetrated through the unconditional love laced in the blanket; so much so that even the soft yarn couldn’t withstand the tumultuous temper of the Archons above.

Another crash, another flinch, and your empty thoughts were forced back to reality: the window was still wide open, outdoor sleet collecting on the hardwood flooring. So you carried on, tiptoeing around the puddles of snow, careful to avoid getting your last clean pair of socks wet.

Fighting against the brutal winds of his motherland, the shutters were finally closed.

A foreign land it was, Snezhnaya– just as beautiful but cold as its citizens. But it was home, and home was with him. Even though Childe wasn’t home.

The eleventh harbinger of the Fatui, loyal lieutenant to the Tsaritsa herself. Lord Tartaglia, code name Childe, a title that held the world’s burden on your lover's bruised and cut shoulders. It was a title you spent days memorising. Of course, you could never tell anyone you knew him– something about confidentiality he said. But you ingrained it on your tongue, learned it by heart because when the time would finally come, and you were Tartaglia’s Wife, the restrictions would no longer be imposed on you.

You could finally talk about him freely to your heart's content.

The hands of the clock were turning faster than you wanted. A calendar beside it, diligently crossed out with thin red ink, served as a painful reminder of his absence.

One single date was circled, embellished with exclamation marks.

“When”, you mumbled, taking a long deep breath. Your senses were flooded with a subtle numbness that weighed on your eyelids like the unnecessary load of lethargy.

“When will you be back…?”

—

Leather gloves grasped your hand, frantically searching for a pulse.

A voice could be heard in the distance, somewhat familiar but deeper and slower than usual. It seemed to be saying something.

Your eyes flickered under the glowing light held close to your face, a hand, stark cold against your heated cheek, tilting your face to the side. A strong and skilled hand crossed your right leg over your left, and your entire body was turned to the side. Your mouth was coaxed open, a finger on your pulse.

“Y/N… Y/N, wake up…” the voice insisted, slowly losing the commanding edge to it. A voice– a man’s voice, you identified. Strained and well articulated…

Your name… how’d it know your name…?

You gasped for fresh air, your arm pulling away from his hand.

“Childe…” you faltered, his name bursting out in a short breath of air, pulled from your lungs as a desperate way to gain consciousness. “You’re back”, you finished, a gentle, feeble smile stretching across your face.

Fatigue ran through every inch of his body, blood smeared all across his worn armour, his uniform hanging with shame on his bruised body. His fingers pinched his nose-bridge, his jaw clenching tight. Childe pushed his hair back and looked at you, dead in the eye.

“Are you fucking kidding me right now, Y/N?”

Disbelief replaced the smile, content eyes scrunching in confusion.

“What…?” you asked. “Where’s this- where’s this coming from, love?”

“Oh cut it out, for fucks sake”, he snapped back, his face stoic, nimble fingers sliding his gloves off and disposing them to the side.

“I thought you were dead, Y/N. Dead.”

He stopped for a second, catching his breath.

“Listen, all a man wants to do is sleep. I thought he got to my fucking family when I saw you on the floor, and no one even knows about us, Y/N. Everyone knows my brother”, he condemned, light hearted enough to laugh it off but oblivious enough to dampen your waterline.

“Archons, the water works again huh?” he grimaced, exhausted, cocking his head elsewhere. “I’m sorry, okay? You don’t know what it’s like to be a harbinger, you were just… worried, I guess?” he retorted, shrugging his shoulders with his lips pressed together. “I don’t know why I was blaming you”, he chuckled. “You know what, It’s fine sweetheart, just… go to sleep, okay?”

You watched as he stalked out of the living room, walking away.

“Childe, I was worried about you”, you rasped, eyes low. “I thought you were dead.”

He stopped, pivoting around– his breathy, low laughter piercing through every fragment of sanity left inside of you.

“You? Worried? About me dying?”, he jeered, looking around in amusement. “I don’t think you remember who I am, honey. Did you hit your head or something? Maybe you should get that checked sweetheart~”

Sweetheart. You recognised that word from every argument you had. That tone, laced in honey as a disguise to hide his true cruel intentions. You recognised it all from every argument you had. An argument that never ended in a compromise. Reasoning with him was as effective as talking to a brick wall.

“I’m the eleventh har-”

“The eleventh harbinger, devoted to the Tsartitsa as her loyal lieutenant, Tartaglia”, you faded out, bitter and tired. “I know exactly who you are, Childe. But you’ve forgotten who you are.”

Scoffing and rolling his eyes, he folded his hands across his chest.

“Listen Y/N, I’m not gonna stand here listening to you telling me who I am. Especially when you’ve so nicely interrupted me and told me exactly who I am.”

“Don’t try that tone with me, Childe”, you snapped, looking up at him with tear-stained cheeks, a fresh set of tears replacing the dried ones. “It’s been thirteen days…” you sniffled, spitting out each word. “And you still weren’t back.”

He averted his eyes from yours, refusing to entertain this conversation.

“Do you know how worried I was?” you stressed, the taste of bile scraped at your throat.

Months of putting up with his attitude beat a gaping hole in your chest in the form of words you could never say, all just to suppress yourself with only one thought in mind that if you said something now– anything now, he’d leave you in his empty house without a word, and without a doubt, in a split second because he never needed you. It was only you who needed him and if he left it would leave you in shambles only because…

Only because you ever so foolishly stood up for yourself.

“I’m not a member of Fatui…” you croaked, fighting back the hiccups of tears.

A shiver picked at your spine, the house more silent than ever. And when the last tear of heartbreak evaporated, and the new stream of pure anger and resentment took over, you lost the sense of tone and its consequences.

“But that doesn’t make you immortal!” you screamed, the echo of your voice traveling through the corners of the house at such a volume that the harbinger was taken aback. Taken aback with a racing heart, and a body that was forced to step back.

“You could have died for fucks sake, Childe, you could have fucking died!”

Your hands fell to the side, knees dropping to the ground, the drop searing through the bones of your calf down to your toes and up to your hips. But it wasn’t as painful as the sting that burned your throat. It was a raw cut inside the very flesh that constructed your neck, and the stunned silence brought out the shallow pants of an exasperated cry. You never wanted to yell at him but how could you not when weeks and months of overwhelming fear welled up in your throat.

Seconds passed by and they seemed like hours.

Childe was conflicted.

Would he protect his ego and stare at you as you stifled and heaved, or would he take you in his arms and tend to your bleeding knee, apologising in between kisses?

When you glanced up at his pointed glare, you knew his answer all too well.

“And this is why you’ll never be a harbinger”, he seethed, followed by a loud bang of the same door he entered through not so long ago.

565 notes · View notes

pickinglilahs · 7 months

Text

Blackeclipse for the soul

Part 1; Part 2; Part 3; Part 4; Part 5; Part 6; Part 6.5; Part 8 this has come out waaaaaaayyyyy longer than I thought it would I will be copying this to AO3 at some point CW: Talking about Self Harm and finding better coping mechanisms

Remus was going to strangle James.

And Sirius.

And Regulus for good measure.

"I'm sorry?"

James jumped in, "Remember how, in first year, Sirius was telling us about his little sister? Then in the second year, he said she died but he wasn't really upset about it? And we were all confused because he never told us about his brother?"

Remus stared at him, then slowly turned to Regulus.

Regulus gave a small, awkward wave. Then he shrugged and cleared his throat. "Honestly, I feel like I should have known given how quickly he accepted me. And how he seemed to know more than I did at times. That summer was... eventful. But he wrote Dumbledore and everything, making sure I was in the right dorm and my paperwork had the right name. I'm still not sure how he kept it all from our parents."

"They still don't know, right?" James was looking at Regulus with concern. The implications of that, that Regulus spent his summers as someone he wasn't, hit Remus hard.

Regulus closed his eyes, one hand coming up to rub his forehead. "While I was packing to come back this year, Mother came into my room. She saw..."

Remus, still sitting close to Regulus, reached out to take his hand. He squeezed it gently, reassuringly. Regulus looked up at him gratefully.

"Evan keeps most of my stuff for me. Over the summer. I-" He sighed. "I knew it would happen eventually but- I guess I was just-" He paused to collect his thoughts. "I was hoping that if I could just wait it out, until I came of age, I could still inherit the title and..."

Regulus pulled his hand back and pressed the heels into his eyes.

James moved the food out of the way and came up to Regulus' other side. "Can we hold you?"

Regulus shook his head and rubbed his eyes hard. He looked up, eyes trained on the ceiling. "I'm fine."

It was James' turn to shake his head. "No. You're not. You've been abused and forced to endure things no one our age should even have to think about. And you’ve been pretending to be someone you're not on top of everything. You are allowed to not be okay. You are allowed to cry and scream and break things and be held and shown love and whatever else you need."

James held his hand out for Regulus to take. After a moment, he did.

James went on, using his no-nonsense quidditch captain voice. "What you are not allowed to do, is bottle this up until you need to hurt yourself. You are not allowed to hate yourself. And you are not going back to that house."

Tears were rolling down Regulus' cheeks now. Remus held his arms open in invitation and the taller boy slumped against him. James took Regulus' legs into his lap.

They stayed like that for a long time. Remus running his fingers through Regulus' hair, James rubbing soothing circles along his shins.

Their peace was disrupted by a knock on the door. Peter's voice drifted through the door. "Umm...Siri wants to know if you guys are decent."

James laughed and Remus called, "You can come in, Tails."

Regulus sat up and scrubbed his eyes, turning his face away from the door as it opened slowly.

Peter stuck his head in with a hand over his eyes. James snorted. "We're all dressed Pete."

Peter slowly lowered his hand and shuffled in.

"What's up Pads?" Remus was trying really hard not to laugh as Sirius appeared behind Peter like he was using the smaller boy as a human shield.

When he saw the trio just sitting on the bed, Sirius bounced back to his normal, hyperactive self. "It's lunch! And you guys have been up here for HOURS!"

He flopped onto the double bed, sprawling across James' now empty lap. Peter was standing nearby looking at the change in furniture apprehensively.

Remus smiled at him. "Don't worry, Pete. This is just for convenience."

Sirius sat up to assess, then nodded derisively. "Definitely enough room." He then proceeded to change into Padfoot and rested his head in Regulus' lap.

Regulus froze with his hands in the air, unsure how to handle this new development.

James was laughing and Remus sighed. "Pads, this was not for you."

Sirius changed back, looking heartbroken. "So... I can't..."

James gave Remus a disapproving look. "Of course you can still come to us, Pads. Just, make sure you ask when your brother is up here."

Sirius looked at said brother confused. "You aren't moving up here?"

Regulus looked uncomfortable so Remus jumped in. "He can go back and forth whenever he wants. He's allowed to spend time alone and with his friends. He isn't used to sharing beds all the time like us."

Sirius nodded thoughtfully, then, out of nowhere, proceeded to tackle his brother in a hug. "Sirius! Get off of me!"

James looked like he wanted to help, but Remus shook his head. He could see the underlying affection and exasperation in Regulus' face. The two might have a rocky relationship, but they did love each other.

The brothers wrestled for a moment before Regulus managed to shove Sirius off the bed. The older boy fell to the ground with a hard thump.

"OW!" Sirius sat up from the floor, rubbing his head.

Before he could retaliate, Remus clapped his hands. "Lunch."

He might as well have flipped a switch. Sirius immediately brightened and jumped to his feet.

"Yes!" He bounded over to his wardrobe and shucked off the shirt he was wearing.

While he changed, for some ungodly reason, the trio slid off the bed and found their shoes.

"James, put a shirt on."

At Regulus' admonishment, James looked down in confusion, then realization, before hurrying to pluck a shirt out of his wardrobe.

The five boys then proceeded down the stairs and made their way to lunch. Regulus walked between Remus and James, hands brushing occasionally. He didn't reach for them though, so the boys left it be.

At the entrance to the Great Hall, Regulus murmured a quick goodbye and James and Remus smiled at him. Then they hauled Sirius away before he could start protesting and trying to convince Regulus to eat with them.

James and Remus sat facing the Slytherin table, watching as Regulus was interrogated by his friends. He would look over at them occasionally, clearly amused by his friends' questions. Eventually, one of the girls caught on and followed his gaze.

She gasped, clearly looking at the Mark on Remus' face. She then promptly had everyone else turning to look at them.

Regulus was rolling his eyes, but James smiled and waved. Remus was trying very hard not to blush and focused on his salad.

Sirius was trying to get James to go flying after lunch and Peter had turned to gossip with the girls. Remus borrowed a quill and some parchment from Lily and wrote a note to Regulus. He let James read it before he folded it into a bird and sent it flying over.

James is going flying with your brother; I'll be studying in the library. Feel free to join either of us. Otherwise, we'll see you at dinner. 🔆 🌙

Regulus smiled as he read it, then set it on fire before his friends could snatch it out of his hands.

After lunch, Sirius promptly dragged James outside, so Remus went with Peter and the girls back upstairs. Lily and Mary walked with him to the library, but he declined their offer to sit with them. They shrugged and he made his way to the back of the restricted section.

He wasn't surprised Regulus wasn't there. Remus expected Regulus' friends to not let him out of their sight for the rest of the day.

As it was Sunday, Remus decided to get a head start on this week's homework. Because of the soul bond, the day before—and even the day of—the Full had been manageable. He went back over his notes from Friday just to be sure, but he was confident there was nothing he needed to re-do.

Remus took a minute to appreciate how far he had come in the last two months. Not only had he found his lost Soulmate, but he had also gained a second as well. Both were far more than he ever could have dreamed of finding and he was determined to be deserving of them.

He didn't dare think it, for fear of jinxing himself, but there was a beating deep in his heart daring to dream that maybe, just maybe, his luck really had changed.

@poetrypirate @niad4827

40 notes · View notes