#*sighs* everything just always goes back to incest doesn’t it.

[myriadparacosm]

Black Beats Black - 3. Butterfly Weed

Chapter 1. Chapter 2. Read on AO3

“Tu es complétement cinglé,” Sirius blurts out as his mind reels through what he just heard from his brother’s mouth, who isn’t impressed by his disbelieved tone. “We need to get magically bonded?” He repeats with a mocking voice that only deepens Regulus’ scoff.

“Do you often think in French? I lost the habit once we got to Hogwarts,” he mentions without caring much about Sirius’ point. “It sounds weird.”

“Pardon ? Mon accent est parfait. Crétin .”

Regulus rolls his eyes and flatly glares at him. “Est-ce que tu vas m’écouter ou m’insulter dans une autre langue que je comprends parfaitement ?”

“No I’m not going to listen to you,” Sirius replies, storming across the room and coming back with the idea to grab him but the word ‘nuptial bond’ hits him again. “ Married ?!”

“There is a perfectly understandable reason for it. And I didn’t say married,” he snaps. “I’m not doing this by pleasure either but it will give us time.”

“Time?! Time for what? To prolong our fucked up family tradition of inbreeding?”

“Incest will never be my thing and neither will this be,” Regulus dryly says with a shrill sigh through his nose. “If you actually remembered the point of Pureblood bonds then you would understand what I’m going at.”

Sirius glares at him and considers swatting him before storming away closer to the fireplace. The room, which perfectly sheltered him over the last days without any worries about intrusion, has allowed Regulus in without Sirius having any say which would not bother him any other time than now. He is happy to see his brother but now he considers holding back Regulus’ visiting rights if it’s to parade in with the decision to get bonded. He rubs his eyes after looking away from the fire.

“Tu es fou.”

“Pour l’amour de Merlin,” Regulus snaps and leaves the bed to walk closer. “Sirius, will you please stop and listen to me? It’s only for the Hanahaki and trust me I wish I didn’t have to take a part of it.”

He snorts with a glance at him. “How so?”

“Think.”

Sirius scowls at him but he doesn’t spare any more attention as he goes to sit in the plush seat, lacking the mirror that was in front of it as it disappeared days ago. He has no complaints about it since he hasn’t been able to stomach his own reflection for a time now.

A sigh scratches its way out before he can think and furious coughs follow the rustling of the petals in his body. It’s painful, clearly noticeable by the way Regulus’ eyes are fixed into him, but he manages. It’s liberating to be able to wheeze without worrying about anyone catching up. In class, especially in Transfiguration where Sirius had the brilliant idea to sit next to Remus as it’s the only class where they aren’t allowed to swap seats for the whole year except if McGonagall deems so. She will never change his seat especially now that Sirius doesn’t chat and dolefully focuses on the lessons now.

He throws handfuls of petals in the fire and wipes his mouth with his thumb. Regulus is either throwing him a distraction to focus on rather than his own thoughts or wants to rile him up on the crazy idea of marriage with his own brother. They have both followed strict education on Pureblood’s culture, heritage and traditions by their parents but Sirius has never cared much for it. Most were long, hypocritical and meaningless, which has never worked well with him. Though he is a romantic and the promise of a true ever-lasting love has always appealed to him - but everything is twisted whenever it’s Pureblood’s affairs.

“The nuptial bond is supposed to enhance feelings, tying the knot over love to never let it die,” he recalls and glances at Regulus to judge his reaction, “but the way to do so is by sealing their fate together meaning that neither spouse can try to escape by any means.”

“Anything that happens to one will happen to the other.”

Sirius widens his eyes as he recalls the warning of ignoring such a bond or finding another love. There is no escape when you are linked to your own jail without bringing your own death.

“A curse would be reciprocated,” Sirius realises as his eyes widen on the composed face of his brother. “Merlin’s balls. You really are insane.”

Regulus shrugs and focuses back on playing with the make-up pencil he found on his seat. “Tradition familial.”

He snorts before properly laughing at the hint of amusement on his brother’s lips at the mention of a family tradition. The only one they are actively keeping up alive, though only recently because apparently the habit is still lurking and just needs the right person around, is speaking French here and there; it’s their family first language despite living in Britain for centuries.

Their parents loved to loudly complain, never anything positive at least, in french in any sort of public setting; if someone understood and talked back then they would swap the situation around by saying it’s a private conversation, though it has rarely happened. Sirius and Regulus only used to speak in French to reply whenever spoken to or between themselves like a secret code. Their parents would obviously understand but Sirius liked the idea of being secretive with Regulus, as much as they could in this pressuring house. It was only the case whenever Kreacher was around to keep an eye on the young heirs but the house-elf probably understood what they said. Regulus could have easily taught him a bit of French if he didn’t already know. These two always played favourites with each other which Sirius always resented.

“Alright so you want to bring back incest up to our days,” he snarks and turns to face him properly with crossed arms. “How is being bonded any help for me? You will only get the Hanahaki.”

“Not exactly,” he argues. “It will try to develop, yes but it won’t manage to.”

“Why not? These nuptial bonds are intense. There is no time difference or strength to be sure that both spouses are affected in the same way.”

“Because the Hanahaki relies on the host’s feelings to grow and develop,” Regulus points out with a nefarious raised eyebrow. “I do not have any feelings for Lupin which will make the Hanahaki helpless to grow in me but the bond will force it to focus on me even with that difficulty. Hopefully it will leave you alone for a while.”

He really thought this through, which surprises Sirius as many implications come to his mind that he can’t deal with at the moment.

“You can’t be sure of that.”

“I am,” Regulus counters with no shame as he leaves his seat. “I will still be affected but it will take time if it ever manages to work on me which gets us more time. As the bond intends to, any curse will develop at the same speed to be sure that both spouses are affected at the same time.”

“I hear you but you are still mad Reggie.”

“Sirius,” he harshly cuts and takes a deep breath. “You don’t have much time. I have been looking through a lot but your curse is definitely evolving too fast for only three weeks and I doubt that I have seen the worst of it when I found you in the toilet.”

There has been worse it’s true but Sirius won’t share about it. If he is honest, Regulus caught him in a very bad time where his thoughts couldn’t stop spiralling. The flowers are delighted whenever he gets too lost in his mind because it always gravitates around Remus. He coughs and turns back near the fire to discard the single flower escaping him with a spit of blood. They have been more frequent, ready to be gifted if you ignore the blood here and there.

The most difficult part is whenever he is in class because he will feel that Remus is just right here. Every single flower tries to reach out, all the time, as if they could figure out a way to embrace him and they might have if he listens to the feeling in his guts which scares him. Sirius doesn’t know if they are only trying to carve a way out or plan to drag Remus in there to snuggle him up forever and ever. He wouldn’t mind but the pain makes it difficult to appear normal and focus on hiding all of this.

He looks sick, dreadfully so, despite the potions he has started to prepare for himself to cover it up. One is perfect to hold back the flowers despite the uncomfortable feeling of his guts being locked up. As long as he can speak it’s alright for class but the sensation are awful and the flowers always try to riot through it. Being kicked out of the Quidditch team turns out to be a blessing because he wouldn’t be able to fly and play with this seal over his lungs - he can perfectly breathe in, though the flowers clog it up and he is starting to feel it. What he is doing is ultimately dangerous; Sirius feels like he is dying every time he leaves classes and runs to this room to cough everything out and he has already lost consciousness more times than he can count for it. Except that it’s better than people figuring out what is happening to him.

“I’m not doing it.”

“Why?”

Sirius sighs, throwing him a pissed look. “Because if you listened to yourself you would realize that it’s mad. You will get the Hanahaki too and if I die from it then you will die too .”

Regulus is getting frustrated by how his eyebrows plummet like thunder. “Which won’t happen. This is to get more time for us to find a solution but you’re already advanced and I’m worried— I fear that time is running out and that I might find the cure when it’s too late. Once I have it, we break the bond without a problem.”

“There is no cure for it-”

“That’s what you think.”

Sirius groans out and strides toward his bed to sit down. “I’m not marrying you.”

“You’re just being difficult,” he scowls and storms to face him. “I never said anything about marrying-”

“Because nuptial bond are not for-”

“La ferme !” Regulus shouts with a strident, exasperated, hiss. “Sirius, this is the only way I could find to get you more time. There is no other option and I’m certain you can understand why too. I wouldn’t do it if I could help it but I doubt you could find someone else willing to do this bond with you right now.”

Prongs would. It comes before his mind can stop it - James’ reaction if he knew and how he might come up with something as crazy as a nuptial bond even if it means getting himself sick to help Sirius.

“Still-”

“Potter? He probably would,” Regulus agrees as if his thoughts were shared. “But I doubt you want him to know about the Hanahaki and the cause of it.”

Sirius glares at him. “He would but I still wouldn’t ask.”

His brother coolly eyes him but the edge flickers to worries and almost softness. “You truly aren’t speaking to him anymore?”

“Why do we care?”

“Not even about your plan to run away?”

He can feel himself throwing all manners and any sort of sympathy he might have had before for his brother.

“Regulus.”

The warning is loud and clear. His brother doesn’t back down despite understanding him perfectly by the slight shift in his posture. Sirius is bitten by guilt right away. His own body is ready to adopt the tense stance that was hammered into them in their youth; proper and tall, everything that screams strength and a strong-will, nothing about softness or understanding.

“I’m only concerned,” he admits and many things go through his mind by how his eyes fly with a surprising sharpness. “I just… I’m here, Sirius… Je suis là pour toi.”

Sirius takes a deep but fragile breath with a shake of his head. “Reggie-”

“I have realised that we were never really brothers, were we?” He recalls without much emotion albeit the frown. “We have the same parents, live in the same house, same lessons, same rules and competitive ambitions. The only moment when we actually came together as somewhat brothers was because we had nothing else but each other. No friends and not any distraction without the risk of our parents sending us back to our rooms, away from their sight to not be bothered.”

“Oh this better not be in your vows at our wedding,” Sirius venomously spits, “just say we are cousins and we probably have the same twisted love of dear precious Walburga and Orion.”

Regulus scoffs. “What I mean is that now I’m choosing to be here and I want— I want to be your brother, Sirius,” he gasps out. “I want us to be real brothers before it’s too late.”

It’s difficult to meet his eyes which leave them both with a stifling silence. Regulus doesn’t waver, which Sirius can’t quite proceed how he manages to do so. He feels utterly broken and all of this leaves him feverish when he hasn’t even spoken.

In a way, it’s true. They are related but to be real brothers, siblings, loving ones, is something entirely different. Sirius would wander to Regulus only when he felt too alone or the current ordeal at home left him alienated and pushed him to hold on to something familiar. They never exactly played together. Regulus liked to read a lot and sometimes Sirius had nothing else to do than the same but preferred to look above his shoulder— now he realises it was to share something even if neither talked or commented on the book.

Sirius clears his throat and shifts on the bed to make a clear space for Regulus to sit down. “Did you realise it before or only now?”

“I wish I did before,” he quietly confesses and joins him without much space between their thighs. “Have you?”

He shrugs and tilts his head as his lips painfully purse. “If I’m honest, not quite. I just never— to me you never needed me and I thought we simply don’t get along. Just like the rest of our family.”

“You’re not wrong. We’re very different.”

Sirius nods, hands gripping and relaxing on the blanket as a thought keeps nudging him. “Pr—James was never your replacement.” Regulus rolls his eyes but he doesn’t take it as an interruption. “You will always be my brother Reggie. I never compared you two.”

“It’s fine,” he says despite not sounding like it.

“No,” he cuts, biting on his bottom lip before relaxing. “You are my brother. James is too but it’s different, it’s— like a soulmate.”

“Soulmate?” Regulus’ nose wrinkles with a glance. “What about..?”

“Not romantically, ew. It’s incest,” he quickly blabbers out to distract the flowers who tingles with the thought of Remus Soulmate . “When we met, I don’t know why but I didn’t need to think? I don’t know if I can make sense of it. But it’s not romantic which also confused me a bit because it’s always supposed to be romantic, isn’t it? We kissed once for a game at the dorm and I couldn’t have been more dead inside-”

“You kissed him?! When you just said how it would be incest ?” Regulus cuts with his voice almost shrilling in incredulity.

Sirius blinks at how traumatising and tragic it seems to be for his brother.

“What? You never kissed a friend for a game? No tongue of course, that would have been disgusting.”

Regulus stares at him with his nose wrinkled as the rest of his face slips into an upset resignation.

“Explain the rest to me. Nothing else disgusting like that.”

Sirius checks if he is making fun of him but his brother looks back at him with a soft intensity, as if eager to hear more. He shifts and rolls his shoulders when there is a twinge there.

“It’s not like we are separated pieces of a puzzle. We’re not the same person either but there is no need to think,” Sirius trails off. “I was scared at first because it was so strange compared to— the other Purebloods around our age we met or you. It was so easy to talk to him and I never had to worry about being just me around him. Sometimes I would get stuck in my head and he would bring me back which he probably noticed. I could blabber and James would understand without making me feel bad about it.”

Regulus takes his time to think his words over, scrutinising him but without any sign whether it’s good or bad. He will probably cut his hair during the break as he likes to keep them not too long; most of the time his ears are free of hair because he is quite ticklish there despite never admitting it. Sirius used to wake him up by tickling them with a feather and Regulus would roll and cry of laughter while begging him to stop.

His hair is perfectly divided but the curls soften the edge, breaking the thorns of their upbringing, and crowning Regulus like a delicate child. Sirius knows enough to not assume that it’s the truth; the familiar spot above his left hip aches just at the thought of how many times his brother pinched, scratched, punched and rudely poked at it during their childhood. Regulus has the same because they are both stubborn and vengeful to target each other at the exact same spot every time. What leaves him more surprised is finding new beauty marks on his brother just on his throat and the neck. Regulus has always got more of them than Sirius.

“I understand.”

Sirius blinks at him. “Really?”

Regulus nods but he doesn’t meet his eyes right away. “Then what about— well.” He stops himself. “It’s better to not think about him.

The flowers dance, scratch, twirl and leech at the mere mention. Tell everything. It should worry Sirius that they can speak now but he pities them - they are as starved of Remus as he is. He coughs and lets them fly out with no concern. Regulus shifts but takes several seconds to vanish.

“Anyhow, now it doesn’t matter how well James and I got along,” Sirius roughly articulates.

Regulus twirls his wand in his palms. “I don’t know why you are surprised when Potter has been shouting everywhere that Lily is his eternal soulmate. All the signs were here that he is cheating on you...”

The somewhat joke doesn’t land right away, which causes Regulus to grow embarrassed and glances away from him before Sirius uncouthly snorts and a wheezy laugh escapes him.

“Yeah, I should have picked one that doesn’t run after the first girl he sees,” he quips and nudges him to reassure him.

Regulus’ lips twitch but doesn’t smile, meeting his eyes for a second before looking at his wand.

“What I meant to say is that, I’m here for you, Sirius,” he declares. “Now and ever, I want to be brothers. We haven’t even finished school and you— you might die .” His tone shakes and Sirius hesitates to reach out, an easy task as they are sitting beside each other but far more difficult than he expected. “Which I won’t let happen but for that I need time. I never thought that you might die.”

His brother’s eyes are heavy with tears. One blink makes a drop cascade and he breathes in loud and pained. Sirius cautiously slips an arm over Regulus’ shoulders and slowly brings them together. There is no fight.

“I don’t want you to get the Hanahaki,” he whispers, letting his face softly fall against their similar but shortened hair. “It feels awful. I-I’m broken and I don’t want you to feel that way.”

“I need you alive.”

“Reg-”

“Please, let me try,” he pleads and fists his shirt with a shaky hand. “It could be late but— I want to try. I will save you and maybe we can be brothers.”

Sirius is deafened by the sobs, increasing in sound and feelings, before he realised he has joined the cry. Regulus is hiding against his shoulder but it isn’t enough to muffle any of it.

It comes so naturally to him that he doesn’t realise it until they are both tired, laying in each other’s arms as Sirius pets Regulus’ hair with puffy eyes and a raw throat. Their faces are shining with tears, starting to dry, but neither move and mention none of it.

Hurting Regulus is still out of the question but Sirius replays everything they have said up until he was found in the toilet. It would be a lie to say that he would have assumed Regulus would have not care one bit about his whereabouts; his brother is more tender and understanding than anyone might assume. Regulus would have cared that Sirius dies but to go as far as trying to save him? He would have never hoped so but now he feels thankful.

Sirius has not much to live for if he is honest and he has realised it now. The least he can do is be there for Regulus. He can be a brother, a real one, for his last days. Regulus made research, tons of it apparently. He also goes out of his way to reach out to Sirius as if they have never ignored each other. It makes him uncomfortable and void of pride that he finds himself earning for it with a childish awe. Like a treat that never crossed your mind and yet feels so important to hang on.

They are tucked together with no difficulties, no questions and no mistrust. He wishes he could hug him tighter, play with his hair and rest his head against his - but it would be weird. Sirius and Regulus barely touched each other if they weren’t annoying or fighting each other. The only times they have been somewhat touchy in a soft way were when either of them rode up and down the many curses their parents chose for their punishment— and often they couldn’t feel the touch until hours passed.

Sirius swallows and his fingertips brush over one of Regulus’ strands of hair. “Who would cast it?”

Regulus clears his throat twice; the second time out of embarrassment as he realises how much of him is laying on Sirius’ chest.

“What?”

“The bond.”

He sits up and quickly rubs his eyes before looking at Sirius. “Evan. The two people bonded can’t cast the spell themselves.”

A scoff escapes him and his brother squints at his grimace. “Rosier?”

“Yes. Or do you want to ask someone else? A professor? A ghost?”

Sirius lightly kicks him and rolls on his stomach with a tired groan. “He is a prick.”

“He is my friend and I trust him.”

“I don’t.”

“You have never met him,” he points out and scowls when Sirius is about to reply. “The Purebloods’ meetings when we were kids don’t count. We were all five years old at best.”

He rolls his eyes. “What tells me that he will not make it worse for me?”

“Evan wouldn’t hurt me. Nor you by extension. He already agreed-”

Sirius stands up with wide eyes. “You told him?!”

“I didn’t say what it is for,” he explains and brushes his hair with a hand to clear his eyes from the few stubborn curls. “He knows that you’re cursed but nothing else.”

Sirius doesn’t care much if someone knows as long as it doesn’t reach the ears of some Gryffindors. The Slytherins might make fun of him but he can deal with it; plus he doubts that Regulus would let it happen.

He rubs his forehead with his hands. “I will think about it.”

Regulus looks at him. “Really?”

A sigh escapes him but he offers a small nod. “I get your point with the bond but it’s still risky.”

“Evan can cancel it at any time.”

“You don’t know how it will react,” Sirius argues and looks at him with a conflict in his eyes. “Have you read of what happens to the Hanahaki with a nuptial bond? Maybe you will be as affected as I am and it won’t slow it down.”

“We need to try,” Regulus insists with a scowl.

“Let me think about it.”

His brother stares at him, exhales quietly as his hands curl up. “Let’s make a deal.”

“What?”

“If we do the bond, as in you at least try it with me without cheating or anything else,” Regulus articulates. “We leave Grimmauld Place together this break.”

Sirius gapes at him but can’t find any sign that his brother is anything but fervent and honest.

“Leave?”

“You heard me, let’s run away together. I have an idea of where we can go and Kreacher can prepare our affairs to hand it to us once we get out of the Hogwarts Express.”

“Kreacher?! What are you even talking about?” Sirius almost shouts as he tries to digest everything. “What brought this on?”

Regulus coolly looks at him. “I’m not as— weak or ignorant as you might think. For some reasons that I still can’t understand, you never seemed to really grow in our home with our parents… I did. And it’s not an excuse. I had no other thoughts or speeches in my head that weren’t about blood-purity, Muggle hatred and for dark arts to be as easy as breathing. To me, there wasn’t anything outside of our home which you have always seemed to know about and I struggled to understand it.”

Most families of Pureblood always said that Sirius is an unruly, feral, ill-mannered child. A little rebel which he has always taken as a compliment but truly he only felt sane and insane at the same time. For the most important gatherings and once their parents lose hope over Sirius behaving himself, they used the Imperius on him so many times that he might as well develop an allergy— what is more important is what people see.

“You clearly didn’t approve of my idea of running away and you have no problem listening and obeying our parents,” he argues, standing up from the bed as he really doesn’t feel like letting Regulus go when he cracked this buried, drowned, chest open. “Did you really think parents who cursed us regularly are simply normal?”

“I figured you need a little bit of pain to be happy about the rest-”

“A little bit?!”

Regulus harshly exhales through his nose and crosses his arms to face him. “I recognize now that our parents are not— nice . You didn’t need to get out of the house to realise it but I did. As a child I thought that you only fought with our parents all the time to have all their attention.”

“What about those wankers of Death Eaters?”

He glares at him. “I do not want to join them. I might not talk back to our parents but that’s because I know it won’t change anything, better stay out of their radar even if I have to listen to their words. I did think they would make the world better, as if our lives aren't all set up already. I realise how wrong all of this is now and especially how hypocritical our so-called Dark Lord is.”

Sirius squints but an uneasiness warily crawls over him. He doesn’t want to push his brother in the spot, especially when they have managed to be somewhat friendly. Plus, he actually has not any real proof that Regulus is following these ideas. At home he is quiet and stays mostly out of everyone’s way but he can play the perfect little Pure-blood whenever it’s necessary. He never openly spit or sneered at anyone who isn’t a Pureblood like Snivellus.

“Really?”

“You do realise that I could literally be the king of every Slytherins if I ever just spoke up? Some are actually waiting on me as if I’m just lazy.”

“You are smarter than that.”

Regulus’ lips twitch into an almost smirk. “I am,” he confirms before wetting his lips with a trace of brooding. “It’s only my second year here that I realised how all of this Pureblood logic and veneration don’t make sense. Mostly because I met Pandora, who is officially a nobody if you follow our rules, but also Dorcas. I hadn’t realised before that no one from Slytherin ever hung out with her because she is a half-blood. It probably took me too much time to realise any of it.”

It’s true that Sirius doesn’t recall Dorcas spending time with any other Slytherins outside from his brother and his little friends. When she got into their Quidditch team, it created a slight scandal up even when they almost won all games ever since she started in third year. She also flew right into Sirius to make him fall off his broom and broke his leg. Pandora being a nobody by ‘their’ rules doesn’t truly remind him of anything specific; she doesn’t even have a family name because she is apparently an orphan.

“That’s all very good,” he replies, feeling immediately silly. “I mean— I know you’re a better person than anyone in our family. I was… I was scared that I love and care about you but that you were as inhuman as they are.”

Regulus’ eyes have softened over his words but they quickly dive to the floor, head shifting for his parted bangs to drift in front of them. His hands awkwardly shuffle upward until they can catch on his sleeves. Sirius recognizes all the signs and only takes a few steps closer, enough to be able to reach for him even if he doesn’t know if it will be welcomed.

“I also..,” he clears his throat. “I only like men. Which I’m sure you know isn’t who Purebloods must shag with to have an heir, despite the many means to have a child even for a couple sharing the same bits.”

Sirius doesn’t quite know how to properly react. His face must be telling something though because Regulus barely meets his eyes and scowls, crossing his arms with the regular twitch of his fingers around his sleeves.

“Putain, tu es gay ?”

“I would rather use queer because I— I’m not going to tell you actually,” he sneers with his pale skin completely turning red.

“Are you kidding?! You need to tell me everything!” Sirius exclaims. “How did you know? Why did you never tell me? Did you think I would be an asshole? That I would have a problem?”

Regulus rolls his eyes with a mocking smirk begging to appear. “Please, have you looked at yourself? Only someone blind wouldn’t see that you’re definitely not heterosexual. And it’s not a good enough reason to talk about myself.”

He snorts, pleased. “I will take this as a compliment. Still, why didn’t you tell it to me before? You knew right away about my-” His words are cut short by rough coughs.

Two flowers crawl their way out, leaving his throat aching as he holds himself onto his knees to wheeze and to retrieve his breath. Regulus tries to soothe him with a hand going back and forth over his back.

“I just never felt like I needed to say it. My friends never asked and they knew.”

Sirius clears his throat, straightening up and whipping his mouth with the back of his hand. “Well, I want to know about it. This is huge, Reggie— I mean we can share!”

“Once you’re free from this stupid curse, yes,” he accepts.

“No, no, now ,” he playfully argues. “Don’t you want to make me happy?”

“You’re— fine. But I’m not sharing more.”

“When did you notice it? Do you like someone-”

“I’m answering what I want to,” Regulus warns, stepping back toward the door with an angry step.

“You have to give me something Reggie. You know, lift up my mind and all.”

“You’re insufferable!” He shouts with his face so red Sirius fears it will get stuck like that. “I noticed— someone when I started my first year here and that’s how I realised. That’s all.”

“Who was it?” Regulus’ shoulders almost touch his ears with how tensed up he is. “Don’t tell me it’s someone weird like Snivellus or Gilderoy— Merlin’s balls, is it a professor? Like Dumbledore?”

“Ew, what is wrong with you?!” He exclaims with an intense wrinkle of his nose. “You don’t get to judge me but I can assure that my tastes are completely sane contrary to what seems to be going on in your head.”

“Hey, I just want to help you! Who knows what kind of creep will go after you!”

“Don’t be this kind of brother who doesn’t let me date because he can’t get it through his head that I can make my own choices,” Regulus cautions. “Be the one who either helps me get with the person I— like, or help me make them disappear if they ever hurt me.”

Sirius looks at him before snorting at the ever-severe tone. “Sure, I can do that.”

He smiles. It’s small but it’s everything and Sirius finds himself hoping . “Good,” he says within a whisper that sounds ready to tip to something more raw. “That’s good… Same for you of course. Back to what’s important, please really think about the bond. I really do believe it’s our best hope to find a cure for you and at least we will try.”

“Wait, were you— the running away is a real deal?”

“Just trust me Sirius, alright?” Regulus says. “Will you?”

Sirius wets his lips. This day has been exhausting but worth it. His plans were to stay in bed, try to distract himself. Regulus is the highlight of it, for a long time now which he can’t get enough of, and he wonders how much he has missed over the years.

“I do,” he decides and his brother stares at him with unwavering eyes. “Just let me think about it.”

“Why do you need to think about trying or not to survive?”

He feels like cheating that they are somehow bonding, actually talking, only because he got the Hanahaki. Without it, they might have never given each other a chance and he fears this future. The biggest part of him wishes that he could make Regulus forget about this curse, just to sweeten the deal, to not feel like a burden and an unwanted company. The Marauders would probably help him if they knew. Even Remus might have helped. They are good people. Sirius doesn’t want to throw this pain on them - they deserve the peace.

“Just let me.”

He didn't sleep well that night despite the exhaustion. It feels like a bad omen because he wakes in the dead of the night choking, throwing up flowers that could fill up the Great Hall, from a small dream including Remus and perhaps the Quidditch’s locker room with their clothes on the floor. Of course the flowers perked up and swirled up even from his sleep.

It leaves him restless and in pain and for a second Sirius considers distracting himself by reading something but the idea only makes him cough a few more times. He spends the rest of the night mulling everything over, focusing as much as possible on Regulus.

The lack of sleep and the struggle of keeping his mind focused must be obvious, despite the make-up he put on and the potion to hold back the flowers from slipping out. James meets his eyes at some point but doesn’t sign or try to talk to him. He does look conflicted and pained but Sirius knows all about it. Even if James isn’t the one whose secret got out, it was still the Marauders’ and Sirius broke all of it. His little paradise trashed by himself. Remus has needed a lot of time to open up and they all know it but now he might have come back to his old ways and Sirius finds it more punishing than anything else.

“Mister Black, stay behind please.”

McGonagall coolly observes him as the whole class empties. Marlene shoots a look at Sirius, as well as Mary who seems sad and confused, but he keeps his eyes on their professor. No one dares to interrupt and he tries to ignore the light feeling of Remus needing to pass behind him as soon as the lesson has ended. They don’t talk. They don’t look at each other. Sirius feels like he doesn’t exist.

She closes the door with a gracious swish of her wand, eyes not leaving him, before turning to her desk and gestures at him to sit on the chair that she just transfigured for him. There is no other professor that he cares more for and Sirius opts to simply obey, too tired to even try to come up with a smart answer that might make her hold back a laugh.

“I have barely heard you over the last two weeks, which I find incredibly worrying considering what might be going through your mind,” she starts with an imperious eyebrow. “I would have expected one of your tricks again but it has come to my attention that you haven’t come back to the Gryffindor dormitory over these weeks.”

“This sounds like favouritism,” he softly fires back, watching the cup of biscuits near him on her desk. “I hope you’re paid enough Minnie if you look after everyone from Gryffindor like that.”

“I can assure you that I’m gratified enough. You also went from being a troublemaker to staying by yourself without coming back to your dormitory and friends. Where are you spending your nights, Mister Black?”

He bites back on a scowl. Marlene could have easily snitched, especially since he avoided her as much as he can since the last time they talked. She might talk to the Marauders about him or discover the truth and he doesn’t want that.

“Who lied to you? I can give them a word or two for lying to you, Minnie.”

She is thoroughly unimpressed. “The Fat Lady is convinced that you never entered the Gryffindor dorm over almost a month. Your group of misfits is also not up to its usual mischief and I admit I worry about you. Do you sleep at another dormitory?”

Sirius coughs in the crook of his elbow and he feels like he is suffocating. He is really yearning for the toilet in his magical room. “Is it important?” His voice croaks.

“The house-elves have also confirmed that you eat in the kitchen rather than in the Great Hall. You do know that there isn’t a difference in the food.”

“I just feel like being by myself.”

“Really?”

“Yes,” he quips back before shrinking in his seat at his insufferable tone. “Sorry…”

Thankfully, she doesn’t appear mad but she takes her time to think over her words. “Sirius, would you like to talk about it? You and your friends still haven’t talked. Is it because of what happened with Mister Snape? We are nearing October and it has been going on since the middle of September.”

Snivellus hasn’t told the truth to her, thankfully but it doesn’t mean he can’t spill it any time. The only thing she knows is that they pulled a prank over him, which Sirius admitted was his idea to clear everyone else, and it ended very dangerously with the Whomping Willow almost squishing Snivellus. He got kicked out of the Quidditch team and some detention with James and Peter as Madam Pomfrey cleared Remus by declaring he was bed-ridden.

There aren’t high hopes that Snivellus might not be a complete wanker to realise how disastrous it would be for Remus if he speaks. He is probably waiting on the right moment or black-mailing them— Sirius needs to figure a way to avoid that. It’s the least he can do.

“I don’t know where I’m sleeping,” he says, opting to direct the attention elsewhere.

McGonagall squints at him and picks one biscuit, silently offering it to him. He refuses.

“What do you mean?”

“A door appeared in one of the corridors, out of nowhere. Of course, I opened it and found a bedroom with a small bathroom.”

Her eyes slightly widen before smiling. “I see. It’s the Room of Requirement. I shouldn’t be surprised at this point.”

Sirius frowns curiously. “What? Do you know about it? I ever heard of it.”

“During my years as a student I stumbled upon it once, yes,” she says. “It’s on the seventh floor, isn’t it? It’s also called the Come and Go Room.”

“Seventh floor, yes,” he replies, surprised. “Is it some kind of Hogwarts’ legend I never heard of?”

None of the Marauders have ever referred to something like it and Remus has gone through several books about the castle to work on their map.

“Not quite. This room only appears to people who really need it. The seventh floor isn’t used much, even outside of classes, which is perhaps why it built itself there. Only people looking for something specific might wander there.”

Sirius’ interest sparks up. “You mean that the magic took life there? It’s incredible! I have seen it shifting before I even think about what I might want or need.”

“Such as?”

“Er, well,” he trails off because she certainly won’t be happy to know that most things he needed came from his own bed from the Gryffindor’s dorm that the Room brought back. “Like a mirror. Or a quill when I lost mine. Anyway, that’s incredible— the amount of magic behind it, becoming sentient and understanding us…”

“It is fascinating,” she agrees with a small kind smile on her face.

He feels himself blushing, not realising that he has been babblering. Magic fascinates him, especially ones that become somewhat alive - evolving into a proper nature by itself without any wizard influence.

“How come no one knows about it?” Even Regulus didn’t.

“Even if you know about this room and went looking for it, its appearance will rarely be for anyone’s amusement. It still needs a specific reason to make itself known.”

“How did you find it?”

Her lips twitch. “I have been going mad over a particular spell and I was looking somewhere to practise quietly. The Room offered me all kinds of target practices and some water when I felt thirsty. I tried to find it later out of curiosity but it never showed again.”

“Uh. Do you reckon it’s born from all the magic going around? All of it concentrated to one point, especially considering how many people’s magic interact-”

McGonagall indulges his theories and fascination, even offering some of her thoughts about how a room such as this one has come to exist and the chance for another to come to life. Sirius finds himself happy and cheery after this. It’s refreshing and his curiosity doesn’t quite settle down after understanding how incredible this room is. Does it have a true form? How far can it change depending on the person?

This is the kind of thing Unspeakables must work with: the raw and wild side of magic - what isn’t tamed and comes from nature and more. It’s what Sirius wants to work with and learn from. Being an Unspeakables is incredibly difficult and dangerous but there is nothing looking quite as satisfying as this. Though now he won’t even reach the end of his studies with all the flowers drowning him from the inside. Remus has told him he could become one, that he has all the skills for when he shared his fear and ambition, but now he lacks time. A few coughs escape him but he ignores her intense eyes.

“Please Sirius, take care of yourself,” McGonagall says after allowing him to go to his next class with a written excuse, “and try to talk to your band of misfits. Trying is often the best first step. And do not think I haven’t noticed your coughing, go check on it with Madam Pomfrey, it’s already been a while and you haven’t stopped.”

“I planned to go, thank you Minnie.”

Sirius has no chance if he goes to Madam Pomfrey to keep the flowers hidden. She will know and perhaps be understanding enough to not tell anyone about it but still, she might try to treat him and too many people will be brought into his business. This reminds him that the full moon is almost here - this year has a bad timing where one full moon happens during the fall break. There is also one in a few days and Sirius is torn apart by the desire to go or not. Remus and Moony are connected, despite what he might say, and their moods tangle together. Neither will be happy to see him.

After a rough coughing and a bouquet of flower floating down the toilet of the Room of Requirement, he wanders to the kitchen to grab something to eat even if the more he munches, swallows and drinks the sicker he feels. The flowers do not like it even though they shouldn’t be in his stomach in the first place. They might have already spread everywhere if he listens to his feelings, sometimes even believing that he can feel the vines digging through his limbs.

Regulus isn’t wrong. It does feel like he is already running out of time and the only few things he has stomached to read promised nothing better comes after. He tries to picture how he would react if someone he knows had the Hanahaki— he would do anything for any of the Marauders and the girls. As well as for Regulus. Sirius would go mad at the picture of seeing him slowly die. The flowers are pretty enough to hide the horror on the inside but they carry their own pain.

Will anyone recognize his corpse once he dies or will he become one with nature? The flowers were at first simple wolfsbanes but now some moonflowers have joined the show. They are all terribly accurate and Sirius has always felt quite obvious about his feelings for Remus but this is even worse. All their petals are pretty and soft to touch, but it might be the poison talking, and vanishing or incendioing them has started to become painful.

Even if they came up from his own inside, they all hold on to some of his blood as if to confirm y es we are from you and you aren’t different from us .

Sirius Black is a sad pathetic almost-a-man who is too selfish to be any good to anyone. He loves these flowers. They destroy a path within him to get out and isn’t that a pretty fight to watch? Sirius would like to think he is the one braving this suffocating mould, crushing weight, to find the same freedom as when he put a foot in the Hogwarts Express the first time.

He accepts the nuptial bond. No matter how crazy it is or the number of times he can see his parents proudly declaring their family motto: Toujours Pur. Always pure of shit for sure. Still, it’s worth getting more time for Regulus and Sirius is convinced that his brother will do far better by getting outside their cursed home - even if it’s through blackmailing himself.

Because Regulus is a year below, they don’t share classes and it’s rare that they cross paths between one. Sirius doesn’t have the map with him which means he can only try to track down Regulus by himself but he figures out he might try his luck in the Great Hall for an early dinner. Thankfully his brother is already eating at the Slytherin’s table with Emmeline Vance.

Their eyes meet. Sirius swallows, gnawing on his left cheek before nodding at him. Regulus pauses, slightly surprised perhaps to no one but him and Vance who glances curiously at their exchange. He returns the sign and focuses back on his meal.

Sirius could actually try his luck at the Gryffindor’s table, anyone outside of his old circle will let him sit down. The girls don’t seem to know what happened but they are without a doubt on Remus’ side, which he is thankful for because he doesn’t need to lose more trust, beside perhaps Marlene who won’t leave Sirius alone. Though she might be more worried about losing her hair-care partner rather than what’s going on.

McGonagall has spotted him and Sirius forces a charming smile as he slips in an isolated seat, clear of anyone, and ignores the slightly surprised look at his return from a few Gryffindor. He doesn’t manage to stomach much but McGonagall is keeping an eye on him. His body can’t handle staying much longer at this spot and jumping at every new face walking through the door but he picked up food here and there before quickly walking out of the Great Hall. Thankfully, he doesn’t cross anyone’s path from the Marauders or the girls as he quickly goes back to the Room of Requirement.

He is surprised when he can see the door forming some time after, quite quickly  after he came back actually. It always appears to him, like some kind of promise that he can get out at any moment, but if Sirius doesn’t wish to leave the room then it opens on the wall. Still, he hasn’t found any strange feeling or reason to mistrust the room over time.

Regulus and Evan Rosier come in, the latter with a bemused look as he takes in the room and the door. Sirius is curious to know whether any of his old friends would be allowed inside like Regulus seems to be. It’s only because he is here that Rosier could have come through.

“What is this place?”

“I don’t know,” Regulus answers, watching him observe the room. “It’s probably Godric trying to outdone Salazar because of the Chamber of the Secrets.”

“You found it?” Sirius asks curiously.

“Of course not. Have you tried to find it?”

“Obviously.”

Rosier eyes Sirius. His hair is still as ivory blond as ever and his shoulders are tall and set, almost calling for a fight, but he can easily see that it’s simply the natural stance of any Pureblood breed and trained for power.

“Are you really agreeing to Reg’s crazy idea?”

His brother glares at his friend. “It’s not.”

“It is,” Sirius agrees, “but I’m willing to try.”

Regulus observes him and hopefully can see everything behind his words. Rosier is really not someone he wants to reveal himself to. His father is clearly like their parents though whether he receives the same kind of treatment is a question but he must believe in this old Pureblood supremacy.

“What is your curse?” He asks, crossing his arms as his eyes curiously look at the comfy bedroom settled in there. “And what is this place?”

“It’s called the Room of Requirement.”

“The what?” Regulus frowns at him. “Did you name it?”

“No, though maybe Minnie did. She is the one who told me about it.”

“Really?” He is pleased by the surprise. “What did she say?”

Sirius eyes Rosier and finally leaves his bed to properly greet them. Another large seat appears next to the pair that have never left. He supposes that Rosier won’t be able to find the Room if he has bad intentions. Plus he really wants to believe in Regulus, as a proper brother, and sadly this means also his friends - a tiny bit, maybe. Even if Rosier had been one of these Pureblood children they met over these awful meetings during their childhood, always perfect and never too much flawless.

“They don’t know where it comes from, just that his room will appear and adapt to the person walking in to their desires but only when they greatly need it. It’s more a legend so that must be why it isn’t known.”

Rosier squints at him and examines the room another time. “Well, it’s impressive. What about my first question?”

“Evan,” Regulus warns with a seething glare as he walks to his usual seat.

Sirius really doesn’t feel like hosting Rosier but he forces himself to be friendly— only for his brother. A small table appears in front of him with a seat of teacups and a boiler which starts to gently fume.

“What? I’m only curious to what madness you are throwing yourself into,” he dryly comments and walks up to a seat with a perfect poise. “You don’t seem to realise what you’re asking for.”

“We already talked about it,” he hisses back and to Sirius’ surprise seems actually bothered by his friend’s questions. “Stop it.”

“I have the Hanahaki.”

Regulus gapes at Sirius before taking in Rosier’s shell-shocked look. He lost all his humour and teasing. All his decorum is swiped away, for once showing something akin to honesty. Sirius hopes it’s a good sign.

“The Hanahaki?” He parrots. “The flowers? You have that ?”

He scowls, unsure of what it means. Out of them two, Sirius is probably the one most in-touch with his feelings. Rosier grew up like any other Purebloods and his father has always seemed to only care about money - though perhaps his dead mother has influenced him in a good way. He doesn’t know the whole story about the Rosiers.

“Yes.”

Rosier frowns at him for a few seconds. “Is it Lu-”

“Don’t!” Regulus cuts but Sirius coughs up flowers anyway.

Our love! Sirius puts a hand over his chest with an angry hiss in his mind at how the flowers start to swoon as if they are the same. Regulus frowns worriedly at him.

“Well, it’s obvious, isn’t it?” He painfully articulates and Rosier is almost sorry by the look of it. “You don’t even know me but it’s obvious— do you see why I don’t want anyone to know? Anyone at Gryffindors will immediately put it together at the smallest doubt.”

Rosier nods and purses his lips. “How do you even hide it? If you were missing all the classes it would have been known by now.”

“I brewed a potion to hold them back,” he explains and sits down on the last seat available. “Air passes through, as much as it can since the flowers clog my lungs.”

“You didn’t tell me that,” Regulus complains with a glare. “It’s incredibly dangerous. What are the ingr-”

“I just need to empty my lungs once I get some free time and that’s all. And you are crazier than me, you want this to happen to you.”

“Only because it will actually help you! It won’t affect me in the same way.”

“You don’t know that Reggie.”

“Actually,” Rosier speaks up to Sirius’ annoyance. “I think Reg’s theory might be right. The Hanahaki needs feelings to live on but it doesn’t cause them, which means that it will grow with nothing to feed on. Hence not growing.”

“Exactly.”

“Still,” Sirius interrupts with a glare at them two. “You don’t know this exactly. The nuptial bonds are smart and made for this kind of tangled cursed fate.”

“Well if I end up to your point then we can break it,” Regulus offers. “If I cough full flowers, Evan will break it.”

“But what if you really catch it? You don’t know whether the flowers can latch onto some of your feelings.”

“It needs to be unrequited,” Rosier reminds and must feel like they are merely theorising because he is quickly abashed with a quick glance at Sirius before looking down. “Well in this case you don’t have the same feelings for— him .”

“Merlin, no.”

Sirius tries to swallow his coughs but it doesn’t properly work. Thankfully neither comment even if Rosier seems uncomfortable. Perhaps he is pitying him or actually thought it was a joke of some kind.

“Well, I’m willing to try,” Sirius mumbles just to soothe his brother’s prickly self because his face is still all crunched up.

Rosier eyes him. “Alright… I never casted one before but I was taught how to do it.”

“As long as we never speak about it.”

Regulus scoffs at Sirius. “Do you really think I want to share about this to anyone?”

“You’re literally the one who thought of that! How could you even think of that idea!”

“Because I tried to come up with a way to counter the curse! There are some curses countered with another and-”

“Alright, alright. Let’s do this,” Rosier offers with a polished smile. “Better not lose time, you can’t afford that.”

Sirius scowls. He can afford the time to beat him up if it’s needed but it will probably not please Regulus. The only thing that matters now is his brother. Efforts will be needed but he doesn’t want to lose a second with him. It feels like he reached some kind of heaven to finally be in close proximity to Regulus, especially considering that they have started to clear up things between them. The best thing he can do is to lead Regulus out of their cursed home to help him be the good man he actually is. Also he can’t die without hearing more about Reggie’s little crush from his first year— or maybe still is now.

They need to hold hands for the bond to be made, which is more than awkward, and he can’t decide which pair is sweatier than the other. Regulus’ eyes stay on Rosier and his wand work.

Sirius wants to take everything in: how his hands are slightly smaller but Regulus is still growing, how his skin is slightly paler because the only time he truly goes outside it’s for Quidditch. They are soft but cold and Sirius squeezes them within his. Their fingers are tangled, hands crossed as an infinity symbol and the more Rosier pronounces the incantation - the stronger is the shimmering strand curling around the fourth fingers of their left hands. It seals into almost invisible golden rings.

Rosier and him stare at Regulus but there doesn’t seem to be any reaction. Sirius is sure that the spell worked but he doesn’t feel anything different. He is about to offer the tea that the room brought for them when a rough wheeze slips past his brother’s nostrils.

Within a beat, his hands fought out of Sirius’ and are at his throat as he chokes. Sirius immediately leads him to the bathroom and shouts at Rosier to cancel this stupid bond but Regulus still tries to argue and shoots a furious glare at him before going over the toilet to gags out some petals. Rosier hovers anxiously but Sirius doesn’t let go of Regulus, hoping to soothe some of the pain by rubbing his back.

Just when he believes a few petals is all there is— after all, the Hanahaki can’t have latched right away, right? A whole moonflower falls down the toilet. Just one.

Regulus’ breathing is still a bit erratic and he spits several times after clearing his throat. Rosier stares at him, worried, with a glass of water in his hand. Sirius takes it when gestures at it and offers it to his brother. Sirius realises now that he has quite literally caged Regulus against the toilet and he gingerly leans back to leave him some space as he keeps his hands kneading his back.

“I’m alright,” Regulus articulates after emptying the glass.

“You need to break this off right now ,” Sirius hisses at Rosier. “You said it yourself-”

“No.”

“Shut it Reggie,” he hisses. “You are already coughing! So much about not being affected-”

“The bond replicates ,” he spits. “This means that I will still have some effects because you have them. I’m merely coughing what is already inside you right now. It will probably be only petals from now on.”

“This wasn’t part of the plan!”

“Do you see me coughing anything else?! The Hanahaki just realised there is another body now. And I said when I cough flowers , as in more than one.”

Sirius’ jaws are grinding. “I don’t like this.”

“You promised to try, Sirius. You promised.”

Rosier is clearly uncomfortable about it and Sirius sighs because he doubts that he will break the bond if Regulus doesn’t say so.

“Stay here tonight, I want to keep an eye on you.”

Regulus doesn’t disagree, thankfully as Sirius is in no shape to really argue. His brother tells Rosier that he can come up with an excuse for Crouch Jr., who has probably realised that he has been distracted by the rest of their friends to not notice them two missing - Sirius isn’t going to ask what it means.

They talk between themselves, which he wants to pry on but he doesn’t. Once Rosier leaves, with a surprising ‘I really hope it helps, Sirius’, there is an awkward silence. The Room doesn’t bring another bed into existence or a different side of space like the first time they came in here.

Sirius’ bed is larger than a simple one so they can easily fit in it together. He offers Regulus to shower first as he still needs to drop by the kitchen to have some dinner.

“Bring me back something please,” Regulus asks.

“Something sweet or salty?”

He pauses before closing the door of the bathroom. “Sweet.”

“Alright.”

It’s their last words for the night. Regulus goes through one of Sirius’ essays that he needs to hand out in two days while he eats several biscuits. When his brother coughs, they both freeze but they don’t point it out. Sirius does too but his are rawer. His brother might only have a sore throat if you didn’t know what they did. They must be quite the pair.

They lay without a word as they try to sleep. There is enough space just like he thought and Sirius hopes he doesn’t move too much during the night or have another awful dream. He likes to have his space, knowing well that it makes him sound like an arrogant child, but he enjoys being nested in some comfortable space without worrying about falling; though he could also just sleep on the floor if he has enough comfortable items, frankly he isn’t that picky. He coughs too hard to stay on his back so he turns on his side to let it out. Regulus reaches out. They fall asleep hugging and tucked against each other.

It has never been in their habits. The only comfort they would offer or take from each other at Grimmauld Place is when either was at the end of their parents’ wrath or boredom. Neither were really conscious or feeling it but it’s probably why they even dared to do it. Their parents never mentioned it or noticed it; a blessing.

Sirius feels like he is a complete fraud. Regulus cares and reaches out only because he is going to die. If he wasn’t cursed, they wouldn’t be in this situation. He doesn’t say it because he is selfish. This small slice of happiness is bitter but it’s the only thing holding him back from running as far away as possible and dying out of sight, out of mind.

Regulus doesn’t have another coughing fit, though it sounds like he has a persistent tickle in his throat, and Sirius only sees him whenever they cross paths or when he comes by to spend time with Sirius before curfew. Which is almost every day but he keeps his comments to himself.

What does really change is that Rosier, or his brother, really did spill about the Hanahaki to the rest of their little group. He can feel too many eyes watching him. Pandora, Regulus’ Ravenclaw friend and who might be the only one who can be all touchy-feelings with him, actually seems to be hunting Sirius down. He swears she wasn’t here one moment and the next, she is right here.

“Merlin’s-” His curse is held back and the arms tighten around him.

It feels like there is some kind of written rule somewhere that no one is allowed to swear in front of Pandora - like it’s some kind of unforgivable curse.

“Here you go,” Pandora chirps with a smile, letting him out of her intense hug.

Sirius is unsure on what to do to deal with her. She seems happy and not pitying, which is the best he can ask for. Except that she still literally jumped on him.

“Erm, hello?”

“I will see you later, Sirius,” she says and leaves with a merry step. “Your hair looks nice today!”

He doesn’t know if it’s a good or bad sign. It leaves him a bit puzzled but he has to go through potion class with a tense and silent James. If only he could just leave school but Regulus will definitely hunt him down - they might not be on the same magical thread but Sirius wouldn’t be surprised that he would use any means to drag him back here.

“How are you?”

Sirius startles at the new voice and glances at Dorcas Meadowes settling at the same table as him. She walked in with the rest of the class and usually Sirius would have come in later than before, but after getting jumped by Pandora he figured he needed to sit down and mull over everything where she couldn't catch him.

“What?”

James, with Peter and Remus, came in with the rest of their classmates and along with everyone they are watching the odd potion partners. Though Remus barely pays attention to them before walking to his usual table. Sirius quickly turns his back to them, trying to ignore the confusion in James’ eyes and the flowers crawling up at a worrying speed. Go see him!! Look at him. Moony Moony Moony MOONY-

“So it’s true,” Meadowes cuts and looks at him with no shame. “You’re coughing.”

Sirius tries to clear his airways because he can’t find words. His glare falls flat with how his eyes watered at the deluge in his lungs.

“What do you want?” He hisses with a burning throat.

“Sorry, do you want to keep your usual partner? I figured you would prefer someone who wants to talk to you.”

The only times Meadowes and him talked were to scream at each other in the middle of Quidditch. She was a mean chaser as in she doesn’t need a beater’s bat to be dangerous because she would ram into people just to steal the quaffle. Sirius admired that up until he broke his leg when they both went flying into one of the watching towers.

“What are you bloody doing?!”

Sirius’ eyes slightly widen at Marlene storming over here. She is definitely pissed about Meadowes giving him attention but by the quick glance, he can recognize some worries about him.

“We are getting ready for class, McKinnon, isn’t that obvious?” Meadowes replies with a know-it-all tone and the smile that sends Marlene’s blood into overspeed.

“Get out,” she warns.

“No.”

Marlene glances at Sirius, outraged, before glaring at her in fury. “ I am partnering with Sirius.”

Mary is waiting for Marlene at their usual table but she looks as surprised at the scene as everyone else in the room. She definitely rushed over without thinking. Meadowes has the decency to check on him before facing her again, lips turned into an insufferable smirk which causes Marlene to blush.

“I reckon you’re both still forbidden from partnering together since the incident in second year.”

Her eyes widen and Sirius also can’t believe that she remembers that. Marlene and him only partnered once for potion, James had been out sick that day, and she jumped on the chance before any Marauders could. People thought they were in love that time because he and Marlene spent a lot of time together, teasing and bickering with each other. Their only partnership for potion ended up with the cauldron exploding, digging into the ceiling to get stuck there, with the room evacuated because of the aggressive fume. Slughorn banned them from working together ever again and put a note about it to all professors.

“What do you think you’re doing?” Marlene curtly asks with her eyes only more scrunched up in frustration.

“I’m attending class, which you’re bothering by the way.”

“Everyone please go to our tables to get ready, we have a lot of work ahead!” Slughorn greets as he walks in. He pauses at his table, taking in who Sirius’ partner is and Marlene. “Well Miss McKinnon please get to your seat please, we need to start.”

“What?”

“Chop, chop.”

Sirius nods at her to go, offering a small smile that he hopes clears all her questions, and she does with a last icy glare at Meadowes. He notices that James had been left with no choice but to sit with Meadowes’ old partner, a shy dark-haired Slytherin. Regulus has mentioned that she has no friends in her year and Sirius doesn’t remember her being caught chatting or having fun with anyone in their shared classes. Her potion partner doesn’t seem to care about the change, even looking rather gratefully at James who greets her politely.

Slughorn starts his class immediately. Sirius’ focus drifts to Meadowes jotting down words before noticing the blush on her cheeks or the quick glance that she stops halfway towards Marlene’s table. He checks on it, taking in Marlene glaring at them and furiously whispering with Mary and Lily who leans away from her table to listen - not that Slughorn would care what she does since she is his favourite.

Meadowes look pretty happy and cheerful but tries to hold most of it back. Sirius can’t be imagining it, right? When she sat here, she seemed friendly but not overall happy up until Marlene rushed to their table to argue with her. He knows for a fact that Marlene gets off from the fights, the arguments, the insults and the slight mockeries. No matter how much she screams and promises vengeance, she always ends up somewhat complimenting and pining for Meadowes and Sirius can totally understand her point.

If he follows his instinct, he might almost believe that Meadowes is in the same situation and antagonise Marlene at every chance just to drink up all her attention and preen under it.

“Merlin’s pants.”

“What?”

Sirius glances at Meadowes, trying to hold back a smile that feels foreign - it’s been so long . He definitely needs to share this to Marlene. At least something good will come out of this weird pairing.

“Nothing,” he replies, “just realised how weird that we are— sitting here. Together.”

She frowns at him before softening with a courteous nod at the ingredients they need to prepare. “Well, I figured you need company… I noticed that something was going on with you.”

“Can’t lie but say that’s weird.”

She snorts. “Let’s say the contrast jumped into my face— plus I know Reg’ cares about you, even before he never talked about you if it’s not to complain.”

“He talks about me?”

Her shrug doesn’t hint at anything specific as she puts the first ingredient in their cauldron. “Insulted you. Now though it’s different, we had to pull the truth out of him if I’m honest but,” she trails off, checking over the heat, before looking at him. “He is getting sick over worrying about you. Actually it is now, ha! Isn’t that right? Weird kind of bonding if you ask me.”

Meadowes knows . All of them probably do but Sirius thought he would have more time. She stares at him, waiting on some kind of answer, but he can’t really think this through. He figured no one would care but then Regulus barreled in and requested to be in this mess. Now his friends? What even for? They can stay at his brother’s side and ignore Sirius; this would make sense.

“He is the one who forced me.”

“And I wasn’t invited to the wedding, very rude.”

Sirius barks out a short laugh before focusing down on their potion, feeling out of place.

“It wasn’t very pretty. We didn’t even get a cake, can you believe that?”

“Major faux-pas, you should divorce this selfish boy.”

“Regulus hid the papers before I could.”

Meadowes chuckles with no shame and shakes slightly her head. They work together with no hitch and even chat about the latest gossip, her current crochet project and Quidditch.

“We should fly sometimes. Me and Em’ try to fly every time we can, even just for fun. Sometimes Reg’ joins us,” she offers. “I know you got kicked out of the team, which is a shame by the way, but with your— condition you might not be able to later.”

Sirius decides to sidestep her last comment. “Em’ as in Emmeline Vance?”

“Yes, the fastest and most skilled flyer I have ever seen.”

He frowns at her. “I never saw her play Quidditch.”

“That’s because of her parents. It’s uncouth or whatever crap that a girl likes to cause some violence. She does everything to please but they still didn’t allow her to play the try-outs.”

The Vance family is without a surprise Pureblood, although a minor one, but he has heard that they worked hard to climb up the ranks. There are mostly good things about them which Sirius considers as bad since Purebloods’ traditions and culture is pure crap.

“But she is at Hogwarts, surely they can’t stop her.”

“I tried to convince her to try her luck many times, believe me. She is planning to wait until she gets out of school to do whatever she wants— that’s something. Anyway, she wouldn’t mind if you join us.”

Sirius is honestly surprised by all the sharing. He would have never pictured any of this, especially not at their first polite talk. Regulus didn’t even talk about his friends that much - though it’s probably because he is more worried about Sirius’ health.

“I will think about it, thanks.”

She smiles at him and he returns it. It must be weird for everyone else who observes them and Sirius can picture many eyes on them just for the fact they are polite and not at each other’s throats. Remus probably doesn’t care. Too fed up with him.

He coughs and Meadowes frowns at him but he signs that he is fine. Considering that it’s a full-moon tonight, Sirius is barely suffering compared to Remus.

Nothing has changed except that Regulus coughs here and there, throat gritting, and that a group of Slytherins have elected to come to his room as if they have always been friends. At first it’s strange and almost everyone is uncomfortable. Yet they still follow Regulus and have opted to be intensely friendly to him.

Sirius has taken the habit to play with the light to see the faint gold ring mirroring Regulus’. He doesn’t feel anything from it, thankfully the nuptial bond doesn’t include feelings, but he somehow likes the sight of it - of having Regulus near him one way or another. His brother notices this small habit and takes it badly by the glare he throws at him; Sirius naturally responds to the same tone by staring daggers right back at him and they both get lost into a competitive stare-down.

“Have you thought of killing him?”

Regulus’ focus snaps on Barty. Sirius needs another second before understanding what he just said. This one is the craziest out of the Slytherin’s bunch and for Merlin’s and Morgana’s lives, he can not understand whether he really is mad or plays the part to trick people.

“Barty,” Evan mutters but keeps his eyes on his book.

“I’m just wondering.”

Sirius swallows the tingling but the flowers push their way through. Bastard. Kill him. HIM. Barty looks at him and the petals with a fascinated glint even after he vanishes them.

“That’s a terrible idea,” Regulus replies.

“Did you really say that?” Sirius blurts out.

Barty barely blinks at Sirius’ glare and shrugs. “I’m just curious if the curse would consider it unrequited.”

Dorcas kicks him off the couch, gift of the room, but he saves himself from the fall. None of them truly came upfront about Sirius’ situation but they don’t hide that they know it. It’s a strange mix.

“It would,” Regulus quietly answers, returning back to his book.

“Barty, can you imagine yourself if the love of your life was dead?” Pandora wonders, playing with her wand as she throws random ingredients into her cauldron.

The Room of Requirement has accepted them only when Regulus walked first but now most of them have managed to come in how they want. Sirius is unsure if he has made the decision of letting them in without realising it or if the Room thought it was what he needed. They are alright but still, they aren’t his friends.

“Oh.”

He glances at Barty who seems immensely troubled and furious at the ceiling. Pandora stares at him with a small smile and Evan turns his back to them all on his seat to continue his book. Emmeline is innocently observing, though something must be going on behind her Pureblood made mask. She has a softness compared to what Sirius used to wear, or Regulus, and Evan’s own facade is full of arrogance and a fake camaraderie to throw people off. He is curious on how her house life must be but they have barely spoken outside their shared interest in painting and drawing.

“Do not talk about it,” Regulus reminds, sitting against the headboard on the bed, facing Sirius who is spread half-way at the end of it.

He closes his eyes. Barty first told Sirius, without even a hello or anything, that it’s a ridiculous way to die. He told - almost sermoned Sirius - that love should have made him stronger if he was smarter. Evan had immediately kicked him in the back of his knees and Dorcas declared he is forbidden from getting desserts for a week. Emmeline kindly told Sirius that Barty struggles to see others’ logic and this might more than often come off as rude but there are genuine questions, sometimes. Sirius still called him a bloody wanker and hexed his nose to sprout curly hair as long as his chest. They made up over a game of chess where Barty asked him what is the craziest prank he ever thought of.

“Yes,” Emmeline says, probably to replace the silence. “It’s a good idea.”

Sirius is curious about what she is painting but doesn’t want to overstep. It’s a bit of a hidden pleasure because he feels a bit deranged that he still likes ancient paintings as they are used a lot by Purebloods. Lily introduced him to tattoos and this has been his focus - though his attempts at putting charms and magic into ink has been put off because of his current problem. It’s not related to any old traditions and this makes him feel better. Still, he is jealous of Emmeline, only a little bit.

“Sirius!”

“Uh, what?” He glances at Pandora in surprise.

“I have a wonderful idea,” she smiles, waving her hand to clear the fume of her potion. “We could help you make a list.”

“A list? What for?”

“At the orphanage, we used to write down things we would like to have, do and so on. The first thing I wrote was to have a twin, which they mocked me for, but I was right.”

Sirius frowns at her, checking on the others’ reactions. Evan looks particularly troubled. To his surprise, he is actually kinder than he would have thought.

“What else did you write?”

“We do need to test you to check if you are a Seer,” Dorcas advises with a pointed look and Emmeline chuckles. “You can’t have predicted having a twin just like that. A twin , not a sibling.”

“You have a twin?” Sirius asks, flabbergasted

“Yes Evan of course.”

“What?”

“It’s a secret,” he replies with a shifty glance at him. “My father… Well Pandora is more stubborn it seems.”

“You and Pandora?” He repeats, turning to Regulus who mocks him with a raise of his eyebrow. “They are twins?”

“Really Sirius, it’s obvious.”

“I knew it the moment we waited for the Sorting,” Barty preens.

“You. Shut up.”

“Make me.”

“I will,” Meadowes warns, who doesn’t appear to have any patience whenever Barty and Evan get in their regular rows.

“Wait, wait— Pandora is a Rosier too? How come no one talked about it? That’s a huge deal.”

Evan sighs and closes his book. “My father only wanted one heir or at least he only wanted boys. Our mother died not long after giving birth so he was free to put Panda elsewhere.”

“You can call me Panda too Sirius,” she comments with a smile at his incredulous look. “I don’t want the family name though. I just wanted to find my twin and I got lucky.”

“She is a monster,” Regulus mutters behind Sirius who discreetly glances at him.

“You never told me about this. Do you still have that list?” Evan asks, sitting up in his seat as he looks at her.

“I remember it.”

“We can do the rest of it together,” he offers. “Maybe.”

“Oh, I would like to have a child.”

“Well not with me,” Evan dryly replies.

Barty barks a laugh. Emmeline joins and Dorcas smiles but keeps her eyes on her crochet. Regulus has a soft smile on his face and Sirius finds himself copying it without forcing himself.

“This list… Do you mean a bucket list?” His brother suddenly speaks up, eyes flying away from his book to look at her.

“Yes. I find it inspiring,” Pandora confirms and meets Sirius’ eyes. “Maybe it will help you too. Distract you.”

They don’t look at him but he doesn’t need that to feel that they are all waiting on his answer. Though Barty has no manners and stares at him openly like he is a curious puzzle.

“Of things I want to do before I die?” His voice sounds awfully flat.

“If,” Regulus hisses. “If you die…”

“You won’t die,” Pandora confirms and this weirdly feels like set in stone.

“Beat up my father,” Barty declares. “That’s what I need to do before I die.”

Sirius is out of their stories but it has been quite easy to put their dynamics together. Barty hates his father to no end, though it’s the same for almost all of them except for Dorcas. She acts a bit like the mature figure for them, not only because she is a year older than them like Sirius, but she isn’t too serious either - she really cares about them and more than often manages to know where it goes before they reach that point. Overall, they are all more or less broody but Pandora sweetens the deal with an endless positivity that can match with Barty’s— merry craziness . Emmeline is the most calm but she must enjoy the show because she never tries to stop them despite Dorcas calling her to do so; more than often she offers an input that only worsen their ideas and bickerings but without throwing herself on the stop.

He likes them to his surprise. Which is a relief as they are Regulus’ friends and he can almost consider them worthy enough to be around his little brother.

“There is nothing I really think of,” he says after thinking of Pandora’s idea. Maybe spend time with Marlene or if he is hopeful enough, to apologise and make up with Remus.

Regulus stares at him as he coughs and throws the couple of flowers on a bin next to the bed.

“Maybe travel? Over the break you should travel, go see everything that you can think of.”

“The North Pole!”

“Whatever for? Is there even something up there?” Dorcas asks Pandora.

“We will discover that.”

Sirius snorts. “That’s something.”

“Also hugs,” she says. “Tons of hugs. You need them.”

“Alright, alright.”

Pandora gives him daily hugs, at least five, and Sirius has stopped being surprised by them and to return them. It makes him think of James but he accepts them nevertheless. A lot of people have started to give them weird looks about it - especially since Pandora just walks, grabs him for long seconds, before walking away.

“From Reggie too.”

His brother doesn’t twitch but quickly glances away when Sirius looks at him. He has slept over two other times after the first one and they always wake up hugging. Whoever wakes up first always pets the other’s hair but they never speak about it. Sirius doubts Regulus would even be comfortable to talk about it.

“Your favourite meal,” Dorcas offers. “I would like to eat my favourite dishes all the time if I was in your spot.”

“That’s a good idea,” Sirius realises.

“Easy. Pasta with mushroom cream,” Regulus replies. “It’s your favourite.”

“Oh. Erm…”

He blinks at his brother. It’s such a distant memory that Sirius wouldn’t have thought about it. Digging through his memories has never been his strength, not that he tried much since it only gives him nightmares.

“Kreacher only prepared it once but you ate at least three full plates because you loved it so much. Then you threw up because of the amount you ate without barely breathing.”

Barty’s laugh is purely to mock him and Dorcas snorts with a bemused look at Sirius.

“I was 6.”

“It was really good,” Regulus admits. “Though we never had it again because of that.”

“That should be easy to make,” Evan muses.

“Maybe we could ask the elves.”

Sirius can’t help but show his surprise at how fast they follow this idea. He does remember the dish and it makes me hungry just thinking about it - even begging Kreacher several times to prepare it again but it never happened. Except that it’s not quite his favourite meal nowadays, close to, but it’s probably only because he never ate it again.

“It’s hum, well one of my favourites,” he mumbles out. Regulus’ eyes widen at him and he can read the uncomfortable betrayal before it’s covered up. Sirius bites his lips together but he doesn’t want to lie to him, not when they have made progress. “I would love to-”

“What is it then?”

He is surprised that his brother is taking this personally. His eyes are back on his book but completely cold and closed-off, like back at Grimmauld Place. Sirius notices that all his friends are quiet.

“Er, khichdi, maybe. But-”

“What is it?”

“Something that James’ mum cooked for us when I stayed there. She has her own recipe I think.”

Regulus doesn’t like the answer but he stays quiet, bringing the book closer to his face. Sirius hesitates to reach out. If he is honest it’s the first thing that jumped to his mind when Dorcas told her idea, but he doubts it will taste the same ever again. Effie won’t cook for Sirius anymore nor requests him to help around the kitchen but be kind and sweet. He has barely spent a week or two there if he counts all the days he went there, spread over all the summers since his first year. The curses for running away were always worth his time there even when James insisted he could just stay.

“The pasta sounds great.”

His brother stays quiet. Barty gets a kick before he can speak up, probably something unhelpful and only pissing off Regulus or Sirius or both.

“Well we can cook both,” Emmeline says. “It will be fun. And you can’t eat the same things over and over or it won’t stay your favourite dish by the time you are cured.”

“Great,” Regulus mutters.

“You should make that list Sirius,” Pandora insists, filling up several vials with what she concocted, “by the way I have these for you.”

She finishes cleaning her spot and everyone suddenly starts to take all their affairs. Barty’s stuff seems to be Evan by how he drifts to his side and bothers him by looking through his bag. He realises that curfew is in a few minutes and his focus shifts to Regulus. By his sullen look, he isn’t open to stay for the night.

“What are they?”

“To help the rash of the flowers. It worked on Reggie so I tried to make something stronger for you, it should also lull them to sleep but not affect you,” she explains as she lines them up on his night table. “It’s better than what you used, they won’t clog you. Though the effect should only last for a few hours…”

“No, no it’s great,” he quickly says. “Thank you. I will drink them for classes.”

She smiles, very pleased, and hugs him with a strong pat on his back. “Good night Sirius.”

Evan and Barty have already left, probably bickering, and Emmeline only finished now to tidy her painting and tools.

“Reggie,” Sirius calls when he catches his brother almost slipping out. “Stay.”

“What?” He scowls even though Sirius’s tone is perfectly friendly.

“Reggie, ne commence pas. Écoute-moi juste une minute.”

 Regulus rolls his eyes but stays, letting Pandora kiss his cheek before walking out with the other girls who wish them a good night. He squares his shoulders and throws a disdainful look at him.

“Well?”

“Don’t be mad at me.”

“I’m not.”

“Yes you are, you wanker,” Sirius says and brushes his hair with a hand before sighing. “Come on, you can’t be angry at me because I thought of another meal.”

“I don’t bloody care about that.”

“Then stay.”

Regulus scowls. “Why should I? Do you always need someone to put you to bed or something.”

“I want you to stay with me,” Sirius insists, “please. And you only shut your big mouth when you sleep.”

“Trust me I won’t open it again.”

“Reggie. S’il-te-plaît…”

His brother is surprised at his tone and shifts on his feet as his eyes shift to the floor but Sirius won’t let him go. They are talking, looking at each other, sharing and living - it should be enough but he is selfish.

“I’m not mad at you,” he says.

“Really?”

“Yes,” he articulates and whatever he wants to add is held back.

Sirius softly smiles. “First thing on my list is having sleepovers with you.”

Regulus blushes and slightly kicks his legs as he finally leaves the door to put his bag down. “It’s a stupid one.”

“You can’t judge my list.”

“Yes I can.”

“I want sixteen years worth of sleepovers.”

“That’s impossible.”

“It will be if you get your arse over here,” he replies with a cocky smile as he jumps back on his bed. “Come on. We can’t talk when all your friends keep babbling.”

“You babble as much as them.”

“But what I say is always relevant.”

Regulus finally relaxes, shaking his head at him, and even sheds off his cloak to join him, tucking his legs under himself as he accioes his book over.

“You ate today, have you?”

“Yes, yes,” he groans out. “Geez.”

“I need to check because you’re a stupid prick who needs someone to sleep.”

“You’re mean.”

“Thank you. And you smell so go take a shower.”

Sirius tuts and kicks his shin. Regulus only smiles which makes him grin too. He shifts on his stomach to face him properly.

“When you talked about Pandora being a nobody by our rules,” he starts, “did you mean about this crazy story that she is a Rosier?”

“Yes… Evan did a test to be sure they are related but they keep it to themselves in case their father— well, is a Pureblood.”

“So it’s your little group’s secret?”

Regulus frowns at him. “Yes and you better keep it to yourself.”

“Hey, come on. I like Pandora, I wouldn’t do that to her,” he promises. “I’m still surprised, that’s all.”

“You better.”

His attention stays on his book and Sirius watches him with a small smile before sitting with his legs crossed. He can still see the look on his brother’s face when he corrected him on his favourite meal. Perhaps he should have let him believe that.

It’s difficult. They keep trying though. Sirius would rather know all the truths about Regulus, even if it isn’t what he expected, and he hopes it’s the same for him too.

“Do you want to know my biggest secret?” Sirius whispers with a rising excitement.

Regulus turns a page without looking up. “Anyone knows you’re bent, it’s not so much of a secret. I’m pretty sure some girls are actually into that.”

“You’re so bloody rude Reggie.”

He snorts and glances at him, pausing there. “What? This isn’t it?”

“Nope. But this one you can’t tell your friends about.”

Regulus frowns, only as a manner of thinking and nothing else, before closing his book. He never uses a bookmark.

“I didn’t want them to know— but Barty saw me coughing and he has the bad habit of being here at the right moment,” he explains. “Plus Pandora stared at me and I’m sure she knew but didn’t say so.”

“This one might really be a Seer.”

Regulus nods with a small chuckle. “She must be, yes. So? What’s your secret?”

Sirius spreads his legs. “You promise me you won’t tell anyone? And I really mean it.”

“Yes,” he replies rather mockingly.

“And you need to not let your brain go off.”

“What?” Regulus frowns. “What do you mean?”

“I know you’re brilliant and you might— you might put everything together but you really need to not do it,” Sirius explains and purses his lips.

His brother puts his book on his now night table with a serious look. “Is it about what happened with your friends?”

“You can’t ask questions.”

“Are you serious?”

“Always am-”

“Stop with that joke.”

“Can I just tell you my secret without you starting to pick a fight or always to figure everything out?” Sirius exclaims with a pissed look.

Regulus crosses his arms with his jaw jumping once. “Fine. But just so you know, I’m not always-”

Sirius shifts into Padfoot and this effectively shuts his brother’s mouth. His tail wags by itself before slowing down to a stop as Regulus’ face is completely devoid of any reaction.

He has wondered about telling him that he is an Animagus but he has decided that he is trust-worthy, especially after the last days. Contrary to what he thought, his brother needs a minute before finally reacting with his eyes wide and full of wonder.

“Sirius?”

Padfoot offers a quiet bark before crawling closer to lean against him. He is taller than him considering he is sitting on the bed they are both on. Regulus carefully places his hands on him, first petting his side and back before softly grabbing his face to look straight at him.

“Merlin, are you unregistered?” He asks and chuckles when he is pushed down for Padfoot to rub his face over his. “Urgh, of course you’re stinky.”

Sirius shifts back. “Hey, I’m perfectly clean and I know for a fact I smell great.”

Regulus shakes his head as he fights a small laugh. “Since when are you an animagus?”

“Third year,” he replies before noticing the slight frown on his face. “Don’t think too much about it.”

“Alright, fine,” he mumbles. “Was it difficult?”

“Some ingredients were tricky to get but nothing was impossible. Did you expect that?”

Regulus shakes his head and lays down with his eyes still on him. “No. I never even thought about this.”

“Well, it’s great! It’s worth the torture of keeping that mandrake leaf in your mouth for a month.”

Sirius wouldn’t be surprised if his brother guesses that all the Marauders are animagis, minus one but this isn’t something he must know, and Regulus seems to be deep in his thoughts. It’s risky to tell him but his brother could have gotten rid of him a long time ago by now.

“Would— would you help me to become one?”

He blinks at him. “An animagus?” Regulus answers with a nod, keeping his eyes away from him. They both know that he could do it by himself without a problem so— asking Sirius to help, be here, for him to do it must mean something. “Of course I will help you Reggie. You will love it.”

Regulus gnaws on his smile but his eyes are grinning. Sirius doesn’t hide any of his joy - just the thought that he stayed at his request, that they haven’t stopped talking and now this?

Padfoot comes out right away, throwing all his weight onto Regulus and they scuffle a bit. He is pet and hugged, tail wagging without a break, and he could fall asleep like that. His brother sounds so happy and none of his laughs are held back even though he keeps his face against his fur.

“Oh,” Regulus lets out at some point, fingers softly exploring one of his paws. “This explains this awful nickname they keep calling you— Padfoot .”

With a huff, he licks his under-jaw to irk him off before snuggling his face against his neck. Regulus chuckles and holds him. They never had any animals at home and the dead ones looked freaky. He isn’t surprised that his brother actually loves them, though he is probably a bit more comfortable since Padfoot is still Sirius.

He almost fell asleep and probably would have if his ears weren’t so sensible. Regulus is sobbing against his furry neck and just tightens his arms around him when he tries to move. With this angle, he can’t do much.

“Stay.”

Padfoot stays, snuggles and laps at what he can to comfort his brother the best he can. They wake up in the same position, without getting under the blanket but the Room is kind enough to keep them warm. It’s always a bit weird to wake up in this form, the distance between the wizard and dog is further and thinner. Regulus is still sleeping as he tries to picture his chances if he runs away like this.

Hiding as Padfoot was actually a part of the plan but the flowers have not bothered him all night and he doubts that Remus hasn’t come to his mind at all. He is the most recurrent guest there. Perhaps staying as Padfoot will disconnect him completely and get rid of the Hanahaki.

Sirius is a bit on a high over the next day. They haven’t talked about the crying but they also didn’t fight or run away from each other. Today is a Quidditch day and breakfast has barely finished so people rushed to the field for the upcoming Gryffindor & Slytherin game. Regulus and Dorcas are playing, just like James and Marlene, which should be enough for him to go watch the game but he opted to stay behind. He wouldn’t know where to sit; Moony and Wormtail would properly cheer on Prongs. He still hopes that Gryffindor wins.

“Padfoot!”

He freezes on his spot before turning to find Peter quickly walking toward him. Not quite nervous but he is clearly unsure of what he is doing. His cheeks have red and gold paint and his scarf is in one hand while the other has a letter. Sirius swallows and looks around them. He must be on his way to the Quidditch pitch.

“Wormtail?”

He comes to a stop in front of him. By the slight widening of his eyes, he must realise that Sirius isn’t someone he should talk to at this point.

“Hey… Hey Pads,” he clears his throat and offers a small smile. “You— how are you?”

“Pete’, you should go watch the game.”

His fringe has gotten longer ever since he saw him but it suits him. It almost fully covers his frown.

“We miss you,” Peter declares. “Where are you staying? Sometimes we can’t find you on the map.”

Sirius shifts his jaw before opting to not get his hopes up. “I’m here, aren’t I? I’m in class.”

“Sirius…” He sighs and glances at the letter in hand. “Look, what happened is-”

“What do you want Peter?”

“We can’t talk to you if you don’t come back to the dorm-”

“I really don’t think M- Remus wants to talk to me.”

This seems to be the wrong thing to say but it’s the truth. Sirius hasn’t thought otherwise.

Peter clears his throat and stretches out the hand with the letter. “You received this but you aren’t in the Great Hall for breakfast anymore. I took it because the owl seemed desperate… and before anyone else saw it.”

He frowns at it but takes it. Without the Black’s family insignia it means at least it should be safe but he can’t think of who would write to him.

“Er, thanks I suppose.”

“Do you know who it is from?”

Sirius shakes his head. “No.”

Peter pities him with a look. “Listen-”

“Wormtail? We ne-”

MOONY!

The flowers stab him with no mercy, screaming in joy and agony as they climb up. Sirius almost falls but he only takes a step back at the sight of Remus who stopped at the corner when he saw them. He is beautiful, just like always, and a Gryffindor scarf is around his neck which shouldn’t be a mesmerising sight after six years but Sirius can’t help but stare and wish to be tangled right there too.

Remus’ face is set in stone once he takes the whole scene in and the flowers lose their euphoria to go straight into a violent panic and fear.

He is mad! MAD AT US!

“Moony,” Peter realises, eyes quickly flying from one to the other.

BEG! Apologize— anything, please!

Sirius’ gaze is no help and only sweetens the lethal blow when they meet Remus’ amber, thunderous and noble , eyes. He flees. As much as he can through the faintness and the fighting bodies trying to crawl out of his throat. It feels like he is walking rather naturally, if not a bit rushed, but they can easily assume that he is a simple coward running away rather than choking around a sea of poisonous flowers.

GO BACK! TO MOONY!

He can’t breathe nor can see. There is nothing to save his fall and his body keeps breaking around waves of thorns, stems holding on to his guts, with flowers suffocating him in hatred with no mercy. His head thrums but the pain barely reaches him. There is nothing to feel and the relief is mute, completely false and poisonous, but he lets himself be swallowed with no fight.

His body is groggy and left with no strength but he can’t piece enough memories together to know where he is. A nausea rockets through his numbness and his eyes shut close at his attempt to see.

A cold touch helps him breathe. It brushes over his face another time and his eyes blink through the biting haze; Emmeline hovers with a frown until she meets his eyes and offers a slight smile.

“You’re alright,” she promises and her hand cautiously pets his forehead with a small wet towel.

Sirius is not alright despite the relief upon seeing her and the soft contact on his raw skin. He feels like he is bleeding. His throat feels clean which is an odd thought but it’s been a long time since nothing clogged it.

He tries to speak but his mouth gives up before the first sound. The ceiling has an accurate starry sky with a slight dome at the centre of glass. It can only be the Room of Requirement but Sirius has no recollection that he managed to walk far once he escaped Remus. Emmeline helps him sit up with a cautious hand on his shower and puts down the wet tissue to offer a glass of water.

“What—” He articulates after drinking but he still needs to clear his throat. “What happened?”

There is no one else beside them. Emmeline is sitting on a seat beside his bed and her bag lays beside her feet.

“I found you… Gagging,” she explains with a worried frown. “You were lying on the floor and barely breathing with flowers stuck in your mouth. I tried my best at extracting the flowers with Carpe Retractum and brought you here before anyone could find us.”

Sirius closes his eyes and drags his knees against his chest to rest his head. A cough climbs up which he tries to fight but chokes around a wolfsbane which falls on the bed.

“Thanks,” he whispers.

“It’s nothing,” she replies and shifts in her chair but doesn’t move closer. “Does it hurt somewhere?”

His answer is a weak shrug as his whole body throbs in pain and it feels like the flowers completely took control of him. He nails dig into his palms as he tries to wrest away the clear memory of Remus walking on Peter and him. His breathing grows erratic but is cut short by Emmeline softly tugging on one of his arms to force him to look at her.

“Do you want to see one of my paintings?” She blurts out with a slightly panicked look.

Sirius blinks at her. He takes in what she said, how she found him, and his current predicament. She touches him like he might break.

“What?”

Her cheeks get an intense blush and she lets go of him with an embarrassed throaty noise. “I— sorry, I just thought I must distract you…”

His situation can only be caused by one person and she obviously knows it. This time Sirius swallows the cough and forces himself to smile.

“I would love to see a painting of yours.”

Strangely, Emmeline is slightly surprised and grins excitedly before taking her bag to open it. Sirius unclenches his fingers as she looks.

He almost died, didn’t he? A spot on his head toward the left aches and he cautiously touches it to be sure of the bump he pictures. He must have fallen against the floor or a wall, it’s only a vague feeling but he has the proof of it. Remus hasn’t even spoken to him and his eyes haven’t openly showed any emotions but the flowers were livid and crying for attention. Emmeline glances up from a notebook as he coughs. With his wand, he fills up his glass with water again and empties it.

“Who won the game?”

“It only started thirty minutes ago or so,” she says. “But I’m convinced Slytherin will win this time.”

Peter must have found him ten minutes before the game. The letter is on his night table, slightly crumpled from his own hand probably, but at least Emmeline noticed it and brought it too.

“I think you underestimate us,” he replies.

“No. You were a core to your team and without you Potter can’t do as many tricks as before. Both of you worked too well together and I doubt Gryffindor will manage this year because of the sudden change. Perhaps at the beginning of spring they might be up their game, considering whether you return or not.”

“I certainly won’t,” he mutters before frowning at her. “Why weren’t you there to watch the game then? You obviously are into it.”

Emmeline shrugs with a sad smile, glancing to her notebook’s page where she taps her wand on. “I grew tired of watching it, I suppose. It’s different when you know— the feelings when you’re up there.”

They have only flew twice together but Sirius has seen that Dorcas’ words are right: Emmeline is truly brilliant on a broom, especially if you consider that she probably taught herself during her free time - probably with Regulus and Dorcas’ help but it’s still not quite the same training as when you’re on a Quidditch team.

“You’re right,” he agrees. “You should try to join the team, really.”

“You’re too nice,” she insists. “And to be honest, I found you which is more important. Though I didn’t expect that.”

Sirius’ smile dims a bit but she doesn’t point it out. Instead she takes out a small picture from her notebook, revealed by a tap of her wand, and she stands up with a curious look around the room. Thankfully, an easel appeared beside her.

“Oh, thank you Room,” she says with an amused look around, placing her miniature painting on it. “It’s still weird to think we are in something as— conscious.”

“I wonder if it can get lonely,” Sirius comments and watches her charm her painting back to its right size. “You keep all of them in a notebook?”

“I do. I’m not— narcissist I believe but I enjoy looking at them from time to time and like this I don’t get frustrated.”

“It’s brilliant.”

Emmeline smiles and sits back on her seat to let him see her work with no distraction.

“It’s Regulus.”

Sirius is almost jealous. He loves classical paintings and arts, as posh as it makes him, but it brings too many memories of Grimmauld Place and the Purebloods’ nonsensical and ever-oppressing tradition and culture. She doesn’t seem to have any argument about it though and her painting shows her education clearly.

It’s a beautiful scene of a winter forest. Though contrary to what you might expect is the sight of the peaceful rain, drenching the white snow in various spots, and all the snow appears to have settled like a warm blanket a long time ago. It’s still full of colour with shades of greens and a contrast with a bluish sky peeking through the branches and the shadows of the infinite forest. There is a spot though, just hiding behind a group of trees of warm light as if a comfortable fire is running there, perhaps fresh, but it leads your eyes across the exploration of the forest.

“Wait, you said it’s Reggie?”

“I understand why it must be weird for me to say I painted it by looking at Regulus when it’s this,” she trails off.

“Well, it’s really pretty,” Sirius says and feels like he needs to be more convincing because it is an impressive painting. “We might just  go through it, just at the other side of a window.” She smiles, pleased, and he returns it. “I just expected a portrait and not a winter forest.”

“Can I tell you my thoughts?”

“Of course.”

“I paint the feeling I have whenever I think of Regulus, how I picture him,” Emmeline explains with a tender look at her work. “He appears like a cold person, only at first of course, but beyond this he is also— unexpected. There is something, you know that you’re not alone despite the first look, yet you won’t know what to expect.”

“I see it,” Sirius blurts out, voice drifting in awe as all the details jump to him. “The snow is perfectly still. The trees side each other without completely obscuring a path but not quite offering one either. It’s— really I’m speechless, it’s lovely. Is this why there is a fire running somewhere there? It doesn’t look wild to me.”

“It isn’t. Reg’ needs time before trusting but once you get through his… Prickliness and upfront coldness then you will find how funny he is or how much he cares despite everything.”

Sirius swallows. He is a part of this everything - the abuse, the competition, the dark arts and the unclear path of their lives with no idea of what freedom even is.

“You’re right,” he answers shallowly.

“The rain is the depth. Snow happens when it’s cold enough but it’s affected by a lot of elements, if it’s too bothered it won’t solidify enough and become rain,” she says with a thoughtful voice. “Reggie… He isn’t the same around everyone. No matter if he isn't a happy person as in he isn’t as loud and optimistic as some of your friends for example. I don’t see it as a flaw, if anything it makes him rather realistic. Too many people forget how rain is important and that we need it from time to time.”

He hasn’t never shared about his enjoyment of art, especially this kind. There is nothing extravagant but it’s realistic, embellished beauty, but one that screams some kind of superiority - money - status. Sirius had hated all the portraits from his family and worse was the experiment to sit still for the painter to work but the sole action of painting always interested him. Even though it felt too posh, arrogant, boring and expected.

Tattoos are fantastic and Sirius can’t get enough but it’s not quite the same. He tries to not stare at some of the paintings at Hogwarts but some of them look fantastic and if he is caught staring, he comes up with an excuse be it any of the Marauders or the girls. He is scared of what it means that he likes something brought up from his ill-advised childhood.

“You’re— talented,” he articulates as tears weigh him down. “Your mind is fantastic. I completely see what you mean. That’s… him. That’s Reggie.”

She is silently surprised. Sirius can’t look away from the painting but he can clearly feel her eyes onto him. Thankfully she stays quiet as he tries to digest everything. There seems to be years of turmoil, confusion and yearning that has never hit him until now. He wants to be the best brother to Regulus, learn what he likes or doesn’t enjoy - who is that person who caught his attention back in first year? Sirius wants him to know everything about himself too.

It doesn’t feel like it will ever be enough. Padfoot was revealed and yet there are so many things Sirius wants to tell him beyond that but he is so afraid that they are running on a flaming spark that will run out any time soon. He finds himself in the middle of frozen water. The ice feels strong underneath him but it shifts at his every whims and they have broken some part of it to reach each other. What if it goes too far? If neither can swim in this endless darkness where they can’t predict if they will ever continue to love each other inside and out?

How come it’s so hard to connect with someone you love?

“Would you mind if I paint you?”

Sirius turns to her, throat gasping around fresh tears, and her eyes brim with small tears but she holds herself strong. One of her hands reaches out to grab one and tightens it with a soft smile.

“Me?” He croaks out, quickly rubbing his eyes with his free hand. “Like you did for Reggie?”

“I painted all my friends, yes. But I always ask first.”

He doesn’t cry more but he gasps around mouthful of words that can’t decide in which order they must get out. It might mean that they are friends and somehow it isn’t as weird as he would have thought.

“Sure. I wish I could— Tattoos are what I like to do. But I still love art like yours but it feels wrong. Vile.”

“How so?” Emmeline is only curious by the look of it but it sadly isn’t helpful enough for him to feel confident.

“It’s… That’s what Pureblood does. They drape everything about them and always embellish the lie. All their paintings are about that. Family’s portrait? It’s not a family but the painter will make it appear like it and there is no other proof,” he articulates. “There is a set of rules. Superiority, power, control— be it by magic, money or image. All these paintings are made for this and I feel sick that I wish I could paint beautiful things like this because it will mean I’m using Pureblood's crap.”

She glances at her painting before smiling at him, her hand kindly squeezes his. “Do you find tattoos not beautiful?”

“No they are-”

“Art is used in many ways. I understand what you mean I believe— I paint like this because I like it but it’s my personal tutors who taught me and it’s only because my parents are Pureblood that I had this chance,” she replies. “I find the truth more interesting, as hurtful as it can be. It’s about who is behind the art that defines whether it’s a good one or not. You can use it to spread lies, cultivate Pureblood’s supremacy or— have fun. If you ever paint, it won’t be because you are a Pureblood but because you understand that it can be more than what we were brought to believe in. I paint for myself, not for my parents, or to show that I’m better than everyone else. I started a small secret group last year where we meet up to draw, paint, play music or sculpt and many have no basics but it doesn’t change their passion.”

Sirius blinks at her. He swallows and inhales. “You have a secret group?”

Emmeline blushes, shifting in her chair, before nodding. “It’s not quite a secret. A first year asked me about painting and before I realised it we started to use an empty classroom and more people came by. Dorcas comes to crochet and happens to be a model from time to time. We meet up two times per week… If you ever want to join. No one will care who you are and even less judge you.”

“Er, I do draft often, without realising but I’m not sure.”

“You’re a good person Sirius,” she declares. “Despite everything, I’m sure I barely know the surface of it but you managed to not become as twisted as your parents. I’m sure that if you ever paint, in any shape, it will be wonderful.”

Sirius can only nod, full of embarrassment and a broken satisfaction of all her compliments, but he doesn’t have the capacities to continue this current topic.

“Tattoos were— more common before and often used for magic. I’ve been trying to make something out of it.”

She smiles. “Do you want to show me some of it and your ideas?”

It’s a safe subject, one that he knows all the hidden nooks and every book about it. She quietly listens to all of it. Too many thoughts escape him but he barely realises any of it as she asks questions and whether she can see the one he has on him or not. He doesn’t see the time flying and soon enough dinner comes around.

As she expected, Slytherin won the Quidditch’s game but Regulus doesn’t come by - probably exhausted. It’s alright by Sirius who finds himself too sleepy to even move to grab something to eat. Emmeline left for dinner though she asked him if he still wanted company before.

The full envelope is still waiting for him and he finally opens it after taking a shower. It’s the full-moon tonight which he tries to ignore and thankfully this letter does the perfect job.

Chère Petite Terreur,

Sirius physically can not immediately read the rest of it— not with Dear Little Terror , which has always been the nickname Uncle Alphard used for him because of how many family dinners Sirius disrupted. It makes him happy despite the confusion and he forces himself to read the rest of it.

A pocket watch slipped out from the envelope with the letter, not ticking, but it's his uncle's and he remembers it because of the symbol of the hydra graved in the back of it and inside the pocket watch is an intricate drawing of a serpent circling the whole world. It turns out to be a Portkey that will be working on the Sunday when the Hogwarts Express will drop off students who want to go home for a week before Halloween. Most stay back for only one week but apparently Regulus planned it either way. For any other break their parents will expect them home.

His brother actually has a plan and apparently went ahead with it because their uncle said that he planned everything for them - even legal papers. Sirius reads the letter several times as he struggles to fully picture all of it. Alphard seems excited to have them over and care for them, mentioning how terrifying it must feel to them. They are brave, he says, to run away.

Alphard isn’t quite exiled from the family but he has a different living style than anyone else and he has been left out of most family reunions over time before completely disappearing for almost seven years or so. He is living in France now, in a quiet Muggle place, and the Portkey will bring them to the Portkey station in Paris where he will be waiting for them. They have the option to refuse his invitation. Regulus contacted him first - which Sirius would have never thought of and even less thought that his brother remembers him - and Alphard wanted to also tell Sirius personally on this run-away plan.

Regulus must have contacted him before he even offered the deal to Sirius– which is just so him that he isn’t surprised. His focus shifts to the clock, counting in how many minutes Remus will be walking to the Shrieking Shack with Pomfrey, before shaking his head and reading the letter another time with a hopeful smile.

There are big risks at running away to their uncle and it almost seems far more dangerous than going to the Potters like Sirius had planned. Alphard is like a ghost to them and he believes him when he has written that no one knows where he lives and that once Sirius and Regulus take the Portkey, all the papers to cut their parents’ control and to not have access to their Trace to find them through the Ministry. Their uncle will literally become their legal parent and has apparently planned it with Regulus’ help.

His brother is really a sneaky little liar but it only makes Sirius more proud.

He wants to write a reply right away but his body can’t relax. Despite everything, he can’t stay away. One might think the moon is also pulling Sirius but he knows it’s not true. It’s— Moony . Though this time the flowers are up and ready to make him squirm and he shifts into Padfoot the second he is out of the castle after checking that no one follows him. He hasn’t eaten anything for dinner because of the storm in his guts but he ignores the hunger.

It could be a very bad idea, the worst if the last full-moon hadn’t happened, but Sirius is possessed, running and covering in bushes once he can spot the Shrieking Shack. He is on time to watch Remus and Madam Pomfrey walking in the old house.

He realises as he waits for the rest of the night to unfold that the flowers are subdued when he is as Padfoot. He coughs up several petals but nothing more and the flowers have stopped singing to him. It’s still a bad idea and he doesn’t know what to expect. Moony can easily hate him as much as Remus does except that here they won’t talk and Sirius won’t be able to outrun him.

Once they all became animagis, they have never been separated over all the full-moons that happened during school. Sirius wouldn’t want to break a habit, just in case that Moony needs all of them then— well, Padfoot will be up and ready to join them again. Prongs and Wormtail are perfect to distract and play with Moony so they should be fine. Padfoot finds himself whining at the idea that he might be not needed.

Madam Pomfrey leaves the shack and he can picture James and Peter making their way over here. He could be by their side and he feels like he is - Remus’ cries of pain and the sickening crack of bones and flesh are right beside his ears. Except that he is outside, isolated from the bubble created inside the Shrieking Shack to mute the horror, while Prongs and Wormtail patiently wait for Moony.

Padfoot startles at the sudden crash into a wall. His eyes easily find the figure of a large werewolf barreling through the night like a terror. It’s a very bad moon then— Moony happens to be in a bad temper from time to time but he has never been this aggressive-looking. Prongs and Wormtail immediately run after him.

He has never truly been scared of Moony, if anything he is fascinated and he wishes he had hands sometimes to soothe and touch. It’s probably strange. A werewolf could easily tear him in pieces with minor efforts.

Padfoot needs a second before deciding to follow the Marauders as discreetly as possible. He only means to check on them and if his mistake broke everything they have built with Moony. The previous moon had been peculiar as Prongs and Padfoot kept ignoring each other without the usual cheeriness of running through the woods. Perhaps this is why Moony went off in a very bad mood this time.

His nose easily catches on where they went but he can’t manage to get a good view of them. It seems that Moony wants to run to the end of the earth and Wormtail must be clinging like crazy to Prongs’ coat as they rush through the dark woods. Hopefully Moony tires off soon. Padfoot is finally getting close because the smell intensifies and there are claws marks over some of the trees - one completely destroyed. He jumps on the broken trunk to have a better view. It’s his mistake that he only focuses on only worrying about their possible whereabouts.

A large shadow catches him with no mercy, bringing him down into the dead leaves as Padfoot squeals in surprise at the attack and weight keeping him pinned. Moony breathes right into his face, snarling and crowding his space. Padfoot reacts immediately, tail tucked between his legs and ears bowed as he tries to show that he is no danger to him. It’s the usual act but this time it isn’t enough.

Moony growls at him, paw still digging into him, as he rapidly huffs and smells him. It’s feverish and he can’t read Moony’s eyes if he keeps his gaze down to not challenge him. He hears Prongs stopping right beside them, at a respectful distance despite the anxious stompings, and Wormtail’s panicked squeak. Moony doesn’t give them any attention and Padfoot can’t even try to.

He has no idea what he is looking for. His smell is well-known, probably how Moony knew where to go to catch him, and yet he seems to be looking for something else. A plea cradled into a whine and a tentative wag of his tail finally shakes him off.

Padfoot doesn’t budge when Moony’s tongue splashes him. It’s not rare but still not a habit that Moony ever licks him. They are both canines so they have an easier time understanding each other, compared to Prongs and Wormtail, but Moony shows his affection with small nudges and head-butts. Licks are rare but currently he seems to be trying to groom Padfoot which is very unlikely.

Still, he doesn’t move a muscle and lets Moony decide on where it goes. At least he appears to be in a better mood, even slightly wiggling his butt as if he has a tail, and Prongs appear to have relaxed when he glances at him and Wormtail. Once he is happy with his treatment, Moony pushes Padfoot up to get him to move. He towers over him and keeps him crowded, dragging him back against him with a paw when Padfoot supposes that standing means they should start to walk. Moony keeps him like that for a few beats before letting go.

Wormtail is happy to see him and Prongs greets him with a graceful nose-to-nose contact. Padfoot is ecstatic and he gets lost into that feeling as they start to gallop through the forest. Moony is still in a weird mood and doesn’t let him get any real distance. He snarls and snaps his teeth as a warning, hurrying at his side or grabbing him and dragging him to his side. There is no complaint until Padfoot makes the mistake of not noticing Moony rushing for an unlucky rabbit that he slashes with one big paw.

Usually they manage to stop him from killing any wildlife, and eat them , but they must have been all distracted by Padfoot’s sudden appearance. Prongs immediately tries to push Moony away from the fresh flesh and gets a snarl for it as Moony brings the bleeding rabbit to Padfoot who has been barking in an attempt to distract him.

He doesn’t eat it despite the insistence as Moony even tears it in smaller pieces before nipping frustratingly at Padfoot without truly hurting. His hungry stomach has probably made a noise at some point because this never happened before. Thankfully, Moony lets it go and doesn’t eat the flesh himself.

The dawn comes far too quickly in Padfoot’ opinion and despite the pain starting, Moony whines more at Padfoot not entering the Shrieking Shack as it gets louder the more Prongs pushes him inside. Wormtail only follows when Padfoot jerks his head ahead to follow them. He doesn’t stay.

Remus rarely remembers much of the night outside of the pain so Sirius hopes that this time there isn't much that he can recall either. He only wanted to check on them, on Moony , and he doubts anything good will come of it. Though he can’t help but be happy about the affection thrown at him tonight, especially from Moony himself.

We need to stay! Sooth and nurse him! LOVE HIM.

The flowers are mad. Very much angry at him. Sirius shifts shortly once he is at the edge of the Forbidden Forest. His throat immediately clogs up before he can even properly feel back on his two feet and he almost falls to his knees because of the pressure screaming to get out.

He feels like his throat is bleeding and the flowers have more red hue than the purple and white of the petals. His mind has left somewhere after the second hurl before he can finally recall where he is. It has been more violent than ever and Sirius fears that it’s caused by his Animagus form, perhaps the flowers aren’t able to feed on his love in this form and it caused this violent shock.

“Pads!”

Sirius stands up the best he can, head turning to catch on James and Peter coming from the forest. He is sure they will notice the flowers and the blood he keeps tasting on his lips any moment. They hesitate though. James’ mouth works around unsaid words before closing and Sirius takes his chance to vanish the flowers and rush to the castle.

He doubts that Peter talked about the letter to any of them which is probably a good thing. The only thing left to say was more apologies that Sirius doubts will be any help. At least he eased Moony’s night, even if it might be the last one. Will James even reach out about their old plan for Sirius to come live at the Potters’? It doesn’t seem like it. Even if it happened, he won’t leave Regulus behind. Alphard is still a Black which will be easier to settle with the papers compared to the Potters. Sirius wants to try this with Regulus.

His brother needs to get out before it’s too late and his plan actually sounds great.

“Been on a night stroll?”

He startles and twists around to catch Barty coming out from behind a tapestry. The door of the Room of Requirement already appeared and he was just about to reach for it.

“Merlin’s pants,” he blurts out. “What are you doing here?”

Barty shrugs and walks up to him. “Breakfast won’t be ready until a moment so I walked around.”

Sirius eyes him before opening the door and closing it behind him. It’s still his exact room so Barty doesn’t seem to be looking for anything specific - otherwise it might have appeared.

“And you decided to come here?”

“Mmh,” he answers unhelpfully and clearly looks at him up and down before grinning with all his teeth. “Where were you?”

“I like to watch the sunrise,” he bites out gruffly and looks for his uniform for the day to change after a quick shower.

Barty doesn’t appear to see through his lie but he is clearly searching for something. He can’t see what even though they have become somewhat friends over the few times they hung out. Contrary to Pandora who is a loose card but still quite within reason, Barty is more keen on going to extreme means and Sirius is weirdly curious about his presence here. He is already in his uniform so he must not plan to come back to his dorm and he even drops down his bag on a chair.

Sirius can’t see why he would be looking for him alone and it’s definitely for school. Barty doesn’t seem to be doing any of his homeworks if Evan doesn’t tell him to do them.

“Is it on your list?”

“The list for what I want to die before I die?” Barty nods at his question. “No, not really.”

“Do you have sex on it?”

His eyes widen but Barty shows nothing; not one of embarrassment or amusement, even more terrifying is how intense he seems to be. Sirius swallows and tries to think through this logically despite how tired this day has been for him.

“You’re– you’re not saying what I think you are?”

Barty smiles and finally the familiar glint in his eyes rear itself to catch his attention. “I’ve been just thinking. You won’t be able to do anything once you are sicker and you’re already in bad shape, aren’t you?”

Emmeline certainly wouldn’t have told them what happened to Sirius during the Quidditch match? She can’t have and he is convinced after observing and listening to them that Barty is the type to play all his cards to see people panic. He certainly knows how to keep secrets and to manipulate but with his friends he doesn’t seem to play as much.

“Thinking about me, were you?” Sirius snarks back with a biting smile on his face.

“Your fate gives me a lot of perspective,” he admits, voice dropping to something more serious. “And I wouldn’t want to die without having one last great sex if I’m honest. I figured it would be a waste for you too.”

“A waste?” He can’t help but laugh. “You’re– I can’t say mad because I see your point but still a bit.”

Barty grins and steps closer with a sweep of his tongue over his lips. “Your first choice isn’t possible, is it? And I doubt you will not cough flowers so whoever you might do it with needs to keep the secret.”

Sirius’ heart hammers. It has to be because of the exhaustion and the rush of the day; nothing about one of his brother’s friends proposing to him with no shame and with eyes clearly begging to see what’s under his clothes. He doesn’t push Barty away, even when they are nose to nose.

“You don’t have a weird thing for Reggie, do you?” Sirius whispers. “Because that would really weird me out.”

Barty snickers and his smile is dangerous but quite pretty. Sirius tries to not think of a scar across slightly darker and more bitten lips but his chest thrums with coughs. A hand softly brushes over his arm and brushes the bottom of his jaw before twirling a strand of his long messy hair. The petals are swallowed.

“No. He is pretty but I would rather play with your hair,” he says with a playful tone.

It’s a horrible idea. Clearly. Barty is nothing like Remus, he won’t manage to shut Sirius’ mouth with a witty retort because only Moony can make his knees wobble and his body desperate to dig a way through his warm skin to live beside his heart forever and ever– but Sirius will never get that.

“I will cough,” he warns. “Tons of flowers and blood maybe.”

“Doesn’t make it less beautiful and it will only get worse if there is no cure,” Barty replies and his free hand takes out a vial from his pocket. “But– I have this.”

Sirius frowns. “What is it?”

“Polyjuice potion. Of the one and only person killing you.”

The flowers hurl and scream in indignation. They will never be fooled and Sirius sees red, grabbing it.

“You’re kidding.”

“I wondered if it might help so I made it in s-”

“Is it the only one?” Sirius snarls with his fingers trembling with a raging strength around it. “Crouch. Tell me you didn’t make a bunch of potions over Remus or I will kill you.”

Barty stares at him and starts to look doubtful, almost sorry. “It’s the only one. But think about it, maybe it will work.”

The potion is thrown into the fireplace with no other question. Sirius keeps a hand over his mouth as he tries to calm himself down. Remus can not know about it. It’s insane that Barty even managed to brew this, a successful one probably, and Sirius feels guilty that it only happened because of him .

“We won't talk about this ever again.”

He is a desperate soul. There have been thorough make-outs with a few girls and even a boy but nothing more than touches and tongues. Sirius wants to live in a lie and the more he thinks about it, the higher on his list is an embrace no matter who it might be. He won’t cheat on this though, not when he destroyed everything that he had with Remus be it only friendship or not.

It doesn’t mean that he won’t picture Remus. Nor that he won’t cry along with all the flowers. Barty thankfully doesn’t mind any of it.

[voxofthevoid]

The last* of the Vore Wednesday snippets. With a shocking lack of both incest and vore, for a change. It's more of a post-coital, pre-vore conversation.

CWs: teacher-student relationship, implied underage sex, general angst

* WIP Wednesdays will continue; I'm just done writing this fic.

These beds really aren’t big enough for two people.

Yuuji doesn’t mind, least of all when Gojou presses closer, practically folding Yuuji into him. Arms wind around his chest and waist, and legs tangle with his own. A face rubs against his hair before pushing boldly into the back of his neck, like a great, hungry cat grown sweet and needy.

Or maybe Yuuji’s just projecting.

“My little beast,” Gojou murmurs.

Yuuji closes his eyes.

For a long time, all he can hear is his own heart.

But it’s Gojou he’s feeling—the heat of his body, the warmth of his breath, the bone-deep thrum of his sheer presence. Sleep tugs at Yuuji’s eyes, weighs down his limbs. No, not sleep, not quite. Some strange blend of exhaustion and relief. Gojou’s here, guarding Yuuji’s back. He can rest.

He doesn’t, though.

He pries open heavy lids, blinking blankly at the opposite wall before staring down at the arms wrapped around him. One palm is cupping his pectoral, and the other’s splayed limply over his stomach. They’re big, covering so much of Yuuji. He wouldn’t mind shrinking down into nothing if it means being nestled between these strong, warm hands.

Yuuji covers the one on his chest with his own hand, the one with all fingers intact. He didn’t care before—he was too distracted to care—but now, the thought of touching Gojou with that scarred nub is daunting. It’s still screaming, the shape of Fushiguro’s name writhing in the empty space.

“I can hear you thinking.”

Yuuji doesn’t start by some miracle, but his breath burns on the way to his lungs. He grips Gojou’s hand a little tighter, and it, in turn, digs harder into the meat of his muscles. Gojou’s arms flex around him, pulling him impossibly closer.

“You’re not usually this…cuddly,” Yuuji says.

“I’ve cuddled you plenty,” Gojou retorts, sounding more amused than offended.

“Not like this,” Yuuji says quietly.

“You always pick the worst times to be observant, Yuuji.” A huff of breath against his nape, and then there’s a chin digging into his shoulder, a cheek brushing his ear. “Is it so strange that I want to touch you after all this time?”

Do you want to know a secret?

“How long was it?” Yuuji ventures, and it’s a struggle not to trip over the words. “In the Prison Realm, how long were you…?”

“Long enough to wonder.”

“Wonder what?”

He can hear Gojou’s smile, that empty little thing Yuuji hates, when he says, “Many things.”

Yuuji closes his eyes with a sigh. He should’ve known better. It’s hardly the first time Gojou’s answered his questions with answers that were questions in their own right. Sheer habit tells Yuuji to just let it go. He’s never liked pushing. And Gojou’s not the type you can drag kicking and screaming into clarity; that was Fushiguro.

That is Fushiguro.

But Yuuji has spent the last three weeks fielding lesson after lesson on other people’s mortality, and he’s found that they carve him deeper than the bland reality of his own.

He says, “I hope you’ll want to tell me some day, Gojou-sensei.”

Gojou goes very still. It’s only for a moment, but to Yuuji, pressed so close to every inch of that marble-carved body, it’s an eternity.

And then the tension drains out unceremoniously. Lips brush Yuuji’s cheek, the kiss shockingly sweet. It knocks the wind out of him, leaving him clutching at Gojou’s hands and gasping for air.

“Live,” says Gojou. “Live for a long time, till you find you can’t stand it, then keep on living anyway. And I’ll tell you everything. I’ll give you everything.”

It sinks like stone into Yuuji’s gut, every word a damnation.

“Gojou-sensei,” he chokes out, “you’re always so unfair.”

“Forgive me anyway,” Gojou tells him, more demand than plea.

[bokutoslittlebird]

Todoroki Enji + Incest

— featuring Todoroki Natsuo

Summary: With your parents finalized divorce, most of your family lives with your mom except you, who decided to stay with Enji. You tell them he’s changed and you enjoy staying with him, not letting them know you and daddy have a dark secret.

Warnings: female genitalia, mentions of “girl”, incest, [implied] consensual somnophilia, creampie, daddy kink, fingering, f. and m. oral receiving, a bit of praise, ddlg themes

“I’m just worried about you,”

“Natsuo-nii, I’m fine. I’m not in any danger,” you let out a small laugh as he huffs, hearing him sigh on the other side of the line. “I know you have your doubts, but daddy’s better now. He’s changed as a man,”

“That doesn’t mean he’s a better father. I know you say you’re fine but I can help but worry. It’s just how I am, okay?” Another sigh. “I’m worried about my baby sister, that’s all,”

“Baby sister? Natsuo, I’m an adult, you know? I can take care of myself just fine,” you take a glance at the clock on the microwave, eyes widening as you realize the time. “I have to go make dinner, we can talk later,”

“Okay, be safe,”

“I am,” you smile as you hang up. Natsuo has always been protective of you since you were young, being close in age only by a year. He was always the one who called you to make sure you were okay, as well. He really didn’t need to worry, though, since you enjoyed taking care of Enji. Enji would always come home around the same time, so you wanted to make sure dinner was hot and ready when he came back.

Once it was ready, though, you ended up waiting almost an hour before putting everything away, deciding to go to bed early. If he was too busy with hero work, he’d probably be home much later and would buy himself a small meal to keep him going. Stripping down to your underwear and putting on an old shirt of Enji’s, you crawl into bed and easily drift off to sleep, exhaustion washing over you.

You’re fast asleep when Enji comes back, who goes to straight to his room to discard of his hero suit, rolling his shoulders once free of the material. He didn’t expect you to go to bed, but he does expect to see you in the den, reading a book as you wait. When he finds your presence missing, no lights on except the one over the sink, he decides to check your bedroom.

Most of the bedrooms are empty, as they are the old ones of his other children. Yours is closest to his bedroom, next to where Fuyumi used to be. Without a light on, he has to enter the room and, using a small flame as a source of light, is able to discern your sleeping figure on the bed. Due to the warm temperatures, you only sleep half clothed and hardly with a blanket on, your body curled around one of your pillows as you sleep soundly. A gentle smile crosses his face as he hears the soft breathing, but it drops as he continues into the room. Coming closer to your form, he clicks on the lamp nearby as he sets it on the dim setting, dropping the flame as he sets himself on the bed behind you.

You don’t move as he brings his hand to your hips, large hand moving down your body and over your thigh, squeezing the flesh there. A soft noise leaves your lips as he brings his hand lower, however, pressing a finger against your clothed pussy, rubbing against the wetness it finds. A frown is on his lips as he presses into the wetness, before he’s moving your panties to the side, sliding two fingers in to find you absolutely dripping. Clicking his tongue, he removes his fingers from you as he adjusts himself between your legs.

With you still soundly asleep, he manages to strip you of your panties and hike your legs onto his shoulders. Asleep, but aware, you gasp as he brings his fingers to your cunt once more, his lips wrapping around your clit as he does. Using his tongue to lap up any extra juices, he keeps his lips to your skin while his fingers pump into you, pressing harshly against your walls. The lewd noises that come from each thrust has him sucking on you just a bit harder, his free hand moving to rub his cock through his boxers. Your hands twitch as your head lolls back and forth, moans and breathless pants coming from you as he continues to bring you closer to orgasm.

Removing his fingers entirely, he uses his hands to keep you nice and steady as he laps and sucks at your pussy. A swipe of his tongue has your eyes fluttering open, hands moving to dig themselves in his hair as you moan out his name, a question in sleepy voice. “Daddy?” He doesn’t answer you, just looking up from between your legs as your eyes are still recovering from sleepiness. Another harsh suck on your clit has your eyes shutting, a hand on your mouth as you try to hold back your scream of ecstasy. He doesn’t stop, continuing to help you ride out your orgasm as he flicks his tongue over your gushing hole. Eventually, though, he does set you down as you come down from the high, arm draped over your head as you do.

“You were a bad girl,” he says, breaking the silence. You immediately look at him, a frown on your face as you do. Shaking your head, he beats you to talking. “Couldn’t wait up for me and touching yourself? You know I don’t like it when you do that without me,”

“I didn’t touch myself, honestly,” you’re scrambling to get yourself sitting properly as you speak. “I got sleepy and went to bed thinking of you, but I never touched myself, daddy,”

“So you were just thinking of me? Couldn’t wait for me to get home?”

“Well, no, but I knew you’d end up waking me up when you did get home, so I didn’t worry about it. I’m sorry if I upset you, daddy,” you pout, fully on your knees as he leans on the bed. Close to your face, he analyses your sincerity. After a beat or two of silence, he sighs, moving back.

“You didn’t upset me, pretty girl,” the nickname has you perking up, a smile coming across your lips. “Just a bit hurt you went to bed without me. But now that you’re awake, I can properly put you to sleep,” he then motions with his finger for you to roll over. Obeying, you position yourself on all fours, feeling his hands run up your sides before moving to the front, grasping your breasts as you sigh at the feeling.

He moves himself close behind you, hard cock rubbing against you as he continues to massage and knead your breasts, lips on the back of your neck. Whining and moving yourself back only results in his touch stopping, so you try not to move too much as you feel one of his hands leave your chest, moving down to slide his cock between your folds, coating it in your juices. When he deems himself coated enough, he’s pushing his fat cock into you. It’s always big, easily splitting you in two as he easily glides in each time. Your cunt pulses around him, squeezing as he is able to bottom out, tip nudging against your cervix as he does.

Tired as he is, he doesn’t want to drag out anything and immediately gets to slamming his hips into you, your arms dropping your top half as you scream into the pillows. Fingers dig into them as his hands hold onto your hips, a bruising grip that has you biting on your lower lip. Muffled noises aren’t allowed, his arm circling around your throat to pull you up from the pillows as your hands go to scratch at it. “I don’t want you holding back,” he grunts, continuing his harsh pace as your eyes roll, cunt gushing around him as he does.

Keeping you on the stimulation path, he brings his other hand to your clit, rubbing it in circles as you moan, gritting your teeth after as drool begins to spill from your lips. Bringing his lips to your shoulder, he presses soft kisses that contrast his rough treatment, cock bumping your cervix as stars fill your vision. With him rubbing your clit and his cock rubbing against your sensitive walls, you’re soon creaming on his cock with a scream.

Continuing to drill into you through it, he drops your body back to the futon as he cages you in with his arms, driving himself towards his own end. He’s never far behind after you finish, his hot cum flooding your insides as you mewl at the feeling, fisting the pillows. A few more sharp, shallow thrusts until he’s pulling out of you, cum oozing out right after. It feels good, feeling it coating your folds and dripping onto the bed. When he moves away from you, though, you know you’re not done.

With the strength you have left, you make sure to properly position yourself in front of his cock, still hard as a rock. Even though he usually gives you a few loads before letting you go, he knows you’re exhausted. As a show of mercy, he only gave you one. Pressing your lips to his tip, you lick away your creamy goodness from him, rubbing the rest of his cock with your hand. Lapping and soft sucks around his head, you move down with your tongue as you look up at him, swallowing as much as you can of him. He’s big, much bigger when he’s in your mouth, but you always manage to please him despite only fitting half of him inside.

L

Using your tongue, you continue to clean up any drippings from you. Along the shaft, pressing open mouthed kisses to it, licking over his balls, gently sucking on them as he groans. It’s always nice to hear him make sounds of pleasure, the noise making your cunt clench as more of his cum oozes out of you. Lapping and sucking at his balls, you finally bring your lips and tongue back to his cock, cleaning up any excess spit and creamy cum, licking your lips as you do. With him mostly being clean, you wrap your lips around his head as your hand pumps his cock, feeling his hand come to the back of your head as he grips your hair. Another groan and a grunt and then you’re moaning as cum fills your mouth.

“Good girl, clean me up,” he groans, keeping his hand on your head as you make sure you clean up any extra cum from his cock. Satisfied, you give him a kiss on his tip and lick your lips, sitting back on your knees. He presses his lips to yours, rubbing your cheek with this thumb. “Goodnight,”

“Goodnight, daddy,” you wave to him, situating yourself back against the pillows. Under the cover, you rub your legs together as you smile, drifting back to sleep.

[nbrook29]

Kiss or Slap

Sander doesn’t remember when exactly their group made the riverside near the Scheldt their new hangout spot, but he couldn’t be more grateful for it as a cold breeze washes over his overheated body, providing a momentary relief against the scorching heat falling from the sky. It’s probably why the park is fuller than it usually is on Thursday afternoons, packed with people spread on their picnic blankets, searching for a bit of shadow under the big trees and desperately craving a bit of wind. 

It’s so hot he doesn’t even feel like sketching, preferring to just lie on the grass without moving a single muscle, and dying in peace. Even the enticing smell of cinnamon rolls that Noor brought with her isn’t enough for him to reach out and take one from the basket, the action requiring too much movement on his part.

“Guys, come on, we have to start or we’ll never get it done! Sander, get your lazy ass up.” He grunts when he feels Leon’s merciless fingers jabbing him in the ribs.

“Can’t we wait until it gets a little less hot?”

“No, cause that’s not happening in the nearest future and we need new content,” Nathan butts in, followed by Noor, which makes Sander officially outvoted. So he heaves a deep sigh, puts his shirt back on and ruffles his hair to make himself more presentable, rolling his eyes at Noor’s appreciative whistling.

“Someone’s gonna snatch himself a bunch of kisses today with that smoldering look,” she teases, pretending to give him a once over.

“Is that your way of telling me you want one for yourself, sweetheart?” He’s immensely proud of himself when her entire face scrunches up in disgust.

“Eww, no, feels like incest at this point.” Which is kinda true given the fact they’ve known each other since kindergarten and became best friends making sand castles. He fires an obnoxious wink at her, fully anticipating a shove which comes as expected within seconds, with Noor calling him a creep in between laughter.

“Who should we start with? Senne? Wanna go first?” Sander watches as Leon takes out his camera equipment and checks the settings as the rest collects their things.

“I guess, yeah. And then Nathan after me?”

“I’m not doing it, man, you know Britt, she’s gonna flip out.”

“Be a good reason to break up with her,” Sander mutters under his breath, not really feeling apologetic when Nathan shoots him a glare. It would be a long time coming, and honestly, Sander can’t wait for that moment to come. Just being in her presence gives him chills, she’s that much of a horrible person. A few years ago, he read something about alternate universes and sometimes when he looks at her he can’t help but think there’s a history there with the two of them, in a past life or something. At least it would explain that weird energy between them.

If it’s true, he feels very sorry for that Sander. 

He roots for him to run far away from said devil’s spawn.

“I can go next, I don’t have the ball and chain,” Noor says innocently, but she’s smirking over Nathan’s shoulder at Sander who pretends to high five her in their shared hatred for Britt.

“Yeah, us lonely birds will sacrifice ourselves and take the hit for the wellbeing of our channel,” Sander laments playfully, making Senne snort.

“Dude, you’re on your own by your own choice.”

“And pickiness. Don’t forget pickiness,” Noor adds smugly.

Sander huffs in protest. “I’m not picky! I just...” He cuts off because he’s not about to just explain it all now.

“Just what?”

“Specific about what I want.”

Brown curls, brown eyes, shortish, lean, pierced ear, cute giggle, elegant hands and a smile brighter than the sun. 

To be exact.

“Yeah. That’s picky.”

“Whatever,” he replies grumpily, and decides to ignore Noor’s knowing look. Sometimes he feels like she has a sixth sense and can read him like a book. Or she’s just less oblivious than the boys in their friend group. That’s a totally possible option too.

Thankfully, she doesn’t push him further (she’s awesome like that), though Sander has a feeling she’s gonna grill him later when they’re alone. For now, she checks her lipstick in her phone as they all briefly plan the video.

Not like there’s that much to plan; a few days ago, they decided to shoot a kiss or slap challenge for their YouTube channel because it had been wildly requested by their viewers.

Sander still doesn’t quite know how he became a part of a YouTube channel in the first place, always considering himself to be a bit more, well, sophisticated than that? But Leon was into it from the beginning and made them all participate in exchange for free beer, until one day one of their videos blew up.

If you can call getting 100k views on one video blowing up. 

Anyway, they got semi-popular amongst Flemish teens and even managed to snatch a sponsorship with Mentos (however small the offer was) that paid actual money. And he had just managed to move out of his family house so any money coming his way he welcomed with no questions asked. 

So they’ve kept shooting silly challenges slash anything else that’s a trend at a given time and have been able to cover their art supply needs with what little they earned. And, though Sander refused to admit it in the beginning, it’s actually kinda fun. It’s definitely better than his part time job at Pull&Bear where he has to deal with obnoxious customers on an almost daily basis.

They record a short introduction near the river, quickly going over the rules and explaining that the three of them will be competing in who gets more kisses versus slaps. 

“Hey, you know what, this is actually unfair cause you both can kiss anybody,” Senne points out all of a sudden, receiving four pairs of unimpressed glances.

“No one’s stopping you from getting kisses from boys too, dude,” Sander is quick to shut him up, shit-eating grin on his face as he gives him his first (light) slap to the cheek. 

They follow Senne around the park with a camera as he turns on his charm and smiles sweetly at the girls he chooses for the challenge, doing surprisingly well on the first few attempts. But when they venture deeper into the park and he tries his luck with college girls, he gets 5 slaps in the row to the rest of the group’s utter delight. In the end, his results are a blow to his pride and even Sander feels sorry for him, giving him a pat on the back while trying to hold his laughter in at Senne’s grumpy face.

Noor does much better, naturally, as her upbeat personality and a wide smile have always made boys and girls turn their heads. She gets a kiss after kiss, blush after blush, and two phone numbers in the process. Senne argues again that it’s unfair because no one’s gonna slap a girl anyway, but Leon just calls him a sore loser while Noor shamelessly flirts in French with another girl right in front of the camera.

Sander’s very proud.

Taking a quick sip of water, he gives Leon a thumbs up and starts his round, coming over to three blond girls chilling near the skateboarding ramps, trying very hard not to come off as creepy and clarifying the kiss part being only a cheek kiss. The girls erupt in giggles, but they all grant him a light kiss. One of them tries to flirt with him after, but he shoots her down before she can get too into it.

“Such a heartbreaker, you,” Noor coos at Sander’s pained face when they all walk away.

“That’s you, and you actually enjoy it,” he quips back, sticking his tongue at her.

“I do not, shut up!”

Fifteen minutes and fourteen kisses later he’s officially in the lead, sealing his victory with a kiss number fifteen he receives from a cute redhead. He’s gloating in Senne’s bemused face about nobody choosing to slap him when he stops in his tracks.

It’s the proof of his hopeless infatuation that he’d recognize that laugh everywhere.

He looks around for its source, but he comes up short. Then, his eyes focus on the skatepark area and his heart starts beating faster.

Because it feels like a sign. Like the universe is giving him a chance to finally do something. Make a move.

“Hey, can we shoot one more try?” He asks the guys, trying to sound casual while glancing furtively in the direction of brown curls.

“You’ve already won, but I guess?”

Nobody questions him about his reasons, they just follow him to the ramp.

And he’s so fucking nervous. 

It’s incredible, really, how he generally has no problems talking to people he’s interested in, conversation flowing without him even trying, gaining easy smiles and appreciative looks wherever he goes, some natural confidence to him. 

But that boy. That boy is something else.

He makes him question everything he says, makes his palms sweat and makes his deep hidden shyness come onto the surface.

Sander saw him for the first time during Open Day at the Academie in may, strolling casually through the hallway with his friend, completely oblivious to the turmoil he was causing to Sander’s heart.

That was the day Sander saw an angel. 

Fate placed him on his path again sooner than he could’ve hoped, the boy participating in a 2 week film course at his school only several days after he saw him for the first time. And he tried so hard to convince himself to talk to him over that time, but he only managed a few smiles while passing him by in the hallway. 

That and that one stupid joke he said to him while they were waiting in line at the cafeteria that makes him cringe in despair just thinking about it. Seriously, it’s like his entire cool evaporates when he’s near him.

But, the boy laughed at it. So maybe it wasn’t as horrible as Sander is making it to be. Or he was just being nice. 

Robbe. 

Robbe, who he’s been crushing on ever since that fateful day in may.

Robbe, who was at the same party he was last weekend.

Robbe, who he talked to at that party and managed to calm his nerves enough to be charming and funny.

Robbe, who giggled, blushed and bit his lip at Sander’s dumb jokes that evening.

Robbe, who slipped through his fingers because Sander blacked out soon after.

He almost never drinks, but that one night he did, celebrating the beginning of summer break, and not realizing his usual abstinence meant he was now officially a lightweight. What an awful timing.

Robbe doesn’t notice him right away, having his back turned to him while talking animatedly to his friends. Taking a deep breath and plastering a smile to his face to hide his nervousness, he approaches them.

“Hey guys, got a second?”

He notices the recognition in Robbe’s face right away, and Sander shoots him a quiet “hi” when his eyes meet his, an unsure smile blooming on his face.

“Hey, what’s up?” One of the boys nods at the camera.

“I’m Sander, and we’re shooting a video for our YouTube channel, the kiss or slap challenge,” he quickly explains, the boys’ faces lighting up.

“Hey, we have a channel too! I’m Moyo, this is Jens, Aaron, and Robbe.” Moyo reaches out to bump his fist with him and damn, Sander has to find that channel if Robbe is a part of it.

Jens levels him with a look. “So, you want us to kiss you or slap you?” 

“Pretty much, yeah?” Sander chuckles because he’s aware it’s ridiculous, but he’s a man on a mission here, give him a break.

“I think Robbe should represent all of us, don’t you think so?” Moyo proposes, tongue in his cheek as he checks with the rest of his friends. Sander catches the death glare Robbe sends the boy before looking back at him and crossing his arms, looking a bit out of place. And, fuck, the last thing Sander wants is to make him uncomfortable.

So he asks softly, “you’re in?” and waits for agonizing five seconds as Robbe watches him, eyes narrowed, before his features smooth out and he smiles at him.

“Sure, why not.”

Relieved, Sander lets out a chuckle and tries to keep his cool. “Okay then - kiss or slap?”

Robbe squints against the sun and makes him wait another few seconds before he answers, but Sander’s not worried because there’s a soft smile on his face and obviously his angel wouldn’t-

“Slap.”

Wait, what.

He can hear his friends bursting in laughter at this unexpected turn of events while Sander can only stare in shock because how could he miscalculate the situation this much?

Gulping, confused and heartbroken, he asks, “you’re sure?”, to which Robbe nods with a poorly hidden glee.

“But you have to close your eyes cause I can’t hit you while you're looking at me.”

Heaving a deep sigh and trying to save a face despite the humiliation flooding his body, he nods and closes his eyes, steeling himself for it.

But it never comes.

Suddenly, he feels a hand cupping his cheek and he flinches a little, but then soft lips touch his in a kiss so gentle he blinks his eyes open, not knowing what’s happening.

“That was payback for you promising to call me and not keeping your word,” Robbe whispers against his lips before leaning away, something sad and wistful passing through his face. Sander is left completely dumbfounded, ignoring the hollering from the two groups as his eyes fleet all over Robbe’s face.

It’s difficult for him to collect his thoughts because holy fuck, Robbe has just kissed him and he’s internally freaking out. He finally manages to get his bearings when the remnants of a smile slip off Robbe’s lips.

“I-, Robbe, you have no idea how much I wanted to call you, but I don’t have your number.”

“I gave it to you. At the party?” He doesn’t look like he believes a word Sander is saying.

“Um, I kinda blacked out and don’t remember much after like one-ish?”

“You saved it though, I saw you typing it in,” Robbe argues again, but this time he doesn’t look so sure. “Wait, what’s your number?”

Sander watches him entering digit after digit before hitting call. He fully expects a plain number to appear on his screen, eyes widening when he sees what pops up instead.

zk bambieys 🥺🦌👁️💘🧡💖💞 calling

“Fuck, you did give me your number.” He’s not fast enough to hide his screen from Robbe, but he can't even feel embarrassment once he notices the frown disappeared from his face.

“Bambi eyes?” There's a teasing note in his voice, but his pink cheeks sell him out.

Sander scratches his head. "I was very drunk, you can't hold it against me. Also, your eyes are really beautiful," he clarifies, winking when Robbe laughs at his shameless flirting. "Hey, I tried to find you on instagram, but nothing came up. I was really hoping we're gonna bump into each other again. Sorry for being a dumbass and not realizing I had your number this entire time?”

“It’s okay.” Robbe shoves his hand into the pockets of his jeans, swaying on his heels. Sander decides to put them both out of their misery and take the initiative.

“So if I asked you out, would you say yes?”

It looks like Robbe’s about to nod, but then he bites his lip, an almost cheeky smile directed at him. “I guess you have to call me to find out.” And then he gets on his skateboard and casually skates away to the nearest ramp, pulling a surprised laugh out of Sander.

If he was intrigued before, now he’s totally smitten with this wonder of a boy, because damn. 

Their friends finally seem to regain their voices and speak over each other at what just happened, but Sander doesn’t pay them any attention, just takes out his phone again and pressing the call button. 

Watching as Robbe comes to a full stop at the top of the ramp, he cocks his head with a grin and waits until he picks up.

“Hello?”

“Hey, it’s Sander.”

“Yeah, I can see that,” Robbe laughs into the speaker.

“Will you go out with me?”

He meets his eyes across the skatepark as Robbe makes him wait again.

Then, with a smile so radiant it overshadows the sun, the boy finally gives him his answer.

“Yes.”

[eirikaanemo]

The Candy House

Venti x GN!Reader

3k Words

Warnings: eviction, manipulation, servitude, minor character 'death', temporary blindness, kiss at the end

Notes: This is NOT incest. You and Venti are strangers and are not related at all.

Getting lost in the enchanted forest was easy. The fog covering the ground, the trees blocking out the light, and the original path taking so many twists and turns made sure of that. From the chill sinking into your bones you can tell that it’s getting late. Fear settles into your heart. Who knows what lurks in these woods? All you know is that of all those who have entered these woods, no one has ever come back out.

The rumors all tell of monsters and creatures roaming in the night, devouring any unfortunate creature they may find. You can only hope that they are wrong. Perhaps if you find some sort of shelter you can be hidden and make it through the night. Unfortunately you have not been able to find any sort of shelter, anything would do at this point. And yet it’s nowhere to be found and all that’s left to do is keep searching.

Then you see a light in the distance, illuminating the silhouette of a house. Speeding up, you change course to move towards it. The closer you get, the more details you are able to make out through the fog and the dark. And the closer you are, the odder it looks. It doesn’t seem to be made of brick or wood, or any other sort of building material you have seen.

As you get even closer you find that it’s kind of made of bricks, if giant chocolate covered raisins count as bricks and dried icing counts as mortar. The windows tint the light different colors as the light passes through the semi-transparent hard candy. The front door is made of chocolate and has a gumdrop handle. The roof is made of wafer shingles held together by layers of caramel. It looks delicious.

When you approach the door it opens to reveal an old woman. Her eyes are white and unseeing but hold an unsettling glint, though her smile assures you that you are welcome. “Oh you poor dear,” she says mournfully. “Out lost in the woods at night! You must be cold. Come in, come in and stay the night. Dinner is ready and I would love to have some company. Please do come and join me!”

The thought of food makes your stomach rumble. You haven’t eaten anything all day. This is like a dream come true, too wonderful to be real, and yet it is. “I would be happy to,” you tell her and follow her inside. Just like the outside of the house, everything is made of candy. Everything but dinner, that is, thankfully. The food is absolutely delicious and you enjoy every bite.

After you help clean up the dishes she leads you to the next room over. It’s small with meager furnishings which include a comfortable looking cot. “I’m sorry, I know it’s not much,” she apologizes. “Being out here in the woods means I so rarely get visitors.”

“It’s fine,” you reassure her. “This is much better than trying to find shelter out in the woods.” She nods her head emphatically. “Oh heavens yes,” she agrees. “You wouldn’t even survive a night out there! The locals aren’t fond of strangers wandering around their forest.” The thought causes a shiver to run down your spine as she wishes you goodnight and leaves you to your thoughts.

Sleep comes easily that night but the morning is much too early. You’re shaken awake by the old lady, more harshly than you would expect from what she was like the night before. When you open your eyes, sit up, and turn to look at her she even looks different from yesterday. Gone are the sweet, soft features of an old lady and instead are the haggard, worn, and wicked features of a dark witch.

“By partaking of my food and generosity, you have sold yourself into my service.” The witch informed you. “Now get out of bed, you have chores to do and have slept in far too late.” Your eyes go wide as you remember the basic rules you’ve always been taught for dealing with the magical. Do not eat. Do not sleep. Do not accept favors. Three of many, and you had broken them. She is right, and you have no one to blame but yourself.

For breakfast you are fed bread crusts and water. Then you start on your chores. Most of them are normal things: sweep the house, do the dishes, and dust dusty surfaces for example. Oddly enough, she prepares meals despite it being one of the more risky tds for her. Then again she does have a lot of experience so there might not be as much risk as you might originally think. And apparently she doesn’t usually eat either.

There are also a couple odd chores. The most odd one being: feed and fatten up ‘[her] next meal’. When you ask her how to complete that task she mutters about how she knew she was forgetting something and releases a spell hiding a large hanging birdcage in the corner of the room. A birdcage with someone in it. There is a pile of bones beneath the cage. Human bones. You’re sick to your stomach.

At some point the witch must have left, leaving just you and them in the room. As if sensing that she’d left, the figure cracks an eye open, sits up, and stretches, then sends you a bitter smile. “I guess we’re both stuck here,” they say. A he, you judge by the sound of his voice. “Yeah,” you mutter, equally bitterly. “Tricked me with dinner and a place to stay when I really should have known better. And I didn’t even realize how badly I messed up until this morning.”

He sighs. “I tried to warn you, but she put up a spell to hide me before she went to bring you in.” He sounds so defeated. You shrug. “Thank you for trying. Don’t blame yourself though. This really is my own fault. How did she catch you?”

“Much the same as you,” he admitted. “I was searching for a treasure I had lost and found out she had it, which was true. So I came to try and get it from her but she tricked me into eating and trapped me here. Now she’s just waiting until I’m fat enough to eat it appears. I guess we’re stuck here together for now. And after she eats me, you’re probably next if allowed.”

The two of you are silent for a minute as you ponder your imminent demise and his rhymes. “Well I feel kind of bad now that I know, but I’m supposed to give you this. It’s one of my chores so I have to do it.” You hand him his breakfast through the bars of his cage. It’s a much better breakfast than your own but he wrinkles his nose at it before giving in and eating it.

As he eats you continue with your chores. Most of them are in the same area he is so you’re easily able to take care of his breakfast dishes. The two of you end up chatting while you work. He introduces himself as Venti the bard and tells you stories about his travels all over Teyvat, often times in rhymes. When he isn’t telling stories he’s singing you songs while you work to distract you from the numerous aches and pains that you’ve developed from all the work you have been doing. In return, you tell him about how you ended up in the enchanted forest in the first place.

You explain how the village has become convinced that you were a witch, even your own family. They had cast you out and now you have nowhere else to go. It was hard to talk about but oddly enough you felt better after telling Venti about it. He didn’t judge you or pity you for it, there was just a serene sort of sympathy that helped you feel heard and validated. And since you don’t really talk to strangers about that sort of thing, the two of you decide that you are friends.

A couple days pass and you notice that the witch has been testing how fat he is by feeling his finger. And the fatter he is, the more he has eaten, the closer he is to being eaten himself. Every meal has to be finished, she knows otherwise and the consequences aren’t pretty. So far he certainly isn’t fat, but both of you know it’s only a matter of time.

Then you come up with a brilliant idea. “What if,” you whisper to him after she leaves the room after checking, “you have her check that bone instead of your finger when she next checks? Her eyesight is bad enough that she probably can’t see the difference and it will buy us time while we try to come up with an idea to escape.”

“That might just work!” He declares. “And that would be just the thing to wipe off her smirk. It should buy us the time as long as she doesn’t give it too much mind. Here’s hoping it works, because the alternative will be much worse.” You slowly nod your head, “At least it’s a start.” He smiles at replies, “And it’s truly is quite smart.”

You blush at the compliment and feel your heart flutter in your chest. As time has gone by you have found yourself falling for him. It’s not any one specific thing, but a combination of many things that make him who he is: his jokes, kindness, thoughtfulness, and trying to make the best of your situation, to name a few. And it doesn’t hurt that he’s so cute.

Thankfully, the trick does work to your delight and her frustration. She started making his meals larger, but he just shared with you instead of eating it all himself. After all, the food needs to be eaten. And you may have admitted to be surviving off of bread crusts at some point. “I can’t have you dying of hunger, we need to escape together after all. And besides, friends take care of each other.” He insisted.

You swear that you fall just a little further in love with him every day. Sometimes you catch yourself staring and have to look away quickly, hoping he didn’t notice. Part of you suspects he does notice judging by the blush that dusts his cheeks you spot before you manage to look away. But if he does notice he doesn’t say anything.

Things continue like this for over a month with the witch becoming more and more impatient as time goes on. The two of you have yet to have found a good plan of escape and can tell things are getting more and more risky as time goes on. And one day, the witch finally snaps, the weight of her hunger breaking through what patience and reason she had left.

“I’m tired to waiting!” She exclaims, stomping on the floor. “I’m so hungry that I’ll just eat him, skinny as he is. And you know what? I’ll eat you too! Heat up the oven already, it’s time for me to feast.” Her gaze is fastened on you as you shakily start putting firewood in the oven in jerky motions. Both of you have gone pale and Venti has gone eerily still in his cage.

All too soon a fire is roaring in the oven. “Now check the temperature,” she orders you with a wicked gleam in her eyes. Venti caught on immediately and started silently gesturing for you not to do it. With his warning you realized what was going on. “Um, how would I do that?” You inquire instead.

“I’ve never used your oven before because you always do all the cooking.” It’s technically true, but you have used similar ovens in the past and know exactly how dangerous checking the temperature could be in this situation. But if you manage to turn it around… well, that might just work.

The witch stomps over to the oven and demonstrates how to check the temperature, leaning towards the oven with her head nearly inside. Rushing up behind her, you push her in and latch the door. There’s silence, so you unlatch the door and peek inside to find a melting gummy bear instead of the witch. “She’s a melting gummy bear. She won’t be eating anyone anymore.” You reassure Venti, who takes a deep breath out in relief. Not wasting any time, you start searching around for the key to the cage and eventually find it in the drawer of her bedroom nightstand..

He cheers with a big grin on his face. “You did it! We’re saved!” Fumbling with the keys and with a couple failed attempts you were able to open the door to his cage and he lept out. “Now I just need to find my treasure! Could you help me find it?” He requested. “Sure,” you say, already starting to look through her kitchen drawers. “What does it look like?” He shrugs. “Oh, you’ll know it when you see it,” he mentions vaguely as he works his way through checking some of the smaller rooms in the house.

After a while of searching you reach into a vase filled with flowers made of spun sugar and pull something out. It appears to be a queen from a chess set with a glowing turquoise orb set in it. “Is this it?” You question loudly so he can hear you from where he’s searching at the other end of the house. Footsteps approach as he rushes to check and his face lights up as he sees it. “That’s it!” He crows as he takes it from your outstretched hand.

He holds it close to his chest and the room flashes with a bright turquoise light. Not expecting the light, it blinded you and you dropped to your knees with a cry. You cover your eyes with your hands belatedly and try desperately to blink the darkness from your vision. Distantly you can hear him curse as he realized his mistake.

“I’m so sorry,” he apologizes. You feel him gently peel your hands away from your eyes and replace them with his own. A cooling, numbing feeling soothes your eyes. He moves his hands to the sides of your face and runs his thumbs over your eyelids one more time before you dare to try and open them.

At first you’re surprised by your restored vision as you look down at your hands. But when you look up you’re surprised for a whole other reason. Venti still looks like Venti, except for where he doesn’t. There’s a lot more skin showing than there was before, revealing turquoise tattoos on his chest and leg as he crouches in front of you. He is dressed in an immaculate white and gold outfit with turquoise accents that almost seems to glow. But most of all, he has sprouted white wings from his back.

“Huh?” You utter, very articulately, mouth gaping. Rubbing your eyes again, you try to see if that will fix your vision. Nope, he’s still there. You can hardly believe your eyes. He lets out a laugh at your reaction and it sounds like the tinkling of bells. “Am I really so amazing that it’s left you speechless?” He teases. All you can do is nod slowly, which makes him frown.

“I’m still Venti, you know,” he tells you, trying to put you at ease. “Sure, I may be Barbatos too, but I’m still your friend. There is no need for such awe. Though I’m afraid to say that it does mean that I can’t stay. I need to return home. But before I go, I can grant you one wish as a reward for all of your help.”

You gaze at him silently for a couple minutes as he patiently waits for your response. “If you have to go, then I wish for you to take me with you,” you admit. He blinks, surprised. “I would love to, honestly, but you know that means you won’t be able to come back, right? And I’d have to change you. You wouldn’t be human anymore.” You smile and nod. “I’m certain, it’s not like I have anything left here to return to anyways.”

“So be it then,” he says with a grin before he leans it and presses a kiss to your forehead. Your whole body tingles as your features change. Your ears grow longer and narrow into points at the ends. Wings sprout from your back, tearing holes in the back of your shirt. Your height adjusts to make you within an inch or two of his height. Opening your eyes after the transformation, you spy the blush dusting his cheeks as he avoids eye contact with you.

“You missed,” you tease, leaning in closer to him. His blush grows as he looks back at you, gaze getting stuck on your lips as he gulps. You can feel your own cheeks warm at the thought of what must be going through his head. “May I kiss you?” You implore, moving your hands to rest on his knees. He nods his head shakily.

Reaching up to cup the back of his neck with both hands, you pull him down to you so your lips can reach his. The kiss is simple but lingers as you pull away. He pulls you back in before you get too far. The next kiss is more passionate than the first, with an edge of desperation.

Eventually he breaks away. “We’ll need to finish this later,” he hums, nuzzling his nose against yours. “But there will be plenty of time for this in the future. We have all the time in the world now. And I want to spend every second of it with you.”

[coldmilkcreamery]

memories.

𝗽𝗮𝗶𝗿𝗶𝗻𝗴: jung jaehyun x jung sungchan 💋

𝘄𝗼𝗿𝗱 𝗰𝗼𝘂𝗻𝘁: 2326

𝗱𝗲𝘀𝗰𝗿𝗶𝗽𝘁𝗶𝗼𝗻: jaehyun helps his little brother sungchan with his problem. 

𝘄𝗮𝗿𝗻𝗶𝗻𝗴/𝘀: 🔞 incest (is it still incest if they stepbrothers tho?), smut

𝘄𝗿𝗶𝘁𝘁𝗲𝗻 𝗯𝘆 🌙

𝗮/𝗻: this is both the longest AND the kinkiest thing i’ve ever wrote, please don’t unfollow us for this lmao 😭😭 also it's kind of a switch up !! it's the middle of out debut week so i wanted to switch it uh 😋😋

> 𝗺𝗮𝘀𝘁𝗲𝗿𝗹𝗶𝘀𝘁 <

  Sungchan stands by the foot of his older brother’s bed frame, tears threatening to spill out. “I- it-t h-hurts.” Sungchan says in between breaths, desperately trying his hardest not to break down in front of his older brother, one he’s always been looking up to. After his mom died when he was just 4, his father remarried a year later and he met his new hyung, Jaehyun. Jaehyun’s mother always said that he was always cold and unresponsive to her but things started changing when Sungchan came into the picture. That night, 13 years ago, Sungie went from being an only child to having his very own older brother to look up to. Despite not being blood brothers, their bond made anyone who didn't know them personally believe that they were. At times, Sungchan would end up at the foot of his hyung’s bed, scared half to death because of the nightmares he’s been having of his mom, and Jaehyun always ended up comforting and letting his younger brother sleep with him. This continued on until Sungie’s nightmares stopped when he was about 12. But here they were, 6 years later, with Sungchan standing at the foot of his bed, just as he would 6 years earlier. Red eyes, puffy cheeks and all.

  As Jaehyun is reminded of all of this, he is brought back to the present as Sungchan lets out a quiet sob, shivering as he can't handle the pain anymore. Jaehyun re-assesses the situation and finally questions, “What hurts Sungie?”, he asks as he reaches out to grab his little brother’s hand, pulling him closer to him. “I- it usually goes away on its own, b-”, Sungchan says in between sobs, now slowly removing the teddy bear from where he held it a minute ago, revealing his not-so-flat frontside, “but it’s been like t-that f-for three h-hours and it s-still won't go a-away.” Jaehyun quickly switches from his worried look to a quite embarrassed one in a matter of seconds. “I-”, he stops, thinking of what to say and how to rephrase what he was originally going to. Scratching the back of his head, he speaks up again, “Didn’t you just, I don’t know, think of rubbing one out?” Sungchan, much like his older brother, switched from a pained look to a confused one, but still kept his red eyes and puffy cheeks. “Huh?”

  And in that moment, Jaehyun realizes that his younger brother, one he grew up with, one he thought was as knowledgeable as he was, was in fact, innocent.

  “I d-don’t know what you're talking about hyung,” Sungchan speaks up, stuttering less, “like I said, I just wait for it to g-go away but tonight it just... won’t.” Jaehyun takes a deep breath and an even longer sigh, contemplating on whether or not to help his brother out, but decides on the former. “Have you ever heard of, man this is really awkward, masturbating? Or jerking off?” Jaehyun asks with a pained expression on his face, as if he was the one with a problem. “I heard Jeno and Jaemin hyung talking about it a bunch of times before but I never asked about it, why hyung?” Before Jaehyun gets the chance to reply, Sungchan breaks the silence once again, “Will that help soothe the pain, hyung? Will you teach me? Will you help me?” Jaehyun sighs once again as Sungchan looks down at his stuffed toy. “Did you lock the door?” Jaehyun asks, gesturing towards his left. Sungie looks up from his teddy bear and answers, “No hyung, I’ll go do it right now.”

  As Sungchan leaves his older brother’s bed to lock the door, Jaehyun braces himself for the weirdest thing he’s ever done his whole life. He’s once again thinking about the consequences of what's about to happen, how mad his parents are going to be, how disgusted his girlfriend is going to be, and on top of that, how grossed out his aunts and uncles and relatives are going to be if they find out. However, before he can list all the negative outcomes of the night, his train of thought gets interrupted when he feels the edge of the bed dip as his little brother sits down near his foot. Jaehyun sighs once again as he prepares to speak up, but gets cut off when his brother winces, then says “Please help me hyung, it hurts so much.” Jaehyun contemplates for the last time as this is his last chance to back out from doing what may potentially damage and destroy his relationship, not only with his little brother, but with his girlfriend and family. He looks at him and realizes that he can’t bear to see his brother in pain any longer and ultimately decides on helping him. “Are you sure you want me to help you?” Jaehyun asks for consent, as he doesn’t want to end up regretting his actions. “Yes hyung, please help me.”

  With one last scratch of the head, Jaehyun tells his younger brother to take his pajamas and underwear off. Sungchan is shocked and hesitant at first but he trusts his brother of 13 years. After all, he’s been there for him for every single problem he’s encountered. When his pet fish died, when he broke his favorite toy truck, even in being bullied, Jaehyun was always nearby to protect and comfort him. As he takes his beige pajamas and gray underwear off, his dick springs up, revealing itself for the first time. Jaehyun’s mouth goes agape, caught in a trance with the wand that is his little brother’s. He feels himself getting hard as well. He knows it’s wrong, but he just can’t help it. “Hyung, stop staring,” Sungchan says, hiding his face in his palm, adjusting his index fingers away from his eyes so that he can see, “you’re making me shy.” Jaehyun looks up from where he was looking and immediately feels his cheeks heating up. He closes his gaping mouth, only to reopen it once again, as he speaks, “It‘s just that uh-,” it’s Jaehyun’s turn to stutter, “you’re really big Sungie, even bigger than me.” He says, whispering the last part.

  Finally deciding to man up and stop being shy, Jaehyun says, “Come here, sit in front of me with your back facing me.” Sungchan does as he’s told and yelps when he feels his older brother hug and pull him back towards him. He can now feel his older brother’s toned body through his back, which gets him excited even more. “Are you okay with me touching you Sungie?” Jaehyun asks, hands still on his little brother’s stomach from the hug. “Yes hyung.” With the words of approval from his brother, Jaehyun slowly but gently moves his cold hands from his brother’s stomach towards his dick. He’s hesitant to touch it at first, but eventually does it. As his frigid fingers touch his brother’s cock, the latter shivers and lets out a quiet moan. Jaehyun looks from his little brother’s cock, then to his face, then back again, and begins moving. “Ah hyung it f-“ Sungchan says in between moans, “f-feels so good- ah!” Jaehyun takes that as encouragement and goes from his excruciatingly slow pace to an even quicker one, sending Sungchan shivers from his cock all the way to his chest. “Hyung, wait-“ Not long after Jaehyun once started, Sungchan starts shivering under his hyung’s hold, “I feel like peeing-rmmgh” Jaehyun speeds up and speaks in a softer voice, “It’s alright Sungie, you’re just releasing pent up stress, for 18 years I assume.” Sungchan’s breathing gets heavier and even more uneven than it already was. With Sungchan’s eyes closed and mouth agape, he releases into his older brother’s hand, cum shooting upward first and landing all over. They stay in that position for a while until Jaehyun lets go of his little brother. “Hyung, I-“ Sungchan speaks up, still breathless from the first orgasm he’s had in 18 years, given to him by his brother, “that felt so good, I- I can’t believe I haven’t done that before.” Jaehyun smiles at his brother’s innocence and grabs a towel from the drawer beside him and cleans his little brother up, still in the same position they were in 5 minutes ago.

  As Jaehyun wipes his brother clean, he remembers everything that he was thinking about 10 minutes ago, and makes a pained face. “Sungie, I know it felt good but you can’t tell anyone about what just happened okay?” Sungchan nods as his older brother speaks, “Jerking off is normally supposed to be done alone, not with anyone else—especially not with your brother. If anyone finds out Sungie I might-“

  “Hyung,” Sungchan interrupts in a calm manner, “it’s okay, I won’t tell anyone.” Sungchan sends Jaehyun a warm smile as he gets out of his position to wear his pajamas once again, but pauses when he notices the big bulge in his older brother’s boxers. “Hyung, do you need help with that?” Jaehyun looked down and only now remembers and sees how obvious the bulge in his boxers is. “It’s alright Sung-“

  “No hyung, I’ll help you, it’s okay. I know how much it hurts so I’ll help you feel better. I need practice anyway.” Jaehyun inhales sharply as Sungchan lays in front of him, belly facing down on the bed as his long fingers pull his Calvin Klein boxers down. “Wow hyung I may be longer but yours is really really thick,” Sungchan says, a surprised face put on, “and veiny too.” Jaehyun’s dick twitches at his younger brother’s words and Sungchan takes that as a sign to start. He’s not really sure on how to do it because his eyes were closed when his brother was doing him so he gently placed his hands on his brother’s dick in an attempt to mimic the older’s actions minutes ago, but stops when he realizes he doesn’t know what he’s doing. “Uhh hyung?” Sungchan says in a question-like manner, eyebrows up. “Here,” Jaehyun puts his hand over Sungchan’s as they move up and down the former’s cock. Jaehyun starts moaning as Sungchan has his mouth agape, surprised with what his hands are making his brother feel right now. Jaehyun lets go and lets his younger brother do him alone. Sungchan starts experimenting with speed, but still ends up putting his other hand on the older’s balls, which Jaehyun moans even louder at. Not long after, the younger feels his brother’s moans getting louder and louder, breath getting heavier and heavier just as his did 10 minutes ago. The older’s dick started twitching as Jaehyun said, “Oh fuck Sungie I think I’m about to- uhh-“ Ropes of cum shoot out Jaehyun’s cock and land on Sungchan’s face because of the position they were in. Sungchan was surprised at first but just stayed still. Once Jaehyun came down from his high, he quickly apologized and grabbed the towel he previously used to wipe the younger’s face. “I totally forgot we were in that position. I'm sorry.” Jaehyun says with a worried look. “It’s okay hyung, just let me sleep here tonight, I feel tired already.” Jaehyun contemplates on how awkward it would be to spend the night with his brother after what they just did, but comes to the conclusion that he’d much rather wake up to his brother than to wake up alone. “Alright Sungie. Just don’t tell mom or dad or anyone about this okay?”

  “Yeah yeah hyung, I know”, Sungchan says as he puts his pajamas on, face still sticky from his older brother’s cum. Jaehyun moves to the corner of the bed, towards the wall, to make room for his younger brother. They both face the door, Jaehyun’s hands wrapped around Sungchan’s body as the latter hugs his teddy bear. “You know Sungie, this all reminds me of when you had nightmares and came to sleep with me a lot, maybe 8 or so years ago,” Jaehyun says out of the blue, memories rushing back to his mind, “when you were twelve, and I believe that that was the year you had started sleeping alone, well I woke up a bunch of times before you did and noticed you started getting morning wood. It was pretty funny to me at the time but I never knew that you didn’t jerk off or anything. I started doing it at 11, so at that time I have been doing it for three years already. I expected that you’d already started but.. apparently not. That must’ve hurt a lot Sungie.”

  “I just didn’t know hyung. But I’m glad you taught me now, even if i’m already 18. I can’t believe I went all these years without knowing how good that feels, Thank you Jaehyunie Hyung”, Sungchan looks behind, a smile on his face. Jaehyun snuggles into Sungchan’s back as they both drift into deep sleep. Some memories were made that night, in the Jung household, memories Mr. and Mrs. Jung never ended up finding out about.

-

𝙨𝙩𝙖𝙧𝙩𝙚𝙙: 01.02.21

𝙛𝙞𝙣𝙞𝙨𝙝𝙚𝙙: 01.03.21

[ditttiii]

Brothers Conflict || 03.

Thrust into an already established family, you struggle to find your footing while dodging the advances of seven, incredibly good looking stepbrothers.

Your father marrying, and you suddenly having to live under the same roof with seven step brothers was a royal mess or so you had thought, Because them falling in love with you was so much worse. Or was it?

◈ Genre: Romance, Fluff, Humour, Smut and maybe a little angst. (PG-18) (step brother AU)  (I do NOT support incest, this work is inspired by the popular anime/manga Brothers Conflict)

◈ Pairings: OT7 x Reader (reverse harem)

◈ CHAPTER THREE

WC: 2.7k

Warnings: Language (sfw)

Masterlist

"How about this?"

"Nah, it's too sideways," you reply from where you are standing near the doorway of your bedroom.

"Right or left?" Sunmi asks, as she grips the frame and distances her torso from the wall, trying to see for herself where she should shift the frame. From the looks of it, she's failing spectacularly at it.

Suppressing a snort, you answer ‘left’ and hum when she tilts the frame and you are finally satisfied with its position on the wall. Walking back in, you marvel at the sheer grandness of your room for the umpteenth time as you take in all the space around you. Roughly four times the size of your old bedroom, it was huge. 

Floor to ceiling windows on the side opposite the bedroom door, before which was your queen-sized bed. A decent size, intricately designed bedside table beside it, with the floor underneath covered with a soft, plush rosy white carpet. A walk-in closet the size of your old bedroom, a bathroom with a jacuzzi, curtains heavy enough to suffocate and kill you if they were to ever fall upon your body; your new bedroom screams rich.  

It would be a lie to say that you don't feel intimidated. Raised in a middle-class, humble neighbourhood, you hadn't in your wildest dreams ever imagined living in a room like this. But here you are, soaking in the reality of the moment; and realising that it feels like something between a dream and a nightmare. 

Nearly four hours since you first started unpacking, and five since you had first met your new family, most of your room was organised. All boxes untaped and emptied as you and Sunmi worked hard to make the unnecessarily large, empty room less of a hotel room and more like the bedroom of a 19-year-old girl. 

Sighing, you push the last book of your novel collection into the bookshelf. Made from some sort of whitewood, much like everything else, it was designed intricately and looming large over your small shadow. 

"This is it."

Slouching, you fall onto your back, eyes straying to the ceiling above and the textures carved onto it, refusing to reply to Sunmi’s statement. Agreeing would mean that you'd have to let her go and you don't think you can, the isolation and abnormality of the situation already sinking in and scaring you. 

 "Mmn," you reply noncommittally instead. 

A long sigh, and then your best friend is curling on the floor beside you, her hand snaking around yours, fingers intertwining, as she silently lets you know that she is here for you. Repressing the tears you can already feel trying to escape your eyes, you squeeze her hand back. 

The clammy, ice-cold touch of your skin against hers goes unmentioned as you both lay there in silence. 

"I'll call you every day," you whisper, your voice choked as your death grip around Sunmi's waist tightens, and she lets out a strangled moan before pushing you away. 

"Woman, stop being so dramatic! You'll see me back in college every freaking day once summer ends and you know I'll come to see you whenever you want me to, the hour-long ride be damned," Sunmi chides. There’s no bite in her words, and her voice wobbles despite her trying to act tough, but you don't call her out on it and only nod. 

"You better, you airhead, lord knows you'll probably sob your body dry without seeing me every day." 

A giggle comes out of your best friend's tall, lean body, one you are entirely too envious of, and her eyes soften, your smile softening with it. 

"Take care, will ya?" 

"Always," you whisper back, and with one last kiss thrown over her shoulder, she leaves. Her figure grows smaller and farther with every step she takes, and you bite your lip to prevent a call from tumbling out. Not moving an inch until you hear the distant roar of her car driving away, you finally shut the door when you no longer hear or see her car. 

Suddenly you feel scarily small. Like a tiny, irrelevant existence born in a world too large and glamorous; a world where you evidently do not belong. 

Meandering through the floor, you gaze at the picture frames on the wall as though you are the actress of some old seventies cinema, bemoaning the absence of a long lost lover. 

Dramatic, yes, but you have always been more on the theatrical spectrum of humankind, and it isn't like there is much you can do right now anyway. Not unless you want to hole up in your room and stew in your sadness alone. And even though that might sound appealing to most (considering what your room now looks like), it wasn't something you felt like doing at the moment. 

So you mindlessly gaze at the pictures, the setting sun casting a warm orange glow in the darkening hallway as you try to find some semblance of familiarity, a speck of comfort or intimacy. 

"Y/n?" a soft voice calls out to you, and you twist on your heels, your eyes meeting with those of Yoongi. 

"Yoongi-oppa." Voice coming out soft, your words fade at the end as your eyes track the way Yoongi's face glows when the rays of the setting sun hit his skin. Long messy dark blonde hair makes space for his glittering curvy eyes to shine through, and your breath gets caught somewhere in your chest when you look at the vision that was Min Yoongi. 

"Exploring?" he asks casually, but even without knowing him for all that long, you can detect the underlying layer of concern in his voice. You don't know if he is being open with you right now, or if you can just read him well, but the concern makes your heart feel a little warmer. 

"Something like that." Your answer is ambiguous, but Yoongi doesn't ask you to elaborate, so you don't add anything more, turning back and looking at the pictures again instead.

"This something you enjoy?" Yoongi asks as he moves beside you, hands stuffed deep in the pockets of his pants, and leans; making himself comfortable against the wall.  

Your eyes stray to him. "Sounds like you don't."

"Not really my forte, I can appreciate it from a distance, sure, but not an enthusiast," he replies, the back of his head hitting the wall behind as he looks up at you. 

Humming, you shrug. "Same, I guess, it's just fascinating to me. I wish I was smart enough to understand what half of these actually mean, but I am not, so I just appreciate the beauty and move on."

"Fair enough." 

You nod and let the silence reign again, but it's a comfortable silence, the kind of quiet where you are both lost in your own thoughts but at the same time appreciate the company of the other.  

Slowly the sun sets behind you, and the glassed walls shimmer one last time before the ceiling lights are switched on, bathing the entire floor in warm but bright light. 

Yoongi had been silent the entire time as you explored the floor like a child in a zoo, poking and prodding the potted plants, oo-ing and aah-ing over the art around you, fascinated and occupied with the attractions around.   

But when the lights switch on, he clears his throat and gets up from the couch he had taken a seat on some time ago, head tilting as he wordlessly asks you a question. You nod back and smile, making your way to him as you finally get ready to spend some time with the rest of your newly acquired family. 

As you both make your way to the main hall, you don't miss how your heart is feeling much lighter now. The silent company that Yoongi had provided you with seems to have put you at ease and calmed your racing thoughts. 

Walking into the kitchen alone, you try your best to make as little noise as possible. Yoongi, much to your displeasure, had promised that he'd meet you out in a few minutes only to disappear inside of his bedroom and leave you to your own devices.  

The sudden bout of bravado from earlier had left your body too, in its place leaving raring, gut-twisting anxiety. 

Tiptoeing to the refrigerator, you take out a bottle and pour yourself a glass. The chilled water slides down your throat, quenching your thirst, and you let out a satisfied sigh, smacking your lips in contentment after. 

"That thirsty, huh?" 

You jump, startled, heart racing and in your throat, as your gaze snaps to the doorway and finds Seokjin standing there. Suit coat hung over his left arm, and a button-down shirt rolled up to his elbows, he was clearly returning back home after a workday. 

"Holy fuck, you scared the shit outta me!" 

Your brain to mouth filter is seemingly not working after being startled. Feeling anxious was a problem enough, but being scared after was evidently enough to send your last two brain cells out the window. Your common sense and the knowledge that Kim Seokjin was now your stepbrother, eldest stepbrother, flying out the window along with them. 

You hear crickets chirping in the distance as an awkward silence blankets the room, and in that moment you want to die. Spontaneously combust and float away into thin air, disappear, dissolve, vanish—die. 

"I am so sorry, can we pretend I didn't say that, “you voice out meekly, your eyes avoiding Seokjin’s and instead finding purchase on the wall behind him, seemingly fascinated by the utter whiteness of it. 

Hearing a chuckle ring and break the awkwardness in the air, you shift your gaze to the source of said chuckle and catch your eldest brother's gaze. "It's alright Y/n, I get that this is a big adjustment. Please don't feel like you need to rush on anybody's accord, take your time."

And then Kim Seokjin smiles—his pouty, full lips stretched into a small but ridiculously warm smile, and something in your chest clenches at the sight of it. Warning bells ring in the back of your mind, and you squash the thoughts threatening to come forward, their not-so-appropriate nature resulting in an immediate rejection from your end. 

Mumbling a thank you, you let him know you'll be down soon and then dash to your bedroom, slamming the door closed once you're inside and sinking down onto the floor. 

What the hell was that!?

Raking a hand through your hair, you groan in annoyance, wincing when said hand gets stuck in a tangle and pulls a few strands loose.

Looking back at your impression so far in front of Seokjin, one of your seven step brothers, it had been nothing but absolutely marvellous. So you can't imagine what could possibly go wrong when you sit down at the dinner table and are surrounded by all seven of them. 

Nothing, nothing at all, nope-nada-zilch!

Frustrated, you slide a hand down your face, hoping to calm down, but the move only ends up irritating your skin under. The day has been long, and all that you pray for now is that it ends soon. Your bed, which from the looks of it was fit for royalty, was beckoning you over too. 

With one last huff, you are pushing yourself up onto your feet and to the bathroom to splash some water, before you go and join the rest of your new family. 

Pulling the chair in, you wring your hands nervously under the table, away from any prying eyes. One by one, the rest of your family filters in and takes a seat; Seokjin and Yoongi both pick their seats at the two heads of the table. Hoseok and Namjoon sit on either side of you, with Jimin plopping himself down opposite you, and getting flanked by Jungkook and Taehyugn on either side. 

Not much conversation had taken place as they picked their seats, everyone sufficiently tired enough after a long day, but they had smiled or nodded at you when they first entered the dining room. 

'Well most of them at least,'  you think, eyeing the two youngest, who had both refused to give you even a cursory glance, resulting in your smile going unseen and unreciprocated. Their attitude, however, doesn't bother you too much at this point; as it was, they were virtually nothing more than strangers to you. 

Conversations pick up around you, and you feel slightly out of place, as though you are a guest over for dinner rather than their new stepsister, but the feeling doesn't last long, because both Namjoon and Hoseok soon pull  you into a conversation. Inquiries come forth about your day, and how your unpacking had gone.

The conversation is mostly superficial, nothing too emotionally challenging; neither of them ask how it feels being a part of their family or something like that, and you are relieved. Grateful, because you don't know if you'd be able to answer those questions anyway. The whole situation is still very odd no matter how many minutes of the day pass. 

Someone clears their throat, and your eyes snap to Seokjin, who was pushing his chair back and picking up his glass, the red wine inside sloshing with the movement. 

"I've done this before, and yet it never gets any less nerve-wracking," Seokjin starts, and your eyes furrow in confusion, but he continues before you can think about it any more. "Y/n," he says and tips his head in your direction, "I know this must feel a little scary—actually, scratch that, you're probably terrified right now, and that's okay.” he pauses, and takes a breath before continuing, “I'm sure it feels crazy suddenly being thrust into an already established family and being told that now you're one of them, and I just want you to know that I get it. We get it, and we are here for you. If you don’t want to accept us as family, that’s okay too; all of us would understand and support whatever decision you make. I just...” Sighing, he locks eyes with you.

 “...I just hope you can let us in eventually, family or not." 

Seokjin's eyes bore into yours as he says this, stressing the 'us', and you gulp, feeling the back of your throat tighten at his words. Sensing the fine thread of control that you had over your emotions loosening, you swivel your gaze to the table instead, nodding, your vision growing blurry as you try to blink back the burn in your eyes. 

The room goes quiet, as the boys give you time to collect yourself—or sob, you don't know, but you appreciate the consideration nonetheless.

It was going good, it really was. You were holding on, no matter how precarious the hold was, you were holding on. Grasping onto that last string of control and restraint you had with all of your might. 

But then Hoseok is wrapping his arms around your shoulders and pulling you into his side, letting you nestle your face in the crook of his neck, and the string snaps, his neck growing wet as tears streamed down your face and slid down his skin. 

For a few minutes, you forget that you were now surrounded by strangers who you had to accept and call your family. For a few false, delusional minutes you forget that they don't know you, that the care they were showing was genuine and not something they were obligated to. That the one whose hands were drawing circles across your back, the one whose voice was whispering reassurances in your ear—stupid sweet-nothings that you would tell a small child to make them feel better, actually gave a shit about you.  

You forget the reality and slip into a safe headspace, letting the warmth of another human encircle you, hold you, wrap you in its cocoon as you weep. 

A/N: dedicating this chapter to @mel-gonzalez07​, one of my oldest, most loyal readers, and more than anything else an amazing friend. ily angel 💖  

Y/n is going through some shitt here. Imagine being thrust into a dynamic that has been established for years, and then having to act like you are meant to be a part of it. 

The taglist for the story can be found:- here. A kind reminder that tumblr sometimes doesn’t give an alert for a tag notification, but you’ll find the notification in your notification dash. So, check it once a week as I usually update weekly.

Feedback means the world to me, so tell me what you thought. What would you do if you were in oc’s shoes?        

Until next time! Take care you sweet soul and Oo! Go stream folklore 💖 

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[send-me-your-hcs]

Mafia boss Tony sends his son Peter away at a young age to live with his aunt and uncle. Every month he goes to visit his son. Maybe he takes Peter somewhere nice like the movies or Central Park. Without fail, their nights together always ends with Tony balls deep in a sobbing Peter. A support check arrives for Peter the next morning.

Oh fuck me I love this prompt. Ty anon

Warnings: Age unspecified Peter but IMPLIED very underage, incest, noncon, creepy dark bio dad!Tony, DEAD DOVE DO NOT EAT.

“You’ve grown.”

The boy sinks lower in his chair, attempting to hide behind the other side of the table. He still hasn’t looked Tony in the eyes once since he picked him up from the Parkers’. It goes beyond Peter’s regular shyness - the boy is fidgety, morose. A typical teenager, maybe. Except that he’s not.

When Tony gives him an impatient look, Peter meekly shrugs, responding without responding. He’s always been a very quiet boy, but the silent treatment is especially irritating. Tony takes a sip of his wine in an attempt to crush the feeling. Their visit’s only just begun. It’s too early to fight.

When the waiter comes to refill his glass, Tony says, “And one for him, too.” Peter looks up, shocked, adorably concerned, but the waiter doesn’t bat an eye as he fills the empty wine glass beside his iced tea. This isn’t the first time Tony’s brought his son here. Even if it had been, everyone knows they’d lose a lot more than Tony’s business if they dared refuse his request.

Peter stares at the glass once the waiter leaves. Tony smiles at him as he sips his own, but the boy’s gaze is fixated. “Drink up,” he orders softly, watching the worry deepen on Peter’s handsome face. He doesn’t move. “Drink it, Peter.”

The boy’s hands shake as he lifts the heavy glass to his lips. Everything about it reminds Tony how young his son is - the way his face scrunches up at the taste, the way he carefully lifts the glass by the bowl with both hands, not trusting himself to use the stem. The way his hands look terribly, unbelievably small, his fingers short and thin as they wrap around the wide bowl beneath the rim. He truly is just a little slip of a thing. Bigger than last month, sure, he’s at that age. But only just starting the long ascent into adulthood.

It’s only been a month since they last saw each other, but already, Peter’s hand-me-down clothes are fitting just a little better than they were before, not as loose and baggy around the ankles, not hanging as low down his thighs. The Parkers tried to dress him up, as they always do, but they seem to have some aversion to using Tony’s money to buy his son nice things. The button-up shirt and dress slacks they wrapped him in are clearly Ben’s, trimmed and hemmed amateurishly to fit tighter on Peter’s skinny body. Any charm the look has is only attributed to the fact that it’s Peter wearing it.

“Apparently I need to take you shopping,” Tony muses, mostly to himself. “Drink, Peter. We’ll have a different wine when dinner is served.”

Peter takes a long, deep breath through his nose and lifts the glass to his lips again, then steels himself and gulps the rest of the burgundy liquid down. Tony chuckles, pointedly not mentioning that the alcohol is going to hit him much faster now, and lets the boy go back to sulking, tense and silent, in his chair.

—

After dinner, Tony loads a wobbly, light-headed Peter into his car and drives him to the Hall of Science. Peter is a little more animated as they walk around and take everything in, but Tony suspects that’s mostly the alcohol’s doing. The boy still hasn’t said much and he shies away when Tony wraps an arm around his shoulders, flinching at the contact. Tony buys him a little souvenir at the giftshop and ruffles Peter’s hair when the boy mumbles a quiet thank you.

They don’t say a word on the drive to the hotel. Peter’s never once asked why Tony doesn’t bring him to the penthouse during their visits, and Tony’s in no hurry to tell him. If the Parkers have told his son what he truly does for a living, behind the scenes, Peter’s never acted differently for it. He’s still the same sullen little boy he’s always been.

The room Tony rented is a bright and vast penthouse suite that costs more money per night than the Parkers pay for their monthly mortgage. The California King bed stands in the middle of the main room like a centerpiece, drawing your gaze to it as soon as you walk through the door. Tony suspects that’s not the reason Peter hasn’t taken his wide eyes off it. He stays huddled in the foyer, fidgeting with the toy Tony bought him at NYSCI, looking terribly lost.

Tony pours himself a glass of scotch at the bar and pulls his tie free from his neck. “Come here, Peter,” he calls gently, watching the boy teeter and debate whether or not he should obey. In the end, he knows there’s nowhere else to go. He keeps his head down as he shuffles his feet forward into the room, like he’s dragging himself towards his father.

Tony sips his drink and looks the boy over. He’s growing up. Every month he gets more beautiful, his features filling out to define his gentle face. If he resembles anyone in their family, it’s Tony’s own mother, with that soft head of hair and big, dark bambi eyes.

He cups the boy’s chin, thumbing over his bottom lip. Peter’s eyes are already glazing over with tears. It makes Tony’s skin itch, all the little hairs on the back of his neck standing on end. Peter has always been so receptive to him. Always reacting. Feeling. Submitting.

He takes the back of the boy’s head to hold him still, grip tightening ever so slightly as he leans down and kisses him.

—

Harsh, labored breaths ghost over the pillows Peter’s face is buried in. Tony trails kisses over his shoulder blades, hips still gently rocking as he rides out his orgasm. Peter’s knuckles are bone-white as they clutch the sheets, strangling the soft material for all he’s worth.

Tony pants against his son’s back. The silky clutch around his softening cock is absolutely divine; warm and dripping wet where they’re still sealed together. Peter’s back trembles as he struggles to hold in his hiccuping sobs, making his tight skin dance across Tony’s lips.

“My good boy,” Tony sighs happily against Peter’s glistening skin. He kisses him again and grinds his hips against Peter’s ass, grinning when the boy whines and shivers. “Did you get off, honey? Did you come for Daddy?”

Peter gives him a stiff, curt nod, but when Tony wedges a hand beneath his hips to his pelvis, he finds his cock still hard, the tip leaking. He clicks his tongue in disapproval and wraps his hand around the boy’s shaft. “Peter. Why are you lying to me? It’s obvious you didn’t come.”

“I don’t want to,” Peter slurs into his pillow, pleading. “I just wanna go to sleep now, Dad, please.”

“That would be rude,” Tony scolds, pulling back so he can roll the boy over. Peter is quick to bury his face in his arms, trying to hide his tears, as if it’s the first time he’s ever cried during sex, and not the norm. “Let Daddy make you feel good.”

The whimper that leaves Peter’s pink little mouth when Tony swallows him down is gorgeous. He encourages Peter’s hips to rock upwards, rutting against his face, until the broken sobs turn to pleasure-filled groans. Tony trails his lips up to the head of Peter’s pretty little cock and back down, sucking hard, smiling when Peter’s hips stutter, his orgasm fast approaching.

He pulls back in time to let the boy finish all over his cute little belly. Peter’s labored breaths return to quiet sobs, his teeth sinking into his bottom lip hard enough to pierce the skin. “Don’t do that,” Tony says, pulling Peter’s lip from his teeth with the pad of his thumb. “You’ll leave a mark, Pete.”

Peter drops his arms from his face. His eyes stay glassy with tears and glued to the ceiling as Tony wipes the come from their bodies with Ben’s old dress shirt.

“I’m going to give you a little extra this month,” Tony says as he tosses the filthy shirt away. “I want you to use it to buy something nice to wear for next time. Don’t let May talk you into buying something big enough to grow into - I’m going to give you extra for a tailor, too. I want you to see one before I pick you up next month. Got it?”

Peter says nothing, his gaze still stuck to the ceiling. The goddamn silent treatment. Tony snaps his fingers in front of the boy’s face and says, “Pe-ter. I’m talking to you. Did you hear what I just said?”

A shiver wracks the boy’s body. He turns his wet-eyed gaze back to Tony’s face and nods, sullenly.

“Good. And you’re going to be a good boy and do as Daddy says?”

There’s a beat of hesitation. Then another nod, Peter’s lips parting so he can softly mutter, “Yes, Daddy,” before closing his eyes and turning away.

[the-mad-starker]

Starker Smut: Helping Uncle Tony

Thank you to @petercherryparker for giving me my first commission! It means so much to me that you were willing to give it a try and for being patient with me since I haven't done this before either 😅

Summary: 

Uncle Tony somehow fucked up his hands and has them both in casts.

Peter volunteers to help then he helps.

Notes: uncle/nephew incest, handjob, frottage, come swallowing, anal sex, dirty talk, praise kink, size kink, ambiguous age for Peter, first time

WC: 9139

(AO3 Link)

💗💗💗

"Boss, Mrs. Parker and your nephew are requesting entrance."

Tony pauses in his rambling speech. Dictating. He's dictating the lines of code for his next project while he lounges in the lab. On the screen, Friday completes the last line before she automatically switches to the security camera on the first floor.

His sister, Mary Parker, is waiting impatiently and there, a familiar mop of curly brown hair… His nephew. Peter.

"What time is it again?" Tony mutters but he's already getting up.

It's a bit difficult because he can't use his hands. Both hands are stuck in bright red casts and are covered from his knuckles all the way down to his elbow.

He hates them but he's not letting them stop him from working on his tech.

"Think I can beat them to the penthouse?" Tony says when he gets into his private elevator.

Peter did text earlier that day with a message saying they were coming over from Queens. He's been so caught up getting this program done that time just slipped through his fingers.

"Probability just reached 0%," Friday informs him and he finds out why when the doors ding open.

"Tony!" His sister is already waiting for him in the penthouse and judging by the look on her face, she knows exactly where Tony's been.

She rounds up on him, scarier than his assistant and his board of directors. "You're supposed to be resting," she sighs with exasperation.

"Yeah, you know that's unlikely," Tony says without missing a beat. "It's my hands that broke–" he wiggles his immobilized arms at her for emphasis, "–not my brain. You know I can't just stop."

In response, Mary softens but she tries to hide it by clearing her throat.

"I know and that's why–" she turns back towards her son and tugs him forward, "I'm lending you this one to help you."

"Hi, Uncle Tony," Peter says shyly from her side. He gives a little wave but doesn't really look Tony in the eye.

"Hey there, champ," Tony says, distracted, before he turns back to Mary. "You know I can't do that to him, Mare. It's summer break, he should be– I dunno, going to Jones beach or hanging out with his friends. All that fun stuff."

Mary's lips thin in that way which means she's about to start arguing but surprisingly, Peter interrupts.

"Actually– I'm the one that bugged mom about helping…" Peter says as he steps closer.

Tomy's gaze switches to him and his brows scrunch in confusion. Peter's cheeks take on a pink hue when their eyes meet, a peculiar reaction that Tony's gotten used to. His nephew's always been a sweet but shy kid.

"Pete, I really appreciate it, but you don't gotta be stuck with me when you should be having fun," Tony reiterates but the boy stubbornly shakes his head.

Peter's curls bounce in that cute little way that makes Tony want to pet them. His expression mirrors Tony's, brows scrunching adorably in the middle and honey brown eyes going all soft and pleading.

"It'll be fun!" Peter says firmly and what gets to Tony is that he actually sounds genuine. "I always have fun when I'm with you, Uncle Tony… And I get to see all the cool stuff you're working on… Maybe even help you make some stuff?"

The last bit is said with those puppy eyes turned up to max efficiency and Tony's resolve crumbles. He could never say no to his one and only favorite nephew. Mary knows it, too, because there's a smug little grin on her face.

"See, there you go, Tony," she says. She pats Peter's shoulder fondly. "How long did the doctors say your cast has to stay on?"

"A couple weeks…" Tony says in defeat. "But I should be fine if Pete just wants to stay a week…"

"Mom can drop off more of my clothes on Sunday," Peter says, excitement pitching his voice higher. He bounces the duffle bag in his hand to show the older man. "I brought some clothes already. Toothbrush, too, so you don't gotta worry, Uncle Tony."

Looking at his nephew's puppy dog eyes, of course, Tony can't refuse. Besides, his nephew is right. They always have fun when they're together and ever since the Parkers moved to Queens, they just haven't had as much time. He has missed his nephew even when work keeps him busy.

"Alright, you got me, kid," Tony says, "we'll try it out for a week, okay?"

"A week," Peter agrees but somehow, Tony feels as though he's the one humoring Tony instead of the other way around.

"Brat," Tony says fondly.

Mary sticks around for a few minutes more but she eventually decides to head out. Before doing so, she pulls Peter aside for some last minute words.

Tony tries not to eavesdrop but considering he's right there, it can't be helped.

"I want you to remember what we talked about in the car," she says seriously. "I know you and Tony like to mess around in the lab and do all your sciency stuff but Uncle Tony's recovering, okay, Pete?"

"I know, mom," Peter says dutifully. "Even if we're having fun, I need to help Uncle Tony and make sure he doesn't do anything to hurt his hands."

"That's right, sweetie," Mary smiles, "and you know your Uncle Tony. He's always jumping ahead of things so I need you to really be on top of things. We want Uncle Tony to get better and that won't happen if he doesn't let it heal properly. I need you to be his hands until his gets better."

"I can do that, mom," Peter promises sincerely, "I'll watch him like a hawk and he won't even lift a finger while I'm here."

"That's really sweet but–" Tony has to interrupt.

"No buts!" Both Mary and Peter cut in. Tony ends up pouting at them but he really can't refute anything Mary says.

When she's finally gone, Tony looks at Peter and smiles awkwardly.

"Just you and me, kiddo," he says to break the silence.

"You and me," Peter smiles brightly then perks up like an eager puppy. "Wanna show me what you were working on before mom and I got here…?"

And just like that, the awkwardness vanishes.

Tony grins and makes a grand gesture towards the elevator.

"Let me show you to my lair…"

---

They settle into a routine and truthfully, Tony's having the best time of his life.

It starts off slow because even if he's the one that needs help, he feels bad asking for the simplest things. Peter takes his job seriously though and has a keen eye for when Tony's itching to do something.

Peter takes over all the things Tony would struggle to do and he does it so effortlessly with no complaint. It leaves the older man feeling a tiny bit embarrassed at his dependency but he's grateful.

It becomes easier to just let Peter handle everything and soon, Tony relaxes into their routines.

His nephew is a god-send. He has all of the Stark smarts and none of the bullshit that Howard hammered into Tony's head since he was young.

This means that Tony can ramble on and on about his work and Peter keeps up astonishingly well. He listens with wide eyes, lips parted as though Tony was speaking prophecies. Even better, the kid throws back ideas, suggestions that make Tony's mind whirl with fantastic possibilities. It's surreal, it's wonderful, it's just how they are.

Tony and Peter.

"I really should be paying you," Tony groans when the boy digs his thumbs into a stiff muscle.

Peter has some magical hands and somehow, he just seems to know where to press on Tony's back. He kneads the tension right out of the older man's shoulders and Tony has to slump on the desk so he doesn't tip over out of pure ecstasy.

"Not taking your money, Uncle Tony," Peter sounds exasperated but there's a fondness to it that softens the bite.

"You're basically babysitting me," Tony still tries to convince him. "How about $800 a day? Dunno what the going rate for babysitters is but I'll throw in a bonus cause you're my cute little nephew."

Tony knows Peter won't take it so he's just rambling for fun.

Peter, though, goes quiet and his hands pause in their motions. His arms come around from behind and his chin settles on Tony's shoulder.

Hugs are nice and it isn't the first time Peter's helped himself to one. The older man doesn't think much of it, only squirms cause Peter's breath tickles his neck.

"I'm just happy being here with you, Uncle Tony," Peter tells him honestly. "I really missed being able to just walk a couple of blocks and hang out."

Warmth blossoms in his belly and if it was anyone else, Tony would've pulled back emotionally and physically. But Peter has always been like this, always loved hugs and affection. Once again, he has Stark blood but he's better.

Tony would usually pat the boy's hand but with the casts, he's more likely to be reprimanded. So instead, he slowly turns and Peter moves with him so that they're embracing. Even then, Peter's careful with the casts and makes sure not to brush against them.

"I missed you too, kiddo," Tony admits. "I'll make sure we have more hang out days when my hands are good, okay?"

"I'd like that," Peter mumbles into his shoulder.

Peter's mom drops off more clothes. She's satisfied that Tony is doing better, even smiling more frequently. Peter glows with pride beside him.

A day shy of being together for a week and Tony wakes up tangled in his sheets, body sleep-warm and cruising from pleasant dreams.

"Morning!" Peter cheers as he walks in carrying breakfast on a tray.

Tony's mind is still all fuzzy without his morning coffee so he just lays there and hums in acknowledgment. The bed dips under Peter's weight and the silence is so unusual that Tony peaks an eye open.

The boy's bottom lip is caught between his teeth while his cheeks are flaming red.

"Kid?" Tony's voice is rough from sleep. It startles Peter and those honey brown eyes shoot back up to his face.

The blush doesn't recede though.

"Um… Do you… need help, Uncle Tony…?" Peter mumbles, edging closer so that his knee presses against Tony's blanketed thigh.

"Help…?" Tony echoed. "Help with what–"

Peter's eyes dip down and this time, Tony follows him.

"Oh," Tony groans, aghast.

He's sporting some serious morning wood. And well, it's to be expected if he really thinks about it. Before his accident, Tony was a heavy believer in self-love. One can even say he's a serial masturbator, but he just… hasn't been able to do anything about it with his hands out of commission.

Sometime during the night, his dick must've slipped through the slit in his boxers so the only thing keeping him decent is the thin blanket over his lap.

"Just– ah, fuck. Just ignore it," Tony says, embarrassed.

He can't even hide it under a pillow or turn over. Both require the use of his hands which… Not possible.

"That can't be comfortable…" Peter still mumbles, completely ignoring Tony's instructions. "It looks really… big. And uncomfortable. Does it hurt…?"

"Not as much as my pride," Tony grumbles. "Can't you just… I don't know, put a pillow on my lap? It'll go away if we both ignore it."

It's an embarrassing situation and Tony's barely holding it together. He's been caught in all sorts of scandals but never one so personal as this. If it's embarrassing for him, it's probably worse for his poor nephew.

He expects Peter to listen to him, to save himself from this awkward mess and just leave him to his breakfast.

What he doesn't expect is to feel Peter's curious hand on his cock.

Tony sucks in a sharp breath, eyes flying open in disbelief.

He's not mistaken.

Peter is leaning over him, one hand gently gripping the base of his covered cock.

"Kid… What are you doing…?"

Tony fights against the need to thrust into his nephew's hand. His cock doesn't care who it is that's helping him out, it just cares that it's getting some love.

"Uncle Tony…" Peter breathes out as he looks at Tony with wide but determined eyes. "Mom said to make sure you're comfortable… If I do it like this… I'll make it go down faster, right...?"

His hand on Tony's cock starts to move. It steals away the words Tony wants to say as his hips twitch towards the source of friction. This shouldn't be happening, he shouldn't be feeling so good from Peter touching him...

"That's–" The older man tries to stop this but his words stutter and fail. "You shouldn't, Pete...!"

"Am I doing it wrong…? Am I making it worse?" Peter's lips tremble into a frown. It looks so wrong on his nephew's sweet face that Tony shakes his head, unwilling, even then, to upset the boy.

"Feels good..." Tony tries to stifle the moan working up his throat. It comes out as breathless gasps instead while his legs shift restlessly in the bed. "But you shouldn't…"

The frown melts away to reveal a sweet, happy smile.

Peter looks so determined, eyes focused where his hand is moving up and down over Tony's hard length. He's doing it so gently that it makes Tony's body crave for more, for a firmer grip.

"I don't mind doing it, Uncle Tony," he says while stroking Tony's cock. "I know it can hurt… And you're already going through a lot. I love you, Uncle Tony, and I want you to feel good."

What can Tony say in the face of such sweet words? Even if he wanted to, he couldn't bear to stop him now.

"Let me take care of you, Uncle Tony," Peter says. "Oh– let me…"

Tony groans in defeat when Peter pulls the blanket down. There's no hiding it now.

His cock stands proudly between his legs, fully erect from Peter's ministrations. It's flushed a rosy hue, prominent veins up and down the length… A thick mushroom tip that's darker in color than the rest of the length.

"Pete…" Tony says, helpless but so turned on when Peter resumes his duties.

His hand wraps around Tony's cock again, no hesitation, and Tony tries to stifle a moan that works up his throat. This is not the right response but it feels so good… Just the sight of Peter's hand wrapped around him sends arousal skittering up and down his spine. It looks so obscene, too. His nephew's finger can't even fully encompass the girth of his cock.

"Like this, Uncle Tony…?" Peter asks as he starts to stroke again. His thumb swipes over Tony's leaking cockhead and his hips jerk from the sensation.

All rational flies out the window.

"Ah– T-tighter…" Tony gasps.

The desire for release rises to the forefront so embarrassingly quick that the older man bites down on his lip to ask for more.

Peter complies with such sweet obedience that Tony moans and then oh– it's heaven. His nephew is clumsy and a bit awkward in his attempt but it smoothes out into something beautiful when Tony's hips start chasing after his hand.

His eyes are mere slits as he throws his head back. His hips jerk desperately into the sweet grip milking his cock. He doesn't think about what he's doing even when Peter continues to make soft encouraging comments.

It should freak Tony out but he's caught off guard. The loss of the use of his hands has affected him more deeply than he anticipated. The pleasure sings through him after just a week of not being able to do this and he craves it with a ferocious hunger that scares him with its intensity.

Just a week and Tony's hips are thrusting into his nephew's touch. His cock is leaking. He swears that his cock is so hard for Peter and that he's never been as hard for anyone else. Peter, his sweet innocent nephew, is the one making him feel so good, it's sinful.

Peter… He shouldn't be doing this to Peter but the boy's so focused on his task. The pink in his cheeks is so alluring… And how has Tony never noticed the shape of his lips? Or how it looks so soft and inviting, parted the way it is. Tony could easily slip a thumb right between and what would Peter do…?

Tony could just imagine the shock in Peter's pretty brown doe eyes and then the way they'd slowly drift closed. The pleasure of a new discovery would make his nephew's features slacken. Would he suck on Tony's fingers? Would he moan for his uncle…?

The older man hisses when Peter squeezes him just right, bringing him right to the edge. Tony struggles to cling on. It's so wrong, so wrong… His precum is dripping all over the boy's fingers, but Peter's not stopping.

"Uncle Tony… Is this okay? Does it feel good?"

Peter has such good intentions even while doing such a dirty act.

"Pete– Pete, I'm gonna…" Tony groans out the words but his eyes slip shut in defeat.

"Oh!" Peter knows what's coming but his little nephew surprises him again in the most delightful way.

An even sweeter heat envelops his cock. Just the tip but this new sensation is warm and wet. Tony can recognize that type of heat anywhere and he loses it. Peter's mouth is on his cock.

His eyes fly open and he's treated to the sight of his nephew's pink lips suckling on his cockhead. Peter looks up at him with wide eyes and his hand still makes sloppy, aborted jerks in an attempt to maintain his rhythm.

Such a good boy...

Any semblance of control completely deteriorates and Tony comes with a shocked groan. His cock pulses, balls drawing in tight, as he shoots into his nephew's mouth.

It happens so quickly and his muscles tighten with the intensity of his orgasm. Peter tries to take it all, every single load that Tony sends pulsing into his mouth.

It's too much for him. Tony sees it when the rush of cum gets too much. Peter's eyes widen even more and he pulls back coughing with his uncle's cum dripping down the corner of his lips.

He goes back down like the champ he is though and tries to take the rest of Tony's cum. He gets a load shot across his face for his efforts and the image will be forever seared into Tony's mind. Peter looks so beautiful with Tony's cum on his face that the older man can't find it in himself to even feel guilty.

He does feel bad, though, when Peter's face crumples in dismay.

"Oh, God, I-I'm sorry, Uncle Tony." His bottom lip even trembles. His distress is genuine and Tony's barely catching his breath. "I was trying not to get it everywhere… I thought I could do it but I made a mess. I'm sorry– Let me go get some paper towels and I'll clean it all up."

Not having the use of his hands is such an inconvenience. He can't even stop the kid from running off but he tries.

"Peter," Tony says firmly enough that the boy pays attention. His tone softens when the boy hesitates. "Pete. Just wait a minute, okay. Just– C'mere. Lie down next to me, okay?"

Peter does as he's told. He must be feeling even worse than he says because he scoots in close and curls up against Tony's side. The reality of the situation becomes an urgent need to discuss what just happened but Tony's mouth has gone dry.

"I'm sorry…" Peter whispers in the silence and Tony's heart aches.

"Hey, hey," Tony tries to soothe him. He can't turn onto his side so instead, he says, "Look at me, kid."

Once those brown eyes are back on him, Tony takes in a deep breath. He refuses to do anything that would make his Petey cry or feel bad. God forbid he do anything like that, his nephew's too good to him.

"Nothing to be sorry about, Pete," Tony says gently. "You really helped me out, okay? And– ah… Was that your… first time doing something like that…?"

Peter flushes and his lips press into a displeased line.

"Was it obvious…?" Peter mumbles, looking away.

To Tony, it had been but he's not gonna say that.

"Only cause I've been around," Tony says offhandedly. "But there's nothing to be sorry about, Pete. If anything, I'm sorry that I wasn't in better control."

"You were fine, Uncle Tony!" Peter protests, "And besides, you shouldn't be doing anything strenuous so really, I should be the one to, um, take care of all of that."

Tony wants to argue, of course, especially given the circumstance but he knows he's unlikely to win. And maybe… maybe, he doesn't want to win in this one.

So instead, he hums in acknowledgment.

Peter's hand creeps up his chest as the boy curls against his side.

"Did it feel good though…?" he asks quietly, hopefully. "I can do it better next time."

Next time… Tony's mind latches onto the words and even worse, his traitorous body floods with excitement.

"It was amazing, kid," Tony confesses. He turns just enough to kiss the top of Peter's head. "You did good, sweetheart… So good…"

That sweet smile that Tony has come to love so much spreads across his nephew's face. Peter practically glows with pleasure, a pleased little smile on his face. Tony practically melts in the face of it.

"You know, in things like things, I'd really want to return the favor if that's something you want, too," Tony says then before Peter can protest, he adds, "I can do other stuff that won't hurt my hands."

The boy looks perplexed for a moment but then his face brightens as he considers the proposal. There's something he wants and Tony would give him anything and everything.

"Kiss…?" Peter asks softly. "Can we do that…?"

The question surprises the older man. Peter has just given him one of the most mind-blowing orgasms Tony has ever had and his sweet boy is asking for a kiss…

"Of course, angel," Tony replies easily.

When he goes to lean down for a kiss, he can't help smiling at how Peter's eyes drift closed and his lips make the slightest little pucker.

Their lips touch, a gentle and chaste kiss but when he pulls away, Peter's eyes open and there's a quiet wonder in them.

"Wow…" Peter breathes. "Again? Please, Uncle Tony?"

Tony chuckles in response but instead of answering, he just presses in for another kiss and another and another… Until they're both lost in one another.

 ---

Because of what happened, there are drastic changes but some things also stay the same.

Tony tries to be the good, responsible adult he's always worked to be but Peter won't let things go back to how they were.

"Helping" his Uncle Tony feel good becomes an imperative task to the boy.

Tony protests at first. He feels like he has to put an end to it but little by little, those objections become half-hearted attempts that fade into drawn out moans of appreciation.

Whenever he looks down at Peter between his legs, he thinks, 'fuck, I'm going to hell…' but then another thought kicks in. It may be very much worth it when he has his angel of a nephew sucking him off. Those pretty pink lips… They feel so soft and warm and perfect on his cock…

The moment his resolve broke entirely is the first time he guides Peter into getting off. He can't stand the thought of being the only person feeling good. It's even worse when the boy would squirm on his knees, shyly pressing the heel of his hand against his own little problem.

Nope, Tony isn't having it.

Peter's cute little face is flaming red and Tony knows that he badly wants to flee to the bathroom to take care of himself.

"C'mere, kid," Tony breathes.

Peter shuffles closer and then gasps when Tony slots his leg between his. Tony's knee bumps against the boy's hand, pushing it against his covered erection.

"When my hands heal up," Tony starts to say, "I'm gonna make you feel so good, Pete. Gonna touch your pretty little cock and make you come for me."

The boy whimpers, a soft, pleading sound, but his wide eyes flutter in pleasure. His mouth trembles, a clear indication of how Tony's words affect him.

"But for now…" Tony nudges his leg closer and in response, Peter's hip jerks forward. "Move your hand, Pete… Let me feel it."

"Uncle Tony… That's…" His sweet innocent nephew has had Tony's cock in his mouth on multiple occasions but he still can't say such dirty things. It makes Tony feel so bad that he wants to dirty him up.

"It'll feel good, angel," Tony promises him, "for both of us. I'll make me feel really good to know you're getting something outta this, too."

Peter's eyelids flutter as he considers it. It doesn't take him long to decide either.his nephew is a good kid but the promise of pleasure convinces him.

"Should I take it out?" Peter asks hesitatingly. The very tips of his ears turn bright red, an adorable reaction.

The possibility crosses his mind, an image of Peter creaming his pants if he chooses not to take it out.

Tony's mouth goes dry.

"If you want to," Tony encourages instead of outright saying yes like he wants to. "Don't want you to chafe against your jeans or anything."

The boy bites down on his bottom lip before nodding thoughtfully.

"It's not as big as yours," Peter says as though warning Tony. It's cute that he even thinks that that would matter to Tony.

Regardless, Peter unbuckles his belt and tugs his jeans down though he has to wiggle a little to get them down his thighs.

Tony gets a glimpse of the tent his boxers make before he tugs those down too. His hand shyly covers his erection, glimpse of pink flesh between his fingers before he reveals himself.

"Oh, you're perfect, sweetheart," Tony promises.

Peter's cock is indeed smaller than Tony's but it fits his boy well. It's just as dainty as the rest of his body, perfectly proportionate to the more slender build he has.

His nephew blushes adorably as he circles the girth of his cock with his hand. He gives half-hearted strokes as though unsure of what to do now that they've reached this point.

Tony gladly takes the reins.

"I want you to press close to my leg," Tony instructs gently, "Just like before, Pete. Since I can't do it for you… Just listen to my voice, alright, angel?"

The blush on his cheeks may as well be a permanent fixture. Tony hopes Peter never loses this endearing quality, so shy and eager for his uncle's touch.

Peter leans closer, his hands resting on Tony's leg.

"Ah…" the soft exhale gives away the moment Peter's cock comes in contact with Tony's leg. Besides that, the older man feels it, hard and so hot even though his pants.

"Move for me, baby," Tony tells him. "Just like earlier… You can rub against me, I don't mind…"

His leg muscles flex as he nudges his leg closer.

"O-okay, I'll try…" Peter mumbles, peeking at his uncle with darkening eyes.

His hips start to move. At first, the movements are barely noticeable. Even when Tony feels that hard outline brush against him, it's still so faint. He lets Peter take his time though, just watching the boy slowly lose his inhibition.

"Mm…" that first soft moan is a victory to the older man even when Peter tries to clamp his mouth shut.

Their eyes meet and the boy shudders, dark, thick lashes threatening to cut their connection. Peter holds on though they tremble. His mouth looks soft, lips parted around an O of pleasure.

"That's it, baby…" Tony encourages the boy when his hips start to move. "Feels good rubbing against me, right? Even if I can't touch you… Can't jerk you off, you like me seeing you like this…"

"I… I do…" His nephew answers in a soft whisper as though it's a secret between them. "It feels… feels good…"

His hips start to really move and Tony can feel his nephew's cockhead grazing up and down his leg. Peter's still too shy.

"Good, sweetheart… That's good…" Tony doesn't push. "Wanna make my best boy feel so good…"

More pleasure causes the boy's expression to slacken but his grip on Tony's leg tightens. It isn't long before he starts to lean against his uncle.

Tony then takes the opportunity to press forward.

"O-Oh!" The cry of pleasure that Peter makes and the harsh jerk of his hip is worth Tony playing dirty.

He expects Peter to pull away but perhaps his nephew has been wanting this much longer than he initially knew. Once Peter feels that delicious friction against his cock, it's like his hips glue themselves to Tony's leg.

It's all there on his face, naked and exposed. Pleasure and need.

He presses in tight, his cock a firm solid line of heat against the older man.

"There you go…" Tony almost coos to the boy. "That feels better, doesn't it, Pete?"

His own cock starts to thicken in his pants again. He's amazed by how quickly he's recovered. That's the effect Peter had on him.

"Uncle Tony…" Peter whimpers softly. There's a desperate edge there as he clings to Tony's knee. The older man recognizes it well.

"Go on, baby," Tony encourages hungrily, "Keep going, keep rubbing against me… Wanna make you feel good too, Pete."

Peter can't seem to keep his eyes open so they're squeezed shut. His pretty mouth, though, is parted, letting out the breathless little moans that have Tony's ears straining for each one.

His hips jump in desperate jerks as he chases after his pleasure and Tony's voice guides him along the way.

Tony knows the moment Peter's right at the edge. His nephew's face is flushed, sweat-damp curls sticking to the sides of his face. Honey brown eyes look at him through barely there slits.

The older man just wants to eat him up, especially when Peter starts to say his name in that breathless needy tone.

"Uncle T-Tony… Uncle Tonyy… 'm gonna…" Peter mewls. His brows are scrunched up in the middle, mouth trembling.

Tony wants to sink his hands in Peter's hair and just haul him for a kiss. He can't though– such a shame.

"A-ah…" Peter comes with a soft cry, eyes squeezed shut, and body shuddering violently.

There's a rush of warmth when his cum spurts messily over Tony's leg but the older man just continues to murmur soft praises about how beautiful Peter looks, how gorgeous and good his sweet nephew is.

Peter shudders one more time, his cheek pressed against Tony's knee. Tony hears the boy's harsh breathing but ends up sucking in sharply when Peter's hand slides up and between his legs.

His fingertips bump against Tony's half-hard cock upon finding out his uncle's predicament, Peter looks up at him with pink cheeks. His eyes are at half-mast, the most enticing bedroom eyes that Tony's ever seen.

It kills him that Peter's probably unaware of just what it does to him.

"Uncle Tony…" Peter murmurs as he nuzzles against any part of his uncle he can reach. "You're hard again…"

Tony swallows, Adam's apple bobbing.

"Yeah…" he doesn't deny it, "Watching you, Pete… God, you don't even know what you do to me, do you…?"

A sweet smile pulls at Peter's lips and his touch grows firmer as he runs his fingers over Tony's swelling length.

"I'm just me, Uncle Tony…" he says like he thinks Tony's just being nice. "Want me to help you again…?"

"I'm not gonna say no…" Tony chuckles then leans back when Peter shuffles closer.

Getting hard so soon after having Peter's mouth is something that hasn't happened before. But then again, he hasn't had his sexy nephew rubbing against him before either.

Peter's mouth closes around his cock and Tony groans at the feeling of his tongue swirling around his cockhead. He leans back and watches, enjoying the sight of his nephew's pretty lips stretched around his cock.

That tiny nagging thought that this was wrong has all but disappeared. Peter's gaze locks with his own as he seeks approval and Tony gives it happily.

"Good boy… Such a good boy…" Tony sighs.

He'll find more ways to return the favor.

 ---

Week two edging into week three.

They've just returned from his doctor's and Dr. Cho has declared that his hands are healing up nicely. She says it with surprise as though she had expected Tony to come in with a sheepish grin, hands banged up and in worse condition than she left it.

Of course, Tony attributes the progress to his blushing nephew and she nods in understanding. He introduces his nephew to her as his amazing little helper. Peter blushes at the praise but Tony can tell he's happy about it. He listens even more closely to Dr. Cho's advice and tips for recovery than Tony does.

It's progress but she also says that it may take a few more weeks. Tony reassures her that he's in good hands.

When they get back to the penthouse, Peter disappears into the guest room that he's claimed his own when he first arrived. He barely uses it now, preferring to stay in Tony's bed, but most of his stuff is still there.

There's a report waiting for Tony in his email so he lets the boy be.

Around dinner time, he seeks him out to find out what Peter's craving for.

The door to Peter's room is cracked open but Tony still doesn't want to just walk in and possibly startle the boy.

"Pete?" He calls out. "I'm feeling for some burgers, what do you think…?"

He nudges the door open and his jaw almost drops.

"Uncle Tony–" Peter's face is flushed in that adorable pink shade that Tony's come to love and this time, yeah– it's appropriate.

His nephew is shirtless and bent over the side of the bed, those sinfully tight jeans of his pooled around his ankles. He's reaching back awkwardly and Tony follows the length of his arm down… down… where the boy has two fingers nudging into his little hole.

"Am I interrupting?" Tony asks dryly. He shuts the door behind him even though they're the only ones in the penthouse.

"Um, no," Peter mumbles shyly as he straightens up, "I was kinda hoping you'd come in sooner actually."

"Were you now…" Tony says as he walks towards him. It feels like there's a hook pulling him closer and he's unable to resist.

He takes in his nephew's lean form, eyes going from top to bottom and making a show of it. Peter's gotten bolder and more daring in the time they've spent together so if he's inviting his uncle to take a look at him, Tony will.

The older man has come to know Peter's body almost as well as his own. Even then, Peter still takes his breath away every time, especially when he's like this.

His nephew is just the perfect twink. He has a slender build with just enough muscle on his arms and legs that it hints at strength. Not to mention his skin, paler than Tony's, just takes on such pretty color when he's aroused.

Tony watches as the flush deepens when Peter sees him looking. It crawls down his neck, sweeps across his collar bones, and makes it midway down his chest where his pink nipples stand peaked.

His half-hard cock bobs in the air between soft thighs and Tony's mouth waters with the need to suck on it just to hear the boy cry.

"I looked up how to do this…" Peter admits coyly, calling Tony's attention, "But I was thinking that maybe you can help? Please, Uncle Tony?"

Tony's ready to jump right in but there's a hunch tickling the back of his mind.

"What brought this on?" He decides to ask.

His nephew gives him that sweet smile that Tony knows he can't resist.

"I, ah, just figured you'd like this better?" Peter says. "I know I've gotten better with my mouth… But this would be better, right?"

"Oh, sweetie," Tony murmurs. "You don't gotta do that for me."

Peter's sweet smile turns into a pout. He kicks his jeans off in a blatant disregard for them and then completely naked, he presses in close to his uncle.

"But I want to," Peter says stubbornly. "Wanted to make you feel even better, Uncle Tony. And since Dr. Cho said your hands are doing better, I thought maybe we could celebrate…?"

Those sneaky, greedy hands of his rest against Tony's chest then start to slide down. It's done in such a teasing manner that Tony wonders where his sweet, innocent nephew learned such a thing. It tugs at all of Tony's desires, his nephew's familiar touch eliciting such a keen response.

"I heard it could feel really good…" Peter murmurs. His face tips up, lips just begging to be kissed. "Can't you show me, Uncle Tony?"

"Fuck, kid…" Tony gasps when Peter starts to touch his cock. "Didn't need much convincing before, don't think I need it now either but I like it when you try."

The bright smile Peter gives him says he knows just how hard Tony finds it to say no to him. In this case, it was never even a possibility.

"Wanna show me what you were trying so far?" Tony prompts even when he lightly presses Peter's hand down harder on his cock.

Just as expected, Peter's hand slips away when Tony shows the slightest inclination to use his hands. The kid's concern for him is too much sometimes even when it has Tony feeling so warm from the inside.

"I can do that," Peter says. He leans up and presses a chaste kiss to Tony's lips before turning back to the bed.

Just like before, he positions himself so he's bent over. Tony gets the perfect view, his nephew's bare back presented to him with its adorable scatter of freckles. And further down, past his slim waist, a perfect peach just begging to be grabbed and squeezed.

He has to swallow the lump in his throat when the boy reaches back and pulls his cheeks apart to reveal a glistening pink hole.

"Christ, kid…" Tony breathes, "if I didn't know any better, I'd think you're trying to give me a heart attack."

"Uncle Tony…" Peter protests and wiggles in place.

Tony only groans at that and comes closer. He wants to touch his nephew so badly… He has to force himself not to reach out and just do it.

"What were you using?" he says to distract himself.

"I, uh, took some of the vegetable oil when I first tried…" Peter admits, shyly, "But, um, this time, I took one of the lubricant bottles you had in the nightstand? I hope you don't mind…"

Tony wants to shake his head at the vegetable oil comment but he's glad Peter isn't using it anymore. He only wants the best for Peter and he wants the kid to feel good too. Subpar tools, even if they work, just aren't good enough for his boy.

"Not at all," Tony says reassuringly, "it's better, isn't it?"

"Yeah, definitely better," Peter agrees breathlessly. One hand inches closer to his glistening hole. "Wanna see, Uncle Tony?"

His cock wants him to do more than just observe but Tony knows that waiting is worth it, especially if he gets to see Peter playing with himself.

He licks his lips.

"Yeah, baby, show me what you were doing…" Tony says. His voice drops to a low, intimate murmur.

His nephew, excited and so eager to please, squirms in place. Maybe even rubs his hard cock against the bedsheets.

"The stuff I read said to go slow," Peter says as he starts to nudge a finger in. "Go slow and use lots of lube."

Tony hums in agreement as his nephew starts to dip his finger in and out. He watches hungrily as that single finger pushes in smoothly. The boy's tight little rim clamps down, basically clinging to the small intrusion before Peter slips it back out. It's the worst kind of tease, watching his beautiful boy's body begging to be filled.

"One finger feels okay… Two is…" Peter cuts off with a hitched gasp as he adds another.

"Tight…?" Tony suggests.

"Mm… ah… y-yeah…" his nephew groans.

Tony comes even closer and lays a hand on Peter's trembling flank.

"Uncle Tony–"

"Shh," Tony soothes the boy, "Just touching you, kid, not gonna try to press hard or anything."

Peter's skin is warm beneath his fingertips, but he longs to feel the jump of muscles under his palms. Later, he tells himself.

The boy settles down, grudgingly accepting that Tony is being careful. Maybe part of it is that he wants his uncle to touch him as much as Tony wants to.

"Breathe, sweetheart," Tony instructs, "Breathe and relax… Bear down when you push in and it'll help."

The boy obeys beautifully, those slim fingers nudging in slowly when he inhales. A soft whimper escapes him when he does it.

"Don't rush it," Tony gently tells him. "You gotta work for it, Pete. Get your hole used to being stretched like this."

He knows what it's like being an overeager teen, knows that there's been a hunger in his nephew every time he's handled Tony's cock. How long Peter's wanted him, perhaps Tony will never know.

"That's it, kid," Tony encourages when Peter's body relaxes, melting into the bed. "You're gonna have to put another one… Gotta stretch yourself good for my cock. Your fingers are so small compared to what you want… You do want my cock in you, don't you, Pete?"

The boy shudders and whimpers, wrist flexing and fingers pumping faster at Tony's words.

"I do, Uncle Tony…" Peter groans, "Want you to put it in me…"

Tony caresses the boy's side soothingly, still light enough that Peter doesn't protest. Not only that, but the boy actually arches into his touch with a soft moan.

"I will," Tony promises, "as long as you're ready for me."

His cock throbs in his pants and he's tempted to ask Peter to help him out of them. But his nephew looks so caught up in the moment, eyes squeezed shut in concentration as he works himself loose for Tony.

Tony sneaks a hand to the band of his sweatpants and nudges it down. He hasn't bothered to wear underwear since Peter's been so greedy for his cock so his sweatpants are the only obstacle.

"One more finger, baby," Tony says soothingly, "One more then–" he presses his cock, blood warm and so hard, against the boy's ass and Peter's eyes fly open at the touch.

"Oh–!" He leans up to get a look and his eyes lock on the older man's cock.

Tony, himself, loves the view. His cock is ready, swollen to an intimidating size with prominent veins decorating the length. His cockhead, a deeper color than the rest of him, is already damp at the slit.

With Peter's eyes on him, Tony nudges his cock forward toward the boy's fingers stretching his hole apart. The cockhead bumps against them and his breath hitches in his throat.

"Oh, God…" Tony hears Peter moan.

Those slim fingers retract, leaving Peter's pink hole to close around nothing. It looks so desperate, lubed up and ready to be fucked but not quite yet.

Even so, Tony takes the opportunity to rub his cock right there, his sensitive tip brushing against Peter's equally sensitive hole. The boy shudders and he even rocks back, trying to get his uncle's cock to slip into him.

But Tony makes sure that besides teasing them both, his cock doesn't press in.

"One more, kid," Tony reminds him. He reaches over and nudges the lube towards Peter. "Add more, too. You'll need a lot more if you want my cock inside you."

A soft whine is all Tony gets but Peter hastily obeys because he knows Tony's won't continue if he doesn't. The cap is popped off and more lube is added to the boy's wet fingers. It's probably more than he actually needs but Tony isn't going to call him out on it.

"Good boy…" Tony murmurs when Peter returns to the task.

He presses three fingers to that soft little hole. The excess lube drips down and Tony catches it with the tip of his cock. While Peter starts to finger himself, Tony lightly spreads the excess lube along his length. He wants to be ready for the boy, too.

His breathing is harsh but Peter's is even more evident. The boy is moaning, eyes watching his uncle while he gets used to the stretch.

He has three fingers nudged in now. The skin around his hole is rosy and wet as he works his fingers in and out slowly. Soft, sloppy sounds combine with his moans and Tony decides to add to it.

"See, I knew you could take it, baby," Tony praises him, "Three fingers… Almost ready for me..."

"'m ready… So ready, Uncle Tony," Peter swears, cheeks red and hips rocking.

His fingers push in deeper, past the second knuckle, and his entire body shudders. He's trying so hard to show Tony that he can take it.

"I know, baby… I know," Tony murmurs softly. "Take em out, Pete. Gonna put my cock inside now."

A soft exhale then a soft moan as Peter extracts his fingers. "Ah…"

The pink little hole, worked open to accommodate his cock, slowly closes but in those few seconds, Tony can imagine what his nephew would look like with a gape. He just wants the use of his hands so that he can spread the boy apart with his thumbs and just tease him there with his cock until neither of them can take it anymore.

"God, Pete… The things you do to me…" Tony groans when he presses his cock right against that wet hungry hole. "Wanna just… do really bad things to you, Pete… Wanna fuck this tight hole of yours until you're loose and dripping with me… Wanna make you mine..."

The boy whines and rocks against him. This time, Tony doesn't pull away. He groans when he feels the inviting heat of Peter's hole slowly opening around his glans. So warm and tight…

"You can, Uncle Tony," Peter pants, "if you want to… I want it too, please…"

Tony breathes in harshly then slowly starts to sink in.

Despite Peter's efforts, the sheer size of Tony's cock is still so much to take for someone as inexperienced as his nephew. Peter gasps and his hand clenches in the sheets, hips instinctively pulling away from the penetration.

It's still just the tip but Tony pauses anyway.

"Keep going…?" Tony gives Peter the option to tap out but the boy shakes his head adamantly. Those endearing brown curls bounce as he rejects the very idea.

"N-No!" Peter's voice shakes and his entire body trembles. "I-It's a lot…"

More deep breaths but Tony could see the boy trying to relax.

Tony leans down so his chest presses lightly against Peter's back. Gently, he slips a hand around the boy's hip and between his legs.

He finds Peter's hard cock and gently rubs it, up and down, with his fingers. The cast makes the movement clumsy and it takes away from Tony feeling the warm, heavy weight but it does the job.

Peter whines and grows restless beneath him, body tight with growing pleasure but also softer and more welcoming.

"More, Uncle Tony…" Peter groans. He reaches back, tries to spread himself open with one hand for the older man.

It's too tempting to resist… Tony nips the boy's shoulder before he straightens himself. His hands aren't healed enough to carry the weight of his body and he's not chancing the possibility that they have to stop because he hurt himself again.

His cock sinks in slowly. Inch by inch, he works his erection into the boy's body with short, gentle thrusts. He has to, for his sake and Peter's.

The boy is so tight around him and everything about it is too much… It's not just the sensation either, though the heat and pressure around him are enough to leave him breathless.

It's the fact that it's Peter. It's his nephew that's making him feel good. The boy's moans are what's making Tony unravel, those soft whimpers and the eager, almost desperate way that his body silently begs for more.

When he gets that last inch inside, they're both panting with exertion. Peter's knuckles are white where they're curled in his sheets but everything else about him is full of color.

The tips of his ears are red, his lips, a trembling pink, and his shoulders… Down to where that pink little hole, stretched so tightly around his cock.. That, too, is such a rosy color and Tony's barely even put it to use...

Tony runs a hand down the boy's trembling back and Peter melts into the touch.

"Too much, sweetheart?" Tony asks. His voice is strained, his entire body is struggling not to just fall into instinct.

"'m okay," Peter whimpers, "m okay…"

Despite saying so, Tony gives him as much time to adjust as he can. It's only when the boy becomes restless once more that Tony starts to move.

When he does, he intentionally seeks out that sweet spot in Peter's body.

One of the reasons why he hates not being able to touch Peter is because he couldn't stimulate that spot inside him. He couldn't show Peter all those sensitive areas that could have pleasure bursting like fireworks.

He intends to do that now.

Every push in and every pull out threatens his control but he grits his teeth and bears it. Peter moves with him, clumsy and unrefined, just trying to fall into the rhythm that Tony sets. Tony guides him into it with a hand lightly set on his hip.

His fingers itch to press down but Tony focuses on his initial task.

Peter is just so receptive, so eager for this… He moans and cries out with every thrust but Tony knows when he finds his sweet spot. With his hips angled just right, Peter's entire body jolts when Tony's cock brushes right there where he needs it.

"Mm!" The boy cries out. His hips push back harshly, chasing after that shock of pleasure.

"There it is…" Tony groans and aims for it again and again. "Found your sweet spot, Pete."

"U-Uncle Tony…!" Peter cries out. More words try to come out but all he can manage is a jumble of moans and whimpers.

The moans that come out of the boy are on a whole other level. They're high pitched with shock and it melts into drawn out whines even as he pushes back desperately.

Tony gives it to him just like he wants, just like they both want. Their bodies fall into a perfect rhythm, Peter pushing back while Tony fucks forward.

Pleasure is shared between them in a continuous loop, strengthening with each pass. It's not sustainable though and Tony feels it the moment Peter comes from being fucked.

That tight, warm space he's made for himself in Peter's body just clenches down so viciously that Tony's thrusting aborts. His eyes squeeze shut as he tries not to blow his load right then and there.

"Oh– oh, fuck, Pete…" Tony grunts. "You coming, baby…? Fuck–"

Peter whimpers beneath him and when Tony's hand slips between his legs, he finds wetness on the sheets and dripping down his thighs.

"You, too–" Peter groans once he's regained speech, body clenching down and massaging Tony's cock. "Please, Uncle Tony… Want you to finish, too…"

Tony hissed but he starts up again with harsh thrusts that have his hips slapping against Peter's ass. He isn't going to last long, especially now that he knows Peter's already come.

Sweat drips down from his hairline and the older man grunts in exertion. Peter just lays there, his entire body willing and accepting every thrust.

And then, just like before, he reaches back and spreads his cheeks apart for his uncle. Tony gets the perfect view of his cock stretching that pink hole apart…

"Come in me, Uncle Tony," Peter begs softly. "Please, Uncle Tony, wanna feel it… Wanna feel you come inside…"

"Pete– Oh, fuck, Pete…!" It's enough to push Tony over the edge.

He buries his cock right to the root and his balls press tight as he starts to unload inside his sweet, begging nephew.

He groans in completion and it's accompanied by Peter's soft whimpers as he's being filled. The pleasure overwhelms him and it's so good that it almost hurts.

He doesn't know if it's intentional or not, but Peter's tight walls milking his cock becomes too much. He's too sensitive in the aftermath.

Tony pulls out with a hiss then groans when his cum comes spilling out and drips down in thick trails.

Immediately, Peter's fingers are there, so curious and tracing over his used hole and Tony's cum seeping out of it. The look in his eyes is full of wonder and somehow, still so hungry when he looks at Tony.

And God help him, Tony can't resist him. Doesn't even want to.

He's still panting and coming down from his high when he says, "C'mere, sweetheart."

Peter goes eagerly, arms wrapping around Tony's body and face tipped up with a pleased smile.

"Was that good, Uncle Tony?" Peter asks sweetly. There isn't even a hint of insecurity in his voice, he knows his uncle so well now.

Tony wraps his arms around Peter's waist, pulling him close and kissing those irresistible lips.

"The best, Pete, the best," Tony tells him. "You always take such good care of me…"

The boy nuzzles close, so affectionate, so perfect.

"Always will, Uncle Tony," Peter promises and Tony knows he means it.

There's no stopping what they have now.

[cals-laundry]

tw incest, noncon?

Touya diddling Rei in the psych ward. They think she's getting worse cause she keeps telling them her dead son is sneaking in and touching her while everybody's asleep. 😌

You have most beautiful ideas I’m- 

Relationship: Rei x Touya Tags: Incest, dubcon, mommy kink, gaslighting (sorta), attempted breastfeeding, manipulation.

“Touya was here again.” 

It’s barely a breath on her lips, but the two doctors nearby mutter under their breath. Something about symptoms worsening, upping doses, trying new drugs. But she just shakes her head as she sits up.

“No, he was here! I saw him! He was right here beside me in bed! He brought me those!” She points at the vase beside her bed, an unbreakable one she’d been promised, but the doctor, some new one she doesn’t recognise, shakes his head right back at her as he sits on the edge of her bed.

“Rei, Shoto brought you those the other day.”

She shakes her head again; no, no, Touya was here, she knows, she remembers every word, every touch, everything. 

“What did he do this time, Rei?” the other doctor speaks.

She ignores the look exchanged between the two.

“He…” she all but chokes on her words, “he laid beside me, he held me, touched me…but he looks different now. He’s tall and his hair is different. He’s a man now.”

They leave her again with the promise of a change of medication in the coming weeks. The prickle of anger under her skin makes her twitch, and it takes everything in her not to throw the vase across the room. Not that it would make a difference; she’d just ruin her flowers. For a while, she ponders it - had Shoto brought the flowers? Had she imagined Touya? She thinks back to last night and the weight of him beside her is so clear. No. It can’t be her mind. No. He was here.

By nightfall, she’s pacing the room. Her body is screaming at her to rest but her mind begs her to wait a little longer. If she’s out of bed, she can be sure he wasn’t a dream. But night creeps on. The shadows get longer and the moon brighter. She sits in the middle of the floor with tear stained cheeks and shaking hands, certain now she is being teased by the universe. In all her time here, she’s missed her children. But she missed him more than the others. 

If he’s some hallucination, she thinks, at least he doesn’t have to see me this way.

The door clicks behind her, and she waits for the doctor to say her name. But instead…

“Hi, Mom.”

Black boots come to view, and as he squats in front of her, that filthy white t-shirt takes up her vision. 

“Touya,” her eyes brim again with tears, “let me wash your shirt.” 

“Not now, mom. Why are you on the floor?”

“I was waiting,” she lets out a gasping sob as she reaches for him, “for you.”

He lets her bundle him into her arms as if she doesn’t have to look up at him when they stand side by side, as if he’s still that tiny boy in her memory. He sets his head on her lap with his nose against her tummy and she just strokes his hair, over and over. She doesn’t hate how he looks now. The purple skin worried her at first, the staples even more so, but he’s still her beautiful little boy.

“Hmm?” he asks.

“What’s that, dear?”

“Did you call me...beautiful?” he wraps his arms around her middle and hides his face against her shirt.

“Oh, I didn’t mean to say it out loud. But you are, Touya. You’re my beautiful little boy.”

Her shirt shifts, and the cold tip of his nose presses against the soft skin of her stomach.

“I’m your little boy?”

“Always, Touya.”

“Then,” he nuzzles closer, his voice low, dark, rasping, “please feed me.”

His hand reaches up, though his face doesn’t leave its comfortable spot, and awkwardly, he undoes her shirt until she’s bare before him, with only a bra separating him from his meal.

“T-Touya, stop, just-”

“You said I’m your little boy.”

“Yes, but-”

“Did you mean it?”

“...”

“Did you?”

“Of course.”

“Then, let me taste, mommy.”

Rough hands - so much bigger and stronger than the pudgy little ones she remembers - shove the cups of her bra down, and before she can attempt to protest again, he latches onto a nipple and her head falls back. He suckles and nips and licks at one until she whines, then he swaps to the other. The angle sends pangs of pain through his joints. He rearranges until he’s straddling her thigh, and she holds herself up with her hands splayed against the floor behind her. He latches onto her nipple again, but this time, his hips rut weakly against her thigh at the same time. He’s so hard under his trousers and Rei can’t stand it; her poor boy must be aching. 

“Touya.”

He looks up through fluffy lashes, and for a flash of a moment, she sees Enji’s eyes in his vibrant blue, but she takes his face between her palms. 

“Touya, my lovely boy,” she kisses his forehead, “you can’t feed like this.”

He offers her a moment of charge when she leads him to the bed. She sits again with her back to the wall, and he tries to mount her thighs but she pats beside her.

“Lie down,” he does so, much the same as the way he had done when he arrived, but this time, she cradles his head tenderly, as if he could disappear if she was too careless, and with her other hand, she reaches down between his legs.

“You’re so hard, baby,” it doesn’t sound romantic when she says it, no, it sounds like she’s talking to a child. And he whines at it.

“Yeah,” he says, breathlessly as he latches on again, “help me, Mommy.”

How could she deny her little boy like that?

“Just this once.”

She’s so gentle with him when she pushes his pants down, his underwear too. For that split second, he feels like she could take over. She grasps his hard cock so carefully, much too carefully.

“Don’t be so gentle,” he ruts up into her hand.

“If I’m not-”

“Then it won’t go away. You don’t want me to stay this hard, do you, Mommy?” he pouts and licks at her chest again. She offers a shuddering breath. 

“Promise you’ll stay.”

“Always, Mommy.”

She grips him harder and he gasps against her skin as he wraps his arms around her waist as well as he can.

“Yes, like that,” he whines again and he thrusts into her hand as he suckles.

“My lovely boy, my beautiful boy, I missed you so much,” her tears patter across his cheek and he looks up to see another fall.

“M’here now, mom.” 

“Stay here,” she whispers.

“As long as I can,” he wraps a hand around hers and helps her pace, swipes his thumb over the tip and groans against her until her nipple is left neglected so he can press a cheek to her sternum.

“Feels so good, mommy,” he moves their hands faster.

“Is it enough, baby?”

Her voice is still so innocent, so sweet.

“N-no,” he stutters and pulls their hands off of him, “and I can’t reach properly from here. Can I…” he trails, searching for the word. 

But she misunderstands.

“You can ask me for anything,Touya. Anything at all.”

“Let me touch you like dad did,” he turns them both until her back is against the bed and without waiting for a word, he shoves her pyjama bottoms down, “I can do it better, mommy, I swear.”

He holds a hand over her mouth when he shoves his cock into her without a second thought. Her whine tickles his palm. He leans down again, latches onto her nipple as he thrusts. They’re lazy movements, a moment of kindness to let her adjust, but when her whines turn to soft sighs, his hand leaves her mouth. With each of her soft thighs in his grip, he fucks her. His lips don’t leave her chest, not until he gets close. It’s embarrassingly fast, he knows that, but he didn’t think mommy would feel so good. His jaw goes slack and his cheek presses to her breast again as he gets closer with soft prayers of “mommy, mommy, mommy”. 

“That’s my boy, that’s my beautiful boy.”

“Wan’ another brother,” he murmurs between chants, “M’gonna make him, you don’t need dad, you just need me.”

She strokes his hair as he rambles against her sternum.

“M’gonna make so many, I’ll do better than him, m’gonna treat you better, mommy,” his thrusts get sloppier and he doesn’t try to please her. No, he just keeps fucking into her, until desperation has him sobbing “Mommy!” against her chest as he floods her womb with cum. He stays still after he cums, until he goes soft inside her. She strokes his hair as he catches his breath, and it soothes her to sleep with the weight of him on her. It’s bliss. And it’s proof.

The doctors wake her at their usual time, and she sits up, victorious.

“I told you he was here! I told you he was alive!” she whips the covers back, ready to bare all.

“Rei-”

“No, look, I’m…” she looks down at herself. 

At her pyjamas.

“He was...I…” she shoves her hand down her bottoms shamelessly, feels for even a trace of his cum. It had to leak out as she slept! She had to have proof!  But her thighs are clean, even if the stretch of him is still there.

“Rei, we want to talk to you about stronger medication.”

She nods. 

The dose is upped and she’s numb but she sees nothing. For weeks, not a sign of him. At last, she rests her head against the pillow and the world starts to fade, and she wonders if she’d just been dreaming.

Until the door clicks open.

[crashdevlin]

A River in Egypt 14- Denial

It’s Only Natural Masterlist   A River in Egypt Masterlist

Author’s Note: A series of snapshots from the It’s Only Natural universe, all told from Sam’s POV.

Summary: After losing Dean in the fight with Amara, Sam and Y/n are kidnapped by the British Men of Letters and tortured. Sam seizes the opportunity to get what he's wanted for years.

Pairing: Sam x Sister!reader

Word count: 4663

Story Warnings: torture, pain, incest (sister wincest), exhibitionism,  18+ HERE BE SEX! DO NOT READ IF YOU’RE A YOUNG’UN!!!, oral sex (fem rec), unprotected sex, creampie

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

I hate this. I hate that I can’t devote all of my time to finding Y/n. I hate that Dean is all caught up in Amara and I hate that Y/n ran away again and I hate that...I kissed her. I kissed her and then she ran away. I hate that I just let her leave. I should have talked to her. I should have apologized for kissing her. I should-

I call her again. She doesn’t answer. Months of not answering. I hate this.

Dean keeps snarking at me about calling her, discouraging me from trying to find her. If he would just shut up and let me! Let me find her, let me bring her home! Let me apologize for being half the reason she left. Well, not half. Dean was more than half. Dean was 90%. Dean was more than that, even, because then there’s the whole thing where he knocked her up! On purpose! And then abandoned her!

Ya know...if she wasn’t a Winchester...if she wasn’t the strongest of us, I’d have been worried she might do something stupid. But she has never been the type to do that stupid thing. She’s the type to run off to get her head straight. She’s the type to come home eventually. She never has been able to stay away from us for too long.

But she seems determined to stay gone this time and all my searching isn’t finding and I hate that Dean was right that I wouldn’t be able to find her. Even when we lose Cas and Dean starts helping me, we still can’t find her. She does have amazing skills. Why don’t we lean on them more often instead of leaning on her emotionally, leaning on her physically?

We are the shittiest brothers ever.

And of course, it’s Chuck that brings her home. I couldn’t find her, again , and a higher power brings her home. Dean starts in on Chuck because of course he needs to air his damn grievances and Y/n only takes issue with Chuck’s qualifications of our misery. She gets up to make herself a drink and I follow her. She looks good, considering the fact that it’s been almost a year since I’ve seen her...and considering she’s upset.

I put my hand on her back to comfort her and, of course, Dean has to put his two cents in about that. “You should keep your hands to yourself,” he says as he sets a beer on the Map Table in front of me and I look up at him. He’s not angry. If it weren’t for Amara, he’d be furious that I touched her. “Y/n. She’s probably not in a good place for that.”

“How would you know?” I snap at him. He hasn’t even talked to her. He sits down next to me and takes a drink of his beer.

“Look, I’m just sayin’, Sam...it’s been a good eleven months or so since you’ve seen her, maybe you should ease into trying to replace me,” he reasons.

Replace him? As what, the brother forcing a baby on her? “I’m not trying to replace you, Dean.” I pick up the beer. “Unlike you, I’m just caring for her.”

“Caring for her doesn’t require touching her at every opportunity,” Dean says, shaking his head. I look at the tabletop and bite the inside of my lip. It's not my fault. I just wanted to comfort her. “We care about each other and we barely touch unless one of us is dying.”

I roll my eyes. It's like he doesn't even realize how upset she was back there. Of course, he doesn't know, does he? The losses that Chuck said were necessary...what he lost and he doesn't even know. "That's...not true, Dean. We touch each other all the time...and Y/n was upset, okay? What Chuck was saying was-"

“Dude, come on, you were feeling her up in your feminist way.” Why does he say that like it’s an insult? “Shut up. Don’t think I forgot you making out with her the night before she left, and I didn’t forget the collar either.” The collar. It took me a while to remember the collar. Guess I’ve been jealous of Dean’s connection with Y/n for a lot longer than we were using her to combat the Mark. I take a drink of my beer and clear my throat.

“Look. For Y/n’s good, she should probably not start anything else with her brother, ya know? Can you imagine how bad things coulda gone if she’d stayed with me?” Yeah, Dean, I can. “She’s better off with someone outside of our family.”

I scoff and shake my head. “What, you’re actually gonna let her be with someone without forcing them out of her life?”

Dean sighs and makes a clicking noise. “Yeah, I deserve that...and I got no good excuse for all the guys I blocked from her, but that’s not what I’m doing here.” He leans back in his chair and looks at me. “Look, we both know that what I did to her is...inexcusable, right? We both know I should never have touched her and it’s sick that I wanted to for so long. Just like we both know it’s sick that you want to.”

How dare he judge me? After everything he did? It doesn’t matter if I want it, I’ve never done anything other than kiss her. Even when I didn’t have a fucking soul, all I did was put a collar on her. He raped her and I might have gotten off on it but-

“It’s the best thing, for both of you, for you to go jack it to some of that porn you think no one knows you have and stop thinking about Y/n.”

I roll my eyes and shake my head. Why does he always bring up me masturbating? “Not everything is about sex, Dean. I’m just trying to be there for her. That’s all.”

“Okay, Sammy,” he says like he doesn’t believe me. “Keep it that way. S’all I’m sayin’.”

There’s a million miles of subtext in that.

But at least she’s back. That’s the important part. The next morning, I go to check on her and talk to her about Grandma Millie. I end up sitting next to her on her bed as she tells me about the postcards that Dad used to send his mom, how he signed them with ‘Johnny’. And then she leans her head against my shoulder. It’s so nice. I missed her so much over the past year. I’m so happy to have her here where I can feel her and smell the roses on her hair.

“I’m tired, Sammy. I haven’t been home a day and I’m exhausted,” she admits.

“Have you talked to Dean?” I ask. Not that talking to him is gonna change anything.

“He said he’s sorry. He doesn’t even know what he’s sorry for.”

Of course not. I didn’t tell him what he needed to be sorry for...and I’m guessing neither has she. “You haven’t told him about the baby, have you?”

“It’s not like he would care,” she snaps.

With Amara still alive that’s probably right, but I say, “You don’t know that,” to make her feel a bit better.

“It’s not...I only...it was really early first trimester, Sam. I couldn’t have been more than six weeks. I...I only took the test right after Charlie’s funeral and...the Stynes…” She clears her throat and pulls away from me to look in my eyes. Her eyes are all watery and sad. “I don’t know why it hurts so much.”

She’s been hurting over this for a year and she’s been beating herself up for how she feels, too? “Because you created life, Y/n, and that was taken from you. It’s allowed to hurt.” I reach out and run the back of my knuckles down her cheek. I just wanna make her feel better. “ You’re allowed to hurt.”

I wanna kiss her, but the thought has barely crossed my mind to start leaning in when she goes stiff and pulls away. “Th-thank you, Sammy.”

I rub my hands together as I stand. Yeah, probably wouldn’t be a good idea. Maybe Dean’s right. Probably Dean’s right. “You know, i-if you need anything, I’m here,” I tell her and she nods so I just leave. It’s a bad idea to try to get close to her right now. It’s a bad idea.

Especially since she seems determined to sacrifice herself. Which, thankfully, she fails at. Every part of our plan to take down the Darkness fails. So we have to come up with another option...which puts Dean on the chopping block. This seems like it’s the...the last time. The end. Especially when Dean kisses Y/n right there in front of Cas, Crowley, and Rowena.

“Sam, Y/n, I’m so sorry,” Cas says as we enter the bunker. “If you want to talk...I’m here if either of you need anything.”

“Hello, hello,” a happy British voice calls out across the War Room. A well-dressed woman slams her hand into a banishing sigil on the wall, sending Cas away. Y/n and I call his name and reach for our pistols but the woman raises a gun before we can. “Don’t. Y/n and Sam Winchester. Toni Bevell,” she introduces. “Men of Letters, London Chapterhouse.” What? There’s still Men of Letters?

“Oh you won’t have heard of me...us. We’re very traditional. Keep out of the way, keep to our studies.”

“You, um…” I look over at Y/n, who looks just as confused as I feel, then look back to the intruder and shake my head. “What?”

“They sent me to take you in.”

“To take us in?” Y/n asks.

“Assuming the world didn’t end, and...yay!” she says. I am not in the mood for this shit.

“Look, lady,” I start, stepping toward her.

“We’ve been watching you, Sam. What you’ve done, the damage you’ve caused...archangels, Leviathans, the Darkness, and now, well...the old men have decided enough’s enough. I mean, let’s face it. You’re just jumped-up hunters playing with things you don’t understand and doing more harm than good.” I almost growl at that. We didn’t ask for the archangels or the Leviathans or the damn Darkness. We didn’t even ask to be hunters. “Now, where’s Dean?” she finishes.

“Dead,” I answer, focusing on my anger so that she doesn’t see the sadness in my face. “Listen, lady, I don’t know who the hell you are or what the hell you want-” I start advancing on her again.

“Stop,” she demands, but I don’t listen.

“Put the gun down,” I snap.

“I said stop,” she reminds me.

“We all know you’re not gonna pull the trigger,” I say, but she does. Y/n screams when the bitch’s gun goes off, bullet impacting my thigh. I hit the floor, Y/n drops next to me to put pressure on me.

“I’m going to retrieve something to use as a tourniquet,” the intruder says to Y/n as she tucks her gun into a holder on her hip. “I assume you wish Sam to survive. Don’t try anything stupid.”

“You bitch,” Y/n growls at her.

“Oh, you’ll be needing a gag too, then.” She starts to walk away as I take deep breaths to keep my pain level down. “Bloody hunters.”

“You’re gonna be okay, Sammy,” Y/n whispers.

I fucking hope so.

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

A cattle prod wakes me up. Y/n and I are bound to wooden chairs, hands cuffed behind our backs, ankles cuffed to the chair legs. I look over at Y/n to make sure she’s in better shape than me before I look around the room. We’re in a storm cellar. Nothing unique in Kansas.

“Be a good boy,” the woman with the cattle prod says as Toni Bevell walks down the stairs.

“You,” I bite out, pulling at my restraints.

She sits down in a chair across the cellar from us and flips open a notebook, taking the cap off of a fancy pen. “Now, Y/n, Sam...let’s begin.”

“Toni Bevell, London Chapterhouse.” Bitch. Stupid British cunt. Broke into my home, shot me, knocked me and my sister out.

“That’s right.”

“So, you’re what. You’re English Men of Letters?” Y/n asks.

“British,” Toni corrects.

“Right. Big distinction,” Y/n says rolling her eyes.

“You would think that you, the smarter Winchesters, would care about that difference.”

“Well, you don’t sound Welsh, so…” Y/n is such a snarky bitch. I love her.

“Where are we?” I ask.

“Does it matter?” she taunts me.

“Just wondering how far we’re gonna have to walk back to town after we kill you,” I answer. I nod at the woman in black who shocked us. “And her. But you first.”

She obviously doesn’t believe we’re gonna murder her. “Yes, well, before you murder us all, we do have a few questions about you, your brother, Hunters in America, and how you saved the sun.”

Really? “Right. You shoot me, kidnap us, but yeah, we’re happy to help,” I say, rolling my eyes.

“I didn’t want to hurt you, Sam. You gave me no choice. And, well, I could say it was never supposed to go this way, but you’re...you . It was always going to go this way.”

“And you know me?” I snap.

“We do,” she confirms. “We’ve been watching you and the twins for years. Ever since you almost ended the world the first time. We knew all about Lucifer, the angels falling, the Mark of Cain and its various...side effects.” I look over at Y/n, who looks so embarrassed. Fuck Toni for making Y/n feel like that.

“Then where were you?” Y/n asks.

“Fair question. See, some of us wanted to get involved but the old men wouldn’t allow it. Thought we were overstepping our bounds. After all of this business with the Darkness, even they have to agree...things need to change. And while you might not believe this, Winchesters, we’re here to help.”

Of course they are. “Yeah, no. I-I can tell,” I say sarcastically.

“I want to apologize for locking you up. You’re dangerous--to others and yourselves--but if you answer my questions, you both walk right out that door. I promise.”

I look over at Y/n. I wanna resist, but based on what I know of these assholes, they’re going to hurt us. I don’t want to fight back if Y/n isn’t up to the pain. But she’s the strongest of us. She tells me with a look that she understands and agrees that we’ll get through whatever they throw at us together. “Pass,” I answer for us.

“Sam,” Toni scolds me. She doesn’t know who she’s dealing with.

“You can ask me any kind of question you want. The answer’s gonna be the exact same: Screw you. You wanna get mad? You wanna get mean? I’ve been tortured by the Devil himself. So you? You’re just an accent in a pantsuit. What can you do to me?” I see Y/n gawking at me from the corner of my eye. She looks impressed...and maybe a little turned on.

“And what about your sister?” Toni asks, capping her pen. “Dear Y/n here hasn’t ever been to Hell. Her only interactions with Lucifer and the archangels has been tangential. She’s never been ‘tortured by the Devil himself’. Do you think she could handle it?”

“Screw. You,” Y/n says with all the spite and confidence of a Winchester. Damn, that’s sexy. The woman in black turns on a cold tap and water starts raining down on us. “I can handle anything you throw at us.”

“A cold shower? That’s your play?” I scoff and shake the water from my hair. We start shaking but we don’t complain. We don’t say anything except, “Screw you.”

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

I wake up on the floor, out of my restraints. My burned feet are wrapped. My whole body hurts. I’ve taken a beating...and so has Y/n. I’m proud of how much pain she stood up to. When I see her on the floor on the opposite side of her chair, fear that she’s succumbed to the pain overwhelms me. I just lost Dean. I can’t lose her too. I shake her, call her name, check her pulse. She’s alive, but her breathing is shallow. I need her to wake up.

“Y/n. Y/n, you need to wake up,” I whisper desperately, grasping at her face.

“Um ah-righ,” she slurs and I let out a sigh of relief. She’s not out of the woods until she opens her eyes.

“Hey, hey! I can’t lose you too!” I shake her slightly.

“You’re really loud,” she mumbles, a little clearer, but still not awake.

“Yeah. Yeah, I know but you need to wake up.”

Her eyelids flutter over her gorgeous green eyes for a moment before they slide up and she focuses on me. “I tol’ you I’m okay, Sammy,” she says, trying to sit up. I help her and look over her. “Why aren’t we tied up?”

Good question. “We passed out, both ended up on the floor.” I point at the camera on the ceiling in the corner. “They’re watching us from that camera. I’m not sure the game here, but they definitely shouldn’t have-” My eyes go wide as she her whole body goes stiff and she screams like she did when they took the torch to her toes. “Whoa! W-what, what happened?”

“I-I don’t-” She shakes her head, looking up at me with panic in her eyes. “It’s-” Her next scream cuts off her words and she clamps it down but then she just starts whimpering. “It’s like I’m on fire, inside is on fire.”

I start looking her over. A hex bag, a sigil, something that’s causing this pain...a needle mark? I pull her hair off of her shoulder and run my fingertips over a pissed-off mark on her shoulder. “Needle mark. She injected you with something.”

“T-they...they’re trying to break you by b-breaking mmme…” She’s probably right, but I know she won’t break. “I’m the softer target.”

I shake my head and look down at her. She’s not soft. “Nah. You aren’t...you’re strong and...you can-”

She lets out a disbelieving breath. “Only time I’ve been tortured is when Gordon had me, and that--that wasn’t…” She whines and scrunches her face up. Gordon tortured her because of me. Toni’s torturing her because of me. “Hng...that was nothing.”

“You’re not gonna break, Y/n. You’re a Winchester.” Dean did thirty years worth of Hell torture before he broke. I...don’t even know how long Lucifer had me. She can do this.

“I’ve always been the weak-” she starts and I can’t hear her talking about herself like that so I lay her back on the floor and look down into her eyes.

“Not weak. Sensitive, beautiful, amazing.” Perfect. Gorgeous. Sexy. Fuck, how can she look so sexy after a night of torture and days of emotional bullshit and mourning? I look down her body, her perfect, curvy body. I’m fucked in the head, but...I want her. We might die here and I want her. Just once. “Just gotta distract you from the pain, sis,” I whisper as I pull her shirt up. Get her through this until whatever they hit her with wears off. I’m drawn to the burn marks on her abs from the cattle prod and I run my fingers over them. “Gonna make it better...and then we’re gonna make London Chapterhouse pay.”

“Sam, w-what are-” she starts, but I can’t let her talk me outta this. I have to taste her just this once. I lean down and kiss her burn and she gasps. I’ve heard her make that noise for Dean. I wanna make her make all the noises I’ve heard her make for Dean. I pull her shirt up over her bra and start mouthing at her boobs, wetting her bra, but I don’t care because her nipples are poking through the cotton. “Sam,” she whines, and holy shit, my name has never sounded so good.

“I love how my name sounds on your lips. Can’t wait to hear you scream it,” I admit, grinding my dick against her pussy. She grabs my shoulders like she’s trying to hold on for dear life. “Fuck, I’ve dreamed of this. Was so jealous of Dean.”

I start licking at her neck, the column of her throat. I use a little bit of teeth because I wanna mark her as mine. Just this once. She’s breathing heavy and it’s amazing. “I...Sam, please,” she begs as I pop the button on her jeans. She’s begging me. Fuck.

“So fuckin’ needy, sis. Gonna be too easy to get you off when you’re already begging for it.” I slide my hand into her jeans and rub at her clit. She cries out in pain and pleasure and I try to balance it a little more toward pleasure by rubbing a little harder and ramping up the dirty talk. “You’re so fuckin’ wet, Y/n. Soaking your panties. That all for me?”

“Sam…” she whines and that’s still the best thing I’ve ever heard.

“Don’t worry. Gonna take care of you,” I promise, pulling her pants and underwear down and off of her left leg so I can spread her thighs and hook her knees over my shoulders. I kiss my way up her inner thigh. I wanna go slow, but I’m so fucking eager and scared that the British Men of Letters might stop me. I kiss her pussy and her taste coats my lips. She tastes amazing. No wonder Dean couldn’t help but eat her out at inappropriate times. “Taste so fuckin’ good.”

“Fuck, Sam, please,” she begs and how can I say ‘no’? I start licking her lips and sliding my tongue into her slit, slurping at her delicious juices and listening to her gasps and moans. When she twists her fingers in my hair, I fuck my tongue into her pussy. She starts squirming and I put my hands on her stomach to hold her in place. “Sam, I need to--Sam, please, I need to cum, please, please, plea-” I make her scream when I move my mouth to suck her clit into my mouth.

The noise she makes is just...the best fucking thing ever, and I am hard as stone and I need to fuck her, now. I lean back and start undressing as I lick at her taste on my lips and chin. “Think they’re still watching? Huh?” I ask as I carefully pull my pants down. Her eyes go a bit wide when she sees my cock. “Or do you think they averted their proper English, sorry, British eyes when the video stream became incest porn?”

She tears her eyes away from my dick to the camera in the corner. Maybe I shouldn’t have reminded her that it was there. “Uh, I...I don’t-”

“I hope they’re still watching,” I say, carefully laying my body over hers. “Want them to see you cum all over my cock.” Her jaw drops at that. She doesn’t know just how dirty I can be. She’s gonna see before we’re done here. I lean down to kiss her, sliding the head of my cock to her entrance. She whimpers as another wave of fire hits her and I start pushing into her, French kissing her as I slowly get into her.

I’m big. Bigger than Dean, I know that much, almost certainly bigger than Jesse. I’m probably the biggest she’s ever taken, so I know that I have to go slow. But my big fucking dick is definitely distracting her...and that’s why I started this, right? I wanted to get her through this pain, but there’s no reason we can’t enjoy ourselves.

We’re kissing each other, hands buried in each other’s hair, as we wait for her to adjust. It always takes women a few minutes to get used to me...but eventually, I gotta move and when I do? When I start rolling my hips, rocking against her...I’ve never felt anything like it. I drop my head to her shoulder and take deep breaths. “Fuck, Y/n. I’ve wanted this for so fucking long. Since Dean was in Purgatory.” Since she was watching over me in Kermit. Since I was dreaming of fucking her with that collar on. “Used to fuck Amelia, picturing you,” I say as I start thrusting into her. I pick up speed a bit faster than I normally would but I’m so eager.

She grabs at my shoulders, fingernails digging in and I groan. “Sam! Fuck! Slow d-down,” she begs. Too fast, I guess.

I slow a bit, looking into her eyes as I fuck her. She’s got the most amazing body. “God, you feel so fucking amazing, Y/n. You’re squeezing my cock so good. I’m gonna fucking cum.” I grab her breast and tweak her nipple, loving the way it makes her clench around me. She’s exactly what I imagined she’d be. Perfect. “You gonna cum for me, sis? I wanna see your face. I’ve heard you cum so many times, I wanna see. I wanna feel it.”

I reach between us and rub my thumb over her clit and her nails dig in more as she whines, “Sammy.” Her body goes stiff as I start fucking her harder. She’s so fucking close. I’m gonna get to make her cum. “Fuckfuckfuck,” she rambles as her eyes roll back and her jaw drops a bit. Her breath catches on her orgasm and so does mine. I’ve never seen her look so beautiful, so blissful and heavenly.

“So beautiful,” I whisper. I kiss her again as my own orgasm approaches, pain shooting through me as my burned toes curl. I grunt into her mouth as I fill her with cum, gasping in a breath as my head goes woozy. That was everything I thought it was gonna be. Holy shit. I kiss her neck and jawline as I pull out of her. She hasn’t whimpered in a few minutes. “How’s the pain?”

“Better,” she says, stretching her neck a bit. “I think...whatever they injected me with, it’s wearing off.”

I lean away from her, get up on my forearm. I laugh as I look down at her red cheeks and sweaty forehead. “Or maybe I fucked it out of you.” I smirk as I pull her shirt down.

“Yeah. Maybe. My spirits are higher in the very least,” she says sitting up. She smiles at me for a minute before a sadness takes her eyes. “We’re gonna get out of this, right? That wasn’t a ‘Last Night on’-”

“No,” I cut her off as we start getting dressed. Her abandonment issues are huge. “That was a first of many. Next time, it’ll be better. Neither of us will be in pain.”

She shrugs and stands and I’m kinda proud of the way her legs are shaking. “Maybe a little bit of pain isn’t too bad.”

Dean was right? She likes pain. That means I don’t have to hold back with her. Perfect. She’s so fucking perfect. I smile at her. “You’re a little freaky, aren’t you?”

“Says the exhibitionist who just came inside his big sister,” she snaps back.

I chuckle. “Got me there.” It’s hot that she’s got my cum dripping out of her right now. “Let’s see if we can get outta here, huh?” She nods and we start looking around the cellar for weapons and a way out.

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

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[stuckonstarker]

the importance of family

TW: Incest, Implied Underage (age unspecified),  Slight Dub-Con

@taestarker3000 this ones for u boo 😘

Tony figures it’s time to give his fresh-faced son the talk. Peter is fairly awkward and shy about anything he deems inappropriate, but apparently his curiosity trumps all because his first question is:

“What if I want to give my boyfriend a blowjob?”

Tony's mouth opens in pure shock. There's no way his little boy just asked him that. And there’s not a snowflake’s chance in hell Peter’s giving anyone a blowjob .

Tony shakes his head, “You’re too young.”

“Pretty hypocritical for you to tell me that,” Peter mumbles.

“Excuse me?” Tony says, eyes darkening. He will not have Peter disagree with him on this topic. 

Peter shakes his head, knowing a useless fight when he sees one, “Nothing, daddy.”

“No,” Tony says, “tell me what you think.”

“It’s really nothing, daddy,” Peter whispers, all his previous sass sapped away. He looks delectable with his thick-rimmed glasses and oversized sweater. God, the fabric swallows his lithe frame. The poor boy looks emaciated unless he devours a whole buffet.

Tony takes a moment to examine Peter - which is obviously making the younger Stark uncomfortable. Tony knows he should drop it. Peter’s old enough, and mature enough, to make responsible decisions. He isn’t a little kid Tony gets to boss around anymore, but when did Tony ever care about doing the ‘right’ thing?

Peter squirms under Tony’s harsh scrutiny. His face is getting hotter and hotter by the second along with his regret for asking about a blowjob of all things.

Tony laughs, a wolfish grin spread on his face, “You’re a little piece of jailbait, Pete. I know guys who’d eat you from the inside out.”

Peter gawks. He opens his mouth and flounders to find his voice: “...What?”

“Right,” Tony says with a taunting laugh, “like all the little-dicked boys at school don’t chase your twink ass twenty-four-seven.”

Tony shakes his head; it’s patronizing, like he’s talking to a child about something that’s obvious to everyone else. He presses a sickly soft kiss to Peter’s temple.

“You’re so sweet, Pete,” Tony whispers. Peter can feel his dad’s hot breath on his forehead.

He nods, unable to voice how he feels. There’s a rush of warm arousal traveling straight to his dick and he can hardly focus on anything. Every second his dick is trapped in his pants is another second he’s losing his mind.

Tony sighs, “Why did you ask about such a vulgar thing then?”

“I was just curious,” Peter whispers, averting eye contact like his life depends on it.

“So you expect me to believe that you asked about a blowjob because you were curious and not because you have some little boytoy waiting to get his fix of a dumb, young twink’s mouth?” Tony asks, like it’s the craziest thing in the world.

Peter flinches at the word dumb.

“All I’m saying, Pete,” Tony continues, “you’re asking a little too much from me.”

Peter hates the thought that his dad might think less of him. Hates the thought that he might not be good enough.

“I don’t have a boyfriend,” Peter says, trying to reassure his father, “I’ve never been kissed. And… I - uh - never… I’ve never been with-”

“You’ve never been fucked?” Tony asks.

Peter squeaks, “Yes.”

“Good,” Tony says.

He pushes his son onto the bed. A horrified realization seems to hit Peter as Tony towers above him.

“What’s happening?” He asks, gawking.

Tony says, “Take off your shirt.”

“What?” Peter asks.

“Take off your shirt, since you’re so fucking curious about sex,” Tony says.

Peter shakes his head, “I-I… I didn’t want this-”

“Too bad,” Tony cuts him off harshly, “this is the sex ed you’re getting, kiddo.”

Normally, Peter would tell his dad not to call him kiddo, but they’ve gone way past normality at this point.

“What if it hurts me?” Peter asks. There’s a meekness in his voice that tugs at Tony’s heart and even makes him consider stopping. Consider.

Tony sighs, “Do you really have such little faith in me?”

“Well, you are being really weird right now, daddy,” Peter says.

“I promise,” Tony says, “that my special boy will feel good.”

Peter pauses, “Promise?”

“Swear on it,” Tony confirms.

Peter takes a moment - like his decision will really matter to Tony in the end - and says, “Okay.”

Peter feels like he’s overheating while his stomach does flips. It really feels like he’s having an out-of-body experience. He must be hallucinating or something because there’s no way that this is happening right now. 

Peter slowly removes his shirt, eyeing Tony like prey staring in the eyes of a predator. His face is flushed soft pink and he can’t help but shiver as the air hits his suddenly bare torso. Luckily, his humiliation makes a good heater as his face, neck and shoulders begin warming. 

Tony yanks Peter’s loose jeans off, followed soon after by the young man’s boxers.

Peter goes to cover himself, only to be stopped by Tony. 

“Keep your hands here, unless you want to be punished,” Tony says.

Peter nods, allowing his wrists to rest above his head. He doesn’t want to make his dad more upset than he already is.

Tony smiles at Peter’s obedience. Such a trusting boy.

He takes a moment to admire Peter’s soft, porcelain skin that’s only marked by freckles. That’s going to change today. He leans down and presses soft kisses on Peter’s thighs to start.

Even the featherlight feeling of Tony’s lips makes Peter mewl. Every slight motion sends small sparks running up and down Peter’s body like pinpricks. Tony begins nipping and sucking on Peter’s inner thighs and it sends a rush of warm arousal flooding to Peter’s abdomen. 

Peter’s hips buck up, but Tony’s quick to hold them down.

“Dad,” Peter whispers.

Tony chides, “Don’t be a brat.”

Peter’s soft whimpers of want sends delicious delight through Tony’s veins. He can’t help how his calloused hands run along Peter’s hips and stomach. He loves groping every inch of Peter’s soft skin, memorizing every single detail for later.

Tony looks at his young son’s cock. It’s small - adorable, much like everything about his son - and flushed, perfect and exactly what Tony had imagined.

Peter's face heats up again. Tony nips gently at Peter's sides. Peter squeaks and pulls away. 

“That tickles,” Peter complains.

Tony smiles, “My apologies.”

Tony continues running his hands all along Peter’s perfectly sensitive body. Such a cute little virgin, he could be trained into the perfect cockslut with enough determination. Tony could probably spend all day groping Peter’s sweet body, but he has a bigger goal in mind.

Peter watches in awe as Tony frees his own cock. It’s considerably bigger than Peter’s and it's surrounded by a bush of thick, black pubic hair. Peter feels his face heat, suddenly aware of how his own size lacks.

“Have you ever seen another man’s cock before?” Tony asks.

Peter shakes his head.

“Don’t lie to me,” Tony snaps, “I see all the filthy shit you look up, Pete, all the porn you get off to. There’s some very questionable shit in there, hon, I didn’t think I raised you to be such a little slut, but I can work with it.”

Peter isn’t sure he can be more humiliated. All he can do is nod shakily and obey whatever his father says next. 

“Get on your knees,” Tony says.

Peter does as told, a sharp gasp jumping from his throat as he sees the thick, lengthy, veiny cock in all its glory. It has a heady musk. A loud voice in Peter’s head urges him to put his mouth on it. He wants to choke on the thick cock so intensely it actually scares him.

“Open your mouth.”

Tony barely gets the first syllable out before Peter’s eagerly opening his mouth like some whore. Tony groans, if he had known his son was such a little slut then he wouldn’t have waited this long.  

Tony begins, “Keep your throat relaxed. I know that might be hard for you. And watch the teeth.”

Peter nods, trying to follow his father’s advice to the best of his ability.

The tip of Tony’s cock slowly breaches Peter’s mouth. It feels indescribable for both parties. The warm, wet cavern of his son’s virgin mouth almost making Tony lose his self-control. Every slight movement sends a warm rush of lust through Tony and it takes every fraying piece of self-restraint not to brutally fuck his son’s mouth.

Peter can hardly even take the first few inches of his dad’s thick cock. It’s overwhelming, every single detail burning into his brain like an iron branding. The feeling of the dick twitching in his mouth, how it smells musky and overwhelmingly perfect. His mouth is just so stuffed with cock, it’s making his brain malfunction.

For a brief moment, he truly believes this is what he’s always been made for.

Tony admires how beautiful Peter looks. He is a virgin with no experience whatsoever, so it’s understandable that the poor boy can’t fit the whole length in his mouth yet. But the pitiful thing sure is trying.

There’s a soft pink flush that paints Peter’s face while tears prick at the corners of his eyes. There’s some drool leaking from the poor boy’s pretty pink lips. He looks absolutely debauched and Tony can’t get enough of it. 

“Do you realize how gorgeous you look?” Tony groans, “Mouth stuffed full of my cock… I know you love it. This is exactly what you’re slutty little body was made for.”

Peter moans around the dick stretching his jaw.

Tony smiles, “Good boy. You know what a dirty slut you are, don’t you?”

Peter gives the smallest nod.

Tony laughs and pets Peter’s hair encouragingly.

Peter begins bobbing his head on the cock that stuffs his mouth. He hollows out his cheeks as he slowly takes the whole dick. He can’t possibly take the whole cock, being his first time and all, but he’s certainly going to try.

Tony’s head lolls back, eyes screwing shut. He groans through gritted teeth. The warm, wet pleasure his son’s mouth provides is truly sinful. A salacious desire blooms throughout Tony’s abdomen. 

He holds Peter’s brown curls in a knuckle-whitening grip. He’s fighting against his instincts, he wants so desperately to force fuck his babyboy’s throat. 

It’s quite obvious Peter’s inexperienced, but that doesn’t make him bad by any stretch of the imagination. His enthusiasm more than makes up for it. He desperately swallows Tony’s cock, gagging on it and taking it like the perfect little slut. 

Peter gags as the tip of the dick hits the back of his throat. Tony holds Peter so that he can’t pull away from the cock choking him.

Peter can’t say that he minds.

The cock is thick inside of his mouth, his jaw strains around it. It aches, he must admit, but he loves it either way. He looks up as he continues to take the cock in his mouth

The wet warmth of Peter’s mouth sends electric pleasure surging through Tony. Peter’s soft hand rubbing him to completion. There’s a tight knot forming in the bottom of Tony’s stomach; a harsh discomfort screaming at him to cum.

But, Tony has bigger plans than cumming on his son’s face. 

“Okay,” Tony exhales, “that’s enough, baby boy, get on the bed.”

Peter stays on his knees for a moment with wide, confused eyes. He looks so sweet. And so dumb.

Tony laughs, “I’m not feeding you my cum today, baby, we’ve got other things to do.”

 Peter nods and stands up. His legs are shaky like a newborn fawn. The bedsheets are cool to the touch and work to soothe Peter’s overheating body. 

Tony’s eyes are dark; nothing like the loving father he had been just an hour earlier. There’s a dangerous, predatory darkness that seems to lurk just beneath the surface of his soul. Something about the danger makes Peter reel with want.

“Daddy,” he whispers reverently.

 Tony smiles, it’s sharklike, “Yes, baby?”

Peter pauses. He isn’t sure why he called for his father in the first place. There’s a dim want buzzing underneath his skin. His eyes trickle down to Tony’s cock.

“Does my little slut want his daddy’s cock?” Tony asks.

Peter nods, “Yes.”

Tony laughs and gently caresses Peter’s face for a moment. Peter’s body is overrun with shivers, there’s something so intimate about what his father is doing that it almost makes Peter gag.

Tony’s wolfish smile doesn’t leave his face. He manhandles Peter, maneuvering him to be face down ass up.

A loud debate erupts within Peter. Two halves of the same coin; one yelling that this is wrong and the other arguing this is what they need. Peter himself is at a loss. Every inch of his body seems to be alight with want, but there’s also a sick nausea - he’s so exposed to his own father of all people.

Before he can fully make up his mind, Tony’s calloused hand is running down Peter’s spine, goosebumps trailing close behind. The buzzing want grows into pleasured pinpricks wherever his father’s hand lands.

“I’m scared…” Peter whispers so close to silently that he isn’t even sure if he said it or not.

Tony says, voice gentle, “You’ll be okay, baby. I promise. Your daddy would never hurt you, would he?”

Peter looks over his shoulder. Tony’s eyes are gentle, filled with sweet promises.

“My daddy would never hurt me,” Peter echos.

Tony smiles, “Good.”  

Peter’s dick is impossibly hard between his legs. He’s aching for some relief, no matter what kind. There’s a heavy want that rests in the pit of his stomach. The longer he goes without his father’s touch the more he realizes he depends on it.

Tony presses a lubed up finger against his boy’s tight entrance. Peter’s walls cling tightly to the finger. Tony could cum even from imagining shoving his cock into Peter’s tight ass. 

Slowly spreading Peter open only serves to rile Tony up more. Even can hardly even think past the fog of his lust. Peter’s ass looks perfect taking his daddy’s fingers, spreading his legs and arching his back like some whore. Peter’s always had a nice, firm ass.

Tony spanks him lightly with his other hand, just to watch the way his ass bounces.

Peter moans distantly. The fingers feel awkward, but they do send sparks of pleasure rushing through him occasionally.

After sufficiently prepping Peter - or, in other words, after Tony’s patience had fully snapped - Tony allows himself to rub his aching cock between the flushed cheeks of Peter’s bottom.

Peter mewls, looking back at his dad. His hips roll, desperate for more. He wants more, even if he can’t handle more - especially if he can’t handle more.

“You want me to fuck you, baby?” Tony asks, “Huh? You want this cock to ruin you?”

Peter makes an affirmative noise.

Tony smiles, “Too dumb to speak?”

Peter nods frantically. He spreads his legs. The low buzzing beneath his skin turning into a roaring wildfire. His body is overheating. He needs and he needs it now.

Tony pushes his tip in, not wanting to rush. The sight is one to behold. Peter flushed, already aching with want - ready to take anything his daddy is willing to give. His eyes go from being impossibly wide to screwed shut and his mouth is open in a perpetual ‘o’.

The tip stretches Peter nicely; his father’s impressive girth not disappointing. Tony pushes his cock deeper into Peter - watching in awe as his son’s tight body swallows his cock.

Pleasure rockets up Peter’s spine and he lets out a desperate cry. The thick cock rubs up against a perfectly sensitive spot and it refuses to relent. Peter can feel every vein in his body being bombarded with fiery lust, every inch of his body being covered in an unholy blanket of want.

“Please,” Peter whispers, tides of desire overtaking his mind, “please, daddy, please.”

Peter can feel every inch of the massive cock filling him up and taking his virginity. It’s making him sore in the best possible way. His mind and body spark alive with electric pleasure; it rockets up his spine and runs through his limbs. 

The sudden surge of pleasure makes Peter’s eyes water. It’s just too good. It feels like every inch of the cock that enters him only serves to push him further into his sinful desires. Tony’s cock rubs against every sensitive spot in Peter and stretches him so perfectly.

Peter moans and begins rolling his hips backward, trying to get more of that perfect dick deep inside him. He can feel Tony holding his hips, guiding him and allowing him to take every inch of that amazing cock.  

“Daddy,” Peter whines.

It’s too good to contain. Peter can feel it all, the way the cock stretches him and strains against his walls. He can feel how the tip of the cock relentlessly rubs against his sensitive spots, making him desperate for more.

The moment his father is fully sheathed inside him is one Peter will never forget.

Peter makes a strangled noise. There’s something so delightful about being spread open and taken. Something deep within him coming to light. An unexpected fulfillment. He feels so good that it aches. He never knew something could feel so right.

“Please,” he whispers through the fog of lust that’s overtaken his mind.

Tony groans. Peter’s walls cling around his cock so tightly… The feeling is indescribable. He pulls out and, with a sharp snap of his hips, thrusts back into Peter - provoking a yelp from his son. The pleasure is so overwhelming, he grits his teeth. 

Tony starts fucking Peter with a rough pace. His cock slams into Peter’s tight ass over and over again, ripping the boy’s innocence from him.

Peter moans. He feels detached from his body. Like he’s floating in the sky amongst the clouds. Bliss blooms in his abdomen, like a flower sprouting from the ground.

There’s a tight pressure that’s beginning to form in both of them. Peter can feel every slight movement of Tony’s cock rubbing against him. It’s too mind-numbing. It hurts… But Peter can’t say that he wants it to end.

Peter’s breath is being stolen from him. His body strains against the thick cock fucking into him. Every snap of Tony’s hips sends another wave of painful lust through Peter’s body.

Peter’s eyes are screwed shut. He bites his lip in a vain attempt to restrict his whorish moans for more.

Tony forces Peter to take every agonizing inch of his massive cock, stretching the poor boy beyond his limits. It hurts in a way that makes Peter’s body light up with pleasure, it screams under his skin and takes over his mind. His legs are spread open, his body presented to his dad like little more than a fuckhole.

Peter cries into the pillow. His hands cling to the bedspread. He looks a mess, hair clinging to his sweat-sodden forehead, his eyes watering with unwept tears, his lips red and soaked in saliva.

He can only focus on the dick slamming into him. It feels too perfect to be real, too good to be wrong. It’s all overwhelming. The head of Tony’s cock relentlessly rubs against every sensitive spot inside of Peter’s body. It sends lightning strikes of pleasure coursing through Peter’s veins. 

“You look so sweet-” Tony groans into Peter’s ear, “-so sweet and just for me.”

Peter can only nod as he barely registers the words.

Desperate pleasured cries are ripped from Peter’s throat. Liquid fire pools in his abdomen, pleasure blooming deep inside of him. He’s uncomfortably hot, his breath comes out in strangled moans and pained pants of pleasure.

Tony has a hand on Peter’s hip, holding onto him so tightly that it’ll surely leave a bruise. Fucking Peter feels like a religious experience. Tony’s never felt something so overwhelming. Peter’s so tight and wet and warm. He’s daddy’s perfect boy.

It’s all so much - too much. Tony’s thrusts are sharp and hard and they hit that perfect spot in Peter every single time. It’s mind-numbing. 

Peter spreads his legs, wholly unaware of what he’s actually doing. He claws at the sheets. He’s sent reeling forward with every rough thrust. His brows furrow, every muscle in his body tightens. He aches for his finish. He can feel his end so close yet so far away. It’s too good, so good. He cries loud and desperate.

“Please, please, please,” Peter repeats like it’s the only word he knows.

It’s so good he’s choking on it. The waves of lust inundate him, he feels like he’s drowning. His dad holds him in place - it’s cathartically rough. Peter whines, his vision is blurred and his words are slurred. He rolls his hips backward, deliriously trying to meet his father’s rough-paced fucking.  

Peter continues to beg, “Please, please, please.”

He can’t get enough of it, but he can’t handle more. The pleasure is gathering, tightening into a small ball of want deep in his stomach. His body aches, tightens, begs for release.

He’s losing his mind. When his hysterical pleas die down his mouth remains open in a silent scream. He tightens his grip on the blanket. Euphoria rushes throughout him, it’s hot and raw and real..

He’s so painfully hard, but he can hardly focus on that. There’s an endless onslaught of pleasure and pain assaulting him at every turn. Peter makes a strangled noise and screws his eyes shut again. He grits his teeth, every overwhelming sensation attacking him at once.

Peter’s convinced he’s in heaven. There’s no way anything could feel better than this. Than Tony’s cock fucking into him, spreading him open and taking him. Tony’s thrusts are rough and carelessly perfect, it sends Peter’s mind spinning.

It’s humiliating how satisfying it is to be used as little more than a sex doll. Peter tugs at the blankets, biting his lips in a desperate attempt to restrain his pleas for more. It’s all so overpowering, he can feel every movement, every single thing. It’s all so perfect.

Peter’s hips roll backward in a frenzied attempt to meet his dad’s cock. He doesn’t care how desperate he seems, he is desperate for his dad’s cock.

He can hear Tony’s groans of pleasure above him. It sends a flood of warmth throughout Peter’s body. He lets out an aborted plea for more as the coil of need in his abdomen tightens. He feels desperate for more, desperate for it to end.

More. More. More.

Peter cries, “Please!”

“I’m going to come inside you,” Tony says, voice husky, “make you all mine. Ruin you for anyone else.”

Peter nods frantically. That’s exactly what he wants. He can feel it. Being fucked harder and harder, making him dumber and dumber.

It’s all so much, all so little, all at the same time. He collapses fully into the sheets. His body tightens. He aches for more. He can feel his father pressing into him, stretching him and fucking him so perfectly, so roughly, it’s mind-numbing. It’s impossible to focus on anything besides his dad’s amazing, massive cock.

It all builds up and explodes. Peter lets out a scream as he feels himself cumming on his dad’s cock. His hands scramble to find purchase in something other than the endless pleasure. It’s impossibly good, it’s so good. His body tightens around the thick cock buried deep inside of him.

He lets out a string of overstimulated whines as Tony continues to fuck into him, eventually cumming inside of his son.

Peter’s whole mind is foggy. The afterglow of his orgasm has fully taken over. He feels like he’s floating on a bunch of clouds. He struggles to breathe or even think. He’s forgotten even the most basic functions. It’s like he’s gone through a factory reset.

He’s aflame. Sweat clings uncomfortably to his skin and his father’s cum deep inside of him is foreign feeling. Tony pulls out slowly, it’s weird and slightly painful. Mostly, though, Peter’s focused on the strangeness of what just happened.

“Daddy?” Peter asks softly.

Tony gives him an acknowledging noise.

Peter looks at him with wide, honey eyes.

Tony smiles, “So sweet. My baby boy, good boy.”

“Your good boy,” Peter repeats, “your good boy.”

[tomakeitbeautifultolive]

2 questions (or so😬); 1) do you have headcanons of how will Jon and Danys love or romance story develop(if there is one)? Slow, over time? Or on the first sight, head over heels? One-sided, and later two-sider? Will both of them don't know(R+L=J) ? Or only Jon? How do you picture the angst between them? 2)when did Ben joined the NW and why? It's not like the NW went from a place or glory to a shit hole in a span of 15 years?! Like it's never mentioned what Ben did during the rebellion? Thx you

Wow! Thank you for all the asks! Sorry it took me so long to get to your beautiful questions. Oh you know I've got some Jon x Dany headcanons! *rubs hands together*

I believe it will be a slow burn that will resemble season seven in many ways (there's a reason season seven, for all its flaws, was still very highly rated as opposed to season eight - because while things like dialogue or timing suffered, the plot still felt like it was going in the right direction).

My prediction about Jon has always been that he'll be the *one* man who isn't impressed with Dany's beauty. Oh, he'll notice it all right, but he won't mention it or use it as a means to gain her favor with compliments. He's going to treat her as an equal right off the bat, and not as an object or a prize that he can win or woo. This is going to perplex Daenerys and probably intrigue her. They'll earn each other's respect based on merit, and I definitely predict some sort of innate bond between them because they're basically fated to meet.

Now, there's some speculation that because Jon died and is (most likely) coming back to life, we may never get another POV from him again. If that is the case (knock on wood) it will definitely appear very one-sided. I also have a headcanon that Jon absolutely resembles his true father in all but coloring, and that he's a total knockout - and we won't find that out until Daenerys sees him and we finally hear a proper description of his looks. (I also have a headcanon that Jon has his father's eyes - that everyone assumes they're grey but actually they're a dark indigo...) And in my dreams, Barristan Selmy is standing beside Daenerys on Dragonstone when Jon marches in and Ser Barristan sees something in Jon that strikes him as familiar... I would love it if, upon seeing Jon, it suddenly clicks for Barriston.

Angst between them, hmm. (f)Aegon is a bit of a curveball here. Either he's going to carry out his plan to try and wed his aunt and it could cause angst and make Jon realize he feels something more for Dany, or this will happen long before Jon is around - possibly as a ploy. Part of me suspects that if he took Tyrion's advice to heart about having a stronger claim than Dany, he might try to get rid of her or destroy her reputation somehow when she arrives to Westeros - and Jon might go to her once she's totally compromised and offer an alliance then.

I am more of a mystery theorist rather than someone who feels comfortable guessing at battle plans or strategies, I admit...

I do think that Jon's parentage will come out by some means or another, and that Daenerys will find out. I don't see this being a point of contention between them whatsoever, nor will the incest be a problem for Jon. In fact, I kind of see the pair of them teaming up to slay the mummer's dragon together. While the show really went hard with Targaryens being mad and evil, that is hardly the case for ASOIAF. This negative image of Targaryens comes mostly from, you betcha, the Lannisters (and Robert Baratheon). It was more or less a propaganda campaign that succeeded not only across Westeros, but apparently across the reader base who cannot read between the lines.

If it's true that Coldhands is not Benjen, then it could be Benjen or Howland who spill the beans, or perhaps confirm Ser Barristan's suspicion? (Assuming he doesn't die - but I really feel in my heart that he won't). I think Jon will have an identity crisis - not so much about being a Targaryen (I think he'll be proud of that honestly) but about not being Ned Stark's son as he was led to believe. I'd love for him, and the readers, to finally learn that his true father was a great man.

Now, speaking of Benjen... I believe he had a very heavy hand in what happened between Lyanna and Rhaegar. I believe he helped equip Lyanna with the mismatched armor needed for the tourney - and that he helped them, in some way, correspond in order to plan their elopement/abscondence.

During the rebellion, Benjen was the Stark in Winterfell - which I can only imagine how that empty castle haunted him during that period. Following news of his sister's death, I'd be willing to bet Benjen was utterly overcome with guilt. And for as close as Ned and Lyanna were, I believe Benjen was even closer to her. His joining the Night's Watch reads almost like a self-inflicted punishment/imprisonment, or... maybe... it wasn't that at all. His decision to join the ranks of a military order full of Targaryen supporters beyond the reach of Robert Baratheon might be a strategic one.

Benjen isn't stupid. He has to know who Jon is, right? I suspect he was even in on the prophecy that Rhaegar was into about TPTWP. So, Ned is keeping Jon safe, but Benjen might just be securing his future (or was, until his disappearance threw the plan into jeopardy).

Now... I have another little theory everyone is going to hate. But bear with me.

The Mormonts. They're a relatively small house sworn to Stark, in the middle of fucking nowhere. And by that I mean they're on small Bear Island surrounded by water - it's real out of the way from just about any and everything. They are described as poor.

So, how the hell does this small, obscure house manage to be one of the few with a Valyrian sword? Was it really written that way just so that Jon could inherit it? That seems a bit too convenient for GRRM's standards, doesn't it?

Presumably, sometime before Robert's Rebellion (though no one knows for sure), Jeor Mormont joined the Night's Watch and quickly moved through the ranks, securing Lord Commander status. Benjen Stark becomes First Ranger. Two of the most powerful positions. And Bear Island went to Jeor's son, Jorah Mormont, along with Longclaw.

What happens with Jorah, exactly? He's caught selling poachers to slavers. Poachers. On Bear Island...?

For this disgrace, Jorah Mormont fled to the Free Cities. In the books, it says during this time Jorah fights the Braavosi, but in the show, he admits to having been part of the Golden Company (this might be important considering GRRM was pretty involved in season one and writing it).

I know the story goes that the sword has been with the family for five-hundred years. But a theme in these books is that history doesn't quite add up, and I can't help but notice that while the Starks' sword Ice dates back four-hundred years, around the time of the Doom of Valyria/when the Targaryens landed in Westeros, the Mormont sword allegedly goes back a hundred years further? Curious.

The original pommel, according to Jeor, was worn and indistinguishable - which seems strange for a Valyrian steel sword. Either way, this is a hint that pommels can be swapped out.

Much like Jon, Longclaw might also have a secret Targaryen identity: Blackfyre.

I'd love to see Jon and Dany square off against (f)Aegon - Dany with her dragons and Jon wielding Blackfyre. It's absurd headcanon for me that Jon obtaining and wielding this sword will inspire the Golden Company in some way and get them to change allegiance. How? I think we're missing plenty of details but if anyone knows the fate of Blackfyre better than we do, it's the Golden Company, and if Jorah did work for them or fight against them, then his presence alongside Jon/Dany might prove the swords are one and the same.

How perfect would it be for Jon to wield the very same sword as his idol, the Young Dragon? *dreamy sigh*

Anyway. If you're following me this far, it's also curious that Jorah goes on to find and protect Daenerys, eh? Meanwhile, when Jon expresses interest in joining the Night's Watch, Benjen says this:

"Until you have known a woman, you cannot understand what you would be giving up."

"I don't care about that!" Jon said hotly.

"You might, if you knew what it meant," Benjen said. "If you knew what the oath would cost you, you might be less eager to pay the price, son."

It's just all very curious to me. And maybe we'll never get answers where Benjen is concerned, just like we'll never know exactly what Rhaegar's plan was, either. But imagining these grand schemes going on in the background make the story so much more interesting to me because I'm a dreamer, what can I say?

Thanks for the asks, they were a great way to get my mind off of paranoia for a while lol ♥

[dirthavarens]

At Least [Bookerbeth]

Fandom: Bioshock Infinite Characters: Booker Dewitt, Elizabeth Comstock Relationship: Booker/Elizabeth Rating: Mature Warnings: Pseudo-Incest/Unknowingly Incest Word Count: 1791 Notes: I sure do love my problematic OTP READ ON AO3 or read below;;

She wanders inside of a ruined art studio and he follows her, his senses on high alert for any sign of danger. The inside is in shambles, a mess of canvas, paint, brick, and concrete. Broken wooden planks are scattered across the floor, but she navigates them with ease. She settles herself against the desk in front of them and crosses her arms over her chest.

“I’m not even his daughter. I’m just some,” she blurts out unexpectedly, her voice drowning in anger and confusion. Booker watches as she struggles to find the words in the clouded storm of her mind, “...specimen to be poked and prodded.”

Booker cannot help the knot that forms in the pit of his belly as he moves closer to the detritus-covered desk she leans against. Her doe eyes, so damnably and wonderfully blue, are fixed to the ground and he knows she’s fighting herself the same way she has been since he burst into her life. He needs to do something, say something, anything.

The truth would do. When he starts speaking, he hardly recognizes the tender note that cushions his words. It’s something that has only ever happened twice in his life.

“No, you’re not. Elizabeth, listen to me,” he entreats as he stands before her. The palm of his hand itches to be placed upon her cheek, to wrap her in his arms. “What you’ve been through… Ain’t nobody deserve that.”

Elizabeth looks up at last and Booker can see the glassy haze over her eyes. She’s exhausted, confused, frightened, and right now, he’s all she’s got.

“Booker--”

He raises his hand against his better judgment, caresses her face, and brushes her cheek with his thumb. She need not protest. She need not doubt him. He had set off on this journey initially to settle a debt. But he didn’t care about that anymore. Debts be damned, crimes be laid bare. She was his priority. Her safety, her comfort.

“We are gettin’ outta here, you got it?” Dull hope flickers behind her eyes as she holds his hand in place, nuzzling into the calloused warmth of his palm. “And you’re never gonna have to look back.”

They were in the middle of a warzone, yet the way she looked at him then…

Booker takes a step closer, his hand sweeping under her jaw to tilt her head with his finger just enough for her to gaze upon him. He swallows to silence the voice screaming in his head, demanding that he stop at once. His morality was always easy to mute, and this was no exception.

“Booker…” she repeats, softer than before, and reaches for his face. The fear in her eyes changes for a moment as she rests her fingers against his stubble. The coolness of her thimble-bearing finger is different, but he doesn’t mind.

“What you asked earlier…” To kill her in exchange for clipped wings. He never gave his word, but he would do everything before allowing her to be locked away again. She marveled at freedom, at beauty, at simplicity.

“I don’t want to talk about that now,” she objects with a quiet sternness.

“Elizabeth, I’m not gonna let it come to that. I’m gettin’ you out and you’re gonna see Paris,” he murmurs and slowly leans closer. Booker won’t push himself on her, but how he feels when she looks at him that way… He has to know if it’s mutual, has to know if she’s even curious.

“Please don’t make promises you can’t keep.” Her voice is but a whisper now as her words melt in hot breath against his face. He glances to her lips as she speaks, watching the supple flesh bend with every word, and finds that he’s stopped breathing altogether.

“Elizabeth…”

His forehead rests against hers, his eyes closing as he nestles his fingers into her choppy brunette locks. She’s responsive and in the way he had been hoping for. With nothing but ruin and death around them, they find a moment of solace, of comfort, as she laces her fingers together behind his neck.

“Kiss me, Mr. Dewitt. If anything goes wrong… I at least want to have that.”

His skin prickles as she says his surname, but not with the annoyance he felt the first hundred times she said it in their short time together. Booker lifts his head from hers and looks down at her to get the final confirmation from her before leaning in.

He takes her lips with a slow tenderness he’s unaccustomed to, having a certainty that he’s her first kiss. There’s a hunger inside of him that wants him to dig further, to take all of her firsts and all of her lasts. He hadn’t felt that way since…

No, he can’t think of them.

Elizabeth molds her mouth against his, pressing into him with an uncertain and awkward pressure. He smirks against her lips and takes the liberty of nipping her bottom lip before he pulls his head back.

“Never done this before, have you?”

“Was it bad?” she inquires with a note of embarrassment. “I have not, and I wanted t--”

“Hey, calm down. Lemme show you.” Booker finds himself smiling for the first time since he came to this hell in the clouds. He shifts closer, takes her cheek in his hand while his other settles at her waist. “Follow my lead.”

He takes her bottom lip in a smooth motion, kissing her as he would any woman. However, there is an attentiveness that is entirely for her, slow and directional without speaking. And Elizabeth catches on quicker than he anticipates. A small hand settles against his chest while the other scratches against his neck.

It’s a request for something more, something more involved, and he gives it to her. His tongue slides into her mouth, sampling the warmth as they keep their rhythm, and she lets out a satisfied hum.

He reaches behind her, then, and blindly pushes paint cans to the floor before easily lifting her into the air and setting her on the desk in place of the cans. Never does he leave her lips. Especially not since she picked up on how to move her tongue along with his.

They kiss in perfect tandem and Booker does his best to ignore the twinges in his groin, not daring to play with the idea of stripping Elizabeth’s virginity during her first kiss. He tries to tuck the thought away, failing more than not as her dress hikes up and he settles between her legs.

“Booker,” she breathes as they separate, her voice somewhat rough from her new experience. She looks up at him with something that he does not and will not give words to. Not so soon, not now, not here. She’s not allowed to want him. “What if this is it?”

“It isn’t,” he says assuredly. What he doesn’t say, is that it isn’t for her. He’s been through some shit before, but this… Ghosts, Songbird, Comstock’s cult, the Vox Populi…

He’s confident she’ll come out of this on the surface below, on Earth, where she belongs. There’s nothing he won’t do to ensure that now, even if it means his life is the cost. He’s been a killer long enough to know that everyone has a date with Death whether they want it or not. His luck would run out eventually.

But not before Elizabeth is safe.

He takes a step back and gives a breath as he pretends not to notice the way her chest is rising and falling or the way she’s biting the inside of her lip. “We should get back to Comstock’s manor.”

There’s a moment of silence between them before Elizabeth holds to his scarlet bandanna and pulls him closer. He returns to her lips before she has to ask, doing away with caution and ease. If this is the first and last time he gets to have a moment like this, he’s not going to squander it with gentility.

Booker returns to her with a step forward and holds her as tightly to him as he can, until they’re a unit of gnashing lips and tongue and teeth. He feels drunk as her kiss buzzes along his lips, as he drinks in her breath, as he steals into her mouth. The world was falling from the sky around them, and he cared for naught but her kiss. Only when she grabs at his belt does he focus on something other than those lips.

“No,” he growls and seizes her wrist, ignoring the tightness within his slacks.

“Booker...please…” Elizabeth pants out between the haphazard rhythm of their lips.

“No,” he repeats more firmly, knowing that she is still riding the waves of uncertainty and anger over Comstock’s abuse and lies. She’s vulnerable and he will not take advantage of that, no matter how beautiful she is, no matter how hard he is, no matter how much they both want to…

“Why?”

He pulls from the kiss, his lips sore, and releases her wrist. “This isn’t the right place or time.”

“Nothing about any of this is right,” she returns and rests her hands in her lap.

Elizabeth is right. Nothing is as it should be. They’ve jumped through realities, altered timelines, messed with space and time. But her words only solidified his questionable resolve.

“I know,” he sighs in agreement, but doesn’t act in her direction. Booker takes a step back to give her room to move. “But right now we gotta focus on gettin’ you as far away from this mess as possible.”

She slides down from the desk and gives a nod as she fixes her dress. He can tell she’s disappointed, but she’ll get over it. They have a task, hopefully a final push, and then Elizabeth would be free.

“Hey,” she starts as they turn to leave the building.

“Hmm?”

“Thanks for…”

“Don’t mention it,” he picks up as she trails into silence.

Booker decides then that if he makes it through this, he’ll take her to Paris first. He’ll watch as she marvels over something she’s longed for. No one would get her in a trade for any deal. His debts are his, and she is her own person, never to be caged again. If she's still curious after the debris is cleared, if she still wants to explore that route, he won't stop her. He'll have her overlooking the Parisian streets as he claims her as his. And he'll be listening to all the pretty sounds he can only imagine that will come from her mouth.

All they have to do is make it down to the surface, and he would get them there.

Hopefully.