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coffeedrgn87 · 2 years

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December 14th Drarry Drabble: "Sweet Tooth"

Tags: Flatmates, Slow Burn, UST, First Kiss, Flirting, Snuggling, Fluff, Even asleep Teddy is the perfect matchmaker

“Harry, I found the most adorable reindeer doughnuts you’ve ever seen—” Draco hollered from the hallway, delighting in the snug warmth inside the two-storey flat he shared with Harry. It was absolutely freezing outside, and Draco was glad to finally be home. He toed off his shoes and kicked them aside, then haphazardly slipped out of his winter coat and flung it over the bottom newel post. A well-practised swish of his wand sent the cardboard box of reindeer doughnuts floating into the kitchen at the end of the hall, and then Draco was on his way up the stairs, taking two steps at once.

He found Harry in his bedroom, and when he poked his head in to check whether Harry was asleep, he noticed that Harry had company. Teddy, his godson, was fast asleep in Harry’s arms. His signature blue hair was a dishevelled mess, and his face was blotchy and tear-stained. Draco arched a curious eyebrow and pushed the door open a little further. He quietly stepped into the room, careful to avoid the creaking threshold floorboard.

“What happened?” he whispered.

Harry let out a soft sigh.

“Bit of drama at St. Mungo’s today. Andy took him for his scheduled dragon pox vaccination, but he refused to let the Healer anywhere near him without me there. Begged off work when Andy floo-called to ask if I could help. Afterwards, he wouldn’t let go of me, so I told Andy I’d take him home. He’s with us for the weekend, I’m afraid.”

Draco grinned.

“You big ol’ softie.”

Harry rolled his eyes.

“Like you wouldn’t have done the same.”

Draco shrugged. He gently closed the bedroom door behind him, then crossed the room and sat down on the edge of the bed.

“Why all the tears?” he murmured.

Harry let out another sigh.

“His arm was sore after the injection. I tried to dilute a few drops of pain potion to make it kid-friendly, but he refused to drink it. Threw up when he smelt it. As you can imagine, we’ve had quite the morning. I finally got him to sleep about twenty minutes ago, but I’m afraid to leave the bed if it wakes him up again.”

Draco huffed a soft laugh. He pulled his legs up onto the bed and, curling up next to Teddy, gently combed his fingers through his cousin’s hair to restore some order to it. Teddy mumbled something garbled and curled into an even smaller ball.

“I’ll stay with him if you need a break.”

Harry shook his head.

“Nah, I’m OK. Did I hear you say something about reindeer doughnuts?”

Draco nodded.

“There’s a new bakery café on Carkitt Market called Sweet Tooth, a hole-in-the-wall sort of thing with two tables on the inside and a queue to rival any book signing Flourish & Blotts ever organised. They drew more of a crowd than you the last time you decided to eat your lunch sandwich out by the fountain. Went to check it out and thought you might like some reindeer doughnuts; they’ve a treacle filling.”

Harry’s eyes sparkled brightly.

“You are my saviour,” he said.

Draco turned his eyes upwards.

“Laying it thick here, aren’t you, Potter?”

Harry shrugged.

“Dunno, perhaps, I don’t care. Treacle is heaven.”

Draco chuckled.

“You’re too easy to please, Potter.”

Their gazes met. Like so often, Draco felt unable to look away. His cheeks flushed with heat, and after a few seconds of deliberately ignoring the thumping in his chest, Draco tore his gaze away — it required enormous effort. He tried very hard not to think about the fact that he’d climbed onto Harry’s bed without asking and to distract himself from being close to Harry—their feet were practically entangled, and he could feel the heat of Harry’s body—Draco focused his attention on Teddy. He caressed the little boy’s face, and when Teddy mumbled something else in his sleep, Draco instinctively pressed a lingering kiss to his cousin’s temple.

“He’s burning up,” he whispered, flicking his gaze at Harry.

Harry nodded.

“One of the side-effects of the vaccine. Should be gone by tomorrow.”

“I’ll brew something in a bit. I can tweak the Pepper-Up recipe a bit. If you whip up one of your famed hot chocolates with cream and marshmallows, I’ll slip it in. He won’t know a thing and will feel better in a flash.”

“He’s darn lucky to have you, you know.”

Draco smiled.

“Us,” he corrected. “Anything for the little monster. He’s got my whole heart.”

“Who’s the big ol’ softie now?” Harry teased with a grin that made Draco’s stomach flip as his heart helplessly stuttered inside his chest.

He shrugged.

“So what if I am?”

Harry grinned.

“Exactly, so what,” he said. His hand found Draco’s, and they entwined their fingers underneath Teddy’s pillow.

Draco failed to suppress a goofy grin (not that he was trying especially hard), and resting his head on his upper arm, he glanced at Harry. Being this close to Harry made it difficult to ignore how Harry’s proximity woke the butterflies in his stomach, and while they danced and fluttered about, his heart rate surged. Draco let his eyes fall closed. He concentrated on the way Harry smelt—of fresh citrus, coffee, a faint whiff of Mungo’s, and his signature cologne—and the way Harry gently caressed the back of his hand with his calloused thumb. He poked Harry’s feet with his toes. They played footsie for a while, just lightly rubbing their feet together, and then Harry shifted a little.

“Draco?”

“Hm?”

“Can I kiss you?”

Draco opened his eyes in a flash and stared at Harry. He wanted to say something, but it felt like a cat had gotten his tongue, and the harder he tried to find the right words to answer Harry’s unexpected question, the more he struggled to establish a connection between his brain and vocal cords. It was like he’d suddenly gone mute. He cleared his throat a few times or tried to, and as his cheeks pinked and then turned crimson, he stared up at Harry, utterly perplexed.

“Er,” he eventually said.

Harry smiled.

“What an eloquent answer,” he murmured. “And that from the man who usually has it all together.”

Draco resisted the urge to roll his eyes, ignoring the taunt. For now, at least.

“It’s not a no, though,” he pointed out.

“It’s not a yes either,” Harry countered.

Draco briefly considered his options, their friendship, their living situation, their entangled lives, the fact that five-year-old Teddy was fast asleep between them, and, perhaps most importantly, that Harry had, for some bold reason, decided to put a sudden end to their little dance and song. They were both aware that there was more to their friendship and had been for a while. Even their friends, a weird group of Slytherins, Hufflepuffs, Gryffindors and a Ravenclaw who all appeared to get on splendidly, knew there was more between them, and regularly joked about it or made bets. But until now, Draco had never felt the overwhelming urge to change anything about his and Harry’s relationship. Sure, thoughts like what Harry might taste like and whether he was a good kisser crossed his mind every so often, but something always held him back from making the first move. Apparently, now he didn’t have to.

“If you don’t want—”

Draco hissed a pointed, “oh shut it already, Potter,” then smiled. “If Edward here wakes up and finds us snogging, you can explain the whole birds and bees situation to him.”

“And what do I do if he wants to know whether you’re the bird or the bee?”

This time, Draco did roll his eyes but swallowed a groan.

“You’re ruining the moment, Potter,” he said.

“Oh.”

“Just— kiss me already.”

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markeduke · 4 months

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ecoflooringusa · 2 years

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astridbecks · 3 years

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@astrid-week may technically be over but we’re still doing this, oops. Part four of five, started as a fill for day 5 (years). Also on AO3.

CW: discussions of death, gaslighting; this deals heavily with the effects of memory modification, but the premise is that at some point, Astrid and Eadwulf must have also had their memory restored

— — —

Remove Curse (3rd-level abjuration)

Range: Touch Components: V, S

At your touch, all curses affecting one creature or object end. If the object is a cursed magic item, its curse remains, but the spell breaks its owner's attunement to the object so it can be removed or discarded.

— — —

Two years and three months after Bren is sent to Vergesson — Bren would be able to tell her the time elapsed, down to the hour, were he in his right mind — Astrid sits cross-legged on top of the desk at the front of a dark classroom. It’s near midnight; the moonlight through the high windows leaves faint rectangles of silver to fall across the empty rows of desks.

It’s one of the larger lecture halls, used for introductory courses. Behind her, the blackboard is still marked with the day’s lesson. She’d spent a few minutes staring at the arcane equations for the second fundamental law of evocation, then the next half hour staring through the pale, moon-limned chalk lines, recalling her own first year of lectures and papers and exams. The untrammeled ambition and hope.

A floorboard in the hallway creaks and she tenses. One hand rises, ready to cast; the other draws a knife from a sheath in her boot.

A familiar figure steps into the room, broad-shouldered and carrying a scent of wine undercut by iron.

“You always pick the strangest places to brood,” Eadwulf says, and then: “Please don’t stab me, I don’t need more blood on this shirt.” Fire crackles to life in his hand, throwing flickering light over his face. His expression is drawn, a shuttered look to his eyes, and there is indeed a telltale stain on one sleeve, red fading to brown.

Astrid narrows her eyes at him, but sheathes the knife with a jerk. “Don’t sneak up on me, then. And I’m not brooding.”

“Aren’t you?” He leans against the desk, making a familiar gesture, and a bottle drops from a pocket dimension into his hand. The fire leaps from his other hand, lighting the lamp on the desk. “Want some?”

She shakes her head, wordless. He shrugs, uncorking the bottle and taking a swig.

“So. If you’re not brooding, what’s on your mind?” He sets the bottle between them, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.

“What went wrong with tonight’s mission?” she asks instead of answering. It’s technically a guess, but she knows she’s correct even before his eyes grow harder and more distant. (He wouldn’t have worn a shirt light enough to show bloodstains if he’d expected the night to end with stabbing.)

“Doesn’t matter.”

Astrid could press the matter, but it’s not worth it. She flicks her finger moodily against the bottle, nail ringing on the glass, until Eadwulf gives an irritated sigh and moves it out of her reach.

“And you didn’t answer my question, anyways,” he adds, lifting the bottle again and regarding her over the lip of it.

Astrid raises an eyebrow. “I was considering the factors that might turn a loyal citizen of the Empire down a path of treason.”

Eadwulf snorts and sets the bottle down harder than strictly necessary. “Your extracurricular activities are supposed to be different from your actual job, you know.” When she fails to respond with something barbed and clever — misses her step in their usual conversational dance — something in his gaze shifts. “And you could’ve thought about that without breaking into a classroom after hours to lurk in the darkness.”

“Where I choose to have my breakdowns is my own business,” she says, haughty.

“Is that what you were doing?”

“No.” Not yet, at least. “I was just… thinking.” He doesn’t press her to elaborate, but he also doesn’t look away from her as she turns the words over in her mind, considering her admission. “Our — graduation. It doesn’t make sense when you really consider it. The coincidence of it, the lack of prior indications, the lack of a motive. And the execution followed so quickly that we never had time to hesitate.”

It’s a cruel thing to throw at him without warning, especially when he’s half-drunk and recovering from a botched mission. She sees his hand shake before he grips the bottle tighter, knuckles going pale.

“Soldiers don’t get to hesitate.” His voice is strained. “Shit, Astrid. Why dig up the past like that?”

One of us has to remember. It’s an exceptionally unfair thought, and she knows it. “How did you find out? An overheard conversation?” She doesn’t need him to confirm it; they’d reported to Ikithon together like the good, loyal children they were. “One conversation. Short — a few minutes, no? Ten minutes or less?”

The traitorous discussion she’d overheard had been startling in its simplicity, a clear admission of intent and disloyalty. Later (much later) she’d thought back, tried to remember. She’s never had Bren’s knack for telling time, but it could have been ten minutes. It could have been less.

It’s almost insulting, the idea that Ikithon might have only deigned to use one spell on each of them, not bothering to expend the effort to make the modification more convincing. It would be insulting, except that it had worked.

Eadwulf lifts the bottle to his mouth again, but his hand shakes and wine splashes on his collar, leaving a pale plum stain. Astrid resists the urge to lean forward and pluck the bottle from his hands.

“We did what we had to,” he says hoarsely.

It would be simpler to remember it that way. It would be comforting to believe that.

“There are ways to undo enchantments,” she says, and Eadwulf shakes his head in mute refusal. “Simple ways, for arcanists of our ability level.”

“Stop it.” His eyes blaze with abrupt fury, a sudden immolation. “We don’t need to know. It doesn’t matter.”

“If we can find out, there’s no reason not to,” Astrid snaps.

Eadwulf’s hand jerks, flashing the somatic component for a shield spell before he catches himself. He dismisses the bottle without bothering to recork it — stupid, it’ll spill all over him the next time he summons it — and steps away from the desk.

“That’s what’s going to get you killed someday, you know. Not knowing when to let something go.”

“Oh, are we taking bets on it now?” Her voice comes out more venomous than she means it to, but there’s no way to take it back. “Because based on this, I’d say you’re most likely to get killed because you’d prefer to close your eyes and pretend everything’s fine, even with a knife pressed to your back.”

Eadwulf stalks out of the classroom, leaving Astrid alone in the silent moonlight.

There are things that can be burned down, over and over, until they’re rebuilt correctly.

Memory is one of those things. It doesn’t even take a spell to do it — not if you’re patient and careful and cruel. A calculated lie here, a seed of uncertainty there, and a master of the art can manipulate a target’s recollection of reality simply by making them doubt their own reliability.

Astrid knows so many ways to rewrite history. She’s learned by example. Embed crystals in a child’s skin until they sob, but tell them afterwards that they were so strong to endure it, that bearing this pain is a privilege. That they’re getting stronger, even as the nightmares get worse and every hint of compassion is stripped from them like marrow from a bone.

Be cruel, but call it kindness. Kill an innocent, but call it justice.

Eventually, if you repeat a falsehood enough, even the liar starts to believe it.

In the minutes that it took her parents to die, she prayed (pointlessly, irrationally) that they would not realize it was her hand that tipped the vial of poison; that they would die thinking that her crime was only — only — failing to act to save them as they choked before her.

Like everything else she’d known, the gods showed little mercy. Perhaps she had been beyond the reach of mercy for a long time.

She’d clutched Bren’s hand under the table, out of sight. His face had betrayed no pain even as she felt bones creak under her fingers. He wore the same impassive mask that settled over her own face as she watched her parents die. The mask of justice delivered, a sentence handed down with merciless hands.

The night Astrid killed her parents, she killed the child they’d raised, too. It just took her longer to realize that.

She opens her door the next morning to find Eadwulf standing outside it, hair mussed and eyes bleary, still wearing the same stained clothing from last night. She opens her mouth to comment on the fact that this time he seems to be the one lurking around in strange places, which makes his comments last night very hypocritical, but he cuts her off before she can.

“I’ll do it. We’ll find out together.”

Astrid casts a critical glance over his rumpled state. “Why the change of heart?”

Eadwulf glares at her. It’s a hollow echo of the fire in his eyes the night before. More resigned, somehow. “Because I know you’re going to do it by yourself if I don’t, and I’m not letting you do that alone.”

Unexpectedly — and embarrassingly — her throat tries to close, an uncomfortable tightness building in her chest. It takes her a moment to steady herself enough to nod and say, “Fine. Together, then.”

The worst part is this: Astrid already knows how to spin the justifications out, to walk the tightrope of truth and propaganda. She knows how to burn down a memory of guilt over and over until the ashes have no choice but to yield vindication.

It was necessary. Even if their parents were never traitors, weapons have to be forged somehow, and if they are destined for greatness, well — a few murdered innocents, a bit of blood on their hands, these are small prices to pay. The sacrifice their parents made — the sacrifice any loyal citizen of the Empire might be called upon to make — is one that Astrid and Eadwulf and everyone else like them must simply make worthwhile.

That is the fulcrum on which her life swings. If, years down the line, she takes her seat on the Cerberus Assembly, wears the scarlet robes of an archmage, shepherds the Empire into a new age of peace and prosperity, will it have been worth it? Will she finally be able to visit the humble graveyard in Blumenthal and find the grave she’s never searched for and honestly tell her parents that no, their deaths were not in vain; yes, Astrid has become everything they had hoped for and more?

Does it matter, when that will never change the past?

They would have understood, if they knew everything, she tells herself. If I could tell them, explain it all to them, they might have forgiven me.

She knows it’s a lie.

The spell to remove a curse is simple, in the grand scheme of things. No expensive material components; nothing terribly involved in its casting. Any sufficiently advanced wizard could learn it. By the end of the week, both Astrid and Eadwulf have acquired the necessary materials and copied it into their spellbooks. It is truly laughably easy.

The inevitable conclusion is that Ikithon wanted them to know. Not immediately; not until they could prove themselves ready. It has the shape of a lesson, even — identify a possibility, acquire the means to test that possibility, remain unbroken under the weight of that final truth.

This is still part of their schooling. The last stage of the final exam. A graduation of a different sort — to understand what has shaped them, that they might better understand how to shape others.

(Perhaps that is only what Ikithon wants her to think. Or perhaps he has never truly cared what lies she spins to justify her actions, only that she knows how to do so.)

Eadwulf stands in front of her, his spellbook open on the table next to them, his brow furrowed. “Are you ready?”

Astrid lifts her chin. “Yes.”

To Eadwulf’s credit, he doesn’t voice the hesitation evident on his face. He only places a hand on her shoulder and speaks the incantation, voice steady even as his fingers tighten with unspoken fear.

The spell rushes like a sudden wind under her skin, and the smoke in her mind tears away.

The memory of her parents’ treason turns faint and insubstantial. Present, but unreal. A fiction laid down by Ikithon’s voice, a cunning whisper she now hears clearly — you overheard your parents plotting terrible, treacherous things against the Empire. They wanted to undo all of your hard work, supplant your accomplishments, because they were afraid of what you could become.

Astrid supposes she should feel surprised, but maybe she lost that ability long ago. There’s only the hollow echo of wind, fading. Eadwulf releases her shoulder and she sways for a moment as she comes back to herself. He watches her warily, waiting for her to speak.

“You know,” she says, and can’t quite meet his gaze. “I agonized more over my choice of poison than the act itself. I thought it was weak that I didn’t want to see them suffer for too long, but I knew that if it was too swift, he would think I was being too merciful.” She takes a shuddering breath. “That was what worried me most — if he would approve of the way I murdered my parents.”

“Astrid.” His voice wavers. He’s afraid, and part of her hates him for it. Does he think she will break like Bren? Does he think he will, when the veil is torn from his eyes? “Was it—“

She slams her palm against his chest and casts.

The spell releases in a burst of warmth that she feels through her hand, up her wrist. Eadwulf staggers back half a step, breath rushing out of him as the realization breaks over his face, memory slotting cleanly back into place.

His face blurs, and it takes Astrid a moment to realize that she’s crying. A sob catches in her chest, sharp and humiliating, and then Eadwulf’s arms are around her and she buries her face in his shoulder, feeling him shake with her.

I’ll kill him for doing this to us, she thinks, and the thought settles in her chest, cold and sharp. It doesn’t sound like a lie, but she repeats it anyway — I’ll kill him with my own hands, watch the life leave his eyes, make sure he knows it was me.

There’s nothing to say, so neither of them speak.

#astrid week 2021 #critical role #cr2 #astrid beck #eadwulf grieve #my fic #i'm a big fan of the 'wizards doing somatic gestures as instinctive responses to conversational stabs' trope #also these ficlets keep getting longer and i'm not sure why #r: caught between forever and nothing at all

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givemethatgold · 4 years

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Fix’er Upper Pt. 6

Pairing: Frankie Morales x Reader

Warnings: Angst, morning wood

Length: 1.5k

Notes: Back at it with their bullshit! Finished this and even though I’m not as ahead as I’d like to be with this fic I have a general idea where it’s going so I’m posting this before I feel like I should? Enjoy! Divider by @firefly-graphics 💛 Header by me 💋

Parts ONE, TWO, THREE, FOUR, FIVE

Sleep slowly faded away, like a heavy fog evaporating in the morning sun, and your consciousness was becoming aware of a few things all at once. You were unseasonably warm, you had a raging headache already, and you really needed to pee. The arm slung over your waist was doing nothing to ease the latter issue, but it was also the reason for your warmth.

This was the first morning, since moving into the drafty old farmhouse, that you had woken perfectly cozy and warm. You could say it was due to the fact that you had passed out in your leggings and hoodie but you didn't even want to pretend it wasn't because of the living furnace currently snoring softly into the back of your neck.

Normally, as a morning person, you would jump out of bed and be putzing around the kitchen by now. However, you had no desire to disturb the peaceful atmosphere that waking up cradled in Frankie's arms had created. Morning light was already streaming through the edges of your curtains, casting your room with a warm glow. You watched dust motes dance in the air as you relaxed and matched your breathing with Frankie’s even as his mustache tickled your skin with each of his exhales.

Deciding to give yourself another ten minutes you carefully, as to not wake the grumpy farmer behind you, pulled up the blankets and wormed your body further backward so his curved fully around yours.

Frankie hummed in his sleep as his arm subconsciously tightened around your waist, his large hand spreading out so that his pinky was touching your hip bone and his thumb caressed just under your breast. His mind was still deep in slumber but his body was, er, waking up.

Visions of last night bombarded your mind as you laid there, body frozen and barely breathing to avoid waking Frankie.

Opening up to Frankie, and he to you. Crying, him making you tea, you asking him to stay so you wouldn't be left alone with the ghost of Brad to haunt your dreams... Frankie had surprised you both, if the look on his face was anything to go by, when he had agreed. The initial awkwardness of laying in your bed together, fully dressed. He had eventually started telling you stories of his childhood friends and their adventures and his soft, raspy voice had lulled you into a peaceful sleep.

All of that, however, had been more intimate and exposing than you'd ever been with anyone. Having Frankie wake up, after all of that emotional intensity, to having his boner pressing into your ass? It would be too much, you didn’t want that level of awkwardness detracting from how each of you had let down your walls for each other.

Slowly, very slowly, you rolled to the edge of your bed and slithered to the floor, avoiding the creaky floorboards on your way to the bathroom.

As you stood at the sink, gazing at your reflection, you were pleasantly surprised by your complexion. No bags, no dark circles under your eyes, just a bit of smeared mascara that was quickly wiped away. Last night's slumber had done wonders for your body. Before this morning you hadn't realized how much tension you had been carrying, or how your poor nights had been weighing on your mental state.

One great night's sleep, the best night's sleep you'd had in a long, long time, had completely restored you. Just sharing a bed with another person, nevermind the fact that he was extremely sweet, thoughtful, and hot as hell, had given you the tranquility you were missing. You instantly craved more.

It killed you to acknowledge it but a battered, bruised, yet healing part of yourself cried for independence. Reminding you how little of it you've had. It wanted you to be happiest on your own and not need someone else to feel comfortable and safe.

Hating to agree, you knew that bitch was right. For however nice that sleep had been, and however much you craved it again, you knew that you also needed to find happiness in yourself first. Brad had done so much damage, you needed to heal yourself and find yourself again before adding another person into the mix.

Taking a deep breath and coming to terms with your new resolve, you finished your morning routine before exiting the bathroom. Seeing that Frankie was still snoring away, you decided to run to town for coffee, thinking it would be a nice way to thank him for his kindness and company.

Writing a quick note and leaving it on the table, you stepped outside into the beautiful Autumn morning. Grabbing your bicycle you made the short trek to town, unable to wipe the smile from your face.

Town was busy for such an early house, and you were met with a line of customers in the bakery when you entered. The din of chatting friends nearly drowning out the bell chime above the door. Agnes, the owner ‘for over forty years!’ gave you a wave before giving her attention back to the tourist family at the counter. The smell of cinnamon, coffee, and yeast instantly enveloped you and your stomach growled making you want to order everything they had to offer behind the counter.

Knowing it would take a while before you could place your order, the owners of the place liked to stop and chat with customers, you meandered over to the community notice board that hung on the wall near the little bistro tables that graced the front window.

Amidst the notices for lost dogs, babysitting services, church service meetings, and town hall meetings was a poster for a fundraiser that caught your eye. The local youth group was organizing a county fair to raise money for a skateboard park to be built near the school. Visions of cotton candy, excited girls bursting with glee, and purses bursting with prizes flooded your mind. You had loved visiting the fair when you were younger, and decided that helping out would be a great way of experiencing that excitement again.

Grabbing a phone stub you called and signed up as a volunteer. The lady you spoke to was ecstatic and your offer to help and couldn’t wait to meet you. This was a great opportunity to meet more people in the community as well, you realized. You’d been so busy working at Morales Acres and then on your home, you hadn’t put very much effort into getting to know anyone else.

On the bike ride back home, you felt like you were walking on sunshine. Not only was your bike basket laden down with sweetbreads and a new French coffee press, which Agnes had sworn was foolproof, but you had also convinced Jacquie to volunteer for the fundraiser. It hadn't been hard as her eldest child, Cole, was very keen on becoming the next Tony Hawk.

Your future was looking so bright. There was guaranteed girl-time with your new best friend, meeting new people doing something that sounded super fun, and while you had decided to not dive into anything romantic with Frankie, you were looking forward to spending more time with the grumpy guy hiding a heart of pure gold.

Regardless of the crick in his neck, his belt digging into his hip, and his feet sweating from sleeping with socks on, Frankie woke with a smile. He couldn't remember the last time he'd slept so well. Despite the discomfort, he'd had a dreamless, deep slumber and woke fully rested.

He could try making excuses for it, blame it on the cider, the tiring workday, the spent emotions, but deep down he knew it was due to you. You, who had asked him to stay. You, who had given him so much comfort by just laying next to him. Not only that but he felt like you truly saw him when he spoke. He had opened up more in the last twenty-four hours than he had in the five years since he'd moved here.

He hadn't told you everything yet, the last time he'd done that he had scared away his wife and lost his daughter. He feared that he could lose you too if he told you about Columbia, Tom, the money, and how it had brought out the worst in him.

Frankie had felt safe enough to share his struggles with cocaine, his failed marriage, and losing custody of Annie. You had only shown sadness and concern, there had never been pity or judgment in your gaze.

Coming out of his inner reflection, Frankie soon became aware of just how quiet your house was. He could tell you had left the bed a while ago, as the space you'd occupied had gone cold. There was no usual humming or singing, no footsteps or signs of life. Slightly mystified and erring on the side of caution, Frankie slipped silently out of bed and began sweeping your house room by room.

By the time he made his way into your kitchen, his heartbeat had gone from a panicked staccato to a slow beat heavy with dread. The truth slapping him in the face: you had left. You'd woken before him, slipped away without saying anything, and left your own house in order to avoid him. Frankie couldn't help but wonder if you regretted your plea for him to stay.

Had he taken advantage of your emotional state? Was staying the wrong thing to do? Even though nothing sexual had happened he still felt like he had done something wrong, and felt horrible for it. Had he talked in his sleep, or maybe lashed out from a dream he didn’t remember?

Should he leave and give you the space you seemed to want? Should he stay and apologize? Glancing between the stairs that led to your bedroom and the front door, Frankie hesitated while weighing his options. With a sigh, he shook his head and made up his mind. Grabbing his coat from where it rested on the table, he told himself he was doing the right thing. You’d call when you were ready to see him again.

The lightness in your heart very abruptly turned to confusion when you arrived back home, just shy of an hour after you'd left. Frankie's truck was missing from your driveway.

Walking inside, you placed your breakfast and coffee on the table and had a quick look around for any signs of Frankie. When your search turned up nothing, not even a note back, you slumped down onto a dining room chair with a huff.

Had Frankie just got out of bed, grabbed his coat, and left? You tried to not read too much into it. Maybe he had run home for a shower? Or new clothes?

After finishing off your third cinnamon twist, you pushed the bag away from you in disgust with a little too much gusto and it thumped onto the floor. Heaving a dramatic sigh, you reached down to grab the muffins that had spilled out of the paper bag, and that's when you noticed the note that you had written to Frankie had fallen under the table.

Despite yourself, and what your therapist had cautioned you against, your mind automatically conjured up a scene. Frankie waking, glad that he was alone. Making his way downstairs, reading your peppy little note and throwing it away with a scoff. Leaving in a hurry, glad to be free of you and your issues.

Your heart sank, even while your brain fought against the imaginary scenario. Eventually, just barely, your head won.

When he hadn't shown up after two hours you began to worry. The two extra-large coffees in your system, why let his go to waste? didn't help matters.

By dinner, you were miserably painting the guest bedroom, alone. You told yourself he just needed some space as he had opened up his heart to you in a way he probably hadn’t in a long time. You decided to wait for him to call you once he felt comfortable enough.

Part Seven

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hoe-doroki · 4 years

Text

flotsam, jetsam, lagan, and derelict

A response to this ask:

Reader having a silent mental breakdown and trying to hide it with Bakugo and iida!( bakugo’s fine if not iida)

warning: detailed descriptions of panic attack, self-loathing

pairing: Iida x gn!reader

genre: hurt/comfort

wc: 1.5k

edit: I no longer write x reader but here’s my old masterlist - mobile | desktop

Your ship was a sturdy one—or so you’d always thought. You weren’t naïve enough to realize that your ship didn’t have a number of holes in it, depression, anxiety, intrusive thoughts to name a few. Sometimes they broke through planks, splintering the wood in moments of tension or grief, maybe separately or maybe all at once creating a fall hazard yawning open on your deck. Sometimes they were quieter, bits mold spore collecting on the framing or rust on the sheet metal, leaving you mysteriously enfeebled until you stumbled across an infestation of the stuff and knew what had happened. In either scenario, you’d scramble for more wood, more steel, the sturdiest you could find to rebuild the rotted out sections of your boat. And almost always you could rebuild, restore before you began to sink.

But that was all for naught if the person doing the fixing—the captain—couldn’t steer.

You weren’t sure if it was the slow decay sneaking up on you again or if there’d been some greater break today, but your boat wasn’t just in disrepair—it was crashing. You were hitting rocks that were saying that you weren’t good enough. That you never had been good enough and would never be enough. It was something that you heard every day of the sound of the waves, but today it was thunderous. Deafening. The noise was screaming in your head and you were screaming back—you weren’t sure for what. Did you want salvation or did you want cessation?

“Y/N?”

You blinked your living room back into existence. There was a show on the TV, you had no idea which on what program. Iida had chosen it. Maybe your eyes had been on the screen, but they’d been unseeing, your ears plugged with water, locking you in with your thoughts.

“Are you cold?”

You weren’t. In fact, you were sweating—your hands, your armpits, the back of your neck. As steadily as you could, you shook your head, working hard to keep your face placid. Your boyfriend was sharp and he’d notice if your face exposed your inner turmoil.

“Are you sure?” he asked, his voice pressing. “You’re shaking.”

You hadn’t felt the tremble that he’d spotted immediately—it was just another way that your body was betraying you. “Mhmm,” you intoned, trying to act as though your attention was rapt on the TV as you shoved your damp hands under your thigh.

“Then are you sick?” Iida asked as he leaned forward to get a better look at you.

Your façade began to break. Your breathing was getting heavier and you didn’t feel the usual comfort you did when your boyfriend was this close, giving you his attention. You felt splayed, quartered, and scrutinized while you just wanted to be able to board yourself up somewhere small and hidden.

“Please, Iida,” you whispered, looking down at your lap. “Please just watch your show.”

“Watch my—” Iida grabbed the remote and turned off the TV promptly, giving you even more of his attention. “Y/N, I insist you tell me what’s wrong.”

You shook your head, squeezing your eyes tight as they too began to feel hot. “Nothing.”

The word came out so quiet while everything inside was still crashing, shouting. You weren’t good enough and now you were a liar too. You couldn’t even have a movie night without devolving into a shaking, sweaty mess. You couldn’t steer your boat without leaving flotsam and jetsam, lagan and derelict in your wake, portending a shipwreck.

“This doesn’t look like nothing,” Iida said, putting a hand to your shoulder.

The trembling had vibrated up your whole arm and uneven gasping was rattling your chest. Every effort you put into stamping it out, rebuilding your mask with eyes a little too wide, lips a little too quivery was torn out of your hands. Your grip was failing.

“Okay, stay right here,” Iida said, pushing off the couch. “I will procure a paper bag.”

Iida was back in a flash—had he used his quirk or were you just that far gone?—unfolding a paper bag and holding it in front of you.

“Breathe into it.”

But you were frozen. Your hands had gone numb under your thighs, the trembles now feeling like the rattling of a skeleton’s bones. No flesh, no muscle, no life—just shaking and air forcing itself into your body only to squeeze right out, rejected before it could find your blood, your marrow.

Iida held the bag to your mouth and pressed a large hand to the back of your neck, trying to settle your heaving, your capsizing. Your blood felt light, carbonated as tingles spread through your whole body. They felt like bugs or tiny splinters trying to find something vital and fleshy to sink into and ruin.

But you could also feel Iida’s hand stroking up and down your neck, the top of your back. Slowly, you began to hear him say, “Breathe, breathe, breathe.” Eventually, you remembered what the word meant as you grabbed hold of the wheel again, and steer away from some of the rocks.

You didn’t know how much time passed. It felt like forever and nothing more than a second frozen in time. What did time matter when you were this detached, this unmoored?

“What was that?” Iida asked as he pulled your bloodless hands out from under your thighs, rubbing them in his. “God, Y/N, that was terrifying. Why didn’t you say anything?”

“I—” you tried, but the word was all breath. You swallowed thickly and tried again, still nothing more than a whisper. “I never say anything.”

Your boyfriend stared at you, open mouthed. “This has happened before?”

You looked down, shame putting distance between you and his blue eyes. “A few times but…the lead up happens…sometimes. It just doesn’t…it’s not like I know when it’s going to end up like this versus when it’s going to be normal.”

“Hold on a second,” Iida said a hand chopping in front of you. “What do you mean by normal?”

“Just…” You shook your head, hearing you’re not good enough and why are you even bothering him smack from side to side as you did. “Thoughts. About myself. Usually I can handle them.”

“This is handling it?”

“No!” you said, frustration and pique spilling out of you. “This is obviously not handling it! Usually I can just navigate through it and live another day.”

“Okay, okay…” Iida said, voice quieting as he seemed to realize that he was pushing you towards a gangplank that was already in reach. “Is there anything that I can do?”

A million thoughts popped into your head of the things you wanted. You wanted to be held, reassured, given water, touched, loved. But the language for that dried up on your tongue and the only thing that made it out was, “No.”

Iida sat with that for a second, sharp brows angling in on each other. Then he sat back, looking determined. “An insurmountable challenge only looks that way because you have not yet seen the finish line,” he declared. “There’s always something we can do.”

“We?” you asked, risking a glance up at him.

“We,” Iida repeated confidently. “You and I, we make a we. And if you think I’ll let this happen again, without trying to do something about it, then you’ve got another thing coming.”

“But…”

You shook your head again, wishing that the simple language that Iida used, the simple vision of your problems that he seemed to have was anywhere near the truth. You’d only let him see the shiny hull, the exterior you’d worked so hard to polish over the years. He knew nothing of your many layers of disrepair, the self-loathing that had, in fact, kicked in the very floorboards you stood on, until there was very little ground at all.

“I never know when it’s coming. It just happens and I have to be ready for it all the time.” Tears welled in your eyes and you tried to blink them away. “It’s so exhausting.”

“So let me help,” Iida said as he brushed his tears away.

“I don’t know how,” you whispered.

Iida looked at you, eyes sad but smile warm. Then he lifted you onto his lap and wrapped his arms around you. Deep voice muffled in your neck, tickling behind your ear, he said, “Does this help?”

It took a second. Your body was tense, wanting to reject the comfort in favor of more pain. Wanting to let you hate yourself because it was what was familiar and, even in the coarse hold of self-loathing, the familiar felt safe. Like you’d fallen for your captive and you were trapped playing both roles.

But he kept holding you, rubbing your back and breathing in a slow, even tempo. You could feel your sailor’s knots relax your contours falling against his as the pressure of his broad body grounded you. “Yes,” you breathed. “It does.”

“Good,” Iida said, adjusting so that you were just that much closer. “Then it’s a place to start.”

#iida x reader #ida x reader #bnha x reader #mha x reader

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nekokoaa · 4 years

Text

Phantom Pain- Overhaul (Chisaki Kai) x Reader (NSFW)

Summary: “Do as you wish,” he whispered and closed his eyes. You smiled slightly, not saying a word as you caressed the scar on his forehead with your thumb. You then pressed your lips on it, hands holding the sides of his face, and you pulled away to find his golden irises looking up at you in a trance. The faint light spilling through the cracked window behind you haloed around your figure, giving you the appearance of divinity that he found himself wanting to worship you. The urge to grab you soon consumed him, yet the action fell dead as there was nothing he could do except to express it by the twitch of his mutilated limbs.

In other words, thank God Shigaraki didn’t cut off his dick.

Warnings: angst, birds and the bees, dry humping, blowjobs, boobjobs, amputated Overhaul

Part of the NSFW series Euphoria

Also on AO3

AC: Always wanted to write Overhaul, this was so fun! Enjoy, loves!

Phantom Pain – sensations or pain that feels like it's coming from a body part that's no longer there.

--------------------------------------------

Phantom Pain – Chisaki Kai (Overhaul) x Reader

For how long you knew Chisaki, you have never seen such despair in his eyes��such lost. A dull shade of gold that was usually shimmering with determination and authority was now without light and harbored a sort of emptiness that looked foreign. It was like he no longer existed, but he was in fact there, no matter how much he felt like he wasn’t.

It’s been days since you heard his voice, the last of it was that strangled scream that echoed into the skies. A scream that exhibited regret, pain, and the shuddering factor that his initial plan to revive the power of the yakuza was taken away from him permanently. A scream that shook your very soul and froze you—refusing to believe that it belonged to the prideful young head you’ve known since childhood.

You wrung the wet rag above a bucket and squeezed the water held within the fabrics. The splashes resonated through the abandoned building along with the squeaky floorboards that would sound every time your feet would press into it. You sucked in your dry lips, briefly lathering it with your tongue before you let out a soft sigh and pressed the rag to Chisaki’s shoulder, watching it collect the dirt that has been accumulating. You soon dipped the rag back in the bucket and repeated your actions.

Chisaki sat still in his chair, shirtless with his golden eyes as far away as his expression. They were lowered and away from you, not on purpose but because he had no energy to lift them. Those golden irises were surrounded by bloodshot red pigments from his lack of sleep and under and around the skin was dark, nearly reaching a purplish tint to his normally cream hue. His head was also low, a striking difference from the Chisaki you knew who never lowered his head for anyone. You shivered to the fact that the Chisaki in front of you may very well be different—not humbled or submissive—but broken, perhaps, beyond repair.

You dragged the rag across his skin, cleaning his shoulders and chest. You noticed his skin was developing hives under the rag once it left. It wasn’t by your touch since Chisaki deemed long ago that only you were fit to touch him, it was instead the lingering phantom pain of losing his limbs. It still plagued his thoughts and he relived that moment ever since he had gone through it. Shigaraki hacking away at his arm, his blood splattering every time the knife came hurling down, and that taunting smile so large that it took up his face all because the fall of Overhaul was caused by his own hands. Chisaki flinched, more hives appearing around his shoulders when the rag followed down his arm until it stopped, nowhere to go as his forearm and hand were gone—nothing but a stump of his upper arm left.

Chisaki’s subtle movement made you glance at him and grimace. Hatred boiling within you as you remembered how you found Chisaki, bleeding from both his decapitated arms after you had followed the gut-wrenching scream. He already passed out from the blood loss and you broke him out of his bindings and carried him to safety before the heroes could arrive to arrest him. You had then found an abandoned building near the outskirts of the city and that’s where you and Chisaki had been staying for the past couple of days. The media had already been alerted about the young head’s escape and his face has been plastered on every screen around the city—labeling him as extremely violent and dangerous. Some part of you couldn’t help but snort at it, seeing Chisaki right now—violent and dangerous just wasn’t the words to describe him anymore. Though the police had no idea what had become of him, so you understood the panic.

“Kai,” you called his name for his attention, more to warn him about your hand that went to hold his cheek and the wet rag that pressed against his other. You wiped his cheek and the side of his face slowly. You wiped through his forehead, treading over the faint scar near his hairline. You then lined the rag with his jawline, making his head rise. It’s been so long since his eyes fell upon your face. You couldn’t help but briefly meet his gaze while you cleaned him.

Faintly, there was light in his eyes as if he had just noticed you were in front of him. You had missed the subtle change in his blank expression as you were more focused on getting him cleaned. Though Chisaki was looking at you like it was the first time he saw you in a while. Ever since he lost his limbs, he’s been dissociating, living in his head. A tactic to escape reality because his once strong mind couldn’t handle the trauma he had experience. His naturally stubborn personality couldn’t admit that he had lost—that everything he built for years was all in vain. Where had he gone wrong? He wasn’t sure because that was how confident he was in his plan. It was foolproof, so why did it turn out with these odds?

He closed his eyes. And then there was you, a woman who’s been by his side since he was a child, who had followed him to the hells of this earth and yet was still the only thing pure in this diseased filled world. You scoured the streets with him until you were both picked up by boss and together, you rose from street rats to yakuza members and earned the trust of the Shie Hassaikai. Even when Chisaki proposed his plan to restore the yakuza and eliminate quirks to you, you accepted it with a smile, agreeing that it was something that must be done to save the world. Every time he remembered your smile on that day, it urged him to work harder into making his vision a reality. That smile was hopeful, loving, and there was nothing in this world as pure as it. It wasn’t long before he asked you to rule by his side when this was over and word to word, he would always recite what had you said. I was always by your side. Such a simple response yet at the time it sent his heart racing and the sides of his mask stretched from his smile that grew behind it, golden pools that you thought weren’t capable of such softness proved you wrong. Only you were allowed to see such a look from him.

Through thick and thin, you stayed with him.

So, he knew it would take some convincing, but he didn’t want to see you fall to the same fate as him. With all he could muster, he spoke, voice heavy with rasp in every syllable sounded, pain stinging his strained throat, regardless he spoke.

“You should leave…”

“No,” immediately, you responded and even though you were surprised that Chisaki spoke, you didn’t show it in your face. Your ‘no’ felt like a reflex, like you were trying to convince yourself first before Chisaki. He began coughing right after, the sudden intake of air through his dry mouth made his throat squeeze in pain. You quickly dropped the rag in the bucket and reached for the water bottle on the floor. Chisaki took a few slow gulps, a bit of water spilling down his chin. You took a clean cloth and wiped him dry, but it did nothing to the filth that Chisaki felt under his skin.

He pulled in his cracked lips, trying to lather them with his remoistened tongue as he continued speaking. “…before the heroes come. Don’t let them take us both…”

“I’m not going anywhere. Remember,” you smiled lightly and caressed his cheek. “We’re supposed to rebuild the yakuza together.”

“It’s… it’s futile,” he cleared his throat. It did nothing to the rasp. “it’s no longer possible. The heroes… they have her—our pawn… the villains… with my drugs and I can’t do anything without… my… my…” he gritted his teeth, wanting to close his hands into fists. He felt the ghost of the action, and the stumps of his arms just shook in response. “This world can’t be cured. Everything we worked for—what I worked for…”

“is not in vain, Kai. It’s only a setback. The Shie Hassaikai will rise as it always does with you as their leader and me by your side.” It was a dream. A dream that both of you sought after for years to restore the yakuza and cure the world of the wretched quirk disease. As long as Chisaki was still alive, you believed that dream was too. But Chisaki thought differently, his face contorted into a grimace at your words like he was insulted that you still held such values after everything that had happened. You were well aware of how lost Chisaki was. The ego-filled yakuza boss you admired was crushed, shattered into pieces that if you were to pick them up would crumble into dust in your fingers. You have never seen him so fragile, so hopeless, but without his arms, his quirk—his purpose, without the very thing that was key to saving this world, how ever could he go on? You had to save him.

“Please,” Chisaki had never begged before in his life and he didn’t think he would ever start but his pride was lost along with his arms and his words flowed out of him like a water jutting out of the small crack of a dam, spurting and pausing, spurting and pausing. He was tired. “It’s… over. The Shie Hassaikai… is gone and there’s nothing left… for you to do but leave.”

“I’m not leaving.”

He growled your name, but you weren’t sure if it was because of the rasp in his voice or if he was truly losing his patience with you. His golden eyes were dull, but you could’ve sworn they hardened. And it excited you.

“I’m not leaving, and this isn’t over, Kai.”

“You’re acting like… there’s some hope.”

“I’m not acting. There is.”

“Are you blind, woman…?” His voice cracked when he raised it and he cleared the lingering gunk from his throat immediately after. He glared at you through his red-shot eyes. His hives becoming increasingly present as they appeared one after the other on his face and body. He had the urge to scratch himself, but he couldn’t, so he started visibly shaking to deal with it. It was unsightly but nevertheless, it was your Chisaki. “Do you not see what I have become? My arms! My quirk! It’s gone! The very thing I needed to save this world—to cleanse it from its filth! So, don’t you dare look at me as if there’s some hope!”

“You’re still here so of course I’ll believe there’s hope!”

“The only thing you should hope for is to leave me. There’s nothing I can offer you but a prison sentence in Tartarus.”

A brief kiss on his neck was all it took to stun him out of his rage. “What are you talking about…? You can offer me plenty, Kai. You could scream at me, insult me, hurt me, do anything to push me away but you must know that I will never leave your side. We’ve been together forever, through all the hardships… and pleasure,” your hand squeezed his thigh. “So why on earth would I choose to leave you because of this? You’re a smart man. I know that better than anyone.”

“I just don’t… want you to get hurt,” he spoke quietly, eyes lowering.

“I am already hurt. As long as you feel pain, I do too,” he gritted teeth to your words. A small grunt leaving him when you slid off your chair and onto his lap. You swiftly unbuttoned your collared shirt, leaving it open and revealing your black bra underneath it. “Let’s make each other feel better… like what we always do when we’re having a rough day,” you whispered before you pressed your lips to his ear lobe and felt the cold metal of his earrings. Your arms were perched on his shoulders and he already gasped to the small roll of your hips creating friction for the growing swell in his pants. “That’s something you can offer me… Hm, Kai…?” You wanted an answer, pulling back to gaze into his face. With his tired eyes, he searched within yours, not even sure what he was searching for but all he knew was that he was tired and maybe if there was a chance to forget about what had happened—even for a couple of minutes, he would take it.

“Do as you wish,” he whispered and closed his eyes. You smiled slightly, not saying a word as you caressed the scar on his forehead with your thumb. You then pressed your lips on it, hands holding the sides of his face, and you pulled away to find his golden irises looking up at you in a trance. The faint light spilling through the cracked window behind you haloed around your figure, giving you the appearance of divinity that he found himself wanting to worship you. The urge to grab you soon consumed him, yet the action fell dead as there was nothing he could do except to express it by the twitch of his mutilated limbs.

You pressed your lips to his cheek, a feathery touch that still had his heart fluttering ever since you first did it as children. Your lips traced his cheek, kissing through some disappearing hives, until you found the corner of his lips and he pursed them as soon as you touched it, longing to feel your soft lips against his own. But you pulled away slightly after and he sighed irritably. You brushed your fingers through his short hair to calm him, but it didn’t stop his tired glare from being directed at you.

“Patience.” You told him.

But he wasn’t having it. “Darling,” he husked, leaning forward just as you were leaning back. “Kiss me already.”

Chisaki’s patience was always thin. As a child, he had zero patience. If he didn’t get what he wanted right away, he would forcibly take it by murder. It wasn’t until after he was taken in by boss where he developed a thin layer of patience masked behind a calm, gentle persona, luring those in with kindness to get what he wanted and if he didn’t, his mask would slip, and he would become increasing irritable and dangerous with a killer’s intent. He wasn’t anywhere near that irritated right now but you saw a trace of old Chisaki that riled you up so much that you had to suppress your smirk with the bite of your lips. He wasn’t completely gone, and that relieved you.

Still, for the first time ever, Chisaki was at your mercy and if you wanted to, you could disobey him without having to worry about any precautions. But you knew what it would’ve done to a once prideful man so broken like him. This was about building Overhaul back up, not breaking him down.

You smiled at his glare, one hand caressing the side of his face while the other drew circles on his shoulder around his hives. “It’s the first time I’ll be on top. I’m a little nervous,” you told him.

“That’s not true. You did it before.”

“Kai, you know very well that you didn’t let me do anything last time I was on top,” you thought you saw a suppression of a smirk. “So, I don’t count that time. Just relax and let me love you…” you whispered your last words before sealing them with a kiss to his lips that had the both of you humming softly. He closed his eyes, angling his head slightly while you moved to slip your arms out of your shirt and it dropped to floor with a gentle thud. You were kissing Chisaki so softly, so different than your usual sexual endeavors that are fueled with pent-up stress and anger from work but it’s also because you didn’t want to hurt him as his arms were partially wrapped up and still healing.

But as the kisses grew longer, Chisaki grew hungrier. He nibbled and sucked on your bottom lip, at times his tongue would brush against it, urging you to open up for him. And when you didn’t in time, your lips were forcibly split by his intruding tongue and you succumbed to the feeling of it exploring your insides, treading over your teeth and inside cheeks and wrestling your own wet muscle. You pressed yourself closer to his body, your bra scratching his chest and your arms anchored around his neck as your nails lightly scratched his skin.

He separated from you with saliva connecting your lips together and you felt that wetness when his kisses went to your jaw and traveled to your neck. You sighed softly, and he felt you shivering against him. He wished that he could’ve held you, wrap his arms around your body, feel your delicious curves under his fingertips as you would melt against his touch. He was amazed how you weren’t turned off by him, that you still looked at him like he was the greatest man you ever saw.

“Still… even when I’m like this…?” He was uncertain, so he whispered that against your neck while he nuzzled his head into yours and you leaned your head on his, bringing a hand to stroke the side of his face.

“Yes…” you moaned at the ticklish feeling of his kisses. “You’re still my handsome man, my Overhaul.”

Even though he hated everything this universe had to offer, you were the one thing he loved. You didn’t weaken him. No. You empowered him unlike no other.

You soon found yourself gazing into gold when Chisaki lifted his head, passion oozing from his eyes that it nearly took your breath away. He couldn’t stand to be apart from you any longer. He pressed his lips against yours, resuming the aggression he had before but without his tongue.

You reached behind your back for your bra and unhooked it with a single tug and slipped the straps off your arms. Your bra fell between your bodies until you yanked it out and it fell on the ground. Chisaki was so excited to see your breasts, the perfect size and shape to his liking. He wished he could squeeze them in his hands like always, but he would have to make do with what he could do. He didn’t hesitate to abandon your lips to have your nipples between his.

“Hmn… Kai…” you arched your back and moaned against your pulled-in lips. You cupped your breast under your hand, lifting it up for Chisaki to have better access to them while he engulfed your entire nipple into his mouth, circling his tongue around it, sucking and pulling like he’s been reduced to a child wanting his mother’s milk. A growl rumbled within his chest when he swapped to your other tit and you started grinding on his lap to ease the warmth pooling at your lower belly. You felt the bulge of his pants pressing against your crotch, directly where your clit was, and you whined as you felt the sensitive nub rubbing on the cloth of your underwear.

Chisaki dragged his tongue all over your breasts and kissed your upper chest and collarbones when he left them. He glanced into your eyes and you caught sight of the darkness hiding behind those rich irises. A single look was all it took to know how much he wanted you.

You quickly hopped off of him, tugging at the button of your pants until it unleashed, and you threw your pants to the side. Chisaki eyed your body, subconsciously licking his lips as you saw them travel south from your face to your boobs, then your waist and legs. He had never felt the urge to grab you more than he did now. He wanted to destroy your underwear, carry you in the air, and fuck you gloriously under the shimmering sun rays from the window. How painful it was for it to only be a mere daydream.

“Like what you see…?” You smiled cloyingly as you stood between his legs, your fingers tugging at the stings of your underwear to tease.

“Yes, darling, you know I love it when you strip for me,” he loved the purr you gave after his words.

“You’re going to love what I do next,” you discarded your underwear shortly before dropping to your knees in front of him—in front of his bulge. You unbuckled his belt and unbuttoned his black pants before you slid it off of him. His underwear was next, and his dick nearly hit your face when it bounced out and stood with all of its glory, reddened, veiny, and glistening with precum leaking from its head, and his pubic hairs were neatly trimmed as always.

He had to stop himself from cumming right on the spot from watching your voluptuous lips bounce back into shape after you had licked them. He couldn’t wait to see them wrap around his cock.

And he didn’t have to wait long. He groaned when you submerged his entire dick in your mouth, feeling the hot walls surround his girth as your lips nearly met with his pubic hairs and the head of his dick touched the back of your throat.

Your name was a breathless whisper from Chisaki, cheeks flushed, eyebrows furrowed as you began to bob your head. You loved how sonorous his moans sounded. It rattled something within, adding to the heat pool bubbling between your legs. You brought your fingers to your clit, rubbing in the same speed as you moved your head while your other hand was squeezing his inner thigh. There was something about seeing your mouth stretch to his length that had him jerking his hips into your bobs and although he couldn’t exactly move as fast as he wanted to, he marveled at the fact that he still had a bit of control.

He was writhing in his chair now, legs shaking, stumps of his arms trembling, heavy breathing with an occasional crack moan. You were driving him nuts. And just when he thought you would let up on his cock as you finally released it from the fleshy walls of your inner cheeks, you replaced it by surrounding him with your voluptuous breasts. You frantically stroke his length as it was being swallowed by the tits he wished could squeeze in his palms.

You gazed up at him with blushing cheeks and eyes so dazed that Chisaki’s heart nearly stopped at the sight of them. Your mouth returned to licking and sucking on the head of his dick, leaving him shuddering in his seat. You worked tremendously hard to pleasure him, to make him feel like he was still worth it despite what he went through, despite that he was reduced to mutilated monster. How you looked at him with eyes of pure adoration when your sight was filled with nothing but a powerless, armless man was still beyond him. Any woman would have left, but you stayed faithful to him. Truly, what did he do to deserve such a woman like you?

A shudder of your name was enough for you to give him a break, so you slowly slide your mouth and breasts off his cock, enjoying the sight of your saliva coating his length. It left a shiny hue like if the sun rays were to hit it, it would shimmer, while your breasts were wet with your own saliva and his precum.

“A little pent up, are we…?” You began to stroke his inner thigh, smiling slightly at his disheveled form. He responded with a breathless whisper.

“It’s… been a while.”

“I know,” you gave his thigh a small lick before you stood up and slid yourself onto his lap. His penis was pushed against your stomach. “Same,” and then you kissed him feverishly, arms around his neck, fingers digging into his scalp. He moaned into your mouth and thrust his tongue inside and explored around like he was on uncharted lands. And you fought diligently against his strong tongue, the faint, stale flavor of iron upon your taste buds.

“Kai,” you whined, breaking the kiss sooner than expected while grinding your needy hips on his lap. You couldn’t wait any longer. “Can I…? I need this… I need you inside…” He knew very well that you didn’t need his permission to do so, so the fact that he still had that over you renewed some of his vigor. Something shined in his golden eyes, something deadly that if you were to disobey him, you would surely regret it.

“Sit on my cock.”

You shivered, his eyes, they reminded you of the very man you fell in love with. “Yes, Overhaul…”

You hovered over him. Your hands rested on his shoulders and you aligned your sopping entrance with his dick and slowly sank down. Your mouth went wide for a silent gasp to escape as you felt his length stretched your walls. You could feel it pulsing, twitching within you and your legs began to quiver the moment he was all the way in. A shaky sigh sounded from Chisaki as he felt himself nuzzled deep within you. He wanted nothing more than to grab your hips and guide you but unfortunately, he was at your mercy.

“God…” you moaned, fingers curled into his shoulders. Still, he was delighted that he could still make you feel this way—that he could still make you tremble with his cock. You then started to move, rolling and lifting your hips to no rhythm, squeaking and moaning every time you would slam yourself down on him while you balanced on the balls of your feet to keep you steady. Your breasts would shake to your movement when you slammed down while your nipples would lightly tap his chest when you lifted slightly.

You watched as Chisaki’s face contorted into what anyone would believe was anger and they would be too distracted by that assumption to notice the softness in his rich eyes as they stared into yours, mouth open for his frantic breaths to puff out just centimeters of your own. Sweat had gathered at his forehead giving it a light sheen whenever the sunlight would peek through from behind you.

“How are you this wet… when I haven’t even touched you…?” He breathed, and puffs of his breath hit your lips just as he heard your juices swirl to his cock.

You whimpered to answer him, your eyes teared in response to the overwhelming pleasure knocking at your core.

“Come on,” he grunted and pressed his lips to your neck. He bit and sucked on your skin until it blossomed in color. “Use your words…”

“B-Because it’s you, Kai… Ahn—just your presence is enough to get me wet… it’s just enough…”

He let out a shaky sigh and briefly closed his eyes. “Naughty girl…” you didn’t have any idea how happy that made him. He leaned forward because of the sudden desire to hold you close to his body. Your arms went around his shoulders sharing that same feeling of his. Your breasts were squeezed to his pecs as you continued to roll your hips, mouth full of nothing but his name and former alias, like you were somehow hoping there was magic in his name and all would be revived by just a simple hymn from you, and you would once again feel his hands on you. You were careful not to touch what was left of his arms because he was still healing and also a gentle brush was enough to have his hives break out, a subconscious reaction to the trauma he suffered.

Thankfully, Chisaki was too focus on how your vagina swallowed his dick like you trying to milk him for all he had. He was thrusting upwards, sloppy, he was trying not to give you full control but having him use most of his ab muscles to move was exerting a lot of energy. He couldn’t go as fast as he wanted to.

“Kai… I…!” He could feel it without you telling him. The end was near. You were already holding on to him with all of your strength while your instincts kept your hips moving against his. You were slamming your body so hard on him that it had your ass jiggling, skin slapping and your nails clawing his back because somehow his dick manage to hit the right spot every fucking time. Oh, you could barely keep up your rhythm as pleasure struck like lightning and rolled through your pelvis like thunder. You rested your head on his shoulder and mapped it out with open mouthed kisses, tasting the salt of his sweat on your tongue.

Chisaki’s breathing was loud in your ear and his groans were heavy, almost angry sounding when he pressed the side of his face against your head. He felt himself reaching his peak. He shut his eyes and focused solely on the pressure building until it finally released. A strangled moan sounded from Chisaki and he jerked his hips as hard as he could as spurts of his cum spilled into your womb and you felt so full of not only his cock but his warm seed as well. And shortly after a few more thrusts, you had reached orgasm, legs quivering, and moans so loud you swore anyone from the outside would’ve heard you.

You slumped against his body as your chin rested on the crook of his neck. Your arms were still firmly holding on to him and the room was silent except for the breathing of you and Chisaki filling your lungs with much needed air. You were exhausted. You spent most of your energy taking care of Chisaki and the rest of it fucking him. Your eyelids felt heavy and you surely would’ve fell asleep if you weren’t missing that one thing. The warmth of Chisaki’s arms.

There was no doubt in your mind that you had missed the feeling. Chisaki would always surround you in his warmth by pulling you into his chest with his arms around you after sex. He couldn’t bear to separate from you after. He would pull the covers over your sweaty bodies and hold you until you fell asleep. Then he would get up and shower because going to sleep in his own filth bothered him.

But now, all he could do was just lean against you as you hugged him. You hated this. You hated everything that made Chisaki this way. You hated Shigaraki. You hated the heroes. You hated that green haired kid for fighting him. You hated everyone that harmed him when all he tried to do was save this pathetic world.

You didn’t notice at first, but you were shaking. Suddenly, the memories that were masked by desire revealed itself and you were left to think about what had happened. And really, all you felt was rage, so much rage that you wanted to either hurt yourself or any innocent victim. You wanted to ruin someone’s life just so they could feel as horrible about this world as you.

But that anger soon dissipated as you felt something poking your sides. You gasped when you noticed Chisaki desperately trying to hold you by lifting his stumps and pressing them into your sides, fighting the feeling of his hives appearing one after the other across his limbs and shoulders. In his mind, he was holding you tightly. He felt you in his arms, a faint feeling like a ghost of his movement, a phantom born from the pain of his lost limbs. But to you, all you felt was reality. And your body continued to shake but this time with sorrow. Fat tears fell down your cheeks and the first sob that came from you was the ugliest thing you’ve ever heard. You were supposed to be strong for him, but you were just as broken as him.

You couldn’t remember the last time you cried but you knew Chisaki must’ve been there as he’s been there all of your life. The kisses on your shoulder was there to soothed you yet it did nothing to the fuming rage still sitting within your heart. You pulled away from him slightly and held his head in your hands, bloodshot eyes drenched in shiny tears laced with nothing but pure wrath was staring straight into his own eyes. Your voice was shaky, yet determination shown itself proudly.

“I swear... I’ll get your arms back...”

Chisaki’s eyes widened slightly. He didn’t take the tone of your voice lightly nor your eyes that looked as if he was staring into the fiery depths of hell. “How...?”

Your mouth twisted into a shaky smile. The look in your eyes changed to something psychotic yet a glimmer of hope, relief, and the gold reflection of his eyes shined through. A simple name was all that passed through your lips like the solution was there all along. “Eri.”

#bnha #bnha fanfiction #boku no hero academia #bnha x reader #mha #mha x reader #my hero academia #my hero academia x reader #boku no hero academia x reader #overhaul #overhaul x reader #chisaki kai #chisaki kai x reader #chisaki kai fanfiction #overhaul fanfiction #fanfiction #fanfic #angst #angst fanfic

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aziliang · 2 years

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Its Getting Cold Here

April 15, 1911

“WOMEN AND CHILDREN ONLY, GO OUT TO THE DECK AND EVACUATE TO THE BOATS IMMEDIATELY!!!!” The officer assigned to their deck kept on screaming as he knocked on doors.

The announcement woke up Hange and Moblit. Hurriedly dressing up in their robes to go out and check what was happening. The boat was indeed sinking after having a near collision with an iceberg not too long ago. Everyone was rushing to the boats, screaming and crying filled the air, frantically asking for help, and pleading to be saved. Hans couldn’t help but sigh, they were nervous. ‘Is this really our end?’

Mob could only stare at the chaos before exhaling shakily. ‘This might really be the end.’

With a final glance, Mob reached out to hold Hans’ shoulder while looking deeply in their eyes as if communicating through their minds with their souls. A nod and a soft smile of affirmation was all he got in return, he knew their answer.

He led them back to their room, getting out of their robes to just their pajamas, they were once again fit to lay in bed and finally rest after a long tiring day.

“It’s getting cold, my love.” Hans spoke, sitting down on the bed waiting for the other to join them.

“I know darling, maybe the heater is tripping. You can put an extra layer of my sweater instead” He spoke, getting his sweater before joining them in the bed.

He knew that the water was near reaching their deck, he felt the running water under the floorboards as the atmosphere grew colder by the second. Helping Hans wear the sweater before tucking the both of them in bed. They hear water rushing into the space under the door, they feel it seeping through the floorboards rapidly.

“I don't regret ending this beautiful life beside you.” Hans started, snuggling closer to Mob’s embrace.

“You made my life beautiful, darling.” Mob hugged them tighter as he replied.

“I love you so much, my love. Will you be there when I wake up?”

“I love you so much, darling. let's go to sleep now, it'll be a beautiful day tomorrow and i promise to be there beside you.” He gives them a peck on their lips before going to sleep.

That night, RMS Paradis, the unsinkable ship of dreams, sank not long after a near collision with an iceberg. That night, thousands of people lost their lives, some tried to save themselves but failed, others accepted their fate and went to rest.

September 5, 2031

Reading the story of Captain Hans and Dr. Mob never failed to make Hange sob. It’s their birthday today and they have decided to visit the museum of historical events, out of tradition. They always visit during the anniversary of the sunken RMS Paradis and their birthday.

Today was no different from their past visits. Reading their story and staring at the restored portrait of the couple alongside the portrait of their skeleton cuddling on their bed. The story wasn't just tear jerking, it is a crime if you didn’t cry because of their story according to Hange.

They couldn't help but sob uncontrollably, until they noticed a handkerchief being offered to them.

“Thank you...” They sobbed once more before wiping their tears with the handkerchief.

“Are you okay?” The man asked, sitting beside them on the floor.

“Yes, yes I am. Their story is just… beautiful yet sad.”

“That’s true. They accepted their fates, one of the few courageous people during that time.”

“It’s just funny how I spend my birthday here and cry about them. I don’t know, I just kind of feel a connection or something.” They laughed softly, completely recovering from their sobbing fit.

“I do feel a connection of some sort between me and the couple. Happy Birthday by the way, you shouldn’t be spending your birthday crying here.”

“Well yeah, but I have nowhere else to go. I’ve been spending every single birthday here and maybe I forgot how to celebrate it normally.”

“This is definitely a normal way to celebrate, just sad because you’re crying. I’m Moblit Berner, before I forget.”

“Hange Zoe, it’s nice to meet you.”

“Pleasure bumping into you… I- I am not sure if this is too fast but, would you like to go out for some tea or perhaps lunch? To celebrate your birthday.” He offered his hand to them as he stood up.

“Oh gosh, that’s sweet. I would love to go and celebrate, it’s getting cold here anyway.” They accepted his hand, helping themself stand up.

“Here, take my cardigan. We couldn’t let the celebrant get cold on such a beautiful day.”

“My my, thank you kind sir.”

“It’s my pleasure, your majesty.”

It was indeed a beautiful day despite the cold, their blooming bond was enough to warm them inside.

#mobuhan #moblit berner #hange zoe #angst #character death #hurt/comfort #reincarnation #fluff #sort of a titanic au

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aros001 · 3 years

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Read through light novel vol. 7. Random thoughts.

I swear Goblin Slayer looks like he's blushing through his armor on that cover. I don't blame him, given it's Cow Girl, but that's what it looks like.

I always get a laugh out of Goblin Slayer's completely unwillingness or inability to remember any type of monster outside of goblins. I think he only knows what vampires and dragon are because they're the most popular monster adventurers want to beat and thus the ones he'd hear about the most. He repeatedly can't remember what an ogre is despite dropping an ocean on one, nor the dark elf or troll, and I think last volume he needed a long minute to remember what giant rats are. No surprise he can't remember what the Loch Ness Monster's name was in this book, or what an elephant is. Mokele Mubenbe. It's hard for me to even pronounce that.

Lizard Priest was in the process of bringing each of the nuns upstairs into the chapel from the basement storehouse. “Stay strong, now. When dawn breaks, we can take you somewhere less upsetting.” “Thank you... Truly...” “Think nothing of it. We may revere different deities, but monkeys came from lizards, in the end. That makes us cousins.” “Heh-heh... You lizardmen...say the strangest...things...”

I don't say this often enough but Lizard Priest is just kind of the best, you know? He's like a big, scaly, green teddy bear. He's a very comforting presence and such an easy person for everyone, including those of different faiths like Priestess and the elves, to be friends with.

At first I was disappointed Priestess didn't get a cure poison miracle, given how often goblins come at the party using poisoned weapons, but her Purify miracle has certainly proved its usefulness, both for cleaning water and air as well as helping psychologically by cleaning up the victims of the goblins. Doesn't restore their stolen virginity but at least leaves less marks and filth for them to be constantly reminded what the goblins did to them. Plus, Goblin Slayer is no stranger to using smoke or poison gas, so Purify is probably good to have on hand to keep such methods from harming the party themselves.

In the middle of this flood of stories, Goblin Slayer said, “So this is your home.” “That’s right.” “That’s good.” “Well—” High Elf Archer’s eyes narrowed like a smiling cat’s. “It’s where my heart is.” Goblin Slayer nodded. Cow Girl blinked at him for a moment. Then he said, “And there are goblins near it.” The note of anger in his voice was unmistakable.

I love all the members of the party, so naturally I'm enjoying all the bonding moments between Goblin Slayer and High Elf Archer in this book, as well as the parallels he keeps drawing between them, especially in regards to their sisters. Their interactions are fun because their personalities contrast so much but in a different way than his and Priestess' or her and Dwarf Shaman's.

Then she went on, “Actually, even a lot of elvish adventurers act like that, especially if they’ve just left the forest.” It’s not that they have no sense of danger, just a poor grasp of scale.

That last bit is a good way of describing a lot of this series. There are people ignorant of how truly dangerous the goblins can be but outside of porcelain ranks it's usually not deliberately so. They just live in a world of other insanely large threats that don't like being ignored, with the elves in particular having members of their species whom lived through the old battles of the gods. Goblins are basically pests and goblin slaying pest control. They're a problem but barely a blip on the radar when you're comparing them to freaking Sauron, whom it feels like you just recently finally got rid of.

There is something absolutely hilarious to me that this man in dirty leather and steel armor, coated in faded red stains, who refuses to ever take his helmet off, barely talks, frequently walks in a manner that's described as violent, and who's sole obsession it is to wipe out every last goblin in existence, is known as The Kindest Man on the Frontier. But I still love it because it makes sense. Most villages on the frontier can't get help with their goblin problems because there's not a lot of fame or money in killing goblins and bigger threats are given more the priority, so they're just left on their own. But then Goblin Slayer comes in, doing the job without any thought to reward or praise. He's saved god knows how many kidnapped women prevented the destruction of countless villages. From the outside, yeah, it looks like just simple kindness. Get to know him a little better and you see that it's obsession. And when you get as close as Priestess and Cow Girl, you agree that it's kindness.

It's so cool that the elf adventurer the party saved on their first quest together made a reappearance, even if it's a small one. Like with Wizard's little brother wanting to avenge her, it's good to show that the people brutalized by the goblins aren't just props to show how serious the situation is. They're real (albeit fictional) people, who had their own lives and people who loved them, so having them still matter later in the story and them trying to get at least some closure is good writing.

I was talking with someone before in my vol. 6 post that something I really like about Goblin Slayer's character is his immaturity. Not that he's whiny and bratty like a kid but rather his trauma stunted him in a few ways. He likely had nothing to do with his village being attacked by goblins but to this day he blames himself for what happened to his sister, from him hiding and doing nothing to save her to in this volume believing she would have long moved on from their village if she didn't have to take care of him. Taking on all that blame and guilt, it's such a childish way of thinking and his trauma (and Burgler's training) meant he never was able to grow out of it. I can just see that little boy under the floorboards, thinking everything that's happening around him is some divine punishment from the gods for something bad he did, like not listening to his sister or getting mad at Cow Girl or literally anything else a kid would normally do.

This world has freaking elevators?! What?! When they first mentioned it I thought it was going to be something involving water or magic or gears, but no! Control panels, keypad, entering a code. It even goes bong when it arrives at its destination. I mean, they say it's not clear whether it operates magically or mechanically but this still feels like a big jump in this world's technology level, considering the most high tech thing I remember prior was ice cream making, and that was a chemical process. I just love the image of Goblin Slayer's party patiently waiting in the elevator as it's going up and soft muzak is playing.

By the time he noticed the change, it was too late. The goblin shaman’s blood had been turned to pure water.

WHOA! Priestess! What the f**k?! Was this her version of strangling the goblin champion with a bundle of hair?! That was awesome!

Also not good for her, given her beliefs. It's a good little conflict for her character and sets up some worry about what'll happen if she does something like this again. The Earth Mother spoke directly to her to warn this was a one-time deal. Would Priestess lose the ability to use Miracles or would the goddess outright smite her for such gross abuse of the powers she gave her? There's also the added conflict that Goblin Slayer praised her for what she did. He's not as important as the Earth Mother but he's still someone Priestess respects and is attached to more than anyone else, so she's going to be conflicted if his life is on the line again.

I've never played DOOM. Still love the reference with Hero.

...Is that why there was an elevator? Is this world some odd combination of DnD, Lord of the Rings, and DOOM?

Even though they showed his image, with everyone else all dressed up for the wedding I'm enjoying imagining Goblin Slayer in his normal armor, just with the addition of a bow tie.

Damn that bouquet tease. Who caught it?! Priestess?! Cow Girl?! Sword Maiden leaping in through the window?!

Original Reddit post: https://www.reddit.com/r/GoblinSlayer/comments/fzwykz/read_through_light_novel_vol_7_random_thoughts/

#goblin slayer #random thoughts #reddit repost

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vexing-imogen · 4 years

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the persistence of 6/?

read from beginning | read on ao3

Vex doesn’t intend on leaving the manor grounds, not at first. She’s in a new city, despite having lived here for several years, and getting herself lost would only serve to panic everyone, and would be rather humiliating to boot. But, even with Trinket at her side, the garden that was so inviting last night has become unbearable. Oppressive.

She’s suffocating. So while she knows that leaving is probably a bad idea, she can’t bring herself to stay.

She stands, using Trinket’s shoulder for leverage, then scratches him behind the ears. “Let’s go for a walk, buddy.”

It’s still early enough that the streets are near deserted. The few people Vex does pass as she wanders give her a wave or a nod and go about their business. She deliberately avoids the streets that will take her back to the town square and those unnerving statues. There’s a castle on a hilltop to the north, so she sets off in that direction, her interest piqued.

She loses track of time while walking, and eventually she stops to take a break by a wrought iron gate. A faded signpost pointing to the right reads “To the Zenith and the Greyfield”. A raven caws, and she feels a pull in her chest, as if her subconscious is telling her that the answers she need lie at the end of this path.

Trinket makes a mournful noise as she walks through the gate and starts down the path, but he follows dutifully, glancing about for anything untoward. It is kind of creepy, she will admit. They pass a temple first, large and very old. The Zenith, if she had to guess. The sun shines through the stained glass window as she passes, bathing her in warm, colored light, and she places her hand to her heart and bows without thinking. A chill runs down her spine, but she shakes it off and keeps going.

The Greyfield is a cemetery, she finds. The eerie silence is only broken by the occasional raven’s cry. And if she’d thought the city was overpopulated with ravens, it’s nothing compared to this. The main group of them seem to be clustered around a mausoleum on the far end of the field, and her curiosity outweighs any fear she might be feeling.

There’s no name carved into the stone, no indication of it belonging to anyone in particular. The door is open, and she ventures inside. The air is cold and stale, and she realizes that someone has set this place up as a shrine of some kind. There’s an altar laid out in the center of the room, adorned with ravens feathers, small white flowers, and a bowl of some dark liquid. She dips a couple fingers in it. It’s cold and viscous and is most definitely blood.

She stares at her fingers, at the blood that drips from them onto the marble floor, an uneasy pit settling in her stomach. “What the fuck is this place?”

“Creepy, isn’t it?”

Vex shrieks and spins around, her heart racing in her chest. Keyleth is there in the doorway, regarding the mausoleum with disdain.

“Sorry,” she says, wincing. “I promise this place isn’t actually as bad as it looks.”

Vex takes a couple of deep breaths. “What is it?”

“A temple to the Raven Queen,” Keyleth says, and Vex doesn’t miss the bitterness in her voice, or the way she refuses to actually step into the space. “Percy had this repurposed for Vax, so he’d have a place to worship while he was in Whitestone.”

She doesn’t miss the way Keyleth hesitates before saying her brother’s name.

“You love him, don’t you?” she asks. “Vax.”

The way Keyleth’s eyes widen is all the answer she needs, but she nods after a moment. “It, uh, didn’t exactly work out, but...yeah.”

“Didn’t work out,” Vex repeats. “Did it have anything to do with Her?” She nods towards the shrine.

Keyleth laughs, wipes away a tear. “Yeah, you could say that.” She sighs. “It’s...complicated. He had to go. To serve Her. And I couldn’t follow.”

Vex hugs Keyleth tight. “I’m sorry, darling. I can kick his ass for you the next time I see him, if you’d like.”

Keyleth shrinks back out of Vex’s embrace. “That won’t be necessary. It’s fine, really. I’ve...made my peace with it.”

Liar she thinks, but she doesn’t push. “I guess we should probably go back, shouldn’t we?”

Keyleth takes her hand as they walk through the cemetery. “How are you feeling?”

She sighs, tries to ignore the tears pricking at the corners of her eyes. “Lost,” she says finally. “Have you ever...had a word caught on the tip of your tongue, and you know you should know it, and you know that once you hear it you’ll remember, and you’ll feel so fucking stupid for ever forgetting it?”

Keyleth nods.

“That’s what this feels like,” she continues. “Except it’s not just one word, it’s five years of my life, and I don’t know if I’ll ever actually remember.”

“We’ll figure this out, Vex,” Keyleth says, squeezing her hand. “There’s a solution out there, I know there is, we just have to find it.” She stops them, cups Vex’s face in her hands. “I promise you, we will fix this.”

Vex sniffles, looks away from her friend’s earnest gaze. “That’s what you all said yesterday.”

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

Percy feels like he’s going mad with worry. Sure, Vex is more than capable of taking care of herself, and Keyleth had done a quick scry before going off to find her, and assured him that she was fine. But he’s still tense and anxious, and he’s going to wear a groove in the floorboards if he doesn’t stop pacing soon.

They’d all been so confident in Pike, in her healing abilities, that none of them had been prepared for the spell to not work. Except for Vex he thinks. She’d accepted defeat so easily, seemed to have almost been expecting it, and that’s what has him truly scared. He’s never witnessed Vex give up quite so fast, and he doesn’t know what it means.

For him. For her. For them...

A knock on the doorframe jolts him out of his thoughts. Scanlan is standing there with a sad smile. “Hey. I managed to calm Pike down,” he starts. “She should be coming back soon enough. I think she was going to have a little chat with Sarenrae. How’s Vex?”

Percy shrugs. “Not sure,” he admits. “She took off just after you and Pike left. Didn’t say where she was going. Keyleth had to scry to find out where she’d gone.”

Scanlan nods, taps his foot nervously. “I had an idea,” he says. “And obviously we’d have to run it by Vex, and if you guys say ‘no’ I’ll never bring it up again-”

“Scanlan.” Percy cuts off his rambling. “What was your idea?”

The gnome sighs. “If, for whatever reason, there’s absolutely no way to restore Vex’s memories, I thought I could maybe use Modify Memory on her. To give her a highlight reel of the last few years. It would take some time, and I can’t give her everything, but she’d have something back. The important stuff, at least.”

Percy’s so overwhelmed with emotion, he does the first thing that comes to his mind. He hugs Scanlan.

“Can you really do that, Scanlan?”

Percy’s head snaps up. Vex is standing just beyond the doorway with Keyleth and Pike. He doesn’t want to jinx anything, but she looks almost hopeful.

“I can,” Scanlan says, turning to face her. “But only with your consent. And you’d have to trust that we wouldn’t give you any false or altered memories.”

She mulls it over for a minute. “I’ll have to think it over,” she says. “But, no matter what, it’s an incredibly sweet offer, Scanlan.”

“It might not even be necessary,” Pike says, stepping forward. “I spoke with Sarenrae, for a while, and she told me what we have to do to get Vex’s memories restored.”

“That’s great, Pike,” Keyleth says. “What do we have to do?”

Pike sighs. “Well, the reason my spell didn’t work is because Sarenrae doesn’t have dominion over memories. The Raven Queen does,” she explains. “I’ve been able to restore memories before because the effect was smaller, in Percy and Grog’s case, or it was a physical ailment, like the Gith we met in Pandemonium. What happened to Vex was bigger, and magical. It’s not something Sarenrae or I can fix.”

“But the Raven Queen can?” Percy guesses.

“Yes.” Pike looks up at Vex. “If you’re willing to try, I already got in touch with the Raven Queen’s temple in Vasselheim. We can go as early as tomorrow, and hopefully they can cure you.”

“I think it’s worth a shot,” Percy says. “But the choice is yours, dearest.”

Vex looks uncertain until her attention is caught by something outside. Percy follows her gaze to Vesper, playing in the garden with Rika. He looks back to Vex, and she nods once, firmly. “I suppose there’s no harm in trying.”

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

Her dreams that night are horrific. There’s no visual, just pitch darkness, but the voices are as clear as day. And they’re all awful.

The first is her brother, and she can almost feel him grasping her hand. Do not go far from me. If we are out of earshot, you are too far from me. Do not go far from me.

Her own tearful response. Do you think this is what mother saw before she died?

The next is a voice she doesn’t recognize, but it sends chills down her spine, sickly and oozing. Sweet, broken Vex’ahlia... a question, from her What would you ask in return? him again Your heart.

My heart is someone else’s.

Scanlan calling for her from across a battlefield. Her sobbing, casting healing spells uselessly into an unresponsive body. I’m not leaving Percy!

A cold room, a colder feeling in her chest. Desperate to do something, anything. But I don’t want to be here if you’re not. Whitestone still needs you, darling. I still need you here.

Grog’s voice, loud. Angry. Devastated. FIX HIM!

Then herself again. Having a conversation with someone, but the replies are static.

I feel like she’s taking part of me away.

I don’t know how to live.

Please. I love you. I don’t accept this.

I’m going to find you.

And, finally, on a maddening loop.

Where’s Vax?

She wakes from her nightmares with a scream, thrashing against the confines of her blanket. Her foot connects with something, and Percy grunts.

“Vex’ahlia.” His hands on her shoulders ground her. “It’s alright, dear, you’re alright. It was just a dream.”

She catches his hand as it’s running through her hair. “Percy.” She stares at him, tears flowing, the weight of the truth threatening to crush her. “I need to ask you something.”

“Anything.”

“You have to promise you’ll tell me the truth,” she says. “Swear to me that you won’t lie to me.”

She sees the realization dawn in his eyes, but he nods. “I swear, Vex. I swear on our wedding vows that I will not lie to you.”

“Is my brother dead?”

#critical role #critfic #vox machina #perc'ahlia #vex'ahlia #percy de rolo

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gripefroot · 4 years

Text

Feel So Yellow [1/12]

The key has warmed in the palm of your hand, shielded from the bitter cold of the January evening. You, on the other hand, are not so shielded - the coat you’d brought from the city isn’t cutting it against this biting wind. Eager to preserve some warmth, you fumble to stick the key in the lock of the door. The windows are dark and as far as you know, no one has been inside in weeks. Not since you’d driven north to view it with the realtor and happily signed the next thirty years of your life away.

The thump-thumping of your heart harmonizes with the squeal and screech of the frozen wooden door, forced open and inward to the entryway, lit only by the headlights of your car that you’d parked to shine inside. Though your breath puffs and dissipates in the freezing air, giddiness starts to warm your blood better than any heater.

Your house. Your house. Peeling paint and scuffed floors and bald carpets and rusted faucets and all. It’s yours.

And he’d said you couldn’t do it. Lips curl into a self-satisfied sneer, and you venture inward into your house like a queen over her domain, chin high and keeping back a cough on the rising dust.

The only real point to coming tonight was to satisfy your excitement. Mortgage signed and keys handed over at the bank just an hour earlier, it had proven impossible to resist the draw here. A motel room before going back to the city would’ve been warm, but this is yours.

Floorboards creak. Some spiderwebs drift lazily in the air currents, and on second thought you pull your phone from your coat pocket to turn the flashlight on, lighting your way from the hallway and into the dining room. The way is flanked by discarded knick-knacks and empty boxes.

Nothing has changed, of course; abandoned houses are like that, but the scrutiny of an owner’s eyes make possibilities bloom. Wallpaper. Chandelier. Windows, of course. Curtains. A new table and chairs. Restored fireplace.

The kitchen will have to be gutted, but that might be the most exciting part. After it’s cleared of probably twenty years’ worth of junk build-up - it wrinkles your nose to smell the waft of rot and dust even cold as it is, and sniffling, you wander through the back hallway and into an empty back room. Another fireplace; ornately carved but looking worse for the wear. It’ll be lovely in future winters, just not this one - with a smile tied up in hopes and dreams and a new life, you turn into the living room.

“Hello?”

Fear drops your heart to your feet - immediately thoughts of kidnappers and murderers seize hold of your panicked mind, and when footsteps follow the call your heart zips right back up into your throat to lodge uncomfortably there. A beam of flashlight is drawing near from the entryway, why won’t your feet move, and then a dark shape looms -

A shriek works its way out from between your lips, and the stranger yelps in reply, dropping the flashlight to the floor with a crash and lighting up the room in odd shadows.

“What are you doing here?” you force out through gritted teeth, and an attempt to brace yourself against getting murdered tightens your fingers on your phone, shining the light forward and making the stranger blink as he - yes, it is a he - bends down to pick up the flashlight with a gloved hand.

“Kicking a squatter off the property, if necessary,” he says, and his voice is deeper now, thrumming in reverberations through the empty room. And he shines the flashlight directly at you, making you blink as you reach up to shield your eyes.

“I’m not a squatter!” you snap. “I bought this property just today! The mortgage is in my car, if you need proof. Now kindly leave.”

“Oh, you’re the buyer!” Relief seems to flood his voice. His face is pale beneath a baseball cap, you notice, and his jacket seems much too thin for such a cold night. But then his mouth breaks into a grin showing off even teeth and a dimpled chin. “Then I’m sure you were told about me. I rent the carriage house down the road.”

Oh. Oh.

“Oh,” you say. “Yes, they told me about you. Bucky, right?”

“Yep, that’s me.”

“Ah.”

Silence, unbroken by anything but the distant hum of your car engine. Light beams graciously moved away from faces, and you tilt your head to study him better.

“I just saw a car up here and wanted to make sure it wasn’t a squatter or some idiot kids,” Bucky goes on, smile turning rueful. “I wasn’t expecting you up here until spring - the realtor said that’s when you’d be moving in.”

“That’s true,” you allow. “I just wanted to see it one more time before I went back to New York.” A gust of wind rattles the flimsy windows then, and you shudder, sucking in a breath - immediately Bucky straightens, and says,

“It’s getting late. Probably shouldn’t stay out too longer, even if the last recorded coyote sighting ‘round here was in the 1950s.”

“Huh?”

“Got a place to stay tonight or are you headed back?”

A personal question, but it’s tinged with kindness rather than rudeness - at least your new tenant is personable, and shifting your weight from foot to foot, you bring a fist to your mouth to breathe warmth into. “Um, I’m going to get a room at the motel in town. Go back tomorrow.”

“Why don’t you stay at my place? It’s closer,” Bucky suggests. “Plus, I can vouch for the sheets being washed yesterday. Can’t say so much ‘bout that motel.”

“ - Ah. Well, I don’t want to impose - ”

“You wouldn’t be,” he interrupts, and his smile seems to be broadening. He tips back his cap then, throwing into dim relief scruffy cheeks and bright eyes. Oh, he’s younger than you’d expected…

“I mean, I’m not so sure it’s a good idea to stay with a stranger,” you tell him. “Tenant or not. I don’t know you.”

“I’m safe,” Bucky says. “Scout’s honor. There are locks on my doors.”

“Well…” Truth be told, a one-minute drive is more appealing than a twenty minute one, and it would save you a hundred dollars. And clean sheets are appealing, as always. “Alright,” you decide, attempting a smile but feeling too begrudging for it to be genuine. “That’s very kind of you. I appreciate it.”

“‘Course,” Bucky says, and flicks his flashlight towards the door. “It’s my pleasure.”

Awkwardly you walk out of the living room and out the front door, grasping tightly at the collar of your coat as the air bites and nips at your cheeks. Behind you, Bucky closes the door - oh. Turning, you tug out the key to lock it, fingers shaking but managing as he hops down the broken front steps.

“I walked,” he calls back over his shoulder. “Wanna follow?”

“I can give you a lift,” you tell him, rushing over the crunching snow for your car and promised warmth. “It’s only fair.”

“Oh!” Is that surprise? “Sure.”

Heat from the vents start to thaw out your hands as Bucky opens the passenger door to slide in. Well, scrunch in - he’s taller than you’d realized, but he fits. Barely.

“Thank you,” he says. He fills the small space entirely; with his body, his voice, and - you blink stupidly - his smell; a musky, leathery, piney sort of smell. With a sideways grin, he lifts his cap from his head to run a gloved hand through shoulder-length hair. “Do you need directions?” Bucky asks after a moment.

“Oh! No, no I don’t.”

I do need to stop staring at strangers, though, you think scathingly to yourself.

The ride is, indeed, very brief - only a few hundred feet from the driveway you’d come in on, a plowed path leads to a much smaller house. The paint isn’t peeling on this one, you notice, and warm light flickers out the windows. The tires of your car crunch on the snowy gravel in front of the house as you brake at Bucky’s instruction. Ahead, an old truck sits beneath a shack with a tin roof for protection. Not much of a garage. If you get around to building one for yourself, it might be a good idea to get one for the carriage house, too…

Killing the engine, you pull out the keys and open the door to follow Bucky into the house, pausing to grab an overnight bag from the trunk. Then, cold nipping fast and merciless, you hurry up the porch that happens to be in much better repair than yours.

Ah, that’s better - through the door is a wall of heat, and immediately breathing is easier. Bucky tosses his flashlight and cap onto a table next to a - a dog leash and a set of car keys? The soft padding of footsteps precedes the entrance of a large and very hairy golden retriever, which seems to smile up at Bucky as he crouches down to scratch its ears.

“False alarm,” he informs it. “This is our new landlady. Be polite; Chessy, she could kick you out at any moment. Probably will, once she sees how much you drool.”

“I wouldn’t,” you vow, and with a smile you hold out an empty hand for the dog to sniff. A single, delighted bark, and you can’t help laughing a little as you pat her head.

“Chestnut,” Bucky clarifies, straightening.

“Chestnut,” you repeat. “Cute name. She seems sweet.”

“She is. Local rescue.”

“You got lucky.”

“Can I hang up your coat?”

Befuddled, you stare up at Bucky’s expectant expression for a half second before jolting, and unzipping your coat to slide off your shoulders. He takes it with a smile, and disappears down the hall. With another pet for Chestnut, who seems content to attach herself to your leg as you wander about, curiously taking in the sight of a comfortably furnished - but by no means fancy - sitting space, fit with a sofa and a few bookshelves and a vintage looking floor lamp. On the sofa is a crumpled afghan and an overturned book sitting precariously near the edge, as if he’d left in a hurry. To investigate a potential break-in at your house? Tilting your head, you consider the idea of tall and strange Bucky sitting on a sofa, reading a book. With a huff Chestnut jumps onto the cushions, settling in with a yawn, her head resting on the blanket as she gazes over at you with pretty black eyes.

Sitting on a sofa, reading a book, and cuddled up with his dog. Seems like a normal guy.

“This is a pretty nice place,” you say aloud, at the sound of Bucky’s returning footsteps.

“Thank you,” he says, and you turn to give him a smile as he enters the room - the ceilings seem lower with him beneath them. He’d taken off his jacket, too, revealing a green shirt that might - just might - be a size too small. He certainly doesn’t hide his physique, does he? Except his hands - he still wears the black gloves. Your eyes snap back up to his as he explains, “The previous owner was more than happy to let me fix it up to my heart’s content.”

“Well, you did fantastic,” you tell him, and add as a joke to lighten up the tension, “Are you a contractor by chance? I wouldn’t mind my house turning out this nice.”

Bucky laughs. A low but delighted laugh, eyes crinkling at the corners and displaying a pair of handsome dimples. “No,” he admits. “My pop taught me a few things though.”

“I’m very impressed, then.”

“If you’d like,” he goes on, and because it seems like the right thing to do, you perch yourself in an overstuffed armchair, and Bucky takes your cue to sit on the sofa beside Chestnut, who he pats absent-mindedly. “I have some extra supplies and the tools. I could help you out with your place.”

“Trying to play nice with your new landlady,” you say with a laugh, gratified and embarrassed and uncertain and flattered by his offer, all at once.

“I don’t want to get evicted,” Bucky grins, leaning forward. Though his eyeline is now even with yours, it doesn’t make him seem less...present. Trying not to squirm at his scrutiny, you lean forward as well, daring yourself to be his equal.

“I hope to be easy-going,” you smile. “I’ll be even easier to get along with if you help me clean my house of all that garbage.”

“Done,” he says promptly.

“But that’s all,” you tell him. “I can’t afford to pay you for anything else.”

Bucky shrugs. “Not necessary. You’d be doing me a favor by giving me a place to get rid of all that extra plaster and insulation. Won’t have to go to the dump, then.”

“It’s a tempting offer,” you admit. “But it wouldn’t feel right to take advantage of your time.”

“I’ve got all the time in the world, I promise. And if you want to compensate me, you could pay for my gas or something.” This with another shrug - it seems clear by the spark in his eyes that he feels like he won something, and your head tilts as you consider this.

“That could work,” you say slowly. “Do you work from home, then?”

“Nope. Retired.”

Retired? He can’t be more than thirty-five! Gosh, can you get on his career track?

Chestnut lifts her head for a yawn, wheezing out slightly as she rests her head in Bucky’s lap. “Bedtime, huh?” he asks her, and then glances at you. “You can have the bedroom through there. It locks. Bathroom’s down the hall. Use whatever you need.”

“I have everything I need,” you assure him, and rise to your feet. “Um - thank you, Bucky. Not for nearly giving me a heart attack when you snuck up on me - ”

He’s laughing. “I didn’t know it was you!”

“ - but thank you for the place to sleep. And offering to help.”

“It’s no problem,” Bucky smiles. “I’ve been wanting to get my paws on that house up there for months. It’ll be fun.”

“Yes,” you say. “I think it will be.”

A stilled moment - eyes meet, smiles frozen for a heartbeat, for a breath - and then shatters into something you don’t quite understand as you turn to go.

continue

#bucky x reader #bucky barnes fanfiction #marvel #fatws #mcu #bucky x you

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art-by-jas · 4 years

Text

Luther Hargreeves oneshot

Words: 1184

Warning(s): A light smut? Don’t really know if this counts as smut because I never wrote that kind of fic. Just a little feeling up and making out.

Ive been working on this for a little while now... I hope you enjoy my beefy boi Luther! :)

.............................................................................................................................

Sitting on the over-sized couch, you were close to dozing off while you were getting caught up on the shows that you missed when you were working the previous days.

The leaves on the trees outside were blowing slightly in the cooling climate a much-needed relief from the previous searing hot day.

Just about asleep you heard the front door creak open with a loud squeak. You were going to have to get that fixed sometime soon.

"Sweetheart?" Your boyfriend called out, having not heard the tv on in the living room.

"In here!" You called out.

Heavy footsteps got louder as he neared the living room. You let a big smile take over your face when you saw him. "Hi, Luther." You shot up and ran to him and jumped up with him catching you. Your legs automatically wrapped around his hips with no trouble at all. His hands came to rest around butt, he gave you a brief kiss to your forehead.

His hulking frame did have some disadvantages sometimes but it also had plenty of upsides to it like, him being able to carry you like you weighed nothing.

Sure most people would stare at him or talked about Luther when you weren't any more than a few feet away from them, it didn't stop them from gossiping. Making him deeply insecure about his body but also got him wondering what you ever saw in him or why you're still with him.

Once the two of you were safe inside your house you would silence all his worries about your relationship, making sure he knew that you loved him the way he was, no matter what he looked like. He was the one for you.

"How's Diego doing?" You nuzzled into his neck as he took a few steps and sat down onto the couch with you still straddling his lap, the tv was long forgotten. His blue jean jacket he had on before he left was now replaced with a white tank top that stretched over the expanse of his large muscles. His dark-colored jeans we're still on him albeit having swashes of paint seem to cover them.

Luther had been his brother with renovating the new house he had just purchase. The restoring process was taking a couple of months and a lot of hard work, but Diego was determined to do it himself instead of hiring others to finish the job for him. Luther and sometimes both of you as well as his other siblings would go over and help Diego, bring in furniture or help him paint the walls or lay floor tile.

Just last week you helped him pick out curtains for the bedroom as well as pick tiles for the kitchen, he insisted on getting all wooden flooring for the kitchen which you agreed with almost instantaneously.

"Well, we finally finished laying the wooden floorboards in the kitchen and the carpet in the living room. Diego constantly complained about how he wanted to keep rearranging the couch and chairs." You snorted and tangled your hand against the hairs on the nape of his neck. He melted into your touch as he let on about Klaus making Diego's life harder for him, Diego tried for the life of him to pay attention of the task on hand but with Klaus constantly over his shoulder saying they should hit up the bar or go get Chinese food it was definitely tiring.

"I'll tell you what how about I order in some tacos and you go find a movie and you can tell me more about how Diego is a drama queen." he chuckled as you got off of him. He reached down to take off his shoes and socks and placed his feet on the coffee table.

Reaching over to the other side of the couch to where your phone laid to fully charge you grabbed it and went to your delivery app and started making an order. You quickly decided on what you wanted. Glancing up at Luth, you asked him what he wanted. You went to the kitchen to get your boyfriend a much-needed beer as you returned you saw Luther scrolling through Netflix deciding what the two of you could watch. His clothes were disheveled over the hard days work at Diego's.

Handing him a beer as you sat down beside him. He thanked you with a gentle kiss on your lips. This lead to an impromptu make-out session that resulted in you getting back on top of him. His mouth slowly glided down your neck. You leaned back so he could have more access. He knew he found your sweet spot right below your ear as you let out a quiet moan for him. He nipped at your bottom lip and you whimpered into his mouth. One of his hands makes its way up to your shirt. Your hips ground against his and he let out a deep groan, breaking the kiss to pant hotly against your neck. You quickly found his lips again, fingers digging into his short hair.

There was a brief knock at the door and you would’ve missed it with the way the two of you were going at it but the person kept rapping on the wooden surface.

Luther swore under his breath. Giving him one last kiss, you stood up and headed for the door. Trying to fix your hair that he fussed with.

Opening the door you notice the delivery boy had his hands full of bags on each arm.

"You guys having a party?" He joked.

Knowing from previous times it's easier to say yes to this question so they don't get concerned or think you or your boyfriend are overindulging on the food you get delivered. Each time you order you always have to order four times the regular because Luther’s metabolism is through the roof and he eats like three times his body weight in whatever you guys were eating.

"Luther! Might need some help!" You called out for him.

Hearing his heavy footsteps indicating his arrival you could see when the kid noticed him, his eyes grew wide.

Luther awkwardly waved at the delivery boy and held out his hands to take some of the bags from the kid’s hands. Not so much as a word from the delivery boy you grabbed the other and shut the door with a ‘thank you and have a good night.’

The two of you made your way to the living room in record speed, both of you were starving and couldn’t wait to dig into your meal. While splitting your food up he put on an episode of Law & Order: SVU, which you were more than happy to watch.

Taking a bite of his burrito, Luther let out a groan of how good it tasted, “Oh my God this is amazing!” Scarfing it down ridiculously amount of speed while you were only on your second bite.

With an arm around you, he continued to devour his meal as the two of you watched the television.

#luther hargreeves #Tom Hopper #TUA #FIC #TUA FIC #luther hargreeves x reader #reader inserts #reader insert #The Umbrella Academy #netflix #oneshot #oneshots

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purkinje-effect · 3 years

Text

The Anatomy of Melancholy, 70: Something Old, Something New

Table of Contents. Third Instar, Chapter 1. First chapter of Third Instar; go to previous. Go to next. TWs: Canon-typical animal violence, hostile locals.

In the shape of things to come.

_______________________

It should have jolted ‘Choly electric, when Sticks turned over Little Boy Blue with the rhythmic sequence of soft chirps from its push-button transmission. Yet, the smooth uniform purring of the fusion engine left him doe-eyed sinking deeper into the ancient moving blanket that had been folded lengthwise and tucked down atop the otherwise exposed re-stuffed guts of the passenger seat’s upholstery. A lone Mister Handy fuel tank tucked itself behind him.

Sticks had replaced the front driver’s seat with a balding duct-taped armchair, trimmed to fit; he had also replaced the entire back seat with a footlocker, to make extra room inside the vehicle. The ghoul had paid the interior far more attention in flirting after perfectionism, with what he could loot from Concord nearby. His flux welding intimated once present chrome contours, the refinished salvaged wood, its prior vinyl wood paneling. The ghoul drew down the parking lever, now a screwdriver with a leather-wrapped handle, took the freshly royal blue 2071 Chryslus Coupe out of neutral, and eased it out from under the canopy of the Red Rocket Truck Stop to exit the parking lot.

Before ‘Choly could register to wave to the Sanctuary settlers out the open window behind them, Sticks had shifted into third and spirited them down to the first light to turn East into Concord. He sank down in his seat again, and folded his gloved hands in his lap.

‘Choly supposed that the two of them were just as patched together as Blue--though Angel would certainly have argued it took the cake for this distinction, were it in on his internal monologue. The composite Mister Handy had powered off its thruster on Blue’s roof, where Sticks had latched it down with a pair of tow chains, hooked around the rear pillars of the blown-out back windows. From atop the car, its Mister Gutsy grade sensors would provide them with a slightly greater forewarning of incumbent road hazards.

Sticks slapped the steel dashboard and laughed.

“Hah! aren’t the hydraulics just riding like a dream.” He beamed, petting at it. “Ohh, sometimes I surprise even myself.”

“It’s skating on glass,“ ‘Choly agreed, his attention squarely on the ghoul. He chewed at his lip. “Are you sure you don’t need another nap? We could pull in behind the Wright’s Inn, and you could recline--”

Rather than answer, Sticks zipped left and picked up a speed more befitting an automobile. With the windows down, the quarter windows open, and the floor vents unlatched, the crisp breeze disturbed ‘Choly’s headspace before it could sour. He tugged his golf visor down on his head, and coughed a bit at the smell of the road kicking up in the floorboards, but he welcomed the fresh air, as the air conditioning was the one notable thing Sticks had not managed to restore in some capacity.

He couldn’t get the ghoul to admit how he’d managed a (mostly) in-tact windshield, when there hadn’t been a scrap of glass left on the husk of the car after laying on its side for the better part of two hundred years.

‘Choly reached up to put a hand on the roof. Angel tapped it emphatically, reassuringly. His eyes couldn’t follow the scenery as they zipped along Route 62.

“Have you been further North than Lowell?”

“Oh, yeah. No further than Ant, though. Never been reason for me to. This’ll be a first.”

Route 62 changed over to Route 4 as it eased North. Sticks swerved around a bit of road debris, but did not otherwise slow down. ‘Choly fretted that little remained of the junkyard, after the fusion engines of automobile and robotics alike had exploded last he’d been this way. Sticks decided to push Blue’s constitution and gunned it up to sixty, then eighty.

As the scenery blurred past them and even with the correct prescription of eyewear on his face, ‘Choly shook his daze and instead squinted at the map on his Pip-Boy.

“Ant? As in... ants?”

“Don’t overthink it. We’re not stopping. Straight shot to Nashua.” The ghoul belted another laugh, letting the wind whisk his noseless face and last locks of blond hair. “I haven’t had a car run this smooth in eighty years. Maybe more.”

“You did great...” 'Choly admired his enthusiasm and pride of craftsmanship. “I doubt anybody else could’ve done what you’ve done.”

“You can say that again.” Sticks threw a hand across the back of ‘Choly’s headrest, and rubbed at his shoulder. ‘Choly leaned into it. “With how well he runs, we might be able to get back to Goodneighbor by the end of the week. --Fuck Tucker Bridge, though. Fuck it to Hell.”

“You really think we’re on the road for a while then?” He picked at the radio dials before deciding not to see if WXXX was the only surviving station in the area. “Shouldn’t we stop to loot in Tyngsborough or Chelmsford, then? There’s plenty of silt flour for a month or two, but I’ll need way more than a bottle of mouthwash and a half tube of toothpaste if we don’t want to have to choose between using it and my eating it.”

“For real. Don’t sweat it. If I were worried about groceries, I’d have had us stay over in Billerica to loot on the way down. Still can’t quite wrap my head around you getting by on that stuff, ya know.”

“Mm.”

Several minutes passed where they took in the sound of the open road. The unevenness of the rubbled roadway became more obvious to ‘Choly in the break in conversation, although Blue cleared a majority of it without hesitation.

“Say, where do you see us a year from now, anyway?”

“Is this your way of proposing to me?” ‘Choly turned to him with a starstruck start. “Next you’ll tell me you’ve got rings in that Cram tin.”

Sticks turned thoughts over in his head a bit.

“Well, there are rings in there. But they’re not for you. That box of rocks is our insurance.”

“I suppose I’ve spoiled the game, then.”

“You’re the one who had a proposal at all, you know. The proposal I was meaning. Gee, you really are head over heels for me, if you’re already talking about getting old.”

“I haven’t been thawed out for a whole year yet. It’s hard to imagine getting any older than I already am, let alone with you. ...You really think you’ll stick with me a whole year?”

“Many more, is the idea. Hopefully, you’ll stick with me.”

“...I meant to do that.”

“Sure,” the ghoul grinned, giving him a side-eye.

It took less than an hour for them to pass through the residential ruins of Chelmsford and Tyngsborough, though variably dense evergreens paved much of their way. The Merrimack ran against them to the right, coiling back and forth out of sight. Blue skipped a wet patch on Route 3A, spraying a muddy mist up into the floorboards and getting the two to sputtering and laughing.

Sticks slowed as they neared the invisible demarcation which once divided Massachusetts and New Hampshire. ‘Choly was about to crack a joke about speed limits, only to notice the three figures, in mostly combat armor, attending the military road blockade ahead. ‘Choly straightened in his seat as Sticks slowed to a stop.

The elder of two women stepped up to the driver’s side coddling the hulking chrome and steel form of an assault rifle. The other two guards aimed directly at the vehicle.

“You sure are a bad habit.” She chewed at a cigar.

“Sergeant Bea.” Sticks gave her an awful grin. “Just passing through. If that’s all right with you.”

She stooped to squint and scowl at ‘Choly. He swallowed hard and gave her a tepid smile.

“Sticks, you’ve got one minute to get that pile of metal shit off the Lane before I tell Gerald he’s got target practice.”

“Be out of your hair in half that,” he blandished. “Good to see you again, love.”

She told him off as they continued past. He casually waved his middle finger out the window, keeping his eyes ahead of him.

“You’re just on everyone’s good side, aren’t you?” ‘Choly wrung his hands, still stiff against the seat.

“Laners hate machines, is all. Can’t appreciate a fine automobile.”

As Sticks accelerated again, ‘Choly wondered whether Sticks’s reservations coming this way had more to do with the locals than the climate. He slouched, only to see a towering projection screen come up on their right. Agape, he nearly hung out the window, clutching at his visor. In the parking lot of what had once been a Starlight Drive-In, now stood a bustling flea market. A romance flickered anciently on the screen.

“Sticks, there’s people here. A hundred, maybe. People.” Under his breath, he murmured, “I wonder if they’ve got any horror movies.”

The ghoul scoffed.

“People with a stick up their asses, more like it.”

They passed the parking lot of a large shopping mall. Before ‘Choly could get into him, gunfire rang. A dozen mutated waterfowl the size of a human assailed around twenty settlers armed with shotguns, pole hooks, and bludgeons. Sticks sped up and ‘Choly grabbed him by the arm.

“The fuck are you doing!” the ghoul yelled. “Gerald’s their missile man!”

“We’ve got to go help them!”

“They don’t want our help!”

'Choly shook Sticks until he loathingly relented, then tried uselessly to unlatch the tow hooks in the back seat. Once he managed it, Angel lit its thruster and sped off saws blazing headlong toward the Radfowl. ‘Choly hadn’t expected to need to have a weapon at the ready. Sticks, meanwhile, hunched into the steering wheel with the determination to mow at least one goose-like thing down with the traffic barrier he’d bolted where Blue once had a front bumper.

The Mister Handy and the vehicle beset the composure of the locals far in excess of the fowl. As Blue connected with a pair of birds, the locals they’d squared off with immediately lashed out at the front of the car with their baseball bats. One punctured the trunk hood with their pole hook.

“HEY!” Sticks roared. He laid on the horn, and the three scattered to assist the others.

‘Choly shakily unholstered his Nagant. Before he could aim out his own window, a pair of Radfowl had rushed to snap and snarl in the driver’s side. One chomped down on Sticks’s upper arm where it could get at him, and he let out a groan. At close range, it felt more like administering tranquilizers with a jet injector rather than the modified syringer revolver he’d endeared as the Tryasovitsy. Their gnarly tusk-like teeth scraped at the door on the birds’ way down to the pavement.

‘Choly tried to get a better look, but Sticks shoved him back, to reach for the hunting rifle he’d tucked between the seat and door. He took aim and fired on one of the fowl.

“Just get your damn robot back over here before they beat the shit out of it.”

“Angel’s doing well with the birds--”

“--I meant the Laners.”

Another massive goose-like thing ran flailing toward the passenger side and ‘Choly reflexively drew on it, emptying the rest of his barrel of Pax Syringes with a choking panic. Once the last of the geese dropped, he sank back in his seat to steady ragged breathing.

Sticks got out of the car long enough to shoot the two Radfowl sedated on the driver’s side. An older man in fishing overalls with a shotgun came up and finished off the Radfowl on ‘Choly’s side before aiming the gun at him. A pair of teens had picked up the tow chains and approached Angel, swinging them slow and furious.

“We’re just trying to help!” ‘Choly squeaked out at the man. He dropped the silenced revolver in his lap in an instant. “We don’t mean you any harm!”

“You fucker. Ruined perfectly good meat,” the Laner snapped, repulsed and hateful. “Can’t eat drugged meat.”

“Please!” ‘Choly adjusted in his seat when he realized his sudden lurch could’ve seemed like hostility rather than begging. “Don’t hurt my Handy. We’re leaving! I swear it!”

“You’ve already wasted enough of our time. Tussling with you ain’t worth it.” The older man kicked at the concrete with a growl that punctuated in a hiss. “What did you think you were doing! Horning in on our hunt!?"

“Hunt?” ‘Choly frowned, guiltily incredulous. “You were attacking them?”

“You shouldn’t have risked yourselves like that. We had it under control. Get your goddamn tin can liabilities off the Lane!”

“Forgive us,” Sticks started. The man brandished a finger at him, warning that they keep their distance.

“And you can’t have any of our Radfowl meat!”

“All yours. Sorry to be trouble, folks. Angel! Come on, chap.”

Sticks waved to the Laners to gesticulate for the berth to reverse enough to turn around. They all glowered at the pair before getting to dressing their kills.

“The fuck is wrong with these people,” ‘Choly finally blurted out.

“Listen to me next time? I told you we didn’t need to help them.”

“Of course we did, Mister Hawthorne.” Angel swept around to the driver’s side where Sticks could hear its indignity. “It’s not our fault they’re ingrates!”

“Are you sure you’re all right? Those things have more teeth than a shark.”

“There had better be a Stimpak there. Or something.” He snorted to shrug off a pout. “Not like I’m bleeding out. Hurts, but I’ll live.”

“There’s definitely a full assortment of first aid stock at the warehouse. I’ll patch you up once we get inside. ...Sorry that I didn’t listen.”

“You keep doing the exact opposite of what I tell you, and it keeps biting you in the ass. This time, it bit me in the arm. Got a right mind to start telling you to do the opposite of what I think you’ll do.”

Now that they’d crossed the New Hampshire state line, ‘Choly produced the folder he’d tucked between the center console and seat, to skim Gretchen’s landmark location directory again. Going North on the Daniel Webster Highway, you’ll pass the Pheasant Lane Mall on your right. Crossing under a double overpass, there’s a Luxurique lot and cemetery on your left. The Nashua warehouse is at the next left.

“Let’s just... keep onward. Priorities. Right.” ‘Choly sighed. “We made good time getting up here. There’s still plenty of daylight left. The warehouse shouldn’t be more than ten minutes from here, provided we don’t encounter more locals.”

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#fallout #fallout 4 #fallout fanfic #fallout 4 fanfic #sole survivor #ghoul oc #the anatomy of melancholy #mister handy #sticks #melancholy #angel

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slashermom · 5 years

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Hey not sure how full your requests are so feel free to ignore or take your time, but I wondering if we could maybe get HCs on Vincent reuniting w/ someone from his childhood, like one of the only kids who was actually ever nice to him. And maybe now that they’re all grown up he has a crush uwu??? Thank you!!!

Ah childhood friends... my weakness (Nothing scary under the cut just didn’t wanna clog up your dash! Merry Christmas Eve!)

You lived in one of the apartments near the main stretch and would always go to the Sinclair’s to play.

Let’s make this clear, Vincent definitely had the biggest crush on you and would get teased by Bo about it all the time.

You were the balance between the twins before Lester came around.

Your ability to keep up with Bo’s rough and tough nature but tone it back when it came to hanging out with Vincent was key on making the most of your adventures with them.

From the beginning, you and Vince always seemed to flow well together. You kept him on his toes and he kept you anchored.

Besides his mother, Vincent only showed his drawings to you. You were the only one who seemed to appreciate them. Plus he wanted to impress you.

Pinky promises were a big thing between you guys.

That’s how you got him to take off his mask in the first place. You had seen glances of his face when he’s getting ready to go out the door. (His mom liked to see his face when he was home.) But never truly seen what all the fuss was about.

You pinky promised that you wouldn’t laugh or get scared if he took his mask off and you always made good on your pinky promises so he felt confident enough to show you.

“It’s not even that bad, you really don’t even need a mask. You can take it off whenever you want around me, I won’t judge you. Pinky promise!”

So from that moment on, he would take off his mask when it was just you two. He didn’t think his face was something to be happy about but it made you happy when he took it off and he so desperately wanted to make you happy.

You two used to talk about how when you were old enough you were gonna help him run the House of Wax.

Him the great artist and you the lovely manager and tour guide.

But these dreams were left to rot after Trudy and Victor died.

The last time Vincent saw you was when he caught a glimpse of you running up the hill to his house right before he was shoved into the back of a car headed to the orphanage.

Looking out the back window he saw you yelling at someone to tell you what happened. Trying to push past two men and get to Lester who was trying to reach out to Bo who was putting up a hell of a fight.

He never got to see if you managed to reach one of his brothers before the car pulled away and left his home town.

Vincent thought about you a lot when he was in the system. About how when he finally left this place and went home how happy he would be to see you and vice versa.

You were one of the things that got him through those dark times.

So you can only imagine the sadness and heartbreak when he came back to Ambrose and ran up the steps of your apartment to find it had been abandon for years.

As the years dragged on Vincent had questions.

Where had you gone? Who was with you? Were you happy? Did you miss him? Did you even think about him?

All questions he thought that would never be answered untill a new visitor pulled into town.

Bo had yelled at him from the top of the basement steps to ‘haul ass’ and Vincent flew up the steps fully expecting another group of rowdy tourists.

But instead was surprised to see an unfamiliar figure looking at old pictures. Well, unfamiliar until you turned around at the sound of creaking floorboards.

You two recognized each other almost instantly. He knew those eyes like the back of his hand.

It was like seeing a ghost. Your breath caught in your throat and heart stuttering in your chest as your face broke out into a ginormous smile. It wasn’t long before you broke the distance.

You used to be about the same height as him when you were kids but even with the very apparent height difference now you still gave the same protective and loving hugs.

Vincent was quick to squeeze back. Afraid if he let go too soon you would vanish into thin air and he would be stuck wondering what happened to you again. He won’t go through that again.

After the very long overdue hug that Vincent is pretty sure restored his life source, Bo had chimed in that you should stay for a drink.

So there the three of you were, sitting in the kitchen reminiscing about your childhood days. You had your legs stretched out under the table across Vincent’s lap as you laughed at something Bo said.

Vincent couldn’t say he was really listening. His focus was still caught on the fact that you’re really here. The more and more he looked at you he could tell you hadn’t changed a single bit.

The same kind ways, the vivacious laugh, your quirks, all the things that made up you when you were a kid still shone through.

Vincent brought his hands off the table where he had them placed nervously to rest them on the legs spread across his lap. Rubbing up and down the expanse with his thumb.

You didn’t seem to mind so he continued. You were always leaning on him back then so his actions were practically muscle memory.

The air was light-hearted and familiar until the sound of a truck pulling up sent Bo into a frenzy to get to the window.

Wondering what his problem was, you looked at Vincent with raised eyebrows. He only shrugged and continued to stare at you from behind his mask.

You began wondering how much he looked like Bo. Wondering if he’d be willing to leave the mask behind as he did back then.

Your thoughts were cut short by the sound of the front door opening and a scruffy looking young man walking in; which you recognized as Lester immediately.

Scrambling to get up and hug the dirty rascal you removed yourself from Vincent’s space and rushed up to Lester. Almost instantly, Vincent missed your warmth and weight.

After that little reunion, you all sat back down and began talking again. Only this time you didn’t have your legs on Vincent and he was stuck wondering how to get close to you once again without looking desperate.

You had explained to the boys that you moved shortly after they had left. Many people left Ambrose after Trudy and Victor died. The town really wasn’t much without the wax museum running. Which explains why when the Sinclairs returned it was slim pickings for new wax figures.

You also explained that you were only stopping into town as a goodbye. You were getting ready for a big move to a new job and wanted to get one last look at the place. The boys were the last people you were expecting to see.

The brothers all shared a look as you talked about leaving Ambrose. You had only just got here, you weren’t about to leave so soon.

Bo began breaking out the hard stuff in hopes you wouldn’t pass him up. Knowing it he got you drunk enough you at least wouldn’t make the drive tonight.

He was right, and a few hours later you were crashed on the couch with an old blanket.

Bo left the house and went down to your car to make sure it wasn’t going to be going anywhere anytime soon and Lester went home for some much-needed rest. Leaving Vincent to observe you all over again.

He couldn’t describe the feeling he got when he looked at you. Nostalgia? Safety? Love? Maybe it was all of them but what he did know is that he hadn’t felt these things in a very long time.

The three of them had come up the astonishing lie that they were turning Ambrose into a complete tourist attraction; that they were taking Trudy’s dream one step further.

Which it wasn’t a total lie... But it wasn’t the total truth either. It was just something to keep you unsuspecting of all the wax figures scattered around town.

You would stay with the Sinclairs for the next few days while your car was being ‘repaired’. Within those few days, Vincent felt himself grow attached to you all over again.

Everything he did he thought of you. Maybe you would like to join him and Jonesy for a walk or check out some of his smaller pieces of art? Truth be told, he just wanted to make up for lost time but didn’t want to annoy you.

Vincent was actually surprised when you came into the House of Wax looking for him. You began reminiscing about how you used to play in here even though you were chastised not to every time. You even brought up how you two used to think you were gonna run this place together.

We could, Vincent thought to himself. You’re here now, what’s stopping us?

“You know you don’t have the wear that thing around me. You never had to... Will you take it off for me? I won’t look at you any different just because you grew up. Pinky promise.”

His mind was no longer sending out actions. He just stood there looking at your outstretched pinky astonished. After a couple of deep breaths and some nervous shuffling of feet, he reached up and removed the mask.

You sighed happily at see how he grew into a handsome young man. You wondered if he knew that he was beautiful.

“There’s my Vincent.”

Yours he truly was because in the few days since you had returned his childhood crush on you had returned in full force.

Anything you wanted, he’ll give to you. Just please, stay here with him. Don’t leave again. He’s had enough of loosing people and things being out of his control. He has an opportunity to make you stay and he’ll do what he must to keep you in Ambrose.

#I told you it was a chonker #this was a full length story but it made me 🤢 so I broke it down #vincent sinclair x reader #house of wax

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