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angelamajiki · 4 years

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PAIRINGS: Father! Yandere! Enji Todoroki x Daughter! Reader

CW: yandere, incest, soulmate AU, fluff, slight angst, nsfw, kissing, praise kink, virginity kink, size kink, bathroom sex

A BNHarem Collab!

AN: my longest piece to date! the prompt this month was sex work, so i decided to stretch the prompt and do sexual slavery. wanted to go for a softer version of daddy endeavor, so please enjoy <3

5.2k words

The mark on his wrist was one that was shared with yours. Enji had given up on finding his soulmate, deciding that his career and legacy were far more important than some silly marking on another’s body. Love was something he thought he could go without. But when he saw your bright eyes gaze up at him, your chubby hand wrapped around his index finger, his heart had fallen hard—such a sweet, gentle thing. No traces of fear, of disdain, of disgust for him as a human being. Just pure curiosity and unconditional love. His heart leaped for his little girl.

Enji was determined, then and there, that he would never fail you, not like he forgot the others.

Oh, what plans he had for you, his precious princess. He couldn’t wait to spoil you, to marry you and start a new family once you were old enough. Rei realized this as well. Her youngest daughter, her last hope at salvaging her broken family, was to be had by her husband. The thought frightened her, especially after seeing the adoring look in her husband's eyes when she saw him cradle you for the first time. It was so unlike the stoic nature he held for the other children when they were born, only caring to see that they were healthy before leaving off back to his agency, never giving them more than a fleeting touch. It was nothing like when he held you, snarling at any nurse who dared to take his soulmate from the grips of his arms.

Something that had Enji’s conviction more so than his career was something to be feared. Your mother swore to herself that she would not let her husband ruin you.

Once he fell asleep with you tucked in the crook of his arm, a social worker came and collected you to be sent to a foster home and be set up for adoption. It was better than falling into the hands of the monster of a husband.

After the death of Touya, the pair decided to have one more child in hopes of fixing their broken family, but Rei now knew it was for naught. Nothing could save them know, especially now that Enji had nearly burned the building down when he discovered that his little girl was gone, just hours after he had finally found you.

Rei alerted the commission as well for your protection, that utter bitch of a woman. They very well couldn't have the number two hero caught in an incestuous bond with his daughter, now could they. All information of your whereabouts was hidden from him, blacklisting him from working with any foster children, lest he loses his hero license. Enji may have lost you for the time being, but his patience grew as he did. They couldn't keep him from you forever. You'd be reunited one day; he knows it.

The first time he saw you again was when you were fifteen. It was your birthday and the day he had become the number one hero officially, plenty of reason to celebrate. Usually, he would have taken the time to sit near the rose bush he planted in your honor in his courtyard on your birthday, renewing his vows to find and love you to the best of his ability. Enji took great pride in keeping your memory alive with the bush for his beautiful little rose gone too soon from his grasp. But there you were, mere meters from him.

The foster home you stayed at took you out for dinner when he was meeting with Hawks after the billboard awards. Your eyes were unmistakable, a perfect cerulean just like his own. He was so close, yet so far. My, how you had grown since he saw you. Unlike him, you bore your mark proudly on your wrist, not ashamed to admit to the world who your soulmate was. Not like you actually knew who it was anyway.

Enji was prepared to leave Hawks at the table; a new flame lit under his ass, one far more exhilarating than the thought of being the number one hero. He was up and on his way to speak to you before Nomu attacked him. Damn villains, they'd pay for separating the two of you once again. But his conviction only grew stronger. It wasn’t hard to find you after that; he knew what city you were living in. Instincts lashed out at him, demanding that he go sweep you up and hide you away. No, no. That would make you frightened; he can't have that. He’ll watch from the sidelines, waiting until you were of age to make a move. He was curious to see just how life as a foster child was treating you.

Growing up in the foster system had been a nightmare from hell for you. A cursed child is what they saw you as when your skin sprouted flames every time it was touched by the human hand, burning everything and everyone who came in contact with it. From the moment your quirk manifested, you were an outcast, an untouchable, unlovable freak. Someone destined never to feel the touch of their new parents, their lover, their soulmate.

It wasn't long before you realized that you would remain in the foster system until you aged out. Who would adopt a child they couldn't hug when they cried, hold their hand when they crossed the street, snuggle up to when it was chilly outside? Any potential parent was taken aback by your quirk once you reached for the warm touch of mommy and daddy, only to singe their hand or burn a hole in their shirt.

You learned quickly that your touch was something to be feared, that you were something to be feared. You supposed that’s why you looked up to him so much. So much so that you thought about him late at night when the loneliness seemed to drown you in the sea of your insecurities.

Endeavor was the only one who could understand you, understand your quirk. If only your soulmate mark could match him, maybe you feel the warmth of another human being without hurting or mauling them with your power. Abrasive he may be with the media, but there something about him that was so comforting and endearing to you. In your eyes, he was simply misunderstood, a gentle giant amongst the mass personalities of the other pro heroes.

Watching his interviews brought you comfort when you were lonely, his merchandise made you swell with pride and confidence, and his posters on the wall reminded you that you were never alone. It was a silly crush, but it made you feel better about your miserable life.

You even got to see him on your birthday! Well, not exactly. You happened to be in the same restaurant when your foster parents took you out for your birthday. It was apparent that they just felt bad for you, having looked after you for 15 years only to still have custody of your sorry ass. You were almost certain that they were going to kick you to the curb the morning of your 18th birthday.

Too bad they never had the chance. That fate would have been much kinder than the reality you faced now.

Once the Paranormal Liberation Front had effectively ripped society up by the roots and let the tree of life rot for the world to see, your foster parents packed their shit and left the country while you were at school. You’d been alone in the world ever since and were snatched off the streets, ready to be sold into slavery by the villains of the world. Your quirk was the only thing keeping you from being bought like a bitch from the auction floor.

Enji, on the other hand, was more than eager to do just that. After his public smear campaign by his allegedly dead son, he was dead to the world, finally abandoning his family for good in hopes of finding his beloved daughter. His life was dedicated to searching for you, having managed to track you down through his vigilante work. He likes to lie to himself and say that he’s continuing to fight for the greater good, but Enji does it just to have the chance to see your sweet face again. There wasn’t much to go off of, but he’d rather see his fiery end than to give up. That's how he found you at the auction.

⋆﹥━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━﹤⋆

Another auction night was approaching, which meant another night of humiliation and being displayed like a slab of meat for a crowd of degenerate wolves. Your quirk was the only thing keeping you from being sold; no one wants a fucktoy they can’t touch. It reduced you to physical labor for your captors, but you were better fed because of it. That didn’t mean they still didn’t try to sell you.

After being stripped down into nothing but a collar, leash, and a muzzle, you were brought to the stage and shoved in front of the ravenous, roaring crowd. You could feel their stares seep into your bones, the grime from the floor on your bare feet only adding to the overwhelming sensation of disgust you couldn’t even begin to describe.

The crowd’s excitement was raucous, jeers and shouts echoing off the halls of the underground auditorium. Masks covered their faces for the sake of privacy lest a vigilante break-in and hunt them all down. Even in the lawlessness of the world, heroes were still crawling everywhere to trail after even the slightest scent of villainy. Doesn't mean they’ll win, but hey, the death of a hero is just the same as the auction was to them.

“Up next, a darling girl with a fiery quirk!”

That was your cue. A handler had a fierce grip on your leash, giving it a few tugs for good measure as the crowd laughed at your stumbling. The auctioneer began to list your qualities and physical attributes, including your quirk.

“And she’s a virgin!”

Added for good measure, the crowd fell silent after listening to the abilities of your quirk. You couldn't hate it anymore; it's what was keeping you from being someone’s onahole until the day you kicked the bucket.

“Can I get $10,000?”

Ah the starting bid. The silence was relieving. Just a few more moments and you'd be off that damn stage.

“No? Going once, going twice, going-”

“One million.”

A booming voice came from the back row, the depths of the shadows to further hide the masked man who just bought your life. Why did it sound so familiar?

“Outstanding! One million dollars for the young lady!”

“Going once.”

It couldn't be.

“Going twice.”

This can't be happening.

“Sold for one million!”

No!

You were supposed to be unwanted, just like you have been your entire life! Yet some mysteriously familiar man outbid the entire auction for little ol’ you.

“Off the stage, bitch.”

The handler snarled, yanking you off the stage and causing you the fall and bruise yourself in the process.

“Watch it!” He spat, picking you up by the roots of your hair. “The merchandise needs to be handled carefully before reaching the customer. Let's hope he doesn't mind some bumps and bruises. For your sake.”

“That won't be necessary; I'll be taking her as is. Immediately, if you will.”

The mysterious man stood had already made his way backstage and behind you, standing formidably over your stark form. Your hair was released, dropping you back to the floor.

“Excellent, sir! I’m more than happy to get this welp off my hands.”

A brief exchange was made while you recovered on the floor, shaking in fear as the situation weighed heavily on your already broken self. The handler took the money and returned to the back room, leaving the two of you alone together.

The stranger crouched down to you and extended a hand to brush the stray hair out of your face, touch remaining tender and gentle when you flinched harshly.

“My poor girl, what has the world done to you?”

His coat enveloped your body as he scooped you up in his arms. The scent of him comforted you more than you would have liked to admit. Teakwood and coffee grounds filled your senses as he held you flush against his chest, leaving the auction house with a renewed sense of vigor.

You were placed in the backseat of a car before he dressed you in simple pajamas.

“Rest. You deserve it.”

⋆﹥━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━﹤⋆

At some point in the car ride, you let yourself fall asleep only to wake up in a cozy king-size bed wrapped up in a soft blanket next to a warm fireplace. The false sense of comfort lulled you for a few moments before your situation hit you like a ton of bricks. The anxiety you'd had known your whole life had finally kicked back into gear, forcing you out of bed and into the rest of the house.

It was daybreak, the sunlight slowly trickling in through heavily curtained windows as you walked through the halls and into the kitchen. The man was standing over the stove, sans mask, dressed in a wife-beater and his pajama bottoms. It couldn't be-

“Come in; breakfast will be on the table in a moment.”

Now you were certain.

“Who are you?” Your voice barely above a whisper. “Why did you buy me at the auction?”

A deep, rumbling chuckle flowed from the man.

“I think you know the answer to that, little one.”

His focus was retained on the meal in front of him. “I’ll explain myself over breakfast. Now sit.”

You couldn't help but feel compelled to obey him. While sitting, you took the time to honestly look him over for the first time in your life. Never did you think you would be so close to your childhood crush in such a domestic setting.

He had noticeably greyed but still possessed a majority of his red hair. Muscles were still taught and budging, but he had grown a little bit of a belly. Endeavor was as handsome as ever, aged like a fine wine that you couldn't wait to sip on.

The food was placed in front of you as he took the test next to you.

“Eat and have some water. Then we’ll talk.”

Once again, you obeyed him without question and refrained from eating like a rabid animal. It wasn't even a question, so much so that it is evident that you hadn't had a decent meal in a long time. You were still muscular from the labor you did for your handlers, though.

And Enji liked that about you. How resilient you were, he loved that you inherited his strength but still possessed Rei’s gentle nature. Not that he wanted to credit that woman for anything, but he couldn't deny the obvious. You were his strong, beautiful little girl who had to endure so much because his bitch of a wife decided to separate you from him.

But he was here now, ready to give all his love and protection to his only love. It took everything in his power not to swoop you up from your seat and hold you in his arms until his last breath.

Enji watched you eat, pride swelling in his chest at the thought that you liked his cooking. He couldn't help but wonder what your favorite meals were as well. There's certainly all the time in the world to get to know his little girl now that he had you. And he was never going to let you go.

Your breakfast was devoured quickly, both out of desperation for a real meal and answers to your questions.

“Why did you buy me from the auction?”

It was a complicated question, but you wanted a simple answer.

“I’m your soulmate.” His wrist was on display as he reached across the table to hold your hand.

For the first time in your life, you felt safe. Your one, shining hope was meant to yours and he wanted to be yours. You didn't even question how he knew at all.

His touch was warm and slightly rough, but it was welcome all the same. Even though your skin was lit aflame at his flesh against your, he paid it no mind. He was built to take your quirk, to take you.

“Endeavor…”

“Please, call me Enji.” His thumb rubbed over the palm of your hand. “I’m sure you feel better after having something to eat.”

“Why don't you go take a bath? It’ll help you relax, I can take care of your dishes.”

It was strange how insistent he was on taking care of you, but you can't say you don't enjoy the attention. He seemed to care for you in a way that went beyond caring for a partner, or in your case, a soulmate. But who were you to judge? It wasn't like you had a lot of experiences to use as a comparison.

Making your way back to the bedroom, you took the time to study the house you were in. A traditional, well-kept home, it practically looked like it was untouched. And maybe it was; buildings and homes fully intact were hard to come by these days, let alone ones that were clean and warm.

Enji seemed to lull you into an instinctual sense of safety, even though he bought you out of slavery. Just because he was your soulmate didn't mean that he had good intentions for you, but somehow, his presence alone filled a void in your heart that you had forgotten was even there.

Once you made it to the bathroom connected to the master bedroom, you drew yourself a bath just like Enji had instructed you to do. It wasn't the wisest decision to let your guard down like this, but the man already had plenty of opportunities to fuck you up by this point.

The water was warm and inviting when you sank yourself into it; you couldn't remember the last time you had warm water to clean yourself with. It made you feel light and hazy, slipping into a headspace you had long forgotten—a place of safety and comfort.

Three raps on the door pulled you from your haze as Enji entered the bathroom with fresh towels. Despite the fact that he had already seen you naked, the intimacy of the situation only left you feeling more vulnerable than ever.

“Let me help you.”

He kneeled next to you outside of the tub and pulled a lavender chamomile shampoo from the tub’s shelf. There was room to protest, but you couldn't find yourself willing to do so.

Water was poured over your head before he started a lather in your hair, gently scrubbing your scalp for a while. Even this simple touch made you shudder, it was a long time since you last felt the warmth of someone’s touch. And everything about this man was warm, for you at least. His words, his touch, his heart.

Conditioner was added to your hair as well before he moved onto washing your body. The scrub was gentle across your skin, his hand following after it to help keep the suds from rising too much. Strong hands massaged your back and your neck, both of which needed the much-deserved relief.

“So tense.” He murmured, mostly to himself.

There was a comfortable silence shared between the two of you as he massaged out all the knots and kinks that had built up over the years with your handlers. His touch should have made you flinch but you found yourself pressing into it. A small moan escaped your lips as he worked through a particularly tender spot on your neck.

“Are you enjoying this?”

His lips ghosted your ear as warm breath tickled your cheek and neck.

Your face flushed with a fiery warmth from a combination of the steam, your embarrassment, and the man whispering sweet nothings in your ear as his hands worked at your tired skin.

“Let me help you relax, sweet thing.”

Enji picked you up momentarily to slot himself behind you in the tub. Placed on his lap, you gasped when you could feel his erection hard against your back. Fear started to trickle into your veins as you squirmed slightly, attempting to get out of his grasp.

“Shhh, it's alright, you're okay.” His hand made its way to your throat and rested there gently, stroking over your artery with his thumb. “I’m not going to hurt you, sweetheart. Let me show you how much I've missed you.”

His touch made you feel alive, feel wanted for the first time in your life. You couldn't help but whine when his other hand made its way down your body, gently groping your breast as his lips were pressed to your ear.

“Do you trust me to take care of you?”

His fingers toyed with your nipples, obviously skilled.

“Do you trust me to make the sweetest love to you?”

Another whine caught in your throat as his hand went further, cupping your sex in his much larger hand. He kneaded gently, pressing a soft kiss to your temple when you writhed in his grip.

“Please! Enji-”

Shushing you gently, Enji’s thumb made its way to your clit to stroke in small circles.

“How does that feel, sweetheart?”

You were used to touching yourself, but oh God it never felt like this.

“Good!” You managed to choke out in a wanton moan. “So good! Enji, please, I need-”

A warm pair of lips sealed over yours, silencing you once again. Enji knew how wrong this was, to take advantage of you like this without revealing the truth. But he wanted at least to just once to have you in his arms willingly and eagerly. He wanted to kiss you breathless, listen to your cries and feel your nails dig into his skin as he gave you all of himself without a fight from you. He can worry about revealing himself to you later.

The rough pads of his large fingers started to apply pressure to your clit as his middle finger slipped into your tight hole under the water.

“Don't worry, little one. I'll give you what you need.”

Soft kisses were trailed along your cheek and hand that was on his that was still holding your throat tenderly. Finger pumping in and out of you, Enji whispered sweet praises to you as he felt your hole clench around him.

“Doing so well for me, sweetheart.”

Your breathy moans and whines only served to harden his cock. He felt like a teenager all over again, closing to cumming just from the sound of your voice.

Another finger slipped into your tight core, careful not to overwhelm you too fast. It was obvious you'd hadn't been touched before, not even by yourself. You felt full but greedy for more of his touch.

“Deeper, Enji! Please, can you?”

You were babbling at this point, writhing in his lap as he fingered you nice and slow with thick digits. Enji hummed as he pressed further into, curling his fingers into your G-spot.

Your cry was loud as he began to abuse your most sensitive spot, fully squirming in his arms as tears of pleasure breached your eyes. The sensation was too overpowering for you, making you thrash and arch in his arms.

“Shh, you're okay, sweetheart. You're okay; I'm right here.”

His fingers continued to stroke in a curled fashion, thumb still circling over your twitching clit. Enji kissed you again, deeper and more fierce as he began to fuck you earnestly with his fingers.

“Cum for me, darling.”

Squealing, you gripped his forearm and cried helplessly into his mouth. The build was slow and intense, allowing your orgasm to wash over you in waves of pleasure rather than a blinding, quick light.

“E-Enji!” You wailed. “Enji!”

You shook in his arms, holding onto the larger man for dear life as you experienced your first orgasm. It seemed like Enji knew your body better than you did.

No words were exchanged between the pair of you, but you could feel the tension of your desired hanging thick in the air. This man was going to take your virginity, here and now.

Enji removed his hand from your throat and between your legs in order to maneuver you to sit facing forward in his lap.

“Are you ready for me?”

His honesty made you flush even more. Biting your lip nervously, you hesitated to answer. Were you ready? It wasn’t like you had much of choice; the man could very well take you by force if he so chose to. But you felt safe in his arms, safe with him.

“Let me help you, my love.”

Warm, large hands gripped your backside as he held you steady above his cock. Your hand reached down to line yourself up with his throbbing sex, lowering yourself down on it slowly.

It burned in the best way, stretching you out fully as you pressed your forehead against his chin.

“Good girl, taking my cock so well, darling.”

A pitiful whine left your throat at the praise, hands gripping the forearms that held you in place.

“Can...Can you hold me?” You whimpered. “Please?”

Enji’s arms enveloped you and pulled you flush against his, tucking your head into the crook of his neck as you continued to lower yourself onto his cock. Your breath tickled his ears, making him groan lowly once he bottomed out inside of you.

“Such a sweet girl you are, taking all of me on your first try.”

Another whine responded for you as you ground your hips down on his.

“E-Enji.” You whimpered his name over and over again like a prayer. “Enji!”

“Be still, little one.” Hands back on your hips, holding you in place near the tip of his girthy length. “Let me take care of you.”

Hips in place, the man began to thrust up into you slowly, holding you tight as he stood up from the water. You only gripped and nuzzled yourself into him further, letting out sweet whines and whimpers into his ear while he thrust into you.

Your back was placed against the cool tile of the wall when he tilted your chin up to meet his gaze. Even in this position, he was still at least another head taller than you.

“Look at me when I make love to you.”

Through wet eyelashes, you gazed up at his eyes and let your mouth hang open as he rolled his hips into yours. His eyes shut briefly when he moaned, hissing at the feeling of your wet cunt hugging his cock so well.

“You were made to take my cock, little one.”

Arms reached up to wrap around his neck as he thrust into you, taking his time to make his strokes slow and deep. His hips were flush against yours when you asked him, “Kiss me, please? I want all of you Enji.”

Your bold proclamation stunned him for a moment before yielding, placing a deep kiss and a hot tongue against your lips.

His thrusts became faster as he kissed you with more passion and vitality. For an old man, he certainly had his stamina up to par. Your fingers thread through his red and grey tresses, tugging him closer to you gently as you moaned shamelessly into his mouth.

The pleasure in your core was more intense, fiercer this time around as his thrusts became hard and fast. The sounds of both of your moans and skin slapping against skin echoed off the tiled bathroom walls as the both of you felt your orgasms coming.

“Enji, fuck!” You whined, beginning to squirt on his fast-paced cock. “I-I’m cumming; I’m cumming!”

“Cum for me, princess.”

With a choked sob, you creamed yourself all over his cock, which continued to pound into your hole before he groaned your name and came deep inside you.

Nothing but the sounds of the water sloshing and your labored breathing could be heard as you both came down from your highs.

After a moment of rest, Enji pulled out and wrapped you in a towel before laying you gently on the bed. A towel was wrapped around his own waist as he looked at you fondly, brushing stray hairs out of your eye sight as he sat next to you on the bed.

“I must ask, how did you end up at the auction site?”

What a loaded question, but the intimacy you two shared allowed for it.

“I was kidnapped off the streets after my parents abandoned me when the prison break happened.”

He sighed gruffly and took your hand in his.

“What utter fools, tossing aside a beautiful rose such as yourself.”

His thumb traced over your soulmate mark. You still had yet to know how he knew before ever meeting you.

“It's alright; I never considered them my family. I just wish I could have met mine, but at least I met my soulmate.”

A crinkled smile adorned his face.

“You've done more than meet them.”

What could that have meant?

“I’m your father and your soulmate, little one.”

A rock hit the pit of your stomach as you retracted your hand from his.

“That isn't a funny joke, I'm serious.”

“So am I.” His hand was quick to snatch your back. “What could I possibly gain from lying to you?”

“P-Prove it.”

“Our soulmate marks, I saw yours the moment you were born in the Hosu hospital before my wife separated us all those years ago. I can recite your birthday if you'd like me to, for good measure.”

Fuck, he really wasn't lying. A lump formed in your throat as tears sprung in your eyes.

“Why would you do this to me?” You whispered, barely even able to hear yourself.

“Because I love you. I love you so much, sweetheart. Ever since I saw you for the first time in the hospital, my entire life has changed because of you. All I ever wanted was you.”

Enji was quick to shush your cries, using his free hand to wipe your tears away.

“Will you forgive me for being selfish?”

The disgust and horror filled everyone of your senses, especially when you came to a realization that he was everything you've ever wanted.

What came out of your mouth next stunned the both of you.

“You can apologize by begging on your knees and cleaning me up with your tongue, Daddy.”

TAGLIST: @tomurasprincess @bonesoftheimpala @sightoru @cxnicalsweetheart

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secondhand-trash · 4 years

Text

Waiting on the team captains wearing nothing but their jacket

A/N: detailed elaboration coming your way a day after I make the initial post, as promised uwu

Word count: 1901

Warning: nsfw

Characters: Sawamura Daichi, Kuroo Tetsurou, Bokuto Koutarou, Oikawa Tooru, Ushijima Wakatoshi

(wing spiker ver.)

Sawamura Daichi

You couldn’t help it, his jacket smells like him and just feels to safe to be all wrapped up in the jacket that is so much bigger in size than you. It had almost become a habit of sorts for you to pull out his clothes when you need something comfortable to lounge around in, which he found very adorable.

However, he wasn’t all too sure if adorable would be the word he was looking for when he saw you sitting on the bed, your hair wet and dripping water down to your neck, looking very much so bare except for his old volleyball club jacket.

“Hm? Oh, you’re home!” you looked so innocent as you smiled, uncrossing your legs while he walked closer to you. You had his jacket zipped up, and the hem was right at your thigh. The collar was too wide for you, hanging off your collar bone and threatening to slide down at any second.

“Yeah,” he muttered as he stalked towards you, the mattress dipping as he crawled onto the bed to give you a chaste kiss on your lips. His hand found its way to the supple skin of your legs, he sighed into your lips when he felt how warm you were under his palm from the shower you just took. You giggled before wrapping your arms around his neck, letting him slid up the jacket until his fingers were rubbing at the side of your hips.

You didn’t stop him when his hands moved down to the inner part of your thighs, your hand tightening your grip on his shirt as his finger ghosted over your slit.

“Someone’s wet down here too...” he whispered as he twirled the ends of your wet locks, his finger feeling your growing arousal.

You let out a breathy sigh when he pushed you down onto your back, nudging your legs apart as he caged your between his arms.

You could feel his bulge as he leaned down, your back arching up for more friction reflectively as his hand danced against the zipper of his jacket.

“Let’s take this off before we get it dirty...”

Kuroo Tetsurou

“Hm... look what we have here...”

You rolled to your side at the familiar voice, looking up to see your boyfriend leaning against the doorway with his arms crossed, eyes glimmering in interest.

“Took you long enough,” you mused, propping yourself on the mattress with your elbow, “I was starting to think that you died on the road with how long it took.”

“Oh please,” you smirked as he pulled you into his lap, groaning when he moved you so sit right at his bulge. His smile was wolfish when he felt how naked you were underneath the red jacket that was far too big for you, "I feel like that exactly what you want to see when you sent me those pics.”

Crooking your brow up, you tilted your head up as he leaned down to nibble at the soft skin of your neck. It was an impulsive decision. He was always busy so you didn’t have much time to add the much needed spiciness in your life so why not give him a kick by sending him a few carefully posed pictures of your bare chest just covered by the baggy material of his old jacket? He could already feel the blood rushing south when he got the first message from you, but he choked on his own spit when his phone vibrated again. This time, you were on your stomach, your back arched as you stared into the camera. You had the decency to cover your lower body with the jacket, but the delicious dip of your waist and the barely visible cleavage already had him up and ready to rush home.

Peeling the jacket off of you, he left the fabric hanging off your back as admired how nice the red complimented your bare skin. You gripped his arms as he trailed open mouthed kisses down your collar all the way until he took your sensitive peak in his mouth, sucking and licking while pinching the other with his finger.

“I hope you’re ready to face the consequences of being a tease...”

Bokuto Koutarou

Congratulations, you had obtained a dazed owl at your hands.

You could hear him the moment the front door opened. His loud voice calling for you as he paced into your shared bedroom. You had such a hard time containing your laugh when you saw the look on his face the moment those round eyes landed on your form. His eyes racked all over you from top to bottom, his mouth slowly hanging open as he felt the twitch in his pants. You were sitting by the edge of the bed with your legs crossed, hiking up the jacket dangerously high against your hips. You did not zip it up, only holding it together with your own two arms, pushing your tits together in the process.

“Kou?” biting the inside of your cheeks, you smiled as you watched him tense up at the sight of you shifting your legs, lifting the hem of the jacket up until it was right at your hip bone before letting it fall again, “you can come closer you know?”

He was uncharacteristically tender with his hands, slowly slipping under the jacket and cupping your tits. You could see his pupils widening when you slowly moved your legs apart, your hands trailing up your sides as you showed him your brae cunt.

“I’ve been waiting for you like this all day long,” you knew you had him when his hands started to get rougher, his chest rising and falling as his breaths got heavier. Bringing your hand to palm over his hard on under his pants, you lowered your voice, “can’t get this off my mind no matter how hard I try...”

He was all over you in an instance, purged over you as he roamed all over your curves. Nothing got him going like the thought of him being the one thing that ran over your mind even when he was not around, the idea that you wanted him all the time stripped him of all self-control.

“Baby you’re so pretty,” his grunted as he pushed your knees back, feeling the ache in his bones when he saw just how ready you were for him. He always thought you were beautiful, but my god did the way you look in his clothes drove him insane.

You knew he would be rambling praises about you all night long as he shows you just how much he appreciated your little treat for him.

Oikawa Tooru

You missed him so fucking much.

From seeing each other almost daily to being at two separate ends of the globe, it definitely took some hard adjustments. There were countless nights when you felt the weight at your chest just from thinking about the future, whether you two would have one together. But it was like he could feel the nerve running through your brain even from so far away and when you needed him the most, you were always reminded that you two would go strong as long as you worked for it with the familiar ring of your phone.

And Oikawa Tooru was definitely worth working hard for.

Clutching his jacket close to your body, you took one hard sniff, trying to inhale whatever that was left of him on the fabric. The cotton was soft against your skin, warm and gentle. You tried to imagine that your boyfriend’s jacket was enough of a replicate for his presence, sighing when you realised how sad it was that you were desperately searching for just a bit of comfort to fill in your yearning for him.

You missed the way he holds you tight, how he would take his time to caress every parts of your body before he filled you with all his love. You missed his body wrapped up around yours but right now the jacket will have to do. Your hands traveled down the side of your waist until your fingers were crawling over your thighs, mimicking the way his skillful fingers would elicit shivers all over your body before even touching you properly.

You were so deep in your own imagination that you didn’t even feel the presence of another person until you felt a familiar touch on your calves.

“Tooru!” you squealed, not even caring about how exposed you were as you leaped into his arms, burying your face into his chest. For a moment, you could not even began to believe your eyes but he was here, so real and so warm against your touch.

“Surprised?” He chuckled as you nodded, rubbing your face against the fabric of his shirt.

“I’ve missed you...”

“I missed you too..” he took a deep breath when he pulled away to see the state you were in, his eyes widening in awe at how luscious you looked all wrapped up in his jacket.

It had been too long and he couldn’t wait to remind you again and again of how much he missed you.

Laying you down, you could feel your face burning up when he brushed away the heavy fabric, drinking in the way your naked body was all on display for him.

“I’ve missed this-” he whispered against your neck.

“This-” A kiss at the valley of your breast.

“This-” soft kisses peppered down your stomach.

But nothing could prepare you for when he hooked your leg over his shoulder, darting his tongue out to lick a long strip up your bare cunt.

“And especially this...”

Ushijima Wakatoshi

The way his eyes darkened the moment they landed on you sent a shameful thrill straight to your core.

He looked like a vulture eyeing his prey as he stalked towards you, towering you with his much larger frame as he stood in front of you. His grip on your jaw was firm as he tilted your head up, making you look right into his eyes. You shuddered when he spoke.

“Princess, what are you doing?”

“Waiting for you,” you replied, “you’ve been working yourself so much lately. I figured I should do something to help you let out some steam.”

His let go of your jaw as he hummed, his large palm sliding down to trail his finger along the collar of his purple jacket on you. The jacket was threatening to fall off of you, barely covering your much smaller frame.

You looked so dainty, like he could wreck you if he did so little as laid his hands on you.

You obediently let him perched between your parted legs as he crawled over you, his hand digging into your thighs as he leaned down.

“Are you going to behave for me?"

The rumbling from his chest hit you in full force as he chuckled, taking in the way you eagerly nodded. His lips were soft against yours, kissing you again and again as his hand trailed down your legs but pulled away the moment you started chasing more. The look in his eyes warning you that this was about him, and he would not let you have your way around so easily if you did not follow orders.

But of course you would be a good girl for him, knowing how delicious the rewards would be.

#haikyuu imagines #haikyuu imagine #haikyuu smut #sawamura x reader #sawamura smut #kuroo x reader #kuroo smut #bokuto x reader #bokuto smut #oikawa x reader #oikawa smut #ushijima x reader #ushijima smut

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velvetandropes · 3 years

Text

SKINWALKER x NB protagonist - NSFT/NSFW STORY - PART 1

TW: Blood, CNC

Sorry it’s a two parter 😔, it was a product of a 4 am hyper focus

You open your eyes to the inside of your dimly lit tent. The memories seep into your mind: after years of peer pressure from your old friends, you begrudgingly said yes to a camping trip in the woods. You had been convinced that it was safe; a “tranquil” place where you can really “escape the hustle and bustle of your boring desk job.” Maybe that was true, but every time you averted your gaze to the trees in the horizon from that very same desk, you were rushed with the sense of dread and enmity. Something was there, and for the many years you had been avoiding it: you could feel it watching. Yet, here you are laying in a tent in the very centre of it… Shrouded in darkness.The crunch of leaves startle you, making you bolt upright. You pat the ground for your flashlight before slipping in your boots and unzipping the front of your tent, crouching and stepping your way out into the dark clearing. On first glance, you noticed the familiar figure of your friend positioned a few feet away from the other tents, facing a bush with their back towards you. A sense of relief washed over you. “How can you go to the toilet so easily out here, it’s so unnerving...” You chuckle, the icy chill in the air already beginning to crack your lips.He shrugs his shoulders, continuing to finish his business. Sighing, you avert your gaze, trying to give the man a sense of privacy.

You point your flashlight to the surrounding area, the yellow gaze illuminating the scene in front of you. The other tents were gone; not even a ground peg had been left behind. Panic took hold of you: it’s grip tightening as you frantically look around. Maybe they moved the tents? Had they left you and your friend behind? “Wait, where is everyone?… What happened to the tents?” Crouching down to the ground for a closer inspection, you see the foot prints of what you assume to be one of the group members: except, it wasn’t round like the outdoor boots, it was completely bare. Had someone left completely bare foot?

“They can’t be too far without their shoes so-“ You swing your head over your shoulder, only to look up at the figure now towering over you. He wasn’t your friend: not anymore. Its whole body began to morph and crack, bones snapping under the skin whilst muscle fibres ripped apart. You fall backwards onto your rear, fumbling as the creature continues to bend and break itself anew. You couldn’t take your eyes away from the gruesome metaphorphosis, let alone try to escape from it. It didn’t take long for the creature to finally stand still: it’s face now reminiscent of a deer skull; it’s antlers stripped down bare to the bone. The creatures skin below its head was black, it’s torso almost human-like except for the long black claws at the ends of its hands and feet. It’s legs, however, were far from human; they were bent backwards like the back legs of a deer, except more crooked and grotesque.

Despite the hollow space for eyes, you could feel it lock onto you. In the moment of silence, something inside you finally snaps; you quickly swing around and scramble to your feet. It was short lived though, as you feel a great force kick your back. You fall forwards and skid into the muddied floor, feeling the wind get knocked right out of you. Without even a second to think, you feel a large claw grip your ankle and drag you like a rag doll across the floor - the rough terrain cutting into your cheek. You scream and desperately try to dig your nails into the grass, leaving trails of claw marks as you went. “NO! NO PLEASE!” You cry, trying to kick and rip yourself away to no avail. The campsite begins to be engulfed in darkness as you are dragged into a small clearing of the woods, with the only thing breaking the silence being the sound of your very own blood-curdling cries.

The ground is pulled away from you as you are lifted into the air, dangling in front of the creature like a mouse caught by its tail. You try your best to use your free leg by kicking the creature’s hand, attempting to pull yourself up and force it to release you, but it didn’t even budge. You could feel it toying with you, amused by your pitiful effort. After a few moments of watching you writhe under its grip, the creature takes its other claw and presses it into your torso: the needle-like tips piercing through the layers of clothing before hitting your skin. It jerked it’s claw downwards, ripping your shirt and coat apart before leaving four long cuts down your chest and abdomen. The sudden exposure to the cold air and pain making your body jolt, gasping and squirming under the monster’s grip. Blood began to ooze out the marks, slowly trickling down your chest and neck. “No more… please…” You whimper pathetically, letting your body go limp. The creature was deafeningly silent, not even the whisper of its breath escaped its jaws; the only sound that ever escaped it being the creaking of its limbs as it moved. Cracking open it’s jaw, its tongue began to slither out towards you, bringing you closer and licking the beads of blood that had dribbled over you. You shiver and whine at the uncomfortable sensation, the tongue feeling like a snake trailing your body. Tears and blood began to drip onto the grass floor below, saliva now mixing with them on your torso as the creature continued to almost explore your upper body. However, it wasn’t long before you felt it glide upwards toward your crotch. You strain your head to look up, seeing the tongue press under your pajama bottoms, your breath hitching as you realised where it was headed. “Wait, don’t!” You writhe and plead but, despite your desperate efforts, the beast continued its ascent. The feeling the moist tendril against such a private area quickly sent warmth surging between your legs.

#nsftumblr #nsft #ns*fw #monster cnc #cnc blog #monster ns*fw #monster nsft #monster kink #monster lover #monsterfucker #monster fucker #teratophillia #werewolf kink #blood kink #nsft text #nsft story #skinwalker #cryptid kink #cryptid

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electric--blanket · 3 years

Text

a place where the heart rests

so, because @thekaiserroll drew fanart of my fanfiction i decided to return the favour by writing a long Wintersberg one-shot based off of her short comic! i hope you enjoy touch-starved Heisenberg.

warnings for death (not for main characters) and some angst.

read on ao3

Mama… I want mama. It hurts.

Where’s mama?

Karl Heisenberg always suffered from nightmares. Even before he was taken in by Mother Miranda — as a child, Heisenberg often experienced night terrors that had him screaming in his bed. There were distant memories in the back of his mind, where he’d wake from a terrible dream that had him screaming for his mother — and she’d always come to his side. In that terribly large, cold estate that Heisenberg once called home, it always felt so lonely. But, his mother always eased his fears; with her silk nightgown and the distinct smell of expensive soap. Her soft fingers would comb through Heisenberg’s locks of ashen brown hair, hushing him in a soft tone of voice — a voice he could no longer remember.

During the experiments, it was the only thing Heisenberg begged for when he felt the cadou infesting his body. It felt like a worm wriggling around in the wet soil during a storm, curling and writhing through his organs. He screamed for his mother, wishing she would save him from the pain and take him home again. A seventeen-year-old boy screaming for his mother to come and save him looked utterly pathetic from Mother Miranda’s perspective, and the feeling of fear only intensified when she stroked Heisenberg’s hair whilst he screamed. A soft whisper that uttered, “I’m your mother now, child.” It made Heisenberg nearly vomit.

That was the last time someone had ever touched him so tenderly. He’d not felt a loving touch since then and ducked away from Miranda’s so-called ‘motherly’ touches.

At first, Heisenberg coped with the intense trauma of his bodily changes by taking it in stride and calling his newfound power of magnetism a ‘gift’. He knew deep down it was the opposite: it stopped him from ageing, rendered him infertile and stripped away his dignity by becoming a slave to Miranda. It took a long time for Heisenberg to fully process what had happened to him. His father had left him in the clutches of a madwoman, and his life only got worse from there.

In a fit of rage — perhaps at the age of twenty-nine — he revisited his parent's estate to confront the man he could no longer call ‘father’. He had aged since Heisenberg last saw him, but those steel eyes he’d inherited were still as hard as ever. His mother lingered in a doorway just down the hall, but she didn’t dare come to greet her son as he snapped with a short, interrupted breath. Heisenberg had grabbed his father by the neck and pinned him to the nearest wall, knocking down a beautiful oil painting his mother adored. His fingers didn’t seem to stop, squeezing on the skin and bone until he felt a sickening crack vibrate beneath his fingers.

Heisenberg hadn’t meant it, not really. It was as if a demon had taken control of his body and sought revenge that barely mattered anymore. He didn’t realise what he’d done until he heard the sound of his mother screaming; distraught and fearful of her own son that she’d once coddled so long ago.

That was the last time Heisenberg saw his mother and father. The estate was quickly abandoned not long after, and from what he knew, his mother took her belongings and moved to Austria with some distant relatives. That large house teased Heisenberg every fucking day, with how it towered near the factory grounds and reminded him of what he’d done. Arson wasn’t exactly on his bucket list, but Heisenberg couldn’t resist taking a match to the place and watching it burn. Whatever childhood remained in that house was left in a pile of ashes, and he never looked upon it ever again. All of the silly dreams and hopes he’d had for his life were gone.

That was until Ethan Winters showed up. Nearly a hundred years later, Heisenberg felt something he’d sought after for so long — hope.

“Karl? Karl—!”

Mama. I want mama. Everything hurts.

Heisenberg forced his eyes open. It felt like his life was replaying in front of him whilst he was passed out; like watching an old film reel repeating itself and becoming more distorted each time. Up until that very night, Heisenberg’s life had been a series of traumatic events and unforgivable actions.

That night, he’d turned it all around just by laying his eyes on Ethan Winters. A man so incredible, resilient and insane… He’d do anything to get his little girl back. It was the man Heisenberg had oh-so wanted his father to be, and he admired that about Ethan. He’d never been so good at expressing his emotions honestly, or even laying out his ideas in a proper fashion to others… Oh, but Ethan was special. He’d shown Heisenberg patience that he’d not been offered before and decided to join him at his side to kill Miranda. Together.

“Karl… Fuck— Don’t die on me, asshole.”

Ethan… Ethan…

Above the metal remnants of what his mutated body had used as a shell, he could hear Ethan pushing the scrap aside to try and find Heisenberg buried beneath it. He could also hear the distinct cries of a distressed baby, something that brought him back to Earth. Heisenberg reached up through the metal until his bare, calloused fingers brushed up against Ethan’s soft knuckles. There was a moment of silence when their skin touched, but Ethan didn’t waste any time in grabbing Heisenberg’s hand and pulling him out.

The moment the pressure around his body ceased, Heisenberg felt the telltale feeling of sickening warmth seeping from many wounds across his body. The cadou inside him didn’t react too well to it, trying to cope with the trauma done by squirming and pulsating inside of him. Heisenberg drank in the expression of Ethan’s relieved face for just a moment, only until it warped into one of worry and horror. Heisenberg was weak, and his knees buckled beneath the weight of his torso before he fell back onto the ground.

The baby cupped carefully in one of Ethan’s arms began to cry again as Ethan jostled her accidentally in an attempt to help Heisenberg. A baby crying wasn’t really helping Heisenberg’s already distressed state, but it made him realise just how fucked he was. There was no way they would get away in time together, and Heisenberg was too injured to walk. The cadou might have helped to some degree, but it didn’t ease the burning pain in his body, and the loss of blood that was making him dizzy.

Ethan’s horrified expression was pinned on an appendage from the Megamycete, which rose up from the cave systems like a flower bud in spring, ready to bloom. The small, red flashing light alerted him to the fact that Chris Redfield had succeeded in planting the bomb. They had to leave.

“Go.”

A silence hung in the air for just a moment, and Heisenberg didn’t realise what he’d just said. For the first time in his miserable existence, he was being selfless and urging Ethan to leave him behind. It was the last thing Heisenberg wanted.

Don’t leave me here. I’m fucking scared. I don’t want to die yet.

“Fuck you,” Ethan’s voice trembled with venom, “I’m not leaving you here now. Not after everything we’ve been through.”

Heisenberg let out a bitter chuckle, tasting the blood seeping from his gums as he grinned, “I don’t think we have any time to be arguing about this, buttercup.”

“No. I— Mia’s dead, Karl. I need you.”

That’s right. Heisenberg briefly recalled Miranda’s kidnapping of the not-so-innocent woman and the experimentation that followed. Unfortunately, her body gave in due to her state after giving birth and she died on Miranda’s operating table. Ethan’s wife was dead, and Rose was now left without a mother’s loving touch.

“I said go. Rose needs her papa intact, not blown to pieces.” Heisenberg insisted, slumping back against the pile of scrap metal.

“Damn it—” Ethan looked hesitant to leave Heisenberg. It was a truly sweet sentiment: to see someone care about him after all this time. After all of the terrible things he’d done, and the love he’d been deprived of… Someone cared about him. Maybe that was enough. Maybe it wasn’t so bad to die like this.

“Fuck.” Ethan stammered again, licking his dry lips and swallowing, “Karl… I… Thank you.”

“... Yeah. I know, Ethan.”

That was all he needed. A trembling, watery smile shot his way before Ethan held Rose close with both arms and turned to run.

He’s going to be a great father.

Heisenberg looked up at the plant-like form the Megamycete had taken, looming down upon the ceremony courtyard with writhing mold creeping closer to Heisenberg. It was then that he decided that giving in like this wasn’t who he was: he was a fighter to his last breath.

In a last attempt to preserve his life, Heisenberg parted the pile of scrap metal and shuffled beneath it all. He rolled his wrist, the cocoon of metal surrounding him and tightening. The metal creaked, drowning out the sounds of the mold writhing around the metal to try and get inside. Heisenberg closed his eyes tightly, gritting his teeth. I won’t die. Not yet.

The explosion that followed shortly after was deafening, causing the entire ground to shake beneath him and the metal to shudder against his body. It felt painful, rippling off his injured skin like that… But, fortunately for Heisenberg, the explosion wasn’t nuclear — the blast was enough to do the job and wipe out the mold and the Megamycete.

A silence followed the explosion, brick and ash collapsing against Heisenberg’s metal cocoon. Each noise made him flinch, and his fingers twitched instinctively as some final line of defence. He didn’t know how long it was before he felt brave enough to let his guard down and release his telekinetic grip on the metal. The scraps suddenly slumped, collapsing around him as Heisenberg pushed the metal off of his body and emerged like a phoenix rising from the ashes of its former self.

The smoke and dust still remained, causing Heisenberg to cough heavily as he took a sharp inhale of the air. He squinted through the dust and remains of what was left of his home town and realised how much he’d lost. It hit him all at once; his childhood, his parents and his fucked up little family. Even though he hated Miranda and his makeshift siblings deeply, they were all he truly had left to call ‘family’. It was over in the blink of an eye, and Heisenberg suddenly felt like a child all over again. Like a child waking from a nightmare, scared and alone.

Heisenberg’s fingers twitched into tight fists, clamping his mouth shut as tears threatened to spill down his face. Even after all this, he tried to will himself not to cry, to never let down the walls he had so carefully built. But, at that moment there was nothing left to keep the foundations upright. Heisenberg’s fists loosened, and he brought his hands up to cover his face instinctively. A knot seemingly untied itself in his chest and throat, and a guttural sob left him. Maybe — just maybe — it was okay.

Navigating the woods was even worse during a snowstorm at night. It was bad enough that Heisenberg’s body was weak from his healing injuries, but it felt haggard from his intense emotional breakdown. In a strange sense, he felt relief from it but at the same time, it felt awfully inconvenient. Heisenberg was sure he looked like a terrible mess; his clothes were torn and his hair was damp with clumps of ash hanging from his silver locks. Not to mention the blood staining his clothes, and his valuable dog tags that hung low on his chest.

In his many idle chats with Ethan before they fought Miranda, he could recall the other man mentioning he didn’t live too far from the village. It was a fair distance away, but not too far that it would be impossible to reach if your car broke down on the road between them. Still, it wasn’t a pleasant or short walk.

By the time Heisenberg even managed to reach a place that looked like a livable home, he was close to collapsing in the snow… But, he held out. The lights were turned off inside, but a motion sensor light on the property turned on once Heisenberg got close enough. The bulb blinded him briefly, and he held a hand up to shield his eyes as he walked up the porch to the door. Heisenberg sluggishly lifted his hand, knocking on the door as hard as he could and leaning against the frame. It took a few moments before he could see a light turn on inside from the windows, and the sound of someone walking down a wooden staircase slowly.

The person on the other side of the door stopped before they reached for the doorknob, and they spoke out.

“Who is it?”

Ethan Winters. That voice Heisenberg had missed so dearly; in all of its glory and full of caution. It almost made him laugh.

“Let me in, Ethan. I’m freezing.”

“Karl?”

“As smart as ever, Ethan. Can you hurry up?”

Ethan was quick to unlock the door and remove the security chain, twisting the doorknob and pulling it open. There, Ethan was standing in a pristine white shirt and some boxers that hung low on his hips… Along with a pair of comical slippers that seemed to resemble a cartoon dog. Heisenberg’s lips twitched into a tired grin.

“Oh my, too much skin, Ethan. Back in my day—”

“Shut up and get in here!”

Ethan grabbed Heisenberg’s arm, tugging him inside to shield him from the snowstorm outside. He slammed the door shut and quickly locked it back up, and the two men finally stood face-to-face. There was a silence that hung in the air, with so many unanswered questions on the tip of Ethan’s tongue, but none came. Without any further hesitation, Ethan threw his arms around Heisenberg’s neck and tugged him close for an embrace.

It was the first time Ethan had touched him in such a way. So full of affection and genuinity, it made Heisenberg’s fingers tremble with uncertainty. He didn’t know what to do with his hands: so overcome with the touches that smothered him. His brows creased into an expression of relief, and Heisenberg’s steel eyes fluttered shut as he succumbed to the hug. He wrapped his arms around Ethan’s waist, squeezing him carefully and burying his face into Ethan’s shoulder. The smell of talcum powder and formula milk permeated his shirt, giving Heisenberg the comfort he craved. He never wanted Ethan to stop touching him, and he was content to stay like this for as long as he could — to make up for all the time he’d lost aching after affection.

“I thought…” Ethan mumbled slowly, “I thought you were dead.”

“Mm.” Heisenberg hummed lowly in response, curling his fingers into Ethan’s shirt. “So did I. Turns out I’m hard to kill.”

Ethan snorted softly.

As it turned out, Heisenberg wasn’t too bad with kids.

It was a tough adjustment for the two men at first; Ethan had to keep Heisenberg a well-guarded secret as he was moved to a new location with Rose (courtesy of the BSAA). Heisenberg followed their steps at a safe distance, but he was never too far from them. Understandably, Ethan was moved into a smaller home: a humble bungalow in a quiet German village. Once the BSAA had left Ethan in peace with Rose, it didn’t take long before Heisenberg settled into the bungalow with them.

Ethan had insisted that if Heisenberg was going to stay there with him and Rose, then he’d need to learn to help take care of the baby. At first, he was extremely hesitant to do something akin to a parental figure… But, Rose was a surprisingly sweet baby. She didn’t fuss too much and rarely threw a tantrum over the little things. Rose was the right amount of responsibility for Heisenberg, and that made him a patient parent.

He’d been taught how to properly hold her (after many lectures), how to prepare her formula and change her. Rose was understandably unhappy with Heisenberg’s presence at first, perhaps longing for her mother that was no longer around… But, after a few months, she took to Heisenberg very well.

Because of Karl’s lack of mortality and infertility, he never thought he’d take the figure of a father like this… But, it wasn’t exactly an unwelcome opportunity. He’d even upgraded from sleeping on the couch to Ethan’s bed.

The first night Ethan invited him to bed, Heisenberg could tell from the flustered look on Ethan’s face that it took a lot of courage to ask him to bed. A sexual joke lingered on the tip of Heisenberg’s tongue, but he bit it back in favour of keeping the proposal on the table. Instead, Heisenberg had nodded with a cheeky grin and followed Ethan to bed.

There had been some nights where the loss of Mia hit Ethan harder than he’d liked it to — even after Mia’s work with The Connections was revealed, he had still loved her to a degree. Those nights were the hardest. All Heisenberg could do was hold Ethan in his arms and comfort him with nothing more than his presence.

This invitation into Ethan’s bed was far more intimate than a comforting hug. At first, they stayed a polite distance apart on either side of the bed, with Ethan turned on his side whilst Heisenberg stared up at the dark ceiling. In the darkness, his eyes created shapes that danced across the ceiling and warped before him. Much like the mold that infested him, it was as if it continued to taunt him with its presence. After a moment, Heisenberg finally turned onto his side and glanced at the lump that was Ethan with his back to him. That urge to touch returned to the forefront of Heisenberg’s mind. It was that deep ache in his chest, like a lump of flour stuck in a smooth dough that needed to be coaxed inward.

He reached out but stopped himself before he could touch, trying to plan the best way to move forward with what he wanted. Heisenberg pursed his lips, shuffling his body closer to Ethan’s back until he finally slid his arm over Ethan’s waist. He could feel Ethan’s body freeze and tense up a little, which made Heisenberg’s heart feel like stopping altogether. Had he gone too far?

But after a moment, Ethan relaxed, pressing his chest back into Karl slowly. It was all the permission he needed to slot himself fully against Ethan and quietly seek out his hand. Once Heisenberg found it, he carefully laced their fingers together as he held Ethan like that, tugging him close with his elbow.

No words were spoken in the darkness, but a silent understanding of what they both wanted. Heisenberg finally felt complete like this, closing his eyes and exhaling tiredly. His body suddenly felt tired, releasing all the tension it had been holding trying to psyche himself up to do it.

A feeling of affection swelled in Heisenberg’s chest as he held Ethan, finally giving in to the darkness and drifting away with their bond now stronger than ever.

“Are you fucking insane, Ethan?!”

Chris Redfield. A thorn in Heisenberg’s side, but not as bad as Miranda. His voice filling their home put Heisenberg on edge, but it didn’t really matter too much to him. It was around ten in the morning, and the couple had just had breakfast. The television was on, playing some cartoons in the background as Rose was sitting on the soft carpet of the living area with her toys, and Heisenberg sat close to her.

When Chris made an unexpected visit, and he spotted Heisenberg in the living room, the yelling began. Ethan had kept Chris just outside of the room so that Rose didn’t see her father getting angry, and Heisenberg made sure to keep her attention on her toys. Heisenberg was wearing a pair of tartan boxers, along with a button-up pyjama shirt with a white tank top beneath it. It wasn’t exactly the pinnacle of bedtime fashion, but it made him comfortable enough at night.

When the yelling only got worse and Rose seemed irritated by the noise, Heisenberg carefully brought Rose into his lap and crossed his legs.

“Hmm,” He hummed in feigned thoughtfulness, “Does ol’ Karl need to perform for little Rose again?” Heisenberg sighed dramatically, “Oh, the things I do for you.”

He turned his body subtly to the kitchen area, holding his hand out and focusing on one of the drawers. It slid open, a few tablespoons floating out from a cutlery tray. Heisenberg pulled his hand back, the spoons floating across to the living area and bringing them to a stop in front of him and Rose. With a simple, slow roll of his wrist, the spoons began to twirl and move in a circular motion above Rose.

Her eyes widened with fascination, the corners of her mouth opening into a gleeful smile. Absently, she reached up with her soft, pink hands and tried to reach for the spoons half-heartedly as they continued their motions. A soft laugh bubbled from her, causing Karl to smile softly.

“He’s a dangerous bioweapon, Ethan. He could hurt Rose!”

Heisenberg managed to hone in on those words; a sharp pain digging into his chest when he realised the implications Chris was trying to make. That Heisenberg was a monster. A bioweapon without feeling. A creature that would kill a child.

Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Ethan pointing wordlessly at the soft scene of Heisenberg with Rose in his lap, entertaining her with spoons. That was all he needed to say, really — without even saying it. Even Chris was at a loss for words, and he quietly relented. Ethan was surely in for an afternoon of lectures.

It made Heisenberg smile a little more, turning his head subtly towards Ethan and catching his gaze. It was his quiet way of saying thank you. It went beyond thanking Ethan for trusting him with Rose but thanking Ethan for listening to Heisenberg, taking him into his home and loving him. Even though they’d never spoken those three little words out loud, maybe they didn’t need to. Their actions, affections and closeness spoke those words loud enough.

Truly, after all this time, Heisenberg didn’t think he was capable of ever being loved or trusted. Now that he’d left that horrible life behind, he was now a father, a friend and possibly a lover. The trauma would always remain, yes, like the cadou and the mutations. That didn’t mean he couldn’t be happy like this, in this simple little life he’d started to build with Ethan.

Maybe it would be okay.

#ethan winters x karl heisenberg #karl heisenberg x ethan winters #heisenberg x ethan #heisenwinters #wintersberg #winterberg #karl heisenberg #ethan winters #resident evil village #resident evil 8 #resident evil fic #fanfiction #oneshot

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lord-of-christmas-lights · 3 years

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I swear I have normal Narnia headcanons. However, none of them are featured in this post.

So! If you've been following my series of posts about my Inhuman Narnia AU and the couple of oneshots I posted on ao3 under ASkyOfKai, you've probably noticed that in this little universe I've created, Narnia is sort of...sentient. And I've just realized that I've only actually gone into depth about this on Discord with my friends who are probably very tired of hearing about it. So I'm making y'all suffer through it instead. Welcome to Inhuman Narnia 101, please take your seats because this is going to take a while.

Warning for religious themes, theological discussion, and some dark fantasy/inhuman/body horror concepts that involve blood and physical changes.

BEFORE I SAY ANYTHING: Please keep in mind that an AU is meant to be an alternate universe that may not follow canon information. If anything in this post contradicts canon on the creation of Narnia (it undoubtedly will), pay it no mind, this is an AU. It doesn't have to follow canon.

First off, a little explanation of the Inhuman Narnia AU in general. Basically I came up with this AU after seeing some other people on tumblr post about the Pevensies being not quite human after their time in Narnia. Just eerie, cryptid, a bit of dark fantasy kinda stuff. And I was like, "I'm in love, sign me up, I have ideas." I did not sit down and develop this all at once. The worldbuilding I've done for it has come slowly over the past few weeks through posts, fanfics, and discord rambles. The idea of Narnia being a sentient earth deity of sorts is a recent one and there is already so much to it. (Also I call her Narnia because it's convenient, she has other names but I haven't bothered to like, actually make any up so Narnia is what she's called.)

The most important thing to note starting off is that Narnia is not supposed to be a replacement for Aslan, nor is she necessarily "the hero to his villain". Aslan and I have an interesting relationship, as he is literally God/Jesus/The Holy Spirit/etc and I no longer really identify as Christian. While there are times that Aslan definitely takes a more antagonistic route in my writings, I don't actually see him as a bad guy, nor as a good guy. As God, he literally removed from our concepts of good and evil (in my opinion). The same goes for Narnia being an earth deity. I am a Christian-raised pagan, and I definitely subscribe to the idea that gods and deities are not subject to humanity and our rules. Narnia is not a good goddess, she is not a bad goddess, she simply is a goddess. Plain and simple. The dichotomy that exists between Narnia and Aslan in my writing is generally that of opposing deities, but this isn't a hard and fast rule. There were and still are times when they're friends, working towards the same goals. There are times when Narnia's power is stronger than Aslan's and times when Aslan's power is stronger than hers. There is no simple 1:1 comparison between them.

So, getting into motivations and why Narnia as a deity even exists. Essentially, I asked the question, "How do the Pevensies become inhuman?" and voila earth deity Narnia was born. Now, the basic in-universe mythology I've worked out is that Narnia and Aslan are two deities from separate dimensions that came together to create a new world, the world of Narnia. Aslan is the one who oversees things, he's the one who comes up with the ideas, and he's a little less attached to the world as a whole because he's a Creator, not an earth deity. Narnia is, however, and she literally makes up the world, she sort of runs the entire thing on a physical level, and she is much more attached to it. So she's always kinda taken on this role of making the things in her world the way she wants them. For the most part, she and Aslan designed everything together and they're both happy with it blah blah blah. Well, Aslan then decides to bring a few humans from this other world he's created to Narnia. And she affects them a bit (I've got headcanons about Digory and Polly that I haven't posted anywhere yet but I might soon), but it isn't until Aslan brings the Pevensies over that she really gets to experiment. See, there are other deities in the world that kinda rule over the various lands on a surface level (patron gods for Telmar, the Archenlands, etc, they just have less power than Narnia and Aslan) so she has a little less power over the people in those places, but the country of Narnia is both her land and her so when the Pevensies become the Kings and Queens and live there for 15 years, she's very connected to them. And it's through this connection that she starts to affect them. Honestly, I'm not sure if Narnia even knows what she's doing when she starts stripping away their humanity. I think it's that she can feel they're not from her world and she doesn't like that. She wants them to be a part of her, she wants them to belong in her world just the same as everyone else. (Side note—I know Telmar and some other lands in canon are based on people finding portals and coming through and I'd like to say that she does affect them a bit, takes away a bit of their humanity, but it's not to the same extent as the Kings and Queens of her lands).

"So Kai," you might say, "You keep empathizing that she is literally the land and the land is her. What the hell do you mean by that?" Well, essentially, she is...the...land. Basically if you've read Percy Jackson Heroes of Olympus, there's this idea that Gaia and Tartarus are both physically their domains and able to take on a smaller, human shaped physical form because they're gods and not restricted by human ideas of only having one body. Narnia is the same. Her physical form is both the entire world and whatever smaller shape she might appear in to people. However, we have to acknowledge that their world is differently structurally from ours. There's magic, there's talking animals, and in my Inhuman AU, there is a literal Heart of Narnia at the center. Like a physical, beating, human-shaped heart. Except it's a lot bigger than a regular human heart. Also it's golden. And many many many miles underground. So anyways this is where she's centered. It's basically where her soul is. Probably under Cair Paravel because I just came up with that idea and I love it. And radiating out from it are veins of magic and blood, and these stretch all across the world. Now here is where we get into blood magic and some of those fun terrifying concepts I've come up with.

Narnia has her own blood, of course, but also whenever one of her Kings or Queens bleeds in battle, she kinda pulls it down through the earth into her own heart and veins. It doesn't really do anything to her or them in particular, it's just a fun side effect of them having a patron pagan god. Yes this includes Caspian after he becomes King. Also Peter's blood turns golden because he's the High King, and then later Caspian's does too because I just really like imagery of Ben Barnes bleeding gold. (Side note—when Peter returns to England, his blood goes back to red, but it does remain a brighter red than blood generally is).

Diverting for half a second here. Now, in both my regular Narnia writings and my Inhuman AU, Lucy is very very connected to magic. In my regular Narnia fanfic, she studies with the druids, who are sort of like BBC Merlin's druids. They're just like, chill dudes who run around in camps doing magic and making prophecies and shit. However, in the Inhuman AU, they are a lot darker. One of my favorite ideas with the Inhuman druids and Lucy is that they are so connected to Narnia's magic and her Heart that their hands become stained with blood. Is it their blood, is it Narnia's blood, is it someone else's blood? Idk, don't ask questions. But yea, their hands are permanently stained reddish-brown to almost black. In my regular Narnia stuff, I still like the idea of Lucy's hands being stained and go with just earth magic, dirt stuff for the reason why. But yea no, in the Inhuman AU her hands are stained with blood because of blood magic.

So getting a bit more into how Narnia affects the Pevensies now because I love talking about this lol. She doesn't consciously chose how to change them, though she does call them her creations. Generally the way her magic affects them is by connecting them to to the land in some way and bringing out certain traits they have. So for Peter it's his eyes flickering between regular blue and the amber of a lion's, feathers appearing on his back that grow into wings, having a strength greater than that of a giant's. His blood is golden and on clear nights, the Aurora Borealis in the sky is reflected across his skin. For Susan, her skin glints like glass in the sun and she can briefly glimpse the future. Her wounds are sewn shut with golden rays of light, her eyes are cracked but clear, and she seems to glow faintly in the night, a bit of the sun's radiance shining through her. Edmund has a bit of a star's power lodged in his throat, and can manipulate words, uses them to influence people and their actions. His skin is frostbitten in places, a side effect of ruling the Woods where the White Witch once held so much power, and in some spots his bones shine under the ice that spreads across his skin. Lucy has the stained skin from her stronger connection to magic, and when she speaks words from the Old Language (the one Aslan and Narnia used to shape the world itself), her voice echoes and rasps. Her teeth are too sharp, her smile too wide, and when she disappears underwater, she can stay for hours without surfacing. I want to get into Eustace and Caspian now too but this post is already extremely long and I've still got a bit to cover, so we're just sticking with the Pevensies for now. So yea, Narnia doesn't pick what she does to the Pevensies, she just connects herself to them and through that connection, they change. The magic that she is made of, that Narnia the world operates on, that's what changes them. However, as I stated already, she does call them her creations and feels extremely responsible for them.

Wrapping back around up to the beginning, this is the biggest source of conflict between her and Aslan as of the canon timeline. I like to believe that the lamppost incident was an accident, that Aslan didn't actually mean to send them back at the end of LWW and it was pure coincidence, wrong place wrong time stuff. That being said, it did happen and Narnia really didn't like it happening. The Pevensies did return to their (mostly) human selves in this AU in England, so when they came back in Prince Caspian, she felt disconnected from them again. She reacted to this by digging into them even harder on a spiritual level and essentially speedran them back to being inhuman throughout the timeline of PC, which generally takes place over a few months in my mind. I don't remember how long it was in the book, it's been quite a while since I read them, but it's only like a week in the movie and like eff that, overthrowing a kingdom takes a bit longer in my opinion. Now there are a few divergences here. 1. They all stay at the end of PC and yea that's it, they go back to being Kings and Queens and it's like a second Golden Age but with Caspian there as well. 2. Susan and Peter stay, Lucy and Edmund go back and it's a repeat of the human/inhumanity cycle for them + Eustace in VOTDT and then they stay. 3. Everything happens exactly as it does in canon and it's a constant cycle of humanity/inhumanity with the character's various trips and finally ends at The Last Battle. I like all versions and I tend to leave things a little open to the reader on what exactly happens, or I would if I could actually finish some of my drafts and post them. As you can imagine, Narnia likes 1 the best and 3 the least. She really wants her Kings and Queens to stay and rule her lands and like be awesome and stuff. However, Aslan prefers 3 the best and 1 the least. So again, neither of them is really good nor evil, they just have differing opinions on how the world should be run and what the Pevensie's fates should be. I do tend to side with Narnia, I really like exploring these concepts of inhumanity, but I also really like the concept of a cycle. That's very common in mythology.

So anyways, that's a bit of an overview on earth deity Narnia and her role in my Inhuman AU. If you made it this far, congratulations, and I give you explicit permission to use any of my ideas in your own writing/fanart/whatever, as long as you tag either my tumblr or my ao3 (lord-of-christmas-lights and ASkyOfKai) because I need more Narnia+Inhumanity content in my life. Thanks for reading all this and I'll probably be back very soon with elaboration on Eustace and Caspian's inhumanity!

- Kai

#inhuman/dark fantasy narnia #the chronicles of narnia #peter pevensie #susan pevensie #edmund pevensie #lucy pevensie #aslan #digory kirke #eustace scrubb #caspian x #narnia headcanons #rambles of a hyperfixating kai

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spoopykween · 3 years

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Okay hear me out but like,, I never understood the You and I Bridge motif ? (Idk what to call it xD Just know that I mean the tune of the lyrics, "there's something that I want to ask you; don't say no, just hear me out", etc.)

To be fair, in terms of how long I've been a fan, I'm definitely a baby bapo stan. But I've never really seen anyone explain it before, so I'm just gonna give my take on it :D (If you have your own, please let me know!! x )

The first time we hear this tune is in the bridge of the song You And I, when Peter tries to convince Jason to audition for the school play. The lyrics in this section are posed as just a common conversation, just Peter wanting to spend more time with Jason and Jason being uninterested in theatre; yet if we strip the interaction bare, we see it's actual thematical meaning. Acting—and specifically acting in musical theatre— is a common stereotype typically associated with gay men, an image Jason definitely does not want to project. He replies by saying he'll be busy with baseball (sports are commonly associated with heteronormative masculinity). This exchange shows Jason trying to prove something. He's definitely not interested in acting because tHaT's gAy!! He's totally only interested in mAnLy things like sports!!

This tune is very prominent in the closing song of the act, One. Here we can quickly say that this is again Jason trying to prove something, only more desperately this time, which is true. However, we cannot leave the other party out of this— Ivy. Why was this motif given to her as well? Could it be...she's also trying to prove something?

I would've honestly let her off the hook and brushed it off as just, "sumn sumn reputation", or even, "well I mean it just sounds good", but something caught my attention and prevented me from doing so.

"What the hell, the bed's still warm/ 'Cause Ivy never sleeps alone/ Same old gift from different givers/ Throw the dog another bone!"

In all the other instances of this motif occurring, Jason is a significant part of the song. Here though, he's only really important at its end. Now why would this motif, a symbol of hiding and projecting an image that isn't yours, associated with Ivy too? What is she trying to prove? That she is way more than her body count and that she can fall in love too? Maybe, and maybe that's what you wanna take away from this post. But, coupled with her lyrics in Touch My Soul (and possibly even Portrait of A Girl and All Grown Up, but this post is long enough as it is), I think we have pretty steady ground to argue lesbian Ivy as canon.

Sorry for the long post but I have stuff to do and this won't leave my brain xD

TL;DR:

The music of Bare seems to back wlw Ivy

Even with no words, the notes themselves tell a story

#lesbian ivy motif #wHEW that was long #i love how conversational bapo feels when their characters interact #it feels so personal and close to home #and it even delivers deeper meanings and connections to the themes of the show #this was just sleepy brain vomit pls dont take me seriously #wait no DO take me seriously #bapo #bare a pop opera #ivy robinson #wlw ivy <3 #if no one can refute this can we pls call the motif or sumn #even if you disagree pls share i rlly wanna know abt this tune mystery #what if all of yall know the meaning and im just dumb #that would be embarrassing #kweenie screams

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potatoes-is-are-food · 4 years

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Demon Shit

Okay so this is based very heavily off a dream I had so reader is a little more specific than usual so keep in mine “you” are small in this. There is also gonna be a part 2 because the dream didn’t end here! Anyways thank you guys for 300+ followers I really appreciate you!!

| NSFW

“Here, put this in the circle,” the witch said, eyeing you like she still didn’t trust you despite the fact you’d been helping her with this ritual for two days already. You did as instructed, placing the jar of roots in the chalk circle on the ground.

“Okay, now you wait here, stand here,” she moved you into the circle,“and I’ll be right outside. Whatever you do, don’t talk to it. Just wait for me.” She stared you down intensely before leaving the room, shutting the door behind her and leaving you in the dark with only a few candles flickering around the room to provide light.

You waited for a while, trying not to fidget and feeling very uncomfortable in the dress she’d had you wear. It was a thin material meant for a summer day, and the cold aura of the room chilled you to the bone, making you shiver and shuffle your bare feet.

Suddenly the air started to shift, and you felt a warm breeze despite there being no doors or windows open in the room. Several candles blew out, leaving you in almost complete darkness. Fear gripped your chest, your heart thumping hard in your ribcage.

Something was breathing in front of you. Right in front of you. Tentatively, you reached a hand out in front of your face. Only a few centimeters away you made contact with ...skin. You flinched, immediately bringing your hands to your chest and wringing them together nervously.

The door creaked open slowly, and your new “friend” stepped back in, letting the light from the hallway flood into the small room.

“Good, good. Now just stay there. Don’t talk to him. Just stand there and I’ll be right back, I have to get the last piece. Don’t talk to him.” She pointed a bony finger at you, jerking it forward a little for her last sentence. You nodded, still a little too shaken to speak just yet. With a nod, she was gone, leaving the door open this time to give you some light.

Nervously your eyes darted to the floor and slowly started to work up the creature’s form. It was supposed to be a demon for her to bargain with, a horrifying mass of ungodly limbs and dread. But it looked like a man. His skin was discolored in patches that were stapled to what looked like normal skin.

When you reached his face your breath caught in your throat. He was handsome, even with the weird skin and staples. His cyan eyes drew you in, without realizing it you were leaning against him slightly, your chest touching his as you tried to look more closely into those hypnotic eyes.

His warmth was just shocking enough to snap you out of it, and you leaned back off your toes, not even realizing you’d been standing on them. You looked at his blank expression and gently brought a hand up to it, grazing a single finger against his warm cheek.

You circled around him, taking in the sight of his naked body. You’d been too scared before, but with him so still he scared you much less. His muscles were rigid when you touched them, as though he were constantly flexing. Your eyes trailed the staples on his chest before venturing lower.

His flaccid cock hung heavily against him, and with a slightly more flustered disposition you turned your attention to his thighs, stroking along his skin. As you rounded to see his backside your hand trailed along his hip, following the discolored skin around as you looked over his back’s taught muscles and the curve of his ass.

When you reached his front again, you gave his cheek a light poke. No response. You felt like he could see you, though. The thought made you nervous. The woman had told you to only wear the ritual dress, and it was just a thin white dress that went a little past your knees and made you look deceptively innocent.

Warmth radiating your cheeks, you poked at him some more. His shoulder, bicep, face again. Nothing. You waved a hand in front of his eyes.

“Can you even talk?” You mused, blinking up at his blank face.

His eyes locked onto you. The woman’s voice telling you not to talk to him flashed through your mind followed by a string of curses.

“Of course I can talk, little mouse,” the sound of his voice made your heart feel like it would leap out of your throat and run away. You wanted to scream but felt it die before it even reached your chest. You stared up at him with wide eyes, tears already starting to form.

You opened your mouth to speak, but nothing would come out. The demon’s eyes moved up and down your form, his forked tongue sweeping over his lip. You trembled, feeling your head getting lighter and lighter.

“You must be the sacrifice,” he shrugged, scooping you into his arms just as your knees buckled. “You’re no virgin, but I don’t care. You’re mine now, y/n,” He brought you close and his long tongue licked a strip up your neck, making you gasp.

“H-how-” you stared up at him, shaking violently.

“Demon shit. Don’t worry about it,” he stepped out of the circle and suddenly everything aside from him was cold again, making you shiver and curl against his chest. He chuckled and rolled his shoulders a bit, clothing appearing over his body.

You were so busy staring you didn’t notice the figure staring in the doorway until the witch screamed. She fell back, trying to crawl away as the demon calmly stepped towards her.

“I told you not to talk to it you fucking idiot!” She screeched, kicking and trying to back up further as she hit the wall. You felt the hand under your knees flex and her neck snapped, her body falling limply to the floor, face still twisted in fear.

You wanted to scream. Try to run or at least struggle, but you were rooted to the spot. No sound would come.

“Dumb hag,” he spit, the fluid hitting her skirt and immediately setting her corpse on fire. Walking down the hall and out the door, he looked down at your scared expression.

“Should’ve known better than to use a dumb little thing like you for a sacrifice,” his tongue flicked over your cheek, “You didn’t even know you were being sacrificed, huh? Just a sweet little lamb too stupid to know it’s being prepared for the slaughter,” Your face burned at his words and you stared at your hands, not wanting to make eye contact with him while your face was hot and you had tears and his spit on your cheeks.

“Hey,” he called, and you looked up at him without thinking, immediately feeling lost and drowsy in his stare, “Sleep,” he commanded, and your body went limp against him as his order overtook your exhausted body.

When your eyes finally fluttered open you just saw hazy light, like a rainy day. You squinted and sat up, blinking a few times as everything came into focus. You were facing an open window, sheer curtains blowing slightly in the breeze. The sky was overcast, and there didn’t seem to be anything outside for a long ways.

Looking around the room you noticed you were on a plush bed in a nicely furnished room. Everything looked really old, though. Like it hadn’t been touched for decades before now yet without the dust that would accompany that. You stretched and stood, heading for one of the two doors. The first lead to a bathroom, so you closed it and headed for the other one, only to find it locked.

You awkwardly paced around for a minute, debating if you’d break a leg if you jumped out the window from this height.

“Um... Mr. Demon?” You called against the door that wouldn’t open. You chewed on your lip anxiously, waiting for a response. You didn’t get one. You paced for another minute, shivering when the breeze picked up and deciding to close the window and get warm under the blankets on the large bed.

You drifted off for a second, rolling over to get more comfortable and coming face to face with the demon. A startled yelp escaped your lips before you could stop it, and he laughed softly and ruffled your hair a bit.

“W-where am I?” You asked, sliding back away from him a little.

“A house,” he answered smugly, giving you a bored expression. You frowned at him. “Don’t worry about it, doll. You’re safe. If I were gonna hurt you or eat you I’d have done it by now,” his tongue dragged slowly over his bottom lip, “although I’m debating that second thing,”

You felt all the blood in your body rush into your face and you pulled the blankets tighter against you. The corner of his mouth dragged up as he closed the distance between you, slinging an arm over your huddled form.

“You heard me earlier, little sacrifice, you’re mine. The ritual might have gotten fucked up, but you were still sacrificed to me. You couldn’t escape me if you wanted to, and I know you don’t,” his face came closer and closer until his lips were almost touching, “I can feel what you’re feeling. I know you’re scared and confused, but that’s not all,” his lips barely brushed yours as he spoke, “you’re aroused.”

Your mouth fell open before you could stop it, silently begging for his kiss and leaning into his surprisingly gentle touches as he coaxed you closer. His warm hands trailed along your soft body underneath him, palming at your breasts and thighs and any other available flesh. His long, forked tongue twisted around yours and flicked all along the insides of your mouth as you moaned against him.

“So docile, so sweet,” he muttered, trailing his lips down past your jaw and planting scalding kisses to your neck and collar bone. He tugged gently at the neckline of your dress, leaning back a bit to toy with it for a second.

“That bitch really tried to fuck you over,” he laughed, “You wouldn’t have stood a chance in this,” he gathered the flimsy material in both fists and ripped it apart easily, exposing your skin to the cool air and making you gasp. He yanked the fabric away, flinging it to some forgotten corner of the room before pouncing on you again, groping directly at your skin now as you writhed under him.

“Dabi,” he said, lips hovering against the skin of your breast. You held onto his shoulders in an attempt to ground yourself as he started to lick and suckle at your skin.

“What?” You gasped, feeling his sharp teeth nip at you.

“My name. Scream it,” his body snaked down yours until he was lying with his face resting on your upper thigh, centimeters from your core. His hands rubbed soothingly along your thighs and hips as he kissed along your skin, inching closer to your cunt and teasing you with his unnaturally hot breath.

“Please,” you trembled, reaching out for his hand, which he let you hold, intertwining your fingers together.

“Please what?” He teased, giving you a toothy grin so you could see his sharp fangs.

“Please, Dabi,” you said softly, nervously starting to squirm under his predatory gaze. He gave your thigh another short kiss,

“Good girl,” he didn’t waste time, immediately latching onto your drooling cunt and lapping at your clit, using his forked tongue to squeeze and toy with your sensitive nub.

You arched your back, but his hand that wasn’t your stress ball forced you back down onto the bed as he worked his tongue expertly along every spot that made you scream. It hadn’t even been two minutes when you came undone on his mouth, calling his name loudly and gripping his hand as tight as you could. His mouth didn’t move, and he coaxed orgasm after orgasm out of you for what felt like hours.

You called his name, cried, tried to pull his hair, but you came again and again as he overstimulated you so much your orgasms started blending together. When he finally pulled away, you were twitching and unable to form words as he crawled up over you, kissing and licking the tears from your face.

“Good girl,” he cooed, letting you cling to him, “good little sacrifice,” he smirked as he said “sacrifice,” reminding you of your place as his possession.

Once your shaky breathing had mostly calmed down, he kissed you deeply, and you only just noticed his appearing clothes act was also a disappearing one. Your hands gripped his shoulders, moving along his bare chest and feeling more staples there. Your mouth welcomed his tongue, and you sighed pleasantly against his lips at the intrusion, feeling his wet muscle slide along the insides of your cheek and lap at your tongue.

His warm hands groped your breasts gently at first, kneading them for a bit before pinching your nipples hard and making you squeak against him. You felt his teeth as he smirked against your lips, his hands slipping under your body and flipping you onto your stomach with ease. He pulled you up by your hips, forcing your ass up as his other hand pushed your head down into the pillows, making you whimper softly.

He let his hips rest against the curve of your ass, and you felt something heavy and hot settle between your cheeks. Too heavy. Too hot. You started to squirm a little, and suddenly a harsh slap came down on your soft skin, making you cry out.

“Be good and take it,” he lined himself up with your soaked entrance, pushing forward slowly, “that’s it, little mouse,” he groaned, bottoming out and gently rocking his hips a few times. The sting was minimal from how wet you were, but you’d never felt so full.

Suddenly he pulled out nearly all the way and slammed back in with force that had you seeing stars and made your eyes roll back into your head. His fingers gently tangled in your hair before gripping roughly and yanking back as he pounded into your tight heat. He pulled your back to his chest, biting and sucking at your neck as he abused your pussy, one hand holding your hips in a bruising grip and the other holding you to him with your hair.

You gripped at any part of him you could reach, trying to hold on as he used you thoroughly, feeling him hitting your cervix as he snapped his hips against you. The hand on your hip slid forward to toy with your puffy clit, making you whine as he built your orgasm back up.

He sank his teeth deep into the skin of your neck as you came on his cock, blood dripping down your chest as you cried out, clenching as he slid his hand into yours in an attempt at comfort as he marked you, hips still rocking against you and dragging himself against your spasming walls. Tears spilled down your face, dripping and mixing with the blood flowing along your body as you felt yourself getting close again already.

“Gonna be hot, little sacrifice,” he groaned huskily in your ear, hips slapping against you faster. It already felt too hot inside you, the thought of how hot his cum would be had you reeling, getting closer to your own end.

He leaned forward with you, pressing you into the mattress as he rested on top of you, rutting into you harder and harder. You felt him throb inside you before streams of inhumanly hot cum flooded your walls, the feeling combined with his ministrations to your clit had you following suit, creaming around him with a sob as he slowed to a stop, pressed tightly against you to release everything he had inside. It was so hot, and there was so much of it, the sticky feeling of it sloshing around inside and spilling around your thighs and cunt had your eyes rolling back into your head as you came again. Or maybe it extended the last one, you couldn’t really tell anymore.

You completely collapsed under him, going limp as you panted, covered in sweat, tears, cum, and blood. There were spots in your vision and you lost consciousness for a few seconds, groaning softly at even the thought of moving your broken body.

“Come on, sweetness,” Dabi’s hands gently peeled you up, letting your unmoving form rest against him as he took you up into his arms, heading into the bathroom. Everything was pretty fuzzy but you ended up settled against him in a warm bath as he gently scrubbed his trail of destruction off your skin. His softness after being so rough with you had your head spinning, making you cling to him as your only source of comfort.

“Mmmm, so sweet,” he said against your hair, running his fingers through the wet tresses. “All mine now, little sacrifice,” he ran his thumb gently over the bite he’d given you, making you wince. “The ritual getting messed up had me a little nervous, there. I had to bite you like that within twelve hours to keep you,” you turned to look at him with wide eyes and he smirked down at you.

“What do you mean?” You asked softly, still staying close to him if only so he’d stay gentle.

“If the ritual doesn’t finish, the sacrifice is void. But if I can stake my claim on it before twelve hours pass I can keep it anyway. I think it’s supposed to give you a fair shot at escape,” he shrugged, “not like that would’ve happened either way,” he gave you a wink, making blood rush into your face.

“And you,” he continued, “dumb, sweet little thing, are definitely something I want to keep.” He gave the underside of your chin a tap, and you leaned up to him so he could kiss you.

After a while, he got you both out, opening the locked door out of the room and settling you into a bed in a different room of the old house, sliding in beside you and letting you cling to him as you’d been doing for several hours now. He’d made pants appear on him at some point, but you were still naked, shivering against him as he brought you to his chest.

“What happens now?” you asked, snuggled against his warmth.

“Now, you sleep for a few hours. Then we get out of this pocket dimension and summon a friend of mine. You’ll get to help with that.”

“Why? What are you gonna do?”

“Demon shit. Now go to sleep.” He planted a soft kiss on your forehead, and you closed your eyes obediently, almost immediately falling asleep.

@soup-forthesoul @vermeilies @bat-eclecticwolfbouquet-love @shigraki

#bnha #mha #my hero academia #boku no hero academia #mha dabi #bnha dabi #my hero academia dabi #boku no hero academia dabi #dabi #dabi x reader #dabi x y/n #dabi x you #touya todoroki #demon dabi #demon shit

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crash-cinematic-universe · 4 years

Text

tiger lilies, self destructing, and richard siken

pairing: peter maximoff/reader

summary: to peter maximoff, love is an anomaly that scares him more than anything else. however, you might be able to help him overcome his fear.

warnings: language! but that’s about it. kind of cheesy at some points but yknow what im not lactose intolerant

notes: this is the monsterous fic thats been kicking my ass this past week (6.2k words babey!!!) i was originally going to add ~~steamy~~ section to this one but i decided against it to make it readable for those who don’t wanna see that kind of stuff. if you want me to separately publish that then just lmk!! (if any of yall wanna talk about richard siken to me then please do, his work is so good)

taglist: @stranger-names , @gooseyhouse , @parkersdarling

To Peter Maximoff, physical affection has always been a touchy subject-- no pun intended. His speed is a blessing, but also a bitter curse. He moves at the speed of sound, bouncing off the walls and tearing up the roads; he moves impossibly fast, and no one ever tries to catch up with him. People get tired of Peter rather quickly, not bothering to get attached to him when they know they can’t keep up.

That’s why it’s so jarringly startling when you decide to stick around. When faced with the grand decision of throwing in the towel and leaving Peter behind or sticking around and trying your best, you chose the latter. It was surprising, to say the least. Peter waited patiently for the distance between the two of you to start growing; he waited for the void you once filled to open up again. However, the void never emptied, and the distance never grew.

To anyone else, this would be a wonderful experience. Knowing that you wouldn’t be left behind or forgotten about would be comforting to anyone else in Peter’s position. However, this did the exact opposite for Peter. He wasn’t comforted or relaxed, on the contrary, he was always on edge. The future was cruel, and the mystery of it all felt like torture.

To quote the great Richard Silken, “Someone has to leave first. This is a very old story. There is no other version of this story.” Peter lived and breathed by this ideology, that everyone he loves would have to leave eventually, whether it be by their own volition or not. It was obvious that you didn’t plan on abandoning ship anytime soon, so Peter decided he’d take matters into his own hands. If you weren’t going to be the first one to walk away, then he’d be the one to run away from you. He soon came to learn that loneliness was at its most bitter when you’ve come to taste the sweetness of love.

Love was a strange, complicated beast that Peter Maximoff had never dealt with before. If he were to be completely honest, love scared him. It scared him more than dying scared him. To Peter, death was an escape. Death was the end of a tiring journey, it was safe and simple and easy. Love was the opposite, it was the mouth of a dragon and the edge of a blade. It was the beginning to something so fragile and powerful, something that could end in flames.

Peter realized he loved you on a summer afternoon. The sun was shining and you were in the shade. He sat down next to you, and within minutes Kurt and Ororo appeared at your side. They seemed so put together, so sure and strong. Peter felt out of place-- he felt as if he were standing outside of a cabin looking in through the window at your wonderful friendships. He watched with his nose pressed against the glass as you walked across the room and opened the cabin door to let him in.

Peter realized he was in love with you in the middle of the night. A thunderstorm raged outside the mansion walls and raindrops kept time as Peter walked down the hallway. You were sitting on the floor of the common room next to a dying fire, a book clenched tightly in your hands. For a moment, he just stood against a wall and watched you. As creepy as he felt, a part of him believed he’d ruin your night by making himself known. He was okay with being a fly on the wall if it meant he’d get to see you. Peter wondered if there was a world where he had the pleasure of knowing you, without you having the burden of knowing him.

Still, you saw him. And you knew him. And you waved him over with a smile. He felt the urge to run, to leave you here alone with yourself, but he stayed put. Then, one step at a time, he moved forward. He got closer and closer before he found himself standing at your feet.

“You’re welcome to stay,” you told him. He believed it. Peter sat down next to you, letting his shoulder brush against yours.

“What’re you reading?” He asked. Peter already knew what you were reading, he read the cover of the book the moment he sat down, but he still wanted to hear it from you.

“Crush by Richard Siken,”

“Oh. What’s it about?” Peter already knew what it was about. He’d read it at least fifty times.

“It’s kind of hard to explain. I’d much rather just read it to you and let you decide for yourself,” Peter’s stupid little heart lurched, and he almost cried at the thought. He held it together, though.

“That would be nice,” He said softly.

“Sorry about all the writing in the margins, I can’t help myself sometimes.” Peter scanned the sides of the pages, marveling at your notes. Some of them were reactions, littered with exclamation points and question marks and bold letters. Some of them were underlined phrases and little doodles-- most notably a little drawing of a chameleon on a tiger lily. He loved them.

“It’s okay. Literature is meant to be marked up-- what’s the point of reading if you don’t get to share the love?”

“That’s a good point,” You grinned. Then, the reading began, and you allowed Peter to rest his head on your shoulder as you read to him. Even though he’d heard the poems a billion times by now, they sounded brand new coming from you. He listened closely. You were arriving at his favorite part, “You are Jeff” section 24.

“You’re in a car with a beautiful boy, and he won’t tell you that he loves you, but he loves you...” You read on, not noticing the way Peter’s eyes had shifted from the book you were holding to your face. Peter’s mind wanders, and he curses himself for missing the lines you were reading “... You’re in a car with a beautiful boy, and you’re trying not to tell him that you love him, and you’re trying to choke down the feeling, and you’re trembling, but he reaches over and he touches you, like a prayer for which no words exist, and you feel your heart taking root in your body, like you’ve discovered something you didn’t even have a name for.”

Peter felt like he was going to cry. You kept reading and he kept looking. It was getting late, and Peter was getting tired. Your voice had softened and slowed, and the fire that was burning in the fireplace had all but died. Peter was the one that fell asleep first, and you followed closely after. Both of you had lingering smiles on your faces.

Intimacy is an odd thing, isn’t it? Thinking critically, intimacy is just vulnerability with more layers. It’s the closeness between people, it’s allowing yourself to connect with someone you care about. It’s stripping yourself down to muscle and bone and hoping the other person doesn’t let you bleed out. It’s a level of trust that is more than closing your eyes and falling backwards; it’s closing your eyes and letting them push you over the edge into the unknown, and trusting them enough to know you’ll be okay when you hit the ground.

It didn’t take long for Peter to realize that he had trouble with being intimate with other people. Too many times had trusted someone to push him over the edge, only to realize he’d be shattered when he hits the ground. After that, he decided intimacy was overrated. It’s not like anyone was going to have that kind of relationship with him, anyway.

Of course, then you came along and uprooted his entire worldview, like you had with everything else. He found himself thinking about you at every waking moment, which inevitably led to him… thinking about you at every waking moment, if you catch my drift. Sure, intimacy involves more than just physical intimacy, but Peter knows he can’t ignore the feeling that rises in his stomach whenever he’s around you. For the first year or so of your relationship, Peter became very familiar with the feeling of an ice-cold shower.

What Peter didn’t take into consideration was you. For some reason, Peter struggled to understand the fact that you were just as attracted to him as he was attracted to you. It was no secret that Peter was insecure, but he never really realized how much his insecurity affected his relationships. If he couldn’t love himself, how could anyone else? Peter is the only one who gets to see his persona in its truest form, and every time he has to avert his eyes. It’s safe to say his physical appearance has been the cause of very many painful-- and occasionally tear-filled-- sleepless nights.

He told you this. He told you everything. He told you about Erik, he told you about his childhood, he told you about everything he loved and hated and feared and yearned for. That ordeal alone was scary enough, knowing that at any moment you could decide you didn’t want to deal with him anymore, but as always, you stuck around. You told him everything. You told him about your family and your struggles. You told him about everything you loved and hated and feared and yearned for, and not once did Peter even think that he wanted to walk away. This is the kind of intimacy that, over the years, Peter had struggled with less and less.

Still, it was the sexual aspect of intimacy that freaked him out. It was a beast he’d never dealt with, a feat he’d never faced. That being said, as every day went by Peter became more and more… frustrated. He didn’t know how to approach the subject, so he'd just let the subject approach him and wing it.

And as he sat on his bed watching as you twirled around to Tears for Fears “Everybody Wants To Rule The World”, Peter realized he didn’t have much to worry about.

“Dance with me, dollface,” you laughed, reaching out for him. You looked like someone straight out of a movie, the lim blue light coming from Peter’s arcade machines illuminating a halo above your head. You put Molly Ringwald and Emilio Estevez to shame. Peter took your hand, grinning like an idiot as you twirled him around.

There he was, dancing in his mother’s basement with his favorite person in the entire world. He wasn’t a great dancer, and neither were you, but that didn’t matter. Peter was dreading this visit-- he hated the idea of being back in the basement that made him feel like a failure. But you assured him that you’d be there with him, and that getting to see his family would make it all worth it. His family isn’t what made it worth it, though.

“Brain Damage” by Pink Floyd came next, slower and a bit more somber, but still danceable. Your arms shifted to around his neck, pulling him closer than he already was. Somehow, you ended up with your back against the wall as the song came to a close. He kissed your forehead, then your cheek, then your lips.

“I love you,” Peter spoke softly. This was a small victory-- he’d been so scared of the mere idea of loving someone. You were the only one who got to hear his love confessions. They were for you, and for you only.

“I love you too,” Peter would never, ever get tired of hearing that. Knowing that you love him is enough to keep him going for a hundred years. And he knows the odds, he knows that love is rocky and painful as much as it is beautiful. He knows that love can feel sweet in the beginning and go sour overtime. He knows that first, second, third relationships don’t always work out. But he thinks this is going to work out. And Peter doesn’t think this will ever go sour. Maybe that’s his blissful ignorance talking, maybe he’s jinxing it, but at this moment, he doesn’t care. Right now he is at his happiest, at his most content.

“You wanna watch a movie?” You asked softly, pecking Peter on the cheek. He could feel the warmth radiating off of you, and Peter grinned. In an instant the tv across the room began playing the opening credits to the first movie that popped into his head.

“The Breakfast Club?” You questioned. Peter shrugged.

“What can I say, I’m a sucker for a good coming-of-age kind of movie,”

You sat against the headboard of Peter’s bed, allowing Peter to settle beside you. Your head rested on his shoulder, and he was quick to grab your hand. Peter loved the closeness. Over the past year, he’d come to realize he was a very affectionate person. Previously, Peter hadn’t known soft, physical love; the only time anyone would ever touch him would be as punishment or defense, not love. Love. Peter had gotten more comfortable with the idea of love, because when he thinks of love he thinks of you.

Every good story has a villain. A villain that you love to hate, or hate to love. A villain you can sympathize with, a villain you can’t excuse, a villain that the mere mention of makes you sick to your stomach. An unexpected villain. An obvious villain. A villain that’s just trying his goddamn best. Sometimes the villain is defeated, sometimes the villain changes their evil ways. Sometimes the villain dies and the crowd cheers.

Peter Maximoff never thought he’d be the villain of his own story. He tried his hardest to be a good person, but there was always that side of him that made him afraid. He was like an explosive; whenever someone got too close, he’d detonate and destroy everything around him. It was a self-defense tactic, albeit counterproductive.

It killed you to see him that way. He told you about the relationships he’d lost to himself. He told you about the abandonment and the loneliness. It broke your heart. He tried to distract himself, drowning himself in work so he’d never have the opportunity to ruin what he had with you. Peter Maximoff was a walnut tree; every time he planted his roots and began to grow, he’d kill anything that grew too close. However, the constant working started to wear Peter down.

It started with the late nights. He’d collapse next to you at four AM, knocking out the minute his head hit the pillow. Still, he’d be awake before you were, already scrambling around trying to complete various tasks. He was like a machine that was running from it’s problems. The late nights turned to all-nighters, and the few hours Peter managed to salvage set aside for sleep had shrunk to a few minutes at a time. He didn’t eat anything with even a hint of nutritional value. At this rate, he was going to work himself to death.

The worst part? Peter knew what he was doing. He wasn’t stupid. He just needed to shut up the little voice in his head that urged him to act out. The entirety of his childhood, Peter destroyed what he created. The need to be isolated, the feeling that he deserves to be alone spread throughout his body like a cancer. He locked himself away in the basement, trying desperately to stay out of everyone’s way so they wouldn’t shut him out. People tried to coerce him out of his cave, to pull him out of the bottomless pit he threw himself into. Peter saw them as the sirens trying to lure him into the ocean of loneliness, and he wasn’t going to fall for it. In his eyes, anyone who tried to help him were the villains of his amazing, heroic tale. Fortunately for him, one by one, they started to give up on helping him. They thought he was a lost cause; a fucking loser who was destined to wallow in his own self-pity until he died. At first, this was a triumph. He defeated them, he outwitted the sphinx and slayed the dragon. But a part of him hated himself for becoming the worst-case scenario that every parent feared their child would grow up to be.

He pulled himself out of his pit and back onto his feet, all by himself. It was hell on Earth, but he did it. That cancerous feeling of uselessness retracted back into itself, now residing in the place next to Peter’s heart. However, that horrifying fear of becoming a burden began to grow again, this time when Peter was in his mid-20s. He began to overcompensate, and that led him to where he was; always on the brink of collapse, running on nothing but coffee and twenty minutes of sleep. In return, Peter got to have friends. In his mind, that was fair. In your mind? Not even close.

You managed to catch him in his bedroom as he was in the midst of simultaneously scribbling in a notebook and reading an open novel. Peter Maximoff would always be the most beautiful person in the world in your eyes, but at that moment, he looked like hell. Your plan seemed foolproof, but then again, you weren’t sure what you were walking into. Lately, Peter didn’t seem like himself. Probably because of the lack of sleep.

“Peter?” He looked up at you, eyes half-lidded. “I got you something.”

“You did?” A sleepy smile was all he could muster, but that was google enough for you.

“I did. It’s to mark exactly three years since I first met you,” you sat down on his bed, placing the small wrapped book right next to you. Peter glanced at the calendar on the wall-- oh god, you were right. It’s been three years to the day and he forgot. He deserves the title of “World’s Worst Boyfriend”. Scott will probably be upset that he’s losing his title.

“What’re you up to?”

“Finishing up some old work I’ve been putting off,” he punctuated his sentence with a yawn. “Some of my old work and some of Hank’s, too.” “Why are you doing Hank’s work?”

“He seemed stressed about something, thought I might help clear his head,” The sentiment is sweet, you’ll give him that.

“Alright, well, can we talk for a minute?” Alarm bells went off in Peter’s brain. There has never, in the history of the universe, been a good conversation that started with ‘can we talk for a minute?’ or any of it’s cruel variants.

“Actually, I’m kind of busy right now, can this wait?” It was obvious that the answer to that was no, but still, he felt the need to ask.

“Not really, no. It’s important.” Peter saw the next few seconds playing out in his head. The inevitable had come to fruition; you realized that you could do better, and now you were cutting him loose. He couldn’t blame you, not really, but that didn’t mean it wasn’t going to rip him to shreds. He realized that whatever you brought for him was most likely a parting gift. How sweet.

“Oh. Alright.”

“Well, I’m going to give it to you straight,” you sighed. “I’m worried about you, Peter.”

Oh. He’s heard this speech before, he knows the spiel. He can vaguely recall a guidance counselor telling him the exact same thing before Peter decided to call him a slew of expletives. The tar pit in his chest began to grow.

“I’m fine.” This was a lie. The first lie in a long chain of lies that Peter was about to tell to you, his favorite person in the world. He loved you, but in that moment his vision clouded over. You weren’t the person he loved and cherished anymore, no, you were just another faceless blur that provided a temporary escape.

“Really? I feel like you’re pushing everyone away, you’re pushing me away.” Peter was becoming more and more irritated by the second.

“I told you, I’m fine. I’m not pushing you away.

“Don’t lie to me,” your voice is firm and unwavering. “You don’t sleep, you almost never eat-- I don’t think I’ve seen you stand still for more than three minutes once in the past month--”

“That’s just how I am,” Peter huffs. He wanted this conversation to be over. “That’s not your problem.”

“Your wellbeing is my problem, Peter, that’s the whole point of being friends with someone. Even more so now, because you’re my partner and I care about you--”

“Then stop,” Peter rolled his eyes. He's more irritable than normal-- most likely because he hasn’t slept in days. He could almost feel the venomous arms of isolation creeping around him. It’s a sick pattern, he knows; every time someone gets close to him, he feels the need to self-destruct before they lose interest. Even now, even after all this time, Peter’s still powerless against the poison in his veins.

“What?” You’re losing your reserve and your stature. He can tell. You’re slouching and picking at the cuticles on your thumb. It’s almost as if he’s been shoved into the back seat, and is now being forced to watch as a stranger takes the wheel and crashes the car. So much frustration, so much hurt, and it’s all coming out right now, onto you. Peter already regrets this entire interaction, but still, he manages to spit acid.

“Stop caring. Just leave, I know you want to. I know every night, you lie awake and think about all the different ways you can leave me in the dust. Not that it would matter to me.” This is another lie. Your eyes flash with hurt, but you stay put. You know he’s just being an asshole because he’s exhausted and too stubborn to admit that you’re right. He’s egging you on intentionally, trying to get you to snap and walk away.

“Peter, god, I love you but sometimes you can be so...”

“So what? C’mon, be honest with me,” He huffed.

“Frustrating,” You surrendered. The poise you once held was gone. “I know it isn’t your fault-- I know you’ve trusted so many people so deeply and been betrayed or sold out and I know you’ve loved so many times and been thrown to the curb without a second thought. But I don’t know what I can do to convince you that I’m here for you, and that I love you. I’ve tried everything, and it feels like I’m talking to a brick wall. I want to make this work, but I need you to work with me.” It’s evident in your voice that you’re desperate. You’re just hoping you’ll get through to him, somehow. “I need you to want it as bad as I do-- hell, I need you to want it at all.” Here it comes--

“You ever think, maybe, I just don’t want you to be that person for me? I’ve spent my life being independent, my entire existence so far has been built around the fact that I’m going to end up alone. People come and people go-- people like you and Charles-- and they tell me they care. They tell me that they love me and that they're here for me. And then they get tired of me and they leave. I wish that you would just leave me the fuck alone and let me live in solitude,” There it was. The lie to end all lies. The words tasted awful coming out of his mouth, and the whole ordeal left his mouth tasting very… sour. Peter had to look away, he couldn’t look at the expression on your face.

“Fine. If that’s what you want.” Your eyes never met his, but you paused before you exited the room. “I know you’re probably just… I don’t know, going through something, but you’re being an asshole. Don’t talk to me until you’ve sorted your shit out. Enjoy your solitude.” You left the room impossibly fast, your fists clenched so tightly Peter feared that your nails would break the skin on your palms. He struggled to keep it together-- why the fuck did he do that?

Peter collapsed onto his bed, and it’s only then that he realized you left behind the gift you got him. A part of him thought he should return it to you, but the other part of him urged for it to be opened. He tore the wrapping paper off before he realized what he was doing. The hardcover book the wrapping paper concealed was handbound, the cover littered with your beautifully familiar handwriting. In big, bold letters The Best of Poetry in the Humble Opinion of Y/n L/n was scrawled at the top.

Peter vividly remembers a late night you spent talking to him. You told him about your favorite poems, outlining each and every little detail you loved about them. Some of them he’d read already, some of them he hadn’t, but all of them sounded like artwork coming from you. He opened the front cover, and you’d written something else on the inside.

“In the words of the wonderful Peter Maximoff, ‘What’s the point of reading if you don’t get to share the love?’. This is me, sharing the love.”

Carefully, Peter opened to a random page in the book. He saw the notes in the margins and the doodles and the exclamation points and before he knew it Peter was on the verge of tears. He was barely containing himself, and then he read a specific annotation you made.

He had opened to the first page of “The Worm King’s Lullaby”, one of your all-time favorites. A specific line was underlined, one that Peter was all too familiar with: “Someone has to leave first. This is a very old story. There is no other version of this story.” Beside it, you wrote:

“As much of a genius Mr. Siken is, I have to disagree with this. If you love someone enough, you’ll never leave them and they’ll never leave you. Even if they die, even if things don’t work out, you’ll always have a little part of them to carry with you. Carry this part of me with you, Peter. Not that I plan on leaving anytime soon.”

That was it. The floodgates broke. Everything that Peter had held back came pouring out-- the past 10 minutes finally caught up with him, and they hit him like a bus. He sat in the corner of his bedroom, his knees pulled up to his chest so tightly he thought his legs would snap. Peter wanted to rip all his hair out or punch a hole in the wall or hold his head underwater until he was nothing but an obituary and a headstone. His chest burned and the pit of despair inside his chest had overtaken his system, and he hated himself with a burning passion. Why did he do that? Why did he do that? Why the fuck did he do that?

Peter Maximoff had his breakdown in solitude, revealing in the fact that he was, undeniably, the villain of his own life.

As it turns out, ‘getting his shit together’ is much harder than Peter originally anticipated. He's trying, he really is, but it's hard. Especially without you there. Peter knows that he fucked up, and he knows that he needs to work for your forgiveness. And don’t worry, he’s going to work for it.

It had only been a week, but the entire mansion could tell that something was off. Life just wasn’t the same without the randomized gusts of wind that would knock people off their feet; no one had been seriously injured or had something stolen from them. The whirlwind that was mansion life, while still chaotic, lost it’s fun.

Charles tried to keep things running smoothly, but he was an old man and didn’t exactly understand you and Peter. People would knock on your door every now and then, but you didn’t answer. You were much too busy analyzing exactly how much of a bitch you were being-- realistically, the answer is 0%, but you didn’t see it that way. No, from your perspective, you saw Peter having a mental breakdown and you ditched him. Pretty shitty move.

What you didn’t realize was that Peter was doing the exact same thing, however, the blame falls mostly on his shoulders, and boy does he know it. He’s been scripting his grand apology, trying desperately to find the right words to express exactly how sorry he is. Peter was never very good with words-- it’s always too hard to know if you’re going to say the wrong thing and mess everything up. Although, it’s hard to see how the scenario could get any worse.

He made the executive decision to start with “I’m sorry”-- a solid start to any apology. Sure, he could stop there, but Peter realized that he’d probably need more to win back his partner. So, he managed to scribble down a few more lines on a tiny notecard he was supposed to use for studying. Oh, what a wondrous redemption arc this would be; Peter gets into a fight with his wonderful partner and ruins their relationship and then struggles to come up with a coherent apology.

“I’m sorry about what I said, that was shitty. I shouldn’t have said that.” Peter’s eyebrows furrowed in frustration. God, he was going to die alone, wasn’t he? Maybe this is the cruel punishment the world is dealing to him, the universe is deciding that Peter’s redemption arc would be better if it, well, didn’t exist. Even so, he isn’t planning on giving up or giving in just yet.

He scrapped what he had so far and started at the beginning once again. His 9th grade english teacher would tell him to write about what he knows, and though he doesn’t know much, he’s an expert when it comes to himself. Peter knows how he feels about you, he knows how sorry he is, and he knows that he really, really, really wants you to know that he didn’t mean a word he said about not wanting you. Peter knows about love, at least a little bit, and he realizes he’ll need more than just words.

His mind drifts to that night, years ago, in front of the fireplace. He vividly remembers a tiger lily and a chameleon scribbled in the margins of your book. Realistically, Peter couldn’t get his hands on a chameleon, but a tiger lily was a different story. In high school, Peter took a botany course because he thought it’d be easy. It wasn’t, it was boring as all hell, but it seems like his slacking paid off. He knew tiger lilies were indigenous to Asia, but they’d become quite common along New England-area roadways.

Peter grabbed his jacket and took off, tearing through the roads like his life depended on it. In less than 10 minutes, Peter found himself in the middle of New Hampshire drenched in rain. In hindsight, he probably should’ve checked the weather before leaving. Nevertheless, he takes off into the small wooded area that laid passed the road’s end. Dozens of mushrooms dotted the muddy ground and mossy rocks clouded his peripheral vision. The rain begins to lighten as he spots a bright orange tiger lily peeking through the remains of a tree stump. He sprints over to it.

The tiger lily is bloomed and beautiful and Peter can’t tear his eyes away from the wide array of speckles and splotches and color. It’s pristine, but some of the petals are torn or wilting. The roots stretch into the stump below it, and Peter leans closer. The stump is old and worn, fungi and bugs eat away at the base next to a large hole where a family of worms reside. The stump is ugly, sure, but it’s useful. It helps keep the bugs fed and keeps the worms warm. There’s a metaphor here somewhere, but Peter is too distracted to find it.

He gently picks the flower and spins on his heel, taking off once again. The rain makes it harder to run, but it’ll take a lot more than water to stop Peter. By the time Peter gets back to Xavier’s the flower is a little crushed, but it’s still somewhat pristine.

He has the flower, he has the apology, and now all he needs is courage. Thankfully, that courage comes quickly as he instinctively knocks on your bedroom door. He probably should’ve stopped to collect himself, but he was riding a wave of adrenaline that wouldn’t come back.

“Go away, Jean,” You called from inside. You sounded tired, and it made Peter sad.

“It’s-- uh-- it’s not Jean,” Peter can hear your hesitant footsteps approaching the door, and suddenly the courage he managed to build up drained. His hands are shaking by the time you open the door. You look up at him, and Peter looks back at you, and suddenly everything is much harder to do. He looks down at his feet.

“Hi.” Your voice is hoarse, but clear.

“Hi.” Peter’s voice is uneven and quiet. You stand there in silence for a minute before Peter pipes up again.

“So, uh, you’re probably still mad at me and I get that, but I just want you to hear me out. I-If that’s okay,” You nod slowly, and Peter takes a deep breath. He thinks about the written apology that sat in his coat pocket, and he makes the last-minute decision to forget about it. He’ll speak from the heart, or, whatever people in rom-coms do.

“I’m sorry. It was really shitty of me to get angry at you because you were worried about me-- although, I guess shitty is an understatement. Everything that I said about, yknow, not wanting you or Charles or anyone else around anymore wasn’t true. I need you guys, and I love you guys and it was unfair of me to push you away. Solitude really sucks. I guess I’m just not very good at navigating relationships,” He exhales, and his chest shudders. “I understand if you don’t want to be with me anymore, I just thought I should make it clear how I feel.” It’s only then that he remembers about the tiger lily in his hand. “Oh, and this is for you.”

“A tiger lily?” you smiled softly. “These are my favorite-- how did you know?”

“I’m just observant, I guess. You usually draw them when you’re bored, I figured you’d like to see one in person,” You gently took the tiger lily in your hand. The silence that hung in the air was deafening, and Peter realized that was probably a bad sign. His chest drops just a bit, and he takes a small step backwards.

“I guess I should probably leave you alone--” Peter can’t get very far, because you immediately jump forward and wrap your arms around him. Eyes wide and heart pounding, you can feel Peter’s arms lock around your waist.

“Thank you,” You whispered. “Please don’t go.” Peter was smiling so hard his cheeks ached, and a horrible weight had been lifted off his shoulders. The close-contact was refreshing; he didn’t realize how much he missed it until that moment. He was pretty sure he would never, ever let you go. Not again.

To Peter Maximoff, physical affection has always been a touchy subject-- that is, until you came along. You proved to him that he deserved physical affection, that his mutation and his personality and weirdo quirks didn’t make him lesser or unlovable. Peter Maximoff deserved love, and you were the one who never failed to love him.

You sat on a wooden chair in front of the fireplace, reading to the group of children sitting at your feet. The emotional lines of “Snow and Dirty Rain” fell from your lips, and with every turning syllable the small group would listen just a little bit closer. Peter did, too, desperately trying to hear every single word you said. Class was almost over, and once the students were dismissed you’d probably stop reading.

“I made this place for you. A place for you to love me. If this isn't a kingdom then I don't know what is,” Your eyes tore away from the page to look at the kids at your feet. They fell upon Peter, and a smile erupted on your face.

Peter vaguely recalls the twisted idea of love that he held as a teenager. He thought love was a dragon to be defeated, a battle that could be won or lost. It’s clear now that love is the opposite-- it isn’t a fight or a battle or a thing to be conquered. It’s more like a flower; it needs to be cherished and cared for in order to grow. Sometimes the flower wilts and dies, and that’s natural, but sometimes the flower lasts for a lifetime.

Love wasn’t a dragon or a knight, it didn’t have a hero or a villain; it was much more like a tiger lily and a tree stump.

#Evan Peters #peter maximoff #pietro maximoff #pietro maximoff x reader #peter maximoff x reader #wandavision #xmen fanfiction #xmen

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lady-o-ren · 3 years

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Moonstruck

Chapter One (Here) // Chapter Two (Here)

Chapter Two

The wolf wasn't beneath the trees.

But his big feet make him easy to track, leading Claire and Caspian out of the wretched wood to a sea of wild hills that look like waves under the heavenly glow of the night sky. As they near two rolling mounds where the tracks drag against the earth, she sees a lonely crofter house nestled between them like a little boat, abandoned and shabby looking, but it's roof is still thatched and the stone walls still stand. Good enough really for a place to rest one's tired head.

Yet Claire wonders why a wolf would seek a place so out in the open.

Better yet why anyone would seek out a wolf.

"Because you're an absolute nutter, Beauchamp," says Claire to herself. " Or very possibly you're suffering a concussion."

Swinging a leg off Caspian, she tugs on his reins with a warning to stay put and gathers a deep fortifying breath before stepping into the shadow of the house where the door hangs open.

Inside, shafts of bright silvery light illuminate the room, seeping in through the only window. There are cobwebs and dead leaves strewn about the place, emptied of almost everything except for a wobbly looking table by the soot stained hearth and a stool that must've been made for a child tucked into the corner. . .

Opposite of the big red wolf, eyes bright as stars in the pale blue dark.

Claire's breath quickens and her pulse jumps at her throat but she manages to keep her voice steady. Somewhat.

"We still have that deal don't we? You restrain yourself from biting my head off and I don't shoot you between the eyes."

A miserable sound echoes from the wolf's maw and that's answer enough for Claire. The floorboards creak beneath her as she shuffles about the room, finding a bit of flint left behind from vagrants come and gone and makes a pleased and grateful sound when the sparse bits of wood in the hearth catch fire. She then kneels down in front of him, fist outstretched and shaking as she chants -

"Please don't bite me. Please don't bite me. . ."

It's only when Claire feels something hot and wet swipe against her knuckles does she realize her eyes have been shut and she recoils in surprise,flat on her arse with a shriek.

The wolf however snorts heartily.

“You're laughing at me aren't you?”

The corner of his long mouth quirks wryly as his bushy tail swings back and forth and Claire finds herself cracking a smile. The first of this very long and preposterous night.

"Well, a sense of humor must mean you have a heart after all. More so than Caspian anyways.”

And she hopes it means he isn't too badly injured.

Claire comes closer again and tentatively runs the back of her fingers against the wolf's broad crown, his dark copper fur soft against her skin, slanted eyes gone to slits. Encouraged now, she scratches behind his ears and the wolf makes a sound of pleasure from deep within his throat and drops his head onto her lap, sighing with heart filled contentment. She laughs softly with growing affection, her fingers finding their way underneath his great maw that makes his head upturn and tail to swish, swish.

"I don't care what you say you're a puppy and a sweet one too, aren't you?"

She then impulsively imparts a kiss atop his head and the wolf bumps his nose against her chin wanting another.

“Cheeky lad,” she murmurs warmly, but gives him another anyway.

However, she came here for a reason and that wasn't to cuddle a wolf.

Stroking her hand along his neck, that has him kicking out a long powerful hind leg, she says -

"I know I don't look it, but I know more than a thing or two about broken bones and gashes. Will you trust me to help you, even if it hurts?"

A beat passes before he licks at her wrist and she takes that as a show of trust and extricates herself from beneath the red wolf. Gently, she probes his back and ribs first and is amazed there's only a few marks from the bear, hardly deep at all. But then her hands pass over a crisscross of scars beneath his thick coat and her eyes meet his, searching.

“Someone's hunted you, haven't they?”

A frightful tremor crawls over him that grips at her heart and without thought she presses herself against him wishing she could ease whatever horror he was remembering.

“I hope you tore the bastard apart. Slowly. Bit by bit.”

His sides lightly shake and she knows it must be laughter.

Pushing her wayward curls behind her ear, Claire then touches him gingerly over his injured shoulder. The muscle is swollen and a part of her wonders if it's just a bad sprain. But she remembers that odd angle of his leg as he walked and how he nurses it close to himself now.

“If you were a man I'd set your shoulder and wrap it in a sling. I've done so before though it's no small feat. But I haven't so for an animal much less a bear-sized wolf . . .” She sighs. Upset with herself. Hand at her brow, the cut throbbing more so now. “There isn't much I can do without another pair of hands."

She looks helplessly at the wolf.

But there's no way for him to express to her that it's alright, he's suffered worse. And would gladly do so again and again if it meant keeping her from harm. This brown haired lass like no other woman he's ever seen before. Sae bonny and brave.

So he nuzzles her palm and mouths the soft skin like the puppy she says he is and feels his heart swell and the pain in his arm to cease when a smile softly graces her face lovelier than a moonbeam.

Aye, she was worth it.

Claire leaves him for a moment to settle Caspian for the night in the old byre behind the crofter house and comes back with blankets from the horse's saddleroll, a flask and a fold of her cloak full of bittie yarrow leaves she'd found growing between the stones.

The flask is filled with brandy (courtesy of her former betrothed) that she douses torn strips of her gown with to clean the wolf's wounds (murmuring sweet things as she does so knowing how sharply it stings) while the yarrow leaves are mashed between her teeth and applied carefully like a salve.

For his poor shoulder however, she says -

“I promise I'll figure out what to do in the morning. I owe it to you for saving me. Thank you by the way,” she softly adds, and scratches behind the wolf's ears as he likes until his eyes begin to droop and a long winded yawn escapes her mouth.

She's exhausted. Body bruised and aching from being tossed around like a ragdoll but she doesn't think she can sleep in a gown that's been slobbered and bloodied. So while the wolf is fast asleep, Claire undresses down to her chemise and stays and quickly wraps herself in one blanket while laying out the other for a makeshift bed, leaving her cloak to dry by the hearthfire.

Her ruined gown however she grasps in her hands.

No longer did it shine with promise.

No longer was she to be a bride.

At least not for him.

“The bloody two-faced fucking bastard,” Claire mutters angrily, tossing the damn garment across the floor to gather dust as a tear rolls down her chin. She then curls herself into a ball by the fire, shivering beneath the scratchy grey wool, and wrings her heart out of any lingering affection she's ever had for Frank Wolverton Randall by remembering the last moment she saw him.

That morning of their wedding behind the church. Swaying on his feet as he groped a woman she could've sworn was his cousin. And then keeled over, grasping his manhood right after she kneed him.

If only they hadn't been on sacred ground she would've kicked him too.

But just maybe he pissed himself.

Lost in that ever pleasing hopeful thought, Claire is startled to feel a deep huff of breath cloud down her neck like steam and looks up to see the red wolf looming above her.

"You absolute fool," she scolds, though it's spoken without bite as she sits up to cradle his face with both her hands. " You're only making things worse for that shoulder of yours."

The wolf doesn't care. He nuzzles her cheek where the brokenhearted tear had fallen, making a sad whimpering sound as he does so that endears him evermore to Claire's heart.

"No use arguing with a stubborn wolf is there?"

There isn't. He licks the side of her face making her softly giggle before plopping down beside her with a heavy thunk and Claire can do nothing more but sink down against him, his fur radiating a tender warmth that seeps into her tired bones.

Claire wakes with the morning light that floods the room and stings her eyes that immediately shutter close behind the back of her arm.

While embers have kept the room bearable, she knows the only reason she hasn't woken with a sniffle is because of the heavy, heated weight that engulfs her like a brushfire. Drowsily, she lets her hand wander to the furry head atop her chest that rises steadily with a deep inhale of smokey air and then strokes softly down until her palm oddly meets naked flesh. . .

Her eyes bolt open and through the sleepy blur she sees a stranger, big and naked draped across her, mumbling something hot-breathed and incoherent as he smothers his face between her breasts right before she screams.

#Outlander #outlander fic #outlander fanfiction #jamie x claire #moonstruck

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ickaimp · 4 years

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[HTTYD] Break your heart, steal your crown

Sometimes ya just gotta write angst. Lotta people liked Coming Down is the Hardest Thing, my version of the ‘Hiccup runs away and becomes the “Dragon Master”, Astrid’s offered up as a Sacrifice years later’ tropes without Hiccup being a dick, and there were requests for sequels, which I didn’t do because this was all I had. Two years post Coming Down is the Hardest Thing, 4220 words, angst and some fluff.

"Berk is dying."

The words sat heavily in the air of the smithy, lingering like a spectre between Stoick and Gobber.

Stoick almost wished he could take the words back, but that wouldn't change the accuracy of his words. Berk was dying.

Gobber closed his eyes and sighed, giving him a weary nod of agreement. So he had seen it too. Or more likely, he had seen it in Gothi's last roll of the bones, before she had gone to bed and passed away in her sleep, leaving the fortune out for Gobber to read when he found her body this morning.

He hadn't actually told Stoick what the bones had said, giving him the same world-weary look he was currently wearing instead.

Even without the soothsayer's predictions, Stoick could see it. The twins had left years ago, declaring that the isle was too boring for their pranks, setting sail with only a chicken as their companion. It had seemed like a blessing at the time, less things exploding in their wake, leaving Berk a much quieter place than it had been.

Then came Spitelout's stupidity with Astrid, offering her to the savage Dragon Master. They'd gotten her back, only for her to disappear a week later. She'd left a note that this time was by her choice, but it'd been little comfort.

This left Berk's next generation without any women old enough to be wives. To become mothers to bear future generations.

With the Jorgenson clan name soiled by Spitelout's actions, Snotlout was no longer able to be Stoick's heir. The other clans would never treaty with someone whose family had literally brought the Dragon Master down on their heads during a meeting of the chiefs. Except for maybe Dagur, and that was not a glowing recommendation, given the Berserker's... instability.

Which left Fishlegs as the only remaining of Berk's next generation to lead. The lad was smart, there was no doubt about it, and he would be fantastic as a second in command, the next Chief's Gobber, he was too quiet and soft to be a leader. The politics would eat him alive. And worse, Fishlegs was aware of this.

There were other children, Gustav and his ilk, but they were too young to start training as the next Chief of Berk. Stoick ran a hand down his beard, more grey than red from the stress and sorrow. He didn't have long enough to train one of them up.

And Berk's numbers were dwindling in other ways. Many had not been able to adapt to life without dragons to fight, finding a peaceful life did not sit well with their warrior blood. They'd left, being adopted into other clans. They'd just lost another family that way today. Stoick wished them no ill will, but if this continued, then they'd find their numbers too small to maintain the community.

Even Gobber was growing bored, not having enough work to keep the blacksmith busy. Without the dragons, there was no need for weapons, and the simple farming tools they had didn't need as much maintenance. Stoick looked around the smithy, his eyes falling on the curtain leading to a small room that Gobber wouldn't allow anyone into, his own private shrine to his missing godson.

And then there was the loss of Hiccup, the first of Berk's children to leave. The Dragon Master's words, that Hiccup was happy and healthy where he was, was little comfort without being able to verify this. There was little Stoick wouldn't do in order to be able to see his boy again, for even just a moment. Sometimes he wondered if this wasn’t his fault. The path had seemed clear when they were constantly being raided by dragons. But without the raids, he was floundering. His people were looking to him for direction, and he had no experience with peace to know what to do. More and more they seemed to realise this, and left. Seven generations of vikings had lived on this isle, going all the way back to the first chieftain, his many times great-grandfather, and it was starting to look like he’d be Berk’s last chief.

"I wish I had some words of wisdom for ye, my friend." Gobber said softly. "I-"

Stoick jumped as something flew in through the window and landed on Gobber's face.

It was a green and brown Terrible Terror, who was making a high pitched growling sound as he crawled all over Gobber's head. "Don't move." Stoick rumbled, reaching for his sword.

"Ach." Gobber made a sound of annoyance, reaching up and grabbing the Terrible Terror by the scruff of its neck, pulling it off his head. "What're you-"

He trailed off, eyes drifting upwards and Stoick realised that it was the sound of a larger dragon's wings flapping. A Deadly Nadder, unless he missed his guess. Stoick gritted his teeth, feeling fire in his veins again, eager to have something to fight again, to take this rage and frustration out on.

"Oh no." Gobber said, a look of horror crossing his face as he glanced at Stoick. That was all the warning Stoick found himself being spun, his arms being bound behind his back with a pair of iron manacles, and he was flung through the curtain into Hiccup's old room. He landed against something softer than he expected, falling to the ground.

"GRUMP!" Gobber commanded, sticking his head through the curtain and pointing to Stoick. "Sit."

With a complaining groan, something large and heavy pressed down on Stoick. He grunted, trying to push himself up with his shoulders, but the weight was too much for him to get leverage.

"I didnae want you to find out like this." Gobber said, sounding apologetic, the Terrible Terror riding on his shoulder as if this was a common occurrence. "But if you value yer son's life at all, do not make a sound."

Stoick opened his mouth to bellow, only to find a rag shoved unceremoniously into his mouth. He growled, ire filling his veins as Gobber turned away, pulling the curtain shut. The torn fabric didn't go all the way to the ground, leaving Stoick with a clear view of the smithy.

When he got free, and got his hands on Gobber...

A blue and gold Deadly Nadder head stuck it's head into the doorway of the smithy, then carefully stepped in, taking care not to bump into anything in the small building. A crowned pale spectre rode on it's back, white and grey wisps obscuring the figure.

"Gobber!" The spectre greeted the smith with a cheerful voice. The spectre raised an arm, throwing what looked like a bridal veil over their crown, revealing inhuman features covered in glittering blue scales.

"Is good to see you, lassie." Gobber returned the greeting, his voice rolling with affection. The spectre laughed, reaching up for their head and pulling it off-

-Revealing Astrid's smiling face.

Stoick stopped fighting, going lax in surprise. It had been almost two years since he'd last seen Astrid, grim faced and bitter before she disappeared. She seemed to practically glow with happiness now, as she slid off the Deadly Nadder's back, giving a little hop before leaping into Gobber's outstretched arms, giving him a tight hug.

"Good to see you too." Astrid declared, holding him out at arm's length. Stoick could see that she was wearing armour now, covered in scales that matched the Nadder she rode. She wore a skirt, cape, and veil made out of ragged strips of a thin sheer white fabric that seemed to dance in the air when she moved.

The Undead Bride of the Demon was Astrid. Stoick recognised the Nadder now, it was the same one that she'd flown when the Dragon Master had kidnapped Stoick from the Althing.

"What brings ye here?" Gobber asked jovially, the merriment sounding slightly forced. "Not that I'm complaining, but was nae expecting t’see you for another week or two."

A stab of betrayal felt like a knife between his ribs.

"We have news." Astrid bounced and gave a little hip wiggle of delight. It was a gleeful carefree movement that Stoick didn't think he'd ever seen from the usually tacturn lass.

"Hey, wait. No fair." A shadow at the doorway protested, and Stoick found himself growling as he recognized the outline of the Dragon Master and his demonic Night Fury. The Dragon Master swung a leg over his so-called brother's neck, standing upright on his cloven foot and moving towards them. "I wanted to see Gobber's face when you tell."

"Not my fault that you're being slow, my sweet husband." Astrid grinned, giving another skip-hop to give a little kiss to the side of the Dragon Master's scaled helm and Stoick growled, wiggling as he trying to get free, but the weight on top of him didn’t budge.

"Wait a moment." Gobber breathed. "Astrid... Your belly... You cannot mean..." He trailed off, too choked up to speak.

Looking at her in silhouette, he could see what Gobber meant. Astrid's previously flat stomach was curved out in a very distinctive solid roundness.

Astrid was pregnant. And from the casual arm around her shoulders that the Dragon master had around her waist, the babe in her belly was that demon's.

Stoick would kill him. He'd kill him for touching Astrid. He'd rip the foul creature limb from limb, and then he'd get rid of that Night Fury who was sniffing around the room-

All thoughts faded from his mind as the Dragon Master took off his helmet, revealing his face for the first time, and Stoick's breath caught in his throat.

It couldn't be.

The messy brown hair, almost reddish in the candlelight. Green eyes. The fond crooked grin on his narrow face, having finally grown into his ears.

"Hiccup." Gobber said, his voice thick with tears. "Astrid. You've got a wee bairn on the way."

His son. That was his son standing there with an arm around Astrid, the two of them shining with happiness.

His son, the Dragon Master.

"I'm about five months along." Astrid beamed at Gobber, resting comfortably against Hiccup, the two fitting together like matching puzzle pieces.

"We were hoping you'd agree to be the Godfather." Hiccup said, and Stoick didn't know how he hadn't heard it before, in the Dragon Master's dry sarcasm. It was his son's voice, a little deeper than as a teenager, but the nasally tones could only be him.

"Godfather-?" Gobber echoed in awe.

"It's not dependent on if you take up our offer to live with us." Astrid was quick to assure him. "But we'd like you to be. We wouldn't be having a kid if it wasn't for you."

"You got Astrid out of Berk, and you saved my life by taking me under your wing here." Hiccup said sincerely. "We're also open to them calling you 'Grandpa', if that's okay with you."

Grandpa.

Stoick was a Grandfather.

He felt tears prickle the corners of his eyes. He'd never thought he'd have that chance, not after his son went missing. And here his son was, was, healthy, happy, and with a wee one on the way.

"Och." Gobber shook his head. "I couldn't."

"You can." Astrid grinned, reaching out and taking Gobber's hand in hers, scales and claws curling delicately around calloused scarred skin. "We talked to Valka about it. She laughed and said she's fine with it. Someone else to share the responsibility of dirty diapers."

The tears spilled over his cheeks. Valka, his dear sweet Valka was alive as well.

He remembered now, the Dragon Master saying that he had his mother's eyes, and he did. Skies above, he did. Hiccup had always had Valka's clear eyes that seemed to penetrate and see more than anyone else.

"I mean, you did more to raise me than my own father did. It's only fair." Hiccup added without any trace of bitterness as he gestured around the smithy. "All of my fondest memories of Berk are here."

Stoick's breath caught, feeling as if a sword had just been thrust through his chest.

"Someone had to keep an eye on you." Gobber shook his head dismissively. "Otherwise some dragon would have flown away with your toothpick self."

The Night Fury, who had been circling around in the background, stuck it's muzzle under the curtain. The beast sniffed the air for a moment before poking its head all the way into the small room, it's acid green eyes narrowed into slits as it stared at him, a low warning rumble coming from its throat, lips curling back to show a giant maw full of razor sharp teeth.

Stoick stared back, uncomfortably aware of how vulnerable he currently was. The creature could bite off his head in one bite, and there was no way for Stoick to protect himself.

"Oh nooooo. How terrible." Hiccup deadpanned in the background as Astrid laughed. "Carried away by draaagons."

The great weight on top of Stoick shifted and grunted, and he realised that it was a giant heavy dragon that was currently sitting on his back. The Night Fury crooned what sounded like a question to the creature pinning him down, getting a snore-like rumble in return.

The Night Fury glanced back down at Stoick, giving him a look that could only be described as 'scornful' before turning away with a smug expression and trotting back over to his son. Stoick watched as the beast gave an amused warbling at his son, casually headbutting Hiccup, sending him into Astrid, who took a half step to keep them all upright.

"Oh!" She gasped, then took Gobber's hand that she was still holding and pressing it against her belly.

"They're moving!" Gobber gasped. "Oh, they're a fighter, just like their parents."

Stoick's breath caught again. His grandchild. His grandchild was moving.

"The only thing that really settles them down is when the dragons sing to them." Astrid looked amused. "Even if the dragons are confused as to why I haven't laid an egg yet."

The Night Fury gave Stoick a pointed look, then nudged Astrid's belly with it's broad flat nose, giving a soft affection croon, as if to point out that the creature could touch the babe in Astrid’s belly, but Stoick could not. Stoick choked on the gag in his mouth, silently swearing vengeance.

"Which is part of the reason why we stopped by early." Astrid said gravely, and Stoick wondered how much more news he could take tonight.

"Valka says I'm probably fine for flying up until I give birth." Astrid said, wrapping a protective arm around her belly. "But we decided that fighting is out until afterwards. So it may be awhile before I'm back in the area."

"Trapper tried to kick her in the stomach." Hiccup growled, and all three dragons in the room echoed the sound, even the Terrible Terror on Gobber's shoulder. The sound covered up Stoick's own noise of outrage at such an act. "Stormfly stopped them, but it gave us all a bit of a scare."

Astrid nodded, leaning against Hiccup, who looked a little anxious, rubbing his hand up and down the blue scales of her arm. "I can still do air support, but the pregnancy is making me exhausted lately. Which is probably only going to get worse." Astrid looked annoyed. "So we're all going to be staying with Valka at least until I give birth."

"It's not like the Hidden World really needs Toothless and I to guard it." Hiccup said with wiry humour. Stoick blinked, finding he had no more room for shock. Of course Hiccup found the home of the dragons. Of course he had. "But if you did decide to accept our offer to live with us, we didn't want you looking in the wrong place and thinking the worst."

"And Valka promises not to cook in your honour when you do show up." Astrid smirked. And Stoick nearly choked on muffled laughter, aware he was crying again. Valka had never been the best cook, but she tried. And it'd been worth every burnt and raw bite he'd choked down.

"Thank you." Gobber's voice was thick. "But I cannae leave just yet. Your Father needs..."

"I know." Hiccup hastened to assure. He stepped forward, wrapping a clawed hand around the back of Gobber's head, resting his forehead against the blacksmith's. "When you're ready, we'll be there. Even if you're never ready, we just want to make sure you know that there is a place for you."

"You just don't want to be the only one with experience making protestetics." Gobber grumbled, and Hiccup laughed, tapping his cloven foot on the ground, making a ringing sound.

Hiccup's prosthetic foot, Stoick realised, watching the spring inside the metal contraption flex. His son was missing a foot.

And Stoick had no idea when or how it happened.

"You caught me." Hiccup didn't sound angry about it as he released Gobber, more jovial than anything. "But it doesn't make it less true."

"I'll think about it." Gobber promised with the air of having said the same thing many times before, taking the Terrible Terror off his shoulder and transferring it to Hiccup's.

"And I'll teach you how to make Dragon Iron when you do." Hiccup said with a grin, his voice both teasing and cajoling.

Dragon Iron, which the Dragon Master was the only one who knew how to make. Because Hiccup had been a smith since he was six years old, put under Gobber's eye to keep him out of trouble.

"Stop trying to bribe me, you brat." Gobber cuffed him upside the back of his head with a grin. Both Hiccup and Astrid laughed, even if the Night Fury gave Gobber a glare. "Now g'wan. Get out of here before you're seen."

"Yeah, yeah." Astrid rolled her eyes and stood up on her toes to give Gobber a quick fond kiss on the cheek. "We'll see you later, one way or another." She informed him matter of factly before putting her helmet back on and climbing on top of her dragon, settling the veil around her shoulders.

"Take care of yourself." Hiccup clasped Gobber's hand, then pulled the larger smith in for a back thumping hug before releasing him. "And say ‘hi’ to Grump for me, wherever he's snoozing at."

"Will do." Gobber agreed blithely. "Stay safe, all of you."

The Night Fury let out a warble as if to say that it was his job to keep them all safe as Hiccup fastened the helmet back on his head, transforming back to the Dragon Master. The beast gave Stoick one last pointed look as Hiccup climbed in it's back, before turning and heading out of the smithy, both the dragons and their riders losing their relaxed easy going postures.

Astrid followed a few heartbeats later, following Hiccup's soft whistle. There was the sound of wingbeats, and then they were gone.

Leaving the smithy empty aside from Gobber and Stoick. It was with a sinking realisation that he realised he probably wouldn’t get another chance to ever see Hiccup again.

The Dragon Master was essentially Chieftain to the dragons, a role that clearly kept him busy and constantly travelling all over the archipelago and beyond. Stoick knew first hand how busy having a newborn kept one as well. It would be months, if not another year before Hiccup would free to visit Berk. And there would be no way for Stoick to know where or when.

Gobber gave a great big heaving sigh before turning back towards Stoick, his peg leg sounding loud against the ground. Gobber moved the curtain aside, and then knelt down, removing the gag from Stoick's mouth.

"I'm sorry y'had to find out this way." Gobber said softly, and the thing that hurt the most is that he could feel how sincerely his oldest friend meant it.

"How long?" Stoick asked, ignoring the way his voice broke.

Gobber gave a thoughtful hum, reaching up and petting the dragon on top of him. "Almost two years now." He finally said. "I recognized Hiccup's work on the blade the Dragon Master gave Astrid when he returned ya both here. Astrid had suspected as much, it just confirmed it for her."

He'd travelled with his son for an entire day, and Stoick hadn't a clue it was him.

Stoick, who had sworn that he'd be able to recognize his son anywhere, any time, in any place.

Horror went down his spine as he remembered the accusations he'd hurled at the Dragon Master after the dragon had crashed into their camp. Threatening to kill the Dragon Master in order to find his son.

His son, who had been right there. Who had told him while hidden behind a mask, that Hiccup was alive, healthy and happy where he was, far away from Berk.

Away from Stoick.

"About a month after Astrid left, she stopped by for a visit, ta let me know she was fine." Gobber continued, nudging the dragon off of Stoick. The giant creature grumbled as it slowly obeyed, leaving Stoick still shackled and on the ground. "The next visit, she brought Hiccup, and we cried together for nearly an hour."

Gobber paused, checking his pockets for his keys, then started to work on the manacles around Stoick's arms. Stoick had broken through stronger bonds before, but he didn't have the energy in him now.

"They stop by every every other month or so to check in on me, let me know how they're doing, or send a Terrible Terror with a letter." Gobber continued quietly. "Valka's been by once as well, weren't real comfortable here and left just as quick. Too many memories of blood shed."

The manacles released with a click, and Stoick slowly moved his arms, his shoulders protesting having been twisted in such a position. He carefully sat up, turning to face the monster that had been on his back.

And found himself looking at the least dangerous dragon he'd ever set eyes upon, for all its enormous size. It was large enough that it had probably only been it's head that had been resting on Stoick's back, and looked like it was already asleep with its eyes half open.

And it looked like a giant turd. Large, brown, and lumpy.

"This magnificent fellow is Grump." Gobber motioned to the sleepy dragon, with a fond expression. "They left him with me for back up, and so I have a way to meet up with them some time. He's been running the forge fires for me. Never realised how helpful having a dragon in the smithy could be before Hiccup mentioned it, even if the great lump sleeps most of the time."

Grump slowly turned an eye in Gobber's direction, thick club of a tail bouncing a few times as if realising that they were talking about him. He briefly wondered how many months the dragon had been sleeping here and no one had even suspected.

Stoick felt as if everything he had believed in had suddenly been turned upside down and shaken about. Dragons possibly weren't evil. His son was alive. He had a grandchild on the way. Hiccup was the Dragon Master.

"Is he happy?" Stoick asked, mindful of the tears still on his cheeks. "Hiccup?"

Gobber thought it over. "Aye." He finally said, stroking his moustache thoughtfully. "The lad weren't never made for being a Viking. Living amongst the dragons brings him not only comfort, but joy. Astrid and Valka too. Once you've earned a dragon's loyalty, there ain't much that can break it. And the three of them fit among them like they were born for it."

Stoick nodded. "And you?"

"Me?" Gobber looked surprised at the question.

"Will you be joining them?" He had the invitation and the dragon.

Gobber hesitated, looking at the slumbering dragon. "I'd like to." He finally admitted. "Some day. But not any time soon."

Because he was staying here, for Stoick's sake. He'd told Hiccup that clearly enough.

Gobber was his oldest and dearest friend, loyal to a fault, and Stoick couldn't blame him for keeping HIccup's secrets. Not when Stoick's reaction to meeting the Dragon Master hadn’t been nearly so generous, even as he realised that the Dragon Master was only trying to help in his own way.

"You should join them." Stoick said, rising to his feet. Gobber looked like he wanted to protest, and Stoick stopped him with a hand on his shoulder. "When you're ready."

Gobber closed his mouth and nodded. Stoick nodded back, then walked out of the smithy. The cold air hit the tear tracks on his cheeks, and he ignored it, trudging up the hill to his cold empty hut.

He had gotten his wish, to know that his son was not only alive, but thriving. Astrid too. And Valka as well, his wife living amongst dragons for nearly two decades now. He was so elated to know that they weren’t dead.

Stoick wouldn't trade that knowledge for anything, not even with the understanding that the reason for their happiness was that they were living their lives far away from him.

-fin- (no, there are no plans for anything further in this au, but if it sparks something in you, feel free to play.)

#HTTYD #how to train your dragon #stoick the vast #gobber the belch #astrid hofferson #hiccup horrendous haddock iii #toothless #icka fic

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shreddedparchment · 4 years

Text

A Wife for Thor Pt.12

Queen of New Asgard

12/02/2020

Pairing: King!Thor x Reader Word Count: 9,737

Warnings: fluff, cute babies, talks of pregnancy, angst, Avengers shenanigans, talks of sex

A/N: So this one is a bit longer than the rest, I really wanted to make sure that this one was a lengthy treat. I didn’t want to split the chapter into two between getting to the Avengers and then actually meeting them and spending tie with them. I wanted to keep it together. I hope you all like it! I had a lot of fun with it, and mostly, I just really love Thor. I want him for myself. If you happen to reblog, thanks so much for helping me spread my work! xoxo

Please DO NOT repost my stories on other sites or blogs!

REBLOGS are always welcome!

To say you’re a mess would be an understatement.

At least having Thor by your side gives you a small sense of stability, but that doesn’t change the fact that you’re about to meet the Avengers.

Earth’s mightiest heroes.

People so famous that everyone knows their name. Even people in remote parts of the world know they exist.

The sensation of being pulled and gliding through the air in Thor’s arms as the Bifrost glow surrounds you both in your transport is nothing compared to the rolling of your stomach at the thought of saying or doing something stupid in front of Thor’s friends and comrades.

You hold him tighter, loving the way he feels in full armor. Only because it really drives home the fact that he could protect you from anything as opposed to being comfortable.

You’re dressed more simply though not at all casual. The outfit you’re wearing was shoved into your bag with two others in case of official events that might crop up during your honeymoon.

Because dinner with Thor’s teammates is supposed to be a relaxed event, you chose the most unimpressive of the three.

The bodice consists of a one-piece made of leather. Armor would be more accurate in describing it. Though bits of it have been dyed a dark yet also soft gray-purple, others, like the right breast piece and the strip that wraps down around your left side are a natural brown. Textured with a ridged design to compliment the thinner more boned design of the gray-purple section.

Around your waist and laced at the back is another a-symmetrical piece of that natural brown leather, but along the base of it is sewn a long flowing skirt made of a cotton voile base in navy and a sheer silk light blue making the effect of it together like shifting water.

The skirt is left open slightly on the right. If anyone pays really close attention, they’ll see the top of your thigh in the sway. Generally, the dress is appropriate and since this will technically be your first public outing with Thor, it was important you look the part.

Neither of you is wearing a crown. Not necessary really, if it isn’t an official ceremony or event, but you are wearing the large golden pin that Thor had made for you to put on the left breast of your sleeveless gown.

It’s the same interlaced arches that are on your swords with a crown that looks just like your wedding crown at the center where the arches connect.

It shines bright, brand new as it is, and is a symbol of your new status in the world.

A human Queen of Asgard.

It’s safe to say that your name is known from one corner of the Earth to the other which you only just realized when you were doing some research on the time it takes for a body to decompose in a demi-damp environment occasionally exposed to heat. You’d stumbled across a tabloid page with the headline How the New Queen of Asgard Bewitched the God of Thunder.

You hadn’t bothered to read the article because it was clear exactly what kind of reporting they were doing from the picture of you, which someone had pulled from the website of your old school, sitting on Thor’s chest with a photoshopped smirk and glowing red eyes.

There were a few others you read, most of them nice and from official news sources. All of them detailing your tragic childhood and your ascension to wealth. Then your birth ancestry was exposed making you a top candidate for Queen of the Asgardians and in one article for the New York Times, you recognized the pictures of your wedding as you and Thor stared at each other in all of your enamored glory.

Anyone with eyes can see that you love him and in those pictures, you can admit that it helps you feel a bit more secure in Thor’s love to see that he’s looking at you the exact same way. How can he look at you like that and not love you? Or at least be really fond of you?

As the air gets colder, mushy gray snow lining the streets below you, Thor’s body pulls up, preparing to stand as his speed slows.

You feel him step onto the pavement before you do, then slowly he lowers you, large hands so careful with you that you can’t help but look for his eye to see what he might be feeling.

His eyes are not on you though. They’re on the crowd that’s slowly begun to gather.

They’re giving you a wide berth, but they’re stopping to look, and some have pulled out their cell phones to take photos or record video.

You can hear whispers shift through the cold New York winter air, people leaning over to each other in excitement and curiosity. Much like the crowd back in New Asgard had when you’d driven by them to get to your dress fitting and the wedding parade.

You can’t really make out what they’re saying but Thor can, and he wraps his arm around your waist, turns you to face those that are nearest, and waves.

You follow his example and give them as kind a smile as you can, despite the sudden nerves eating at you.

Shit, do you have to say something? Are you expected to?

“Hello everyone. I know most of you have seen her in the papers and on the interwebs already, but this is my beautiful and lovely Queen. My wife, Y/N.” Thor declares, but even your name he caresses with the soft shift in his tone.

“Hello?” You don’t mean it to come out as a question, but it does.

Still, there are a few people that giggle at your reaction.

A sense of calm overcomes those watching, as if finally hearing you speak seems to have burst a bubble.

“Aw yew a pwincess?” A small hand tugs at your skirts and you turn to look down at an adorable little girl with smooth deep brown skin. Her hair is gathered in two small buns, tight braids keep it neat.

All you can really see are her big brown eyes, so wide and full of wonder.

You pull from Thor’s grasp and squat down to be on the toddler’s level. She can’t be more than three.

“She’s my Queen, little one.” Thor explains, squatting down beside you. “Queen of New Asgard. Isn’t she pretty?”

The little girl giggles and nods, then reaches up to touch your own hair which has also been braided, one long in the middle giving it a mohawk look, and several other small braids along the sides to keep it neat while flying.

At least that’s the bit that you remember from this morning.

Thor had pulled you out of bed at four o’clock, led you to a chair in the bathroom and then started messing with your hair. Of course, that sent you right back off to sleep but you remember asking him sleepily at some point why he was braiding your hair and he’d explained that it was to keep it from getting all messy while flying.

That’s the last thing you remember before he was suddenly kissing you awake and then your mind was busy with the delicious way he carried you back to bed and then heartbroken when he said you had only ten minutes more to sleep while he showered.

You’re so tired.

Smiling at the little girl, watching her own joy grow in her eyes gives you new energy and you take her hand and hold it in your two.

“It’s so lovely to meet you…?”

A woman hurries over from the crowd, voice frantic as she seems to have finally spotted her little escapee.

“RUBY!” The poor mother cries, hurrying to her daughter’s side.

“Ruby,” You repeat.

The little girl turns to look at her mother while you keep hold of her hand.

“Wook mama! A Ka-ween!” She giggles and her mother slows, hesitating now that she notices you and Thor.

“Holy shi-” Her mother says, “I’m so sorry.”

Hurrying forward, she takes hold of Ruby’s shoulders and pulls her close, not because she’s threatened by you two or anything. She must be shocked.

You let her hand go as it’s pulled gently, and Thor helps you stand back up. Once you’re standing, he reaches down to take hold of your hand, intertwining his fingers with yours.

“It’s okay.” You shake your head, smiling at the woman as Ruby turns to hug her leg excitedly. “She’s very sweet.”

“She’s a troublemaker. That’s what she is.” The woman counters. “D-Do I have to curtsy or somethin’?”

“Not this time.” Thor tells her, “For having such an adorable child, we’ll give you the curtsy pass.”

He’s joking. Teasing the woman.

“Thor…” You nudge him and he chuckles, amused by you more than his joke. “What he means to say is, yes. Normally you would have to, but he knows I’m already nervous out of my mind so it’s okay.”

The woman looks around behind her, aware of the flashing camera phones and the videos they must be taking. So, she turns back to you and clumsily makes a curtsy.

Little Ruby sees her do it and then turns to you and does an even clumsier version of the same bow.

“Thank you.” You manage to say, voice almost completely deprived of volume from how nervous her attention makes you.

“Yes,” Thor agrees, suddenly serious. “Thank you. Both of you, for the warm New York welcome.”

“It was nothing.” The woman says, dipping down to pick up Ruby. “Say buh-bye, Ruby.”

As they walk away, Ruby twists in her mother’s arms to look over her shoulder at you and Thor and waves.

“Buh-bye!”

“Bye, Ruby.” You wave at her, smiling at her cuteness before you look up to meet Thor’s gaze.

“See, that wasn’t so terrible.” Thor gives you a squeeze. “Just our luck that it was an adorable child to greet you first.”

“She was so cute!” You gush, wishing you could take her home.

Maybe Thor sees the deep want in your own face because he leans in and presses his lips to your temple before resting them softly against your ear.

“Don’t worry, cherub. Soon we’ll have our own little one running around the palace.” He promises.

Even though he means it in an innocent way, the deep tone and intent in his voice is also very clear and if there weren’t a lot of people watching, you’d pull him down for a kiss.

He smirks down at you, almost like he knows that you picked up on that lusty vibe despite his words being sweet.

“You’re not playing fair.” You complain.

Thor chuckles then gives the crowd, which has grown quite a bit, another wave.

“Something to look forward to when we go home.” He reasons.

“Will we get to do everything you want with this crowd around us?” You give them a look and tuck yourself into Thor’s side a little more but wave all the same.

All these eyes on you. Watching you. Listening to every little thing you say?

“I’ll make it possible, cherub.” Thor assures you.

He twirls his hammer, a near replica of the one his sister destroyed before they arrived on Earth and takes a step towards the crowd with the look of someone about to make a speech.

~~~~~~~~~~

When you look at yourself, you still look like you. Still wearing the dress you’d pulled on in the morning. Braids still in place.

Thor is still in full uniform. Still holding his hammer. But as the two of you walk through the city, no one stops to look.

After you and Thor had ducked into that first shop—a bakery that had lured him in by the nose because apparently the breakfast you’d cooked him hadn’t been enough—and emerged freshly fed, none of the people who had stopped to watch you when you'd landed were looking at you as you passed them.

Some of them even looked right at you then away as if they didn’t recognize you.

“It’s magic.” Thor whispers in your ear.

He straightens up, watching you with an amused grin as understanding overcomes your face.

“A trick my mother taught me that Loki has helped me perfect. Would you like us to see what they do? Our clothes, I mean? We’ll still see each other.”

“Sure.” You nod, excited by the proximity of magic to yourself.

Thor gives you a nod. He twirls his hammer, held loose in his right hand and it turns into an umbrella.

His clothes are neat and somewhat formal. More of a business casual with dark pressed trousers, a thick black t-shirt made of a heavy and soft cotton blend. His jacket is coal gray, with just the slightest hint of brown.

You gasp lightly, stunned by the sight of him with two electric blue eyes. No sleek black and gold eyepatch. Just two pretty orbs that blink at the shock on your face.

“What, love?” He worries, reaching down to place his hand on your lower back as the two of you continue down the sidewalk.

“Your eyes.” You shake your head, speechless.

“Oh, yes. Well, it helps me blend in.”

His blonde hair is styled too, a smooth wave of the longer hair along the top of his head. Why is he so pretty?

Thor chuckles.

“You’re not so bad yourself.” He teases, still looking forward.

“I’m staring,” You huff a laugh. “I’m sorry.”

But you give yourself a look and find yourself wearing a chic black pantsuit. More heavy cotton blend fabric from head to toe. It has that waterproof sheen though. Like if you spill something it’ll just roll off. Black long sleeve shirt with a higher than normal collar. It’s just a few inches short of being a turtleneck.

Over that you’re wearing a sleeveless wool trench coat with big black buttons and large pockets. The cut is feminine and left open since it’s cold but not too cold during the day with the sun streaming down.

It’ll be different tonight.

“We have these actual clothes waiting for us at the compound. I had them sent over when Stark told me that I’d be able to bring you for introductions. We can change in my room once we’re there, so we won’t be as constricted.” Thor takes your hand to his lips and gives it a kiss.

“You have a room at the compound? Isn’t it like a military base or something?” You wonder.

“Parts of it. There is a shooting range and a hangar with plenty of planes and jets. A pretty large garage with quite the selection of cars. Maybe we can go for a drive after dinner for some alone time?” He wiggles his eyebrows at you, but you’re still trying to wrap your mind around bedrooms at the compound.

“Do some of the Avengers live on the compound?”

“Yes.” Thor nods, his attention pulled away from his suggestive expression. “Several of them do. Wanda lives there. Captain Rogers, Natasha, Vision, Samuel and Barnes live there now too. Stark has moved out to be with Pepper on some cabin they purchased together a year ago.

“Barton lives with his family, so he doesn’t stay at the compound. And of course, for me it has been a home away from home. The only other person that stays there but doesn’t live there permanently is Banner.

“After we arrived from our journey in space, he took to his lab and slept at the compound for nearly six months before he finally went home. He hasn’t come back to the compound since. Says he’s working on something, but he’s promised to be here for our dinner.” Thor assure you.

Sad to say that you can’t exactly be as excited as he is as the list of names, he just went through looms over you like a test you didn’t study for.

Suddenly he stops, and he waves over at another tall blonde man with storm blue eyes and what looks to be a full beard. His slightly outgrown blonde hair is pushed back, the tresses smooth and silky as he hurries towards you both, brown leather bomber jacket zipped shut over a pair of jeans.

“Oh, you’re dressed up.” He says, but you recognize him and as Thor stops, you find yourself gaping at Captain America. “Maybe I should have picked something nicer.”

“Not necessary. You and the rest of the team are friends.” He takes Captain America’s hand and shakes it before they both meet in a quick hug.

“It’s been too long.” Thor admits.

“Well, you’re a busy man now. King and all that.”

“H-How did you recognize us?” You stutter, focusing on the mystery before you instead of the fact that Captain America is standing right fucking there!

“I let him see us.” Thor explains. “The veil holds only for those I want to shield us from.”

“Oh.” You whisper, not intending to but you have no air in your lungs again.

Thor seems to read your frayed nerves because he reaches around to wrap his arm around your waist and offer you some support.

“Captain Rogers, this is my lovely and very nervous wife, Y/N Y/L/N. Queen of Asgard and if I’m honest, the love of my life.” Thor’s honest gushing, the way he sounds honest and so freaking sincere brings you back to yourself a little and with a squeeze from him, you relax.

“Steve, Thor. Please. I’m not Captain America anymore.” He says, almost as if it’s a reminder.

This confuses you because as far as you know, Steve Rogers is still Captain America.

“I read the e-mail.” Thor says, shaking his head. “I thought perhaps it was a joke.”

“Since when have I ever joked about something this serious?”

“I don’t know, I thought perhaps you might have-”

Steve Rogers turns to you, ignoring Thor for the moment as he holds his hand out and slowly you take it.

“I know I should probably bow, but we don’t want everyone knowing who I’m talking to so, is a handshake okay?”

“Of course!” You say breathlessly as he shakes your hand softly. His grip is firm, but you can tell he’s very aware of not hurting you.

“It’s an honor to meet you,” He begins, then leans in towards you and whispers, “Your Majesty.”

Both of you are left smiling while Thor’s eyes are narrowed at the two of you.

“How do you find married life? Has Thor gotten on your nerves yet?”

You can tell he’s joking because while he’s talking to you, he steals a quick side-eye at Thor to gauge his reaction.

“Not yet. But he does like to eat all of the bacon.” You whisper.

Steve makes a pained look, directing it at Thor, still holding your hand in that gentle handshake.

“That’s a big no-no.” Steve agrees.

“Right?” You press, enjoying the pout on Thor’s lips.

“Alright, Rogers, release my wife’s hand.” He reaches and takes your hand out of Steve’s forcefully, but you and Steve only chuckle.

Thor pulls your hand up against his chest and with his other arm still around your waist, he’s basically got you wrapped up in his arms.

“Come on, everyone’s waiting.” Steve laughs, moving towards a black luxury sedan.

Thor makes to move forward but you pull back, resisting because meeting Steve Rogers was already stressful enough.

Now you have to go meet the rest of them? Can’t you just call it quits now?

“Cherub?” Thor looks at you, the concern pouring from him so overwhelmingly sweet that you give in.

He wants this so badly. It’s so important to him. You’ll also have to do many things from here on out that will make you anxious and stressed.

Suck it up.

“I’m just nervous.” You tell him, as if he can’t already see it himself.

“Thor?” Steve calls from the driver’s side of the car. He’s got the door open, both arms resting against the top of the vehicle.

“A moment, Steve.” Thor says, and for some reason it gives Steve a curious look on his face.

It’s almost as if he’s not used to Thor calling him by his first name.

“You have nothing to be nervous about, my love. You’ve already met Rogers and he’s like one of those dogs with the long ears and the funny long howl when it comes to sensing when anything’s amiss. Clearly, he likes you. You’re perfection, Y/N. You have nothing to worry about.”

Thor’s gushing should make you feel better, and it does a little. But you’re about to meet so many people. All of them important to Thor. What if you say something that makes one of them angry? What if you and one of them—or all of them—just don’t mesh well?

“I just-I-I don’t want to, I don’t know, disappoint you?”

Thor’s face falls into complete adoration. His smile is soft but wide and so pleased. He takes a step towards you, reaching up with both hands to place them on the back of your head, just behind your ears.

“You’ve already made me so proud, cherub. You’re here, standing with your head held high, greeting the people of a foreign country with grace and kindness. You’ve made jokes with one of my closest comrades already. I have every faith that you will continue to outshine me.” He chuckles as you relax a little more. “Do you need a few minutes?”

You shake your head, reaching up to take hold of his wrists. “No.”

“Ready?”

“Yes,” you nod.

Thor slips his hands down, flicking them gently so that he can take hold of both your hands.

He pulls them to his lips and kisses them, never breaking eye contact.

He must lose concentration for his magic because as he kisses your knuckles, his two eyes turn into one as the eyepatch takes its place again.

His regular clothes turn back into his armor and your own dress shifts back into the more Asgardian appropriate attire.

“Uh, Thor?” Steve Rogers insists.

Thor looks at him and with a nod towards his body, Steve Rogers communicates the problem.

You look around and people are stopping their shopping and walking and going about their days to turn and look at the two Asgardian monarchs suddenly standing on the sidewalk in a sweet and affectionate embrace.

“Oops.” Thor smiles at them and gives them a wave while simultaneously taking hold of your hand.

You follow his lead and give them a regal wave and polite smile as he pulls you towards the car. Steve Rogers is already there, holding the back door open for you.

You get in and he shuts the door as Thor moves around to the other side and gets in too.

“You distracted me.” He accuses you, reaching around you to pinch your side.

You give a small scream of laughter then look at the watching crowd with a startled and embarrassed smile, but they’re pleased by the exchange. Some of them taking video and photos. Others just giggling and laughing along with you.

There are a few young women and men who even look envious. And honestly? Who wouldn’t?

You look and Thor and as he chuckles at your reaction to his teasing and the reaction of those watching as Steve Rogers pulls the car away from curb, you can understand their envy because Thor is beautiful and anyone, even if in the end they decide they don’t want to be with him, would be lucky to share in his love.

~~~~~~~~~~

You made Thor promise to keep his hands to himself and you’re already regretting it.

You feel like you’re going to pass out. It’s all wobbly on your legs.

Knees are buckling and you might go down any second.

Thor takes an inch in your direction, but you give him a frown and he clears his throat before going right back to the spot he’d been in.

Both of you stand in a long common room. There are two modern armchairs in a gray almost beige cotton fabric. Two long sofas in an orange sandstone color sit completely occupied.

On the sofa to the right sit two beautiful red heads. One has short shoulder-length hair with pale blonde tips. The other’s long locks in a deeper less vibrant red fall to the base of her shoulder blades.

The brighter red headed woman has a sharp face, with large bright green eyes and eyebrows that start somewhat full on the inner corners and slowly fade into much thinner lines.

They’re perfectly shaped for her face though it does give her a sterner look.

She’s wearing a plain black dress with capped sleeves and a plunging V neckline. Her shoes are simple black flats though, which she taps against the floor as she waits for you to speak. Black Widow is just as fearsome as she looks in the news.

The other woman is much younger, her youthful face round. Her eyes are a pretty soft brown, more inviting though still a little distrustful. This must be Wanda, the Scarlet Witch.

It’s like she’s analyzing every move you make.

Fuck.

Beside her sits a man with peachy skin, short blondish-reddish hair. He looks older than her, but still handsome.

Despite the appearance of his older age, he has hold of one of Wanda’s hands. Fingers intertwined.

They’re together.

Vision, your mind provides.

On the other sofa sits Steve, his eyes kind as he waits patiently for you to be ready. Beside him sits a handsome black man with an exhausted expression.

You can tell that it isn’t directed at you, but he looks tired. Just home from doing some Avengers work, maybe?

Beside him sits a middle-aged man with small streaks of gray at his temples. His face is kind, but he seems like he’s preoccupied. Like he’s got places to be or things to do.

He keeps wringing his hands slowly, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees as he watches you.

On the far armchair is the man himself, Tony Stark. He looks every bit a king in his domain, just like Thor back home in New Asgard.

He owns the place—literally—and everyone knows it just by watching him sit there. He’s inquisitive about you, his mind clearly racing from the look in his eyes.

He’s the most analytical out of everyone. He keeps looking at you from head to toe, every shift in your stance, the way you hold your hands, or the fact that you’re looking each of them over and making your own conclusions catches his attention.

The last person in the room, and the only other one standing aside from you and Thor, is a tall beefy man with shortly cropped dark brown hair. He also looks tired, and he reaches up to rub his exhausted face with his shining black arm etched with golden veins that run through the sleek indestructible metal.

Bucky Barnes, the former Winter Soldier. Though most people still call him that, from what Thor said in your prep when coming is that he’s been fixed?

No, that’s not the right way to phrase that. He’s not a dog. He’s been deprogrammed.

You don’t quite understand what that means, but you realized as Thor spoke that Hydra had done something to Bucky to make him do the things that he’d done. Like brainwashing, though you know nothing about how one gets brainwashed.

It made you sad, that someone would be that cruel and take from someone their identity and all the things that make them who they are. You heart aches for the former Winter Soldier and he gives you the tinies of smiles. Just a soft and subtle gesture of encouragement.

All eyes in the room are on you, and you’re freezing up so you appreciate the figurative extended hand.

When you speak, your voice trembles at first.

“I-It’s so…I’m s-so…”

They stir, sitting up straighter at the sound of your voice.

Get it together! You’re Queen of an entire fucking kingdom!

You clear your throat, and with a quick shallow breath you try again.

“I’m sorry, I’m a l-little nervous. I know how important you all are to Thor and I-I know this was sudden. We were both really sorry that you couldn’t come to the wedding but I’m so glad to meet you now. My name is Y/N, and I…I think that’s it?”

Turning to Thor, you find him smiling wide, singular eye bright. He’s proud and you can see it in the way he pulls his shoulders back and moves back towards you, slipping his arm around your waist.

Both of you are wearing the real versions of his illusion now minus the coats, formal King and Queen garb abandoned in his room.

Thor’s arm is a welcome warmth.

“That was wonderful, cherub.”

“Cherub?” A snarky voice teases, and both of you turn to look at Tony Stark.

“Leave them alone, Tony. I’ve heard some of the things you call Pepper when you think we aren’t listening.” The Black Widow, Natasha, cuts in.

“Like what?”

“Pudding-pop?”

“That’s a good one.” Thor observes. “Can I borrow it?”

“All y’all being really gross.” The new Captain America, Sam, points out.

“You’re just jealous you don’t have your own pudding-pop.” Bucky sighs, moving to the back of the sofa to lean both hands on the seat and look down at his friend.

“When’s the last time you had someone call you pudding-pop, Barnes?” Sam wonders, a clear attempt at a jab.

“Uh…1943? Just after I enlisted.” He answers, no sarcasm or embarrassment about that fact.

“You both need to get a life.” Natasha points out.

��You first.” Sam retorts.

Natasha fixes him with a look of confusion before getting up and moving towards Bucky. For a moment it looks as if she’s just going to pass right by him and into the kitchen behind him, but instead she slips her arm through his metal one and leans against him gently.

“I’ve got one. Don’t I, pudding-pop?”

The silence that follows is heavy but with building energy.

Then the room explodes with exclamations of, “What?!”

“When did this happen?!”

“How long have you two been a thing?”

“Why?!”

With their attention diverted, you relax, leaning into Thor’s embrace as Natasha catches your eye and gives you a quick subtle wink.

“I thought we were gonna wait?” You hear Bucky ask Natasha over the cacophony of voices demanding information, all of them on their feet again too except for Steve who is smiling and hiding it behind his hand.

Obviously he already knew, and it’s also obvious that Natasha revealed her relationship with Bucky for your benefit and to make meeting you the secondary event of this get together and while some women would be pissed that she’s gone and stolen your spotlight, you could not be more grateful.

~~~~~~~~~~

A metallic shoulder rubs against the side of your head and you lean away, gasping because you hadn’t expected the sensation.

You’re greeted with a metallic mask, similar to those of Tony Stark’s Iron Man helmet with slight variations around the mouth. The color is also brushed silver, the body white and red. It shifts to the side a little, away from you but it tips its head down in apology like an old 18th century gentleman.

“I’m sorry. Please, excuse me while I collect your empty plates.” The robot says.

“Sorry about the A.I., Cherub.” Tony says, then gives a quiet whistle. “Hey Bud, why don’t you take the night off?”

Beside you, Thor chuckles at Tony’s new nickname for you. He’s done nothing but call you cherub since Thor did earlier in the night. It’s going to stick, or so Steve had promised.

The A.I. straightens up and puts the plates back down before moving off down the hall and out of sight.

“Bud?” Bruce Banner asks, who insisted you call him Bruce and drop the Doctor and the last name.

You have to keep reminding yourself to do so every time you talk to him. Because you can’t seem to remember, you’ve just chosen not to talk to him until you can.

Tony gets to his feet, moving around the table to lean over you, hand placed on his jacket to keep it from swinging against you.

“B.U.D.” He repeats, each letter on its own. “Buggy and Underdeveloped. I’m working on it. I’ve got their manners down. Jarvis quality though not as reliable. Vision is helping me work out the kinks.”

“I do what I can.” Vision says, Wanda reaching around to massage the back of his shoulders.

“You’ve made all the improvements. Tony had them calling us dickheads that one week before he asked for your help.”

“It was a typo!” Tony moves around to Natasha’s plate and piles it on top of yours, then Bucky’s who mutters a nervous thanks which Tony also mutters back a somewhat stiff approval.

You’re not given much time to notice their exchange before Thor’s hand finds your thigh under the table and he gives it a gentle squeeze.

“Are you alright?”

“Yes.” You smile at him, reaching down to take his hand. “Just surprised. I’ve never been around artificial intelligence of that caliber.”

“Don’t worry, Cherub. You’ll be used to it soon. You’ll be getting an upgrade at that pretty space cottage of yours pretty soon.” Tony says, grabbing a few glasses one at a time as he moves around the table.

“I’ll help you, Stark.” Thor suddenly says and releases your hand to move around the table and grab the other plates and glasses.

Why does he call him by his last name? Habit maybe?

“Thanks,” Tony nods.

“Space cottage?” You’re not sure what he means.

“Yeah, that big wooden house you all call a palace?” Tony clarifies.

“Oh,” Silly way to look at it. “There’s steel too.”

Tony smirks, “Well, I’ll be sending some people over to get a security system installed and an advanced satellite scanner to catch any movements that might come in from—up there. With this new threat that-”

Thor coughs loudly, dropping a glass that makes a terrible shattering glass sound against the black tabletop. Bucky catches the glass and holds it still then offers it up to him again.

Tony meets Thor’s singular eyed gaze who shakes his head minutely.

“-which I guess you’re not supposed to know? Whoops.” And with that he turns and leaves the room.

You look at Thor and find him watching you, then he quickly turns and follows Tony out of the room.

Whenever you’ve read in the past that someone sees red, you’d always suspected that it was metaphorical. However, you see red as your brain short circuits and all you can feel is a level rage.

The one thing you’d asked of Thor was that he won’t keep secrets from you and here is one, not even a week after your wedding!

“Don’t worry.” Natasha interjects, getting up from her seat. “When it’s worth knowing about, Thor will tell you. He just doesn’t want you to worry.”

Your frown only grows. You can’t seem to get your sudden temper flare under control.

“You’re upset.” Steve notices, getting up when everyone also starts to rise. “Why?”

You follow their example and get to your feet, pushing your chair under the table before following them into a smaller living room space just off the main common room while trying to quell your anger.

The living room is mostly white and gray with a long sectional that is full of red pillows.

“Because I’m Queen of New Asgard.” You point out, speaking a little more firmly than you mean to.

Steve gestures to the seat at the edge of the sectional and you take it, swallowing hard as you shove some of that upset down into your tummy so that you won’t lash out at the very nice people that Thor sees as family.

“You are.” Steve agrees. “No one would argue that you aren’t.”

Does he not get it?

“He might not want me to worry, but I have a responsibility to the people of New Asgard. If something is happening that might affect them, I need to know.” You cross your arms across your chest, huffing lightly and letting that be the peak of your temper.

You don’t want to fight with Thor here in front of everyone.

The reaction isn’t what you expect.

Sam, who is sitting on the floor at the bend in the sofa leaning against it as the weight of his sleepiness begins to take over, whistles.

Long and slow.

Bucky chuckles as Natasha settles beside him, her arms crossed across her chest as she leans back into his arm.

They don’t look together even if they are, just comfortable. Bucky’s arm curves a little more for her and is the only giveaway that there’s more between them than friendship.

She smirks. On the sofa beside you, Wanda leans forward to try and get a look at your pouting face, her red curtain of hair falling over her shoulder. Vision is standing by the TV looking at a collection of records to put on a turntable that sits ready and empty.

Dr. Ban-Bruce isn’t anywhere in sight.

Steve settles in beside Wanda but closer to Sam, leaving enough room for Vision to sit when he’s finished with the music.

“Thor said you had some bite.” Natasha shares, “Said something about you standing up for Loki? What’s that about?”

You feel your cheeks burn, neck too. With a shrug, you drop your arms and clutch at the fabric of your pants by your knees.

“Yeah, dude’s pretty psycho,” Sam adds.

“Sure, yeah, because a bunch of people dressing up in costumes and going around fighting crime and otherworldly forces are completely sane.”

Shit, did you seriously just say that?

There’s a beat of silence, then, “She sounds very sensible. Now that I’ve had some time with it, I think the cape might have been a touch too far.”

Everyone chuckles, and you turn to look at Vision who finally picks an album and slips it in place.

“Sorry,” You offer, hesitating a moment before you decide to explain yourself. “Loki has been nothing but kind to me. And calling him a psycho offends me. I know you all and the rest of the planet, have issues with him and what he did…so did I, but he’s trying. And he’s family now…like you all…so…”

Your words trail off as you turn to look for Thor, but you can still see him across the common room in the kitchen, exchanging hushed words with Tony and it’s starting to rile you up again. What’s coming? What’s so important that Thor has brought in the Avengers too?

“What did Thor call it?” Bucky asks Nat.

“Bite.” Steve tells him, “She’s got bite.”

“I’d say it’s more like a sting. But she’s right. I don’t think any of us here can judge someone by their past. At least I can’t.” Bucky nods.

“Or me,” Nat agrees.

“Or me,” Wanda smiles.

And then the music starts. Vision turns, hands behind his back as he also smiles at the general pleasantries.

“Taylor Swift?” Sam demands, “Really?”

Vision’s smile vanishes and he gives him nice wide eyes of surprise, “I’ve never heard this one before.”

“Excuse me.” You get up and move towards the kitchen, determined to get an explanation while the room behind you continues to argue the merits of Vision exploring different musical avenues.

“Whose album even is that?” Sam demands.

Steve clears his throat, “I think you should both get some sleep. I want a debrief first thing in the morning. I might not be Captain America anymore, but I’m still running this show.”

“Don’t try to change the subject, you’ve never accepted the boss mantle until now. Which other albums do you have in your room that you’re too afraid to share?” Nat adds.

“Hey, I have no shame in my musical taste.” Steve defends.

As you near the kitchen, the open spaces separated only by two large circular pillars and a sleek concrete counter island, you slow as their quiet conversation begins to reach your ears. It wasn’t necessarily that you’re trying to eavesdrop…but they’re not talking about what you expected them to be talking about. So, you freeze.

Too nervous to move, forward because what the hell? Or back, because they’ll no doubt hear your retreat.

Where’s the talk about threats to the kingdom and planet? No, you get a nice dose of fear and jealousy instead.

“You only knew her for a week before you married her?”

“It was arranged. All of you knew this. I explained it the last time we met.”

“I get that, but what-” You can hear the hesitation in Tony’s voice.

Despite the fact that he knows he probably shouldn’t bring it up, he throws his dishtowel on the counter and turns around to lean against it as Thor’s hands continue to sift through the dishes, washing them slowly. “What happened to Foster? Weren’t you two pretty hot and heavy? Last time you brought her here-”

“Jane has other priorities.” Thor cuts him off, clearly still hurt from his breakup with Jane.

You hate the sound in his voice. Why does he have to be so clearly heartbroken?

“That’s all I get?” Tony asks, waiting and leaning in a little closer to Thor.

“What else would you have me say? It was hard to leave her. And if I’m honest, I still find myself thinking about what life might have become if she’d been ready to settle down.”

What?

You take a step back, wanting to get away from this horrible conversation you wish you hadn’t accidentally run into. Retreat being heard be damned!

But then, “Cherub?”

It’s Tony, a smirk in his voice as he turns to help Thor dry the dishes he sets aside.

“She is my angel.” Thor smiles, just a teeny upturn at the corners of his lips as he steals a glance at Tony.

Your heart gives a painful clench at the love that you’ve been seeing in his eye pour through in his voice.

“A celestial creature sent to me by fate. I had no knowledge of the capacities of love. I’ve only ever found love as I found Jane’s. We were met by chance, and the attraction was clear and instant. Intention as well. With my cherub, things though they grew quickly, were harder to find. I had to look past my own melancholia to see that she was there waiting for me.”

“She does look like she’s completely lost it.” Tony nudges Thor aside because he’s taking so long and takes over the washing.

“I hope you mean lost her heart to me?”

“What else? Her mind? Though why anyone would agree to rule an entire country is beyond me.”

“She’s brave.” Thor boasts, body completely relaxed. “I’ve never known anyone with her courage. The first night of our engagement she demanded that I be honest with her, even if I decided to keep Jane as a mistress.”

Tony looks at him, eyebrow quirked as he asks a voiceless question.

“Which of course, is out of the question. I entertained the thought for a bit, I can’t deny it. At the very beginning as I was making my plans to go leave Jane, to end things permanently so that I could do right by Y/N and really try to make our marriage something lasting—I wanted to keep Jane at my side by any means necessary.

“Imagining a life without her was painful and I hate to admit that I had every intention in those last moments before I saw her to ask her to be with me even after I was married.” Thor confesses, sounding torn between guilt and desperation.

You remember seeing that desperation in him before he’d gone to see Jane.

Even after his proposal to you, even after those earth-moving kisses, he’d wanted to keep Jane at his side.

Of course, he did. You shouldn’t be surprised by that. He and Jane had shared so much before you came into the picture. Before you were forced in if you’re honest.

Still, it hurts, and you hate hearing it.

For a second time, you take a step back, wanting to leave.

But then, “What changed your mind?”

Thor sighs heavily, exasperated, exhausted by something.

He crosses his large arms across his chest, black shirt straining against his biceps and pecs. He’s so massive. Standing next to Tony only accentuates that fact.

“It took her two hours to make time to speak with me, and another three before she stopped explaining her work on energy spikes in some far East quadrant of space to let me even bring up the fact I was officially engaged to someone else.

“The only reason I was able to hold off for so long is that she would come and kiss me every twenty minutes to promise that she’d be done soon.”

You hate that.

“It was the waiting around after three months of having seen her last and six months since we’d been together. I just couldn’t stand the thought of that always being my life. As much as I loved her, I didn’t want to spend my marriage waiting for a woman when another had already assured me of her commitment to rule at my side as wife and Queen.”

“Is that the only reason you’re so into your Cherub? Because she obviously likes you?”

“No.” Thor shakes his head, “No, there are many things about Y/N that draw me to her. Most of them I’ve discovered since I made the choice to really let Jane go. When I came home that night, she was there to lure me back from the pit I’d crawled myself into by telling Jane goodbye.”

Tony stops washing to fix Thor with a knowing gaze. He scoffs then turns back to his washing.

“So, the sex is good, is what you’re saying?”

“The sex is very good. Incredibly good. I have no complaints about our physical chemistry. In fact, it’s better than with Jane or anyone else I’ve ever been with. I’m not sure what it is, but we are very well suited in the bedroom. She has such vigor, such desire. I am never in no doubt of her want of me. It’s so good that I almost didn’t want to bring her here because then I’d have to give up an entire day of having her to myself wrapped up in nothing but her bedsheets.”

“Alright, I think I get the picture.” Tony holds up one soapy hand to stop Thor’s bragging. “So, she sleeps with you and makes you feel better. Jane makes you wait, so you end it for good. Did you at least give her a proper goodbye?”

Thor is silent, and this time, you don’t want to know. You’ve already guessed and have been suspecting that this is very much the case, but you don’t want the confirmation.

If that’s what happened when he went to see Jane, you don’t want to know. Even if it happened before you two were married and really together, it happened when you were already in the picture and your heart was already being swayed.

Stepping out from behind the large round pillar, one hand resting against the smooth black curve, you watch Thor think about Tony’s question, tilting his head up to look across the room towards the living room space where the Avengers are now laughing about who the hell knows what.

He sees you and his face loses color.

“Thor?”

“What’s the matter?” He asks, a small bit of panic in his voice.

He moves towards you and you move towards him, meeting halfway.

“Did you hear?” He knows, probably because of whatever is on your face that’s making him panic.

His large hands are already pushing your numerous braids back, throwing them over your shoulders gently so that he can place his hands on your neck.

“Thor,” You repeat, this time getting a hold of yourself and reaching up to grab his wrists and pull his hands down away from your face. “What’s coming?”

This is why you’d come in here, and this is what you’ll insist on knowing. Fuck everything else they were talking about. You don’t want to know, and you don’t care what happened or what Thor felt before both of you exchanged vows.

“What?”

He seems stunned by the shift of topic, despite the agony that you’d momentarily been in. His voice even cracks a little, too shocked by the change.

“The new threat,” You clarify. “This new thing that we need satellites back home for? What is it? What’s happening? I know that you probably don’t want me to worry or want to protect me or maybe you’re still thinking of me as a civilian? But I’m Queen of our kingdom, Thor. If something is coming for us, I deserve to know. I need to know what’s coming if I’m going to help you protect our people. It’s my job and I can’t do it if you don’t let me.”

“Cherub’s got a point.” Tony adds, and claps Thor on the shoulder before gathering up a tray and makes his way out of the kitchen and towards the others with a bottle of beer for each of them.

“You’re right.” Thor nods, reaching to take your hands and he pulls them up to his lips kiss away the pain that he must have seen you feeling.

He seems to know though that you don’t want to focus on that and so he doesn’t bring it up.

You can tell he wants to though. He really wants to talk about what was just said in this kitchen.

“Yes, you’re right, you should know and I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner. I didn’t want you frightened or worried when you didn’t have to be, but you’re right. As Queen, you have every right to know what might be coming. But can’t we wait to talk about it until later? Tonight perhaps? When we’re alone?”

You don’t want to agree. You want to make demands of him and make him tell you everything right now. However, you also know that you’re a little angry about what you overheard and that’s probably why your pulse is pounding in your throat, heart ramming itself against your ribcage.

“Fine.” You huff then turn to move back into the living room.

“Hey,” He coaxes you back, voice low and deep so that the others won’t hear him.

He catches your wrist and pulls you back gently.

“Did you hear us? Because if you did, when I went to leave Jane I-”

“I don’t wanna know, Thor. If you slept with her, I don’t want to know.” You sigh, stomach clenching painfully. “You did what you have to do. It’s not like you and I fell in love in any kind of traditional way. We were forced together and now we’re married. I’m not stupid.”

“Of course you aren’t, and as true as all of that is, I don’t like the way you’re talking about it.” Thor agonizes, wrapping his arm around your waist to pull you closer and further into the kitchen out of view of the others. “You’re acting as if I don’t love you, or as if it’s a farce. I love you, cherub. It happened quickly, but it is real.”

“I know that, Thor,” It’s nice to hear though, because you’re seriously feeling weak in the confidence you’d spent every night since your wedding building.

For a bit there, you’d believed wholeheartedly that Thor loves you. You still do…but the realities of Jane and how quickly he’d had to end that relationship with her because he had to marry you to give his people a Queen have been brought to light and ruptured the bubble of your new marital bliss.

It’s also suddenly very clear to you that he must still love Jane very much. Even if he loves you too. There’s no way he can move on this quickly.

“You don’t look like you do. You look sad and it’s putting knots in my stomach, love. Please don’t doubt me now.”

Fuck!

You lean forward, shoving your forehead against his wide chest. You wrap your arms around his waist and fist the back of his shirt as he brings his hands up to the sides of your head. You can feel his lips against your scalp, kissing against the large middle braid that goes down along the back of your head.

“This is so hard.” You admit, hating your jealousy.

“I wish I could take all of your strife.” He kisses your head again, an audible smack. “I’m sorry I’m the one making it for you.”

Both of you knew that this would be tricky.

“I swear to you, cherub, it’s only you. You are the only woman I want and the only being in the universe that I want to bear my children.” His words are full of truth and you look up at him to find that same honesty in his gaze.

It’s pained and sorrowful and you hate it.

“I shouldn’t have listened.” You pull yourself up against his body and push yourself up with puckered lips.

Eagerly he leans down to meet your lips with his own but he shifts his head to the side to deepen the peck you’d wanted to leave you in no doubt as to his devotion, or at the very least, his passion.

He leans down to wrap his arms around you and press you up against the side of the pillar.

“Thor…” You whisper when he pulls back to tilt his head the other way. “We’re guests here.”

The reminder cools him down and he places his hands on your hips instead while you tickle the hairs on the back of his neck.

“We should get back to your friends.”

Thor sighs heavily, hating this idea, but he knows you’re right.

He reaches up to take hold of the back of your neck, squeezing it possessively before he leans down to give you one more quick kiss.

“Tonight, I will leave you in no doubt as to my devotion and love. I promise.”

His declaration takes your breath away, and apparently Bruce’s too as he sputters a cough around his own beer as he freezes on the other side of the kitchen by the fridge where another large round pillar lines a different entrance opposite the side you’re both standing on.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to interrupt.” Bruce says, reaching up to wipe at the beer dribble around his mouth.

Thor takes his hands back and you slip out from between him and the pillar then make your way back towards the living room feeling flushed.

As you walk back in, observing the room, Steve and Vision are currently playing an apparently rousing game of Connect Four on the floor while Nat and Bucky sit cuddled up on the far corner of the sectional, talking quietly but also giving the two battling on the floor the occasional glance.

Wanda is on her phone, typing away quickly with a beer held between her thighs. Sam is standing by the records, despite his previous griping, nodding his head as Taylor Swift’s 22 fills the space.

Tony is on his own phone, standing in the far corner of the room with a sappy smile on his own face which tells you he’s probably talking to his own wife, Pepper Potts, who couldn’t make it tonight due to a work engagement.

All of them have a beer around them or in hand, and as you make your way towards the bend in the sectional feeling a little like you’re intruding, just as your back hits the sofa a cold bottle meets your cheek.

You jump a little but turn to look and Tony holds out a sealed bottle for you.

“You okay with import? Or do you want domestic?” He asks, holding his phone to his shoulder, brows drawn together as he waits for your answer.

“This is fine, thanks.” You take the bottle and then give him a quick smile.

“Good, because then I’d have sent you down to get your own.” He assures you, but a voice from his phone calls his name and he hurries away again, phone pressed to his ear.

You look at the bottle of beer in your hands, wondering if the top is a twist but when you go to turn it the ridges hurt your hand and you stop instantly.

Just as you’re about to lean over and ask Bucky to open the bottle for you, the sectional dips beside you and heat envelops your shoulder and side as Thor sits right beside you.

“It sounds like excuses to me.” He says, looking at Bruce who sits down beside him with a bit more space allowed between them.

“It’s not an excuse,” Bruce insists. “I’m working on something that needs all of my concentration. I’ll come visit soon, I promise. I’m going to be coming with Tony for the security system installation so, I’ll get to see the palace then.”

“Thor?” You hold the bottle up for him and he takes it from you, kissing the side of your head before he simply flicks the top with his thumb and it flies off and falls right on Steve’s head.

“Hey,” He complains, but then gets distracted as Vision connects his four red chips.

“I win.” Vision declares.

“Damn,” Steve concedes. “You got me. Go again?”

Vision dumps the chips, and they start splitting them up.

“Here you are, cherub.” Thor hands you back your beer, and you take a quick drink before settling in against Thor’s side a bit more comfortably as he gives you a squeeze but continues to chat with Bruce.

#king!thor x reader #thor x reader #arranged marriage au #royal au #a wife for thor #king!thor x reader fanfiction #king!thor x reader fanfic #king!thor x reader fic #king!thor xyou #thor x reader fanfiction #thor x reader fanfic #thor x reader fic #thor x you #thor odinson x reader #marvel fanfiction #marvel au #a wife for thor pt12

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august-bleeds-red · 4 years

Text

Texas Heat (Part Two)

Alpha!Tommy x omega!Reader (AFAB). When you find yourself trapped within the Hewitt family’s web of murder, violence and pain, the last thing you expect to do is fall in love.

Warnings: implied non-con, gore. NSFW in later chapters.

Part One / Part Two / Part Three

Dinner that night is stew.

You help Luda cut the vegetables, but the meat is already simmering in the pot by the time you come down. Thomas is nowhere to be seen, and when you ask where he is, as casually as possible, Luda answers with a sly grin.

“Oh, he’s probably workin’ down in the basement. Often doesn’t eat ‘til later, ‘specially when we have guests. He’s awful shy, you see.”

You don’t mention the way he’d stared at you upstairs – more domineering and intense than anyone else you’d have described as “shy”.

“I hope you don’t mind me asking—” you begin to say, but she’s already nodding, clearly anticipating your next words.

“His face?”

You nod. Setting down the knife she’s using to slice the carrots, she adjusts her spectacles and glances towards the door you presume leads to the basement.

“He’s awful sensitive about it. We don’t usually talk about it, but I don’t want you to be makin’ any nasty judgements ‘bout him.”

“Of course not, I wouldn’t.”

She pats your arm and continues chopping the carrots. “I found him when he was just born. Some cruel no-goods had left him to die in a trash can. Lord knows what filthy things he was exposed to in there before I took him home. He started gettin’ skin complaints when he was a boy. Real bad. The other kids used to tease him for it, call him ‘diseased’. Got too much for him so he took a knife and . . .” She presses the tips of her fingers to her mouth and shakes her head. “Sorry, still gets to me.”

“I understand,” you say, your heart aching empathetically. “I’m sorry.”

She pats your arm again and sighs, “You’re a good girl, Y/N.”

For some reason, she says this with a note of sadness which makes you uneasy again. You don’t have long to dwell on it, though, before Hoyt enters the room.

“How’s that stew comin’ on, Momma?” he asks jovially.

You help set the table and bow your head respectfully while Hoyt says Grace, accepting your bowl of stew with a grateful smile. The meat is tender, with an unusual flavour you can’t quite place. You figure it must be some kind of game animal you’ve not tasted before, or herbs mixed in with the broth. It’s good, whatever it is. You help yourself to the cornbread Luda offers you and try not to be disconcerted by the way Monty is staring at you.

He’s just a dirty old man, you try and convince yourself. Ignore him.

Though it’s not that late by the time your plate is cleared, you claim tiredness and go upstairs to your tiny room. Closing the door behind you, you wish there was some kind of furniture you could prop against it; the chest of drawers is far too heavy for you to move inconspicuously. You don’t feel quite comfortable enough to change into the camisole you usually wear for sleeping, so decide to remain in your shorts and T-shirt. One night won’t hurt. You brush your teeth in the tiny sink, making a mental note to rinse your toothbrush with clean water before using it again, and curl up on top of the blanket. The air is thick and humid, and you’re soon wishing you could just sleep naked. Your own scent hangs heavy in the air and you curse your time of the month. Even with the precautions prescribed to you, your heat was always strong, but it never has this much of a toll on you. You remember your first – you were ten, an early bloomer, and it had hit you at summer camp. It was the height of August, and the counsellors had found you whimpering in a corner of the dorm, hugging a pillow and grinding frantically against it.

That was the last time you went to camp.

Could it be because of Thomas? Is that why your body is reacting so strongly?

Growling in frustration, you reach for your bag and grope inside for your pills. The doctors only advise taking three pills in a single day under extreme circumstances, but being under the same roof as an alpha as intimidating as Thomas Hewitt strikes you as pretty damn extreme. It takes you almost three whole minutes to realise the awful truth – the pills aren’t there. You know you put them back in the inside pocket earlier, the same place you always do. They’re definitely gone.

Your heart starts pounding and you feel that prickling sense of danger creep over you again. It would have been easy for Hoyt, Monty, or even Thomas to come in here and take the pills while you were downstairs helping Luda. Which means they know. Perhaps you were kidding yourself that you could lie to them.

You decide not to take any chances. Even without your car, there was no way you could stay here. Your parents would understand. Perhaps you could even call the cops when you got to the next town and ask them to fetch it for you. Gathering your belongings as quietly as possible, you open the door just a crack and peer out down the darkened hallway. All is still. You manage to make no sound all the way to the top of the stairs, taking care not to step in the centre of each step as you tiptoe down.

You’re almost at the door when you hear it – a low, keening moan.

You turn glacially slowly to look at the basement door. You could kid yourself that it was a dog, but you know in your bones that’s not the case.

“Please . . .” the voice calls plaintively. A girl. “Help me . . .”

Fear washes over you like a bucket of ice water. You should go – you know you should go. The door is right in front of you.

“Pleeeeease . . .” the voice sobs.

Your parents’ faces swim before your eyes. You think of what they’d suffer were you to never come home. You brother, your sister, your friends . . .

“Oh God, help me . . .”

“God damn it,” you whisper through gritted teeth. With a quick glance upstairs, you tread as light as a spider down the corridor towards the basement. The girl’s voice gets louder – it’s definitely coming from down there. The door is unlocked when you twist the handle, pulling it towards you just enough to slip inside and down the rickety steps beyond. A large pool of water is gathered at the foot of the stairs, too large for you to avoid. You wince as the damp soaks through your sneakers and socks.

Two large hunks of meat are hanging from hooks along the wall. You think they may have once been pigs, though the head and limbs are all hacked away. You find the girl – a petite blonde in a short blue dress – on a filthy mattress, roped to a pipe in one corner of the room. She looks as though she’s been there for days, weeks, even. Her skin is bruised, and you can tell by her frightened scent that she’s a beta. You can also smell Hoyt’s potent musk on her – in her hair, in the smears of congealed fluid between her legs.

She smells you before she sees you, eyes searching disbelievingly in the half-dark. You quickly stifle her mouth with your hand before she cries out.

“Keep quiet, okay?” you hiss. You pick at the tightly-knotted rope, breaking a fingernail in your attempt to untie it. “Fuck.”

“Oh God,” she gasps.

“Shh, it’s okay, I’m gonna—”

“NO!” she screams, her body falling into a fit of panicked flailing. Her eyes are big and brimming with fear, staring over your shoulder.

The scent reaches you just before Thomas’s fingers do.

You duck and back away from the captured girl, who continues screaming like she’s being sliced apart. Every nerve in your body is yelling at you to flee, to fight, to do anything besides what you are doing – which is staring like a deer in headlights up at Thomas approaching you. His scent is almost overpowering, and despite the terror seizing you, you feel a warm stream of slick trickling down the inside of your thigh.

He gives a sharp intake of breath and rumbles deep in his chest. Your knees tremble, and you unconsciously breathe in the heady aroma surrounding the enormous man. Your breath shudders as it leaves you. Your instincts are commanding you to stay, to submit, to give yourself to this alpha; you can already feel your body leaning into him.

The basement door slams open and Hoyt’s angry voice preceeds his heavy footsteps.

“Nuff of this dang caterwauling, some of us’re tryin’ to sleep!”

He stops dead at the wall of scent surrounding you, and a sly grin takes over his rugged features. “Well, lookee here.”

Reaching inside his pocket, he pulls out a small foil strip that you recognise instantly.

“Guess somebody’s not just a plain ole beta after all, huh?”

“You asshole,” you spit, your disdain for Hoyt overriding your lust for just a moment.

“That’s not very polite now, is it?” he says. He moves casually towards the whimpering blonde, who stares in terrified anticipation up at him. He reaches down and strokes her hair, and she cringes away from his touch. “Tommy, why don’t you teach this little bitch a lesson in manners?”

Thomas takes two short strides towards you, but you dart out from under his grasp and sprint towards the stairs. The girl you’re abandoning screams after you, but all you can think of now is to escape, battling the nagging tug at the back of your mind that’s still desperately reaching out for Thomas.

You somehow make it up the steps and through the door, your footsteps crashing on the boards as you fly down the hall. You throw your entire weight against the front door, splintering the wood surrounding the lock as you burst out into the night.

You breathe in lungfuls of air as you sprint across the field, heading for the road. You’ve never been a fast runner, but the adrenaline pumping through your veins has you practically leaping like a gazelle. Your feet catch on stones and loose earth, threatening you with a fall, but you just manage to keep your balance. The sound of pounding footsteps behind you sends a sharp spike of fear into your gut, and if you weren’t running you may have vomited.

You vaguely recognise another sound – a deep, mechanical roar – but you don’t want to risk glancing over your shoulder to see if it is what you think. He’s getting closer, you can smell him, you can hear his laboured breathing, you can feel his fingers grasping at your hair—

He overshoots you by a good ten strides when you fall to the ground, scraping your hands and knees on hard soil. Turning to face your supine form, he brandishes the growling chainsaw clutched in his massive hands.

You’re dead. You must be. How can you possibly expect any other outcome from this situation? Scrambling to your knees, you try to rise, but the metal teeth of the chainsaw brush too close; you can almost taste your own blood. Thomas’s eyes, black with rage, focus on you. His chest is heaving, his muscular arms flexing as he prepares to deal the killing blow—

“Alpha!” you shriek, the word spilling from your tongue before you can recognise its meaning. “Alpha, please!”

He freezes, arms aloft, staring down at you in surprise and disbelief.

You crawl forwards, reaching out a shaking hand to touch his booted foot. “Please . . . p-please don’t kill me.”

He glances up towards the house. You can tell he’s not used to making decisions without approval, but Hoyt isn’t here to spit poison in his ear.

“I’ll . . . I’ll be yours.” You can’t believe the words you’re saying. “Please, alpha . . . you can have me. I’ll do whatever you want. Just don’t kill me.”

He steps back and shakes his head angrily, but not in refusal – more like he’s trying to rid your honeyed words from his head as a bull might dislodge a persistent fly. Taking your life in your hands, you slowly rise to your feet and proffer your sweating hands towards him; the scent from your wrists glands is strong, unavoidable. The chainsaw powers down, and his arms slowly fall to waist-height. You take careful hold of one wrist and detach his fingers from the chainsaw handle. Keeping your gaze locked with his, you part your dry lips and press the flat of your tongue against his own wrist, licking a long, slow stripe. His skin is salty with sweat, the musk beneath deep and earthy, hitting the back of your throat like spice. You feel a shudder pass through his body and go one step further – baring your teeth just enough to nip the tender, swollen skin. The chainsaw falls heavily to the ground as he grabs you, one hand twisting the skin of your wrist, the other securing the back of your neck, fingers knotted in your hair. You stare up at him, heart dancing, skin tingling, fear and lust seeking dominance in your stomach. His teeth are bared behind the gap in his mask, his brow furrowed in bewildered rage and desire. You lift the hand still free from his grip and, as tenderly as though handling a baby sparrow, touch the gland at the nape of his neck. The skin is raised and warm, and his eyes close almost in reverence at the contact.

“What in Lord’s name’re you doin’, boy?!” Hoyt’s furious voice startles you both. He’s hurrying up behind you, shotgun under one arm, glaring between you and Thomas.

In a swift, one-handed movement, Thomas pulls you flush against his body, your nose filling with the metallic scent of blood imbedded in his apron – which, it occurs to you, is undoubtedly human blood.

Hoyt stops in his tracks, assessing the situation before him. You, pliant and submissive in Thomas’s arms; Thomas, dominant and possessive, ready to protect you from the threat Hoyt poses. The older man sighs, chuckling softly.

“Well, I’ll be damned.” Swinging the shotgun to rest on his shoulder, he shakes his grizzled head. “Y’sure, Tommy? She’d taste mighty sweet with Mama’s hot biscuits.”

Thomas’s grip tightens and you whimper – he’s about to break your wrist. His fingers immediately loosen, and you see a flash of what could almost be called concern cross his face. Hoyt rolls his eyes and turns, heading back towards the farmhouse.

“Come on, then.”

Before you can protest, Thomas sweeps you up into a bridal embrace, pressing your body against his broad chest. Tears prick your eyes as you’re brought back to the place you fought so hard to escape from. As you’re carried over the threshold, Hoyt shoots you a nasty grin.

“Welcome to the family, Little Miss Omega.”

Comments are greatly appreciated because I’m a needy little trashbag.

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