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hitlikehammers · 2 months

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bring him home

rating: t ♥️ cw: Eddie in the Upside Down,; Steve on what he thinks is a retrieval mission for his body (it's not); Eddie Munson Lives; Kas!Eddie (ish) ♥️ tags: established relationship, secret pre-S4 relationship, post-S4, presumed dead (Eddie), mourning and heartbreak (Steve), happy ending (because Eddie is alive, ofc), soul-deep love

for @steddielovemonth day twenty-four: Love is the only thing we can take with us (@thefreakandthehair)

oh hey look, another day I didn't intend to write at all ♥️ but then @pearynice was intrigued by a stray half-baked idea and I struggle to not at least try to provide content in such instances ♥️

He’s only thought it since, since, but he’s actually kind of grateful no one knew. That no one could even have guessed. They’re on eggshells around him enough as it is, thinking it’s the loss, finally, that he couldn’t walk them back from, couldn’t recover them allfrom safe if not wholly sound. They think he’s dealing with survivor’s guilt or just the general blow of a failure so immense, maybe long overdue: and that’s probably part of it.

But only because it’s part of the bigger thing. The real loss.

They would have been together nearly ten fucking months, y’know; the better part of a whole goddamn year since that day at the mall, eyes catching and something just…clicking. Like the barest whisper breathing this could be something into the universe for them to catch if they wanted, and for all that’s still good in the world they both wanted, beyond any kind of logic they both fucking reached.

And Steve knows he’s worrying everyone, knows Joyce cooks for him because she’s sacred for him, knows Claudia bakes for the very same reason; he knows Robin’s gone back to biting her nails over him, and he hates that, he hates it but, like: Steve feels like he left his soul in that hellscape with the man he’d wrapped up in it; knows he left his heart there, because he gave it to that same man ages ago and never ever considered taking it back—and he’s kind of just a, a shell, now, and it’s good that they all think Steve’s just fucked up over the lost, over-inflated savior complex, Rob had muttered more than once and sure, fine—let them think that’s all it is.

It means he can plan without interference.

It means he can drive to the last oozing rift in the world with axes he found in the garage, a crowbar he grabbed at The War Zone—which he knows because he found a receipt, not because he can remember going, driving, paying; he fucking can’t—a fucking tire lift that he things is better suited to trucks than his Beemer but that’s why he needs it: he need to rip open the earth beneath his feet because maybe his heart died down there with the boy he loves in ways he didn’t know he could, not until he found those reserves of feeling inside him well up for the fact of him and maybe it’s too later for his heart, and maybe his soul’s locked in as a funeral shroud but godadmn it all—

Steve needs to bring Eddie’s body home.

Dropping through he fissure in the ground is second nature, like something calling him through the break and that feel right, because the Upside Down for what it is alone is somewhere Steve never wants to be, never wants to touch: but what it holds now what it stole from him and claimed and kept: Steve wants that back beside him, it doesn’t matter how. Cold, torn, broken, gone—Steve’s already those things himself. Now he’s just a raw nerve, but if that nerve could go numb, could freeze for so much pain, so much abuse and hurt. He feels more for the knowledge of how much things should destroy him; he thinks his body is more of an echo chamber, a void that moves but isn’t…there anymore.

Is here, because he left the best of him, the whole of him here, and he—it creaks in his knees when he hits the ground on the other side, shoots up his spine from the bones of him on contact; it should hurt, it should hurt but he can’t feel so much, and he needs to get his bearings, needs to orient, needs to figure where he is and the quickest way to Forest Hills, to where Eddie—

He can’t feel shit when he’s got a purpose, here: the first he’s had in weeks.

He moves to stand, gets to his feet at—

It’s unexpected, how much he feels the impact that knocks him back down, the weight that pushes him to the ground again and covers him, snarls at him, breathes hot and violent against his jaw, against his neck, and Steve—

Steve’ll die here, that’s clear from the hiss above him, the way he’s pinned like prey, like a meal, and the only thought he really has, in all honesty, is he’ll die here.

But he already died here, so it just feels kinda anticlimactic.

The panting against him keeps up, but it…it doesn’t go anywhere, it doesn’t become other, or more—there’s no teeth, no clawing or biting or ripping him apart, draining him dry. He doesn’t think he was afraid for any of it, exactly; his heart’s pounding but it feels distant, other and something far from him, disconnected: not a part of his shell-self, so he thinks that’s just ingrained, just an automatic response to a demo-something, probably, sizing up its meal but like, it’s not doing anything and Steve, Steve doesn’t…he’s not invested, exactly, he doesn’t even think he cares, but—

He squints his eyes open the barest crack where he’d instinctively squeezed them shut and he looks, expects the toothy petals, or even a veiny body; he looks and—

“Eddie?”

Oh, good. Heart, soul: may as well add losing his fucking mind to this place, too, third time’s a goddamn charm.

Because it’s not Eddie, it can’t be…it can’t be Eddie, and—

Not-Eddie leans into him, presses onto him full-bodied, hips to chest, thighs spread to hold him down like he’s going anywhere because, because…

Steve feels that. He feels the pressure, he feels pain where this body drags against scrapes in Steve’s skin, he feels his heart pounding, Jesus fucking Christ, that fucking hurts, but he looks at the face that’s looming over him, tipped to the side like it’s asking a question, like it’s considering Steve below, and it: the bones are sharper, the skin more pale, more drawn up tight and pulled—the eyes are red, bright like when the lighting cuts the sky, here, but everything else…

“Eddie, oh god,” Steve doesn’t want to question it, Steve doesn’t want to keep his mind if the alternative is moments with some version of Eddie whose breath he can feel again, it’s, he’s;

“Eds,” he chokes, and Eddie’s got him wholly pinned down, he can’t reach for Eddie’s face to cup it, to cradle it, so he lets his breath catch, his lungs hitch, lets the tears burn on their way from his eyes in streams as he twitches his fingers, stretches the tips to brush Eddie’s palm where he holds Steve down and—

Eddie stills, and his eyes narrow, and…

And if Steve has to die here, again: let it be at Eddie’s hands. Let it be maybe for Eddie’s…benefit, he’s wellbeing, however he survives here. Let it be for Eddie.

Always for Eddie.

But then Eddie: Eddie doesn’t let him up, still lean into Steve from the middle, but—he buries his head at Steve’s neck, and breathes in so deep, Steve gets to close his eyes and soak in the feeling of his chest rising into Steve’s own: strong.

Real.

“Known,” Eddie murmurs, shakes his head like he’s trying to shoo a fly, but then a shiver trembles through the whole of him, Steve can trace its trajectory where Eddie’s held against him, and then Eddie growls—it’s not a wholly new sound but it’s deeper, more animal in it than Steve’s ever heard and then he bites out through bared teeth: “Known.”

Then he draws back from Steve’s neck, studies him shrewdly, a little hesitant, like he’s unsure of whatever’s happening to him, in him: then he nods, chews at his lower lip in a painfully familiar move before his hands leave Steve’s wrists and he’s—

“Known.”

He’s tracing Steve’s cheekbones, the line of his jaw; he’s running his nose against the slope of Steve’s, he’s…it’s like he’s tracing him, and he does it so gentle, he almost like he anticipates it, he’s—

“Known,” and Eddie’s fucking…it’s not a growl this time but somehow whatever it is, is deeper, stronger, and he mouths at Steve’s neck again but instead of breathing him in, he’s sucking at the lines of his arteries down the sides, up and down, and then he follows the blood to the sounds, groans at a pitch Steve’s never heard before but it’s still, it’s sill Eddie, and—

“Hurt?” Eddie mouths at his chest through the layers of his clothes, sounds mournful, stills as he considers something, intent with it before his head pops up, those red eyes so wide and aching as his hands tap against Steve’s arms, frantic and—

Oh.

Oh; they’re tapping out Steve’s heartbeats to every racing clench-give echoing through his ribs and Eddie moans, almost wails, then—

“Hurt,” and he looks frantic, his eyes wild, and his mouth dropped open, bereft and seeking and oh, oh: Eddie thinks his heart’s pounding because he’s hurt, because he’s in pain and kinda, a little bit but not like that and—

“No,” Steve’s quick to try and soothe, even if his voice is barely a rasp; “no, no,” and his wrists are free to he reaches, covers Eddie’s hands and links their fingers together, feels something in him reanimate, come straight back into being just for that touch, and that it’s warm:

“Happy,” Steve gasps, and squeezes Eddie’s hands with force, with feeling; “happy, to see you,” and he closes his eyes in something like relief when Eddie’s mouth stills against his chest again; sighs when Eddie nuzzles there, like he always did, like he belongs because he always belongs.

“So fucking happy,” Steve breathes, and he feels weightless; wonders if he died. If he hit the ground and snapped his neck. If the impact was a monster and not the love of his life, somehow saved from ruin just to save Steve back in kind.

“Mine,” Eddie whispers, a little bit of a hiss for the feeling in it, the intensity sewn in as he mouths around the beat of Steve’s blood: that’s what he means. That’s his, that and everything it powers, everything it lends life.

His.

He pulls back, and Steve bites back a whimper for the loss before Eddie’s eyes find his and he looks…he looks lost, then, grasping, in need as he almost begs, like the answer is the end of all things:

“Mine?”

He lifts one of their joined hands—he doesn’t disentangle them, and fuck if Steve’s ever letting go—but he lifts them to Steve’s chest and holds there, presses down and looks pointedly at the way his palm covers Steve’s heart, looks up in askance, up and down, there and back over and again, more desperate every time and Steve tightens his fingers around Eddie’s and nods, just nods because his voice is gone, his throat’s too tight, he’s—

But Eddie sees it. Eddie understands because Eddie…

Eddie always understands what Steve can’t say.

“Mine,” he exhales like it’s the answer to the universe, like it’s proof of god and the devil, like it’s more than air to breathe and Steve’s…

Steve doesn’t even know what he is. Except: he’s alive.

He died before he left here last time, and now somehow he’s alive. “Known, s’known,” Eddie mutters, shakes his head slow and pins his gaze on different parts go Steve’s body, touches and looks up to Steve like it serves as confirmation just to meet his gaze, to watch him blink; “know, know,” and Eddie bends again, mouths at his chest and inhales sharp as he rips out, almost feral: “mine,” and then something in him gives, and he falls to Steve’s chest and Steve’s heart skips, the terror in him tangible, but he throws out his hands, lets Eddie’s grasp go to hold Eddie up and Eddie panting, gasping, something has to be wrong—

“St,” Eddie’s voice is sandpaper rough, but…but full somehow and Steve can’t name what it is, save that it makes him feel warm, from the inside, in a way he’d thought was gone forever. It prickles at his eyes and he doesn’t fight the tears:

“Ste,” Eddie coughs a little, and then he looks up, brow furrowed and muscles tight as he locks his eyes on Steve’s and grits out:

“Steve?”

And those eyes: those eyes meet Steve’s now—color in them, that depthless nightshade, drenched in that deep warm chocolate shade: Steve’s breath catches. His heartbeat skips again, but wholly different, and it looks, it feels like a weight’s been lifted; a spell’s been broken. And somehow, somehow even before anything shifted, somehow Eddie, his Eddie, he—

Whatever’s happened, whatever’s been done to him: somehow, deeper than any of it, he kept the love.

“Steve.”

Eddie’s voice shakes and he drops his weight again but this time when he presses against Steve it’s to wrap him close, to hold him a little clumsy, a whole lot desperate, and it…it feels like maybe Steve’s soul where it’s wrapped around Eddie? Like maybe he gets a little bit of it back; like maybe he can inhale and it could mean something again.

Eddie only draws back to tuck his head under Steve’s chin, to dip lower and put his lips to the center of Steve’s chest, to breathe there, like life into the heart of him again and fuck, but he feels it.

He kinda doesn’t need to know anything more, doesn’t need to have any more answers to know whatever this is, whatever Eddie needs: they’ll figure it out. Eddie’s lips are on his chest. His heart’s a mallet against Eddie’s mouth, beats up into the warm rush of his breath: there. Real.

Steve feels it.

also on ao3 🖤

tag list (comment to be added): @pearynice @hbyrde36 @slashify @finntheehumaneater @wxrmland @dreamwatch @perseus-notjackson

♥️

divider credit here

#steddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #hurt/comfort #established relationship #kas!eddie #established steddie #pre-S4 relationship #presumed dead #(but obviously NOT)#happy ending #steve mounts a one-man rescue/retrieval mission because he's heartbroken #eddie recognizes the love of his life because in light of everything he HELD ONTO THAT LOVE #steddielovemonth #love is the only thing we can take with us #stranger things

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pininghermit · 1 year

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Take It Easy Love (Alucard x Reader)

Summary: Your lips trail down from his jaw to the column of his neck. You suck and nip the skin only to kiss it and soothe it immediately afterwards. “No pain,” you had promised him and you were nothing if not true to your word.

(AN: sub Adrian all the way. Fight me)

Part 2

Adrian was a vision. Flushed and sweaty he reassembled a fallen angel in the moments of ecstasy.

Without wasting another moment you returned to kissing him senseless. Your hands mapping the expanse of his body and your tongue fighting the battle of dominance. Weaving your hands through his hair you pull it as your tongue laps at his fangs. A gesture that elicits a low whimper. You store that information for later.

Pushing yourself back you try to look for any signs of discomfort on Adrian’s face. Your hands retreat to the couch as you try to observe with your lust addled brain. You dare not risk it, not after what Adrian had gone through. However, you barely catch a glimpse of your beloved’s face before you are pulled back in by him.

A low growl is a good enough warning as Adrian places your hands right where they had been. In fact it does not go unnoticed that he places your hand lower, closer to where he itches to be touched.

In return his hands find a way inside your shirt. Touch that leaves a trail of goosebumps along your spine. With impatient movements he rips your shirt off and chucks it away as if it had offended him with a vicisious curse (which it hadn’t).

Breaking away from the kiss you push back his hair that now sticks to his sweaty forehead. In a moment of clarity Adrian looks at you with a questioning look. Too fargone for words he communicates through his actions as he intertiwines his fingers with yours.

The couch is crowed with your entangled legs and with that you carry him to your bed. A pleasant breeze slithers in through a half ajar window. Laying Adrian down you crawl on top of him.

His eyes are glazed and his lips red after your intense makeout session. You bend down to kiss his lips again. You bite his lower lip are your other hand caresses the narrow of his waist. A reassurance that you would not abandon him. Never.

Your lips trail down from his jaw to the column of his neck. You suck and nip the skin only to kiss it and soothe it immediately afterwards. “No pain,” you had promised him and you were nothing if not true to your word.

You can smell both your and his arousal even through your pants. While your administration of Adrian’s neck continue, your leg settles between his legs. And your dhampir moans your name with the barest pressure of your knee.

He moans and whimpers but does not make a move. “Such a good boy,” you praise him and award him with a rut of your knee. You feel him harden with the smallest motion. Too sensitive to even the tiniest touch. “So obedient,” you whisper as your hand traces his collar bone while your other hand traces his nipple. Feathery touch that makes him shudder into a soundless moan.

You increase the pressure of your knee against his clothed erection. Simultaneoulsy your mouth attaches to the other nipple. Your repeat the motions of your earlier minitrations and Adrian gasps as he ruts back against you.

“Mhmm…please,” he begs. His voice barely audible as you push down his pants and underwear. Gripping his hard erection you make sure to smear the precum to avoid any discomfort. The direct contact leaves Adrian shaking as his mouth falls open in a silent scream.

His nipples now red and hard. The flush so stark against his pale skin. Your hand does not stop as you move lower. Right between your lover’s legs, Adrian feels the warmth of your breath between his thighs.

On an impulse his hands grip your hair. Even lust addled his claws are nowhere to be seen.

You kiss every inch of his skin. The vulnerable skin that smells of arousal. Your bites never harsh, only there to mark and to claim. You take your time as you make your way to his erection. Gentle as you worship your lover.

Putting his thighs on your shoulder you smile when his hand finds yours. An action more intimate that your mouth on his cock.

It does not take long before you feel him twitch in your mouth. His back arches in pleasure as your tongue traces along his vein. Pushing him over the edge you hollow your cheeks as he orgasms. Your name leaving his mouth and his hand still in yours.

Once cleaned up you lay next to Adrian. The not so subtle frown on his face would have worried you had you not known the reason.

“What about you?” he questions referencing your still very prominent erection. “I co-”

“Nope,” you interrupt him with a peck on his lips. “Not today. Take it easy love,” you murmur as you cuddle him in the process of dispersing your arousal. As adorable the pout on his face is you would not push him. Things need to be slow.

#castlevania #alucard #adrian tepes #smut #bottom alucard #top reader #alucard x reader #body worship #gentle sex

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honestlywtfisgoingon · 2 years

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The Purest Love: An HoM One-Shot

OBI-WAN KENOBI x PADAWAN!READER

description: obi and little one’s first time 🥺 (towards the end of chapter 50 in House of Memories)

warnings: smut. like the whole thing plus a tad of fluff. also no protection (wrap it before u tap it guys) but i figured they weren’t that careful since…spoiler… oh and btw mention of ewan’s canonically huge dick

a/n: ahhh this was so fun to write! i literally could not stop thinking abt little one and obi during this scene and ty @meshlasolus for ur blessing lol. *words in bold are excerpts from the og fic*

words: 2,307

"Obi, I know I want this. I know I want you," you said, beginning to push his vest off of his shoulders. "I have trusted you with my mind, I have trusted you with my heart... And now, I'm trusting you with my body."

"I will take care of you, I promise..."

Obi-Wan was not only a man of his word, but a man who loved you; that meant not only would he keep his promise, but he would bind himself to it until the end of his days, and all the days after, just as he had bound himself to you.

you; who now lay beneath him in your barest form, not a single thread keeping him apart from experiencing every inch of your body. It was nothing short of ethereal, the feeling he had as he felt the softness of skin he had never touched before, fingertips grazing the very top of your inner thigh, so close to where you were inviting him tonight. You gasped loudly when he finally made contact with the heat in between your legs, your eyes widening.

The talk you had beforehand let him know that you didn’t want him to stop even when that flicker of nervousness showed on your face. It wasn’t that you were afraid, no, you were excited.

He introduced his touch carefully by drawing small circles on your clit. The way your eyes fluttered at the contact had him groaning already. Encouraged by your reaction, he sped up his ministrations until you felt a sort of tingling feeling. It flared up and down inconsistently between his kisses, frustrating you who was so close to being sent over the edge with this feeling you had never experienced before.

“Obi,” you called him

“Yes, my love?” he said while gazing down at your starry eyes and glowing cheeks.

“more,” you pleaded before lifting your head slightly to meet him in a kiss. While your lips were still on his, he honored your request and slipped his fingers between your folds. When he inserted his middle finger into you up to the knuckle, you moaned loudly into his mouth.

“Maker, it’s like a song,” he whispered in awe while placing small kisses across your face. You let out a small giggle at his compliment that was cut short when he curled his finger inside your pussy. You reached out and gripped his upper arm which was flexed as he continued to slide his fingers in and out of you, adding another and stretching you out even further.

“I want to make sure you’re ready,” he whispered as though he didn’t have you dripping on the sheets already, your body clearly aching to take him. He knew how painful it could be, but he wasn’t sure you were.

As you and Anakin’s guardian, he was obligated to give you two “the talk” but he gave as little detail as possible, preferring to be ran over by a bantha than have to explain the intricacies of sex to his padawans. He never expected that he would fall in love with the grown woman you became, and he would be the one to show you what it was, properly, with love and care. The thought of you in pain was the last hurdle in his mind before he let himself go into you completely.

“I am,” you nodded gently and squeezed his bicep for reassurance. He sucked in a breath and kissed you deeply, as though he needed you like air. In truth, he wasn’t sure that sentiment was entirely wrong.

He wrapped a hand around your waist to pull your body flush with his. You felt his heart beating against your chest, the rhythm vibrating through your pores and syncing up with your own to where you could barely tell them apart.

He lifted himself so that he could see you, wanting to look into your eyes as he finally made love to you. The image he was met with would be the death of him; your hair splayed out across the pillows, creating a halo that, combined with the moonlight caressing your features, made you look like a goddess. And he was going to worship you like one.

Obi-Wan used a hand to brush a few strands of hair off your forehead then cupped the side of your face with it. His thumbs brushed over your cheekbones, his freshwater eyes never leaving yours as he used his other hand to reach down and position himself.

He slid in slowly, but his hands, although large, could never have prepared you for the sheer size of him. You hissed out as his length pressed tightly against your walls. He added more of himself, inch by inch until pain quickly turned to pleasure. You almost found it a miracle that you were able to take all of him when he finally bottomed out.

His head fell in the crook of your neck as he let out a shuddering breath and continued to move. With every thrust, your reservations ebbed and gave way to a plethora of sounds you never knew you could make. When Obi sucked on the skin just underneath your earlobe, you couldn’t control the whimper you let out, or the way you bucked up your hips. The sudden movement on your end made him groan loudly…so you did it again. He met your thrusts and you continued to move against him until he placed a hand on your hip, pressing you into the bed.

“let me, my love,” he whispered before you let your hips relax, opting to pull him down for a kiss. This was something you were more experienced with, and you knew he liked it when you slipped your tongue in ever so slightly. He opened his mouth and greeted you with his own tongue, both of you enjoying tasting each other.

Obi’s hand slid from your hips to your thigh, bringing it up so that it was hooked on his waist. The new angle gave him access to a spot inside you had you throbbing around him every time the tip of his clock brushed against it. You tightened around him, every ridge of his dick imprinting your walls. He felt so good that it made your fingers pressed against his back retract, which no doubt scraped the broad plane of skin. You felt his brows furrowed against your forehead when your nails pressed into him.

You apologized profusely through your open connection with him in the force, but he wrapped his signature around you in reassurance. After all, he had sustained far worse than a little scratch, the evidence painted on his body through the scars you now traced.

A force bond was something you’d never thought you’d use in the bedroom, until now of course. Both of your minds were open to each other, and you knew he was thinking the same. Not only was the communication helpful, but it was beautiful, the way your bond had created a language only you two could understand. What was being spoken right now was more than I love you. Those three words weren’t even close to describing what was being exchanged by way of your dyad at the moment.

You saw flashes of images, and you realized they were memories of you and Obi from your mingled perspectives. The first time you kissed, one of the many times you crawled into bed with him after a nightmare, even the time you made him cry. Every single one was filled with love. The good and the bad, because there really is no bad with a love like yours. He was going to memorize every detail of this moment to add it to the mosaic of memories, the first out of many times he would make love to you.

Maker, felt him up to your stomach, filling you up so completely, so perfectly, as if your body had been waiting for him since long before this moment. He made your back arch and your toes curl as sparks once again crept over your body. It seemed he was feeling the same as he pulled your other leg up so that you both were wrapped around his waist, opening you up to him so that he could chase both of your pleasures. As he pumped himself in and out of you, you laced your fingers in his hair and used it to tug him down into a kiss. It worked better than you imagined, spurring him on with such fervor to where a sheen of sweat began to cover both of you.

His hand cupped your breast gently, his fingers then moving to circle your nipple as he did with your clit. Your mouth made a small “o” as he stimulated a new part of your body. You didn’t know if it was the way he was touching you, or the fact that it was him touching you, that made you feel like you were floating.

While his hands were busy, you dipped your head to the side, placing soft kisses all over his neck. You felt the subtle scratch of his beard. You loved that you could be a little buried in his facial hair when you kissed him there. He groomed himself to where it was soft and the perfect place for you to find comfort besides his chest. You felt his cheeks drag upward as he smiled at your affections. You traced your kisses from his neck up to the side of his face, stopping to brush the tip of your nose up and down with his as your eyes closed, savoring the moment. It wasn’t long after that they were rolling back into your head as he pinched one of your nipples.

Your breath caught in your throat and he dipped his head down to capture one of them in his mouth. You looked down and he was staring up at you with such intense adoration you couldn’t help but blush. It was funny, how he still made your heart flutter even though you had gone far past the beginning of a relationship, and had given yourself to him completely.

As he swirled his tongue around the bud of your breast, you sighed satisfactorily, your fingers lazily grasping at the sheets to ground yourself when the pleasure made you feel almost dizzy. As he moved back up to kiss your lips once more, he dragged his tongue up and along your sternum, leaving a wet trail that gleamed in the moonlight. His hands traveled with him, sliding along your arms and eventually lacing his fingers with yours. He held your hands to bring them up on either side of your head. You squeezed his hands, finding that holding them was your preferred form of finding stability while he made your hips roll and your back arch underneath him.

“such—a good girl. You’re doing—so well—little one,” he said the words between kisses placed in the shell of your ear. Although his breath was warm, it sent a wave of chills over your body. An incoherent sound of joy was the only response you could manage, and he wouldn’t deny he was rather pleased with the fact; that he was making you feel as good as you truly deserved.

His own words were lost as his hips stuttered from the creeping up of his orgasm. You were close to the edge as well, meeting his thrusts as he lost the will to hold your natural reaction down. With his last couple of thrusts, he found the will to say one last thing before your bodies fell off the tip of your building bliss.

“I love you,”

“I love you too,”

With your proclamations, both of you became completely overwhelmed by the euphoria that flooded your bodies. There was no possible way to hold back yours and Obi-Wan’s myriad of affections and moans. With his last bit of sense, he crushed his lips on yours, muffling the two of you, but the shared vibrations on your tongues only added to the experience. Every muscle tightened and every nerve sang as you felt Obi-Wan’s white-hot pleasure spill into the very deepest part of you. The legs you had wrapped around him pulled him close so that you might have every last drop.

When the adrenaline gave way and there was feeling back in your fingertips, you used them to brush Obi’s hair out of his face. The slick of sweat held the strands back for a moment before gravity caused them to fall again as he continued to hover over you. He pressed a kiss to your cheek before rolling off of you and onto his side. He propped himself up with his forearm and gazed down at you who was gracing him with the sweetest smile he’d ever seen. Your lips were plush and wet, eyes glossy post-orgasm, and yet you still looked the picture of innocence. Nothing was lost this night, only given freely. The purest kind of love.

“I’m so proud of you,” Obi said softly and tilted his head with a small smile. His words made your heart swell, and you replayed them in your head as you watched him get up to go find some water and a cloth.

He'd made sure you were cleaned up before pulling the sheets over you both and hugging you tightly to his chest, unwilling to let go for even a moment. Nothing compared to you, he was convinced. You'd given him the greatest pleasure he ever felt, and you weren't even trying to. That was the power you had over him, the bewitchment that he did not struggle against.

"I love you, little one," he whispered against your hair, kissing it and focusing his energy on lulling you into sleep along with him.

#obi wan #obi wan kenobi #star wars #obi wan kenobi x y/n #anakin skywalker #obi wan x reader #obi wan kenobi x reader #obi wan smut #house of memories #HoM #obi wan kenobi smut #obi wan fluff #obi wan kenobi fluff

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kawaiikenna · 2 years

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@leap-ing @elithemiar-blog @halfblackwolfdemon @winged-scaly-attic-dweller @spideypools @redfoxtail26 @manapeer @8000fangirl @antagonistly @all-eyes-no-dragon @mysticalcomputerdetective @01101010-01100001-01111001 @stealingyourbones

Hopefully that’s everyone. Anyways, here’s chapter two! Drop a kudos and comment over on ao3: Under the Earth; Far from Home. Angst, panic attacks, being buried alive, ptsd flashbacks, as well as depictions of a severely malnourished and emancipated Danny ahead. If any of this triggers you please be careful!

Jason had been ignoring the signs. The itch to go riding that would inevitably end at the cemetery where he had been buried. The feeling like he had something to do there. Some kind of unfinished business that he couldn’t remember. The amount of trauma that was linked with the place made it…difficult, for Jason to even think about going past the cemetery gates.

Both Dick and Tim had gone in to see if they could find anything. They didn’t and Jason tried to put the whole thing behind him. To forget about the whole ordeal. But something kept pulling him back. Now two weeks after he initially started feeling the strange pulling, Jason is standing before the gates. He stares at the wrought iron with a slight distain.

He takes a deep breath and pushes past the gates and into the cemetery. His burial plot was in the southeast corner. So he made his way over to it, hoping that it would make these feelings finally settle. As he passed row upon row of headstones, the feelings did not settle. If anything, something stirred in his chest. Something fearful and desperate. Jason was about to turn around and give up when something caught his eye.

Tucked away in an unkempt corner was a very recent grave. Initially he thought it was unmarked but upon a closer look Jason found a wooden plaque sunken into the muddy ground. It had hastily carved words; ‘To our beloved son. We wish we had known sooner.’

Jason picked up and turned the plaque over to see if there was a name. There was none. Only the words he had seen before. He neatly places the plaque back at the head of the grave.

“Your parents must have loved you a lot buddy.” Jason says, his emotions settling just a bit in his chest. “I hope you rest in peace.”

And as he was turning to leave, something happened. It was like the barest of whispers spoken directly into his mind. Quiet but desperate all the same.

help

Jason turns back towards the fresh grave. He doesn’t know why he did it, but he responded. Not really in words, more of a wave of morbid curiosity. The answering response he got nearly knocked him off his feet.

Help, help, buried, not dead, alive, alive, ALIVE.

An instant wave of panic took over his senses. Suddenly Jason was back in his own casket. Buried underground with no hope of help or rescue. Left alone to suffocate and die a second time.

He was on his knees clawing at the dirt before he knew what he was doing.

Alive, help, coming, safe?

He waited on baited breath. Hoping for a response. Anything that would tell him that the boy buried there was still clinging to life. The further he dug into the dirt the more desperate he became. It had rained recently, just the night prior, so the dirt had become heavy and sloppy. Even with it being freshly turned, the rain had packed it down some. Making it much more difficult to dig through.

No, no, hurt, alive, hurt.

Jason screams into the empty cemetery. He roughly shucks off his motorcycle jacket and his shirt. Leaving him in his boots, jeans, and white tank top. Tiny rocks and dirt shove themselves under his fingernails as he shovels and scoops dirt, throwing it haphazardly, only caring about hopefully, possibly saving the boy.

Jason continued to send mental waves of help and safety through whatever mind fuckery this was. With every desperate cry for help, he became more frenzied and desperate himself. Soon, far too soon, he hadn’t dug even two feet into the ground, he made first contact with the casket. What he wasn’t expecting was to be shocked and for green sparks to shoot out from the box in the ground. Jason pushes past it though. It wasn’t too painful, more of like the kind of static shock you would get as a kid playing on the trampoline. Slowly, too slowly, he uncovered more and more of the box. He had finally uncovered most of it when he noticed a sliding hatch closer to the head of the coffin-like box.

He was not prepared for what he saw on the other side of this tiny window. Blue eyes with a green shine stared up at him. Tear tracks running down his face, glowing a strange green. Black hair limp and lifeless, flopped to one side of the kid’s face. Skeletal hands and fingers pressed up against the mockery of a window as green sparks flitted about. A gaunt, skeletal frame shaking from the constant shock.

Jason hesitated for only a moment before nearly ripping the lid off of the coffin. Hydraulic hinges squealing in protest as stale air flooded out of the box. There was soft sobbing coming from the teen. Jason gently picked him up and pulled him out of the tiny prison. The teen shook in his arms but held tightly to Jason as if his very being depended on it. He was wearing a t-shirt and jeans with only socks on his feet. Everything was far too baggy on the boy, only testifying further that he was severely dehydrated and malnourished.

Jason whispered consoling words. What they meant he didn’t know, because at that moment the panic had finally swept him up. Flashbacks and anxiety threatened to swallow him up completely but was staved off by the quivering teen in his arms. It grounded him enough to keep a tight hold on the teen.

~~~

Jason wasn’t sure how long they had stayed down in the dug out grave. Long enough that the sky had turned from an almost dusky color to the city lightened smog of the night. The black haired teen had passed out into a deep sleep a while ago. When he had first fallen asleep Jason panicked, thinking that he had died. But a quick check showed that the teen was still breathing lightly and an impossibly slow heartbeat still thrummed in his chest.

Jason finally pulled them out of the somewhat shallow grave. He laid the teen in the grass and gathered up his clothing. Before he put his shirt back on, Jason chipped away all of the dried dirt on his arms. Anything that was still wet was scraped off and flicked into the grass. With his shirt back on he picks up his jacket and the teen, making their way back to his motorcycle by the gates.

He situated the teen to sit behind him on his bike. He used his jacket to secure the tiny, skeletal body to himself. Settling it over the sleeping teens shoulders then tying the sleeves around his own torso. Once Jason secured the teen as best he could, he took off into the night, phone ringing in his ear.

“Master Jason.” A prim and proper voice answered. “How can I help you this evening?”

“Hi Alfred. I’m going to need medical help.” Jason’s voice is gruff and water from the amount of screaming and tears he’s experienced in such a short time.

Alfred sighs. “What have you gotten yourself into that requires you to visit the Manor instead of your apartment?”

“I don’t need it. I found a boy buried alive in the same cemetery that I was buried in. He’s really weak, most likely severely dehydrated and malnourished. I-I’m not equipped to take care of something like this.” His voice is breaking slightly.

There was a moment of silence. The only sounds Jason could hear were the wind screaming in his ears and the muffled sounds of traffic. The panic he had shoved into the furthest darkest corner of his mind was starting to creep into his thoughts again.

“Alright. Bring him straight into the cave. I’ll have a bed ready for him and I’ll call Dr. Leslie in. I may be able to do many things, this however seems like a situation we need a professional opinion on.”

“Kay. I’ll see you then.”

#danny phantom #dp x dc #danny fenton #dc #dp #dc x dp #jason todd #dc comics #dpxdc #batfam #red hood #ficlet #tw: buried alive #tw: anxiety attack #Tw: severe malnourishment #tw: ptsd #tw: flashbacks #hopefully that’s all of the triggers #let me know if i missed anything

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vanderilnde · 2 months

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do you think that if johnny were to deny toxic!ghost, to stop coming at his beck and call

that ghost would grow to resent him? 'think you're better than me?' type of deal

or would he shrug it away, irked that he doesn't have easy access anymore

would he take it as a challenge? cornering soap whispering dirty things in his ear

would he reciprocate in hopes he and johnny could continue their secret romps?

lots of questions hanging on my mind...

this ask made me do a flip and go crazy and bite a chunk off the corner of my phone…..

gonna answer this beneath bc it got long lmao

so, maybe Johnny goes to therapy. maybe Kyle—forever attuned to the welfare of his mate’s—notices Johnny withering into a quiet, reserved shell of himself. physically there but never mentally, always foggy-eyed. Kyle contacts the on-base counsellor and forces Johnny there, tacking on stuff like “there’s nothin’ to be sorry of, we gotta take care, right? mental health matters an’ all tha’?”

it becomes a weekly thing. Johnny’s usual routine was being chewed up and spit out by Ghost, but slowly, his weeks ripen into something… healthier. meetings with his therapist that tells him everything Ghost won’t. you’re special, you’re strong, you’re worthy of more. this isn’t your penance. Johnny takes these hymns and holds it close to his heart, making it a mission to break away from Ghost’s choking leash on him.

Johnny probably asks Ghost to meet him one day. somewhere covert, like behind two tents on deployment. he’s excited. hasn’t been that happy in so long, because he’s finally taking hold of his own leash, snuffing out that stigma. Ghost approaches with a listless gait and Johnny fishes out some crumpled, parsed-over sheet of paper, and Ghost almost barks out a laugh. he does chuckle, though.

Johnny recites this rehersed speech and to Ghost, it’s… pathetic, really. filled with cloy self-exalt and self-appraising words. not even Johnny believes it.

“I deserve to be more, Ghost… I deserve more than you.”

Ghost’s definitely somewhere on the threshold between resenting him and taking it as a challenge, so he shrugs like he couldn’t care less, heedful towards the marginal crumble of Johnny’s face, and walks away.

never mind that he starts wearing tighter pants after that. denim that chokes his thighs and outlines the barest hint of his cock. never mind that he doesn’t bother wiping the sweat from his neck after some PT. never mind him speaking to Johnny with a sharper edge, footnoting all his orders with Sergeant, a brassy reminder that Johnny will only ever be the bug beneath his boot. never mind him plying Kyle and Price to his barracks and pointedly leaving out Johnny, just so he’d deplorably come crawling, scratching on his door until he’s let inside.

never mind Ghost starting to fuck another recruit. making a show of it with the mulberry love bites staining the skin beneath his lapel.

and just like that, the positive affirmations Johnny had scribbled onto dog-eated sticky notes and plastered over his bathroom mirror to be read every morning, written into his brain, falls apart.

#orions talks

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izukuwus · 1 year

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Edible Arrangements 35

First - Prev - Next - M.list - Read on Ao3

A/N: APRIL FOOLS IT'S ON TIME YOU WERE FOOLED

SO. THIS MONTH. Is camp nanowrimo. I have made it my goal. To FINISH drafting edible arrangements for camp nanowrimo. which does not mean posting all of it. and may not be attainable. BUT it DOES mean the end is kind of sort of in sight. stay tuned for my mental breakdown.

Special thanks to @sincerelybubbles for taking a look at the first part of this chapter for me! <3

Chapter Summary: You wake up in the hospital.

Warnings: hospital stuff, assault mentions (non-sexual), emotions, blood, mentions of stabbing

Word count: ~5300

You are safe now, you’re sure.

You’re not sure who’s here, but you feel the burn of your bite marks and can make an educated guess or two, each a comfort rather than a curse. You’re relieved to think that

(you are not alone here you are being watched you are struggling to)

Breathe. Think. Figure it out.

Tenya would make the most sense. He had just left you, right?

…right? Despite all your fights, he cares for you. You fight because he cares for you. Maybe more than he should.

But that’s not Tenya at your bedside. You knew that already, of course.

Tenya had been long gone by the time you heard that voice.

Part of you cannot shake the idea that it should be Tenya, it was Tenya last time, but since when was there a

(last time no last time only this time you are already a)

memory of last time rolls off your brain, water off a duck, and your mind wanders to the next option.

It, unfortunately, would not be Hitoshi. He wasn’t anywhere nearby when you—when you—

When you heard the laughter. We will have to settle for that, seeing as you can barely wrap your mind around your own errant

(thoughts of the past thoughts of things you are not allowed to think of thoughts caged away thoughts that bring)

danger. But Neito is no danger, not anymore. Still you can’t imagine him coming to sit by your bedside in the

(hospital this is a hospital you are dying has anyone contacted)

Izuku.

It would make sense.

You were on your porch, weren’t you?

So Izuku would have been there.

He would have heard you

(scream why did you scream did they find her has she hurt anyone else or was it only you she)

hurt. A touch. Dull background noise becomes beeps, erratic. Beeps become voice. Voice becomes a home.

“I really don’t like how fast your heart is beating right now, [name].”

The touch leaves you and

(no longer can you focus you cant hear him cant breathe cant bring yourself to come)

home becomes a mumble. Mumble becomes a blur.

Who was she?

No, you know who she was. That much was obvious the moment you heard her voice, the moment you heard her laugh.

But who had she become? She had another face, you think. So she must have

(killed someone killed you you are dying the breaths are not coming and you are going to die and all is becoming)

Warm. Something presses against your shoulder. The one that doesn’t hurt.

Oh. The other shoulder hurts.

Why does the other shoulder hurt?

Your body is so heavy. Something is weighing it down, something heavier than mere things.

The lightest brush of fluff against your chin.

A whisper.

“Please, please wake up. I can’t lose you, too.”

Oh. He thinks you’re sleeping?

Come to think of it, your eyes take tremendous effort to open. But he sounds so worried. But you are so heavy now. Not your eyelids or your arms or your body but your you has become heavy. He has to understand that.

It is Izuku, isn’t it?

It must be.

But if it is Izuku, then—

You manage to form a word. The barest tremble of your lips and vibration of your throat gives you the momentum to open your eyes, and opening your eyes gives you back your sight, and at last you see the green fluff resting his head on your shoulder and trembling.

“Who’s…”

It’s just one word. Really, it’s all you can muster, poor thing. But it’s enough for Izuku’s head to rocket up and let you see the tears, and then you have the urge to reach up and touch his cheek. All you manage is a weak few inches off the bed, then a pathetic drop where your hand bounces on impact.

“’Zuku,” you slur out. It’s amazing how much effort that one nickname has become. Just to try its weight on your throat again, you let out a small half-laugh and repeat it. “’Zuku.”

“Oh my god you’re awake,” he blurts, and then he’s holding you as close as he can in this awkward position. “I’m so sorry he got to you. I’m so sorry he hurt you. I’m so sorry, so sorry, so sorry—“

“Sbeve okay?”

He pauses, pulling away to stare at your face. There’s tears already streaming down his cheeks. “Yeah. Yeah, Sbeve’s okay. He didn’t hurt Sbeve.”

“He?” you mumble. Something is heavy in your brain, too. Brain-heavy. Who weighed your brain?

Oh. A he. Not her, then.

“Yeah. [name], I’m so sorry that he hurt you. He should never have gotten close to you, and that’s my fault.”

He’s so kind. So sweet. You’ll love him as long as he’ll let you. As long as he’ll keep you around, you’re not going anywhere.

Clarity gone. Eyes still heavy. Alive is heavy. It is time to

(rest)

“How are they?”

“They woke up,” Izuku confides. “Not for long, though. Thanks to the morphine, they were really out of it. They acted like they didn’t even know what happened…”

“Hey, at least it got you enough power to leave their side for a minute,” Mina jokes.

“Yeah, maybe now you can tell us what happened.”

Izuku averts his eyes. Five pairs of eyes are staring him down, expecting answers, and he doesn’t have any. What answer is there beyond “I fucked up”? How do you answer for your own failures in the face of the near death of a loved one? What can you say? What can you possibly do except make sure it never happens again?

So that’s what he tells them. “I fucked up.” It’s all he’s got. “I expected that they would be safe.”

“Safe,” Tenya repeats. It’s the first thing he’s said since arriving at the hospital, his expression as hollow as his single word. “You expected that they would be safe.”

“From what, kero? That doesn’t tell us anything about what happened.”

“They… You have to understand, I never thought he would come back for me. If he were smart, he’d have figured out where I lived and never come close to me again.”

“Who?”

“My sire. He… he killed my parents, and countless other people, and turned me. And I couldn’t catch him because [name] would have bled out otherwise, but I know it was him. I saw him run. He attacked them to get to me. He nearly killed them to get to me.”

“This was… your fault…?” Tenya stares at him, wide-eyed.

Izuku hardens his gaze and stares right through him. “Don’t worry. I won’t let it happen again.”

“What, are you going to hunt him?” Neito has a hand on his hip. “Do you have experience killing vampires?”

“Do you?”

Neito looks unabashed. “I won’t pretend I’m innocent. In fact, quite the opposite. If you’re going to kill a vampire, you may want backup from someone who has that experience.”

Hitoshi snorts. “You have one failed kill under your belt. Cool it, Van Helsing.”

“One failed kill is much more valuable than no kills, failed or otherwise. I spent quite a lot of time researching vampires before all this happened. Try not to forget.”

“About that… [name] got me some holy water for the job. It’ll be rough, but… I’m not going to let this happen again, to anyone else. Ever.”

“Alone?” Hitoshi arches a brow. “I didn’t take you for the stupid type, but you have to realize you’re talking about facing off against a serial killer with a kill count in the hundreds. Didn’t the Death Adder take down more people in one night than most serial killers manage in their lifetime?”

“Fuck off,” Izuku spits, but it’s covered by someone else’s words.

“The Death Adder. You’re serious?”

“Yeah. [name] and I found out by accident doing an assignment. I wasn’t going to bring it up, but you guys should know what he’s getting himself into before letting him throw himself to his death.”

“Don’t bother,” Izuku says, and it comes out a growl. “None of you need to be involved. I’ll handle this, and you all can take care of [name].”

“You are stupid,” Tenya says.

“Excuse me?”

He doesn’t give Izuku the dignity of a response, merely grabs him by the shoulder and walks him out. As he walks, he casts a glance over his shoulder. “One of you stay with [name]. This may take some time.”

Every time you open your eyes, you’re haler and heartier and, perhaps most importantly of all, more restless. Keyly, if you don’t get out of this damn hospital soon, you’re going to lose your mind.

It’s been too long. Honestly, it’s been long enough for all of the more functional members of your friend group to justify going to get a change of clothes. A day, maybe two? Maybe longer. You’ve slept for most of it, but you know it’s enough. Enough for people to need to eat. Enough for the weight in your body to lift, just a touch. Enough for the police to have been by to ask you every question possible, as though you’re remotely cognizant enough to answer. Enough that Izuku informs you later they’ve already left the house and your house is no longer considered an active crime scene.

Enough that by the time the doctor comes into the room to check you over, you’re itching to ask him if you can leave.

But you don’t. You let him ask you questions, let him look over your wound. You were stabbed, just below the collarbone. Though he expresses worry about the wounds marking your neck, you brush those off with an embarrassed blush and a high-pitched “it’s all consensual, I promise”. Whatever he makes of that, you don’t have the headspace to consider right now.

All you want to do is be home. Pet your cat. Cuddle up to Izuku and apologize for the way you’ve been treating him. Talk to him about everything.

Tell him you love him.

“Given what you’ve told me and the condition you’re in, I’d say you’re good to go! We’ll get you checked out and send you and your friends home.”

You give him a shaky thumbs up with your good hand, which used to be your bad hand.

Burn scars on one arm, stab wound in the other. Bite marks decorating the spaces between.

Yeah, you’re a tapestry, all right.

When at last you leave, you find that everyone is still here, still waiting. Izuku is keeping a hand, firm and gentle, at the small of your back, supporting you even as he’s silent, walking you out even as he’s distant.

He must be blaming himself. Beating himself up because you got yourself attacked.

You’ll be sure to smack those thoughts out of him next chance you get. Whenever your arm doesn’t hurt too bad. The faintest twinges are prickling at your shoulder, though you’re sure the worst is yet to come. The painkillers have only just barely begun to wear off.

You wonder, idly, if that vampire venom Izuku tells you about can numb a wound of this magnitude.

Oh, shit. He’s not going to feed off of you for ages now, is he?

You nearly sigh at the realization. You'll just have to force him, or at least force him to find some other way to get the blood he needs. It'll take work, but you're more than willing to make sure your lovable dumbass genius vampire is taking proper care of himself.

Izuku's hand doesn't leave your back as your friends dart forward to mob you about the details. Mina is there, hugging your one good bad arm gently, like she's afraid you'll break if she holds you too tight.

"[name] I think you're cursed," she blurts out as she hugs you. "What happened to you? Izuku couldn't tell us much."

You shrug, one-armed, and shake your head. "Got stabbed."

"Who? Why? Weren't you with Tenya?"

Tenya flinches at the mention of his name. You shoot him a weird look.

"He had already gone home. I was just getting some air before I came inside because it was a nice night, and..."

Another weak half-shrug. "I don't really know what happened. Someone was there? Waiting? I definitely heard a voice."

"And then what?"

You shake your head. "I don't know. Look, I'm still drugged to shit, so can we do this later? I'm sure I'll remember more when I'm not all morphined up anyway."

She furrows her brow. "Yeah. Yeah, that's fine. But... call me when you're up to talking, okay?”

You nod, resting your head against hers gently. "Yeah. I'll call."

If you glow, if you don't, that's for you to say. And you say nothing.

Izuku is quiet as he takes you home. There's not much of any words shared between you on the drive, or getting out of the car (a "thank you" when he goes out of his way to open the door for you and support you to the porch and beyond), or even once you're safely inside, cuddling Sbeve. It's partially just because you're exhausted—you could sleep for hours right now, but you've got too much going on in your head to even consider it. Body heavy, mind racing.

All you want to do right now is remember what happened. You don't understand why you can't. You don't understand anything right now.

But, as you watch Izuku silently move to disappear somewhere in the house, you know you need to stop him.

"Izuku."

He pauses at the foot of the stairs, giving you a wounded look. "I'm sorry," he blurts. "Really. I'm so, so sorry."

"Why are you apologizing?"

He doesn't respond, gripping the railing with one firm hand.

"Izuku, honey, this wasn't your fault. I know you're going to blame yourself, but you have to understand, no one could have seen this coming. I was stabbed because I was in the wrong place at the wrong time—"

"Our house?" He turns to face you fully now. "[name]. You live here. If this was the wrong place and wrong time, then you never should have been here in the first place."

The thought drops into your stomach with a wet plop. "Y-you're not saying—"

"I just... this never should have happened to you. Not while I was here. And I'm really angry at myself for that. I'm not going to stop being angry at myself for that, you know?"

"I'm not asking you to pretend like nothing happened. But... come on, Zuzu. If you feel bad, if you wanna make it up to me... let's have a good night. Cuddle the kitten, cuddle each other, breathe and recover from a really shitty day. Order out..." You shoot him a pleading look. "Let's get some pizza or something. Stop thinking about the outside world. Please."

He hesitates, that same wounded look on his face. You almost think he's guarding himself, the way he watches you.

"Please, Izuku? I'm tired. I don't want to be alone right now."

He sighs, takes his hand off the banister. He's across the room to you in seconds, careful not to crush Sbeve as he takes you into his arms. "I really am sorry."

"I know. I believe you." You don't have the arms to hug him back between Sbeve and the sling, but you press your face into the crook of his neck and sigh. "I'm sorry, too. For the way I've been acting. For all of this. I know that the world is crashing down right now, but I never meant to add to that."

"It's okay. We're here now."

And he holds you, and you are held, and all is going to be okay. You have to believe that.

You wake up alone, in Izuku’s bed. It’s peaceful, warm. Your shoulder screams in the moments you come to. The fucking painkillers must have worn off—you reach blindly for the bottle, wincing a smile when you find that it’s in reach with a glass of water. Lid cracked so you don’t have to fight medicine bottle lids with one working arm. He’s even made sure they’re not the prescription strength ones, not yet. Not until you’re sure you need that level of pain relief.

He’s too good to you. Too perfect.

You’d spent the night watching TV, fighting off Sbeve, and eating delivery pizza on the couch cuddled up to Izuku. It had been nice. You must have fallen asleep curled up with him like that.

You manage to sit. Manage to down the painkillers and the water—the entire glass, because you know he’d shake his head at anything less than every drop, especially with the day—days? how long has it been?—that you’ve had.

And, blessedly, it’s nearly a perfect day. You slip downstairs, get Izuku’s help notifying the dean of your latest medical emergency so you can be excused from classes for a bit to recover, and just to be sure, pass on the message to your professors, as well. Mina’s got your back for one class, Neito for another, and there’s no saving your bio lab, but that professor will just have to get over it because there’s no way in hell you’re doing science with a fresh stab wound.

If you revel in not leaving Izuku’s side? If you’re thriving at the closeness after ages of not speaking? That’s for you to know. You’re keeping lots of those things to yourself nowadays, hiding away from everything. Not leaving the house is your domain.

So you sigh into another night asleep at Izuku’s side, blissful as though you’re not ignoring the fear you feel in the shadows.

Izuku is on his phone when you press into his side. “What’re you up to?”

“Just scrolling, I guess.”

“Just scrolling? I didn’t take you for the type, Dr. Midoriya.”

He laughs softly. “Good to see you’re feeling more like yourself.”

“I missed you,” you admit.

“I missed you too.” His voice is quiet. Another day, another night, when you weren’t so comforted by his presence alone, you might have noticed it. Might have noticed just how off he seems, how off he’s seemed ever since you returned from the hospital.

But that’s not what happens. You don’t notice anything. You fall into quiet contemplation, letting your eyes drift shut. Listening to his breathing and his unnaturally quiet, quick heartbeat until you can sleep in spite of the pain.

You pretend not to notice when you feel the chest beneath your ear shift, nor when you feel the pair of lips brush your forehead. No need to ruin it.

Izuku: I need to know for certain that you’re in on this.

Izuku: There won’t be any going back.

The text comes back, scarcely a few minutes later:

He ruined my life, too. Are you sure you’re okay doing this to them?

Izuku: I’m not giving them a choice.

There is someone downstairs. You are alone in the room with Sbeve, and there are multiple people moving around downstairs.

It’s too early in the morning for Mina to be here. Tenya would probably still rather die than set foot here without your explicit begging for him to be nice to Izuku. Neito’s not allowed without proper adult (read: Itsuka’s) supervision. Tsuyu might, but her footsteps don’t sound quite so heavy.

And then you hear a voice, and you know it doesn’t belong to anyone you know.

You slip out of bed, down the glass of water waiting bedside, and slip downstairs.

And your world comes crashing down.

“Izuku.”

The door closes behind the man who’s just left. No one you recognize. You don’t care.

“Why are there a bunch of boxes in the living room?”

He turns to face you, pale. “You should be resting. You have a lot of healing to do.”

You shake your head. “Not that much. The noise woke me up.”

“I’m sorry.”

You understand immediately: he isn’t apologizing for just the noise.

There’s something else going on.

“I’ll ask you again. Why are there a bunch of boxes in the living room?”

…

“Izuku.”

He isn’t meeting your eyes. He isn’t answering you.

A pit settles in your stomach.

“Please tell me that I’m misunderstanding.”

“[name], you were attacked because you were close to me.”

Oh no. You are not misunderstanding.

“Izuku, you know this wasn’t your fault—“

“Whose fault was it, then?”

You freeze. “Izuku—“

“You were attacked. You were attacked because you were at the house I own, because you were close to me. Because you were here.” There’s tears in his eyes now. You can barely look.

“I think you know you’re being stupid. And I want you to know that you’re being stupid.”

“I’ll pack for you. I won’t make you do all the work. Any of it, actually. Not with your shoulder. But really, it’s safer if you just…”

“I’m not going anywhere, Izuku!”

Your face burns with the outburst, but you don’t regret it a moment. You’d throw things if you had anything to throw or the arm mobility to throw it with.

“Don’t you get that it’s for the best? I’m trying to protect you!”

You flinch away, wounded. Izuku has never raised his voice at you. He’s never raised his voice at all, not as long as you’ve known him. He doesn’t get—doesn’t get angry. Least of all at you. But here he is, baring his teeth, hurt in his eyes, voice loud.

“If what you really want is for me to leave, then I am not going to say no.” Your words are careful, controlled. Forced. “But I need you to say it. Tell me directly.”

Your words are met with guilty silence.

“I’m sorry for yelling.”

“Izuku. Do you want me to leave?”

“…yes.”

One word. Just one blinding word. The flash of his word is brighter than any flashlight you’ve ever seen, any LED headlight or spotlight or floodlight. It hurts just the same.

Liar.

The biggest lie he’s ever told in front of you.

The biggest lie you’ve ever seen.

Your head screams in protest, his glow offensive. You force yourself to look directly at him. Force him to look directly at his effect on you.

“But I don’t want to leave. I want to stay here. With you.”

No response. He’s glowing far too brightly—he washes out the room. You can’t see his expression, can barely even tell whether he’s looking at you. It’s job enough to look at him, but you force yourself as best you can.

“I know you’re lying. I know you don’t want me to go.”

“I don’t want to see you hurt,” he says, voice measured and evenly empty. Every word of the truth dilutes his lie, just a touch. Each word makes him just a bit easier to look at, just a bit less painful. Your vision is still spotty from the flash. “I am not enough to protect you like this. I’ve never been enough to protect anyone, I’ll never be enough, and if you think he won’t come back—“

“You really don’t get it?” You sniffle. Don’t cry. Please do not cry right now. You meet his eyes, desperately pulling back your tears. The words come running out. “I don’t give a shit about that. I don’t care about whether you think I’m safe. I know I’m safe with you, I’m in love with you, so please…”

He freezes at the admission. “You’re what?”

All you can do is nod. “I don’t want to lose you. You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me, and I swear I’m not saying that because of the money. I mean it. Everything could come crashing down around me but, as long as you’re there with me—“

He staggers forward, interrupting you by firmly placing his hand on your good shoulder. He drags his eyes up from the floor to meet yours, pain written clear as day across his face.

Pain.

Not love.

Pain.

You're about to enter a lifetime of regret and recovery from this horrible failed confession while he's trying to kick you out when he interrupts again.

"Can you... can you say it again? Please. I need... I just need to hear you say it again."

"I love you, Izuku." There's no waver to your words now. "I want to stay in this house because you are in it. I feel safe because you are here. I will always be glad I met you, no matter what you do and what happens. I love you, I love you, I—mmph!"

His lips crash onto your own, clashing awkwardly against yours as you fail to finish your confession. One of his hands slides up to cup your cheek—the other trails down your arm, fingers brushing over the scarred-over skin and intertwining with yours at the end. When you relax into the kiss, you feel a gentle squeeze.

The press of his lips against yours is slow, sweet, innocent. Softer than you’d expected. Even as your tears are slipping down your cheeks to mix with his, the contact sets your nerves alight. His forehead rests against yours, eyes still closed as he brushes away a track of tears with his thumb.

Another lingering kiss. Then, a third.

“I love you too,” he whispers at last. “I love you so much it hurts. The past week, not getting to hold you or even talk to you, has killed me.You kissed me on New Year’s and I thought I’d died, but then you didn’t r-remember so I’ve been stuck replaying it in my head. Mourning the fact that you forgot.”

“I’m sorry. I’ll never forget this one.”

He laughs, a wet, teary laugh. “I—I’m gonna live for a long time, you know? And as you are, you can’t follow me. It’s not possible and it’s not safe.”

“But I want to try.” You watch his face, his closed eyes, his perfect long lashes. Try not to count the freckles as his expression twists with emotion. He brings your hand to rest over his heart, just a moment. “I’ll follow you wherever you’re willing to take me. As long as you’re willing, I’ll be here. We don’t need the boxes. Just each other, and Sbeve.”

His eyes crack open just a touch, finding yours in an instant as he kisses your fingertips in turn.

“You’re a kind soul, [name]. You deserve to live a normal life. You deserve to die a normal death. You deserve to go about your days without pain, or heartache, or, fuck, definitely without having to worry about the kinds of people who wait in the shadows to stab you and narrowly miss a major artery, leaving you bleeding out on the porch.”

“How close did I come to dying?” It’s not the right question to ask. But it’s an answer you need to know.

“Too close. Way, way too close.”

He brings your hand to his forehead, your knuckles brushing the fluff of his bangs as his eyes drift shut again. You pretend not to notice the additional tears still slipping down his cheeks.

“Izuku…”

“So close that I know for sure I can never let that happen again. I can never put you in that danger. And the best thing I can do to make sure that you’re safe is to let you go before he can hold your life over my head. It’s the only thing I can do to keep you safe, until I know he’s dead.”

“Izuku, you don’t have to do that,” you plead, the horror flooding back in a tsunami. “I don’t want you to do that. I don’t want you to let me go. I don’t care if I get hurt! Will you please just listen?”

He shushes you gently, his breath fanning hot against the skin of your exposed wrist. “I care if you get hurt. Sorry, but that isn’t changing.”

“Izu—“

“Please, don’t make this any harder than it is. If there were a way for me to protect you, and for you to stay by my side, I’d wake up every day with you in my arms. But look at you. Look at what’s happened to you since I met you. You’re covered in scars and scabs and burns and stab wounds. I want to give you the life and death you deserve. If I can give you that, that’ll be enough to make me happy.”

He tilts your wrist to the side.

No.

Not this.

He places a soft kiss to the inside of your wrist, and you slam your eyes shut. “Please don’t.”

“Thank you, [full name]. For telling me that you loved me. Even if you didn’t mean it, I’m really glad I got to hear those words from you. I’ll never forget the sound.”

You take a peek, fearful of what you’ll see. But his eyes are closed; his lips brush against your flesh with each word. “I did mean it, Izuku. Every single word. I’ll say it to you as many times as you need.”

“Can I ask you to do something for me?”

“I won’t leave.”

A bitter chuckle. “No, not that.”

Look at the freckles dusting his perfect skin. Do not meet his eyes as he speaks. When he makes his request of you, shake your head and try to close your eyes. Do not let his eyes meet yours. When he asks you not to forgive him, even if you someday remember him, do not panic when you realize that you can’t close them. Panic will change nothing. Do not look away as fangs that have pierced your skin countless times before brush against it again—always tentative at first, always searching for something.

Look into the green eyes locked onto yours. Do not cry. It will not change how red his eyes are as a result of the tears he has shed this morning. It will not cause his resolve to falter. Do not let those tears fall onto his expensive carpet, or onto his chest, which is now pressed against yours. Pay no attention to the movement of his second hand in place to hold you close. None of that matters, because even if you had the will to move, you would find that you cannot.

In this moment, your body is not your body. It is an object which things are happening to, and you cannot control this. If you tried, you would find that you can no longer control any of this.

Try to pull your eyes away, to close them as you make a final plea for this to not be happening, even as everything else slips away. Allow the shift in the green that remains to a brilliant red to fascinate you. Allow it to distract you when, at last, his fangs pierce your skin with apology and tenderness. Allow the tears to fall as the world around the two of you slips away like sand from your fingers.

What matters now is not what is happening in these words. While you may find that you want to stop this, to yell at him to stop, to pull away before it is too late, it has always been too late. The reality remains that you cannot change this.

Note how he presses a final, sweet kiss against the seeping wound when he is done. Note how sorrowful his eyes are as they fade from red back to the green of every forest. Note how there is no telltale glow to his skin when he offers his last apology, nor his last “I love you”.

Close your eyes as he lets you go, and then…

Then?

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redux-iterum · 7 months

Text

Burning Hearts: Chapter Twenty-Nine

(AO3 counterpart here.)

It was baffling, how quickly everyone else adjusted to Greystripe’s absence.

No one spoke of Greystripe, beyond Mousefur tracking him and reporting to Bluestar that he was on the border of the Houses. Anyone who talked with Fireheart gave him a warning look when he leaned the conversation towards his friend. There wasn’t even a whisper of his kits in RiverClan. It was as if Greystripe had never existed.

Fireheart spent most of his time in camp on Bluestar’s orders. She had given some reason about “knowing he’d go looking for him” or whatever. It didn’t matter. She was unable to maintain contact with Fireheart’s accusing eyes and walked away quickly.

On this particular night—Fireheart had no idea how many had passed already—he was extra antsy, his tail thumping the ground behind him as he stewed over Greystripe and Silverstream. What will happen to their kits? RiverClan will surely keep them, but will they be treated differently because of their blood? Will they be conflicted in their loyalty to their Clan? Why did that stupid rule about loyalty have to be here in the first place? A cat died because of this! It—

“You okay?”

Fireheart blinked rapidly, jerked out of his thoughts, and turned his head. Swiftpaw had just left the apprentice’s den and was looking at Fireheart with concern.

“Oh—” Fireheart cleared his throat. “I’m fine. Just thinking.”

“Alright,” Swiftpaw said, head tilted. “You, um, you just seem kind of upset. Your tail’s really puffed out.”

Sure enough, when Fireheart looked back, his shaking tail was bristling hard enough to make it look like his hair was as long as his Clanmates’. Fireheart blinked again, stupidly this time, and could only say, “Huh.”

Swiftpaw shuffled his paws awkwardly. “Um… do you want to talk about it?”

Fireheart huffed a grim breath. “Evidently, I’m not allowed to. But… thank you. I appreciate it.”

Swiftpaw’s eyes widened just a bit and he nodded in understanding. “Sorry.”

“Oh, it’s not your fault, it…” Fireheart flicked a paw, paused, and turned the conversation. “Actually, I wanted to ask you about that rat. The bitten one?”

The apprentice stiffened, face now anxious.

“You’re still not in trouble,” Fireheart said gently, and he relaxed. “I just was wondering, was it your idea to bring it to Bluestar, or did someone tell you to?”

Swiftpaw’s eyes lifted skyward thoughtfully. “Actually, Tigerclaw said I should. He said Bluestar would probably be hungry, and she’d appreciate a gift.”

Fireheart’s heart sank. “Did he mention the rat specifically?”

“Uh…” Swiftpaw squinted now. “I think he might have? He might have just said to get the top thing on the prey-pile. I’m sorry, I don’t remember well. I think I knew I was supposed to get the rat, but I don’t know why.”

“Alright.” Fireheart nodded, trying to look at ease while his throat tightened. “That’s fine. I was curious, is all.” He waved his tail, forcing it to relax its fur. “I think I’ll get some prey myself, actually.”

“Okay,” Swiftpaw said, looking relieved. “Just, well, maybe make sure there’s no snake bites on whatever you get.”

Fireheart snorted with the barest enthusiasm he could muster and got up. He walked a little ways with Swiftpaw before the apprentice broke off to check on his sister. Fireheart dully picked through the prey-pile, trying to find the smallest thing possible. He felt sick.

That’s another strike, he thought while pretending to sniff a shrew. The rat, the borders—

“Will you pick something already?”

Fireheart startled as Darkstripe stalked around him, giving him the stink-eye.

“You’re making a mess of the pile,” the tabby added, swiping a squirrel.

For a splinter of a heartbeat, Fireheart was ready to slap Darkstripe across the face. For the rest of the heartbeat, he willed himself to stay calm and speak politely. “Sorry. I’m elsewhere today.”

Darkstripe grunted and skulked a few steps away before flopping down and chewing at the squirrel’s side.

The borders, Fireheart thought. Right.

He strolled over to Darkstripe, his prey forgotten. Darkstripe didn’t notice him until he coughed politely, and when he looked up, his face was contorted with disgust and confusion.

“If you don’t mind—” Fireheart started.

“I do,” growled Darkstripe.

“—I’ve got a question for you.” Fireheart gave him a friendly blink, disappointed by Darkstripe’s glare in return. “Do you remember when Tigerclaw had you go fetch Bluestar those times at the border?”

Darkstripe’s glare turned a bit puzzled. “…Yeah.”

“They were about rogue-scent or something?”

“Yeah.”

“I was wondering…” Fireheart hesitated, then forced a chipper tone. “Did you smell those rogues too?”

Darkstripe squinted at him. “That’s what you want to know?”

Fireheart nodded. “Please.”

The dark warrior, to his relief, did look to be thinking back by the distance in his eyes. After a bit, he said, “Well, my nose was clogged at the road, so no. I didn’t smell anything at the Houses either. Nose wasn’t clogged then, though. Why does that matter?”

Fireheart’s mind got to his tongue before he could think of a response. “I guess it doesn’t very much. I just get worried about arpam being out on the borders by himself, with rogues being wherever they want to be.”

The drop of the word “arpam” flared Darkstripe’s fur and turned his glare fully hostile, his eyes burning. He twitched his lip.

“Well, that’s all,” Fireheart said cheerfully. “Thank you. I’ll leave you to your squirrel.”

Before Darkstripe could respond, he turned and trotted away, perhaps a little more satisfied than he should have been.

The night passed, and Fireheart’s satisfaction with it. He woke up on-edge and with the sensation of being a mouse trapped in a shallow hole with an owl standing above him, waiting for him to make a move. Before Bluestar—or anyone else—was awake to tell him to do otherwise, he padded out of camp, tail-tip twitching erratically.

He wasn’t entirely sure where his paws were taking him; he was in the ether of his mind. Vague images of faces wavered in front of his eyes: Greystripe, alone, Tigerclaw’s muted fondness, Ravenwing’s intense focus as he led his friends to seek out the truth…

And Silverstream, skinny, pained, frightened.

Had she been frightened? She’d tried to make the litter go away. What was the last thing she ate before she died?

The rush of water alerted Fireheart back to the real world. He blinked in surprise—he had walked to the border of Sunningrocks.

Of course.

The rain was light, but it was chilly. On the calmer surfaces of the river, small rings appeared, expanded, and disappeared, replaced quickly with other rain-rings. Fireheart sat down unconsciously and watched the droplets, distantly fascinated by how sometimes the rings would come faster as the rain intensified for just a few heartbeats and then faded back to a drizzle, rhythmic but unsteady. It was quite pretty. No wonder RiverClan liked the water.

Caught up in the beauty of the world and feeling slightly betrayed by the ugliness of Clan life, Fireheart didn’t notice a fishy scent approaching him until a rumbling, gentle hum made him look to his left. A reddish-brown tabby was standing on the other side of the border, watching him with kind amber eyes.

“Didn’t expect to see you here,” the tom said, and Fireheart swore he knew who this cat was. “Not dropping off more prey, I assume?”

Fireheart shook his head, adding unhappily, “I’m so sorry about Silverstream. I heard about her from Leoparddawn.”

The tom’s eyes lit in surprise for a moment, then dimmed again. “I thought you might be Greystripe’s friend. You’re the former kittypet, yeah?”

“Yeah…” Fireheart sighed. “I’m Fireheart.”

The tom dipped his chin. “Oakclaw.”

Immediate realization hit Fireheart and he examined the tabby with more interest. He could see why Bluestar had been drawn to him; he was tall for a RiverClan cat, though not as tall as ThunderClan, and his face was noble and lightly scarred. He could have passed for half-ThunderClan, at the very least, but the thought of half-Clan kits made Fireheart a bit queasy.

“You’re her uncle,” he said quietly.

Oakclaw nodded, his face falling just a bit. “She told you about me?”

“She told Greystripe, and…” Fireheart hesitated, not sure if he should bring it up, but: “And Bluestar… filled me in on her history.”

So slightly that Fireheart wasn’t sure if he actually saw it, Oakclaw drew back, then settled. “Ah.”

“Yeah,” Fireheart murmured. “I’m sorry about your kits. And I’m sorry about Silverstream.”

Oakclaw seemed to scan Fireheart for a moment before saying slowly, “I didn’t think she’d ever tell anyone about that.”

“I’m good at getting secrets from people,” Fireheart said with a forced purr.

Surprisingly, Oakclaw’s whiskers twitched. He turned his gaze to the river, but still spoke to Fireheart. “Silverstream talked about you a few times, you know.”

Fireheart blinked. “Really? Why?”

“You were bringing us prey, lad.” Oakclaw looked back at him, dimly amused. “And even with the stink of ThunderClan all over you, you’ve been nothing but kind to us swimmers. We’re all grateful for you and… well, maybe not so much Greystripe anymore, but you’re still alright in our minds.”

Fireheart met his eyes and nodded. “It was an honor to help where I could.”

Oakclaw’s eyes warmed more. “Keep that kind heart safe. I know they’ve tried to claw it out of you.”

Fireheart didn’t respond, not sure whether to argue that his Clanmates had named him for his kindness or agree that ThunderClan could afford to care a bit more about the cats outside of their border. He just let his eyes drift to the ground, his thoughts coming back around to Silverstream.

“How bad was it for her?” he asked, not looking up and dreading the answer.

Oakclaw hummed dully, his voice faint and raspy. “She wouldn’t eat. She thought that could get the litter to go away. It didn’t.” His words weakened a little. “And by the time she did eat, it was too late. She got sick—don’t quite know with what—and then she really couldn’t force down anything.” He paused, tail shivering. “I just woke up one night to Crookedstar screaming for her to open her eyes.”

Stars, Crookedstar… Fireheart hadn’t even thought of him. A lump clogged his throat.

“Where did you bury her?” he managed.

Oakclaw’s ease and calmness returned. “We don’t bury. We sent her down the river.” At Fireheart’s curious look, he added, “She’s in StarClan’s paws now, all of her. Soul with stories to tell, body covered in scales and faded flowers.” He sighed, sounding like he was trying to be amused. “I don’t know how your Clan’s dead find their way to StarClan when you put them in the ground under a tree like that.”

Fireheart weakly rolled a shoulder. “I guess I’ll find out when I die. If StarClan takes me.”

“They’ll take you, alright,” Oakclaw said kindly. “No cat who does what’s right gets left behind. I don’t care where they come from.”

That eased Fireheart to his marrow in a way that he hadn’t realized he’d been tense over. “Thank you.”

Oakclaw lowered his chin a little, eyes creased, but his voice hardened a bit. “I just hope your friend goes with you and Silverstream. Most of my Clan thinks otherwise. Leoparddawn and Crookedstar certainly do.”

“He’s being punished,” Fireheart said sadly, his positivity forgotten. “Isolation for nine days. And I know he’d take anything your Clan threw at him. He was almost comatose when we first heard. He didn’t even try to defend himself.” An anxiety that had been lying in wait for days hit him. “I’m sure he wants to die too. He can’t see his kits and he can’t see Silverstream anymore. He was just… empty. When the Clan found out.”

Oakclaw’s expression didn’t change. He spoke flatly. “I can be comforted by that, I suppose, but that won’t bring my niece back.”

“Leoparddawn said something like that, too.”

“Hm.”

A long pause, then Fireheart looked Oakclaw directly in the eye and did his best to speak politely but firmly.

“I know right now it’s an impossibility,” he said, “but please, someday, please forgive him. He really did love her—loves her still. He’s desperate to see his kits. He pleaded with Bluestar and she denied him. And the entire Clan hates him.” Anger colored his next words. “They won’t even say his name, or talk about him. All he has now are me and Ravenwing, our friend, and we can’t even see him. I know him well enough to tell you no one regrets this more than he does, and he’ll never forgive himself. He’d give his life to bring her back.”

Oakclaw regarded him with something like melancholic fondness. “You know that doesn’t fix this.”

“And nothing ever will,” Fireheart said. “But when time passes, and the hurt fades a little… I hope— I hope you can see the hurt in him, too, and understand.”

He slightly bit his tongue, waiting with nervousness as Oakclaw appeared to be contemplating his request. The rain intensified, drumming at the river, filling up what silence the river’s rushing had let slide.

Finally, Oakclaw gave the barest nod and the slightest head-tilt. “One day. One day, I can try.”

Fireheart barely caught a sigh of relief before it escaped him.

“I know Crookedstar and Leoparddawn will never be able to swallow it,” Oakclaw said. “But I know how it is on the other side of something like this. I think I’ll be able to understand in a kinder way sometime.” He lifted a front paw to turn away, paused, and looked back. “We owe you both a lot, Fireheart. I suppose this is a good way to try and pay you back.”

Fireheart dipped his head respectfully and waved his tail as Oakclaw set off for the river. He himself stood and retreated into the forest, hoping desperately that things would be okay again, however long that took.

#warrior cats #redux iterum #iterum #chapter #chapter twenty nine #arc one #book two #burning hearts

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shivunin · 5 months

Note

FenHawke + 5 and Cullen/Salshira + 15 for the Florence + the Machine prompts? 👀

Oooh this is so perfect for them, anon. Good choice! I will do the second one in a separate post, as always c:

When to Fold

(Fenris/Maria Hawke | 1,519 Words | CW: references to alcohol)

Summary: After Danarius's defeat, Hawke throws a party at her home and reflects on the changes to her relationship with Fenris.

“The feeling comes so fast and I cannot control it I'm on fire, but I'm trying not to show it.” —Florence + the Machine, “Free”

Relief had made Hawke clumsy.

She couldn’t explain herself any other way. Well, she probably could if she really put her mind to it—making things up had always been a special talent of hers—but it was the only way she could explain this to herself.

“You’ve dropped your cards,” Fenris said in a low voice.

He was sitting to her left. In and of itself, this was not remarkable. They’d played Wicked Grace together hundreds of times before, though they’d done so in her formal dining room admittedly less often. They’d sat together before. They’d certainly eaten together before. But—tonight was special and she rather thought they both knew it.

For the first time in three years, Fenris sat at Hawke’s side.

“Stop losing on purpose, Hawke,” Aveline said sternly from the other end of the table. Her coin made a faint scraping noise when she slid it to the pot. “I’m a big girl. I can handle it.”

“There, there, darling,” her husband said, tapping his own face-down hand. “You did very well on that last hand. There’s hope for you yet.”

Aveline cast him a look and Donnic lifted his hands, half-laughing. Maria tried very hard to focus on the two of them, but it was difficult when Fenris went on moving in her periphery. How long had it been since he’d told her he intended to stay in Kirkwall? One week, perhaps two? She’d been so delirious with joy that she’d thrown together a party to celebrate it and only come up with an excuse for the surprise after the fact.

Something to celebrate all of them being in the same place for the very first time, she’d said. It wasn’t a lie; near as she could tell, this would be around when he’d made his way to the city. Even so, she knew that she’d drawn them all here for a different reason entirely: relief. Whatever she and Fenris were to each other—and it defied strict definitions—he would not be leaving her. Not yet, in any case.

“Maybe you should lay off the fancy Antivan wine, Hawke,” Varric had told her only moments ago, after she’d dropped her cards the first time.

Perhaps he was right. Perhaps her mood could be attributed to the heady rush of wine and good company alone.

“Thanks,” Hawke whispered to Fenris, and gathered the cards up again with clumsy hands.

He ducked his head to look between their chairs and leaned toward her, stretching. The light caught on the silver embroidery in his clothing, an admittedly indulgent gift. Worth it, of course; seeing him comfortable in fine things had done something rather odd to her chest. Well, seeing him at all did something odd to her chest at the best of times. Surely she couldn’t blame all of it on the clothing.

“There,” Fenris murmured after a moment, sitting back again. He lifted a card, freshly fetched from under the table. Hawke looked at it for a long moment before she realized that he was handing it to her.

“Oh, thank you,” she said, and reached to take it from his hand.

Their fingerprints brushed. It was nothing; the simplest of touches. She’d shared more contact with the grocer. After three years, it should not burn her so. But—it did. It did, just as it had every time before.

Fenris did not let go immediately. Neither did Hawke. He studied her face, lovely eyes rich and warm in the candlelight. The barest shadow hid under the curve of his lower lip, cast there by the very same candles. If she’d had more wherewithal, she might have wondered if she was blushing. She must be; she felt like her whole body had been set on fire. Not a fire that consumed, nor even a fire that slumbered safely in the hearth

No—if she burned then, it was like a candle set on a windowsill. Waiting, always waiting, held safe from the winds of the world by the thinnest layer of fragile glass.

“Forgive me,” he said after a moment, and let go.

Maria nodded wordlessly and folded the card into her palm with a deft and thoughtless motion. Each place he’d held it was warm. She marked them each: the edge of the card where his index finger had rested, the place where his thumb and middle finger had pinched to hold it still.

Clumsy. That’s all she was.

Clumsy, and relieved, and Maker but she’d forgotten how warm this gown could be. Hawke reached for her glass of wine and drained it all at once, wishing it would somehow cool her.

“Now,” Sebastian said from the other side of the table, “I do not mean to be rude, but I will say I was lured here with the promise of cake.”

“Oh, Andraste’s a—” she caught herself at the last moment and fumbled for another phrase. “Ah—dimples—”

“Thank you,” Sebastian said at the plainly amended oath, the corner of his mouth twitching faintly.

“—I’d forgotten entirely. I’ll go get it now.”

She stood so quickly that she almost knocked her chair over, but gathered herself with a laugh and made her escape to the empty kitchen. For a moment, she leaned back against the door and pressed her hands to her cheeks.

Three years. Three years of holding herself carefully apart and reminding herself over and over and over again that she had to let him go. Three years, and the tiniest trickle of hope had her stumbling now.

“It’s too much at once,” she said aloud, passing her hands back over her hair before crossing at last to the desserts laid out on the table. “That’s all. It caught me by surprise.”

It was too much. It wasn’t as if she’d ever stopped loving him. Of course not; she might be a practiced liar, but three years was an awfully long time to close her eyes and cover her ears. Hawke had watched Fenris walk out her door and done everything she possibly could to forget what they’d done. Instead, loving him had carved a new sort of groove in her heart. He was one of her dearest friends, and knowing they would never be anything else had allowed her to know him as he truly was. Fenris was flawed, irritable, biased, short of temper when pressed…but also clever, strong, kind when he had no call for it, thoughtful even when he thought nobody would notice, and unfailingly loyal.

When they’d stumbled up the stairs to her bedroom three years ago, she had wanted him more than anything. It was a desire that had overridden any good sense she had left, that had rushed her where she knew better than to go, but she was wiser now. Maria loved Fenris down to her bones and knew she always would, but that needn’t change anything. She’d be a fool to think otherwise now.

“Alright,” she told the cake, decadently draped with summer fruits. “Alright. I can handle this.”

“Do you need help?” Fenris asked behind her.

Clearly, she had been too lost in thought if she hadn’t heard him enter. Hawke tried to mask her surprise, but it was difficult after she’d already yelped and clapped a hand to her chest.

Fenris eyed her, one hand pressed to the center of the open door.

“Forgive me,” he said. “I did not mean to—”

“No, no, of course you’re not to blame,” Hawke told him, half-laughing. “I’m afraid I was lost in my thoughts. Thank you for fetching me back.”

He studied her for a moment. There was something soft in his face. She was certain she was not imagining or inventing that much. Perhaps it was only the release of a lifetime’s worth of fear and anger. Perhaps he was relieved to stay, too.

It didn’t explain why his ears were faintly red, but she wasn’t the only one who’d been drinking, was she?

“Thank you,” she told him when he rounded the little table and took the other side of the platter. “It’s heavy to manage on one’s own.”

“Then we will carry it together,” Fenris said gravely. When he bent his head to look down at it, a lock of pale hair drifted over his forehead.

“Ready?” he asked, and unexpectedly lifted his eyes to hers. Hawke blinked and nodded once, unable to look away for a moment. She was clumsy in a way that had nothing to do with her hands, but it seemed she would go on stumbling. Perhaps she ought to just resign herself to this. It would pass in time, when she got her feet under her. She was sure of it.

“Always,” she told him.

Fenris hesitated, opening his mouth to speak, but shook his head instead.

“Lead on,” he told her, as he had a hundred times before, and Hawke turned her attention instead to the path back to the dining room.

Well—most of her attention, anyway.

#fenris #hawke #fenhawke #maria hawke #prompt response #shivunin scrivening #this was sooooo good for them anon sorry it took so long!#just the like. 'clearly Something has changed and i don't know what to do with my hands' of it all

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delphi-dreamin · 11 months

Note

Hi dearest

Question: does Lucifer kiss your skin goodbye before you tattoo it?

- 🌞

Oh, my darling. This gave me such delicious ideas...

Kiss Goodbye

Word Count: 654

Genre: Fluff, lightly suggestive

Relationship: Lucifer x Delphi

Lucifer watches with a soft smile as his little human bustles about the room, her hair tied back in a messy bun, his own black button-down shirt draped tantalizingly over her petite frame. The sleeves are bunched at her elbows, the buttons undone to her navel, and the hem only barely covers her rear, giving him the barest glimpse of her red lace panties when she bends over. He doesn't think he'll ever understand why she likes sleeping in the shirt, but seeing her in it and only it makes an odd feeling of pride swell in his chest.

“You have a meeting with Diavolo first thing tomorrow at RAD, then we're having lunch with Simeon at noon,” she reminds him as she packs her laptop into her school bag. “We’ve got reservations at Ristorante Six at 8. And don't forget I have a tattoo appointment at 3, so I'll be out for a few hours after classes. I'll meet you back here before dinner.”

Lucifer frowns. “You have a tattoo appointment?”

Delphi looks up at him, her brow raised with amusement. “There's a visiting artist at the shop I like this weekend. I told you about the appointment last week! You seriously forgot?”

“I've had a bit of a busy week, darling,” he reminds her with an amused grin of his own. “Remind me what you're having done?”

Her eyes light up and he smiles. She loves talking about her tattoos, and he loves listening to her. Her excitement and passion are infectious when she's explaining her newest body art.

“I've been messaging them about a design based on one of my drawings. It's a honey bee with honeycomb and a crown,” she explains, the twinkle in her eyes and the light flush in her cheeks betraying her excitement. She sets her bag on the sofa and approaches where he sits on the bed, slotting herself between his thighs and draping her arms over his shoulders. “It's been almost a year since my last big piece, and I can't wait!”

“And where will this one go?” Lucifer asks, his gaze lingering on her bright eyes even as his fingers begin to undo the remaining buttons on the shirt she's appropriated.

He doesn't miss the darkening of her cheeks and the way her gaze flies down to his lips when she says, “It's going to be an under-bust. They're going to incorporate my pact mark into the design as the crown.”

“So, here?” he asks, gently splaying his hand over the soft skin above her lower sternum. His ruby eyes never leave hers as she nods, her lips parting slightly. Her heartbeat quickens under his hand and he smiles. He dips his head to press his lips to the warm skin there and grins when she gasps at the contact.

“Right there,” she breathes, her head falling back as his hands spread over either side of her ribcage. Warmth begins to pool in her belly as his lips wander her upper stomach. Her fingers find his hair of their own accord, burying themselves in his soft locks.

“What are you doing?” she asks, chuckling softly as goosebumps raise on her skin.

“I’m saying goodbye to this lovely patch of bare skin,” Lucifer whispers against her, sending heat directly to her core. He continues to murmur against her, “I love your tattoos and your piercings because you love them and they make you feel beautiful. But you have such gorgeous, delicate skin. And this might be the last time I get to see this particular patch.”

His tongue flicks out and caresses the unmarked flesh below her pact mark and a moan escapes her lips. His breath feels cool against the trail of his tongue, and it makes sparks bloom within her, makes her skin prickle with want. He continues placing open-mouthed kisses on her chest and stomach, smiling as she trembles beneath him.

“You sound almost like Asmo,” she huffs, grinning like a cat.

Lucifer chuckles, “Sometimes he has the right idea.”

Taglist: @sassykattery @bite-sized-devil @sparkbeast20 @kyungjoon-do @attic-club-sandwich @consolationblog @flemmingbamse @syren201

#obey me #obey me lucifer #obey me x oc #mc!delphi #delphi's anons #🌞 anon #☆whispers from the wood #i wanted this to be more smutty #but the writer's block is real

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fawnandshadows · 1 year

Text

You Painted Me Golden Chapter 12 — Dancing With Our Hands Tied, Part 2

Rating: M

Warnings: Language, Soft Smut

AO3

Chapter 11

Word Count: 5k

And darling, you had turned by bed into a sacred oasis

When Elain woke the next morning she was still tired, almost drained. The warmth of Azriel’s muscled body nearly lulled her back to sleep the second her eyes cracked open, but the early morning sunlight shimmering off of her new tattoo drew her attention.

It looked as if a ray of golden sunlight had been drawn into her skin, marking her.

The tattoo stretched over the entirety of her hand, and Elain smiled as she gazed at it — only the barest hint of it covered by the pearl bracelet Azriel had gifted her. There was no hiding it, not unless she wanted to wear gloves constantly, or use some magical glamour. But Elain was done hiding. And the thought of hiding her marriage made her want to wretch. It made her skin-crawl and the work turned irrecoverably wrong at the mere thought.

Elain wanted everyone to know. She wanted everyone to know that she and Azriel loved each other so much that they willingly intertwined their souls together, that their lives were fully and completely linked.

And they didn’t need a meddling cauldron or some fated bond to decide they were meant to be.

Elain pushed herself onto her elbow and looked down at her husband.

Dark eyelashes grazed his cheek, which was just a little bit smushed from the way he laid awkwardly against the pillow — his neck slightly bent from where her head was laying.

Husband.

It was their first morning together as a married couple, and Elain didn’t want him waking with a stiff neck, so she gingerly placed her hand against his jaw and pivoted him ever so slightly. Careful not to disturb him. But his eyelashes fluttered at the contact.

Her hand slowly drifted up the handsome planes of his face, over the endearing freckle by the corner of his eye, and then up to brush away the dark curls that had fallen over his forehead.

“I never want another morning without you.” Elain whispered to her sleeping husband.

Azriel’s eyes remained shut as his hand came up to rest on the small of the back, almost taking up the entire area.

“Mo chroí,” Azriel said in a gruff voice. “I will gladly give you all of my mornings, and all of my nights,” His eyes slowly opened, and Elain saw shining gold under heavy lids. “I plan to be the most dutiful husband.”

A slow, sleepy smile spread across his lips and showed off the dimple that Elain loved so much.

“You never told me what that means,” Elain said, shifting her position so that she was no longer propped up, and instead she laid her palm flat against his chest and rested her chin on the back of her hand. “Mo chroí.”

The words were still unfamiliar on her tongue, but she liked the way they felt.

She had only ever asked him this once before and he deflected.

Azriel’s rough thumb gently moved over the exposed skin of her back.

“My heart,” Azriel said, his voice thick and rough. “It means my heart, Elain.”

She felt a thumping in her chest — her own heart threatening to beat out and connect with his. This entire time he had been calling her his, his own secret way of saying he loved her.

“You, my dear husband, are a romantic,” Elain whispered and leaned forward to place a gentle kiss on his lips. His hand sliding along the length of her back, over the curve of her spine, and eventually settling at the base of her neck. She felt the hard length of her husband pressing against her tired body as he lazily kissed her. “Do you feel any different?” Elain asked against his lips.

She pulled back slightly to study his face.

The sharp line of his jaw was dusted with stubble and Elain watched as he slowly worked it as he thought of his answer.

“I don’t know,” Azriel said carefully, his fingers softly massaging her scalp. “I love that we have new tattoos, I’ve missed being connected to you like that…but there is a rather large part of me that can’t quite believe that we’re actually married, that you’ve decided to share your life with me. And there is another part of me that is inexplicably tired.”

Elain jerked in reaction, pulling her face farther away as her fingers accidentally tightened in his hair.

“As am I,” Elain said as she sat up, her golden curls falling around her. She saw Azriel’s eyes drop to her full breasts before falling back on her face. “I thought maybe it was just all the excitement, but maybe it’s something else? If you’re feeling it too?”

Azriel moved his hand to grasp her hip and bring their bodies together.

Elain sighed in exasperation before saying, “I thought you were tired.”

“I’m a newly married male,” Azriel explained as he ground himself against her. “There is no such thing as being too tired.”

She smiled and placed two hands on his shoulder and leaned forward to plant a kiss on the tip of his nose.

“You’re not going to be able to escape my question,” Elain whispered before pulling back. “Now, do you think we should be worried? My tiredness — it’s different. Like someone drained me of energy.”

“Someone did, me.” Azriel said smugly before kissing her once more. He captured her bottom lips between his teeth as she pulled away — a groan eeking out of his throat as his love moved away from him.

“It’s different. We’ve made love lots of times before,” Elain blushed at the dark, hungry look that swept over Azriel’s features. “Even more vigorous than last night, and I’ve never felt this way after.”

She felt as Azriel’s body tightened and then relaxed against her own.

“I think we’re just tired, Elain,” Azriel said softly and a vulnerability crept into his eyes. “From everything. Devlon, my brothers, sneaking around — I think we are finally feeling it’s toll. I don’t know about you, but I am a little relieved…before yesterday there was always a nagging fear that this might end. That you might decide to leave or that someone would take you away from me, and now…and I know it’s fucked up, but now I feel as if I can finally relax.”

Elain took in his words for a moment, and she knew there were more important things to focus on. Like how her mate was somewhere in the house. The Illyrian warlord that wanted to claim her. But there was something that stuck onto Elain’s mind like a splinter.

“You thought I would leave you?” Elain asked, her heart skipping as the words passed over her tongue, her voice barely over a whisper.

She brought her fingers up to try and ease some of the tension in his jaw. From the way his muscle was popping out, Elain could only imagine how hard he was clenching.

“Yes,” Azriel admitted, his eyes downcast. “But it was my own fucked up insecurities. It wasn’t anything you did.”

“Well,” Elain started, moving so that her chest was pressing tightly against his own. She loved the feel of his hardened body against hers and the way they fit together so perfectly. Unbridled contentment slowly started making its way through her lethargic body. “I guess we’re lucky, I have the rest of our lives to prove myself to you, mo chroí.”

Azriel stilled as Elain used his term of endearment, and a loving smile slowly came to life on his face.

“I might need a lot of convincing.” Azriel said and claimed her lips, pushing his hips up against hers.

Elain broke away with a gasp, delighting in the pleasure that burned in her veins.

“We should take a trip,” Elain said before her lust completely took hold of her. “Somewhere neither of us have ever gone before. Once everything is over.”

“I’ve been to a lot of places, wife.” Azriel planted kisses along the length of her neck, and for whatever reason Elain shivered, extra sensitive to his touch. Something hummed deep within her, and her hips started moving against his — desperate to feel more of him.

The breath left her lungs as Azriel flipped them over. Elain could feel her hair spilling over the side of the bed.

“Well, you better find some undiscovered corner of the world, husband.”

Azriel aligned their hips, and Elain swore her body was burning where it touched his.

“Are you always going to be this demanding?” Azriel asked as he pushed into her, his wings looming behind him and blocking the sunlight. The thin membrane of his wings glowed red from the light shining behind him. He grasped at the underside of her right knee and brought her leg up, reaching deeper into her.

“Yes,” Elain moaned, meeting the rhythm of his thrusts. “I suggest,” She gasped as his hips ground into her swollen bud. “Getting used to it.”

Azriel moaned, a seductive and lustful sound that caused her pussy to tighten around him.

“I shall have to think of ways to keep you entertained.” Azriel said with a wicked smile, his calloused fingers sweeping over her clit.

Her teeth sank into her lip to muffled the scream that tore through her throat.

Azriel pumped once more before spilling inside of her, his hips stuttered as he worked through his orgasm. His body soon fell over hers, and he nuzzled his face in the crook of her neck. He planted hot kisses over her sensitive skin before saying, “Elain, do you want to be a good wife?”

“Yes.” Elain mewled, her fingers coming up to twine into his silky dark locks.

A deep, luxurious chuckle came from Azriel and Elain felt it reverberate through her entire body.

“And you want to make me happy?” Azriel asked, and Elain nodded in response. “Then you won’t clean yourself. You’ll let my come mark you all day,” His lips scraped against her neck, over her rapidly beating pulse, and he tongue smoothed the marks he had left on her neck. “While you’re talking to your mate, I’ll be so fucking hard knowing that your messy from this morning.”

Elain felt a wave of hot pleasure rolling through her, so much so that her head fogged with lust and she would have agreed to anything he said. He could have asked her if she would let him bend her over the breakfast table and fuck her while everyone watched and she would have said yes without thinking.

“That’s a good wife.” Azriel said and kissed her neck once more.

People started talking putting us through our paces

The newly wedded couple were so electrified from the afterglow of their love making that they didn’t notice the suspicious emptiness in the palace hallways.

They walked through the corridor completely enamored with each other.

Elain was still in a daze from how Azriel had handled her body, the delicious ache between her thighs a beautiful reminder of what they shared, and slightly shocked that an early morning session of making love could energize her to the point where she could feel the energy buzzing in her veins. It took everything in her not to jump on her husband in the middle of the hallway.

Azriel stared at his wife as he walked.

There was something smug — something prideful — that grew in his chest as he looked at Elain. Seeing the promise of their vows marked on her pale hand, knowing that he had marked her in a way that only he knew about. It was a vicious thing, the possessiveness that clawed at him. There was something in him that screamed to take her against the wall, to lift her dress and pound into her until her screams were echoing off the walls.

He had to fight off of every instinct that told him to claim her.

The newlyweds didn’t hear the whispers behind the closed doors.

Instead, they just walked to the breakfast parlor like they did the day before. Not thinking about how no maid interrupted them this morning, there was no knock on the door that declared breakfast was ready, no announcement that Vassa was ready for them.

They didn’t think about how the door was closed when they arrived, and if they weren’t addled from their love and lust they would have noticed the hesitant glance between the two footmen that stood outside of the breakfast parlor.

Azriel was gazing down at Elain with a tender smile on his face and reached out to open the door for her. He was too infatuated with his wife that he didn’t notice how conversation came to a halt as they stepped through the threshold.

Eventually, he tore his eyes off of Elain’s beautiful face and looked at the room he had just entered and felt his heart stop beating.

There was a fourth person sitting at the table. Someone new. Someone that caused loathing to seep out of every pore of his being, and if he wasn’t so shocked then Azriel would have blood on his hands.

It wasn’t even that shocking that he was sitting there, but it was the fact that Azriel had let his guard down to the point that someone had entered the palace and he had no idea. That anyone could have been sitting in the room and Azriel would have walked right into it — he would have let Elain, his wife, walk right into it. And he did.

He let his wife be blindsided.

Azriel felt Elain’s body go still as she registered Graysen’s presence in the room.

“Graysen.” Elain whispered, and Azriel's urge to shred Graysen into pieces grew stronger. A rush of bloodlust roared through him, and if it wasn’t for the vulnerable little hitch in Elain’s breath then he would have pinned Graysen to the wall.

Azriel took a protective step in front of Elain and crossed his arms over his chest, glaring at the human sitting at the breakfast table. His fingers dug into his arms as he fought against himself.

“Elain,” Graysen said as he stood up abruptly, his chair almost toppling over. He looked just as surprised as Azriel felt. “I didn’t know you were here.”

Azriel tore his eyes off of Graysen long enough to look at the queen and her two companions.

Vassa looked slightly less casual today, her fiery hair done up and elegantly braided together, and a crown adorned her head. Despite being caught in an uncomfortable situation, her face was impassive with a slight, polite smile.

Lucien looked unsettled as his eyes darted between Elain, Azriel, and Graysen — his jaw clenching and unclenching, and his face turned a bit green. Almost like he was on the verge of casting up whatever was in his stomach.

Julian…Julian was grinning from ear to ear.

Azriel tightened his grip until his knuckles turned white to hold himself back.

It was awkward, to say the least.

“I told Mary,” Vassa said in a clear voice, trying to cut though some of the tension in the room. “That our breakfast was to be postponed. She was supposed to go to your room and inform you, Spymaster.”

“Obviously, I wasn’t there.” Azriel said gruffly, his eyes still trained on Graysen’s trembling form. It was only when he saw that Graysen was shaking that Azriel realized his shadows had darkened the room — it looked as if a storm was brewing beside their breakfast.

The sun streaming in through the windows couldn’t penetrate Azriel’s shadows, which were swirling through the room in a display of intimidation and power.

“Where were you, oh fearsome shadowsinger?” Jurian asked, his voice dripping with amusement. His eyes gleamed with a crazed delight as he stared at Azriel — he looked away long enough to rake his eyes up and down Elain’s body, and Azriel could stop the aggressively possessive growl that ripped through his throat.

Julian threw his head back with a laugh.

“What the fuck is that smell?” Lucien asked and raised his hand to cover his nose — he looked as if he was physically in pain. “Does no one else smell that stench?”

“I don’t smell anything different than the day,” Vassa said, leaning forward to place a tan hand on Lucien’s shoulder. Her ginger brows were furrowed in concern.

Azriel felt Elain move closer towards him, and a small hand settled onto his straining arm. A small amount of tension left his body, but Azriel didn’t allow himself to become too relaxed. Not after the surprise that they had found behind two closed doors, and Azriel didn’t want them to be caught unsuspecting again.

He didn’t want any more nasty surprises.

Especially if they made him murderous.

“Just the regular,” Vassa’s blue eyes flashed between Elain and Azriel. “Smell.”

“You should have warned us,” Elain said in a controlled voice. Azriel looked towards her and saw that her eyes were trained on Vassa, her face polite yet stern. “Something more than just a message the morning of. As soon as this meeting was planned we should have been informed.”

Azriel felt a surge of pride as he looked at his wife.

“I’m gonna be sick,” Lucien said as he stood, at some point he had grabbed a napkin to use as a mask, as if it could stop whatever phantom scent he was smelling. Lucien tried to rush by them, but the shadows were too dark and dense for him to pass through. “Let me leave.” Lucien dry heaved, one hand dropping to clench his stomach.

Azriel willed his shadows to listen, but for some reason they fought him.

They dimmed and lightened up just a bit, but Azriel was too late. Lucien had dropped to his knees and whatever contents he had consumed for breakfast was expelled onto the floor.

Azriel had moved quickly enough to pull Elain away, his hand had wrapped around her stomach to grip her soft belly. He took a step back, taking Elain with him,

Her back was pressed firmly into his front, and the hand that was splayed along her stomach glimmered despite the shadows that darkened the room.

Lucien looked up at them, he glared at them as he ran the back of his hand over his mouth. His eyes immediately latched onto the bright tattoo on Azriel’s hand.

Between clenched teeth, Lucien growled, “What did you do?”

I knew there was no one in the world that could take it

“I didn’t realize that you two would need a chaperone.” Vassa said, pacing back and forth in front of a stained glass window in the library. The fiery red reflecting on her white robes.

Elain stood with her hands clasped in front of her, the picture of cool elegance against Vassa’s frenzied concern. Her brown eyes followed Vassa as she moved back and forth, her feet poking out from beneath white robes.

“We do you a favor, we offer you refuge — and this is how you treat your mate?” Her icy blue eyes landed on Elain as she finally stopped moving, and the queen brought her hands to rest on her hips as she scolded Elain. “Do you have anything to say for yourself?”

Elain simply shrugged and said, “I never wanted a mate,” Vassa threw her hands up to cover her face. “And I gave Lucien no false hope. I made it clear that I was never interested. I regret the stunt that my brother-in-law pulled, but I had no hand in it.”

Vassa seethed as she moved.

“You could have at least done Lucien the courtesy of rejecting him.” Vassa said

Elain held her tongue for a moment as she gathered her thoughts.

“From what I understand it's hardly considered courteous to reject a bond,” Elain said, and Vassa red curls flew through the air as her neck whipped towards Elain. She opened her mouth to speak, but Elain continued. “One of the reasons I came here in the first place was to reject the bond, but so many of my choices have already been taken from me, and I wasn’t going to miss the opportunity to marry the male I love because of courtesy.”

Vassa closed her mouth.

“I should think you would be happy,” Elain said quietly, a smile quivering on her lips. “Lucien is soon to be a free male.”

A blush swept through Vassa’s cheeks, and she gently smoothed the nonexistent wrinkles of her dress as she said, “I don’t know what you’re speaking of.”

Elain choked on her laughter.

“I know what pining looks like, Vassa,” She said softly. “I experienced quite a bit of it myself, and I am very sympathetic,” Elain chewed her lips gently and she mentally tossed around the words she wanted to say next. “I want Lucien to be happy, but I know his happiness doesn’t lie with me,” She didn’t back down from Vassa’s intense blue eyes as they stared her down. “And I think Lucien is happy here,” Elain took a deep, steadying breath. “At least happier than I’ve ever seen him.”Vassa straightened her shoulders and held her chin up high. “Yes, well, we are very accommodating.” The queen pretended to be indifferent, but Elain could see how her words affected her.

“We won’t be staying for much longer,” Elain said. “Once the bond is taken care of, my husband and I will be on our way.”

“What of the warlord?”

“I have a new bond, one that I cherish more than anything else, and we will see if he will respect it,” Elain gave a small shrug. “Which I doubt he will. I expect we will see bloodshed.”

“I thought you were a seer,” Vassa said, her eyebrows twitching. “Can you not just see what will happen?”

“My own future is blind to me, but I see bits and pieces of my family. I see Feyre and Rhys with a daughter, one with beautiful wings. Nesta and Cassian, they have two sons, but not of their own flesh. That gives me faith. And Azriel,” Elain felt her smile waver. “His future is blind to me as well…I used to be able to see it, bits and pieces of his day to day life. Nothing serious. I hope — I hope it is because his future is so closely tied to mine.”

There was a beat of silence.

“I hope so as well.”

Elain inclined her head and said, “Thank you.”

The clicking of the doorknob caused both of them to turn towards the opening door, and Elain felt her breath catch in her throat as Azriel glided into the room.

A purple bruise blossomed along the line of his jaw. Without her mind's consent, Elain rushed to her husband. Her hands came up to delicately grasp his jaw and she placed a soft kiss onto his injury.

“Are you ok?” Elain asked, her thumbs rubbing tenderly over his skin.

Some of her worries fled as his large hands settled onto her small waist. The comforting weight of them a balm to her concerns.

Azriel pressed a kiss to her forehead. His warm lips caused Elain’s eyes to flutter shut, and for a moment all was quiet. There was just her and Azriel.

“Do I really have to see this?”

And Lucien.

With a sign, Elain pulled back. She dropped her hands, but instead of taking a step back, she wrapped an arm around Azriel’s torso.

Azriel didn’t hesitate to place an arm over her shoulders. Lucien looked fine, and something deep inside of Elain wanted to rage at the fact that he had injured her husband, but some of it subsided as Lucien walked further into the room and exposed a limp to his right leg.

He walked as if bones were fragile and he was afraid to put weight on them.

Elain bit her lip to stop herself from smiling. She knew there was no reason for her to be smiling, and she really shouldn’t be so satisfied that Azriel was the male to come out on top — it wasn’t even a surprise — but warm pleasure rushed through her every time he displayed his power.

“Soon you won’t care if you see us together.” Elain said and rested one hand on Azriel’s chest, her palm above the steady beating of his heart.

Lucien looked doubtful but nodded his head. He walked further into the room, everyone politely ignoring the way he limped, and walked towards the small tables lined with clear bottles filled with amber liquid.

He poured himself a large drink and drank it in one swallow.

“Let’s do this,” Lucien said as he set his glass down with a clank. “Maybe then it won’t smell so fucking disgusting.”

I, I loved you in spite of deep fears that the world would divide us

Elain thought she would feel different. Lighter. Unchained.

She didn’t feel the thread that had been tied to her rib — but she never did unless Lucien was tugging on it.

She thought something would have happened. Something magical. When she and Azriel had made their bargain in the church, when they had promised themselves to each other, she was overcome with, well, with everything. The golden light that came from their promises, the ceremony, whatever magic that passed through them was so overwhelming that it left her in a blissful daze before tiring out.

But there was nothing like that with Lucien.

“Are you sure we did that correctly?” Elain asked, taking a step away from Lucien.

Her hands fell away from his, which were winter bitten and cold, and stepped toward her husband.

“Yes,” Lucien said, and for the first time since their arrival Lucien looked relaxed and at ease. “Whatever foul odor that was there is gone. Thank the Mother,” Lucien muttered and took a deep breath. “Now everything smells of roses.”

Elain felt a frown appear between her brows as she turned to Vassa and asked, “Do you smell that as well?”

The queen closed her eyes and took a deep breath, a look of contemplation on her face.

“Vaguely,” Vassa said as she opened her eyes. “I never would have noticed it if Lucien hadn’t pointed it out. But that horrid smell is gone. It didn’t make me vomit, thankfully, but it seemed as if you both needed a hot bath… The rose smell is different. Less noticeable. Like someone sprayed a perfume in the room and before we entered.”

Elain slowly nodded her head.

“Can you smell it?” Elain asked Azriel, and she watched as he took a deep breath before shaking his head. “Neither can I.”

Confusion swelled in her chest, but she tampered it down. “We should probably get going.” Azriel said, placing his hand on the small of Elain’s back, and Elain nodded her head in agreement.

“But you only just got here?” Vassa said, and for a moment Elain felt as if the queen was truly sad to see them go.

“We’ve discussed it a bit,” Elain said, shooting her husband a shy glance. “And we are going to take a small journey back. You know about the human tradition, Vassa, about the honeymoon. This might be the only chance for us to have one.”

Elain intertwined her free hand with Azriel’s.

“Will you at least stay for a meal before you leave?” Vassa asked, and Elain wondered if the queen really did want them here, or if it was just her manners prompting her.

“Of course,” Elain said with a soft smile. “And I hate to ask for one more favor, but if your cook could provide us some provisions for the road, then we would greatly appreciate it.”

Vassa nodded and quickly excused herself. Lucien followed on her heels.

I'm a mess, but I'm the mess that you wanted

“Do you feel any different?” Azriel asked as soon Lucien and Vassa left the room.

He guided her to a chaise by the flickering fire, away from the door. If Elain had to guess, then she would have to say that he didn’t want anyone eavesdropping on them. Elain knew that he was upset about this morning — when Graysen had managed to be in the same house as them and Azriel had no idea.

From the corner of her Elain saw Shadow floating by the door as if standing guard.

There was a teeny, tiny part of Elain that was happy Azriel was comfortable enough and happy enough to let his guard down, and she couldn’t wait for a day when Azriel could do that with no consequences.

“Not really,” Elain said as she took a seat. As soon as Azriel sat next to her she nuzzled into his side, as if she were a cat. “I thought it would feel more diffinitive, more significant. I feel the same as I always did. Though, I am glad that the thread is gone, and it was smart of you to suggest that we test it. I felt so much relief when I didn’t feel it tugging on my rib,” Elain sighed as she pressed her cheek further into his chest. “Everyone always makes such a big deal about the mating bond that I assumed something would happen. Even Lucien seemed relieved that the bond is gone and supposedly it’s supposed to be a horribly painful experience for males. I guess I just wanted some closure,” Elain peered up at him from under her lashes. “Which is silly because Lucien and I had all of five conversations before today. And all of them lasted less than five sentences.”

“It’s not silly, Elain,” Azriel said and planted a kiss on her forehead. “People were pushing you two together for so long that it’s only natural for you to expect more. I’m starting to think,” Azriel dropped his voice to a dramatic whisper. “That a mating bond may not be all that everyone paints it out to be.”

An ugly snort came out of Elain’s throat, and she slapped a hand over her mouth to stifle her laughter.

“So you don’t wish that we had a mating bond?” Elain asked with wide eyes.

Azriel gazed down at her, and Elain knew he was choosing his words carefully.

“It certainly would have been easier for us if we had a mating bond,” Azriel said slowly, his fingers playing with the hair draped over Elain’s back. “But I wouldn’t love you any more with a mating bond. I don’t think it would make our relationship any more meaningful. In fact,” Azriel leaned closer to her. “I find it quite flattering that you chose me over your mate.”

Elain blushed at the words.

“We certainly have a unique story, don’t we, husband?” Elain smiled as she said the words and nudged Azriel playfully with her shoulder.

“One that our children will love to hear, I think.”

Elain’s cheeks ached as her smile overtook her face.

“I think so as well,” Elain whispered, tilting her head up to look at him more fully. “And they’ll love to hear about all the adventures of our honeymoon,” Azriel raised his brow at that and Elain felt a flush overtaking her cheeks. “Not that.”

Azriel grinned broadly at her, his hazel eyes bright and a soft laugh sounded from his throat.

“Our first stop,” Azriel said. “Is the Summer Court.”

— —

tagging: @thefangirlofhp @offtorivendell @the-laughing-bubble @justheretoreadsposts @swankii-art-teacher @achelois-daughter @caracalwithchips @impossiblescissorspeachpaper @sakurakittypeach @123moiaussi

I’d kiss you as the lights went out — Swaying as the room burned down

#elriel #elain x azriel #elain archeron #pro elriel #azriel #elriel fanfiction #elriel fanfic #fawnandshadows writing #you painted me golden

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fyodcrs · 1 year

Text

Melodies of Sadness (Fyodor/Sigma)

“I’m not afraid. I just wish I understood.”

“Understood what?”

“You.”

(This is only a snippet; read the full fic on AO3 here!)

He could feel Fyodor’s gaze on him, appraising. “Are you afraid of me, Sigma?”

The question was so unexpected that Sigma was at first unsure what he heard. “No!” he cried, denial the instinctual response. “I don’t, I mean—” He stopped himself and glanced up at Fyodor from under the protective veil of his hair, wary, uncertain. “I don’t…know. You…” He made a helpless gesture, as if to capture the words he could not find from the air that filled the space separating them.

Fyodor tilted his head, an oddly boyish gesture, and folded his arms across his chest, leaning on the counter. His expression was unreadable. Strands of raven hair tumbled into his eyes and brushed across his nose. Again, Sigma thought about brushing them away, the softness of pallid skin beneath his fingertips. He wondered if that would be his death, at the end of all this. A touch of Fyodor’s hand, an instant of the contact they both had always taken care to avoid. Maybe that would be better than how those others might have killed him—bullets, knives, beaten and left to the mercies of the desert. A kind of intimacy Fyodor would give him in no other way. In that moment, perhaps, Sigma would have time to use his Ability and see what Fyodor really thought of him, why Fyodor chose him.

He settled for honesty, because he could not lie to Fyodor as Fyodor could lie to him. “I know what you want of me. I know—” that you’re going to kill me. He took a deep breath and was dismayed to hear how it hitched. He was too emotional, too brittle; he always was. With the right push, he knew he would shatter, and he feared he was much, much too close to that point. He felt small, exposed, his chest ripped open and everything inside him laid bare before those dark eyes. “I’m not afraid. I just wish I understood.”

“Understood what?”

“You.”

Because you’re at the center of all of this. This—all of this—is about you.

For a beat, the only sound was the pounding of his heart. He raised his head, but he did not dare look at Fyodor directly. He cupped his elbows, almost shrinking in on himself.

“Sigma,” Fyodor said, soft as a breath, and then he stepped forward. He did not come any closer, but a hand raised to Sigma’s face, not touching him, just hovering there, palm turned inward as if to cradle Sigma’s cheek. “Melodies of sadness surround you; I can hear them so clear.”

“I hear them from you, too,” Sigma said. And in that moment, he could; the barest impression, like the susurration of wind through the skeletal limbs of trees in the dead of a winter night. Perhaps what Fyodor heard was different; the whisper of rolling sands, the gasp of a first breath in a vast wasteland. And here, maybe, was something Sigma could understand. “That’s it, isn’t it? You’re as alone as I am.”

Fyodor closed the distance between them in one fluid motion. The hand that had only hovered near him now cupped his cheek, tilting his chin up. Fyodor’s lips were soft and dry on his own. Barely the suggestion of a kiss, feather-light and fleeting, and if it were not for the flashes of knowledge that passed into Sigma’s mind through the conduit of his Ability he might have been able to convince himself he had imagined it.

Sigma stared, wide-eyed, mouth parted in a tiny o. Fyodor’s hand withdrew. Sigma wanted to catch it, to pull him back, but all the strength seemed to have retreated from his limbs. He would have collapsed to the floor if the counter had not been there to fall back onto.

What he wanted to know most from Fyodor was twofold: he wanted to know what Fyodor was really after, why he was doing all of this, and he wanted to know what Fyodor thought of him. These two things, these two desires, had been intricately linked together in his mind since he had first been brought into the Decay of Angels, and so when his Ability activated it sought out the answers to both questions.

Sometimes, the information he received from another person came in images—the picture of a person, a place, a thing. Sometimes it came in bits and pieces of data like a computer code, meaningless until it was put together in a larger context. Sometimes it came like a transfer of thoughts, an echo in his head of a voice that was not his own. This was one of those times, and the two thoughts that he heard, in Fyodor’s voice, were:

I’m tired, so tired, Lord, let me finish the work You gave me to do, let me rest, let me die—

And:

I don’t want you to die.

The ghost of warmth lingered on his lips, and in his mind he heard those words, over and over: I don’t want you to die. A melody of sadness, weaving around him in sweetly melancholic, haunting tones.

His life was not his own and never had been. He wondered if it was the same for Fyodor.

I don’t want you to die, either, he thought, and maybe Fyodor understood—maybe that had been the information that Sigma had shared in turn.

#Bungou Stray Dogs #Fyodor Dostoevsky #Sigma #fyosig #I wrote another extremely self-indulgent fic #but it's long so I'm just posting the last bit of it here :3 #I edited it a bit so it could stand alone too #but please do check out the whole fic if you like this! <33 #*fics #fyoma

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mugiwara-no-toshokan · 9 months

Text

Thrice Prophesized

CisFem Reader x Roronoa Zoro

CW: In-Universe levels of violence, amnesia, romance, reader gets some good bad-ass moments, but shouldn't feel Overpowered if I did my job well, surprisingly no smut in this one loves, but it's book 1 of 2.

Still 18+

Chapter 21: Grandline Metro

The soft whisper of the wind, the gentle lapping of the waves, and the shivering gasps slipping from between your lips were the only sounds that night. Zoro’s rough hands were surprisingly gentle, slipping along the lines of your body and barely brushing against the bruises and welts from your fight.

Light kisses followed along with the tender touches, barest hints of pain fading away into the warmth of his hands and his lips. Tears slide down your cheeks, but they’re not born of pain or sorrow, simply of the overwhelming gentleness that is engulfing you. A need to banish the pain in your body, a desire to unite in pleasure; the restraint of his actions are a beautiful mix of feather light and completely undeniable.

“Haa,” you shiver a little, the cool air dancing over your shoulders. “If this is the treatment I’ll receive whenever I get injured, it’s not exactly a deterrent.” You admit with a nervous chuckle. Your face goes red when Zoro looks up at you and you turn your gaze away. Sharp teeth threaten to sink into your skin and you gasp a little at the action. “S-Sorry.”

He pulls your shirt back up your arms as he straightens up, glowering down at you a little while he buttons it up. You smile despite the look on his face and place your hands over his. You don’t stop him from buttoning up your shirt, but you find yourself wanting contact, and feeling his hands move beneath your fingers is enough.

As he finishes the task, you let your hands fall to your sides. These moments have always been far too fleeting for your tastes.

“Is it… would it be cruel of me to say I want to sleep beside you?” You ask. You can feel your neck and ears heat up.

“No.” He answers shortly, before stepping away from the railing and sitting down against the wall and staircase. He pats his lap, looking up at you.

“That’s -.”

“I can’t go into your room.” He says flatly.

You could sleep in the cot with him in the boys’ room, but the cots were meant for a single person, and they’re a little tricky to get into. Which isn’t a problem when you aren’t covered in bruises and small fractures from fighting.

“I sleep like this a lot, it’s okay.” He explains as you step toward him. You smile softly, remembering when you were new to the ship and had seen him sleeping leaned up against all manner of surfaces. All he seemed to do some days was sleep.

Stepping into his lap you get as comfortable as you can, with a little wincing as you settle into the space he’s offered. You turn toward him a little, face nuzzled between his chest and shoulder, his arms wrapped around you, feet against the deck. You can feel yourself already starting to drift to sleep even as the soft kiss warms your forehead.

. . . . .

The crew’s answer to your injuries when the ship was slung through the air like a rocket was a cocoon of blankets and a combination of Robin and Luffy’s devil fruits. Robin would cradle your cocoon of blankets in a net of her arms, and Luffy cushioned the whole thing by inflating his body.

Aesthetically it looked completely ridiculous, but functionally it was perfect. It absorbed the force of the acceleration and the sharper deceleration of the landing. The only fleeting downside was that it made you feel a little motion sick, but once the take off or landing were complete the sensation faded quickly.

After reassuring Zoro and Chopper after the first test of it, a schedule was set to rocket the ship toward the Grandline Metro as fast as possible. The further ahead of the Vice Admirals that you could arrive, the more time you had to get your feet under you before anything else happened.

Eight, terrible, queasy, barely controlled shots through the air and you arrived.

“That island is massive.” You admit, watching the line of land on the horizon grow larger and more defined as the Sunny approached it. “It seems more continent than island.”

“The Grandline Metropolis is both the largest city and island in the world,” Nami says. “The only body of land larger is the Red Line.” She unfurls a map and holds it out in front of you, giving you one side to hold onto so she can point while she talks. “We’ll be landing here, on the northern edge of the eastern coast, just inside the large rural area known as East Blue.” Her finger moves further into the interior of the island. “About here is the start of the territories directly controlled by the Warlords, it’s banded around this section which is the domain of the Four Emperors.”

“And all that surrounds the supposed neutral zone people call the Holy Land?” You question as Nami nods.

“You’ve got it. The One Piece is thought to be somewhere in the Holy Land, it’s half of why it’s called that.”

“What’s the other half of the reason?”

“There’s a few Celestial Dragons there, and a very strong Marine presence.” You make a face and Nami laughs. “Yeah, that’s an appropriate reaction, (Y/N).”

You point to the four outer sections of the circular island. “East, North, West, and South Blue all have their own… king? But not a monarch, it’s a title for those seeking the One Piece, yes?”

Nami nods. “Luffy is the East Blue’s king.”

“And you have, you said alliance was a strong word,” you pause for a moment, considering your words. “An understanding with the kings of the North and South?”

She nods again. “We realized before we left on our journey that the tree of us have slightly different goals, even if they all revolve around the One Piece. Luffy sees it as a friendship, but I don’t think the other two captains view it quite so positively.”

“But the concern of deceit is low because all three have objectively bigger concerns than one another.” You say, remembering what had been explained to you before. “It is an unofficial alliance, without terms or restrictions. I’d call it foolish if I were back in the Dukedom, but for this world it seems reasonable.”

“Ooooiiii!” Usopp yells down from the crow’s nest. “I see them on the shore! Luuuuufffffy!

“A day’s notice was enough?” You question. “You said the island was massive, six hundred thousand square kilometers. Even on a horse that would take days.”

Between Coup de Bursts, Nami, Usopp, Sanji and Franky did their best to explain how different the Metro was from the islands you had been too. It had something Usopp called an inter-net for communication, and strange flat rectangular devices called cell phones, that let people talk to one another so long as they were on the island. You were struggling with the idea of cars, even after Usopp and Franky had drawn you various pictures of them. The idea that they could travel so fast over land safely seemed suspicious, but you were also certain the crew wasn’t lying to you.

At least the odd long-distance radio devices, called den den mushis, or transponder snails, made some sense to you. The idea that they were modified living creatures was a little hard to grasp, but they weren’t too dissimilar from the telegraphs or communication magics you knew of in the Dukedom.

“After you ride in a car, you’ll understand.” Nami assures you.

Yesterday Luffy had used the ship’s transponder snail to contact his brothers and let them know the crew was almost back. Neither brother was, according to the crew, a member of Luffy’s crew, but both were supportive of him. You didn’t understand all of it, but enough.

Sabo was part of a group of rebels that was led by Luffy’s father. Ace was a part of a different group of pirates, though they were coming off the defeat of their captain, so it was hard to say what the crew itself would do.

Regardless of their situations or obligations, the young men put one another above all else, and so both had been waiting at the shoreline when the Sunny docked.

Luffy’s joy at seeing his brothers could have set the entire island on fire it was so bright. He leapt from the Sunny and cleared the small bit of ocean easily, crashing into the shore with the kind of reckless abandon only someone made of rubber could risk.

By the time you reached the shore the reunion was calming down. Aside from Zoro, who was coming ashore with you, the rest of the crew had caught up with the brothers. The two of them turned toward you and you bow slightly. You’re not completely healed, but the last five days have let your bruises fade, and the only thing you had to do was mind your breathing so you didn’t twinge your rib.

“(Y/N), it’s a pleasure to meet the captain’s brothers.” There’s a flicker of shock on their faces before the two break into very different smiles.

The blonde one bows, removing his hat and the actions are practiced and comfortable for him. “Sabo, it’s a pleasure to meet you.”

The tan and freckle-faced brother’s smile is more of a grin. He removes his hat and bows as well, but there’s no comfort or practice in his movements. It’s mimicry, but it’s not meant as an insult. “Ace, at your service.” He straightens up and looks you over. “You’re not what I expected.”

“Ace!” Sabo scolds. “Don’t mind him, he’s a brute.”

“What did you expect?”

Ace shrugs a little as Sabo sighs. “Between the amount of your bounty and the frenzy from the Government about your arrival, I expected you to be like practically giant-sized, wielding trees as clubs or something. Instead, you look pretty normal.”

“I… don’t know what to say to that.” You admit. “I’m not wanted for my battle skills.” You say a little more bitterly than you mean to let slip. Ace flinches and puts a hand over his face before bowing.

“Sorry.”

“It’s okay,” you assure him.

“It’s true then?” Sabo prompts, looking from you to the crew and back as they nod. “You’re a prophet?”

“Seems so.” You admit a little uncomfortably. “I can’t really control it though.”

“Control isn’t something this crew is exactly brimming with,” Sabo mutters with a small smile. “Which is to say, you fit right in.”

“So, what’s the plan?” Ace asks, looking around.

“Protect (Y/N) and search the Holy Land!” Luffy says from the tree he’s climbed. “Robin and (Y/N) don’t think the One Piece is actually there, but we need to check.”

“Sorry – what?” Sabo exclaims. “Decades of certainty that it’s somewhere in the Holy Lands and you’re saying it’s not? Are you sure you read the right poneglyphs?”

“(Y/N) can read them.” Robin says, and Sabo starts to say something before he pauses and then looks at you differently.

“Natively?” Sabo questions and you nod.

There’s a twitch in his fingers that causes Zoro to step between the two of you and Sabo seems to snap to his senses. Putting his hands up he steps back.

“Sorry, sorry, I absolutely would not.” He promises. “At the very least I wouldn’t kidnap a member of Luffy’s crew no matter what the Revolutionary Army needed or wanted.”

Zoro grunts and you feel yourself relax a little until realization dawns on you.

“Oi, Luffy!” You call out to him, and he pokes he head down from the tree he’s in. “Let me join your crew!”

Luffy laughs. “Of course!”

You look up at Sabo and smile. The young blonde man chuckles a little and bows slightly.

“You never asked?” Zoro questions, caught more off-guard than Sabo.

“I… things happened.” You say, looking away as you hear him groan. “It’s resolved now though.” You point at an odd-looking carriage to change the subject. “Is that a car?”

“Technically, it’s a van.” Ace answers you, a smile of pride on his face.

The boxy contraption looked big enough to hold everyone that was gathered, if not a little snuggly. It had rubber wheels like Franky had described, a windshield, and a door that slid off to one side. It seemed similar to what Usopp had drawn for you, but it was certainly a bigger, different design. It was decorated with flames down the sides of it, and seemed a little ostentatious to you.

“Oh!” Sabo snaps his fingers and walks over to the tree Luffy’s in. “Luffy, you should contact Trafalgar now that you’re back.”

“Traffy?”

He nods. “Apparently there’s quite the tale to tell from the last year and he wanted to catch you up on things before you did anything.”

“Let’s get back to Merry Go,” Luffy says, dropping out of the tree. “Taffy will get irritated if I call while we’re all crammed in the van.”

Sabo’s eyes go a little wide. “That… doesn’t usually stop you.” He shakes his head and Luffy laughs it off and pulls an envelope from his coat. “Sanji, here.”

“Eh?” Sanji takes the envelope and looks over at Sabo questioningly.

“It was left at the tree house, so it’s either from Law or Kid, but it’s addressed to you.” Sabo explains. “I found it last week and brought it with me when I heard you were all coming back today.”

Sanji tucks it away. “Thanks.”

“Alright, everyone in the Fam Van!” Ace yells, pulling the side door of the van open and directing people to pile in.

Jinbei sat up front in the passenger seat while Sabo got behind the wheel. Franky settled into the wide backseat, with room for Robin and Nami on either side of him while a small Chopper sat on his shoulder and Brook settled into the cyborg’s lap. Sanji, Usopp and Luffy sat along the wall just behind the driver and Zoro sat down in what looked like a single occupancy seat before motioning you over to him.

You wince a bit getting into the van, but settle into his lap without much additional concern. Ace glances over at the two of you as he sits in the other seat before he closes the door. There’s a grin on his face, but he doesn’t say anything.

By the end of the drive your mind is made up about vans and cars, and you like neither.

#x reader #reader insert #one piece fanfiction #roronoa zoro x reader #zoro x reader #Thrice Prophesized #grandline metro au

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