#if only the man weren't so... prickly

[starcrossedxwriter]

Still Standing Part 2 (Smoke x Black Reader)

A/N: Ummmm a bit late but here you go for all my Smoke girlies! 💙💙

Read part 1 if you haven't already!

Warnings: This is a reader fic (not Smoke x Annie - unless you wanna read it that way! I just love this gif (sue me lol), SMUT, DNI, mentions of violence and abuse.

*** The love between you and Elijah was forged one silent moment after another. He did not capture your heart with clever words and long winded soliloquies. He did with his presence. His ability to exist in utter stillness. His steadiness. Storms could be raging around him, designed to rattle, shake, and scare him. But none of it worked. 

He never rushed. 

And when he struck? It was with perfect precision and control. 

It’s what made him Smoke. Lethal and unforgiving. Merciless. 

But it was also what made him Elijah. How in his childhood silence, he watched everything about you. And showed you the depths of his understanding of you in the most exact ways. As if he studied you long enough to learn your soul. 

How he brought you your favorite flowers for the first time once on a whim. A fact he knew not because you ever told him, but from noticing which flowers you spent the longest tending to in your garden.

How he endured being yelled at by your mama for staying too late when a storm was headed in. All so he’d be allowed to spend the night because he knew thunder frightened you. He’d stay up with you working or talking, holding you through the worst of it. You found out what it felt like to fall asleep in the warmth of his arms that way, only breaking apart if you heard the creaking floorboards of your mama coming to check on you.

It was the way he held you close to his chest after you bandaged his cuts and bruises after their father’s beatings, knowing you needed the reassurance that he was alright. 

You had long stopped allowing yourself to fantasize about what it would feel like to be cocooned in his silent focus again. To be loved by a man as devoted and singular as he. 

But at this moment, his silence was not the calm you once dreamed of returning to the heart of. It was thick, prickly with the tension of everything bearing down on both of you like a ton. Trauma, lost time, lingering questions, concern. 

When he walked out of the barn some time later, his energy felt as if someone had dropped all the weight of the world onto his back. Blood splattered across his crisp white shirt, only interrupted by his charcoal vest. He did not say a single word to either of them as he slid his jacket back on. Stack whispered something in his ear as he passed him a rolled cigarette.

It was about you, you knew when Smoke’s eyes flickered over to you before climbing into the passenger seat. You imagined it was just to share what you’d said or done while the two of you waited, which had been nothing. Nothing that you knew would still be of interest to your husband. 

You‘d allowed Stack’s gentle arm to lead you to their car and climbed into the backseat without a fuss, not uttering a word to your long lost brother. You just stared blankly with bloodshot eyes at the barn entrance, chewing your lip raw, body trembling as a small piece of you deflated every time the door opened and your husband did not emerge. 

Stack had attempted to engage you in conversation, he could never stay quiet for too long. But even that could not thaw you out. You were not sure you even really heard him. Every brain cell was occupied with thoughts of him.

Your blank expression was not from a lack of things to express. But from the sheer overwhelm of too many questions and discussions.  

What did he do to Red? 

How the fuck were they back here? 

Why were they back here?

Why did he leave you?

Would he leave again?

But it was folly to ask a single one to either brother. Stack was, rightfully so, far more terrified of his big brother than you so you weren't going to be able to pry a word out of him that Smoke did not want you to know. And when Smoke wordlessly climbed into the passenger seat, you knew he was not going to answer a question until he decided you were alright. All your questions about him would have to wait. 

You and Stack could almost see his internal spiraling as Stack drove them a few miles home. You could feel him agonizing over what almost took place, what would’ve happened if he hadn’t been there. You could feel his focus on you the entire ride. Every few minutes, his head tilted toward the backseat.

With only the corner of his eye, he examined you. How you anxiously chewed your lip, how your arms cradled around yourself, how you sat trembling but so stiff despite the exhaustion etched in your eyes. 

You felt every millisecond glance, each one helping him understand what you needed to feel the depths of his love and devotion. 

That tension rattled around you three until you reached your home. Stack helped you out, a relaxed grin taking over his features. The years away aged your husband a bit more than his brother. You wondered when he last smiled? Elias smiled all the time and always made sure you were too, even if it was while you rolled your eyes at him. But Elijah, smiles were rare for him. Laughter too rare. You imagined Elias and you were the only two people on Earth blessed enough to witness either. 

It showed even in how they settled around your kitchen table, Stack leaning back in his chair without a care in the world. While Smoke sat but remained on high alert, sitting straight as if someone tied a board to his back. Always watching, always examining. 

You busied yourself to fix them both something to eat. The same prickly silence expanded like air to fill your quaint kitchen. You felt his eyes following you in every motion and movement throughout your kitchen. Here, he was not regulated to side glances in the car. Here, he could consume you like the most riveting novel, memorize how your body changed in the last eight years. 

You placed Elijah’s porcelian bowl down first, the man merely nodding. 

“Thanks, darlin’.” His gratitude reflected sincerely in his eyes despite his lack of movement. His fork remained untouched, his body rigid as steel. His eyes decidedly cast on you. 

You raised your eyebrows in a brief challenge. No husband of yours was going to sit at your table and not eat a proper meal. And the attitude starting to form as your free hand rested on your hip communicated just that. 

But he remained unbothered as he continued smoking, consuming his drugs of choice. Tobacco and you. 

This man of mine, you thought to yourself. Stand-offs such as this were far too common Being one of two people Elijah trusted came with the honor of being the person he trusted to care for him. But it had to be on his terms and only when he deemed it necessary. Stubborn as hell when he wanted to be. And today, he wanted to be. 

But you couldn’t fathom loving anyone else. 

You imagined he often had similar thoughts about you. 

“If that nigga won’t eat, I sure as hell will. Specially if that’s yo gumbo?”

Stack’s words ended your staring match in defeat, forcing you to move on to hand his brother his food. 

You remembered the last time you made their favorite meal, a family recipe from Louisiana that had been passed down to you. You made it for them on their last birthday in the Delta, before they left for Chicago. The first of many birthdays you expected the three of you to celebrate in you and Elijah’s home.

“Yea. I get the urge to make it every once in a while. Made it before Hattie’s. Helps remind me of home, I guess.”

In the last eight years, the memories of that last birthday were a buoy at sea you clung to, filling you with the joy the days alone depleted. You remembered Elijah, Elias, Mary, Grace, and Bo sitting around your table, smiles bright, laughter loud, bellies full with all of the twins’ favorites. You remembered Elijah’s gentle hands sliding around your waist to pull you into his lap as you passed him, your body exhausted from a long evening of hosting and an even longer day of giving him the birthday he deserved. And every time you tried to get up to pour someone another drink or fix him or Stack another bowl of gumbo, he’d gently tighten his grip forcing you to rest against him.

You remembered thinking that this was exactly what you wanted the rest of your life to be. 

You and Elijah would grow old in the home he built to your exact specifications. With every passing birthday, your walls would grow full and vibrant with the memories of the life you built together; your furniture would become more and more loved and worn with time as the gathering spot for your family; your house would become louder and more rambunctious with the children you’d have together. 

You remembered thanking the ancestors for that day, for how profoundly in love you were with your present and the rich future you saw with Elijah and this chosen family you had together. It had not been much. In your world, your people were not afforded much more than 'just enough.' But to you, it was everything.

The first birthday without him forced you to contend with the reality that such a coveted dream was barely clinging to life. Was it dead and lost to you forever? Everyone around you believed so. Or would your Sun return and breathe life back into your universe and future? At first, you held onto that hope that you could get everything you once had back again. But with every passing birthday, the dream lost its color, lost its sharpness and clarity as it slipped farther and farther away from you. And so did home, forcing you to cling to every fleeting memory and wisp of it that you could. 

Your eyes lifted from your hands to glance at your husband, his eyes squarely set on you as if he knew what home really meant. 

Him.

“Them ghosts you be talkin’ to might be onto somethin’.”

You jokingly hit him upside the head with your towel before returning to the stove. You knew the twins didn’t believe in the same powers you did. You didn’t believe in what they did either. But there was respect on both sides, acknowledgement that all of it worked together, somehow and someway. That their individual ways had their place in this world and why, against all odds, the three of you were still standing. 

“Heard you takin’ care of crackers cross town now?” Stack asked in between bites, his bowl vanishing faster than light itself traveled.

You waved your hand, dismissing the concern you already heard laced in his tone. You did not need to turn around to feel your husband’s gaze intensify against your skin.  

“Remind me to kill Grace tomorrow,” you muttered in annoyance. “Just a couple of the wives… one of ‘em Geraldine works for is from somewhere down in Louisiana. She likes her healin’ a bit stronger than the medicine them white doctors use.” 

“Just be careful, aight? Met a lot of white folk n they all trouble.” 

You chuckled, your eyes glancing from the towel in your hand to his brother who was still laser focused on you.

“You know mama used to say the same bout you two. ‘Always trouble with the SmokeStack twins’” 

"'N whatchu think?” 

“Trouble ain’t all bad. There’s good trouble in there too if you can find it.”

“And the SmokeStack twins? What kinda trouble we to you?”

“The kind that makes it worth it.”

Elijah’s hand stilled, his cigarette halfway to his mouth as he recalled the first time you told him that. The night Smoke was born and became the world’s, and Elijah became yours. Though, if you let him tell the tale, he was yours long before you caught on.

“Mama, please. Somethin’ could be wrong. He don’t live far.”

Two days. You hadn’t seen Elijah in two days. And that was just so unlike him. For over two years, you spent almost every day together, even if he just stopped by for a few moments.

With your increasing responsibilities in your home and grandmother’s shop, Elijah’s presence was the stolen sweet moment in long, aching days. A sacred ritual. As your granny became too sick and her work fell to you, Elijah always seemed to know exactly what you needed when he stopped by. Some days, he would just come by to help you finish whatever task your grandma and mama set you to. Sometimes, he’d take on the task himself to give you a brief respite in your garden. And some days, he'd convince you to let him whisk you away to sit on the bank of the river or under the shade of a tree. And he let you lay your head on his shoulder and he let you just be.

And you tried to be the same for him. 

You gave him your hand to squeeze when he needed to talk about his father or worry himself about how he could protect his brother, as if they both weren’t just boys themselves. You bandaged up his cuts and wounds privately, giving him the space to be in pain and vulnerable. You held him as he shared his fear that the talk around town would be true. That he and Elias were doomed to be as rotten as their father was. And you told him every time he needed to hear it that he was so much more of a man than his father could ever be, that they would survive him.

Without even noticing, he’d become everything to you. And the sweetest boy - who captivated your thoughts when you should be focused on so much else - had no one to check on him. No one to know or care if something was wrong with him or his brother. All they had in this world was each other… and you. 

If you did not go, who would? 

“You can wait till mornin’. Sun goin’ down, n Elijah lives too far to go now.” 

“But mama-” 

“Stop all that back talk now,” your daddy called from his perch on your porch. 

“One more word bout it n you won’t go tomorrow either. How about that?” 

“Yes ma’am,” you grumbled, deciding it was better not to push your luck. 

“N I keep tellin’ you I don’t want you anywhere near his daddy or his house. I’ll let you go over tomorrow to check on em if it’ll get you to quiet down bout it n do your work in peace but then the twins gotta come here.” 

“Elijah won’t let his daddy hurt me.” The conviction in your voice was unwavering.  

“Can’t stop him from beatin’ the hell outta his own flesh and blood. Don’t see how he can protect you. From his daddy or anyone else for that matter. Even himself.” 

You stilled, turning your head to her. 

“I don’t need protection from Elijah. Why would you even say that? He’s a good boy, mama.” 

“He’s a good boy now, Y/N. But we all know who his daddy is…” 

“Elijah ain’t his daddy. He’s just him. N he’s a good friend to me, mama.” 

Your mama shook her head and turned around to return to the stove. “You know I have eyes too, Y/N. I see the way that boy looks at you. N’ I see the way you look at him."

"N what way is that?" you asked defiantly.

"The way I looked at your daddy when we first met. Actin like you ain’t sweet on each other. It’s friendship today, yall too young for much else. But in time, it won’t be friendship. 'N not all good boys grow to be good men, Y/N.” 

You shook your head in disbelief at her words. You tossed down your towel. “I know him, mama. You keep sayin' I got a gift but you don't trust that I know him? I know what I need to know."

“Quit hasslin’ that girl, Evie," your father jumped in, saving you the beating with a switch your mother would unleash if you kept pushing her. Even if you were technically right.

"You wasn’t listenin’ to Mama Mabel when I started comin round either. She just like you. Young, stubbon, n in love.” 

“We’re not in love,” you tried to interject when your mama cut you off. 

“Aint the same thing at all. We was grown, not two kids chasin’ after each other. That boy ain’t no good. Everybody in town know it. Why you think you’re the only one that spends any time with the twins?” 

“Cause you raised me to do right by people who do right by me. N Elijah does right by me, helps me. Why ain’t that enough for you?” 

“She right, Evie. N nothin’ you say gon’ change her mind n you know it,” Your father stood tall, his broad shoulders and frame taking up the door frame into the kitchen. 

“I guess errbody in this house know better than me, huh? Like I ain’t the mama n I just don’t know shit,” your mama ranted as she angrily stomped back into your parents’ bedroom. 

You bit down on your lip, your anxiety at upsetting her clashing with your gratefulness for your father for defending you. You understood it was your mother’s job to be concerned and protective but what you felt for Elijah? It was not some childish infatuation. And you knew he felt more for you. 

“Do me n you a favor n don’t push it again tonight, aight? I’ll make sure she lets you go tomorrow.”

He leaned down so you could peck him on the cheek, too tall for you to reach even when you stretched. “Thank you, daddy.” 

Tomorrow had never seemed so distant, as if they were asking you to wait ions not hours.

You’d get up at first light to check on him, you decided as you laid in bed. Elijah was an early riser anyway so he’d be awake. You made a plan to sneak over a few pieces of cornbread for them for breakfast too. Seemed like they only ate well at your or Mary's house and they had not been around in days. It would not be much but you could convince Elijah and Elias to come over for dinner once you saw them. 

You tossed and turned into the night, sleep difficult to sustain as worry consumed you with every passing moment. The wind against your window, the calls and rustles of nighttime critters called out to you, begging you to break your mother’s rules altogether and race to him. 

Something was wrong. You could feel it. 

However, despite your age, you knew this was not the world for reckless choices, not for people who carried your skin tone. Reckless choices led to death and harm, harm you were forced to confront daily.

So you tempered yourself. The morning. At first light. You’d be safe and you’d make sure he was too.

A soft thud against your window disrupted your fitful tossing and turning. You glanced over your shoulder, deciding it must’ve been a small bird or something running into it. However, before your head could fall back onto your pillow, you noticed a hand knocking on it again. 

Who on Earth would be at your window? 

But you knew it could only be one person. 

“Elijah.” You whispered it as a prayer as you catapulted yourself out of bed. 

Your nightgown swayed around your feet as you tiptoed to your window. Something warm nestled in your chest, loosening the sharp talons of concern enough for you to breath again. 

You gently pushed open your window, the clouds bathing you both in darkness. As your eyes adjusted, you could see Elias’ frame leaning against the house a few feet away.  

“Elijah! You know it ain’t safe to be out in the middle of the night. You two alright?”

“I didn’t know where else to go,” he whispered, his voice more unsure than you ever remembered it being. “But he needs you.” He paused, hesitating for a second before his eyes fell down to his hands. “I… need you.”

Your eyes misted, three simple words steamrolling you like a train. You knew since your first meeting two years ago that, in some complex way, Elijah needed you as you needed him. But he never asked for it, never explicitly said the words.

But here, in a voice as uncertain and broken as you’d ever heard him, he asked for you. And there was not a world in which you would deny him. 

A shift in the clouds bathed them in moonlight, his bruises and the dried blood splattered across his shirt. You did not need to be able to see Elias to know, if Elijah looked this bad, his state was far worse. 

You clenched your eyes. You knew something had been wrong. You reached your hand through the window, cupping his cheek briefly as your heart splintered for him and his brother. How could anyone hurt them like this? They deserved so much better. 

His head nestled softly into your palm as if it was the first comforting touch he had felt in far too long, a single tear sliding down his cheek. Your thumb whisked it away as he sniffled, clearly trying to hold it all inside. 

“You got me, I promise. Meet me at the shop door.”

A look of guilt formed on his face. 

“Yo mama? Don’t wanna get you in trouble.” 

“Sleep. But I don’t care.” 

He pressed a kiss into your palm, your heart fluttering. 

This boy… your mother’s words of warning floated back to your mind. She had been so wrong. Whatever this was was so much more than friendship already. You were not certain you could live without him. You tentatively leaned forward and pressed your lips to where your palm had just been. You had never kissed him before but it felt right, like what he needed to know you would choose him, be there for him, every time. 

“Come round to the front, okay? I’ll be right there.” 

You grabbed your granny’s shawl, which she has given to you shortly after falling ill, wrapping it around your shoulders. You quietly snuck out of your room and down the hall to the shop attached to your parents’ home. 

You were quiet, praying your mama and daddy stayed sound asleep for a while. 

You held open the door, both staggering in, Elijah leading Elias to the bed while you turned to light a few candles.

With a candle in hand, you started to rush toward Elijah but a minuscule jerk of his head forced you to change course. Elias first, always. 

As you approached them, you had to muffle a gasp. While their father had always done his worst, this seemed beyond even that, their bodies bloodied and bruised to a degree that should send their father straight to a county jail. Blood caked around a poorly patched wound on Elias’ head, which you figured accounted for the blood splattered on both their clothes. 

You were so focused on their injuries that you did not even notice the pistol held tightly in Elijah’s hand. 

Elias’ head hung low, a certain shame and despair settling around him that you weren’t accustomed to. His signature smile gone and the mischievous glint in his eyes completely extinguished.

Your finger lifted Elias’ head as you gently pulled the bandage off his forehead, the young man hissing in pain.  Your breath was sharp as you took in the gash on his head. 

“What he hit you with?” No one’s hands could produce such a wound. He hesitated. “You can tell me,” you whispered. 

You were not as close to Elias as Elijah, of course, but as you fell in love with Elijah, a more sisterly love similarly bloomed for his more talkative half. 

“Pistol whipped me. H-He didn’t mean it… tho,” Elias offered slowly, his voice breaking slightly as his hand lifted to wipe away a tear. “He was ju-...“

You glanced over at Elijah whose eyes seemed to soften for a mere moment with guilt before settling into something far harsher.    

“I know. But let’s worry bout you for a while. Not him, hmm? Let me bandage this up right so you can get some rest. Then we can talk bout the rest in the mornin.’” 

“Will it scar?” He asked quietly, a fear you often heard with injuries to people’s heads and faces. 

“I think I can preserve your good looks,” You offered with a grin as you grabbed everything you needed to clean him up. “This gon’ sting a bit.” You paused for a moment before adding, “You know even with a scar, Mary would think you’re still the better lookin’ twin.” 

You tucked your legs under you as you worked, cleaning his wounds and bruises with intense care. Your words about Stack’s crush, Mary, lightened the load weighing him down. His body perked up ever so slightly and he gave you the tiniest half smile. 

“Ain’t nobody thinkin’ bout Mary,” he muttered, unconvincingly. 

You merely nodded with a skeptical look on your face. “Uh huh, I’m sure nobody is. You know… she’s sweet on you too. Too shy to say it, maybe but she asks bout you all the time. Like today when I ran into her at the store.” 

“What she say?” he asked far too quickly. 

You giggled, even Elijah cracking a smile that made your heart soar. 

“Thought nobody was thinkin’ bout Mary?” You teased playfully. “Just asked if I’d seen you round. Told me to tell you hi if you both came by.” You lifted his head to study it again before nodding. “Head wounds bleed an awful lot but you don’t need stitches or nothin’. Keep it covered, don’t mess with it, n’ it shouldn’t scar too bad. Got some salve for the cuts and bruises."  

“Thanks, Y/N.” 

“Of course, Elias. I’m just sorry you…” You stopped yourself,  they never needed or wanted anyone’s sympathies. “Just sorry. How bout you lay down while I tend to this one?” 

“If he’ll let you.” 

“I think he’ll let me. I got the magic touch. But I’ll need you if he gives me any trouble. I’ll grab you another blanket.” 

However, when you turned around, Elijah had already pulled another out and sat it beside you. 

Of course he knows where we keep the spare blankets. 

You draped the extra blanket over him, gently ensuring it covered his entire body. Your hand rested on his shoulder for a brief moment before you turned to grab the few things you needed to care for Elijah.

“Thanks.” 

The word was soft, almost inaudible, but you heard and felt it all the same.

“You’re welcome. I’ll be back to check on you in a bit.” 

You gestured for him to follow you to your bedroom. You snapped the door shut, knowing you’d be in a world of hurt if your mama caught you with a boy in your room. But you’d accept whatever punishment she doled out. Caring for Elijah would be worth every minute. 

“Shouldn’t be in here. Your mama will…” 

“I told you, I don’t care bout none of that Elijah,” you offered as you went to sit your burning candle on your nightstand before turning back to his rigid form by the door. Now able to truly focus on him, you saw it. His pistol. 

The gun should’ve scared you, should’ve made you call for your daddy to talk to him. But you found that you were not in the least bit scared. All you saw in his eyes was exhaustion. Not anger, not rage… not an intent to cause harm. Just a weariness you were only familiar with in the eyes of the elderly, people who were haunted by too much.

It wasn’t fair. 

“You’re worth every bit of trouble I’ll be in.”

Your words seemed to almost startle him as if no one had ever considered him worth sacrifice. You could tell he almost could not process such an idea, such consideration and devotion directed at him. 

“Thanks for takin’ care of him,” he offered lowly as you closed the space between the two of you. 

“Don’t gotta thank me. He’s gon’ be alright. So you gon’ put that down ‘n let me take care of you now?” 

The old pistol shook as soon as you drew his scattered attention to it, likely for the first time since they stepped into your home. Now, no longer under the eye of his younger brother, the cracks in his iron wall started to show. 

Your hands slowly cradled his face as he tried to avert his gaze, his eyes glassy from tears he refused to let fall.

“Elijah… you’re safe now.” 

Silence. You did not repeat yourself, did not rush him to move or surrender his weapon or soul to you. That was not the way with Elijah. No, you just stood still beside him in the silence until he felt safe enough to move or speak. 

“I… I needed it,” he finally whispered, his words barely audible. “H-he wasn’t gon’ stop. H-He was j-just gonna keep on hurtin… N’ Elias… he- I thought he was-” his words splintered as he finally spoke life into whatever brought them to you. “I had to do it.”

You did not miss the implications in his words, how he spoke about his father as he was - not how he is. You foolishly assumed the blood had been Elias but now the look in his eyes told a very different story. Your eyes clenched shut for a moment, your head bowing in sadness. Not for the loss of his father’s life, he did not deserve to live given what he did to his own sons. But for what Elijah was forced to do to be safe, to be free. 

 “H-he hit em with it n… I… took it. I d-didn’t even think… just had to. Y-You gotta believe me, I didn’t… h-he was gonna-” 

Your hand moved to grab his free one as his sentences broke apart into pieces, frantic and erratic. He pleaded his case but you did not need to hear it. You saw what his father was capable of so you knew exactly what he feared, what your small corner of the world would believe. 

“Breath for me, Elijah.” You helped him take deeper breaths, your hand moving to his chest to ensure his heart rate slowed back down a bit. 

“I believe you, I know what you had to do, Elijah. But hey, look at me,” You gently lifted his chin so his solemn brown eyes were set on yours. His free hand gripping your hip to bring you closer to him. “It’s just me here. Just your girl. N I promised to be good to you so… you don’t need that in here, not with me.” 

He said nothing, an internal battle raging so loudly around him that you could almost hear the debate. To acquiesce the weapon would force him to confront what transpired, what they lost throughout their childhood, and what they lost today. And you did not know if he was ready for that just yet. But you’d stand here as long as it took for him to rest. 

“You can put it down. Just for while? Let me take care of you, Elijah. Please. Put it down for me, baby.” 

At your pleas, he lifted his hand, allowing you to pry the weapon from his fingers. It pained you to move from his presence, even for the few seconds it would take to stow the gun somewhere safely. In those few seconds, the tremble in his hands spread to his whole frame. 

“It’s okay, it’s okay,” you whispered as you rushed back up to him, enveloping him in the most tender hug you could muster. 

You could feel his surrender. First, of his body as he went slack, falling heavy and fully into your embrace. His legs gave way to his weight like paper beneath him, forcing you both onto the weathered wooden planks of the floor. 

Then, of his heart as he shifted you into his lap. He intertwined your bodies so tightly, you no longer were certain where he began and you ended. No space for the ancestors between you as you clung to each other as if you were the rarest of air. 

And his last and most vulnerable surrender of his soul as the dam finally burst and tears fell and sobs bubbled to the surface. 

Neither of you spoke, time simply slipped past you both without conscious thought because every thought was wrapped up in your private cocoon. You just allowed him the space to feel it all privately, and stayed exactly where you were so he knew he’d always have comfort. He’d always have you. 

Eventually, he shifted to look at you, his eyes bloodshot and filled with the emotional and physical exhaustion of the day. Of his life. 

“Didn’t mean to… I’m sor-” he started to say but you would not hear it or accept it.

“Don’t apologize to me. Whatever you need, I’m here. You wanna lay down?” 

He nodded softly, allowing you to extrapolate yourself from his arms long enough to get off the floor. You led him gently to your bed, both of you climbing in without thought or hesitation. Your bodies were chaste but the energy around you cracked with intimacy, yearning, need. You kept a gentle hand on his arm while you laid facing each other. 

It was improper, you both knew, but you were not sure you cared. You were not sure you would have even been able to rest if he were too far from you. 

You often found yourself searching for Elijah, finding his presence in a crowded room before anyone else's. You did not quite understand it, how instinctual it felt to be near him. But it was the strongest you’d ever felt tonight, this irresistible pull to be as close to him as possible, decency be damned. 

“You think it makes me like him? Like everybody say?”  The words were so faint but the weight of them, the fear in his voice let you know if he had been scared to ask it, scared of the answer. “T-that I was able to… maybe I’m a monster too.” 

“No.” The sudden blaze in your eyes was fierce. "Never wanna hear you talk about yourself like that. He was the monster n you saved yourself. Freed yourself n your brother from him. That's all that matters.” 

“N you? You not… scared of me cause of what I did?”

“I could never be scared of you, Elijah. You’re my best friend. You hurt him to defend someone you love, defend yourself. N that’s brave… that’s strength n courage. N that tells me everything I need to know about your heart. Your soul. N the kinda man you’ll be.”

He seemed skeptical, even in the darkness. So you continued, taking his hand and bringing it to your chest, “I know who you are, Elijah Moore. You’re a protector… you’re loyal, devoted, kind, gentle. You could never be a monster… Not to me.” 

His hand rested tightly on your hip. Your bodies inched closer to each other, Elijah’s lips capturing yours. The first brush of his lips was light as a feather before he pressed in. Slow and deliberate as everything Elijah did was. 

If someone had stolen your heart right then, you imagined its glow would eclipse the moon. In his arms, you felt flooded with such light that you could shine as bright as the Sun outside. You’d never been kissed before, never felt the fire of another’s touch quite like this. But it was surreal, magic as if the ancestors had blessed this stolen moment.

You loved this boy. And he eliminated any confusion or doubt you had that such a love was reciprocated. It was and it was the sweetest freedom this world had to offer. Your soul felt as if it could float away with Elijah Moore and no one and nothing on this Earth could stop you. 

You whimpered as he pulled away, your body jerking forward in a bid to reclaim his lips. He rested his forehead against yours, pulling your body so you were flush against his chest. 

“I love you, Y/N,” he whispered in your ear. “Don’t know what’s next… what Elias n I gon’ do but I know I want you around. That I wanna be more than good to you as a friend.”

“I love you too, Elijah.”   

When you returned to the present, you realized you were not the only one who retreated into the past. That memory played like a film in both your minds, the only oblivious one seemed to be Stack who was contently rolling a cigarette, wanting for one of you to speak.

“Or at least one of you is,” you cleared your throat and threw him a teasing grin, desperate to stop the tension from rising to a boil. “Ancestors haven’t given me the final verdict on you yet, Stack.”

“I’ll just have to have a talk with em, then?” 

“They don’t respond to threats,” you reminded him with a playful grin. “Don’t think you’ll get very far.” 

“My powers of persuasion have evolved over the years, lil sis. They even work on you now.” He gracefully threw his hat back on his head as he stood, handing the cigarette he had been rolling in between bites of food to his brother. 

However, this time, he rejected it with a slight shake of his head as his hand reached for his pipe, still in the window sill where he always kept it. 

He caught your eye, which had softened at the exchange. Stack still rolled for him, not out of habit or kindness. But out of necessity. You hoped, when he first returned home from the war, that the tremors were temporary. That one day, he’d be able to do something other than hold a gun with a steady hand. Even though he’d proclaim, for your benefit, his gratefulness at being one of the “lucky ones.” 

“Just an unsteady hand n bad dreams,” he’d say. “Nothin’ worth cryin’ over. "

But you knew, back then, that he did not feel lucky when you examined the resigned and defeated look that haunted his eyes with every tremor. The pang of sadness in yours to see him struggle with a pain your gifts were not enough to heal, a pain that made you question whether all your prayers and work to keep them safe had been enough. 

Stack merely chuckled and handed over his lighter. “See nothin’ round here’s changed. Gonna grab a few hours of shut eye,” he gestured toward the spare bedroom in your home. 

“Go head. Smoke that o-“

“On the porch, I know I know. Whatever yall bout to do… just don’t be too loud. I need my beauty rest.” 

Before stepping outside, he walked up to you and pulled you into a tight hug. You were surprised at first before you leaned into it earnestly. He was not Elijah but there were wisps of comfort in Stack’s embrace, tendrils that wrapped around you with warmth and comfort. 

“You aight, lil bit?” His voice low as his own eyes examined you, reviving a nickname you'd once prayed would be left in the past.. 

The lighthearted smile on his face took a moment to reach his eyes, replacing the flash of real concern you spotted within them. As loyal and protective as his brother when it came to you. You had not realized just how much until now, but you had missed him so much too.

“Yea I’m ok. Think that twin of yours’ll believe me?” Your voice dropped a bit to a fake whisper, grinning as Smoke rolled his eyes. He always claimed you and Stack were “conspiring” to tease him, gang up on him. 

He chuckled before placing a chaste kiss on your cheek. 

“Not a chance. Just glad we were…” He stopped himself, glancing at Smoke before allowing the unfinished words to settle in your kitchen as calmly as an off note on a piano.  

It felt wrong to remember it here. Breath life into it here. But you knew you would have to. Elijah would not allow you not too. 

“Me too,” you answered simply. “Thanks. And for bringin’ this one back to me in one piece.” 

“Anythin’ for you. Night,” he squeezed your hand one last time for good measure and clapped Elijah on the shoulder before disappearing out your back door. It creaked in the night air, a tense symphony to the long-awaited private reunion with your husband. 

You watched the door until it shut with soft finality. Restlessness, itchy and uncomfortable, spread in your chest as you two stared at each other. You glanced down at his plate, food still untouched. 

“How long?” 

Your eyes bored into him, not uttering a single word. Stretching and twisting his patience but you never particularly cared about that when your mind was focused on his well-being. When was the last time he even ate a real meal? Your eyes flickered his bowl and back up to him in a pointed fashion. A demand from his wife, one you knew he would not refuse. Elijah grunted his exasperation before eating two heaping spoonfuls to appease you.

Not enough to relax you but just enough to loosen your lips. 

“How long?” The new edge in his voice felt just as sharp and quick as a blade. Reiterating. Demanding. 

“Couple months. Hattie can’t stand on her feet for long anymore with her back. You know my brothers, they can only guard the door n try to fuck every girl that walks through it. Hattie said, ‘Needed somebody charmin’ n pretty to serve drinks n they ‘bout as charmin’ n pretty as rattlesnakes.’” 

He took another bite off his plate, your body slowly easing back into the counter Elijah’s hands crafted for you. This maddeningly sweet dance you two weaved since you were children. A battle of wills and instincts between a caretaker and a protector. Two sides of the same stubborn ass coin. But when you both demanded answers but also required care? It was a battle to see who would surrender control and lean into vulnerability first? 

Often, you succumbed first, soaking up the healing aura of Elijah for as long as you could spare. It had taken so long for him to convince you that it was not selfish to need him. To put yourself first. That it was not a burden to him as you feared, it was a privilege. 

But you were not sure you were ready to crumble just yet. You did not know whether you wanted to fall into his arms and weep, curse the ground he walked on for abandoning you, or just run into your bedroom and sob. And you knew he would push and force you to make a decision sooner rather than later. It was inevitable but you could buy yourself some time.

“But there won’t be a charming soul left in the family now when Hattie gets her hands on me for breakin’ all those bottles.” 

“Stack’ll talk to her in the mornin. Give her money for the liquor.” 

“Thank you. She got a softer spot for money than me.” 

“Everybody got a soft spot for money ‘cept you.” 

“I just know it don’t get you nothin’.” 

“Gives you freedom.” 

“No kind that’ll last. Real freedom ain’t tethered to somethin’ someone can take from you.” 

You bowed your head as your body leaned into the carved back of Stack’s former chair, silence surrounding you. It felt so familiar, countless minutes turned to hours spent in this kitchen while you worked or cooked and Smoke just sat with you. He just existed with you, let you talk his ear off or sit in utter silence. Whatever you needed in that moment, while he existed in your peace. 

“You alright?”

“Suppose so. Still standin’.”

“Been a minute. But you know that ain’t what I asked, darlin’.”

He knew no one understood him like you, understood the intention behind every word he spoke like you did. Often, he did not need to say anything at all. 

“I’m fine. It happens.” 

“Some other nigga put his hands on you?” His eyes flashed with red, his hand instinctively twitching toward his gun. 

“No, no. That ain’t what I… just that you know, men gettin’ drunk n too handsy at a juke ain’t exactly anythin’ uncommon. Shook me up a bit but no sense dwellin’ on it.” 

He said nothing, infuriating silence loud pounding your kitchen like the bass in the juke joint. 

“I’m fine, Smoke.” You attempted to reiterate. 

His hand paused as he started to bring his pipe up to his lips. You let out a sigh and cursed under your breath. 

Smoke. The fatal tell. If you used his moniker in this house, he knew one of two things were true: He was in trouble or you weren’t ready for him to be Elijah. Because there was no hiding with Elijah. Your love demanded authenticity, it demanded truth. Your deepest joys and purest happiness to the agonizing sorrows and terrifying vulnerabilities. In each other’s arms, there was no pretending.   

You tried to deflect, push the conversation back onto him before he could pick at that thread further. 

“You gon’ tell me why you came back? What trouble you and that fool out there brought back with you?” 

“No trouble this time.” 

“There’s always trouble chasin’ Stack. Which means there’s always trouble chasin’ you.” 

“No trouble chasin’ either of us. We did what we needed in Chicago, now we back.”  

“Why? For how long?” 

“For you. Only reason to come back. Now… you gon’ keep standin’ over there or come here so I can take care of you?” 

You raised your eyebrow, communicating that you were not ready to fall into his arms so quickly regardless of what he saved you from. He left you. You accepted it, you understood it, you justified it. But you would not pretend that it had not broken something in the depths of your spirit, leaving you lost without a piece of your heart for years.

And being back in his presence made every bit of it bubble up again. All that love, all that righteous rage, all that agony. You felt it. Those endless nights you laid awake sobbing resigned to living with the knowledge that - despite the depths of love you held for him - you weren’t enough to keep him here. The knowledge that life would be duller, so much darker without him and you'd just have to learn to live with that.

If you were going to open the floodgates again, let all the love you stored for him flow like waters through the Delta, you needed to know he was not just passing through. You needed to know that when the sun rose at dawn, he’d still be there. And when the sun would rise the next day and every day after, he’d still be here. With you. 

You wished you were strong enough to withstand such torment again. But you wouldn’t. Seeing him again, even wrapped in his silent steadfast energy again, you did not think you’d be able to survive without him again. So you needed to know he was not planning to abandon you again, that he was going to put in the effort to earn your trust.

“What if I don’t need you to take care of me anymore? Been takin’ care of myself fine… Tonight excludin’,” you muttered, acknowledging the miniscule raise of his eyebrow at your words. “But hardly your business to tell me I need takin’ care of when…” you stopped yourself, turning away from him in frustration and shame at what almost crossed your lips. You didn’t want to still be angry. Your fingers curled into a tight fist to stop yourself from unleashing all that suppressed hell and outrage on him. 

“Say what you gotta say, baby. I can take it.”  

“You… you left me here. Abandoned me here alone. Broke your promise for eight years." 

Your eyes glistened with tears, all that devastation threatening to boil over along with all the love you were struggling to maintain control over. There was not one without the other in a love like this.

”What if I’m still mad about that?” Your voice fell quieter, back to chewing your lip. “What if I’m still mad at you? What if I… hate you?”

The word did not even feel right directed at him. But that was what most women and men whose spouses ran off into the night felt. Hatred, deep and boiling, all consuming. Isn’t that what everyone would tell you to feel? To scream and curse him for leaving and then sauntering back as if nothing had changed. Some part of you desired to feel that, to just be angry. Anger was easier than confronting the hurt, all the nights you questioned your love, your worth. All the time lost without the person you could not live without. 

He tilted his head as he blew out a billow of smoke. He sat it gently by his ashtray, never taking his eyes off of you. 

“I’d deserve it. N I’ll spend every day of the rest of my days provin’ that I’ll still be good to you… like I promised.”

He stood up, slowly closing the space between you with calm and assured steps. He stood before you and all you wanted to do was touch him. Your hand twitched, desperate to rest on his chest, feel his hard-earned muscles beneath them, but you tightened a hand around your arm to stop yourself. Your body swayed as if his aura compelled you forward, a captivating drug enticing you to just surrender to him. You almost forgot why you were resisting. 

His hand cradled your cheek, a content sigh escaping without warning at his touch. Soft. Warm. Healing.   

“Yell at me, curse me… give me your worst, Y/N, for as long as you need, darlin’. I’ll take it. I’ll own it. Cause I love you. Never stopped lovin’ you. You get to be mad at me all you want. But I know he hurt you.” 

“N-No, he didn’t. You made sure of that.”

“Just cause he ain’t leave a bruise, don’t mean he ain’t hurt you, baby. Ain’t that what you told me?” 

“Hate when you repeat my words back to me,” you grumbled. 

“I know you do, baby. Can’t help that you’re always right.” His hand gently tilted your head so your eyes were focused on him. You knew he could see it all. The anger, the heaviness, the sadness… the guilt and shame. 

“I just wanna take care of you, like you’ve always done for me. If you’ll let me? Please.” 

His voice was the soft embrace of a prayer, the steadiness of a summer rain shower. You could see the warm fog that was him encompassing you, slowly eating away at the walls you erected when he left until there was nothing standing between him and your soul. 

In the contemplative silence, he retreated to his chair, sitting with his legs spread wide. An action that communicated your agency, that it was your choice whether to seek his comfort, seek his love. His words were a plea you could easily refuse. You could walk away, curse him as he suggested, and leave him alone at your table to feel a fraction of the rejection you did. 

But how would that heal you? You wanted to feel whole more than you wanted to be prideful. And only his anchoring spirit and tender touch could stitch you back together this time. 

Your steps toward him were tentative, each step increasing your courage. However, you stopped yourself just before he was at arm's length. He’d wait as long as it took, you knew. A natural nurturer and protector falling in love foretold some challenges. You each required patience, and a certain degree of coaxing, to strip yourselves bare. It was difficult, even with each other, to reveal the pieces of yourselves that were composed of glass, not steel. The pieces too fragile for another soul to hold. 

One final question. And you knew you couldn’t surrender without an answer. Because in those eight years, in that abyss of heartache, you had become more like glass than he remembered. And you would not withstand the blow of him leaving again, not if this was not permanent.

“You leavin’ again?” 

His eyes filled with sincerity, whatever was left of the boy you fell in love with and the man you married shining through. 

“Next time I leave you, it’ll be to leave this world. I’m not goin’ anywhere again.” 

His words loosened out the knot in your stomach, forcing you to nod. You had no other excuses, no other reasons not to feel everything the night conjured, every emotion consuming you. 

You stepped in between his legs, your hands gingerly resting on his shoulders as you stared down at him. His hands gripped the soft curves of your hips to bring you as close as humanly possible before perching you on his thigh.

Your hands slid up to cup his face, his beard tickling your palms. Your eyes stung as you just stared at him for a brief moment.

“Elijah,” you whispered his name like a blessing as your entire body finally gave in, sagging into him as you finally felt the weight of the last eight years. 

His broad hands tightened you to his hardened chest. If you leaned in any further, you’d be living in his skin. This was more than you could have dreamed. The callouses of hands against your skin, the soothing rise and fall of his calming breaths, his reassuring familiarity of his scent.

So perfectly him.

His natural musk from a long day in the Mississippi heat. The lingering hints of citrus in his cologne. The sting of gunpowder from defending your honor. Even the fading bite of copper from drying blood. Richly weaving the soothing scent of a man fiercely devoted to you. The soothing scent of home. 

And with every moment in his arms, it became harder to hold the rushing waters back. Your poorly constructed dam fracturing with every second he held you. Because this was the one thing time was not powerful enough to diminish. Elijah remained forever your healer, forever the one place you could retreat to feel everything. And you were his.  

“Look at me.” 

You did not heed his instructions, your body tensing against his from the shame.

“It’s alright, darlin’. You’re ok.” 

His patience. Steady and calm. He rubbed soothing circles against your back, he whispered assurances in your ear until you pried yourself out of his neck to look at him. 

“There’s my girl,” he whispered, his smile brighter than you’d ever seen it, a smile that reminded you he was your safe haven. 

The tears that welled up in your eyes immediately spilled over as they met his concerned ones. You tried to wipe them away but he stopped you. 

“I-I told him no, Elijah. I-I told him I w-was still yours. H-He just w-wouldn’t listen ‘n I got scared. N I j-just froze. I’m s-sorry. B-but I didn’t want him o-or that. You b-believe me, don’t you?” you stammered, your voice cracking as sobs threatened to escape your throat. 

You did not realize how your fingers dug into his jacket, gripping the wool fabric tightly as you begged him to understand. 

His hand massaged the base of your neck, the spot where all your tension resided, as he held your gaze to him. “I know, sweetheart. I know. Don’t apologize to me. Ain’t your fault. That the only time? He hurt you before?” 

You could see the anxiety and concern in his eye, the fear that the answer would be no. That all the threats of violence he left in his wake had not been enough to protect you from the realities and evils of many men. Abandonment forced you to question much about your marriage over the last eight years. But one truth you could not deny was that Elijah would unapologetically turn their corner of the Mississippi River into a graveyard to avenge you, to punish any other man who thought they could harm you and live to tell the tale. 

“Yea, only time.” 

“Y/N.” 

“Only time, I swear. Red is… was harmless, I thought.” 

He held your gaze for a singular moment longer than he needed before he allowed your eyes to fall away from his and he buried his face in your neck. 

“Only harmless man is a dead one,” he muttered into your supple skin.

“Well I imagine he very harmless now then?” 

“And restin’ for eternity at the bottom of the Mississippi River. No nigga in this town gon’ be a problem for you again. I know what I did ain’t how you wa-“

Your intention was to assure him that all you felt was gratitude for his actions. But the first brush of your lips against his set your soul ablaze. Whatever self control you believed you possessed vanished, you were as wild and untamed as flames as your hand cradled the back of his neck, the other clutching tightly to his suit. A carnal need to bring him closer than you’d ever been before.  

You held it back as long as you could, held onto the fraying threads for as long as possible. But they were broken and you needed him. More than a hug or kiss or sweet words. You needed him to strip you down and heal you from the inside out. 

Frantic. 

Desperate.

Hungry. 

Elijah did not often let you take the lead, did not often allow you dominance in the bedroom. But today, he allowed your lips and tongue to do whatever they craved. To consume him. 

It only ended with a need that superseded the desire flooding you. The frustrating human requirement to breathe. 

You rested your forehead against his, chest rising and falling with every inhale and exhale. 

“Thank you, Elijah.”

If you had not been on his lap, Elijah would have been hard-pressed to hear your words. your voice so soft, vulnerable, and sweet, everything he was not. You had never done that before. Specifically thanked him for his violence when it served you. Fussed at him for doing it against your wishes? Sure. Offered him a kiss shortly after fussing that he knew meant thank you, a reluctant understanding of how their world worked? More than once. But to utter the words? This was a first. And the only way he could think to properly acknowledge it was with a soft kiss. 

Slower. Measured. Intentional. As all things Elijah did was. His hands shifted your waist, turning you so you naturally straddled his lap.

“What do you need, darlin?” 

You sniffled. You allowed the comfortable silence you were accustomed to with Elijah to fill your space, calm the storm raging in your heart and soul. Slowly, those winds stopped lashing against your skin, the thunder quieted and you could find clarity again.

He was the only balm your soul needed, the only one that would work. 

“I need your hands to be the ones I remember touchin’ me… not his.” 

You knew the meaning was not lost on him, a quick flame of lust lighting in his eyes before he tempered himself. 

“You sure?” 

“Never been more sure of anythin’.” 

And that was all the permission he needed. In a fluid motion, he stood, your legs instinctively wrapping around his waist, his hands gripping your ass, as he walked you to your bedroom. He could not see a thing as he kissed you, his legs moving off instinct to your marital bed. 

He gently sat you on the edge of the bed, his strong arms shedding his suit jacket before he sank down to his knees before you. He stared up at you with the reverence of a man staring at his reason for being. 

“You know I dreamed about you every day?” His steady low voice felt as smooth as honey, as calming as a soft summer breeze, against your soul. He kissed the top of your thighs as he pushed the cerulean blue silk fabric of your dress up.

“Your laugh, your smile, the way you feel in my arms… how you taste, your moans. Tried to come back to you so many times.”

“Why didn’t you?” You breathed out, everything in you aching for him. 

“I was a fool, baby. N I’ll spend every day makin’ it up to you.” 

His teasing touches proved he still knew how to expertly play the instrument that was you. Fine tuned to perfection, he knew every inch of you intimately. And the music he created? It summoned more than mere pleasure. It was a magic all its own, strengthening the glittering threads that connected your souls. In him, you saw the past. The present. And a new future.  

His fingers hooked into your panties, your hips lifting just enough for him to pull them off. You expected him to discard them to the side but instead he brought them to his nose, inhaling the scent drenched into the fabric. His eyes fell closed as he inhaled, a shuddering breath escaped him as if the scent of your slick injected him with new life. And then, he discarded them with a cheeky wink in your direction. 

His hands gripped the meat of your thighs, spreading them widely to reveal his promised land. He licked his lips, his eyes focused on the essence leaking from your folds, already creating a mess at the zenith of your thighs. You knew his intention by the glint in his eye and you instantly became aware of how long of a night it would be. Smoke could stay head down between your thighs for hours, unsatisfied until you were boneless. Until your brain was a vacant plane of yearning and pleasure. 

“I missed you too, baby. Lay back for me, darlin.” 

He hooked your legs over his shoulders, bringing you closer to the edge of your bed as you leaned back on the soft quilt. You did not lay down fully, choosing to prop yourself up on your elbows. Eye contact was an aphrodisiac for you both. To see the other in their most human element, so uninhibited. No one who knew you both would call you reckless. Tempered, steady, patient. But in these four walls, you could be wild. Watching him uncoiled something in your gut, unlocking a new altitude of pleasure to reach. 

His eyes locked onto yours as his tongue communicated what he did not have the words to. 

His agonizing remorse. 

His unyielding reverence. 

His everlasting devotion. 

His unquenchable thirst.

All for you. 

He poured it all into every stroke of his fingers into your weeping heat, every lick of his tongue against your sensitive button. You felt like a person gasping for air, every cell in your body struggling to consume him after being without it for just too long. 

“Elijah! It’s… too much!”

“That’s right, scream my name, baby. Missed hearin’ you scream my name.” He detached himself from your flower long enough to gift you with a soft nip to the inner thigh before returning to his favorite meal. 

It was almost too fast, how quickly you found yourself dangling from the edge of the cliff. The rocks rough against your palms as an oasis of bliss invited you to lose all control in it. But you found your brain would not allow you to let go, not just yet. You tensed as you inched closer to the point of no return but it did not feel as simple as it once was to give into him. 

“You can let go, baby. I’ll be here, I’ll catch you. Cum for me, sweet girl.” 

Some called you the witch, but what was he? What spell did he cast that gave him such control over you, mind, body, and soul? Only he could command your body to such a degree? That every barrier crumbled at his assurances, his word? That he knew the layers of your soul so intimately that he knew his actions had shaken your trust, your foundation. And that one night would not erase that. But it was proof that he would offer whatever assurances you required, as often as you desired, to knock down every barrier your brain erected. Brick by brick, for as long as it took to earn your forgiveness again.

“Fuck! Fuckkkk! I c-can’t… Elijah!” 

Your head fell back in ecstasy. Shuddering, shaking, breathless. The meager orgasms you gave yourself paled in comparison to what his skills provided. This was more than a reunion. It felt like a renaissance of your love, a revival of the sheer extent of joy he gave you space to feel. 

“That’s it, darlin’. Fuck, you taste too good. So sweet,” he lapped up your juices hungrily, sending continued jolts of pleasure as you fell back fully onto the comforter. 

“Elijah… please,” you moaned, your body twitching away from him from the overload of pleasure. 

Your curls had fallen out of the updo you had created for the night, your eyes half closed lazily as your hand rested on your chest. You just needed to catch your breath. You were lucky these days if your orgasms moved you with the strength of the creek near your home. Elijah’s were the force of the ocean, knocking you right off your feet. And yet, you did not know if you actually wanted him to give you reprieve. 

You were exhausted. But the chant building in the back of your mind was so much louder. More, more, more. 

And frankly, far more enticing. 

“You ready for me, pretty girl?” 

“Please… I need you.” You would rest plenty amongst the ancestors one of these days. As for tonight? Your words were colored in desperation to be filled to the brink. To feel everything your body harbored and release it into the world.

You watched as he stood up, just long enough to shed the rest of his suit. It accentuated his hard-earned muscles, taunt and straining against his thick physique. But as delectable as it looked on him, it would look far better on the floor. 

He unbuckled his pants, his eyes never leaving yours, as he pulled them off. 

You licked your lips, your eyes glossing over with lust as you took in his manhood. Hard, thick, and leaking just enough that you wanted to ignore the ache between your legs and steal a taste. You missed the weight of him against your tongue, the salty taste of his cum. But you knew he was not going to let you steal that treat just yet. He was as desperate to be inside you as you were for him to be. 

Your logical brain snuck to the forefront for a single moment, showing through in the faintest flicker of fear buried underneath fogs of lust in your eyes. His girth. Even when he made a sport of bending you over every surface in your home day after day, the stretch could still take your breath away. But eight years without him? Without nothing more than a finger or two? You would need him to take it a lot slower than he remembered.

Would that bother him? 

“See what you still do to me, darlin? How bad I need you?” 

His hand slid down your thigh as he kissed you before gripping your hips. He lined himself up with your weeping entrance. However, he paused as your body tensed beneath him, anticipating the sharp pain of his thrust. 

“What’s wrong, darlin?” 

“N-Nothin’.” 

“It’s somethin’. You wanna stop? We ain’t gotta-” 

“NO! No!” You almost shouted, Smoke holding back laughter at the aggrieved look on your face at the idea that you’d ever want this to end. You glanced up at him with your perfect doe eyes and whispered, “It’s not that. It’s… silly.” 

Elijah shook his head as he lazily rubbed his tip along your entrance, coating it in your juices and teasing you. “You ain’t never said nothin’ silly to me. I ain’t movin’ till you talk to me.” 

Maybe we do hate him, you seriously considered for a moment. When all you desired was a hiding place, the man you fell in love with would never allow you to wallow in darkness. It was why you fell in love with him, even if you hated it sometimes. 

“I just… haven’t been with anyone since you left. Not like this, anyway. N I remember what you like. Just… may need you to go a little easy on me at first, baby.” 

“Worried you can’t take me, baby?” The heat of his breath tickled your skin as his lips dragged against your neck. His touch was so featherlike, you questioned whether he was actually touching you. “Cause I know you can. My girl can take me. Just relax n I’ll go as slow as you need.” 

A lesser man would’ve just sheathed himself in your heat without consideration to the hesitation in your muscles. He likely would not have even noticed. But not Elijah. 

He sucked at a sweet spot on your neck, his greatest discovery on his many voyages of your body, to add bursts of pleasure to the painful sting as he pushed inside you. 

“Shit, shit, shit. Elijah… i-It hurts,” you cried out at the familiar stretch of being filled by him. 

“Deep breaths, darlin’. Keep those pretty eyes on me.” 

He kept his eyes on you as he sank deeper and deeper into them, and you. You breathed through it, feeling every inch of him fill you again, your soft whimpers and moans instructing his pace. When he bottomed out inside you, he held you there for a few moments, letting you adjust to it.

Your eyes connected for a moment and it felt as if the world cracked open around you. Everything else sifted away like sand. There was no him. No you. Just a love so eternal, it floated you above to the heavens before gently guiding you back home.

“Fuck. You’re takin’ me so well, darlin.” 

For Smoke, you knew slow only meant cautious. His strokes remained as deliberate and powerful as you once remembered. However, today, he maintained a pace that forced you to remember what every inch of him felt like. 

His grip on the meat of your hips was tight as if he worried something would steal you from right beneath him. Your legs wrapped tightly around his waist as he fucked into you with controlled precision, his entire being focused on bringing you pleasure.  

“Yes! Shit, Elijah! I love it, I love it.” 

“You like how I’m fuckin’ this pussy, baby? I can tell this fuckin’ tight pussy missed me, darlin’.” 

“You f-feel soooo good, Eli… don’t stop. Ah!” You cried out at the uncomfortable stretch in the back of your thighs as he brought your legs to rest on his shoulders, allowing him fuck you deeper. 

A litany of curse words flooded your room as you felt him deep in your guts as he fucked you slow and hard. Your eyes rolled back into your head as every stroke forced you deeper into your mattress. 

“No nigga gon’ touch what’s yours n what’s mine again, you understand? You’re mine.” His words were punctuated by the loud slaps of skin as his hips hit the back of your thighs with every thrust. “Tell me whose you are, baby?” 

“I’m yours!” You panted, your heart fluttering like a sea of swallowtails in the wind at his declaration. And there was no one else’s you’d rather be.  “I l-love you. Fuckkkk, I love you.” 

You felt as if time slowed down for you or perhaps you were too enthralled in each other as he showed you the secrets of this universe time after time after time. He had no reason to rush as he moved you from position to position and forced you to feel every moment in each one. You screamed his name over and over again as he fucked you with abandon. 

The closer he came to, what you knew would be his last release for the night, he had lost all control. Your body fell into his as he pounded into you, your thighs giving out while you rode him. Your body breathless and utterly spent. But you both were chasing one last high, the perfect explosion of euphoria that would allow you to collapse in a heap of limbs until midday tomorrow. 

“Eli… baby.. I-it’s too much. I c-can’t…” 

“Don’t run from me, darlin’. You can take it, pretty girl. Last one for me,” he demanded, the vibrations of his voice enthralling you like a spell you could not withstand. 

He pounded into you, your pussy clenching around him as you felt your orgasm build. 

“Where you want it, darlin’?” He asked, his words accentuated with grunts as he bounced your body up and down on his dick.

You could barely formulate thoughts, your mind a canvas with his name painted over and over again. You just wanted to feel him. You were spent, your body maxed out and you still craved more? To feel every single thing he could offer? 

“Inside me, baby!” 

“Don’t say that shit to me, Y/N.” His voice was a lethal warning. A dangerous proposition that you both knew would unleash a feral side of Elijah, a man possessed. 

But that was exactly what you wanted. What you needed. 

“Need you to fill me, baby. Please,” you unabashedly begged into his ear, tears streaming down your face from the force of his strokes.

“Gonna fuckin’ flood this sweet ass pussy, fill you with my baby. You’d like that? Keep you in here, safe, round n pregnant?” Every word accompanied his most powerful strokes of the night, reaching places you believed to be anatomically impossible. 

But you asked for this, demanded it actually. And you did not have an ounce of regret. 

You crashed first as a last particularly deep thrust sent you tumbling off the summit. Your toes curled as he thrust into you final time, your orgasm only continuing in waves as you felt him fill you with warmth. 

Your orgasm faded slowly as you felt him pulsing like a heartbeat inside you, coating your walls with his seed. He held you against him for a few moments, giving you both a moment to get your boots solidly planted on solid Earth. But there was also some small part of you that just did not want him to move, did not want this moment to end even though it lasted all night. 

He let you feel him deflate inside you, his hands rubbing soothing circles on your back as he held you close. You whimpered when he finally released himself from your warmth, shifting your boneless frame into a new position. 

“Stay right there, baby. Hold on.” 

“As if I could go anywhere,” you muttered lazily, you imagined your legs would work about as well as a newborn baby’s. 

Your eyes started to fall shut in the few short moments it took him to grab a wet towel to clean the mess between your thighs. Once he was satisfied, he lifted your body and repositioned you so you were resting on your pillow. 

Elijah walked around to his side of the bed, everything on his nightstand exactly as he left it. He had been so worried, scared that he would not recognize you or this place when he returned. He would’ve understood it, accepted it. He left, not you. But it would’ve been a difficult hurt to reckon with. 

Time ensured that things had evolved. You had grown older, wiser, as he had, more slick at the mouth like Stack than he remembered. But the core of you, the girl he fell in love under a live oak tree? She was still standing, still as steady, vibrant, and uniquely her as he remembered.

Smoke had seen all the jewels and all the suffering this world offered its hands. He’d traveled every part of this world with his other half to find it, the amount of money or power to feel like no one could have power over them again. But no trucks filled to the brim of money could make him feel a fraction of the freedom you did. He had not needed to go searching for more when he had you and his brother. That was everything that mattered. 

He slid into his side of the bed and immediately brought you into his chest. Muscle memory. Your soft brown eyes opened long enough to savor one last look at him before sleep consumed you. Your fingers played in the coarse hair of his beard as he brought your thigh to drape over his, allowing you to be as close as possible. 

“Never thought I’d have this again. Thank you for comin’ back to me,” you whispered, pressing a soft kiss to his lips. 

“Don’t thank me. I shouldn’t’ve left. N I’m sorry. But I’m gonna make it up to you like I said.” 

“I know you will, Elijah Moore,” you grinned at him. “But don’t think we ain’t still havin’ that fight tomorrow,” you warned. 

He would gladly fight with you all day if that was what you needed to heal, to move forward. 

“I don’t expect nothin’ else.” 

His lips curled into a rare smile, not his half one. But a true smile, as small as it was, it flooded your world with the light of the Sun. Decades with him and your heart still skipped a beat when Elijah Moore smiled at you. Your eyes welled up with tears as you savored the moment. 

“Still make you cry that easy, huh?” He teased. “With just a smile?” 

You gently swatted at his shoulder in faux annoyance. “Thought you’d given me your last smile a long time ago, I guess.” Your hand rested on his chest as he held you. “I missed it.” 

“I’ll always give you a smile, Y/N. And my shoulder,” he winked at her, an ode to their history. Rich and long it was, but it still felt like yesterday. 

He opened his arms, inviting you to snuggle into his chest in your preferred sleeping position. Your cheek rested against his chest, the light thumbs of his heart lulling you to sleep. A sigh of relief and contentment escaped your lips as you settled against him, his arms tightening around you.

Sleep came easier than it had in eight years. You were finally home.

Tag List: @marley1773 @deexoxomuah @childishgambinaax @klford92 @httpsangelsstuff @wh0smarleyaa @wingedpeachjudgegiant @harleycativy @kaylaahisthebestest- @reci1996 @aenorris @sgringcndy @daughterofapollo-7 @margepimpson @christinabae @milesf4vg1rl @melodyofmbaku @ziayamikaelson @darkskin-barbie @jackierose902109 @ninacutebee16 @ladybuglover98 @Marley-444 @rottenb0diez @goochsmooch86 @tsukis-short-gf @kksmush @kiribakushipper04 @addelinedarling @brincessbarbie @asterizee @ianii-i @minispice-1 @heyitstial @hotebonynearby @youngestxhearts @lewispool @vaintya1 @pinkpantheris @joysofmyworld @lilgreensunshine @aritoocute @strengthandstay @itsizzythebell @pinkpillzsworld @sarcastic-sunshines @snowtargaryen @nightwitchlurker @simba2220 @motheroffae @tomiwaslibrary @marieglitters @mirapril @afroslacks @favoritten @bitternsweet @fuzzycucumber @rosey1981 @he4rts444mi @selena8712 @fadingbelieverexpert @lizbehave @sheri42james @watermelon-online @shybabythings @greekgods15 @holdyuhmuda @brownskincheyenne @endlesslychaoticmantis

***

A/N: It's 2 am, idk who I think I am being up this late but when I tell y'all I was on a ROLL hahaha anyway, this became so much longer than it should've and took too long (sorry!) butttttt had to do big daddy justice hahaha

Drop a comment and let me know what you thought! Thanks for reading!

Also I got a lot of the tags but not everyone! So sorry!! I'll update when it isn't 2 am lol

[kenzdolls]

explosive hearts: a bday surprise ꣑ৎ

𖤐 synopsis: the explosive hero-in-training reluctantly endures a surprise birthday party organized by his classmates, but finds genuine joy in the thoughtful gift and quiet moments shared with you.

𖤐 trigger warnings: fluff

𖤐 pairing: katsuki bakugou x gender neutral! reader (post-relationship)

the hallways of ua were surprisingly quiet as you made your way toward the heights alliance dormitory, clutching a small package wrapped in black paper with tiny orange explosion patterns. your heart hammered in your chest, almost rivaling the explosive quirk of the boy whose birthday it was today.

katsuki bakugou. april 20th.

you'd been planning this for weeks—the perfect gift, the right moment to give it to him, and most importantly, how to survive the encounter without becoming a victim of his infamous temper. dating bakugou for the past few months had been an adventure, to say the least. beneath that prickly exterior was someone fiercely loyal and determined, someone who pushed you to be better every day.

but that didn't make his birthday any less intimidating.

---

the morning had started with a flood of texts from your classmates, all coordinating for bakugou's "surprise" party—a surprise he'd undoubtedly see coming from a mile away.

"remember, 5 pm sharp!" mina had texted, followed by a string of explosion emojis. "and don't tell him!"

you'd spent your free period between classes frantically wrapping his gift, your mind replaying memories of how your relationship with the explosive hero-in-training had evolved.

it had begun during joint training sessions three months ago. you'd been paired together for combat practice, and unlike others who hesitated around his fiery temper, you stood your ground.

"you're not going to beat a villain by holding back, so don't hold back with me!" you'd challenged him.

he'd looked shocked for a moment before that trademark smirk spread across his face. "fine by me. don't cry when you lose!"

to everyone's surprise (especially his), you'd managed to hold your own. not win—bakugou was too skilled for that—but you'd impressed him. and impressing bakugou katsuki was no small feat.

after training, he'd cornered you in the hallway.

"you. train with me tomorrow," he'd demanded, more than asked.

and so began your regular training sessions, which gradually transformed from strictly professional to something more personal. you noticed how he'd adjust his techniques to help you improve, how his criticism, while blunt, was always constructive. the way his eyes lingered on you when he thought you weren't looking.

your first kiss had been after a particularly grueling session. both of you, sweaty and exhausted, had collapsed against the gym wall. you'd turned to say something, only to find his face inches from yours, those intense crimson eyes studying your face with an unfamiliar softness.

"you're not half bad," he'd mumbled, and then his lips were on yours, rough and demanding yet surprisingly gentle.

since then, your relationship had been as explosive and intense as the boy himself—full of heated arguments, passionate make-up sessions, and quiet moments of understanding that no one else got to see.

and now, his birthday was here, and you wanted it to be special.

---

according to kirishima, bakugou hated celebrations focused on him. "too much damn attention," he'd growl. yet you knew he secretly appreciated the acknowledgment—just not the fuss.

as you approached his door, voices from inside made you pause.

"deku, get that stupid banner out of my face!"

"but kacchan, it's your special day! everyone pitched in to—"

"i don't care! i didn't ask for this!"

"come on, man!" kirishima's cheerful voice. "it's just a small party! even all might sent you a card!"

you winced. so much for your plan to have a quiet moment with him. class 1-a had apparently beaten you to the punch with a surprise party. for a moment, you considered turning back, waiting until later when the chaos had died down.

"where's [y/n]?" bakugou's gruff question made you freeze. "if you extras dragged everyone here but didn't tell [y/n], i'm blowing this whole damn dorm up."

your heart fluttered. he was looking for you?

taking a deep breath, you knocked on the door. the room fell silent instantly.

the door flew open to reveal bakugou himself, hair wild as always, crimson eyes narrowing when he saw you. behind him, the entire class froze in various stages of party preparation. midoriya was hanging a crooked "happy birthday" banner, kirishima and sero had armfuls of snacks, and ashido was attempting to set up a small music system. kaminari was in the corner, tangled in what appeared to be extension cords, while todoroki stood awkwardly by the window, holding a small wrapped gift.

"there you are," bakugou grumbled, something like relief crossing his features before his scowl returned. "these idiots decided to invade my room."

"happy birthday, katsuki," you said softly, holding out the small package. "i was hoping to catch you alone, but..."

his eyes darted to the gift, then back to your face. without warning, he grabbed your wrist and pulled you into the hallway, slamming the door behind him.

"hey!" came the muffled protests from inside.

"kacchan! we spent hours decorating!"

"bakugou, that's rude!" you chided, but couldn't help smiling. this was so like him.

"they can wait," he said, crossing his arms. "i've been dealing with their birthday crap all day. first, round face and deku ambushed me at breakfast with some homemade card that looked like a five-year-old made it. then glasses gave me some lecture about 'the importance of commemorating one's date of birth with proper reflection.' as if i give a crap."

you laughed, imagining iida's serious expression as he delivered what was probably a well-intentioned speech.

"then all might sent me a card with some american superhero on it," bakugou continued, rolling his eyes, though you noticed he didn't sound quite as annoyed about that one. "and now they've taken over my room like it's their right. i haven't had five minutes to myself all day."

"want me to come back later?" you asked, though you were disappointed at the thought.

"no," he said quickly, almost too quickly. his cheeks colored slightly as he realized his eagerness. "i mean, you're already here, so whatever."

"smooth recovery," you teased.

"shut up," he growled, but there was no real heat behind it.

"here," you said again, pushing the package toward him. "it's not much, but i thought you might like it."

he took it with surprisingly gentle hands, turning it over once before carefully tearing the wrapping paper. inside was a custom-made training journal, bound in leather with his hero name embossed on the cover in orange lettering. when he opened it, the first page had a handwritten note from you.

"to become the number one hero, you need to keep track of what works. no one works harder than you, katsuki. happy birthday. - [y/n]"

the rest of the pages were specially formatted for training regimens, with sections for technique improvements, quirk developments, and combat strategies. you'd also included some analysis of his recent fights from the training exercises, with your own observations on what made his moves effective.

in the very back, hidden between the last page and the cover, was a photo you'd secretly taken during one of your training sessions. bakugou was mid-explosion, his face lit by the orange glow of his quirk, a fierce grin of pure joy on his face. it captured everything you loved about him—his power, his passion, his absolute certainty in his own abilities.

bakugou was silent for so long that you started to worry.

"if you don't like it, i can get something—"

"shut up," he interrupted, but his voice lacked its usual bite. he was still staring at the journal, running his thumb over the embossed letters. his eyes had found the hidden photo, and you saw his expression soften in a way that made your heart race. "this is... good. really good."

coming from bakugou, that was equivalent to anyone else's effusive praise.

"you actually put thought into this," he continued, glancing up at you. "not just some random crap like the extras in there."

"well, i know how serious you are about becoming the best," you replied. "and you deserve tools that match your ambition."

something changed in bakugou's expression then—a softening around the eyes, a slight upturn at the corner of his mouth. before you could react, he'd stepped forward, one hand coming up to cup the back of your neck.

"you get me," he said quietly, almost wonderingly. "everyone else just sees the explosions."

"i see all of you, katsuki. the good, the bad, and the explosive."

he laughed then—a rare, genuine sound that made your heart soar. "damn right you do."

his kiss caught you by surprise, fierce and passionate like everything he did, yet with an underlying tenderness that he showed to no one else. you melted into it, wrapping your arms around his neck as he pulled you closer, his free hand sliding to the small of your back.

the door suddenly flew open, and you both sprang apart to find kirishima grinning at you.

"sorry to interrupt, lovebirds, but we've got cake melting in here. very unmanly to waste good food."

bakugou's face flushed red—from embarrassment or anger, you couldn't tell. "hair-for-brains! ever heard of privacy?"

kirishima just laughed. "come on, birthday boy. everyone's waiting."

"don't call me that," bakugou growled, but he didn't protest further. instead, he tucked the journal carefully into his pocket and took your hand, his palm warm against yours. "those idiots in there probably got a cake or something. might as well not let it go to waste."

it was as close to "thank you for the party" as bakugou would ever get.

"lead the way, birthday boy," you teased.

he growled at the nickname but didn't let go of your hand as he pushed the door open, facing his classmates with what could almost be described as tolerance. "alright, you extras! let's get this over with!"

---

the party was actually fun, even by bakugou's standards, though he'd never admit it out loud. the cake was spicy chocolate—someone had done their research—and even the gifts showed that his classmates knew him better than he gave them credit for.

kirishima had gotten him a set of premium hand weights. "for when you can't get to the gym, bro!"

todoroki, surprisingly, had gifted him a high-end knife set. "you mentioned wanting to improve your cooking skills," he'd said simply, ignoring bakugou's suspicious glare.

midoriya's gift—a limited edition all might collectible that bakugou had been eyeing for months—almost caused another explosion, but you saw how carefully he set it aside rather than throwing it away.

but as the celebration continued, you noticed how he kept the journal close, occasionally touching his pocket as if to make sure it was still there. and throughout the evening, his eyes would find yours across the room, that rare smile appearing just for you.

at one point, kaminari suggested party games, which led to an intense round of "truth or dare."

when it was bakugou's turn, ashido grinned mischievously. "truth! when did you realize you liked [y/n]?"

the room fell silent, everyone waiting for the inevitable explosion. but bakugou just scoffed, his eyes finding yours.

"when they didn't back down during training," he said bluntly. "most people either fear me or try to 'fix' me. [y/n] just told me to bring it on." he paused, then added with a smirk, "plus, they called deku an annoying fanboy once, and that's when i knew it was meant to be."

"hey!" midoriya protested as everyone else burst into laughter.

you remembered that moment—it had been after midoriya had spent fifteen minutes analyzing bakugou's fighting style in excruciating detail, stars in his eyes the entire time.

"he's brilliant, but doesn't he ever turn it off?" you'd whispered to bakugou, who had looked at you with newfound respect.

the game continued, and by the time it circled back to you, most of the class had either embarrassed themselves or revealed surprising secrets. sero had admitted to using his tape to cheat on a middle school test. todoroki confessed he secretly enjoyed romantic comedies. uraraka had been dared to float iida around the room like a balloon.

"[y/n], truth or dare?" kirishima asked.

"truth," you decided, not trusting the gleam in his eye.

"what's your favorite thing about our explosive friend here?" he gestured to bakugou, who looked like he was considering murder.

you thought for a moment, aware of bakugou's eyes on you. "his determination," you finally said. "when katsuki decides to do something, nothing stops him. it's inspiring." you met his gaze across the circle. "and he pushes me to be better too."

something flashed in those crimson eyes—surprise, pleasure, and something deeper that made your pulse quicken.

"damn right i do," he said, but his voice was softer than usual.

---

the party started winding down around midnight. aizawa had stopped by briefly—"just making sure you're not destroying the building"—and seemed satisfied that the celebration was relatively controlled, at least by class 1-a standards.

as people began to leave, you started helping clean up, gathering paper plates and cups.

"leave it," bakugou said, coming up behind you. "they made the mess, they can clean it."

"that's not very heroic," you teased.

"neither is trashing someone's room for a party they didn't ask for," he retorted, but there was no real anger in his voice. in fact, he seemed almost... content? it was a strange look on bakugou's usually scowling face.

most of the class said their goodbyes, until only kirishima, midoriya, and a few others remained to finish cleaning.

"we'll handle the rest," kirishima said with a knowing grin, nudging midoriya who was obliviously gathering balloons. "you two probably want some time alone."

"mind your own business, shitty hair!" bakugou barked, but he didn't disagree.

taking your hand, he led you out of the dorm and onto the balcony at the end of the hallway. the night was clear, stars visible above the ua campus, a gentle spring breeze carrying the scent of cherry blossoms.

"thanks," he said abruptly, leaning against the railing. "for the journal. it's... exactly what i needed."

"you're welcome," you replied, standing beside him, your shoulders almost touching. "i'm glad you like it."

"and for not making a big deal about today," he added, turning to face you. "everyone else acts like i should be dancing around because i managed not to die for another year."

you laughed. "that's one way to look at birthdays."

"the only way that makes sense," he insisted. "but... i guess it's not terrible having people acknowledge it. even if they're annoying about it."

coming from bakugou, this was practically a heartfelt speech of gratitude.

"next year," he said in a low voice, moving closer so that his arm pressed against yours, "just you and me. no extras."

your heart skipped. next year. he was already thinking about spending his next birthday with you.

"it's a date," you promised, feeling the warmth of his presence beside you.

he turned to face you then, expression serious. "you know i'm not good at this... feelings crap."

"you don't say," you teased gently.

he glared, but there was no real heat behind it. "i'm trying to say something here."

"sorry," you said, fighting a smile. "go on."

he took a deep breath, as if preparing for battle. "you're important to me. more than... well, more than anyone. and i'm going to be the number one hero someday, which means i need people i can trust at my side. people who push me. people who understand me." his eyes locked with yours. "that's you."

coming from bakugou, this was equivalent to a passionate declaration of love.

"katsuki..." you began, emotion thick in your voice.

"don't get all sappy on me," he warned, but his hand found yours, fingers intertwining. "just... be there. keep training with me. keep challenging me."

"always," you promised. "as long as you do the same for me."

a genuine smile spread across his face—not his battle-hungry grin or his triumphant smirk, but something softer and more rare. "deal."

then he was kissing you again, one hand cupping your face, the other at your waist pulling you closer. you wrapped your arms around his neck, feeling the solid warmth of him against you, the subtle scent of nitroglycerin and something uniquely bakugou enveloping you.

when you broke apart, his forehead rested against yours, those crimson eyes unusually gentle.

"best birthday," he admitted grudgingly.

"just wait until next year," you promised with a smile.

he grinned, that familiar confidence lighting his features. "it better be even more explosive."

"with you, katsuki, how could it be anything else?"

as the stars shone overhead and the distant sounds of your classmates echoed from inside, you stood in comfortable silence with the boy who had captured your heart with his explosive determination and hidden tenderness.

loving katsuki bakugou wasn't easy—it was challenging, frustrating, and sometimes downright infuriating. but as he stood beside you, his hand warm in yours, you wouldn't have it any other way. because beneath all the explosions and anger was a heart that beat just for you, and a promise of many more birthdays to come.

taglist: [open] mutuals: @https-bakugo @haikyuubby @va-3 @lotusstarr @tulippanes @n3r0-5352 @gh0st-g1rll

© property of kenzdolls

[wannaeatramyeon]

How Lookism men confess to YOU they've caught feelings

G/N. Soft. Fluffy. All that good stuff. (Gun, Jake, Goo, James Lee/DG, Johan, Vin, Samuel, Eli, Ryuhei)

Gun opts for somewhere private, just the two of you. Whether that's his home, yours, or somewhere only you both know.

He tells you with certainty his feelings for you. That there's no point divulging if he didn't think it would work out, if you weren't better together.

Intensity radiates from him. His words, eyes, aura. He keeps his confession simple and to the point, unexpectedly romantic with how matter of fact he is.

.

.

Jake thought he was being subtle, but there's a lot of prying eyes in the shadows.

He shoos the Big Deal members away in his best authoritative, no nonsense boss tone. The one he reserves to deal with serious matters. Which this is. Of utmost seriousness.

Behind his beaming toothy grin and confident stance are anxious eyes. His words are cheesy and well-rehearsed. Sincerity pulses through his every fibre, leaving you starry eyed and breath hitched.

.

.

Goo announces his feelings with a grin on his lips.

Corners you somewhere crowded, at a completely inappropriate moment. But of course. It's only inappropriate if Goo deems it to be so, and there's no time like the present.

The words are said lightly, like he could play it off as a joke any moment. His ego too fragile for rejection. But his carefree attitude is off kilter, body language tense. Gaze steady and more serious than you have ever seen.

.

.

James is flippant. The arrogant, cocky man claims you as his already. Confesses without any doubt in his mind that rejection could happen, or it could sting.

He's not a gambling man. Only plays when the odds are in his favour and the gains far outweighs the losses.

There's no ifs or buts. Talks about 'us' and 'we' and a future where you're by his side.

.

.

Johan pulls out the words reluctantly and when you least expect. Like they will choke him if he keeps it from you any longer.

He says it without looking at you. Eyes fixed on the ground, a point in the distance, Miro, Eden, anywhere but you.

Brows knitted together, hands white knuckled. A second away from running away. But he needs to tell you, he has to. The words are too big to swallow down anymore.

.

.

Vin peppers his confession with insults and half-jokes. A type of self defence to spare his heart.

Hands in pocket, like it's no big deal. Words spilling out, trying to inject indifference into them. Back against the wall, peering over at you. 

Sunglasses firmly on, eyes shielded. Because he can't bear to be any more vulnerable than he has to right now. His words are barbed and prickly, but his feelings are completely bared.

.

.

Samuel offers his heart in between lofty promises and delusions of grandeur.

Words murmured against the back of your hand, breath ghosting over your skin. Eyes fixed on yours, fiery and almost challenging you to say no.

But a relentless phantom haunts him, one that he silences over and over again.

-That being by his side won't be enough, that offering you to be his queen is inadequate, lacking and there's so much more that you deserve.

Still, he promises you the world and is committed to giving you nothing less.

.

.

Trepidation lines Eli’s words. Like he can’t believe he’s here again. After everything that has happened, with everything on his plate.

He’s forced himself to make room for you, carved out a part of his life.

He confesses in a cramped dusty room in Hostel. Sat opposite one another on rickety uneven chairs, so close your knees are touching and there’s no personal space left. 

Body leaning forward, craving your touch and proximity as he rids the last remnants of hesitancy and takes a leap of faith.

.

.

Ryuhei tells you over and over again.

Until it becomes a daily mantra of sorts for him, and part of your day for you. At first as a joke, or at least you thought so. And then his earnestness snowballed until you could no longer ignore it.

He confesses, with the same sort of childish joy he always feels when he's with you. Tonight, his blood is thrumming in his vein and his pulse is beating in his ears.

With a hushed voice and hope in his eyes: he tells you once more.

[baby-tini]

M4S

It was quiet… too quiet. The leaky pipe making puddles on the floor. The cold, damp air causes goosebumps to perk up on your arms and the hairs to stand up. Trying to move slightly, you hiss at the sharp cuffs as they bite at your raw wrists, the chair groans as you wriggle around in discomfort. Your thighs numb from not moving around, cracking your neck, you whine at the release of tension. The tight ropes giving you some relief when you inhale but cause you to choke up from the smell of bleach. Your ass is sore from the hard, wooden chair as you attempt to wiggle again, get some of the blood flow back into your legs, stretching them feels to hard as the lack of flow makes them feel heavier.

There's a bang upstairs… like a gun shot, then a harsh, bloody cry. One of pain and agony, it feels close but.. far? You're tired, hungry.. dazed maybe? Were you drugged? No, maybe it's just the lack of oxygen from the stuffy room, cold enough to be a basement.. but not quiet enough to be soundproof. Screaming might work, then again, alerting your.. kidnappers, won't benefit you, not even a little, but it's all you got. Although before you can even inhale the air there's a door that slams open not too far away from where you're tied up. It sounds broken from the sickening crack you hear reverberate off the walls. The stampede of steps sound angry, aggressive, the harsh groan of the steps and ear-splitting squeak of shoes tells you that much.

There's loud yelling in Japanese, then a sharp slap to your face, your head flies left so hard your neck cramps up, causing a dull pain to shoot through you. The whimper in pain is laughed off by the men… men? Maybe two, possibly three but you can't tell for sure. It hurts though, everything hurts, and everything hurts even more when a rough hand grabs a fist-full of your hair and yanks back at the root, causing a scream to rip from your throat, only for a bigger, colder hand to clamp around your throat and squeeze tight. A hand, soft and warm wipes away the sweat from your brow, sliding from your cheek to the fat of your lips and running a thumb? over it, tapping the bottom twice, your jaw dropping for entry, the loose feeling of your jaw is nice, until you feel a cold, hard piece slip between them… a gun. The tip of your tongue meets the trigger and you freeze up, attempting to pull away, only for the hand gripping your hair to pull you forward, making you gag on it. There's bile attacking the back of your throat, trying to force it back with a swallow only makes the gun slide deeper, the metal cutting the corners of your lips as your blindfold is pulled off.

"There's no use in pulling back, angel." A man, more on the shorter side, no taller than 5'5, with black hair speaks to you. His voice sound's deep and alluring, you'd go as far as to say sexy if it weren't for the circumstances. He looks similar to his counterpart, the one with white hair, just, not the blonde. The blonde looks the same.. but different? He looked meaner, more provokable, the one with his hand around your throat. The blondes hand tightened when you continued to force yourself away from the gun in the hand of the man with white hair.

There's little strength used to push you back onto the gun, your throat spasming around the intrusive piece of metal. The gag that comes from your throat is loud but muffled at the same time. The hand used to push you further onto the Dessert Eagle -that also has his hand in your hair- is connected to that of a black-haired man, the cut and color really fitting his skin tone and face. He's attractive.. they all are, but, you're still tied up in their basement, the ropes still tight around your abdomen. The prickly fibers on the rope, passing through your thin clothes and leaving an itchy and raw feeling on your skin. The ropes rubbing against the inevitable cuts on your stomach and chest.

The black-haired man leans down, as he pulls your head further back, the quirk of his lips obvious but not genuine. His eyes are the worst, big, black, soulless pits. There's something.. dark, maybe sinister even. Eyes that belong to a killer, not a human being. The eyes of tragedy and sin, not of praise and prayer. He's.. too close, his big black, bottomless eyes, they're scary. Like they can see through you, like theres nothing in them. You can't see a pupil, does he have pupils? He must, but then again, he's not the most… normal looking man you've ever met.

You're lost in a daze, the mans dark eyes like a never-ending abyss, that, you don't realize the calling of your name by the three men, that is, until you feel the hand wrapped around your throat -by the long-haired blonde- slap your cheek. Not as hard as you would've guessed but hard enough to snap you out of your daze. The cloudiness of your eyes leaving and the limp state goes away. The redirect of your mind leads you to look at the man with white hair. He has the same dead, black eyes but.. he looks more tired, more exhausted. He looks like skin and bones, the clothes he's wearing hanging off him noticeably.

The man with white hair speaks up, "When one of us asks a question, you answer, not a moment before and certainly not a moment after. Do you understand.. I said, Do. You. Understand?" You give a nod after a moment of hesitance, the pupil of your eyes dilate at the gun. Your whole body is trembling, "are you gonna kill me..?" It comes out as a muffled whimper, around the gun, less of what you planned but suitable nonetheless, given the situation. You wish they didn't hold so much power but.. these men looked dangerous, it would be best to play as submissive as possible.. be their little angel, so to speak.

The white-haired man stares at you for a second, "I won't kill you if… you give me what I want, deal?" There's an automatic nod to your head. The glow in your eyes speaks for you, as you try to lean forward ready to give them everything… only to freeze at the sadistic grin he -the white-haired man- gives you. The man, slides the gun out of your mouth and uses it to lift your chin, "You eager.. huh, pretty doll?" The fat of your cheeks flush at his words but you don't pull away, not like you were ables to anyway. He -the white-haired man- leans down in-front of your face, "You don't know what I want.. do you babydoll.. huh?" There's an automatic shake of your head, the back down, courtesy of the fear you're feeling. Then comes the tears, the salty water pouring down your cheeks as your throat starts to close up and you start to panic.

There's a quick swap of position, the blonde now stands behind you, with a loose hand around your throat. The black-haired man still has a fist in your hair, but his other hand starts wiping away the tears from your cheeks and rubbing his thumb under your brow to coarse you into a false sense of vulnerability. The white-haired man stays put, the gun still pointed in your face and those dark eyes still glued on you as his hands stay eerily steady.He doesn't seem bothered and you'd bet millions that he's not, this seems to be an everyday occurence for him.

"W- what did you want..?" your voice leaves in a stutter, the sound of a pained whimper, is apparent to the men, that you're terrified. Then again, they could tell by your eyes, the eyes of a scared fawn, just what they like. The blonde speaks up, "We want our money back… the same money you and your little boyfriend owe us." There's a confused gargle at the back of your throat as you look up at him. The black-haired man starts chuckling, "C'mon now, princess. I really hope you don't pull the confusion bullshit like everyone else.." You shake your head at them, "I truly don't know what you're talking about, I didn't steal money."

The blondes hand tightened around your throat, the red imprints already stinging, "lying will only make us angry, maybe you should try telling us the truth. You'll get out of here a lot quicker if you do." You shake your head, only for it to be yanked back by the hand in your hair. The hand in your hair starts moving your head in a 'yes' motion and he laughs in your face, leaning closer. "You'll tell us what we want to know, angel?" The man guides your head again, moving it against your will, causing more tears to slip down your cheeks as your cries come out in pained whines because of the hand necklace you were so kindly given, against your will, of course.

The blonde speaks up, "we know you know what money we're talk- what's this, huh?" He pulls out a dime bag of coke from your bra. The reaction is immediate, to start thrashing in the chair again. Causing the black-haired man to lose his grip on your hair and get pushed away. The slap to your thighs are an immediate aftermath, the stinging causes your thighs to twitch open involuntarily. The gunman steps between them, he's close, too close, his breath smells of red bean paste, dorayaki.. maybe? The man slips the gun down from your jugular to your collarbone, leaving a angry red line.

"Please, that's not mine, I'm just… holding it for a friend. I- It- please, sir listen." There's a look between the men then a laugh. The black- haired man speaks up, getting close to your ear. "Sir, huh? That a lil'.. kink of yours sweetheart?" There's an immediate look of embarrassment, the dark blush climbing up your neck. The blonde leans down on your right, "oh, she likes that… you like this don't you? You like being tied up and having a gun pointed at your head, huh? You're a sick little bitch, you know that?" His hand glides down your clavicle to your stomach, then trailing down to your thighs then gliding his hand back up. The blonde takes out a knife and cuts the restraints on your wrists and ankles, then sheathes it back into his pocket.

"Please… it wasn't on me, it was Akamai, I swear, I didn't know, those fucking drugs aren't mine." There's a whine to the plead in your voice, just noticeable for the three… men, in front of you. "But, that's not entirely true… is it, pretty girl? You knew what your little… what? Boyfriend? Was doing, you came with him, is he.. your little..?"He gestures to your clothes. His two brothers behind him also give you curious eyes. Giving you a full once over, staring at your breasts, a little longer then necessary.

There's a look of disgust on your face, "are you calling me a whore??" There's a harsh lash in your tone. There's a chuckle from all three men. "No princess, well.. maybe, I mean look at you, you're dressed like a little slut. I wouldn't be surprised to find that he'd pimp you out?" It's quick- but not quick enough, your attempt to wrangle the throat of the man in front of you is quickly shut down by his twin? Brother? You're still not sure, but they're too similar to just be brothers. Then again, you doubt they'll tell you, if the gun pointed at your head right now tells you anything. BANG.

The bullet speeds past your face, cutting your cheek in the process. There's a slight sting but nothing serious. The bullet hits the drywall behind you, leaving a small hole. The sickly looking man leans down in-front of you and laughs in your face. His breath reeks of sugary treats.

You're yanked out of the chair by your hair, you trip and fall to your knees but the white-haired man continues to drag you to a door, it leads to a smaller room with a bed. The room is bland and cold, there's only a bed, with no sheets or covers.. no pillow and comforter either. The bed itself is small and looks to be covered in.. blood. The fluids on the bed are dried and old, browning in spots and dark red in others.

"Is this where you keep your sex slaves?" There's a chuckle from the blonde and black-haired man but a scoff from the man dragging you by your hair, "we don't keep "sex slaves".. we don't need to. Women pay to have sex with us, angel.. but there's a first for everything. Maybe you're the golden girl, hm?" The man lays you down on the bed and the black-haired man stands next to him. "Yeah, I like her, we'll keep her." The men make the agreement together, disregarding you completely.

"Who are you guys anyway?" There's a silence then a scoff from each men, "you seriously don't know who we are?" You hesitate for a moment, "I know who you guys are, kinda, The Sano brothers… that's it, I don't even.. know your names." They all step towards you simultaneously, the white-haired man speaks first.

"I'm Manjiro Sano, the one with black-hair is Jiro Sano and the blonde is Mikey Sano." The white-haired man clarifies. You look between the men. "So, are you guys- Manjiro and Jiro twins?" They nod. Then Mikey walks around his brothers and pushes you down on to the bed.

"We're willing to cut you a deal, sweetheart, sex in exchange for your freedom, we'll have your.. boyfriends head instead, sound good?" He states, rubbing his thumb across your cheek. You look at Mikey then his brothers, nodding your head as you kiss at Mikeys finger-tips. All three men grin and the other two get on the bed as well.

Jiro, pushes you down to climb on top of you. As he starts to kiss up your neck, Manjiro kisses you, pushing his tongue into your mouth as he runs his hand down your stomach, to your thighs and pulls them open. Mikey climbs in-between them, pulling at your pants. He throws them to the side, he takes his thumb and runs it over your clit, through your panties. He slips his index down you clothed slit. There's a wet patch under his fingers and he pats your cunt a couple times.

You whine into the mouth enclosing yours, running your left hand through Jiros hair. Tugging at the black strands, he groans into your neck, biting down a little harder. He pulls back to see the fresh teeth imprints, then he goes back down, he starts to mark other parts of your neck. Mikey licks you through your panties, nipping at the fabric and nuzzles his nose into your clit, causing you to try and jerk away. Mikey grabs you by the thighs and pulls you back down, towards his mouth.

He finally pulls your panties off and swipes the tip of his tongue over your clit, twirling his tongue around the bundle of nerves. Then sucking harshly on it. You pull yourself away from Manjiros mouth, to throw your head back and cry out in ecstasy. The cry is pretty to them, they want- they need more, they're hungry for it. Mikey pulls back from the cunt, there's a quick whine from you but it's cut short when Manjiro kisses you again. Mikey spits on your slit, then uses his index and middle to smear it on your pussy. Making sure to deliver slow, tight circles around your clit. He leans back down to assault your clit again, giving it wet kisses as he slips two fingers inside and scissoring them apart.

There's a hiss of pleasure that escapes through your lips but Manjiro is there to shush you. Jiro pulls back, "we have to make this quick, I have a meeting with Toman in thirty." He states, unbuckling his belt and pulling his pants down, as he presses a chaste kiss to your cheek. Mikey pulls back and also slips his pants and boxers off, as he does that, Manjiro places another kiss on your lips and pulls back. He doesn't undress, he just slips the undergarments below his cock. Then pushes into your mouth, your tongue wrapping around his tip without order.

Mikey leans back to spread your thighs a little wider, he takes his cock in his hand and rubs the tip along your slit, pressing the tip to your clit to circle the nerve before he slides in. The spit providing extra lubrication, as he slips in easily. You look over and make eye-contact with Jiro, the does of your eyes only feeding into your lust as grabs your left hand to wrap it around his cock. Smearing his pre-cum to help jerk him easier.

You're full, so fucking full. You've had sex before but it's never felt this good and you doubt it ever will again. You've never met a man that fills you quite like Mikey and you highly doubt his brothers would disappoint you as well. Judging from how your mouth has to stretch beyond capacity, and how your hand barely fits half-way around Jiros cock. The drugs were worth it, stealing the drugs from Akamai were more worth it then you first thought. You've always wanted to fuck the Sano brothers and if that means framing your money-hungry limp dick boyfriend then so be it.

Jiro moves closer to you and squeezes your hand tighter around his cock, he groans from the pressure and you move your hand faster, twisting your wrist and rubbing your thumb up and down the slit, it causes him to keen over you as he catches himself with his right hand above your head moving his left down to rub at your clit. The added pleasure causes you to squeal around his brothers cock. Your throat spasming around Manjros cock as you attempt to bob your head quicker on his dick. Mikey pulls you closer and pulls both your thighs onto his left shoulder as he fucks you harder, his right hand pressing down on your stomach, as his dick leaves a physical imprint inside you. He gives your left ankle a kiss as he leans his head on your calves, watching as you take his brother down your throat.

Manjiro wraps your hair around his fist as he starts to throat-fuck you. He uses his left hand to wipe away your tears as he rubs his thumb under your right eye. "You're doing so good for us, sweetheart?" You try to nod for him as best you can. He chuckles as you choke from your nodding and gives your right cheek a couple pats before he leans his head back and lowly groans. The sound reverberates around the small, bare room and so does the sound of the bed creaking, occasionally hitting the wall, every now and again.

The body bounces in rapid jerks from the thrusts as all three men fuck you pliant. The gags of your throat sending vibrations through Manjiros cock and he whines. The man looks at you through lidded black eyes. "Tell me now before I finish down your tight throat." There's a rapid nod from your end, you need to feel it slip down your throat, you need to taste him. He nods, letting his head fall back as he cums down your throat. His twin is next, Jiro cumming all over your chest, some getting on your stomach. He breathes heavily as he lazily grins at you, still rubbing tight circles around your clit.

You cum, harder then ever before, harder then you thought possible. Mikey tries to pull out but you shake your head and whine at him, he chuckles at that and pushes all the way to the brim, his balls taut against your ass as he cums inside. He's warm and fills you full, your stomach having a little bump from it, that he so gleefully pushes down on when he pulls out of you, causing the cum the slide out of you. Only for him to use his fingers to slide it back into, with a kiss to the cheek gets up. All three of the men stand up and redress themselves, giving you a smirk as they do so.

Manjiro walks back over to you and pecks your lips and with a peck to the cheeks from Jiro and Mikey, they grant you with the words you've longed to hear, since you saw them that day.

"We're gonna keep you princess.. I hope you don't mind."

[livingdeadmlm]

VDLG Hcs with an ftm s/o who is very insecure 💔 how would they comfort him?

Trying a new format do you guys freak with it?!

Some of them will purposely ask for your help with tasks that they are fully capable of performing, to have you show off some strength

Hosea will ask you to please help him with this crate; he can't seem to be able to carry it to the wagon on his own! Wow, thank you, handsome, you've gotten real strong

John, who watches you chop firewood after complaining that it was making his back hurt from the constant up and down

Lenny will complain about not being able to get a can of peaches open and hand it to you, exasperated and cheer when you pop it open

Suddenly, Kieran can't tie a proper knot, and well, you're the only one he knows is tough enough to do it!

Others take you out to do something just you and him.

Slowly stalking a deer through the woods, Charles praises your ability to be so quick on your feet, and to make a good shot

Robbing a stagecoach and Sean is yelling about how you weren't one to mess with and to hand over the valuables

Dutch, who needs you to head into town with him as the muscle, just in case things go south he has someone to protect him

Or maybe their words, intentional or not is what works best for you

Javier, who fawns over your outfits and points out how it makes your shoulders look bigger or how great you look in your chaps

Arthur, who kisses your cheek and offers to help you shave, cause it's getting prickly

Or John, who hates to see you upset, says, “You are the strongest man I know, and I don't mean it lightly.”

[josnhoes]

I trade you a funny cat photo if you write something platonic yandere on any fandom, knowing you on a DmC train I would like some Nero sister with a side of angst

Please

You didn't need to bribe me with kitty picture but I won't lie I welcome it. Sorry it was delayed I got like super high yesterday and couldn't focus to write.

Platonic Yandere Vergil with mentions of the other sparda boys also yandere

Content warning: yandere (platonic), reader nearly dies, mentions of violence

Reader is Nero's twin sister au, the twins and Nero run devil may cry as a family post dmc5 au

-------

This was supposed to be a bonding trip. Dante had been pressuring Vergil to take his kids out and bond. Granted, he suggested camping, but Vergil saw no point in that activity, so the trio took a job. It was the easiest job, one Vergil wouldn't have even looked at if he didn't need an excuse for the outing.

Vergil was a proud man, a man who struggled expressing himself freely. Human emotions were..difficult. yet here he was filled with them. The strongest being fear and rage.

The job was easy, it didn't make sense for anyone let alone decendants of Sparda of himself. Yet you were on the ground bleeding out. He forgot sometimes that you and Nero were only a quarter demon. That wounds he and Dante would easily heal from could effect you both. Nero would have still been armless if he hadn't unlocked his devil trigger.

Speaking of triggering why hadn't you? You were dying but your body refused to change to save itself..why? You were his kin his child this should be innate the sheer will power to survive...

But you were never like him, not in the way Nero was. You were like his mother. Your personality so close to her own it had pained him and brought out lost protective instincts. You were brave, kind, smart, fierce, a spiritual mirror of one he held so close. So he held you close even if he didn't show it.

The love he displayed for you was in rigorous training, and him refusing to let you take the truly dangerous jobs. It was suffocating, and you often asked Dante why he hated you.

Yet despite that he had grown complacent. Had too much faith in your strength and now you paid the price. Vergil slayed the demons lightning fast not even giving them a chance to react. He would have done this slowly, made them suffer for harming you, *his* child his daughter; but he didn't have time for that.

Meanwhile Nero was holding you, trying to keep you awake, his own heart nearly stopping as your eyes fluttered closed and open. His precious baby sister, the one whom he hadn't even wanted in this demon fighting life to begin with. He'd never let you take a job like this again. He'd lock you away if he had too and from the look on their father's face the idea was shared.

It was only due to the Yamato's portal ability and the way your brother and father practically forced Dante to stab you that you survived. Your first devil trigger and you weren't even conscious for it.

You woke up hours later sore and confused. Not only were you not dead, which you could have sworn was going to happen...but you were in what looked like Vergil's room. Your father was prickly about anyone going to his room. His den as he slipped up and called it on occasion. Yet here you were in his bed practically cocooned in a nest made of blankets, pillows, and a few of the stuffed animals from your own room.

As you became more aware you realized Vergil was watching you. So you tried to sit up only for your father to let out the most terrifying demonic growl. Instinctual you froze. Which seemed to please him.

"You should not be moving yet. Despite the wound being healed you should still be feeling the after effects." Vergil was fretting in his own way.

"If by after effects you mean the soreness and tiredness yeah I'm feeling it. Why am I in your room?"

"You were injured." Your father responded as if that answered everything.

"Yeah and? It's kinda part of the job."

"You will no longer be doing 'the job'. It is clear you are unable to do so." There was something about his tone that made your fury hesitate.

You tried to argue back that it was one time and Vergil growled reminding you (as if you need it) that you had nearly died. This argument would go one for days. Escalating as he took and hid your weapons, and Nero your traitorous twin sided with the enemy that was your father.

Even your uncle Dante sided with them to a lesser degree. "It's just a demon thing, they'll calm down as time passes. Show them a little grace we almost lost you." But you knew it was more then some temporary insanity when Vergil set up wards.

Wards that stopped you from leaving the building. No matter how hard you fought the wards escaping had eluded you. But you were never one to give up...

[willows-escape]

Symbolic - 1990!Erik x Reader - Part 1

Pairing - Erik (1990! Charles Dance) x (Female) Reader

Summary - the topic of the mask was the last obstacle in your blossoming relationship, and you were desperate to cross the barrier and become fully intertwined with the man you loved and claimed he loved you too.

Warnings - erik’s deformity is a mix of the deformity we see erik have as a child in the 1990 version and the musical, phantom having a small breakdown, the ✨mask✨topic, poorly dealt with feelings, miscommunication, suggestive moments and reference to genitalia and arousal, descriptions of a gory facial disfigurement, intense self hatred, mentions of christine but she’s long gone in this

Word Count - 4,770

Notes - there will be a part 2 i gotchu i gotchu. should part 2 be smutty or also just suggestive? also i tried writing this in a victorian-esque tone but if you arent vibing with that let me know and i’ll switch it up for part 2. i just thought it would be a nice touch.

give me feedback !!! pleasee !!!!

01 (you're here!) / 02

The nearby sound of trickling water gracefully blended into the ambiance of your surroundings; the towering trees above you resembled a verdant canopy. The quilt beneath you protected your body from the prickly blades of grass and artificial soil, offering a comfortable spot to recline with your hair spread out beneath you, shimmering in the artificial light.

You laid supine, hands elevated above you to cradle a book you had recently begun reading. The words captivated your attention, submerging you in a realm of fantasy and euphoria. Reading was your preferred means of escaping reality, a release you frequently yearned for when the burdens of the world weighed on your shoulders. It all faded away when you became engrossed in the pages of a book.

Regrettably, you were not the only person who was aware of your coping mechanisms. The situation was quite an affair, so you wouldn’t delve too deeply into the small details, but the love of your life had at long last informed you of his reciprocal affection for you. It felt magical and otherworldly to hear that sweet confession escape his enthralling lips, his eyes penetrating into the depths of your soul as his hands tenderly grasped your waist. You had witnessed the words that you only ever seemed to hear in your dreams.

So what had left you so apprehensive?

Well, the man you spoke so highly about, Erik, did not seem to return those high opinions for you. There was a part of himself he laboured ceaselessly to conceal from you, a mask that symbolically and literally kept up a barrier between your world and his world to prevent them from intertwining. You’d exchanged tender sentiments, cried tears of anguish and passion the night you’d finally confessed. You clung to each other as if your lives depended on it and subjected each other to a night of basking in vulnerability and fragility as your secrets long harboured tumbled past your tongue before you could restrain them. The morning after was no less exquisite and that of a fairy tale romance, but the barrier remained.

That mask he wore, pale and icy to the touch, silently spoke of his distrust for you. The final puzzle piece that he adamantly refused to fit into place, even for the sake of your love. Oh, it was a cruel predicament indeed! All you desired was to behold the appearance of the man you held dear, but he swore by the highest heavens that his visage would send you fleeing, and that was the last outcome he desired. To some extent, you understood his apprehension, having heard him recount tales of how numerous individuals he had cared for and adored had reacted abhorrently upon the unveiling of his face. But how could he expect the two of you to spend the remainder of your lives together without even a glimpse of his unadorned skin?

You weren't expecting Prince Charming, and while you weren't entirely convinced by his claims of him having a face of nightmares, you did trust that he might not be conventionally attractive. After all, you had never seen him. Besides his gentlemanly actions and his physique that seemed as if it had been crafted by a divine being, you weren't going to assume that he was the most handsome man in the world. You would love him nonetheless. But no matter how greatly you persisted and promised him you wouldn’t leave despite what he looked like, he truly did not believe a word you said. And it hurt.

“A new book, dear?”

You glanced upward, granting the subject of your grovelling a tight lipped smile as you hastily flicked your attention back to the words on the page. No anger dwelled within you, just painful disappointment, and the ache in your heart made it hard to bare the sight of him. “Of course. It’s Jane Eyre.”

He hummed in acknowledgment, his walking cane planted firmly into the ground below. You internally winced as the silence rang loud in the air. You were not seeking to upset your lover, but also somehow desiring to communicate that you weren't entirely pleased at the moment. It appeared that the message had travelled clear, but the upset was unavoidable.

A moment more passed before he spoke, “I feel a chill coming on. Seems as though it’s about to rain, don’t you think? Come, let’s retreat inside before it starts to pour.”

You arched a suspicious eyebrow, fingers still tightly clasped around the novel you held. If the plastic animals scattered around that Erik had stolen from the props department said anything, everything in this quaint woodsy area was unquestionably fake. From the dirt to the grass to the trees, the animals and the sky. It went without saying there would be no rainfall. This meant he wanted to discuss things with you without the distraction of your nose being buried within the pages of a book. And you weren’t entirely sure how to feel about it.

“And why should I do that?” you questioned, paying him no eye contact as you pretended to continue to read.

“You wouldn’t want your clothing to get wet, would you? I won’t be visiting the laundry room of the opera house for another week, hence it would be wise to avoid sullying a valuable item of clothing,” he reasoned, knowing fully well that he’d drop whatever he was currently doing to run and fulfil any request you asked of him, never mind visiting the damn laundry room.

You parted your lips, ready to jestingly remark about how there would indeed be no rainfall. Yet, in that very moment, a peculiar sensation graced your senses. A solitary droplet of water descended upon your nose, its touch cold and trailing a path of dampness as it glided down your nasal bridge. A gasp escaped your lips as more droplets descended, their frequency increasing with each passing moment. In a hastened flurry, you stood upright, clasping your cherished book to your bosom. You abandoned the forgotten quilt as you sprinted through the doors adorned with stained glass, leading you back to Erik's modest dwelling. He followed closely, not far behind your hurried steps.

You’d have to speak to him about putting up a gazebo. To block out the sun, you’d tell him.

“Guess you were right,” you half-heartedly chuckled, absentmindedly tossing the book onto a table to the side of you.

You found yourself in Erik’s room of treasures, where he stored and cherished his most esteemed items, namely his collection of masks and his grand piano. The ambiance within was of a tranquil and serene nature, causing your anger to gradually dissipate. Yet, the sorrow and anguish still lingered within you.

"Forgive me, have I down something to displease you?" Erik questioned, his steps measured and deliberate as if he were trying not to startle you, akin to approaching a timid creature. With utmost gentleness, he lightly laid his hand upon your shoulder, allowing it to glide downward, tracing the contour of your arm.

"Erik…" you whispered, tearing your eyes away from him. Your heart faltered, your breath catching in your throat as his fingertips delicately brushed against your skin. A fire simmered in your core, your veins rushing with hot blood as the touch of his hand engulfed you, overwhelming your senses with a fervour. “I… do not wish to upset you.”

“The only upset you cause me is by not being honest with your feelings,” he replied, hand reaching up to gently trace the skin of your cheek. Your eyes felt weak, gently fluttering shut as you indulged yourself in his affections. “Please, tell me what is troubling you.”

You paused for a moment, allowing yourself to succumb to his touch for a little while longer. The words settled on the tip of your tongue, ready to escape you and take a leap of faith from your mouth to his waiting ears, but you’d already approached this subject with him before and did not wish to push him to frustration or sorrow.

“I just…” you paused, “One day, Erik, do you wish for us to be husband and wife?”

His eyes widened, mouth agape in shock at your blunt statement. He stammered in surprise, removing his hand from your cheek slowly. He drew in a deep breath before answering, “There is nothing I desire more than to be wedded to you. Where is this coming from? Are you feeling as though our relationship is moving too slow? I just didn’t want to frighten you by pushing for more. Why, I’ll marry you tomorrow-”

“Erik, Erik,” you laughed, hand coming up to cup his cheek with your own hand as he was doing to you seconds ago, “I didn’t mean it like that, though I’ll marry you the second you ask it of me. Maybe not tomorrow, however.”

“Ah,” his nerves tingled, goosebumps rising on his skin at the electricity of your touch. He cleared his throat before continuing, “While that is a great relief to me, may I ask as to why you asked that, if not for the reason I previously thought?”

Taking one last final pause, you readied yourself to confess your true want. “I know you’ve said no, and told me to not bring up the subject again… but my love, how can I marry somebody when I have yet to see their face?”

Erik pursed his lips, his eyes shifting down as he began fiddling with the cuffs of his sleeves. You felt dreadful witnessing the unease that the inquiry evoked in him, understanding that it inevitably resurrected distressing memories he longed to forget. Nevertheless, no advancement could transpire between the two of you in your relationship until he allowed you to see his face. You refused to be bound to someone who concealed such an essential aspect of himself, even if you knew the intentions to be entirely pure.

“I can’t do that,” Erik shook his head, walking away from you and moving towards his basket of walking canes. He placed his current one back with the bunch, before busying himself with rearranging his mask collection. He didn’t want to stray too far from you, but also wanted you to drop the subject.

You quietly tip toed behind him, enveloping him in your arms as you wrapped them around his waist and placed your head on his broad shoulder. You audibly heard his breathing pause, feeling him shiver as he relished in your touch. But nevertheless, he pushed on with rearranging his collection, although he wasn’t moving side to side around the table as he was doing previously.

“But why?” you asked.

“You know why, my face is that of nightmares. And I’ve hurt too many by showing them what they believed they could handle. My expectations are realistic.”

“You could never hurt me!” You insisted, your emotions getting the best of you as you retreated from him. He hunched over slightly, hands resting upon the clear spot of table in front of him to steady himself. His head twitched to the side as he bit his bottom lip in thought.

“Dear, I know you think that I exaggerate when I speak of my face, but I can assure you that I do not lie out of simple insecurity. My own father hid me down here due to my appearance, that must speak volumes,” he sighed, coming up once again to stand straight. “Now please, do not ask again.”

“So when I inevitably return to wallowing in my own feelings and escaping to the woods for hours at a time again, will you tell me to not ask again when you approach the subject of my feelings once more?” you tried to reason, desperately wanting him to view the situation from your point of view.

He didn’t respond for a little while, evidently pondering your words that he knew deep down held some veracity. The matter of the mask was evidently causing you distress, and he couldn't fathom any solution that would alleviate your concerns. But alas, he simply couldn't bring himself to do so.

“I’m sorry, my answer’s no.”

Tears welled up in your eyes, shimmering with unspoken pain and longing. Your vision blurred as a single tear cascaded down your cheek, tracing a path of sorrow. Your body trembled with silent sobs, your shoulders shook as you struggled to hold back the flood of emotions that threatened to consume you. The ache in your heart grew stronger, as if each tear shed was a testament to the love and vulnerability you had offered, only to be met with rejection.

“My dear, please, don’t cry over me,” his arms swiftly enfolded you in an embrace, his own frame quivering with an inability to endure the sight of your tears. With a resolute tenderness, he pressed his chilled lips upon your forehead, bestowing a gentle kiss as he cradled your head against his chest. In a steady rhythm, he swayed, seeking to soothe your anguish and stifle the heart breaking sounds that escaped your lips.

“How can I not?” you wept, fingers shaking from how firmly you were clinging onto his white button up shirt. You were grabbing on to him so tight you feared your nails would pierce holes in the delicate fabric, but you couldn’t bring yourself to relinquish your grip no matter how much you internally fought with yourself. Nothing you were doing seemed to be venting your frustrations adequately, leaving you at a loss for how to cope. "My love, the very essence of my existence, the one who breathes life into me, steadfastly refuses to show me his face."

“You must understand- I feel for you exactly as you describe your feelings for me, if not tenfold. That’s why I can’t show you. I’m protecting you just as much I want to protect myself,” he confessed, eyes squeezing shut as his swaying slowed to a stop. His grip was becoming tighter and tighter.

“I know life has dealt you an unfair hand, Erik, I’ve heard your cries and witnessed your heartbreak. I was there for you all throughout Christine, I was there to see your regret and misery as she left you behind. I did not leave your side for a second. I know the great despair and trauma her reaction to your face cast upon you, but please believe not a hair on my head resembles Christine. I will not hurt you the same.”

Erik held you a little longer, his embrace becoming even more so impossibly tighter. He wasn’t urgent to reply, instead allowing himself to bask in your love for as long as he could manage. Your sweet love was an addiction, an ambrosia he craved every single waking hour. But even then you lived in his dreams, your angelic presence blessing him wherever he went or whatever state he was in.

“I love you, Erik,” you spoke, looking upwards towards him as he began to tilt his head to share your unwavering gaze.

“I love you too,” he said.

“So show me,” you whispered, eyes glistening with tears and lips downturned into a subtle frown.

You took one last look into his eyes, before pushing yourself forward and up. Your lips met in a fervent union, a culmination of the deepest desires and longings that had long been brewing between you both. It was a kiss imbued with a delicate tenderness and an irresistible urgency, your mouths moving in perfect harmony. Each brush of his lips sent electric waves coursing through your body, igniting a blazing fire within your soul. In that timeless moment, you and him surrendered yourselves completely, losing all sense of time and space. It was a kiss that spoke volumes, a silent pledge of profound love and unwavering devotion.

As you reluctantly broke the intimate connection, succumbing to the need for a breath of air, your gaze met his half-lidded eyes. His lips were swollen, and his tongue darted out to moisten his bottom lip as he inhaled deeply. A blush crept across your cheeks as you attempted to conceal the rapid beating of your heart, finally becoming aware of his hands that had gradually ventured downward, tenderly tracing the curves of your waist.

He silently took a moment to recover, savouring the lingering taste of your kiss. It was unlike any other you had shared before - no longer innocent and brief, but a passionate embrace that ignited a fire within you. As your lips met, it felt as if the world around you faded away, leaving only the two of you in a moment of pure bliss. The intensity of your connection was palpable, like a match being scraped against a stone, creating small sparks that danced and flickered between your bodies. It was a kiss that left you both breathless, your hearts racing with newfound desire and a longing for more.

“If you really insist on seeing my face, come with me to your room. I do not wish to make you feel cornered, but if you are to faint I wish for you to not bring yourself harm.”

You nodded eagerly, your heart pounding with a mix of excitement and anticipation. The kiss you shared made every colour appear more vibrant and the air feel lighter, filling every fibre of your being with pure bliss. As you followed him, each step felt buoyant, as if you were walking on air.

It didn’t take long for you to reach your room. Erik was very against you two sharing a bedroom, stating that he did not wish to make you uncomfortable or feel trapped next to him, when the reality couldn’t be farther from that. But you feared that he might’ve just been projecting, that he was the one who felt uncomfortable and trapped with the idea of you two sharing a room, so you’d left the topic alone for another day. That day still hasn’t arrived.

Erik took a hold of your hand, gently pulling you in and shutting the door behind you. He shook slightly, so lightly that you almost thought your eyes were deceiving you. “Are you sure about this, y/n?”

“More sure than I’ve ever been about anything, besides how much I love you,” you giggled.

“I… will not keep you down here, if you decide you never want to see me again. I’ve learnt my lessons, do not fear you reaching the same fate Christine did when she reacted negatively.”

You wanted to protest his words, state that you feeling negatively towards him was inconceivable and never going to happen. You also wanted to tell him to stop mentioning Christine, just the utterance of her name made you scowl. But you didn’t want to argue at a time like this, so you just nodded your head.

“Before I take this awful thing off… that kiss was everything I’ve ever wanted and more. If after this you no longer love me, please know that your display of love made me feel like a normal, living man, and that I’m doing this because I know I can die happy after the fact, if you were to leave.”

“I’m honoured to be able to make you feel that way, my love.”

He hesitantly extended his hand towards the strings that secured his mask to his head, skillfully undoing the knot he had carefully tied. As he prepared to remove the mask, he couldn't help but steal a final wistful glance at you, savoring the moment before gradually peeling it away from his skin, gripping the edges tightly with his other hand. The air seemed to hold its breath as the mask revealed the vulnerable visage beneath, unveiling a hidden side that had long been concealed.

His face was a grotesque sight, something that defied accurate description. The skin was cruelly stripped away, revealing the raw and twisted muscles beneath. It was a horrifying visage, and it made your heart ache. He was deformed, disfigured; the only parts of his face that were covered in flesh were swollen and bright red, contrasting the pale whiteness of his bone. You tried your best to swallow the gasp that was pushing past your throat, but you were human.

You were sure you could hear the sound of his heart shattering, but you were so shocked you could only watch as he crumbled to his knees before you. His screams and cries made you nauseous, his repeated wails of, ‘why!? why!? why!?’ as he grabbed onto the hem of your skirt, hiding his face in the fabric in his suffering. You snapped back into reality, falling to your knees in front of him.

“Erik, no, please-”

“Go, please. Leave me.”

“No, please, hear me out. I don’t hate you-”

“This is hardly a face you’d want to marry!” he protested, burying his face deeper into the fabric of your skirt, resisting as you tried to pull it away. “You may not hate me, but you’re scared! Is this the face of a man you could wake up next to, spend the rest of your love with, make love to at night before we sleep? Please just go!”

“No!” you cried, relenting on your attempts to tear his desperate self away from your skirt. You wrapped your arms around him, this time cradling him against your bosom as you rocked back and forth. You felt the tension slowly dissipate from his form. “I do not hate you and I am not scared of you! I want to do all those things with you, Erik, please I swear!”

His quiet sobs continued to echo through the air, his scared body shaking erratically. With utmost tenderness, you cradled his quivering form in your arms, holding him close and providing a safe haven for his shattered heart. Gently, you brushed your fingers through his hair, whispering words of love and reassurance into his ear. Your touch and soothing voice offered him comfort and solace, doing your best to remind him that your love extended far beyond mere physical appearances.

In that moment, as he sought refuge in your embrace, you felt an overwhelming surge of love and compassion for this broken man before you. Despite the mask he wore, both symbolically and literally, you saw the depth of his pain and the vulnerability he rarely allowed others to witness. Your heart ached for him, yearning to heal the wounds that had haunted him for far too long.

"You are more than your face, Erik," you whispered softly, your voice filled with unwavering affection. "Your heart, your soul, and the love we share transcends any physical imperfections. I love you for who you are, please believe that."

As his sobs gradually subsided, he looked up at you with tear-filled eyes, searching for a glimmer of hope and acceptance. In that moment, you saw a spark of belief flicker within him, a tiny beacon of light amidst the darkness that had consumed him for so long.

"I… I want to believe you," he choked out, his voice trembling with both fear and longing. "But all my life people have only said different. How can they when I don’t have a face, and only the resemblance of a face?”

You held his face gently in your hands, your touch conveying a tenderness that words alone could not express. "I understand. I’m sorry for reacting like that, please forgive me. I love you regardless of your face, it was just unlike anything I’d ever seen before. That’s all. I feel no differently for you than how I felt before you removed the mask.”

He hesitantly inclined towards your touch, his eyes seeking yours for reassurance and acquiescence. He quivered as a vehement cry escaped his lips once more, bedewing your bodice in his tears. Yet, you cared not the slightest, more preoccupied with consoling the poor man trembling before you.

You both sat together on the floor of your bedroom for an indeterminate span of time, but to you it felt like hours. You cradled him like a mother would her infant, tenderly caressing and comforting him with gentle touches and whispered reassurances. You hadn’t seen Erik shed tears since the evening of your confession, and you could only surmise that all the trepidation and unease had finally reached a breaking point and crumbled along with his composure. It deeply saddened you to know the man you loved so intensely hated himself and had been hated so harshly by those around him. You vowed to never cause him pain like everybody else had as long as you both lived.

Eventually, he withdrew from you, gracefully settling on his knees, his hands still shielding his face from your view, protecting his vulnerability. He wiped away the glistening tears that adorned his cheeks, his other hand instinctively seeking to conceal himself from your gaze. A pensive frown graced your mouth as you hesitantly reached upward, your fingers yearning to grasp his trembling hands, only to recoil as he instinctively recoiled in response to your advance.

“Hey, it’s okay. I’ve seen it all now, haven’t I?” you hushed, hands dropping from his hands but instead reaching up to smooth back his hair with your fingers.

He sniffled quietly, “Forgive me, I did not intend on frightening you. I am simply unused to showing my bare face around others, it’s unfamiliar.”

“Of course, I understand, love,” you smiled, gently trailing your hand down the side of his face. Goosebumps littered his skin like a trail.

You moved closer to him, your heart racing with anticipation. You kept one hand on his face, basking in the warmth of his skin that didn't have any disfigurement. Your other hand gently draped over his shoulder as you approached, your fingers delicately tracing the contours of his back. He quivered beneath your touch, his legs extending out from under him to create a space for you to come impossibly closer. As you lowered yourself onto his lap, a surge of electricity coursed through your veins. His breath, warm and intoxicating, caressed your skin, sending shivers down your spine. His hands trembled with uncertainty, itching to remove themselves from his face to come down and touch you instead. You chuckled.

“You can hold me.”

His breath caught in his throat, his mind filled with a whirlwind of desires as he absorbed the words that flowed from your enchanting lips. You couldn't help but chuckle softly, savouring the profound effect you had on the man beneath you.

“I’d like to put on my mask, dear,” Erik finally spoke, “As much as I love having you so close, I’m not ready to show myself to you so unashamedly yet.”

With a nod of your head, you stepped back, allowing him the space he needed to shroud his face from view. Though you comprehended the internal struggle he faced after years of hiding, a bittersweet pang of sadness tugged at the depths of your heart. The poignant reality that he still felt the need to shield himself wounded you deeply. But you tried to keep reminding yourself that it wasn’t personal.

He swiftly and efficiently retied the strings, maintaining his determination, as he stood up following you. You leaned in and planted a brief but meaningful kiss on his lips, savoring the moment before reluctantly breaking away. With a mix of emotions swirling inside, you diverted your attention, attempting to shift your focus away from the recent event that had transpired.

“I’ll be out dusting the statues, you haven’t kept up with them in a while and I’d noticed them on the way in and I think they could really use a clean. I’ll speak to you later.” You quickly retreated from the room without even sparing a second glance.

Erik stood there, mouth agape, unable to comprehend the suddenness of your departure. His mind was flooded with a multitude of questions, doubts, and confusion, hindering his ability to think clearly. As he glanced around the room, an overwhelming sense of awe washed over him, as he tried to process the intensity of the moment and the speed at which you had vanished from his presence. Meanwhile, his body felt an uncomfortable strain, as his arousal pressed insistently against the constricting fabric of his trousers, adding yet another layer of complexity to his already tumultuous thoughts.

You were no less aroused, the tingling sensation in your nether regions proving that you had been mutually affected by your lover. Oh lord, this was going to cause problems.

[maychorian]

Dungeon Meshi has fully consumed me, especially a certain tiny union man, and I want to ramble about Chilchuck's traumatic backstory for a bit. Mild manga spoilers under the cut.

The first time I read the manga I missed this bit, since I was reading an online version that didn't have all the extras included. Since I've come across this litte omake, though, I haven't been able to stop thinking about it. It just explains so much about why Chilchuck is the way he is.

First, at a surface level, it's interesting that this backstory only comes out in the framework of talking about a monster. Chilchuck is offering basically an anecdote about succubi, adding to the conversation he and his party are having about a monster species. It's all very casual and offhand. No one even remarks on what that experience would have meant to Chilchuck on a personal level, and he doesn't dwell on it, either. You have to wonder if Chilchuck would have ever mentioned it at all if they weren't specifically talking about succubi.

But holy heck, just think about this for a moment. On one of Chilchuck's first outings as an adventurer, possibly the first time he joined a party, his fellow adventurers were planning to feed him to a monster. He's only alive now because he had the instinct that something was wrong and had the speed, wisdom, and stealth to run away. He could have died. He could have been murdered. And it's implied that this happens to half-foots frequently in this world.

How traumatizing would that have been for a young adventurer? The people he should have been able to trust to have his back were literally planning his death, all for monetary gain. He was treated as disposable, a resource to be exploited, not a person. Not only is there the trauma of narrowly escaping death here, there's also the trauma of being mistreated and abused by other thinking, intelligent beings.

No freaking wonder he has trust issues. He's been working with Laios and his party for three years at this point and he's never shared a single solitary personal detail about his life, not even his age. He can't bear to allow any vulnerability to show, because he can't allow himself to be taken advantage of again. No wonder he's so prickly and wary. No wonder he's so sensitive to being viewed as anything other than a capable, skilled, fully realized and autonomous adult. No wonder he shies away from affection and any hint of closeness, especially in the early chapters of the manga.

I'm amazed that Chilchuck had the strength and fortitude to stay in the business at all. He considered his options and took steps to keep himself safe, including only accepting pay in advance and starting a union to protect himself and other half-foots. (Another tidbit you don't get at first in the story--Chilchuck is not just a member of a union or the leader, he started the whole dang thing to begin with.)

But what's so lovely, and wonderful, what makes this story take over my brain so completely and utterly, is that Chilchuck doesn't stay this way. Over the course of the manga, he opens up more and more. He allows himself to be emotionally vulnerable; he shares more and more details of his life. He treats Marcille and Izutsumi like daughters, Laios and Senshi like brothers. He loves them and allows himself to be loved in return.

And that's one of many reasons that Dungeon Meshi is one of the best found-family stories I've come across in a long, long time.

[karlachismylife]

Hey, @nrdmssgs, sorry for annoying you, I'm mostly tagging you not for the text, but for the video. I just... thought you'd get it, you know? Sorry in advance if that won't really do anything for you.

It's just a little Nikto x reader something.

Song: Раньше в твоих глазах - Кино

Hot exhale turns into dampness on the cloth covering your mouth when it comes into contact with the cold air outside. Thick knitwear protects tender insides, but irritates skin around your lips, so pulling it down brings short relief before frosty wind bites into the vulnerable wet patches. Wiping it off with your sleeve is futile, wooly coat already covered in prickly snowflake crystals that melt against your skin, so you end up letting it go. Harsh cold kissing you with the passion of death personified.

Something you're familiar with.

Grey bumpy wall of a panel house with a cage wart of cellar maintenance entrance, frozen lock defying gravity and utterly useless with rusty hinges that will come off from a little nudge, protects you from the calm blizzard; little flame from your lighter licking at the end of your cigarette and successfully lighting it up first try. Orange light powers up with your first drag, shining just as bright and useless as the warm street lamps along the alley.

It's the cold, white ones, exposing every little snowflake incoming like icy missiles of the sky army, that actually do something to the darkness. Barely afternoon and it already feels like the middle of the night.

Smoke turns into purple mist when you breathe it out into the illusive air with the moisture of your lungs.

The world feels empty as you walk. It's undeniably riddled with signs of life, yellow windows of apartment complexes with a few pink or purple sprinkled in, crows cursing the cold, God - or maybe even you - hoarsly, crunchy snow pressed into a slippery surface by dozens of boots that walked in since the snowfall started. And yet you're filled with the peaceful feeling of being completely alone.

Funny how that makes you going out to the streets useless - before you exited your apartment, you were gearing up in warm clothes to meet someone. As soon as you stepped outside, liminal world of non-existent time - dawn, dusk and afternoon all at once - claimed you into its twilight mist.

Purpur twilight with glitter of snow wraps itself around another building that forgot it used to be white and pushes you between your shoulder blades. Same whirlwind moves a children's swing on a playground, fresh layer of snow where there's no one to sit anymore.

There's no one to lend you gloves as your fingers grow stiff, clutching an unflavoured cigarette. To your right, an endless stone wall with barbed wire on top drags along. Fluffy snowflake conglamerates get pierced by the spikes like inmates that weren't lucky enough to escape.

A bright white street lamp works as a floodlight in this one-person prison, sharp shadows softened by the twilight.

Crows notice him first. Shoulders slightly slouched to brace against the wind, hands deep in the pockets of a worn jacket with thick padding, heavy steps sinking into the fresh layer of powdered diamonds - a beast treading the zone. Grumpy birds scatter away, flapping their ashy black wings, unsynchronized choir of curse caws rolls off the man's broad shoulders with snow.

He notices you only after you drop what's left of your cigarette on the ground, barely warm butt burrowing itself into a tiny black dip, and take off. His steps stutter, then pick up again, and by the time you slam yourself into his sturdy chest, Nikto is already prepared for impact and doesn't even sway, catching you.

His hands are securely protected by thick black gloves, yet you still feel the desperation his fingers dig into your back through all the layers of winter clothes.

"Komu veleno bylo doma sidet', zhdat'?"* Voice muffled by his mask, he scoffs at the way you blatantly ignore his question, and leans even more in to brush what's left of his nose underneath against yours.

"I just wanted to meet you halfway." You shrug and roll your eyes as you see him pull off his gloves. A moment later your hands start boiling - fluffy insides of Andre's gloves accumulated so much warmth that your fingers prickle as they warm up.

"And I hoped I'd get fresh tea as soon as I come home." He chuckles, reaching into your pocket unceremoneously and fishing the cigarette pack and lighter out.

You escape the prison floodlight brightness and under gloomy protection of thickened twilight and grey concrete he exposes just his mouth to light the cigarette and take a drag.

"I boiled some literally a few minutes ago. And made pirozhki. A fuckton, actually, just in case someone comes home really hungry."

It's impossible to miss his subtle smile once you learn to catch it in the mere seconds it lights up his face and evaporates, like a shitty lightbulb at the stairwell of your building, reeking of old cigarette ash from the cat food can people use as ashtray at the bottom step. Nikto tilts his head up, letting the wind take his smoke and add it to the clouds that turn water into powdered sugar on the ground.

"S chem?"*

A panel house opens its maw, letting you both inside.

You stomp your feet in unison on the dirty, wet communal carpet, adding to the melted snow on it, before you move to the elevator.

"With love."

*Komu veleno bylo doma sidet', zhdat'? - Whom did I tell to sit and wait at home?

*S chem? - With what (filling)?

[omgshiftercat]

BG3 Blogging: Could this guy be a vampire? Nah, he's just a cat.

Now that I'm playing as Karlach rather than Astarion, WOW that vampire cannot help dropping hints by the dozen about what he is. The rest of the group must be thinking, "If this guy weren't walking around in direct sunlight, I'd swear he's a vampire."

The vibe:

During my Origin Astarion run, back at the crashed nautiloid I was like, "Ooh, I have a bite attack? CHOMP!" and that triggered the reveal dialogue with Shadowheart. No waiting around.

🐇: Part of the Vampiric Drama Compulsion includes dropping hints that you are a vampire.

Though there's also this: Astarion: Have you ever heard of a vampire lord named Cazador? Wyll: Not ringing any bells. Gale: Head of the Szarr family. Nasty piece of work, if the histories are to be believed. Astarion: (quietly) They likely are.

(Note: some dialogue might not be word-perfect, since I'm often going from memory.)

Now musing on how much of that "drop broad hints that you are a bloodsucker" thing is Vampire Drama Instinct and how much might have developed as a covert attempt to alert someone, anyone, about what he is without going against the Purple Man levels of control that a master vampire has over their spawn. "No, master, I have no idea how the monster hunters figured out that I'm a spawn and therefore there must be a vampire lord in the city somewhere!"

This explains why the boar carcass is still in the middle of the road: he only has 8 strength.

My friend 🦀 explained he'd been playing a wizard Tav with the attitude of, "I've had a very bad month. Everyone gets ONE chance. Threaten me at your peril," which meant that a few key NPCs got immediately nuked by fire spells... including Astarion. (Lae'zel lived, partly due to what was almost certainly the Dream Guardian's direct interference.)

Me: Just think of him as a cat who somehow acquired elven form and passed the Baldur's Gate bar exam. 🦀: 😆👍!

...I mean. It's not just that he's so frequently drawn as a cat. Or that he approves of showing proper deference to His Majesty, and disapproves of telling Tara not to eat pigeons. As a cat owner, I can confirm that "tries very hard to seem cool and dignified, but in fact has zero chill and is prone to comical overreaction" is a frequent feline trait.

(Also, if you pass your Perception check, you don't even have to do the thing where you calm the hissy cat by not pulling away when he sticks his claws into you.)

And yeah... people (including me) go on about this, but it's worth it to treat Astarion like a half-feral cat in need of proper socialization (and the occasional spritz with a holy water bottle) because the acting and dialogue for his story is So. Damn. Amazing.

A friend who hadn't yet seen Avatar: the Last Airbender got tired of hearing all the fan-babble about Zuko.

I think a lot of us feel kind of starved for redemption stories that are actually well-written? Like, so often we get heel-face turns that just feel very sudden and unearned (looking at you, Kylo Ren). And, well, I have a lot of bad feelings about the way "forgiveness" is so often presented as 1. compulsory and 2. more important than, if not an outright replacement for, accountability.

For a long time, it looked like they were going to do one of those sudden HFTs with Catra in She-Ra and the Princesses of Power, and I was actually glad that they kept her a baddie for so long! When they finally had her change sides, she'd had to hit rock bottom, and I got the impression that her progress wasn't completely finished at the end of the series.

So much media doesn't want to address stuff like, "extended trauma may turn someone into more of a prickly asshole than a smol bean", "someone on the path to rehabilitation may sometimes backslide", and "sometimes the best you'll get from a character is 'morally grey'."

[deathofacupid]

didn't see you there | peter parker

late christmas fic cuz why not

summary: what's a little cafe meet-cute?

the walls were coated with green, red, and white. christmas decor hung from corner to corner, draped against the walls.

there was a small christmas tree in the back, wrapped with tinsel and ribbon. small, shiny ornaments perched themselves upon the prickly branches.

holiday music rang from the speakers, and you twirled around, broom in hand. it was closing time and you were cleaning up before heading out.

"last christmas, i gave you my heart... and the very next day...

"you gave it away... this year..."

brushing pieces of trash and clumps of dirt into pile, you sang loudly, not concerned since you were the only one there.

the music was turned all they way up, and you weren't conscious of what was going on around you.

that's probably why you didn't here the chime of the doorbell, indicating that someone had entered.

at this point, you were doing less working and more... whatever was that you were doing.

"um— miss? i was just— i was popping in for a drink?"

you yelped, hopping backwards and jabbing the broom towards him. once you realized that he was not in fact a potential robber or bad guy, you lowered the weapon. weapon?

there wasn't much to work with in a cafe.

your cheeks were flaming hot, and you were just about ready to die.

the worst part?

he was 100% the cutest guy you'd ever seen. i mean, that had to make everything worse.

because now you couldn't even hit on him. poor guy probably thought you were crazy.

"...we're closed."

"oh, sorry. i didn't think you closed until 10:00. that— that's what the sign said outside, anyways."

"uh, yeah it's..."

9:51.

"oh. oh, i'm so sorry. i g-guess i lost track of time. i can take you right now, if you'd like."

strike two.

"yes, please."

you cleared your throat, face still flushed. "what can i get you... at 9:52, good sir?"

the boy (man?) cracked a grin, and your insides squeezed. he was just so damn pretty.

"one large black coffee. um, extra caffeine."

you raised an eyebrow, and he took it upon himself to further elaborate, "college student," he chucked, and that was enough for you to understand.

"well, that'll do it."

he laughed, "yep!"

"can i have a name for the order?" you didn't need it, but it was a good excuse to get his name.

"yes, yeah," then he paused, like he was trying to remember said name. "parker peter. wait, no— that's not what i meant. i-i don't know why it came out like that. peter. it's peter. parker, that's my last name... if you're wondering where that came from."

"okay... peter. cute."

you didn't ignore the blush that made it's way onto his face. maybe he didn't get flirted with often, you thought.

but then again, how could he not? peter was literally a greek god... like, what?

"so..." you started, wanting to break the silence, "what're you majoring in?"

"biotech."

"ooh, you're a science guy, huh?"

"yeah." peter was blushing again, you noted. why, though? did he think that was weird? or nerdy? well, it was nerdy, but in the best way possible.

"that's really cool!"

"you think?"

"of course!"

"um, yeah, i intern for mr. stark."

"mr. stark?" you racked your brain, trying to figure out whether or not you were supposed to know him. "...wait. oh my god, tony stark? like- like- stark industries? that tony stark?"

you were speechless. you knew that he had to be smart, considering he was in biotech. but this level? wow.

"mhm."

and, man, he seemed so modest about it.

"jeez, pete. that's insane!"

"thanks..." he glanced at your name tag, "y/n. that's a pretty name. what about you?"

"me? what about me?" you asked, banging on the side of the coffee machine. "damnit. this stupid piece of— ah-ha!" smiling as it started to work, you started filling up the large cup.

"major. wha-what are you majoring in?"

"huh— oh! i'm still in high school. i turn eighteen in a couple weeks. i'm a senior. y'know, at midtown."

peter's eyebrows shot up, "midtown?"

"hmm," you clipped on the top. glancing at the sharpie, you inhaled. you picked it up and scribbled down his name. and then, after a moment, you number.

"i used to go there. i knew you looked familiar. i'm a sophomore at college. you were... what, like freshman when i was there?"

"uh... yeah. something like that. that's so weird. i've never seen you around before."

peter winced, "um, yeah, i wasn't the most well known..."

you bit your lip, not wanting the conversation to drop.  "well, here's your disgustingly bland coffee, parker. sure you don't want any sugar or anything? a cookie, maybe?"

"no, i'm okay," he laughed, taking the cup from you. peter took out his wallet and handed you his card, which you took.

"sorry, again. for... you know."

"nothing to apologize for. you're good." pete furrowed his brows. "are- are you closing up yourself?"

you shrugged. "yeah. why?"

"no... it's just, it's really late."

"meh. i live, like, 5 minutes away from here."

"then i can drop you off? just so— just to make sure you get home safe."

"it's okay. besides, i still haven't finished," you gestured vaguely, "all this."

"i can wait. it's okay."

"pete—"

"it'd make me feel a lot better knowing you get home." he tilted his head at you.

everything about him felt so safe; you didn't even know him, but you already trusted him. he had that feeling that resonated off him.

"i—" you blushed, your insides squirming at the fact that he cared about your well-being. he was a stranger, and yet he still wanted to do this, so who were you to refuse? besides, it would be nice you stay and talk to him longer. "okay."

peter grinned, "cool!"

"just give me a minute." you cleaned up, wiping down the tables and pushing in chairs. "you know what'd be crazy?"

peter looked at you.

actually, you weren't sure if he'd ever looked away, because when you glanced up, his eyes were locked on you. "huh?"

"if you were, like, some kidnapper. and i just wouldn't know, because you'd be trying to seem nice, and then bam, you're dragging me to the trunk of your car. kinda like reverse psychology, but not."

he laughed, shaking his head. "how'd you know? man, you just blew my cover."

"don't even try it. i got a fancy red panic button on the underside of this counter."

"do you really?"

"yep... no. we don't. well, technically, we do. but it doesn't work."

"huh. okay."

the two of you went back and forth with little quips, making each other laugh, until finally, you were done. taking of your apron, you tossed it in the bin and hung up the cap. peter held the door open for you as you flipped over the "open" sign to "closed".

"you know, i normally don't let pretty boys walk me back home from work."

"well, i don't normally walk pretty girls home from work. so you should be flattered."

"i'll have you know that i am."

"how come you work so late anyways?"

you sighed, "we don't have... the greatest supply of money. my mom tries her best, but i like to put in the hours whenever i can to help. i do a bunch of extracurriculars because it looks good on resumes, and i only have time for anything else later in the day."

"i see. it's cool of you to help out like that. i'm sure your mom really appreciates that."

wincing, "she doesn't know i work this late. my mom doesn't get back from the office until 1 or 2am. it's nice i have a full scholarship. at least i don't have to pay for college. that crap is crazy expensive. or at least too expensive for us."?

"scholarship? that's awesome. where to?"

you shrugged, "midtown college. not as prestigious as their high school, but it's still something. majoring in graphic design."

"so you, like, draw?" his eyes lit up, "oh, is all that chalk art or the windows and board yours?"

"yep. you like?"

"yeah! are you kidding? that stuff's crazy. i could never."

you laughed, "thanks, pete. oh— well, this is my place. don't leak my address."

"no promises."

"and thanks, again. this was really sweet of you. it's nice knowing that there are still good people out there." and with a sudden burst of confidence, you kissed his cheek. "good night," you murmured.

you were too giddy and happy to look back at him, and you barely caught the farewell that rolled off his lips.

well, at least he had your number.

[dovahkinniez]

` 𖤓 . . . LUCIEN FLAVIUS.

HEY HEY. This did originally come from a request, which I accidentally deleted ... Like an idiot. BUT HERE IT IS. Anyway, this is a different layout, only slightly. And I'm trying to find spaces to enjoy writing again as I've been burnt out for a while due to work. If there are any mistakes, tell me or simply turn a blind eye. 🖤

Lucien is a respectful man, and he almost (dramatically) passed out from stress when they said there was only one room available.

What made it worse? You were to sleep there for two nights, and it wasn't like you could find elsewhere to sleep, you were both in the middle of the cold and harsh winters of Skyrim.

If he weren't pale from the cold before, he definitely was after hearing about the ever so unfortunate circumstances.

But you were so ... Calm?

Any normal person would find comfort in that, but it actually scared Lucien even more.

Because ... Why are you so okay with it?! Can't you see the life altering situation at hand here?!

But as you took off to your room, he followed behind with his eyes tired and mind worrying for the next two nights ahead.

'I will sleep on the floor.' — you laughed at his words as you flopped onto the gigantic bed, fit for three people. He watched, twiddling his thumbs awkwardly.

Lucien slowly sat on the end of the bed, clearly tired and cold, but alert from the feeling of sudden intrusion as you lay onto your side of the bed, "It's not that bad, Luci. We are friends, not strangers." You shrugged, unbothered. He was still slightly baffled by your lack of shock and issue with this, but you simply saw it as a difference in culture and upbringing. He grew up pampered with big beds to himself, and everything was handed on a silver platter at his beck and call. You doubted he'd ever slept beside anybody before, never mind a friend, and you knew he wasn't exactly experienced in the art of sex and romance.

The first night was ... Awkward.

— the first night.

After some time, he built a pillow wall between the two of you. Which, by the way, made you laugh. His dramatic actions caused only humour in you, so much that it warmed your cold body up from the long and harsh journey throughout the day. So instead of bringing him back down to Earth, you allowed him to fuss over nonsense for the pure entertainment value. You already knew that Lucien had a wicked dramatic streak, but the pillow incident really set it in stone.

— the second night.

The next hours to come consisted of laying in the dark with Lucien, eyes on the black ceiling with only little thought as you heard Lucien's breathing, which indicated he was still wide awake. "Can't sleep?" You asked after moments of silence, he moved his body, clearly uncomfortable. "No ... I am sorry if I have intruded." You giggled, then you heard him sigh softly. "It's not awkward, Lucien. You're making it awkward." He sighed once more before what sounded like was turning his body on the other side. "Very well. Goodnight, Y/N." "Goodnight, Lucien."

The day went smoothly and Lucien's unneeded awkwardness has finally dissolved. By the second night, he was fine. Taking the pillow wall down, he lay in bed, shivering from the cold outside. "I told you not to wash in the lake." You grumbled, feeling the cold radiate from his skin under the sheets where you silently wished he had kept the pillows up. But instead you moved closer, taking his cold body beside yours with tangled limbs, your skin grew prickly with temperature shock as he froze, not from the cold, but from the sudden touch. "Breathe, Lucien. I'm trying to heat you up." He only nodded, reluctantly wrapping his arms around yours, his face pushed into your neck with deep breaths as you rubbed his back and entangled your limbs with his.

After sometime, his body calmed into a peaceful warmth between the two of you. His hands gently stroked the exposed skin of your back as yours played with the tangled golden hair atop his head, forehead touching with silent affection. He had never experienced anything like it before, and he doubted he would ever again; he questioned himself if you had ever felt like this before ... Somehow, the possibility caused a nasty feeling in his chest ... Was it jealousy?

All in all, it created a positive memory.

Lucien also realised that night that he may harbour some unknown feelings for you.

[aesopsharpmybeloved]

Tess' Sharpuary - 26. Prickly (*)

Aesop very much enjoys making you fall apart below him.

chapter specific tags: 18+!, explicit, established relationship

relationships: aesop sharp x reader

[FULL PICTURE]

26. Prickly (0.8k)

tw: explicit, oral sex, age difference (reader is an adult)

You loved feeling his beard upon your skin. 

It was a completely dizzying sensation, the feeling of his lips dancing upon your sensitive skin, hot tongue caressing and soothing, while his beard stung and burned, leaving you inflamed in more ways than one. The moment he purred his desire against your skin, the sting of his teeth like the first bolt of lightning on an unbearably hot summer night, you felt yourself dampen with lust. He was well aware of the effect he had on you, his kisses deep and intimate, his face nuzzling into the soft skin of your inner thigh, his nose dragging over the plush flesh, inhaling your scent as if he was a man starved for air. He knew just how to move so that you’d be in heaven and in hell at once, yielding to the pleasure and to him so very quickly.

As usual, he took his sweet time riling you up, your poor nipples red and sensitive from his devilish teeth, your forehead already covered by a light film of sweat from his ministrations. Giving you a smug smile which looked simply delicious upon his handsome rugged face, he once more flicked his tongue over your pebbled teat, prompting you to release a shaky whimper. His hands gently massaged your breasts and he observed them with a look of deep appreciation. They moved lower then, skimming over your ribs, your waist. His head dipped down, and his bearded face snuggled against your stomach, leaving you with a prickling sensation that made shivers roll through your aroused body.

His tongue circled your belly button before dipping inside teasingly, and teeth then once more closed around some of the soft skin, squeezing it to the point of light pain. “You have to forgive me, my love,” he whispered, his voice low like a predator’s growl, “but I find myself feeling very much the starving beast whenever I’ve got you in my grasp… All spread out for me - you are the perfect canvas for me to work on.”

And then, finally, he lowered his head further, his sharp inhale audible even over your loud breathing and even louder beating heart. Your back arched off the bed slightly when he buried his face between your legs, the prickle of his beard against your most sensitive place enough to make your toes curl, and he seemed intent on having you fall apart for him entirely. He devoured you firmly, roughly almost, turning your gasps into moans and making you squirm within seconds, those slightly crooked teeth of his reducing you into a proper mess. 

He knew exactly how his nose and moustache felt like on your nub, and he revelled in leaving you visibly ravished, if only for a little bit. And ravish you, he did. Using the considerable strength in his arms, he trapped your hips in one position, not allowing you to seek any purchase - you would come on his terms and his terms only. Even as tears of pleasure rolled out of your eyes, the sensations soon becoming too much, he didn't stop. And you didn’t want him to stop.

He liked having you look at him while he shoved you over the edge, he liked your eyes connected with his own as you plummeted towards the mind-numbing bliss - he was the only one who could make you feel this way, and you were his, and his only. He didn’t stop even after you released against his lips, your legs shaking, and your cries of gratification unintelligible. No, Aesop carried on, wanting more. Again and again, he’d tear you into pieces with pleasure, only to put you back together and start again.

And then, when you felt nearly delusional from the continuous bliss, oversensitive and pulsing all over, did he finally start ascending back up your tired body. Even as his lips once more teased at your nipples, as his clever hands stroked at your skin, you weren't certain if you could go again, his sweet torture having left you in a state of utter exhaustion. 

However, when his mouth connected with your neck again, when his beard once more teased at the tender, reddened skin, when his body covered your own completely, pressing it into the mattress, you could feel he found his own pleasure already, just by giving you yours. The knowledge that your scent, your taste, the sounds you made were enough to bring him over the edge was what you needed to replenish your energy. It made you crave him again. 

You brought his face up, made him look at you, and your eyes spoke louder than words ever could. His grin told you he heard exactly what you didn’t say.

“Hm, my love… aren’t you tired?” he purred, the unmistakable stirring of his front against you making you grin in return.

Your hands tangled in his hair shortly before moving down, towards his shoulders and back. Your fingernails dug into the muscles, leaving angry red crescent moons in their wake, like they did so, so many times before: “No, not tired… hungry.”

You were going to be sore all over tomorrow...

---

Thank you for reading! I hope you enjoyed ❤

[AO3] - [Sharpuary 2024] - [Masterlist]

[shy-urban-hobbit]

Of all the decisions Lambert had (and would) come to regret, this one definitely hadn't been on his list.

He and Aiden had run into Geralt, sat alongside a brunette man who could only be the bard they'd heard rumours about - if the way he was sitting a little too close to a Witcher than was deemed sensible and appeared to be talking Geralt's ear off was any indication. The white haired Witcher looked both panicked and relieved when he spotted them, calling them over and making hasty introductions in an attempt to draw the humans attention away from him for a few minutes.

Something which successfully resulted in Aiden and Jaskier acting as if they'd known one another for years rather than hours, the Cat more than happy to keep fielding the bard's questions (Lambert had resorted to Geralt's tried and tested method of grunts and growls when they hit double digits with no signs of stopping) and trade casual, friendly touches.

Although they agreed on most things, that was something they had never been able to see eye to eye on. Lambert tolerated touch at the best of times, the moments that weren't linked to punishment or training fleeting at best. Aiden on the other hand, thrived on it, constantly subconsciously latching onto the nearest body in one form or another. Unfortunately for Lambert, whenever Aiden decided to tag along for longer than a day or two, the nearest body was usually him. Even at night, he would migrate - moving his bed roll so they woke up nose to nose when they had started the night on opposite sides of the fire and on the occasions when they had needed to share a bed, many a time had Lambert woken up with Aiden wrapped around him like an octopus.

So naturally, when Jaskier and Aiden had come back from speaking to the innkeeper about rooms for the night - explaining that yes, they had two rooms but one of them was a double bed whilst the other was two singles - Geralt and Lambert had both simultaneously stated that they would take the two singles under the guise of wanting to catch up with one another properly, while Jaskier and Aiden - in Lambert's words - could "Do one anothers hair and fight about who gets to be the little spoon." (He'd meant the first part as a joke, but from the way Jaskier started eyeing up Aiden's curls....). It was the perfect solution.

Except it wasn't, as it turns out. Sleeping lightly anyway - thanks to being in a strange place and surrounded by fickle, unpredictable humans - Lambert's mind appeared to be a few steps behind and refusing to accept that just because it was night and Aiden wasn't in his line of sight didn't mean he was in danger. He was getting tired of being pulled out of his doze every time someone slammed a door to then be jerked into full wakefulness because the body he was expecting to be sharing (invading) his personal space wasn't there. From the looks of it Geralt wasn't faring much better, his eyes meeting Lambert's every time from the bed closest to the door.

It was the early hours of the morning when Geralt pulled himself from under the covers, muttering something under his breath that sounded suspiciously like a resigned "Fuck me." before opening the door and blinking in surprise to see Aiden stood there, a fist raised ready to knock. The two of them exchanged a brief nod before Geralt slipped out of the room and Aiden inside.

Aiden didn't even give the now spare bed a cursory glance, making a bee line for Lambert who scootched closer to the wall without even making a show of grumbling as the Cat climbed in beside him, pressing himself along his back and tucking his knees behind Lambert's.

"What happened, bard too handsy even for you?" Lambert asked, only half joking as he felt something in him uncoil now that he could see the other was alright.

"No, but Geralt wasn't exaggerating when he said he never shuts up. He talks in his sleep. Plus, maybe I just missed my more prickly bed buddy."

"Don't ever call me that again."

"What would you prefer? Cuddle chum, snuggle monster? Not that you ever reciprocate that much, but a little embellishment never hurt-"

"Fucks sake. If I give you a cuddle will you shut the hell up?"

He didn't miss the little pleased noise Aiden made as he moved back just far enough for Lambert to be able to turn onto his back and lift an arm which Aiden immediately took advantage of, pressing his nose into Lambert's collar bone as he threw an arm across Lamberts chest, the Wolf feeling the slight purr as he awkwardly wrapped his arm around Aiden's shoulders in return.

"G'night, Prickles."

Lambert couldn't muster the energy to bite back on that one as he felt his eyes slip closed, not waking again until the innkeeper yelled at them through the door to either pay for another day or get out.

[salllzy]

Sal's snippets #25

Alastor was an Omega and Omegas were rare in Hell, in the entire history of Hell there had only been two dozen Omegas. It was why he kept it a secret. He had no desire to be hunted because of his second gender, although it wasn't just him. His fawn was an Omega as well. Although most wouldn't believe it given their attitudes. Of course, Sarah wasn't a secret, it wasn't their fault that those who resided in Hell weren't smart enough to realise that something was wrong. There were some who knew that he had a daughter, Carmilla, Rosie and Zestial were aware that Sarah existed. Rosie had been over the moon when she had realised that he had a daughter. Zestial had been thrilled as well, Alastor would admit that he would consider them friends or possibly more than friends, but there were things that he would never tell them. Of course, there had been the disastrous first meeting with Sarah, he had warned the other Overlords that she wasn't one to be trifled with and that she was wild. They hadn't listened, Rosie had ended up with several broken bones before he had been able to clear up the situation. They had learned that she was even worse than he was when it came to touch. Sarah was prickly and only allowed a select few to touch her and none of the other Overlords weren't on the list. However, he would give them points for trying. Then he ended up working at the hotel, to say that it was one disaster after another was an understatement. It also didn't help that the King had decided to live in the hotel. Alastor was doing everything in his power to avoid spending any time with the King, it wasn't just because the King was an Alpha either. Well, it was part of the reason. The King's scent drove him up the wall and not in a good way. Normally Alphas would smell revolting to him and he had resigned himself to the fact that he would never find a mate, Sarah's mother didn't count as they didn't mate, they had only been married a year before she had run off with another man. Alastor had no luck when it came to relationships and the last one had put him off romantic relationships altogether. But it was more than just that. Hell had a rather dim view of angels and it wasn't that shocking given that every year without fail an army would for all intents and purposes invade Hell and begin to slaughter the citizens. Although, the Hellborn and nobles didn't see it that way. Not that they knew what went on the Pride Ring. Still, the fact of the matter was, Hell had a great hatred for angels baring their King of course. He also knew that his supposed 'enemies' would stop at nothing to see him destroyed and he had no desire to get into a pissing completion with lowlifes and the Vees. So he knew that he needed to be careful, the last thing he or Sarah needed was for anyone to find out that they were part angel. He would sooner be revealed as an Omega than have his angelic side revealed.

[thegoldenavenger]

not gonna write this right now but!

svsss / lotr fusion au

proud immortal demon way is a grimdark fantasy story sorta like game of thrones/song of ice and fire which shen yuan hate read because he liked the protagonist and really wanted him to get a happy ending but, that, uh. DID NOT HAPPEN. EMPHATICALLY.

anyways, shen yuan transmigrates into a hobbit, waits for the plot to Happen, and when it doesn't for almost 10 years he realises he must have transmigrated to sometime before or after the plot happening and dives head first into being a hobbit. the food! the books! the gossip! yes, he'd love to get out an explore this fantastical world a bit more, but hobbits weren't very adventurous and shen yuan didn't want to stumble into the plot any more now than at first.

shang qinghua is his fellow transmigrated hobbit. once shen yuan realises this, he latches onto shang qinghua and they become somewhat antagonistic friends. shen yuan cherishes him! despite having written the novel, shang qinghua also does not know exactly where in the plot they are. the shire got very little mentioning in the original novels so they could really be at anytime at all except for the part where the shire gets burned down or what not.

this is all very well and good until someone knocks on shen yuan's door in the middle of the night and he opens it to find a strange, tall, extremely, tall, extremely beautiful, man who waltzes into his little hobbit hole like he owns it.

this is shen jiu, a wizard. who... knows? shen yuan? shen yuan does not know shen jiu. shen jiu does not seem to be worried about that. shen jiu, after making himself QUITE at home in shen yuan's little abode, gang presses shen yuan into a fun little quest. shen yuan is not quite sure how exactly he ends up on the trail towards a mountain to free it from a dragon but he is--in a word--excited.

a dragon? he's only read about them! in two worlds now! and he'll get to see one, and possibly more amazing creatures. he is accompanied by shen jiu of course, snappy and acerbic, stern and moody by turns, but obviously and intimidatingly powerful. he is also accompanied by ming fan, a relatively young dwarf who falls all over himself to impress shen jiu; ning yingying another excitable dwarf happy to be on this quest of some import; yue qi, a solemn but friendly man who falls over himself around shen jiu more than ming fan does; also like three to five more people i cant be bothered to squish in. this isn't about them!

anyways, it turns out that this is the prequel story--shen yuan only finds out when he returns from his adventures with an unbearable amount of treasure, to a shocked shire and an even more shocked shang qinghua who explains that Shen Jiu, whom shen yuan has grown a bit fond of in spite of himself, is actually Shen Qingqiu, the wicked wizard who set Luo Binghe on his path to becoming the dark and gritty protagonist in Proud Immortal Demon Way.

shen yuan boggles. surely not????? shen jiu is prickly, yes, but he didn't seem like the man the book described. shang qinghua shrugs, said this was a light hearted fantasy he wrote when he was younger and more idealistic but it is definitely the Same Dude.

but, shang qinghua says, they obviously aren't following the same plot since Shen Yuan was definitely not in shang qinghua's writing, and several things didn't happen or were changed. in any case, this prequel was decades prior to anything that occurred in the main novel so shen yuan delicately decides he probably doesn't need to worry about it.

he fingers the jade pendant he'd been given on his journey.

the pendant, of course, belongs to Luo Binghe. in Proud Immortal Demon Way Luo Binghe started the novel out as an orphaned halfling, without family or community, and barely the clothes on his back to his name. he struggled to survive on his own, his only treasure the jade pendant he'd always had since he was a baby. he could only imagine that his parents bequeathed it to him before they--died? probably. luo binghe had never known what happened to orphan him so thoroughly.

he'd stumbled into wardship with a powerful wizard who was meant to mentor him, however instead of nurturing luo binghe's relative youth (halflings aged much slower than men, a hearty thirty years was mere teenage years in comparison) he had set jealous eyes on luo binghe and made his life miserable. when he caught sight of luo binghe's pendant, he'd stolen it and with it released the other half of luo binghe's heritage.

su xiyan was a creature much like a hobbit, as these things go, but his father was a powerful demon (dark elf? listen i am not deep in the lotr lore but w/e the hell sauron is haha). the union wasn't meant to be, and when separated, tianlang-jun tried to raze the realms in fury, and almost managed it with his demon sword of power xin mo. however, he was defeated, xin mo shattered, and sealed under a mountain.

luo binghe's heritage was also suppressed. whatever su xiyan carried from her entanglement with tianlang-jun, resentment or pity or fear, she evidently cared enough for her child to try and give him a normal life free of a tainted ancestry. she gave him a pendant and set him adrift on the luo river where his tale of misery began.

when shen qingqiu removed the pendant, in the situation it happened in, luo binghe's powers and heritage manifested. shen qingqiu disavowed his newly unmasked disciple and abandoned him among the shadows of the badlands around mount doom.

embittered and adrift, luo binghe fought through what was tantamount to hell, laid claim on the throne his father left empty, commanded the wayward bands of orcs and goblins and other unsavory creatures, and worked on claiming or conquering all else. the realm of men never showed him any kindness at all, and so he would burn it all to the ground.

what started as a fairly interesting, if dark, coming of age story morphed into a grimdark grapple for power, politics, and sex. shen yuan, who had been charmed by the young luo binghe's enduring effort to find somewhere he belonged, became swept away with the darkened and awakened luo binghe's effort to create somewhere he belonged, without mercy if necessary.

however, somewhere during luo binghe's rise to power more and more of the plot threads were being dropped. luo binghe's cunning coups and strategic battles became more single note. at some point the adversaries became one dimensional, canon fodder. luo binghe's plans came to fruition with barely any struggle. as a power fantasy, shen yuan supposed it was fine-enough. one could, theoretically, turn their brain off and enjoy luo binghe's methodical scouring of the realm, conquering of power, and claiming of women. but everything shen yuan had started reading for, and had stayed for, was stripped away except for the protagonist himself.

in the end, the only place luo binghe could make for himself was a cold, lonely world empty of anyone luo binghe could turn to.

it was, perhaps, no wonder that shen yuan had frothed himself into such apoplectic fury he had died cursing the author's work.

the point is, though, that there was absolutely no way the cute youth shen yuan had encountered in the goblin caves had been luo binghe. the boy hadn't introduced himself, but when shen yuan was fleeing the wrath of the goblin king, the boy had given shen yuan his necklace.

"it will turn you invisible, so it can help you escape." the boy had said.

"what about you?" shen yuan had asked, reluctant to take the boy's only means of defense.

"it's fine!"

"but it's your treasure, isn't it?" shen yuan recalled the hours of commentary he had coaxed out of the boy as he'd been led through the dank tunnels trying to reunite with his wayward band of dwarves and wizards.

"it can help you now, i want you to take it!" the boy's eyes had been starry in the dark.

"but--" shen yuan was forced to hold the pendant as the boy shoved it into his hands. with reluctance, he settled it around his neck. "how will i return it?" he asked instead.

the boy had smiled at him, eyes wet with emotion. "i'm sure we'll meet again, shen yuan from the shire."

"okay then. i'll give it to you next time."

the pendant had turned him invisible and shen yuan was able to escape the goblins, somehow rescue his teammates, sneak into the dragon mountain, steal the treasures he'd been tasked to steal, liberate the mountain he'd been tasked to liberate, and even accomplished his own secret goal: save the dragon.

(you see, shen yuan loves creatures of all sorts, and he'd always sort of been sad when things like dragons had to be killed to save the day. didn't they also deserve to live in peace? so, when a snake like creature conspired with him to help relocate the dragon under the guise of burying it with melted gold, what could shen yuan do but agree? and the plan had worked! the mountain was liberated, the city nearby was freed from constant dragon-induced fear, his traveling companions were happy enough, and the dragon and presumably its snake-friend were safely living somewhere else probably.)

anyways, the boy can't have been luo binghe and the pendant cant be the pendant because the pendant never turned luo binghe invisible in the novels shen yuan read, and luo binghe would have never given it away! he'd reliably become berserk if the pendant had ever been in danger and of course the moment shen qingqiu had stolen it luo binghe had erupted into a coalescing tornado of unleashed power.

that did not happen when the starry-eyed, lonely, somewhat skittish but still kind and receptive young kid had given shen yuan the pendant. therefore, that kid wasn't luo binghe and this pendant is not The Pendant. there are probably a hundred sad orphans and a thousand more magical pendants in the wide million-word history of proud immortal demon way.

so when shang qinghua points at the pendant some years later and starts yelling hysterically, shen yuan has no idea why. shen jiu, who is visiting for shen yuan's birthday celebration, and quite used to shang qinghua's hysterics, offers to look over the pendant. shen yuan lets him, though if shang qinghua was awake he might get scolded for that. yes shen yuan knows shen jiu steals the pendant in the book! but! shang qinghua said it himself: shen yuan has already changed things! probably shen jiu won't steal from shen yuan! they're friends! also, this isn't the pendant so it's all a moot point.

this leaves shen yuan completely open when shen jiu does actually steal the pendant. he whisks it away, barely touching it, folding it into his billowing sleeves, eyes as flinty as shen yuan had ever seen them.

"i need to find out what this is," shen jiu explained, as shen yuan angrily stormed after him on his way out. "it feels-- hungry."

"i--" shen yuan is stopped when shen jiu whirls around and places his hands on shen yuan's shoulders.

"do you not trust me?"

shen yuan thought that was very unfair, as he had just determined to himself to trust that shen jiu wouldn't steal his pendant and the wizard had just gone and done that. but the look in shen jiu's eyes stayed shen yuan's tongue.

"do you think i would just take from you for no reason? have i not labored enough under your ceaseless expectations of me to have earned your trust in this?"

shen yuan carefully breathed out through his nose. "is it not the same question for me?" he asked, "do i not deserve an explanation? must i always sit here in the dark as though even the simplest of truths would make me suspicious of you. do you not trust me to listen?"

shen jiu seemed to struggle.

shang qinghua managed to recover, at this point, and catch up to them. he interjected, for once his tremulous tone evened into a sober enough inflection that even shen jiu listened. "It is exactly what you suspect! we can do whatever tests you need right here, in shen yuan's hearth, you needn't journey with it yourself."

shen jiu's eyes narrowed, and shen yuan cast confused glances at both his friends. even if it was luo binghe's pendant, wasn't it just a seal limiting binghe's power?

"you're not even touching it and can feel it whispering, can't you?" shang qinghua asked.

"what do you know of it?" shen jiu snarled, but his eyes betrayed a sort of fear shen yuan had never seen from his friend before.

"it won't do you any kindness to keep it, whatever you mean."

shen jiu, for a minute, looked as though he would ignore shang qinghua, but in the end the wizard closed his eyes and lifted the handkerchief covered pendant from where he had stashed it.

"it's heavy," shen jiu said, and dropped it into shen yuan's waiting palm.

it turns out the pendant is actually xin mo. "xin mo was actually uh, pretty fucked up? it corrupted tianlang-jun's mind, that's why he tried to destroy everything. su xiyan sealed its power into the pendant, but as luo binghe gets older and his heritage closer to awakening, xin mo grew more powerful." shang qinghua explained once shen jiu left ostensibly to research the predicament they were left in, but more realistically to recover from his brush with xin mo's corruptive influence. at least according to shang qinghua.

"but binghe didn't have the pendant when he started his conquest." shen yuan pointed out.

"no? he didn't need a hell-artifact trying to corrupt him. you read the story bro, his life sucked. he didn't need much of an excuse to get revenge."

"then why the pendant at all? isn't that too confusing? a macguffin you don't even use?"

"that was the point though!" shang qinghua was picking up enthusiasm now. "Luo Binghe had Xin Mo, the same thing that drove his father mad, but Luo Binghe could have resisted that. but being treated the way he was? his master undermining him and, ultimately abandoning him? magical artifacts don't make people into all of that," he said gesturing as if he could encompass all of luo binghe in his hand, "People make people into monsters quite enough on their own."

shen yuan bit his lip. that was, of course, why he'd stuck with reading pidw after all. he couldn't refute shang qinghua's words. watching luo binghe's slow descent into more and more anti-hero grimdarkness was enthralling because of how thouroughly the bright niavety had been beated out of him. shen yuan had wanted luo binghe to get his revenge, to get his power, and to create a place he could call home. he'd had plenty of the first two, but the latter had never come to fruition.

"wait! that was the point?" shen yuan asked, "but you never explained xin mo at all? or all this about the pendant! after shen qingqiu stole it, it might as well have disappeared! even after luo binghe captured him, the pendant wasn't brought up again. i had to bend over backwards to try and gather all of your loose plot threads! half the novel was just him winning another fight or finding another woman!"

"well, i mean, it was supposed to be the point. but ah, well i lost my notes and then--" he made a noise as shen yuan hit him. "But! I tried! Luo Binghe got a sword didn't he? after he captured shen qingqiu? that's xin mo! that's why he does all the fighting and fu-- uh, women. shen qingqiu couldn't destroy the pendant, and breaking it only released its true form. so luo binghe got his father's sword after all and it doesn't matter at all that he could resist it, because he didn't want to."

"why is shen jiu so worried about it anyways? i mean, i didn't feel anything." shen yuan looked skeptically at the drawer they had hidden the pendant.

"uhm, most people can though." shang qinghua said. "that's a lot of why luo binghe's life sucked so much? everytime someone was around him they felt xin mo."

shen yuan frowned, remembering the bright eyed youth from the caves. that had been luo binghe then? with his messy hair and messier clothes and dirt stained hands and feet. shen yuan, breathless from fear and running, had still not been able to resist the urge to wipe at the kid's face with his sleeve. people looked at that and what? felt compelled to be mean?

"most people are petty," shang qinghua said, correctly interpreting shen yuan's furrowing brow, "not everyone can be as peerless as the great peerless cucumber--"

"shut up." shen yuan frowned and crossed his arms. "you didn't answer my question! okay so, it has bad vibes. what about it? it's a pendant? i'm certainly not going to scour the realms. even if i wanted to, i could be squashed like a bug. who cares? why steal it from binghe?"

"because, if someone squashed you like a bug or stole it from binghe then it would eventually find someone who was powerful enough to scour the realms. i mean, even shen qingqiu wasn't immune to it! he thought taking it from binghe was the right choice, because he was worried someone stronger would take it, but obviously it wasn't. even with binghe's heritage being revealed, shen qingqiu ended up fracturing a lot of his connections while he held onto the pendant. he thought he was protecting the realms from it, but really he was just protecting it until binghe picked it up again. he practically laid the ground work for his own imprisonment with that. besides that, there are plenty of people who would think xin mo was a tool they could use for good. and they'd be wrong. so it's best to destroy it."

"but if binghe can resist it, and taking it from him is half of what makes him turn into you know, bing-ge, isn't it best just to give it back?"

shang qinghua boggled. "how did you come to that conclusion?"

"well, it's his treasure, and he wasn't doing anything wrong with it. you said yourself he could resist it! so isn't it best if the protagonist holds onto it? binghe's strong enough no one could take it..." well, besides the time someone had taken it.

a look came over shang qinghua that shen yuan couldn't identify. "i don't know. maybe he had such a tolerance because he built it up while it was in his posession all those years. but you've had it for like ten? twenty? years?"

Shen Yuan frowned. it wasn't that long for a hobbit, but it was incredibly long for the human shen yuan had been once.

"who knows how he'd react to it now! and absolutely no one is going to agree to just give an artifact of ancient evil to some kid no one knows!"

"he'd be almost thirty now, wouldn't he?" shen yuan said, almost without his own will putting together the timeline. in the novel, this is when luo binghe would be meeting shen qingqiu for the first time. thirty was too young for a hobbit to be on his own, never mind that shen yuan had been living by himself in both lives by the time he was 19.

"you are, frankly, impossible." shang qinghua gave up.

shen jiu came back in the middle of the night, as he was prone to doing, and whisks shen yuan and shang qinghua away on a journey to bring the pendant to a meeting of the realms in order to further discuss what to do with it.

"destroy it," shang qinghua murmered.

there were whispers of a dark power coalescing in the north at the bad lands bordering mount doom. orcs and goblins and other sort being organised and turned against the villages and townships close to the border, each raid pushing their powers further out.

"it's too early for binghe yet, isn't it?" shen yuan asked under his breath.

the worst of it. "they know the pendant is in the shire." shen jiu informed shen yuan and shang qinghua in the middle of throwing things into packs for travel.

"what? how?" shang qinghua quailed.

"who knew about the pendant? ming fan? yue qingyuan?" shen jiu asked, at once correctly inferring the only possible time shen yuan might have come across it.

"no--" shen yuan faltered. luo binghe had been the only other one to know, as he'd given it to him. but would luo binghe sell that information to the dark forces rising against them? or was he, indeed, the dark forces themselves?

shen jiu tsked. "it doesn't matter just now. we have to leave."

so they left, headed towards the cang qiong mountains where shen jiu hoped they could foist the responsibility of the pendant onto some other poor sucker.