#this show keeps having unexpected blink-and-you-miss-it deeper moments

[sparkles-rule-4eva]

I was just rewatching parts of the four-parter of Sonic Boom, "Robots From the Sky," originally for the Sonamy content 😂 (since that has some of the biggest evidences for them secretly dating in that show, but that's for another post)

But then I noticed something a little odd.

In the fourth part, Sonic is weirdly...quiet.

I'll just say real quick I'm a big fan of the headcanon that Sonic used to be mute, and is still selectively mute, all depending on the day and the situation and whatnot. I think it adds depth to his character and another side that'd be fascinating to see in canon (and I always latch onto fanworks that portray such). But besides there being the obvious thing about Classic Sonic being completely mute, and Sonic X Sonic being quiet most of the time, and stuff like that, I didn't expect to find anything for it in Boom, of all things.

(to be clear, that wasn't an insulting comment. I adore Boom. It's sorta my comfort show. XD)

ANYWAY, the point of this post! In the fourth and final episode of the miniseries, even though he started out the episode talking as usual, Sonic went weirdly silent starting shortly after the rest of his friends arrived. There was the silly, rather flirtatious scene he had with Amy, they all tried (and failed) to fight, Sonic instructed Tails to take the others and fall back while he went and got the robot guy (I forgot his name). That command he gave Tails was the last real thing he actually said for the next five minutes of the episode (these are ten minute eps remember, so that's more than it sounds, and definitely way more than five minutes happened in the real timespan of the episode). He said a couple things at the very end, but spoke no real words in the conversations and battles (other than yelling "ow" that one time 😂).

Like?? Boom!Sonic isn't necessarily as talkative as Movie!Sonic or Prime!Sonic, but he doesn't often come across as "quiet," either. But...???

Like, several times in that period (which must've been hours, since the robot guy built a bunch of robot duplicates of them during that time) he was the only character who stayed quiet the whole time. He was paying attention to what was happening, but I kept expecting him to contribute or just say SOMETHING, and he just wouldn't. Not even when Tails said something to him. Several times someone gave him some type of instruction and he just nodded, without so much as a hum. He just stood there. His robot duplicate said something a couple times (or maybe just once, idk, but still).

I might be reading too much into it, but the thought was just interesting to me. I was trying to think of why he might've gone silent for that time, in context of the situation, and thought either maybe it was because it was a truly more serious situation, or maybe because he was actually hurt? And his being silent was the only tell that something was off? IDK!! Selective mutism, especially with Sonic, is very interesting to me. 😅

[kanisema-blog]

My In-Laws are Obsessed with Me

Chapter 4

The restaurant buzzed with the hum of conversation and clinking silverware as I sat across from the author of our animation project. We were here to discuss the potential series, a new chapter in our creative journey. The author, Lisa, was a vibrant woman in her early forties with an infectious enthusiasm for storytelling.

“So, Kelly, I’ve been thinking about expanding on some of the characters we introduced in the movie,” Lisa began, her eyes lighting up with excitement. “I want to delve deeper into their backstories and add a few new arcs. What do you think?”

“That sounds fantastic, Lisa,” I replied, leaning forward. “We can definitely bring more depth to the characters. I’ve been playing around with some ideas for new scenes and character interactions. For instance, the main protagonist’s journey could be expanded to show more of their internal struggles and growth.”

“Exactly! And I also want to introduce a new antagonist,” Lisa continued, her hands gesturing animatedly. “Someone who challenges the protagonist in unexpected ways. I think it will add more tension and keep the audience engaged.”

As we continued to brainstorm, our food arrived. We took a moment to enjoy the meal, but our conversation never waned. Lisa’s passion was contagious, and I found myself getting more excited about the project with each passing minute.

“So, how do you envision the series being structured?” I asked between bites of my salad.

“I see it as a mix of episodic and serialized storytelling,” Lisa explained. “Each episode would have a self-contained story, but there would be overarching plots that span the entire series. It gives us the flexibility to explore different themes and character developments.”

“I love that approach,” I said, nodding. “It allows for creativity while keeping the audience invested in the long-term story.”

We continued to discuss various elements of the series, from visual style to potential voice actors. The meeting was productive and inspiring, and by the time we finished, we had a solid outline for the first season.

“Well, this has been great, Kelly,” Lisa said as she glanced at her watch. “I hate to cut this short, but I have another meeting to get to.”

“Of course, Sarah. Thanks for meeting with me,” I replied, standing up and shaking her hand. “I’ll start working on the initial drafts and get them to you as soon as possible.”

“Sounds perfect. Talk soon!” Lisa waved as she walked away, leaving me alone at the table.

I sat back down, savoring the last few sips of my drink, reflecting on the exciting new project ahead. It felt good to have a clear direction and a creative partner as passionate as Lisa.

“Excuse me, are you Aunt Kelly?”

I looked up to see a little girl standing beside my table, her wide eyes filled with curiosity. I blinked, trying to place her face, and then it clicked – this was John’s niece, Lily. She looked up at me with a shy smile, her tiny hands clutching a stuffed animal.

“Lily! Hi there,” I said, smiling warmly. “How have you been?”

Before Lily could answer, a woman approached us, and I recognized her as John’s cousin, Sarah. She smiled at me, and there was a mix of surprise and warmth in her eyes.

“Kelly, it’s so good to see you,” Sarah said, giving me a quick hug. “Lily has been asking about you. She misses her Aunt Kelly.”

“It’s great to see you too, Sarah,” I replied, returning the hug. “I’ve missed you all as well. How have you been?”

“We’ve been good. Busy, but good,” Sarah answered, then turned to her daughter. “Lily, why don’t you tell Aunt Kelly about your new school?”

Lily’s face lit up, and she launched into an animated description of her new school, her friends, and the activities she loved. I listened, feeling a pang of nostalgia for the times I had spent with John’s family. Despite everything that had happened between John and me, I had always felt a deep bond with his relatives.

“That sounds wonderful, Lily,” I said once she finished. “I’m so happy to hear you’re enjoying school.”

Sarah smiled at me, a hint of sadness in her eyes. “We’ve missed having you around, Kelly. You were always a part of our family.”

I felt a lump in my throat but managed to keep my voice steady. “I’ve missed you all too. Life just got… complicated.”

Sarah nodded, understanding. “We should catch up properly sometime. Maybe over dinner?”

“I’d like that,” I replied, genuinely meaning it.

We chatted for a bit longer, catching up on family news and reminiscing about old times. Eventually, Sarah glanced at her watch.

“We should get going, but it was so good to see you, Kelly,” she said, giving me another hug. “Don’t be a stranger.”

“I won’t. Take care, Sarah. Bye, Lily,” I said, waving as they walked away.

I sat back down, feeling a mix of emotions. Seeing Sarah and Lily had been unexpected but oddly comforting. It was a reminder that, despite the changes and challenges, some connections remained strong.

As I gathered my things and prepared to leave, I felt a renewed sense of determination. The past was behind me, but the future was full of possibilities. And with a new project on the horizon, I had plenty to look forward to.

[inkformyblood]

i have not yet learned to hold you

Cody and Obi-Wan flee from the newly formed Empire and the shadows that wear Cody’s face. They travel as refugees, war-torn and clinging to each other.

Day 04 Undercover/Undercover as a Couple

Pairing: Codywan TW: violence/intrusive thoughts

@codywanweek

It would be so easy to break his General’s neck. 

Obi-Wan was slack against Cody’s shoulder, his breathing ragged as if he was trapped in a nightmare. His head lolled with every rumble of the transport, swaying with every jerk and shudder that passed through the decrepit ship, but he didn’t wake, wouldn’t wake.

He had fallen asleep barely moments after they had sat down, tucked into a corner where the air clung to the thick scent of engine oil and the metal burned as frost unfurled across it. But he had slumped against Cody, uncaring of the danger that it put him in, trusting him after everything he had tried to do—

Obi-Wan was in danger, and it only grew every second that Cody remained by his side. And yet, he couldn’t bring himself to leave.

It had been simple enough to slip onto the transport — merely two exhausted figures amongst many — but even that small use of the Force seemed to have drained Obi-Wan. He had sagged the moment the man with the datapad stepped away, content with the deception Obi-Wan had planted in his mind. Cody had reached for him without thinking, old instincts overriding the newer urge to slip his concealed blaster from his holster, press it to Obi-Wan’s temple and shoot. 

The ship shuddered, wordless cries of discomfort echoing through the darkness before they were silenced, tinged with exhaustion, and Obi-Wan groaned, the sound becoming trapped in his throat before he settled once more. 

He looked tired. 

The war had left its mark on them both as the years unfurled with no sign of slowing, but this ran deeper. The way Obi-Wan moved was slower, more deliberate, and he had curled himself around Cody as they had walked. Landing at the spaceport had been a risk even though the ship they had managed to steal from Grievous' supply had barely had enough fuel to break through the atmosphere. Death and destruction was everywhere, from the weary faces of the children watching them as they had passed, and watching them even now — their eyes too old for their faces — to the scorch marks from blasters littering the buildings Cody could identify with barely a glance.

The sound of footsteps, careful but deliberate, drew Cody out of his dark thoughts, his head tipping to one side as he listened. They weren’t the heavy methodical movements of a soldier, instead stumbling, pausing whenever the ship trembled around them, but they were drawing closer. 

As carefully as he could, Cody reached over, tucking Obi-Wan’s head further into the hollow of his shoulder, the other man’s breath damp against his skin. The urge burned through him again, a passing thought that raked its claws across his mind that he could cut Obi-Wan’s throat and sit like this as his General bled out against him, but he pushed it down, curling his free hand into a fist and cutting half-moons into his palm. He smoothed the edge of one of his scarves down, tucking it beneath Obi-Wan’s chin before drawing a section over his mouth — so easy just to press and feel him gasp and choke — to hide his face.

Obi-Wan, for all of his notoriety, wasn’t as easily identified. Cody, however, had one of the most well-known faces in the galaxy, and the twist of laughter in his chest was a surprise. He had thought he had forgotten how to laugh in the face of the events of the previous days. 

One of the scarves, identifiable by touch alone in the dim light, was woollen and striped a combination of 501st blue and 212th orange, and Cody pulled it up over most of his face, catching a linen scarf as it slipped and tucking it back into place. It wouldn’t pass a close inspection, but he could only hope it would do for now. Obi-Wan deserved whatever scraps of sleep he could get.

The woman who moved into view was unremarkable, a Wroonian woman with skin the same colour as sea-foam and her dark hair pinned up, but several curls had sprung free. Her smile was hesitant, but warm, revealing a dark gap of a missing tooth. “For the journey.”

She offered them a small flask, the liquid inside sloshing, and Cody could only stare. He could smell the sweet tartness of the berries, one final summer harvest, and his mouth watered, the words catching in his hollowed-out throat before he could speak. “We have nothing to give in return.”

“I ask for nothing, only offer kindness.”

She stretched out once more, the flask held by the edges of her fingers and Cody knew. 

How many people had she offered the same kindness to on this ship, and how many had accepted the final whisper of a home now gone? There was still liquid, so each took only a mouthful and moved along in gratitude. 

Tears pricked at the corners of his eyes, and he wordlessly reached for the flask. She stepped back, turning to look back down the ship, and Cody could have wept at the unexpected gentleness of this woman whose name he did not know, and who he would likely never see again. 

“My love?” Cody pressed the edge of his forefinger to Obi-Wan’s cheek, his hand curved to keep the flask steady. The endearment felt strange, lacking the familiarity of the Mando’a Cody repeated in his mind but had never given voice to. It had always been something for after the war, and yet here they were, and the war was over, and Cody couldn’t say it. Wouldn’t say it. Obi-Wan deserved someone whose every thought towards him was filled with love as sweet as honey instead of ideas of how to kill him twining through at the edges. 

Obi-Wan woke in fractions, a slow blink of his eyes — the brilliant blue now clouded and filled with a grief that was still raw and present — then a gentle sigh, pressing his face further into Cody’s neck. 

“What’s happening?” His voice was quiet, barely audible above the rumble of the engines, and Cody turned towards him, trying to shield him from everything, including himself. 

“A drink. If you want some.”

Cody watched the woman, waited for the gleam of her eyes to turn away before pulling down the scarf enough to take a mouthful. It burst on his tongue like the final days of summer on Kamino when the sea would rage, and he could slip away from training for a moment as the lights and cameras flickered and died to pluck fruit from the carefully regimented gardens. Only one drink, one memory, and Cody pushed it to the forefront of his mind, sweeping the thoughts of death beneath it. Obi-Wan’s thoughts brushed against his mind, the sensation akin to a kiss ghosting over his temple, and he hummed in quiet, exhausted joy. 

Their fingers brushed when Obi-Wan took the flask, and Cody’s cheeks burned in answer. They were pressed together from ankle to hip to shoulder, and Obi-Wan’s head still rested on Cody’s shoulder, but that single touch as Cody felt Obi-Wan draw comfort from his memory threatened to break him utterly. 

Obi-Wan pressed himself up, one hand firmly planted on Cody’s thigh, just enough to drink before passing the flask back. 

Cody waited until he was settled, their faces tucked back behind the flimsy fabric shields before extending the flask back. “Thank you.”

“Thank you. You’re lucky to have each other. May your peace find you on the road.”

“May your peace travel with you.” Obi-Wan’s voice had grown in strength, and the woman paused, her eyes widening in delight as a grin burst across her face at the traditional response. She bowed once before moving back up the ship, her steps lighter now. 

“Always full of surprises,” Cody murmured, pressing his cheek to the top of Obi-Wan’s skull, feeling the other man laugh more than hearing it. 

“I’d hate to ever bore you, my dear.” Obi-Wan drew his hand away from Cody’s thigh, and he missed the single spot of contact, his skin feeling like it was burning where Obi-Wan had touched him deliberately rather than convenience. “It’s a lovely memory you showed me.”

“I hadn’t thought about that in years,” Cody laughed despite himself. His grief was still too raw to examine, the wave of sorrow in his chest barely tampered behind his focus. He could grieve later, allow himself to sink to the floor and scream for his fallen vode but only when they were safe. “It’s strange how your memories work, isn’t it?”

Obi-Wan hummed in quiet, exhausted agreement, curling in closer to Cody’s side and, as delicately as he could, Cody raised his arm to wrap it around Obi-Wan’s shoulders. 

“If you—“ Obi-Wan paused, and Cody watched him think out of the corner of his eye. He couldn’t sense the Force, but all of the clones had spent enough time around the Jedi to pick up a base knowledge. Cody had only watched his brothers turn and walk away from him, wiped clean as neatly as any droid would be, and die in a thousand different ways since the war started and even before.

Obi-Wan had felt every agonising second of it.

“Your pain isn’t any less than mine.” Obi-Wan’s voice was hushed, barely louder than a whisper, and Cody turned, catching a glimpse of eyes as blue as the ocean out of the corner of his eye. “We’re both grieving our losses.

“But I wanted to ask, would you let me share a memory with you?”

Obi-Wan had shared fragments with him before after Cody had agreed he could, never before. It was a strange sensation to be in the middle of battle to glance out over the smoke-covered fields and know where Obi-Wan was, feel the wind rush past his face, letting Cody hold out his hand to catch his saber once again.

But that had been purely tactical, and Cody couldn’t let himself dwell on the fact Obi-Wan never asked anyone else, only him.

“I’d like that.”

It stole over him like the slow slip of the sun beneath the horizon, flickering into place between one blink and the next. He could feel the warmth press against his skin, sweat prickling against the hollow of his throat as it dried and the sticky sweetness as juice ran down his chin. The fruit caved in at the slightest press of his teeth, and for a moment, decorum was abandoned, cool, wet pulp smearing against his cheeks as he ate. The man next to him laughed, leaning back so that their shoulders bumped together and his cheeks were stained the same vibrant purple that covered his hands. Cody didn’t know this man, and yet, he did. Qui-Gon reached out and smoothed a hand over Cody’s shoulders, drawing him close in a hug, warm, and he hoped it would never end. 

Cody blinked, the sunlight falling away and the harsh metal walls of the ship closing around him as he was forced back into the present. 

“I’m sorry.” Obi-Wan cupped Cody’s face, his thumb smoothing over his cheekbone, pressing their foreheads together in a kovyn. Their breath fogged as Cody gasped, tears burning at his eyes. 

The desire burned through his chest to draw his head back and slam it forward, yearning to hear the snap and crunch of bone and the burst of blood, warm and tacky, against his forehead, but he pushed it down. He pressed into the embrace instead, closing his eyes and feeling Obi-Wan’s heart settle in time with his own. 

They couldn’t stay like this for long. Already the groan of the ship’s engines had begun to change in pitch — a clear signal that they were coming into land. 

“Don’t—” Cody caught Obi-Wan as he started to straighten, unable to bear the separation. “Can we stay like this, just a few moments longer?”

It was dangerous, like trying to catch lightning with his hands, but he wanted a moment longer of peace and love, a selfish and ruined want that coursed through him like a heartbeat.

Cody couldn’t meet Obi-Wan’s gaze, but he caught the edge of his smile, so full of a love that neither of them had admitted to, and knew that whatever happened, they would be together. 

[small-teacup]

Kidnapping? I Think You Mean Human Borrowing

Requested by: @languortears

Notes: I'm so sorry I took so long!!! D: It's a bit rushed

Ships: Intruloceit

POV: 3rd person

TW: Kidnapping, sympathetic Remus and Janus, panicked thoughts, mention of torture, skeletons and implied blood, impersonation

Let me know if I missed any, please! :D

Word Count: 1367

“That’s KIDNAPPING, Remus,” Janus explained for the 43rd time that day.

Remus opened his mouth and held up a finger, ready to say something in response before he paused and lowered his finger slightly. He seemed to have multiple ideas, instead keeping his mouth open and looking like he would finally get a few sentences out of his mouth before deflating. It was comical, to say the least. Janus sighed and shook his head, “Take your time...”

After what seemed like forever, one word managed to escape Remus’ mouth, “Borrowing.” “What?” “Kidnapping makes it sound like we’re doing some kind of crime!” “IT IS A CR-”

“What I think you meant was ‘human borrowing.’”

Janus groaned and put his face in his hands. “You know what? Fine. Human borrowing.”

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

Logan sat in his room, peacefully typing away on his laptop. Just a normal day. Nothing different, nothing new, just the same as it was the day before. He actually liked the lack of change, despite his ability to adapt to circumstances easily. Well, he’d usually be able to adapt to new circumstances. As he was working, someone came up behind him and clapped their hand over his mouth so he couldn’t scream. It didn’t seem to be needed since Logan wouldn’t have screamed anyways. Nothing could hurt a side in the Mindscape. He was about to see who it was until something hit him over the head, darkness quickly taking over his vision as he went limp.

He woke up tied to a chair in what seemed to be a basement. There was barely any light besides a flickering lightbulb hanging from the ceiling right above him. He looked around, unfazed at the shackled skeletons on the wall or the suspicious red stains on the floor. Someone suddenly covered his eyes from behind, shrill laughter filling the air.

“Guess whoooo!~” They sang, disturbingly close to Logan in a failed attempt to make him scared.

“Judging from your behavior, I’m guessing Remus?”

“Nice guess, Logan. But no, it’s Janus.” “What?? How?” Janus uncovered Logan’s eyes and stepped in front of him, a little mischievous smile playing on his face.

“I imitated Remus’ voice and attitude to trick you.”

Logan frowned and tilted his head in confusion. “But what was the point of that?”

The deceitful side shrugged and said nonchalantly, “I don’t know. There really wasn’t any. However, I find it a bit amusing considering the fact that Remus is sitting right next to you.”

“What?”

Sure enough, when Logan turned his head, Remus was sitting like a puppy on the floor next to him. He gave the logical side a seemingly menacing grin, revealing his razor-sharp teeth. Logan simply blinked at him before looking back at Janus, much to Remus’ disappointment.

“Is there a point to any of this?” He asked, half-heartedly tugging the ropes that bound him to the chair. It wasn’t that he was making an attempt to escape, it’s just that it was starting to feel uncomfortable.

Janus had summoned himself his own chair, a velvet one with hints of gold. He crossed his legs and examined his nails boredly, which confused Logan even more since he was wearing gloves. “Ask Remus, it wasn’t my plan this time.”

Logan glanced to the gremlin next to him, sighing. “Before I say anything to him, do you mind if I ask you one more question?” “Go ahead, darling.”

“You don’t seem to be lying to me at all. I’ve seen that you only lie around everyone else except Remus, which leads me to infer that you don’t lie to people you like. Do you like me in some way?” Janus froze up, a light blush finding its way onto his face. “No I don’t! Why would I like you? That’s impossible, you’ve got it all wrong. Stupid…”

He crossed his arms and looked away, huffing. It was supposed to be him and Remus getting Logan all flustered, not the other way around!

Logan turned to Remus, “So why was I kidnapped?” “Not kidnapped, you were borrowed!” Remus corrected. “...That doesn’t make sense.” “It makes perfect sense to me!”

“Answer my question, please?” “Oh! Yeah yeah yeah- so, when the others come to save you, we’ll have this epic bloody fight! Or maybe not...I dunno. And then you get saved, BUT we get to torture you until they get here! And it’ll be so fuuuuuuuuuuunnn!!!”

Logan blinked, then sighed, “I doubt there’s anything you can do to ‘torture’ me. Besides, the others aren’t coming anyway.”

The duke’s face dropped as he suddenly stood up and leaned close to Logan, his hands gripping and clawing into the chair arm. “HUH???!”

Janus had been listening to the conversation, even if it seemed like he wasn’t. The unexpected taste of truth surprised him, causing him to turn curiously to the pair in front of him.

“The others aren’t coming,” Logan repeated, assuming that Remus just didn’t hear him.

“What do you mean??! They have to! They’re your friends, aren’t they?? Plus, that sounds REALLY depressing. How’re you so okay with it??” “I’ve simply accepted it. It just seemed to be the logical thing to do. I can’t change it anyway.”

Janus said, almost a bit too calmly, “And do you think that’s a normal thing? That your friends won’t come and save you?” The logical side shrugged, “I guess not. You can’t really blame them.”

“Elaborate.” “...No,” he muttered, his eyes glazing over as he stared at the floor. Remus deflated and sat on the floor, resting his elbow on the chair arm. The next few moments were a blur for Logan. ‘They weren’t coming. I could be anywhere, dangerous or not, and they wouldn’t care. I could be dead and they wouldn’t notice. The Dark Sides might not be able to kill me, but torture is not out of the question. Mental torture, I mean. I could try and pretend that it doesn’t affect me, but I’ll eventually break and when I show my weaknesses, they’ll laugh. They’ll laugh and treat me like a joke and at that point, I might as well duck out because everyone knows that Logic is essential but Logan isn’t and they’ll be so glad to have someone else in my place that they won’t miss me at all…’

The voices around him were becoming muffled as he sank deeper into his thoughts. How much time had passed? It felt like hours already… There was a ringing in his ears that he couldn’t get rid of, considering his hands were tied behind him. In fact, he was starting to lose feeling in his arms. Was he panicking? Spiraling? But what caused it? Why was he feeling this way? Why now? What’s happening-?

“LOGAN!”

The sudden shout pulled him out of his thoughts, looking up at the two sides that stood by him, concern and worry clear on their faces. Only then did he notice his shallow breathing and the tears slowly streaming down his face. Before he knew it, a pair of arms wrapped around him in a warm hug. Without thinking, he latched onto the person, recognizing the smell of trash and about a thousand years of no showering. Wait- what? He was surprised at the sudden freedom. When did they cut the ropes? Nevermind that…

A gloved hand cupped his face gently, the scent of crisp apples and linen going along with it. He leaned into the touch. It felt..comforting. It felt like home. Maybe this was where his home really was..?

“Remus? Janus?” The two sides looked at him, a silent cue for him to go on.

“..Can I stay with you guys? If that’s alright.”

Remus let go and stared at him wide-eyed. He looked over at Janus and back at Logan. It seemed like Janus was doing the same.

“Of course you can-!” The deceptive side blurted out before clearing his throat and pulling his hand away, inspecting his nails that he couldn’t see. “I mean- I suppose you could.”

Logan laughed, to both the dark sides’ delight. It sounded magical like bells ringing.

Never in Logan’s life had he been so glad to have been kidnapped.

(This fanfic wasn't proofread and neither was this post-)

[coulson-is-an-avenger]

50 or 33 with jmart for the smooch prompt list :mimhonk.emoji:

#33 - An unexpected kiss that shocks the one receiving it, and #50 - A kiss, followed by more that trail down the jaw and neck. POR QUÉ NO LOS DOS!

thank you tem!!! :D I had a lot of fun with this one, and because of that it also got Long As Fuck so bear with me on that. Set in the safehouse also! Hope you enjoy ^_^

It’s been a very, very good day at the safehouse. The Lonely has been quiet, lurking almost entirely out of sight rather than clinging onto the both of them, and Martin’s been relaxed and open, happy in a way Jon hasn’t honestly seen him in months. The Eye has been quiet as well, and even Jon’s pain levels have been down today - no small miracle given the chilly weather - and it feels like a day for new beginnings, a day for truths.

So, “I missed you,” is what tumbles out over dinner, over beans and soup and tea.

Jon hears Martin’s breath catch before he sees it, before he looks up to see the stunned smile that takes over his face. “I missed you too,” he replies softly, and Jon pretends not to hear the crack in his voice where the unused muscle of emotion splits the air.

Jon holds his gaze for an admirable amount of time, but even he wavers. He’s never been a brave man, and he looks down at the table before speaking. “There were spiders, while you were gone,” Jon begins, tracing a finger along the grain of the table. “God, I really should have gotten more in the business of squishing them.”

“Yeah?” Martin offers, encouraging. The anecdote feels clumsy, foolish, but Martin is laying a hand across the table to show his patience, and Jon is grateful.

“I never quite could make myself do it though, I guess I just-” He trails off, starts a new thread of the story. “They always made me think of you, in a way. You always cared so much about all the little things. Always insisted on carrying them out. Dreadful things that still deserved kindness in your eyes.” Like me, he doesn’t add. “I always admired that about you. So I didn’t squish them as much.” He finishes clumsily, glancing up with a flash of his eyes before looking down at the table again to pick at the grain of the wood.

Martin blinks at him. Stares at him in silence for what Jon can only assume is an eternity, until he has to look up and make sure he’s still there. And then Martin stands, tea forgotten, maneuvers himself around the table, and darts in and presses his lips to Jon’s.

It only lasts for a moment - half a heartbeat of a touch - but it’s warm and vulnerable and a bit awkward and it sends Jon’s eyes flying wide open in shock.

Martin pulls back just as quickly as he had dived in, retreating so fast he bumps into the nearby counter, his eyes widening, and the first thing out of his mouth is “Oh, shit.”

Jon can’t blame him, he’s utterly dumbstruck himself. His head feels pleasantly fuzzy, but confusion swims up to trump every other emotion until the only thing he’s able to push out of his lungs is; “I- excuse me?”

Martin blinks, his panic floundering in confusion. “I- sorry, excuse you for what?”

Jon’s brows furrow together as he tries to piece his thoughts together. “You... don’t,” he says like it’s obvious, and then hesitates. “I-I mean, you- you said... you did, but not... so why-” Jon looks hopelessly out of his depth as he gestures, not making sense. “Why did you do that?”

Martin stares, the tips of his ears burning dark red. “I don’t what, Jon?”

Jon curls in on himself, shame bubbling to the surface. What has he gotten wrong? What has he missed? “I-in the Lonely. You said you loved me.”

Martin’s breath hitches at his own words repeated back at him - words he doesn’t even remember saying. The fog had been so intense, so much and yet so pointless all at once, it had been so hard to keep anything straight, to hold down any memory or emotion. He hardly remembers saying those words, but they draw a wobbly smile out of him anyways. He supposes it makes sense that he would say them, though. Not much could cut through the fog, but Jon did. Jon always did. He still does.

“Did I? I didn’t know I had it in me to share.”

Jon shakes his head, now looking frustrated. “But you didn’t.” He insists. “You don’t... that means you don’t anymore.” His expression stalls for a second, before something akin to horror blooms on his face, and he scrambles to his feet to face him. “Martin, if you think- God, if you think you somehow owe me this after all that, let me be abundantly cl-”

“No!! No, no.” Martin cuts in, sensing Jon’s building distress and moving away from the counter to rest a hand on his shoulder. “No,” he repeats, softer. He takes a deep breath and lets himself run his thumb over the fabric of Jon’s sweater. “I don’t think I owe you. Not in that way. Christ, of course not.”

Jon is silent for several long minutes, before his voice begins working again, and he stutters back into a sentence. “O-okay. Okay. Good.” He clears his throat. “Then why-? I-I-I thought-” He gathers up what brain power he has left to sort his thoughts. Something like hope tinges his voice, and Martin marvels at how deeply Jon seems to have resigned himself to this truth, while still being eager to save his life and run away with him all the way to Scotland. Love is a funny thing. When he speaks again, his voice is so, so quiet. “After the Unknowing, I thought I lost my chance. Thought you’d moved on. N-not that I would have blamed you, I just- but you-”

“Jon,” Martin says softly, ducking his head to catch his eyes. “I wasn’t quite myself in the Lonely. I didn’t mean that as an ending.” He breaks his gaze away, looks down at his own hand on Jon’s shoulder. “I was mourning something I thought I’d lost.”

“Oh,” The word escapes Jon’s lungs in a rush; several years worth of longing filling up his chest and squeezing his throat like smoke, making his eyes sting. “Oh, I’m sorry-”

“No, no,” Martin shakes his head. “That’s over now.”

Jon presses a hand to his eyes, breathing, letting everything settle in.

“Well. That certainly makes me feel foolish.”

Martin laughs, a free, wonderful sound that fills the air with electricity and warms Jon down to his bones. He realizes he’s staring at him, watching how his shoulders move with adoration, watching the joy radiate from him with nothing short of beauty. A moment of insane courage passes through Jon, and he moves his hand to cover the one Martin still has resting on his shoulder.

He steps closer. “Do you want this then? The way that I do?” His voice is eager, and he’s afraid to breathe.

Martin’s expression absolutely melts, and he sways closer. He Saw Jon in the Lonely, in all his hopeless lovestruck worry, so he knows what he means. “Yes,” he answers. “More than anything. I don’t-” he makes a pained face, and looks down, prepares himself for the undressing that comes before the acceptance of love. “I don’t know how okay I am. Don’t know how much of me is still me after everything with Lukas and- and well, everything, but...”

“I know what you mean,” Jon assures him, running his thumbs over his knuckles. “I’m not even human anymore.” He exhales, in the tone of a joke fallen flat.

Martin squeezes his shoulder. “Exactly,” he murmurs. “But I still want to try.”

“Martin,” Jon exhales, his voice thick and his eyes wet. “I’m so glad to hear that.”

Martin tugs Jon’s hand from where it’s resting atop his to press a kiss to his knuckles, and Jon laughs, a quiet little sound, and then he’s moving, leaning back into Martin’s space; his face growing blurry as he gets up close and presses their lips together again. He misses the mark just a bit, the kiss landing a little too high on his mouth, but Martin leans up into it, rearranging their positions, and just like that it’s perfect. Not earth-shattering, not magical, just perfect, in the way that only imperfection can be. Martin lets himself sink into it.

It’s gentle, sweet, and it makes Martin’s head buzz with disbelief. He breaks away to breathe, for a moment, just to wrap his head around what’s happening, and then Jon is tugging him back in, more intentionally this time.

Jon kisses very thoroughly, Martin soon learns with amusement. He furrows his brow and crowds himself into Martin’s space, curling his hands in his shirt, and he moves his mouth in time with Martin’s like he has a purpose to follow, like he’s devoting himself to studying him; focusing on each touch with crystal clarity. He has a single-minded doggedness about the whole thing, and Martin eventually relaxes and just lets himself be kissed, following along with gentle touches and barely held-back smiles.

He raises a hand experimentally to run through his hair, and Jon kisses him deeper in response; open mouthed and wanting, tasting what he can, allowing himself to bite his lip gently. That takes the breath straight out of Martin’s lungs, and the bitten-off sound he makes apparently encourages Jon even more, as he breaks away and kisses him down across his jaw, under his chin, and down the side of his throat.

It’s frantic at first, a desperate attempt to map out as much of Martin as he can in the time he has, but the sense of urgency starts to bleed out of him, and he ends up kissing gentler and gentler the longer he lingers, until eventually Jon’s just nuzzling his nose into his skin and wrapping his arms around him for a hug. The sigh that escapes him makes Martin’s heart clench.

“I love you,” he mumbles into Martin’s shoulder, and later the weight of this will settle on their shoulders. Later they will have to sit down and figure this out, this mess of personalities and supernatural entanglement, this terrible future of fear laid out before them, and the path forward they will choose to carve out together. But for now they can sink into this embrace and breathe.

Martin doesn’t say the words back, he’s not quite there yet, but he doesn’t need to. It’s enough, it’s more than enough to just be here, for Martin to press his nose into Jon’s hair, and smile until his face aches from it.

[secondhand-trash]

Centrifugal Force

Kinktober 2020 — sex swing

A/N: I struggled MAJORLY with this one and especially because I started a new job around the same time I got stuck on this so I put it to the side for a while (a while means a week, I worked on this for a week). I do hope it turns out decent hhhh

Pairing: Akaashi Keiji x f!reader

Description: An unconventional gift from his friends opened up a whole new world for the both of you.

Warning: sex swing (does this count as some type of bondage idk tbh), face fucking, vaginal penetration, creampie

Word count: 3026

-

It started as a harmless joke.

The news of the former setter’s successful proposal subsequently revived the Fukurodani volleyball club group chat from the state of a few messages here and there during birthdays and holidays to what could rival its bombard of messages at it’s prime. The messages poured in almost immediately as the news went live with a subtle picture of the silhouettes of your bodies embraced together against the glimmering sea, the subtle spark of the diamond on your finger almost unnoticeable under the dark sky.

“We should do something for Akaashi and y/n!” the former captain said in the chat, accompanied with a dozen of emojis that looked like the text came straight out of a spam bot’s chat history.

And so a new group chat was formed, one without the groom-to-be. At some point, they added people from other schools who might be able to make a valid contribution. It ended up being chaos, utter chaos as they probably should have expected. Suggestions were all over the place, some seemingly more reasonable while others might earn them a stern glare from the one member who was missing from the chat. They ended up listing everything out and doing a draw to see what they should do, handing the job of making the randomisation to poor Tsukishima who really, really did not ask for this.

The chat fell into silence for a while, everyone waiting for Tsukishima to show up again bearing the final results.

The speech bubble popped up, only for it to go back down after a short few seconds before it showed up again. Everyone watched as Tsukishima typed and stopped and typed again, until he sent out a screenshot that had everyone freezing in place.

Until everyone started cussing out the one person who suggested that sending a sex swing to a newly engaged couple was a good idea.

-

Akaashi was certain that the delivery came to the wrong address when he got the parcel.

“Hm? But it specifically says it’s for mr Akaashi Keiji?”

Akaashi stared at the very tall, very large box with a lot of concern and an equal amount of guesses as to what it might be in his head. It really had his name on the receipt with no sender, so it was not a mistake on the shipment agent’s part. 

He wasn’t sure if he wanted to keep opening the parcel or not when he sliced the seals open to find a card laying on top.

“We hope you will have fun with this but if you don’t, just know that it is Kuroo’s suggestion. Congratulations on the engagement!”

Akaashi felt his head pound at the letters that were scrawled on the piece of paper. He had a bad feeling on what it might be, and it seemed like his predictions were correct when he moved the card away to see the label plastered across the items in the parcel.

Akaashi was not usually a foul-mouthed person, but what the fuck was this supposed to mean?

“Keiji, what is this-” you peered over his shoulder to see what he was crouching over, and stopped in place when you saw what was inside, “why, I didn’t know you’re into this...”

“I did not get this...”

“If I knew you were interested I would have brought it up way earlier-” you paused, your eyes meeting with his widening ones as your hands froze mid-air, “oh.”

He blinked, watching as you slowly flickered your gaze away from him with a sheepish smile. “Oh.”

Akaashi had never really thought much about sex swings, if he had to be very honest. It just didn’t seem practical or all that feasible for apartment living. But that night, when you hooked your legs onto the hooks that dangled off the frame, your face physically burning up with your body being completely exposed under his attentive stare as your legs parted and swayed as your hands gripped tightly onto the handle. The strap sat right below your ass, arching you up and presenting your bare cunt to him as you leaned back against the supportive strap at the back.

“Don’t just stare...” you muttered, feeling very small as he just stood there and raked his eyes all over your frame.

He let out a soft gasp at the way you fell back when he ran his finger up your sex, every heave of your chest and curl of your toe completely within his view as he slowly rubbed his finger against your folds.

You were completely wrecked that night, your voice hoarse after he made you cum again and again on his cock with his hands on the suspensions, slamming you down on him with a brute force that had you seeing stars with each swing of your hips forward. The adrenaline rush he felt when he pulled out of you and watched his cum dripped between your legs onto the floor was unreal, your cunt clenching around nothing as they laid bare for him to see. 

He decided on the spot that he was going to keep the swing as he helped you down from the seat, your body slumping onto his arms immediately as your knees bucked the moment you finally touched the floor again.

-

“My, my, look at you...”

Your breath hitched at the voice that rang behind you, a soft whimper escaping your lips when you felt his warm palm pressing onto the small of your back.

Akaashi admired the way your body was held up so perfectly by the suspensions as you laid stomach first on the seat. The support on your torso had you arching your back up, your ass perching mid-air as your legs were strapped onto the two cuffs at the side. He could see the way your folds were fluttering from the position, taking note of how you seemed to be turned on just from being laid out on your fours for next time. Your body spun just slightly as the suspensions twisted under your weight, letting him take a good look of you from each angle as he held onto the straps that led to the handles your hands were gripping onto for dear life.

You whimpered when he slid the metal frame of his glasses off the bridge of his nose with two nimble fingers and he chuckled at the reaction. You could see the glint in his eyes clearly now that the two lenses were gone, goosebumps rising on your skin at the amused smile that accompanied the glimmer in his slanted eyes.

“Beautiful.”

A soft peck on the lips when he kneeled down in front of you set your skin aflame, the barest bit of contact making you ache for more when he pulled back after the light touch. He cooed when you chased his lips after pulling away, his hand running along the suspension belt to trace along your fingers that were latching onto the handle.

“Gonna be good for me?” he hummed at your eager nod in response to his question, the way you arched your ass up further did not go unnoticed by him.

“Good girl,” he muttered under his breath, his hand going down to take his cock in hand as he gave it a languish pump. He let out a content sigh and the sound made your mouth run dry, poking your tongue out to wet your lips as he deliberately distanced himself as his length filled and warmed in his hand. 

Your body was pushed back when he fisting your hair in his free hand and yanked your head back. A slight tap at your cheek with his hard tip was the only signal you needed to open your mouth up, holding back the urge to whine when he placed his cock on your tongue that was flat against the base of your jaw. Your drool was pooling up in your mouth as he just held it there, the weight making it hard for you to focus on your breathing as heat spread across your face from the burning shaft against your warm muscle.

An unexpectant thrust had you gagging around his girth, the snap of his hips jerking you away from him before gravity slammed you right back down. The soreness at the back of your throat shot right up to your nose, prickling tears at the corner of your eyes. 

He gritted, through clenched teeth, pulling your hair taut against your scalp as he set a vigorous pace, each gag as the tip of your nose brushed past the tuff of hair at his base sending vibrations to the center of his stomach. His hand that was holding on the suspension that held you up clenched around the rope, swinging you back and forth simultaneously with each move of his pelvis, the tightening of your throat had him shoving you down just a little deeper at a sudden lack of control. The handle that was in your hand was the only thing you could hold on for leverage but it did nothing to stop the way your body met him mid-thrust as you swayed helplessly on the swing. 

You felt your inner walls clench at the rough treatment, the burn in your throat prickling through the back of your scalp and melting into a numbing shock. In this sate, you were nothing but a few holes for him to use and the sheer control he had over you made your next gag came out as something resembling a whimper.

The sound of his cock gliding against your drooling lips was sloppy in your ear. He grunted when he pulled away all of a sudden, feeling a power rush at how you still hung your jaw slack with your tongue lolled out even as you had nothing to wrap your lips around. Your eyes were glassy from the tears, the silver string of spit that coated the tip of his cock and your bottom lip was nowhere near graceful. You huffed, struggling to regain your breaths temporarily as he held your head still. You whined when he rubbed his tip around the rim of your mouth, the leaking bead of pre-cum and your drool messing you up as the substance threatened to slide down your chin.

He arched your head back, admiring his handiwork as he stared down at you. The sharp gaze as he inspected your opened-mouth and white trails darting all over your chin had you letting out a muffled whine, your tongue still extended and slack against your bottom lip in an attempt to please him.

“Ah...” he let out an approving note from the back of his throat and the gravel lingering his voice made you shiver, “keep that mouth open for me, won’t you?”

You could not utter a word of response, only able to let out a muffled whimper when he took a stride until he was right behind you. Jolts of numbing shock rushed through your body when he trailed the very tip of his index finger along your spine as he moved, the lightest of contact eliciting goosebumps on every inch of your skin. You still felt the phantoming feeling on your back when he lifted his finger with a tread, the edge of his well-trimmed nails barely scraping against your skin. 

Your back arched uncontrollably under the tingles and pushing your ass further up, which was met with a pleased caress of his palm against your perched hips.

A firm smack against your flesh had your entire body swinging forward, the force that brushed past your skin when you rocked backwards from the swing had you clenching and moaning through parted lips as the sting settled in. Akaashi took in the way your ass jiggled and especially how your core was glistening with the sheen of your arousal right in front of his eyes. You whimpered when he held you still by your thighs, hilting the swinging of your frame to a stop as he lined his tip at your drooling cunt. 

“Hugn-”

Your eyes rolled back when he pushed in inch by inch, his eyes glued onto the sight of your folds sucking his cock in greedily as your spit that coated his length mixed in with the mess that was dripping down from the root of your thighs. He let out a sigh when he sheathed inside of you, the plump curves of your hips pressing right against his pelvis as he hilted balls deep in you. Your shoulders were tensing up as your hands gripped vice at the handle, each huff that slipped off your lips made his blood curl. The soft whimper you let out when he took his hands off your legs was like a mewl, your walls clamping down around him as you were once again at the mercy of nothing holding you up but the seat and cuffs.

One push of his hands on the sling shoved you off his cock only for you to slam down in full force when he rocked you backwards. You let out a broken cry at the sudden stretch, throwing your head back when he pulled out all the way only to plow deep in you as the swing sent you jolting back. You could do nothing but moan and scream as he took advantage of the swing, his fingers curled around the suspensions that linked to what cuffed your legs down with each handling of your body. 

Each push and pull was in perfect timing with his thrusts, the swoosh of the seat meeting his bucking hips midway to pulse into you until his hard tip was kissing the spot right below your cervix. He showed no sign of slowing down, grunts and hisses seeping from his gritted teeth as he was wrapped around your warm walls, feeling your insides taking him in like it could not get enough every time he threatened to pull out with a shove of your body forward.

He could not get enough of seeing your shaking frame and the soft flesh of your body jiggling under his force, your skin heating up with each slam of his pelvis against you and his balls slapping against your clit that was already puffy from the sensation. You were sure to feel him in you for days even after he pulled out, his cock drilling in you like he was determined to bruise you up until you were reminded of how he could make you break for him with each buck of your knees even as your feet touch the ground once again.

You were panting with each slap of his skin against yours, the erratic breathing made all the more difficult as you struggle to keep your mouth open as he had asked you to. The violent sway of your body together with each hilt of his cock in you made you feel light headed, as if your world was spinning both literally and figuratively. The waves of your orgasm ripped through your body as a numbing chill, making the tip of your ears heated up until you could not feel it within your burning senses anymore. Akaashi grunted at the feeling of your fluttering folds around his girth, your pulsing walls that hugged him closely from you crashed down making him all the more eager to have his way with you. You let out a weak whine when you felt his fingers digging into your hips, roughly parting the flesh to watch as his cock disappeared in you with each slam. Without his hands controlling the swing, the way your body moved with gravity was much sloppier but so much more forceful as it swung back and forth from nothing but the snapping of his hips.

You whined when he held you close, the sudden stop making your head dipped forward and your body tilting down. The strings of warmth that filled you up with a choked moan from the man behind you had your vision hazy, his cock pulsing in you as he shot his load inside your abused walls in the intimate position. He pressed you against him for a brief moment, drinking in the feeling of your bodies being so rawly connected before finally letting gravity took its charge.

Your jaw was slack as you lazily retracted your tongue, a whimper rolling off your lips at the sudden emptiness when he pulled out of you. Sparks lit up on your skin when he put his thumbs on both sides of your slip, pulling it apart to see your fluttering folds pushing his cum out of you. The sticky substance seeped out of you bit by bit, dripping onto the floor as you laid on the seat limply and too fucked out of your mind to even push yourself up.

“Think you need help getting down?” he asked with a light chuckle, his hand running along your leg in a soothing manner before carefully uncuffing your ankles and rubbing against the marks that were left.

“Please do...” you muttered, leaning into his touch when he got in front of you and leaned your upper body against his chest. You nearly put all your weight on him when he helped you down from the seat, your hands flailing to grip onto something only for him to prop you up with his hand under your arms.

You laughed when he slipped his hand under your knees, using the last bit of energy in you to hop up so he could carry you in his arms.

“We should really let them know that they picked a really good gift...” you mumbled as he carried you to the bathroom.

He paused, before shaking his head, “No, I think it’s better to not give them any more ideas.”

There was no way he was going to let anyone know what you were up to in the bedroom, less he wanted them to never stop bringing it up.

[secret-engima]

This. Has been a perfectly terrible day. Can I beg you for a ficbit or a snippet from one of your works, like Team Gremlin or Noctscar or something ? I just - they’re beautiful, and I just really, really need something beautiful right now.

SURE. I don’t have much in the way of snippets, but lemme see what I can find. I might have to throw in something from BNHA cause that’s the fandom the muses are chewing on this exact second.

...

Team Gremlin:

     It had been … a very bad few weeks for Qrow all told. And that was saying something. Everything had seemed fine one day, business as usual. Tai was back from his requisite number of missions to keep his license and teaching at Signal again —which he genuinely seemed to enjoy for some reason—, his nieces were as adorable as ever, and Summer was sometimes talking his ear off about maybe taking a teaching position somewhere herself after running a few missions to keep her own license active —she’d been busier lately with the girls than running around kicking butt, but it wasn’t like Qrow blamed her for that—.

     Then Leo was found dead in his office. Knifed in the neck, one round discharged from his weapon in the direction of the guest couch, blood pooling all over the chair and low table where the investigators said he’d been dragged from and laid on the floor in some kind of pose. No one unusual had been seen going in or out, there had been nothing on the office cameras —covered by a Semblance of some kind, it was decided, because of the fading, glass-like Aura shards on the floor—. The only warning had been the sound of Leo’s single shot before he died. Qrow had arrived as soon as he could to help investigate, since the primary suspect would … not be one the police even knew to look for. He had helped Dyna —poor woman had been wire tense with rage rather than her usual calm self, and it was no wonder—, search for clues the police would miss, then searched the secret tunnels for good measure.

     They had found a Grimm inside one of the deeper antechambers, far too deep to have gotten there by accident, a strange, jellyfish like beast that had been surprisingly hard to kill for something that small. They’d never seen it’s like before, and the thought of it being under the school, where kids were, where Oz and his inner circle were supposed to hold sway-. He’d never seen the otter Faunus more furious as they stood amid the fading Dark dust, her lips twisted, brow wrinkled in a way that had made the black line and red dots of her old bandit tattoos look more pronounced.

     They’d found no other signs that Salem knew how to get into the school tunnels, but they rechecked them all and trapped several of the ones leading outward as temporary security measures. With Dyna in place as the new —temporary on paper but soon to be permanent— Headmaster, Qrow had gathered up what evidence they could pry loose from their police contacts and gone back to Oz so they could try to sort this out.

     Of course, Qrow’s first impulse was to blame Salem, but Oz had listened to the report of a jellyfish Grimm under the school and his expression had folded into something pained. Knowing. He must have known what kind of Grimm it was, but hadn’t elaborated yet, just told Dyna to investigate all of Leo’s documents, Scroll calls, and communications over the past year, and insisted he would not explain until there was either evidence or not for his theory, for fear of making them biased.

     So, with Salem seemingly not the automatic culprit, they had started hunting for info. Summer had offered to come back and help, but Oz had told her to stay on her chosen mission instead.

     The pen had been an unexpected complication.

...

Always I Dreamed verse

     Summer ducked past her into the shower as Raven left it, pausing to stare at Raven’s tattoos for only a moment before chirping a quiet good morning and asking if she was okay after yesterday. Raven just grunted, because she was combat functional and frankly that was all that mattered. She had already pulled on her clothes from yesterday —all their possessions were in her inventory and she didn’t want questions on where it came from, she’d have to stuff it all in a duffel bag and hide it in the den to explain that away later— by the time Taiyang got up and Raven remembered the uniforms. Raven nudged open the bag while Qrow ducked out of their den and peered over her shoulder, “Everybody has to wear that stuff?” Qrow sneered as Raven pulled out the first button down shirt, “Hardly looks sturdy.”

     “It’s just for the school grounds I think, we have our combat gear for training missions and stuff anyway.” Taiyang said as he pulled out a shirt of his own from a different bag. Raven took a moment to glance at his bare torso. He slept in pants but not a shirt apparently, which was stupid, but better than being entirely naked at night. He had a decent build, which she knew from watching him fight yesterday, and a truly appalling lack of scars. Her life had been saved by somebody who had probably never had a truly decent fight in his life before that day. Wonderful.

     He also had tattoos, and Raven squinted at them for a moment because despite the differing size and placement, they all looked very much like the ones Raven and Qrow had gotten during a rare moment of total drunkenness at fifteen. He was missing the large asian dragon outline that wound up Raven’s own torso, but he had the blue crow perched as if about to take flight that Raven had, the running blue wolf who’s lower half dissolved into petals, and she thought she glimpsed a blue clockwork rabbit under his right arm. When he turned around briefly to put his back to them, she saw that most of his back had been taken up with the stylized outline of a raven in flight.

     She shook her head and looked away. Whatever. Summer possessed a tattoo on her arm similar to the asian dragon winding up Qrow’s arm from elbow to shoulder. Some tattoos were just popular, and blue ink was easier to come by for fill-in tattoos than the black used for outlines.

     Qrow must have remembered Taiyang’s words last night about Raven’s uniform being at the top, because he was already rooting down to the outfit right beneath hers —there was more fabric in the bag than that, but Raven wasn’t going to worry about why just yet—. He yanked out a shirt and jacket that looked his size, then blinked when something short and plaid tumbled out with it. Snatching it up, he unfolded it and made a face, “Is this a skirt? With my uniform?”

     Summer poked her head out of the bathroom, a wash of steam following her —oh right, hot water showers were a thing, darn— while Taiyang looked from Qrow to the skirt and back. Qrow was busy staring at the skirt, so he missed the expression of pure glee that flickered over the other teen’s face before he casually said, “What, that? It’s a kilt, man. Old Vale tradition.” Raven blinked very slowly, because that was a surprisingly good lie even though she knew it was nonsense —her memory on early canon was fuzzy, but she would have remembered the male characters running around in skirts—. She debated calling him on it for a moment, but she was from outside the kingdoms like Qrow, so technically she had no way to know that Taiyang was lying.

     Besides, if Taiyang wanted to poke the bear that was her brother’s temper, better he do it now and get it over with than later when they were training.

     Qrow was still making annoyed noises under his breath as he examined the “kilt”, and a glance at Summer slipping out of the shower in a towel showed she was fighting down laughter. Silver eyes met Raven’s with hopeful amusement and Raven looked away. She was still angry that the Story had forced itself into place in her life. With a shake of her head, Raven finished yanking out her uniform —one of? There was so much fabric in there, did the school really waste money making multiple outfits for each student?— and started pulling off her old clothes to put it on. Taiyang made a noise like someone had knifed him just as she dropped her shirt to the floor and she looked up in alarm. Taiyang had whipped around to put his back to her, and she could see the flush of color crawling up his neck and the backs of his ears. He didn’t look hurt or anything, but when Summer wandered in and dropped her towel onto her bed to put on her uniform —huh, she had the same tattoos as Raven, Qrow, and Taiyang, just with the perched crow as a large outline that went down to her mid back and a large blue raven in flight over her abdomen that looked like the smaller one on Qrow’s back—, Taiyang made the dying noise again, snatched up his bag of clothes, and rushed for the bathroom.

     Raven had the feeling she should understand what that was about, but she didn’t get it, and when she risked a glance at Summer, the other girl actually looked just as baffled. So maybe it wasn’t some social thing she’d forgotten. Maybe it was just a thing with him specifically.

...

Feather-Light and Fire-Bright verse (BNHA)

     Which was why, the next time she spotted a little red feather slinking over to place a trio of shiny buttons on the park bench she liked best, she hastily caught it with one hand. It was very soft, wiggling slightly in her grip, twitching and fluttering almost like a frightened living thing, so much so she shushed it gently on instinct, “It’s okay, I won’t damage you.” Taking out the note she’d spent days agonizing over, she skewered it to the quill of the feather, “I need you to take a message to whoever controls you.” She let it go and the feather wiggled erratically in the air, like a cat trying to wiggle free of an unfamiliar collar before flitting away. Fuyumi resisted the urge to chase it and see where it led. She’d sent her note, now she would wait for a reaction.

     She absently took the three coat buttons and put them in her pocket before going home. It would be stupid to leave them as litter in the park, but it also felt like a bad idea to throw them away and possibly anger whoever was watching her. Besides, she had a collection going now, she almost had enough matching buttons to make a full set for a long coat.

     A week went by with no sign of her shadow before she finally spotted a red feather again. It lurked on the edges of the park, flitting out into view as she walked by before slipping off in the direction of a more sequestered part of the park. Fuyumi hesitated, saw the feather come back and swirl around her a few times like an excited puppy before rushing off again and decided she was either about to meet someone shy or about to be kidnapped and potentially murdered. Slipping her hand into her handbag to grip the small pro-grade taser inside just in case, Fuyumi followed the feather into the copse of trees that shielded that part of the park from the street and the rest of the grassy area.

     The feather slipped away to rejoin … a lot of other feathers, and Fuyumi paused on the edges of the little forested nook to get a good look at her mysterious shadow for the first time. Golden eyes, piercing and almost predatory in intensity, flitted up to meet her gaze as he stood up. He was about her age she would guess, maybe a year older, so lean that if she hadn’t been able to see the muscles of his bare arms she would have called him scrawny. He was wearing a sleeveless hoodie that looked like it had lost a few too many rounds with a washing machine, clean but all faded and stretched and worn looking. His hair was all tousled and pale gold, and the red feathers were clustered on his back in huge wings that looked like they belonged on someone about twice his size and weight. He smiled a little, a practiced thing that was too nervous to be real, but if Fuyumi hadn’t lived her entire life around Pro Heroes and the children of other such elites, she would never had known.

     He held up her note between too fingers, not commenting on the wary distance still between them nor making any moves to close it, “Um, I’m not a stalker, just wanna get that out of the way. Sorry if I … came off that way? I’m, uh, not good at introducing myself and I didn’t … really know what else to do.”

[sneezefiction]

making up for lost time

Daichi x fem!Reader - Scenario

@miss-rin​‘s request: “Where Daichi reunites with the reader several years after highschool... She’s messed up from her last relationship, but wants to try again.... With a fluffy ending though, please!!”

a/n: eeee this was really therapeutic to write. i know it’s a little on the longer side of things i usually post, but i wanted to set it up well. enjoy some angst to fluff Daichi content bb <33333

warnings: break ups, cheating, low self esteem, slight language, general angst

wc: 3350

---

It’s strange. Staring at your textbook, your fingers brushing against its textured, thin pages, you hadn’t noticed the tiny droplets forming on the sheets below. Only when you recognized its salty taste did you realize you were the source. You lean back, using the table to tilt your chair onto its back legs, balancing there for a minute to keep your tears from staining anything else on the desk.

With all the mentions of bonds and fusions, somehow chemistry homework has brought you back into the reality of your current life crisis. 

It’s not like you hadn’t expected tears, but did they have to overtake every aspect of your life? 

In public. Walking through the park. At 4 in the morning.

It was cruel, really. 

That even after a year of complete distance, everything insisted on reminding you of him.

---

Your ex was supposed to be a one night stand. A ploy to get over a deeply established crush. You were running from young, uncertain love, pushing it down, and drowning it all in heavy doses of pleasure. But weekend-after-weekend, your interactions with this mystery hookup turned into regular flings.

From there, you allowed something deeper to develop.

You started sharing with him.

Lying on the bed, limbs entangled, panting subsided. You released small thoughts and simple secrets into the dark of the night. Maybe he would capture those words, pondering them, making a space for them in his mind. Maybe he would let them drift by, like white noise and formless background music. 

But it didn’t matter. You spoke anyway.

Nights passed and you would let out more gentle, whispering comments. Insecurities, dreams, stories. 

And at some point, he started responding. Listening. Mulling over your words. Whether you meant for it to happen or not, things grew personal. He became your stand-in security blanket, pulling you in and showing you his own little world. You didn’t care if it was fabricated and make-believe.

Because for the first time, it seemed like someone reciprocated your words and actions. You were no longer relying on past passions and feelings because you were so busy drowning in the touch of a stranger. He gave you endless chances to let go of your greatest love and high school infatuation. And you took each one.

You pushed yourself to like him. You asked him to be exclusive. He agreed.

Because his touches were soothing. The way his arms wrapped around your middle, pulling you into his chest and whispering dirty, sugar-coated words into your ears. It made you feel wanted. Needed. Like maybe this could be the one. Like maybe you didn’t need the brown-eyed boy from so long ago.

Yes, your ex’s hold on you was physically tight…

But his intentions were loose and undefined. Eerily disconnected from the reality you had pictured yourself in.

In the back of your mind, you knew something was off. The puzzle pieces that tied your interactions together were either damaged or missing. Information and stories didn’t match up.

At some point, he started coming home wearing the scent of sex and perfume. Fragrances that didn’t belong to you. All of the staying out late and leaving the bed early... He was clearly cheating on you. 

But ignorance is bliss... and you were swimming in it.

You now realize he only told you what you wanted to hear. Little, white lies iced with sweet, generous promises.

What did you expect? That he actually needed you? Why would this stand-in boyfriend be any different?

Finding him on top of a girl in your bedroom should’ve cut you deeper. It should have left you with your knees collapsed and your fingers painfully digging into the carpet. You could have screamed and cried, kicked something, at least outwardly shown your pain.

Yet all that came over you was a dizzying numbness. So you shut the door, closing yourself off to their shocked expressions. Cutting yourself off from another failed love attempt. A worthless endeavor.

---

You’re still fighting a losing battle against hot, streaming tears in the library.

You wish the tears stemmed from the breakup. It would be a logical justification for your pain. Yes, it would be easier to cry over something present… or at least something sensible.

But fate is fickle and so are your emotions. Fragile and nostalgic.

Because you aren’t choking on sobs in the campus library over that unloyal asshole. 

No, your mind was fully centered on Daichi. The one person who had actually made you feel whole. Who regularly told you how much he wanted you.

You could’ve drowned in his warm, honey-glazed gaze. He drew you in, submerging you in a euphoric, blissfully intoxicated state. 

Memories flittered back to you. How he would always comfort you, using his firm shoulder as a pillow during after school hours to cry or sleep on when life began to smother you.

How he snuck up behind you in the schoolyard, grabbing you by the waist, lighting a fire inside you that filled you with warmth and made your stomach do somersaults. It was playful. Lighthearted. So very Daichi.

And you wanted more. More than platonic. More than best friends.

His touches were nothing like your ex.

It was like gentle floating fireflies, blinking and flickering in a field at dusk. Consistent but surprising. Sensitive, feathery, and comforting. Not at all greedy or dismissive.

You didn’t have to think twice about it. Daichi still remained in the softest parts of you.

But it doesn’t matter anymore. He isn’t coming back to save you. To take you by the hand and rekindle whatever it was you two had shared back then.

Because Daichi wasn’t ready to commit.

He had told you how he felt. How he wanted you so badly that it physically hurt him. That he wanted to be there for you, by your side, hand-in-hand.

But he just wasn’t ready to follow through. Not with graduation and change so near in sight. Not with the possibility of losing you just as soon as you’d become his.

You knew he was right. College shifted you two into completely separate directions. 12 hours to be exact.

You and Daichi were at the right place at the wrong time.

But as you drifted, the words morphed and manipulated themselves in your mind. They echoed a tone that claimed that you were the faulty one. That you weren’t ready. You weren’t lovable enough. He didn’t want to commit to you.

So naturally, you equated it with not being enough for him. That it was some silly, unfounded puppy-love. Just a bunch of hormones and high schoolers.

So you tried to bury your longing for him, making countless mistakes in the process. 

You had changed. This was your life now. Broken, exhausted, and weathered.

In defeat, you close up the heavy, tattered textbook, gently maneuvering it into your backpack and take your leave from the softly lit library. You’ve suffered enough for one day, so you may as well give yourself a break from studying.

As you make your way out the door, you feel an unexpected buzz in your back pocket, your phone lighting up with a notification. You reach a hand back to check it.

3:47 pm - sawamuradaichi38 followed you

You stop abruptly, feet planted in the doorway, eyes processing the words before you.

“Shit.”

Daichi…

High school Daichi.

The “I was just crying over how much I hate missing you 5 minutes ago,” Daichi.

You hadn’t spoken in over a year and suddenly this? 

It was out of the blue, not to mention at one of the most pitiful moments in your life. 

Broken up, red-eyed, and still helplessly in love with his brown-eyes. How could someone so wonderful have such disastrous timing?

You receive a rude awakening, the door to the library smacking you in the face, drawing you out of your thoughts and leaving you rubbing the now red spot on your forehead, the phone still clutched tightly in your palm.

Leaving the doorway, you spot a park bench and take a seat outside, your thumb still hovering over the “follow back” button.

It takes some persuading, but eventually you convince yourself it will be fine. It’s not like you’re selling your soul to him.

It’s just a simple “follow back.”

It also wouldn’t hurt to see what he looked like.

So you click.

And there he is. Several month’s worth of photos, flooding your eyes.

Party streamers, candids, squinted smiles, polaroid photo-shoots, flushed faces from tipsy weekends, throwbacks… and your heart is pounding at the sight of just how mature he looks.

He’s developed a flattering tan over the summer, giving him a golden glow. The deeper tone has either made him look more toned or he’s gained muscle in the past couple of years. Both are very likely.

You proceed your scrolling, subconsciously looking for any signs of being in a relationship, before you’re startled by another ‘ping’ noise.

Damn this stupid app.

To hell with media.

Why did he feel the need to message you? Is he messing with you, right now? 

But the questions don’t keep you from opening the text.

Nerves settle in.

3:55 pm - Daichi: Y/n!

3:55 pm - Daichi: I’m in town for a while and I really want to see your face.

3:56 pm - Daichi: Only if you want to though… I know it’s been a long time.

How is it possible that your hands are already shaking? It’s just Daichi.

Just Daichi.

What the actual hell, Daichi.

3:58 pm - Y/n: Heya! I’d love to, but I have so many questions???

You have more than just questions.

4:00 pm - Daichi: I’ve got answers. So is that a yes? Bc if it’s a no, that’d be super awkward…

4:00 pm - Daichi: ...given that I’m 5 minutes from your university right now. Could I pick you up?

WHAT IN THE ACTUAL HELL, DAICHI.

4:01 pm - y/n: Well damn, ok. Looks like I don’t have any excuses. Come n get me :)

You do your best to sound smooth, sending him the corner to pick you up on, but you still looked and felt like a total wreck. Your makeup was messy, mascara staining the underneath of your eyes. Luckily, you had baby wipes and could clean up a little, but you were still left with a slightly puffy, red-tinted face.

The blush that appeared after receiving his text messages didn’t help either.

If you were being honest, you felt completely hysterical. You had finally given up all hope, tossing your dreams of being with him out the window. 

And here he was, casually asking you to hangout as if you two hadn’t ever lost contact. As if you hadn’t been bawling your eyes out over him for the past several months. Real cute, y/n, you laugh, thinking to yourself. 

You do your best to fix your face up with your phone camera and a little extra concealer, but if Daichi is anything like he was in high school, he’ll see through it almost instantly.

You spot his car, pulling up into a spot on the side of the road. He’s scanning for you.

Your breath hitches at the sight of him, heart skipping a beat.

He’s even prettier in person. Photos couldn’t capture something that strong and handsome. His features were still kind, but his expression showed how much he’d grown. The turn of his head, showcasing his jawline. Sharper, older. Your heart is pounding and you feel the anxiety settle in.

But as soon as he captures your eyes, you both grow soft.

You could tell from the way he was looking at you, he’d been longing for you too.

He hops out of his car, focused solely on you, and starts walking. Your pace matches his but it quickly increases. The hunger you’d felt for his embrace drives you both to move faster. He felt it too. It was magnetic. Almost like you’d been waiting your whole life for this reunion.

You practically throw yourself into his firm chest, his sturdy arms circling around your torso, the rate of your collision shaking his balance. But he managed, steadying himself one footstep at a time. One of his hands makes its way up to your neck and tangles itself into your hair, grasping locks and running his fingers through it. It was as though your bodies were making up for the lack of touch and all of your unspoken words, closing any spaces between you and affirming the reality of each other’s presence. 

You notice him tucking your head into his chest... just how he used to.

It’s as though nothing had changed. Like you had both been talking and touching and breathing the same air for the past year when in truth, your relationship had mimicked radio silence.

It stays silent, your bodies choosing to take one another in. He smelled of coffee and cedar, with a dash of maple. He’d always carried a sweeter scent. It never failed to make you melt into him.

Daichi’s face is buried within your hair and he can’t help but breathe in the familiar fragrance of your conditioner. A huge swell of nostalgia passes over him like a crashing wave, causing him to pull you even closer.

The very feelings you had been protecting yourself from were overloading your senses.

So you break off the hug, opting to grasp his hands instead.

His gaze is so understanding. So full of raw emotion. It’s apologetic.

“Daichi I-”

“I’m so sorry, y/n.”

There’s a pause. You give him a wobbly smile, nodding gently to let him speak first.

He opens his mouth to speak, but he’s silenced as raindrop lands directly on your nose. You giggle, wiping it off with your hand, then placing said hand back into his.

“How ‘bout we go sit in the car?” He suggests as the rain begins to drizzle.

You follow him wordlessly, taking him by the arm, quickly crossing the road.

You’re snug in his passenger seat, one foot tucked under your other leg, torso facing him directly. Daichi takes a moment to look you over. You flush under his intent gaze. That’s when he notices your reddened eyes. 

“You’ve been crying.” He states directly, hand making it’s way to your chin, lifting it while examining your face.

“A-ah yeah. You’re as observant as ever, Daichi, I’ll give you that.” You smile slightly.

“Why? What… or who did that to you?” He asks, concern lacing his voice.

You look away, head tilting out toward the grey-lit street.

Should you be honest?

That he was the reason for your tears?

You want to trust him.

To believe his words at face value.

You wanted to bare your soul, letting him absorb every moment of the last year of your life. To cry out to him and explain that you wanted him so deeply that you betrayed your own feelings for him.

But look where it got you last time.

Your ex took the most precious pieces of you and stomped all over it. He had used you. Your stories. Your secrets.

You were different from the girl that Daichi used to know.

He couldn’t love that, he couldn’t possibly-

“Y/n, I mean it. You can tell me anything. I promise I’ll just listen.”

And with that, you muster up your last ounce of courage, putting full trust in him.

It comes out in a soft mumble.

“...I still love you, Daichi.”

His eyes widen, lips parting.

“I-” You begin to choke on your own words. 

The emotion of everything, from your breakup to seeing your ex with another girl, to the sad eyes in front of you. It all begins to spill out. It’s not a sob. More like a release.

“I tried to like someone else. I tried so, so hard, Daichi.” Tears drip down your face, catching on the hand still holding your cheek.

You do your best to speak slowly and coherently, but you can’t seem to prevent the stutters that emerge from embarrassment and months of pent-up shame.

“It didn’t work. I- he didn’t love me.” You pause, considering if you should share the next details.

You inhale deeply, remembering his words.

I can tell him anything.

“There were other girls and-” 

Daichi’s eyes darken, realizing what you meant.

“He- he didn’t,” hiccups break up the sentences you’re already struggling to form, “I just wasn’t good enough, Daichi.” You meet his eyes, “Not for you. Not even for him.”

He rubs a thumb over your face, somber and troubled.

A wave of guilt washing over his face, his own eyes tearing up at the sight of you.

Daichi wasn’t there for you. He knows it.

He had left you high and dry, letting himself get washed up within his own pain, not considering how badly it would affect you. You both cut off communication to make things easier, assuming it would help you both to move on, but it had only made things worse.

Now he’s watching it all unfurl…

You’ve been mistreated and he wasn’t there to protect you. To save you. To hold you tightly within his arms.

But he wants to help pick up the pieces.

He wants to dry those tears, one by one.

He’s ready to make up for the lost time.

It’s time to prove that he’s ready for you now if you’ll have him.

So Daichi removes his hand from your face and grabs your hand, staring at it for a moment. He brushes his calloused fingers over your knuckles.

“Y/n, I never stopped loving you.” He half whispers.

He’s tracing the lines and divots in your palm now, but his eyes are on yours now.

“I couldn’t handle not seeing you… 12 hours is a lot.” He acknowledges.

“But it should never have stopped me from being with you. That was my mistake. It had nothing to do with you not being good enough.”

“Y/n, please, God please, promise me you’ll never say that again.” He begs.

Ah, that.

You couldn’t remember if that had slipped out, but it, in fact, had.

This lie you’ve been telling yourself seems a real as the gentle drumming of raindrops on the roof of the car. Your ex had affirmed it. The breakup sealed it.

And now you’re being told to let it go? To just believe you’re enough? Worthy of love?

If only it were that easy.

“I know you don’t believe me right now… you have every right not to. But I want you to learn to trust me again.”

He continues, “You can tell me anything. I promise I won’t leave you.”

Heavy.

The words were so heavy on your heart.

“...Okay.” Your voice cracks, another few tears slipping out.

“I- I’ll try.” You look away, pain creasing your brows.

He drops your hand on your lap and reaches toward your face, cupping it.

“I mean it, y/n. I won’t leave you.” His tone is scarily serious.

His lips brush against yours, asking permission. You lean forward, gently pressing your lips into his.

It takes a moment to adjust, but you meld together smoothly. It was always supposed to be this way. His warmth is sobering.

It’s tear-soaked and somber, but oh so real.

Noses brush. He runs a hand through your hair, tucking loose strands behind your ear, running a thumb down your neck. You tilt your head, deepening the kiss while leaning into his hand. Lips parted, rhythm slow and comforting.

No part of it is rushed. This moment wasn’t for anyone except for you.

Kiss after kiss, you’re being seen. Listened to. Re-opened.

And it may take tens of thousands of kisses. You’ll probably cry into his chest more times than you can count. You’ll have to fight like hell to escape the lie of “never being good enough.”

But Daichi will be there. Because he came back to you. 

And he’ll keep coming back until he doesn’t have to anymore... because by then, he’ll hope to have you by his side forever.

---

tags: @cherryonigiri, @yams046, @kaidasen, @starfissure

[leechobsessed]

Alone 🍋

It’s been a very, very, long day, and Ella could really use some company.

characters: Ella Sagen, Lachlan Lonan (of @leila-of-ravens) pairing: Lachlan Lonan x Ellanora Sagen / Logen words: ~1600 warnings: lemon! spice! 

etre bleu series

It wasn’t really a surprise that Ella was having a hard time sleeping. This unfamiliar bed was too large, too empty, in a setting she wasn’t accustomed to. Laying here in a house full of people, she felt more alone than she ever had before. 

Over the past few hours, she’s spent a good amount of time replaying the day's events in her mind, alternating between staring at the ceiling and staring at the door, torn between wishing Lachlan would come visit her and wishing he would stay the hell away. 

I could just go see him, she thinks briefly, before shoving the thought out of her mind. A voice deep inside her cackles at the thought, sneering at her as it spits out— Idiot. 

Groaning, Ella curls up into a tight ball in the center of the bed, burying herself deeper under the thick covers. The wine had finally worked its way out of her bloodstream, leaving her to feel all of these… all these feelings, which were unbearable without the numbing effects of the alcohol. 

It's probably better that he keeps his distance. It would make it easier on both of them. Playing this game, acting like everything was fine to avoid arousing any suspicion or worry among everyone else; it was easier than admitting the truth. 

And what was the truth?

That she… she... how could she admit that? 

Ella closes her eyes, focusing on her breathing; in through the nose and out through the mouth, just like her mother used to tell her when she had trouble sleeping as a child. Imagine your breaths are the waves, coming in, going back out to sea. Slow and even, calm and steady.

...Except it wasn’t working. The sea reminded her of the blue of his eyes, the memory of him leaving, a vast and cold and empty void she wishes she could sink into and just… disappear. Should have packed some sleeping potions, she thinks with a sigh. Or just gotten more drunk. 

A gentle knock on the door causes her eyes to snap open, starling her out of her thoughts. She turns over in bed, now facing the door, staring at the wood as if trying to see through it. Who would possibly be outside her door at this hour? 

A second knock comes, a little louder and more insistent than the first, and she drags her heavy body out of bed to greet her unexpected guest. 

She hesitates only for a moment before opening the door to reveal Lachlan, of all people, standing back on his heels, his loose white shirt untucked, his hair looking as if he had spent the last few hours running his hands through it. She’s briefly reminded of the memory of him pacing frantically outside of her shop in the rain — the last night they spent together.

She shakes the memory from her mind as he lifts his gaze from the floor to her, his cool eyes rimmed red and dark. His jaw is set so firmly, she can see his pulse throbbing at his temple. They stand there silently, their eyes fixed on each other, Ella’s hand still on the door handle, Lachlan's clasped behind his back. Finally, Ella breaks the silence. 

“What… Lachlan, what do you—”

“I couldn’t sleep,” he says, a sentence so familiar, too familiar, that she finds herself taking an involuntary step back. “Ella, I… I’m sorry.”

She swallows hard, her mouth going dry, her throat suddenly very tight. “Okay.” Her hand tightens on the handle and he takes a step toward her, his gaze still boring into hers, his eyes earnest and pained as he closes the distance between them.

“For everything,” he continues, his body now filling the doorway. “I’m… I’m so sorry.”

“Lachlan—”

“I can’t… fuck, I just can’t…” his hand reaches out for her, taking a firm hold of her free hand and pulling her against his body. Her other hand comes up automatically to rest on his shoulder, and he snakes his arms around her waist to press her tighter against him. He rests his forehead against hers, his breath coming in shaky gasps. “I can’t...  stay away from you.” 

Her heartbeat is hammering in her ears as he tilts his head slightly, so his lips now hover just above hers. He pauses, waiting for permission. ���Are you going to stop me?”

“No,” she breathes into him.

“Thank the gods,” he groans, right before his lips crash into hers. 

Her body feels lighter. Every ounce of tension evaporates from her muscles as she melts into him, her hands tangling in his hair like they had never left. She feels like she’s been struck by lightning; every cell in her body vibrating as his hands run along her skin, every hair standing on end as he breathes her name over and over against her lips between kisses. 

He pushes her into the room, shutting the door behind them with one hand as the other keeps her against him. She feels one of his hands trail up her spine before weaving into her hair, pulling down on her chestnut waves to bring her mouth closer to his, deepening the kiss. She moans into his mouth, and as her lips part, he takes the opportunity to push his tongue against hers. 

They stumble to the bed, falling heavily onto it, pulling each other closer, closer, as if trying to blur the line where one begins and the other ends. Lachlan shifts their bodies so she’s now below him, pulling his lips away from hers to trail kisses along her jaw, down her neck, across her collarbone to her shoulder, where he pulls down her nightgown to expose more skin.

Ella lets out a groan as he adjusts his position so his thigh is now nestled snugly between her legs. She grinds against him, desperate to have as much of herself in contact with him as possible, throbbing everywhere as his hands skim her thighs, sighing with pleasure as they explore up and under her nightgown to feel what’s underneath.

As his hands find her breasts, his mouth returns to hers, his kisses more passionate and desperate, like he couldn’t get enough, like it would never be enough. She arcs her back to fill his hands— “fuck”— and he reciprocates by rolling her nipples between his fingers, eliciting a half moan, half sob from deep within her chest. 

“I missed you,” she breathes against his neck before placing a kiss to his pulse. 

Lachlan only groans in response, his hand supporting her back as he shifts again to pull her on top of him. Now straddling him, Ella positions herself on his arousal, straining to be freed through his trousers. She leans back down to kiss him again, to show him just how much she missed him, to show him how much she—

“Ella, please,” he moans against her lips. “Touch me, please, Ella, gods.”

Eagerly, Ella dismounts, now laying next to him as she slides her hand below his waistband, watching as his eyes flutter shut when her hand makes contact with his cock. 

“Fuck, Ella—”

“Let me taste you,” she begs, starting to pull him free. 

Lachlan inhales sharply through his teeth. “Ella…”

“Please,” she whines, pressing kisses along the trail of hair that starts at his navel and disappears at the waistband of his pants. “Lachlan, please—”

With a curse under his breath, he shifts his hips so she can free him from his confines, and she takes the opportunity to press a kiss to the tip of his erection, savoring the sounds he makes as she takes his length, all of it, in her mouth. 

His hands find her hair to hold it off her face as she continues to enjoy him, all of him, smiling when he throws his head back against the pillow as she runs her tongue along the underside of his shaft. He’s intoxicating to watch. She can’t take her eyes off of him. 

“I want to be inside you,” he moans breathlessly, his grip in her hair tightening. “Ella, please—”

Immediately, maybe too eagerly, she repositions, hitching her nightgown up around her waist and straddling him again, aligning herself so his erection rests against her clit. A moan escapes her at the feeling of him against her; the heat radiating off of him sending shivers up her spine. 

Lachlan’s hands reach between them, pushing himself into her entrance. She lowers herself onto him slowly, so slowly—“Lachlan, gods”—and all she can do is fall against him, her forehead resting against his as she adjusts to the familiar fullness, her breath coming in short gasps.  

His hands find her waist as she rocks her hips against him, trying to get him as deep inside her as physically possible. Lachlan’s eyes don’t leave hers as she rides him, his hands don’t leave her body as she tells him she loves him the only way she knows how, the only way he knows how to accept.

Lost in the feeling of him, Ella collapses on top of him, her skin pressed to his. She rolls to pull him on top of her and—

—her right shoulder makes contact with the ground first, followed immediately after by the side of her head. The impact sends stars to her vision, and after the ringing in her head dies out, she blinks rapidly to clear them. 

She groans as she pulls herself into a sitting position, only mildly embarrassed, pressing a hand tentatively to the side of her head to check for blood. 

Thankfully, finding none, she glances back up at the bed she just came tumbling out of, slowly coming to the realization she’s been alone this whole time. Just a dream.

It was just a dream. 

She was alone. 

Still alone. 

All alone.

[tryingmybestpls]

A Change of Heart

Pairing: Steve Rogers x Reader

Summary: Reader needs to tell Steve some important news, but as she watches Steve get ready to put the stones back, something feels wrong.

Rating: T?

Word Count: 1.5k

Warnings: some fucks, angst, no bueno time

A/N: This is my first one shot so I’m sorry if it sucks. Hope you enjoy!

Worry was currently gnawing at your stomach, making your insides twist and turn. You wish that you didn’t come today, wish that you made up some excuse. Then again, Steve himself had asked if you were going to come today to see him off. You could never say no to the super solider.

Ever.

“You alright? You look a little green around the gills.” Sam questions and you swallow down the bile that attempts to rise up in your throat. You stroke the skin where your thumb meets your hand, hoping that the old remedy actually works today. Can you fucking relax? Please?

“Peachy, Wilson. Fucking peachy.” You mutter, your eyes staying on Steve as he goes over the plan with Bruce for the millionth time. You had no reason to worry. Steve was going to go in, put back the stones, and come back. Then, then you could tell him what you found out when you had went to go get your injuries checked out after Thanos returned.

There hasn’t been a right time in the past few days, but it was slowing dawning on you that there might not ever be a right time to tell him. There would never be a perfect situation for you to tell him this unexpected news. You held in the sigh you so desperately wanted to let out, deciding to pay attention to what Bruce was saying.

“...Remember, you have to return the stones to the exact moment you got ‘em or you’re going to open up a bunch of nasty alternative realities.” Bruce reminds Steve, opening the special case with his non-burned hand. You shoved your hands a little deeper into your pockets, trying to look as calm and collected as Sam. Steve nods, shutting the case and locking it.

“Don’t worry, Bruce. Clip all the branches.” Steve responds as you shift on your feet. You just want him to get over with so you can tell him what’s been weighing on your shoulders.

“You know, I tried. When I had the gauntlet, the stones-I really tried to bring her back. I miss her man.” Bruce confides in Steve and suddenly you feel like an asshole for even being there, listening to this obviously private conversation. You look to the helicopters in the distance, watching them as they clean up the mess Thanos and his army had made.

“Me too.” Steve tells your fellow teammate. You turn your attention onto Bucky, who is standing next to the platform as you and Sam walk on either side of Steve. Before the snap, back when you guys were on the run, Steve, Sam and you were all thick as thieves. However, five years can really change a person and but luckily it hasn’t changed this.

“You know, if you want, I could come with you.” Sam announces and it brings a smile to your face. That uneasiness starts to loosen its hold on you, just for a second until Steve stops to look at Sam.

“You’re a good man, Sam. This one’s on me, though.” Steve replies and you clear your throat slightly.

“It doesn’t have to be, Steve.” You say and he turns his head to look at you. Those gentle blue eyes are as soft as ever as he smiles at you. For a moment, it feels like it’s just you and him. You should’ve told him last night when you two were entangled in bed, but you had savored the moment too much. You didn’t want to ruin it with your confession.

“What? You losing your hope in me, doll?” Steve questions and you can’t help but grin. The butterflies his smile gives you are trying to fly around in your stomach, but it’s just too knotted up.

“Of course not. It just doesn’t hurt to have a helping hand.” You retort as his eyes seemingly study your face. You two have never been the ones for PDA. The two of you had chosen to keep your relationship a secret these past five years, deciding that no one but you two needed to know. No one really knew it was more than just harmless flirting, so when Steve leaned down and kissed you softly, you just knew something was wrong. He would never just kiss you in front of other people.

“You really shouldn’t worry about me, Y/N. I’ll be fine.” Steve murmurs to you, cupping your cheek with his glove covered hand, his thumb brushing against your cheek one. You try to smile back at him, nodding slightly as he pulls his hand away. You watch as he walks over to Bucky, your feet rooted in place.

“Don’t do anything stupid till I get back.” Steve says as Sam comes to stand next to you. You’re sure he has a million questions to ask what has happened between

“How can I? You’re taking all the stupid with you.” There’s no humor in Bucky’s tone and you get a sinking feeling in your gut. When they embrace, you know that’s something is wrong. You’re suddenly glad you already threw up your breakfast.

“Gonna miss you, buddy.” Bucky tells Steve as they pull away and you wish you could run away from all of this.

“It’s going to be okay, Buck.” Steve responds before turning away from Bucky and climbing up the steps to the platform. He activates the quantum suit, preparing for what’s about to happen.

“How long is this going to take?” Sam questions, looking at both you and Bruce.

“For him, as long as he needs. For us, five seconds.” Bruce answers and you just give a simple nod, fearing that if you open your mouth you’ll just make a mess of things. You’re standing in between Sam and Bucky now, the three of you looking up at Steve as he picks up mjölnir.

“Ready, Cap?” Bruce asks as Steve turns his head to look at the jolly green giant. Steve doesn’t say anything, just nods as Bruce continues to speak, “Alright, we’ll meet you back here.”

“I’ll be back.” Steve announces before the helmet comes over his face. You reach out blindly, grabbing ahold of Sam’s hand. He’s a little surprised, especially since you haven’t been known to show affection, but he squeezes your hand regardless. Your heart is beating fast in your chest and you know that both super soldiers can hear it.

“Going quantum in three, two, one.” And just like that, Steve’s gone. You try to calm down, trying to keep everything together.

“And returning in five, four, three, two, one.” Bruce flips the switches, hits the correct buttons and-Steve isn’t there.

“Where is he?” You ask, your voice wavering as you look at Bruce. You let go of Sam’s hand, dropping it like it burned you.

“I-I don’t know. He blew right by his time stamp. He should be here.” Bruce tries to explain. It suddenly feels like your underwater, everything Sam and Bruce are saying are muted as you sit down on the steps of the platform. Bucky’s walking off and it dawns on you that he knew. He fucking knew. His voice suddenly cuts through the silence.

“Y/N. Sam.” Bucky gets your attention and you shakily stand. Your legs somehow carry you over to where Bucky is standing. By the lake sits a man that doesn’t look like your Steve, not by a long shot. Your eyes drift down to see the shield leaning up against the bench the man is sitting on as the three of you walk towards him.

“Go ahead.” Bucky says, smiling slightly as he motions to Sam. You’re not even the first choice. Sam walks toward as hands move to rest on your still flat stomach. Bucky glances at you, seeing the movement of your hand. It takes him a second to put two and two together.

“I’m guessing he doesn’t know.” Bucky murmurs to you, not wanting to say it too loud for the other men to hear. You desperately try to blink away your tears as you face forward, not glancing at the man beside you.

“There was never a good time to tell him.” The voice that’s leaving your mouth sounds foreign to you as tears start to roll down cheeks as Bucky nods at Sam. The Falcon picks up Steve’s shield and you quickly wipe away your tears.

“It’s your turn.” Bucky announces, his eyes on you as Sam walks back to where you two are standing, shield in hand. You can’t move your feet. This feels like a nightmare and you desperately want to wake up. You shake your head, stumbling backwards. Both Sam and Bucky look at you worriedly.

“I can’t-I just can’t. Tell him-Tell him I’m sorry.” You stumble over your words as emotion tightens your throat. You feel sick to your stomach. You turn on your heel and just walk away from the whole situation. You can hear them calling your name as walk further and further into the woods. You needed to get out of here.

You had inadvertently fucking ruined everything by not telling him before he left. Maybe he would’ve stayed, maybe things would’ve been okay. But now-Now you were fucking running away. Deep down you knew that you should tell him. He deserves to know that you are carrying his child. The other part of you knew that there was no way that this goes well for either you or your unborn child.

You two were fucked and really had no one to blame but yourself.

[celosiaa]

the winter you know

Summary:

Jon finds Martin in the archives, early on a rainy Sunday.

Martin finds kindness and care in an unexpected place.

alright folx I'm back again with a oneshot this time!! this one is set in season 2, sometime after Jon finds out that Martin lied on his CV and starts to trust him again.

WARNINGS: injuries, brief description of violence

Jon's thoughts are formatted in italics.

I hope you enjoy!! <3

---

‘Course it would be raining.

Jon steps across the threshold of the Institute, leaning his cane against the window for a moment to fold his umbrella.  It’s Sunday, and the quiet hangs heavy in the air.  Not that the Institute is a particularly bustling place, but all the same, Jon finds himself missing the presence of familiar faces.  Why he’s come here today is unclear to him.  This happens more often than not these days—feeling as though he missed something, certain he needs to be at the Institute just to make sure, anxiety creeping steadily into compulsion.

Why am I here?  What kind of miserable workaholic shows up to his archiving job on the weekends?

He sighs, shaking his head.  Contrary to Martin’s belief, he had actually tried going to therapy, anything to rid himself of this miserable paranoia that has gradually taken over his life and ruined his friendships.  It’s not that he had many to begin with, but…even Sasha seemed different now, and that hurts deeper than he could ever express.

Taking up his cane again, he wipes his feet on the mat briefly before riding the lift down, down, down into the archives.

Cold dread overtakes him as the lift door opens.

A light has been left on.

And he knows he did not leave it.

They’ve come for me they’ve come for me they’ve come for me

Jon is not equipped for a fight, and he knows it—the best he can do is stand in the dim light of the EXIT sign, flooding hot and red across his skin, gripping his cane with both hands, ready to strike.  His breath quickens, blood pounding through his ears as he searches wildly about for whatever attacker may come—

But no one does.

Several minutes go by without sight or sound.  At last, his injured leg begins to shake, protesting both the exertion and the lack of support, and he cautiously lowers his cane back to the ground.

You’re being absurd, Jon.  You left the light on, or the custodians did.

Slowly, ever so slowly, he makes his way forward toward the source of the light, which streams from behind the door to the assistants’ workspace.  He reaches out one arm with trepidation, swinging the door wide.  To his surprise, someone has, in fact, joined him in the archives on this rainy Sunday—Martin, of all people.  He is currently hunched over his desk, presumably reading something.

Jon is momentarily frozen, taken so completely aback by Martin’s presence that he feels anger beginning to rise in him.  He takes one heated step forward, intending to let Martin know exactly how he feels about being startled, when a thought crosses his mind, stopping him in his tracks.

Is he living in the archives again?  Has something happened?

Breathing for a moment, he rearranges his expression carefully before continuing forward.  He clears his throat as he approaches Martin’s desk.

“Martin?”

At the sudden noise, Martin jumps bodily, head whipping around and hands coming upward in some gesture of defense.  His panicked movements cause Jon to cry out in surprise, stepping immediately away from him as his hands gradually lower, one coming to rest on his chest.

“Jesus, Jon.”

“I-I’m so sorry, Martin, I should ha—”

He breaks off, eyes roaming over Martin’s body for a moment.  He’s disheveled, more so than Jon has ever seen, trousers and jumper wrinkled in odd places.  Where his forearms are exposed by clumsily rolled-up sleeves, Jon can see several bruises have formed—approximately hand-sized.  On top of everything sits a nasty black eye, purpled and pulsing, forcing his left eye nearly shut by the swelling.

Alarm rings through Jon’s mind, and his eyes go wide.

“Are you…are you in trouble?” he asks, keeping his voice intentionally low.

Martin exhales sharply, eyebrows knitting together in frustration.  As he stands, intending to walk away, he begins to sway—so intensely that Jon reaches out a hand to steady him as he tips forward against his desk.

“Martin?  Are you alright?”

He breathes heavily for a few seconds, blinking rapidly, before lifting himself to his full height once more.

He towers over Jon.

Christ.

“Really, Jon?  I’ve already explained a hundred times that I had nothing to do with Gertrude, and if you can’t trust me now, after everything, then I really don’t know what to say.”

At this, he begins to walk briskly past Jon, chin uplifted in determination to get out of this situation.  As he passes, Jon reaches out, lightly grabbing at Martin’s sleeve, knowing that he dislikes unexpected touch.

Martin freezes, face turning a bit pink and not meeting Jon’s eyes.  Jon keeps his voice low, steady, and grounding as he steps back into Martin’s eyeline.

“I just meant…that looks painful.  Can I—will you please let me help?”

Dropping his gaze, chin to chest, Martin exhales a slow and shaky breath.  Jon watches with rising concern as Martin swallows thickly, blinking away tears while examining Jon’s gentle hold on his sleeve, looking entirely overwhelmed and exhausted.

Something unnamed pulses and swells in Jon’s chest.

“Y-yeah, I…thanks,” Martin replies, voice nearly a whisper.

“Alright.  Come here, then.”

He leads them to the break room, glancing over his shoulder ever so often, just to be sure that Martin has followed.

God, what on earth could have happened?

Though he manages to maintain a mostly-calm exterior—a rarity that he acknowledges with pride—his thoughts swirl rapidly—desperate to know what’s happened, who did this, how he can stop it from happening again.  As they enter the break room, he pulls out a chair from the table, patting the back of it briefly and leaning his cane against the tabletop.

“Sit down,” he commands, voice still kept low even with his growing anxiety.

Martin obliges, dropping heavily into the seat, leaning back against it with a heavy sigh.  Turning on his heel, Jon rummages hastily through the freezer, relieved to find a bag of frozen vegetables.  He hands it to Martin, who mutters a “thanks” before gingerly pressing it against his injured eye, wincing against the cold shock of it.

Jon stares for a moment, worrying at his bottom lip.

He looks miserable.

Decision made, he turns back to the kitchenette and fills the kettle for tea.  As it boils, Jon searches through the cabinets, finding such a wide variety of teas to be had that he is forced to ask Martin which he prefers.

“Martin, would you like—”

He stops, freezing in place as he turns around.

Tears are streaming down Martin’s face, his shoulders shaking in silent sobs.

Oh god.

Panicked, Jon glances wildly around the room for something, anything that might help.  His eyes land on the roll of paper towels by the sink and he quickly tears some off, hastening to hand them over to Martin.

“S-sorry, tha-thank you,” he stammers between sobs, wiping at his eyes carefully.

Jon is rooted to the spot, eyes wide, feeling extremely out of his depth.  His arms are locked in a sort of half-reaching position, unsure whether to give comfort or space.  He is not left to wait for long, however, as Martin lowers the paper towels, giving a hollow laugh and a smile.

“God, that hurts.  Should avoid doing that again,” he says as he reaches up to rub at his injured eye, before thinking better of it.

Jon does not laugh.  The emptiness of Martin’s voice sends a shiver up his spine, disturbing him more than he’d like to admit.  Biting again at his lip, he points to the bag.

“Put that back on,” he says softly as he turns back to the tea.

Face hidden now, Jon allows himself a moment to process what has happened.

You trust him.  You decided that you do.

You trust Martin.

…does he trust me?

He resumes his task, realizing that he does not know how Martin takes his tea.  Looking at the ceiling for a moment, he desperately tries to remember how his own tea looks when he delivers it to him—but for the life of him, no picture comes to mind.

Damn it all.

“Martin, d’you…do you take milk?  In your tea?”

“Oh!  Um, yeah—milk and a bit of sugar, thanks.”

The surprise evident in Martin’s voice upon being asked is enough to send ripples of guilt through Jon’s chest.

I’ve been…I’ve been so cruel to him, really.

He sighs heavily, allowing himself a moment of shame before fulfilling Martin’s request.  Setting their mugs down on the table, he takes a seat in the adjacent chair, picking at the scabs on his hands.

“Thanks, Jon, really, this is…this is really nice.”

“It’s no trouble.”

They remain silent for a few moments, Martin taking a sip of his tea before replacing the frozen bag over his eye.  Jon looks up then, not wanting to push, but…

I have to know.

“Do you…do you want to talk about it?” he asks, forcing his voice into a gentleness that does not come easily to him.

“Not really.”

The flatness of Martin’s tone throws him, but he clears his throat and presses on.

“Look, Martin, I have to admit…this worries me considerably.”

At this, Martin lets out a frustrated huff, setting his mug back down forcefully, and meeting Jon’s gaze with coldness.

“This was really all a ploy then?  You still don’t trust me?  Me, of all people?”

Jon leans back in surprise, lifting his hands in consolation.

“N-No!  No, Martin, I just meant…I’m just worried about you.  I’m worried for you, really.”

Martin visibly deflates at this, the burst of energy spent on his anger quickly giving way to exhaustion.  Dropping his gaze, he stares into the steaming mug and adjusts his grip on the frozen bag.  Jon is hit suddenly with the mad urge to cover Martin’s hand with his own, but shoves the thought down as forcefully as possible.

“Listen, you…you don’t have to tell me everything, but—can you at the very least tell me who did this?” he asks, tilting his head in an attempt to draw Martin’s gaze.

He does not look up, continuing to stare at his tea for a long while.  Sensing that he is mulling it over, Jon turns his gaze back to his scarred hands, massaging them unconsciously.

Please trust me please trust me please trust me

At long last, Martin takes a deep, steadying breath before responding.

“It was my mum.  She’s…she’s not well, it’s not her fault,” he says, voice thick, still staring into his tea.

Oh, Martin.  

“Your mum?  Did she…did she move back in with you?”

“No, I went to Devon to visit her.  She finally let me see her—a-and—"

His voice wobbles and breaks, tears spilling over his cheeks once more.  Dropping the bag, he claps a hand to his forehead, gasping as he tries desperately to choke back the sobs that are threatening to resurface at any moment.

Jon desperately wants to reach for him, to comfort him somehow.

“M-Martin, I—”

“God, I’m so sorry,” he bursts, wiping desperately at his face and sniffling.

“It…it’s alright,” he replies softly.

Martin’s arm is right there.

It’s right there.

Slowly, cautiously, Jon reaches out a hand, making sure that Martin sees his approach, and clasps it over his wrist ever so lightly.  He monitors Martin’s reaction carefully, ready to take back his hand at the first sign of any discomfort.  When, after a few moments of staring, the tension in his arm relaxes and tears begin to well up once more, Jon applies just a bit of pressure in what he hopes is a gesture of comfort.

“It’s alright,” he repeats in a whisper.

Martin’s eyes close as he tries to ground himself, inhaling a few shaky breaths in through his nose and out through his mouth before continuing.

“I visited her, and she actually let me see her this time, and I was so happy, Jon.  I was so happy.  But when I got to her room, she was just…angry.  Angry that I was there, and angry that I hadn’t been there before.  I just…you’re going to think badly of me, but…”

He sniffs wetly, still not meeting Jon’s eyes.

“I got upset, I’ll admit.  Raised my voice a bit.  And I know better, god, I know that I can’t do that, that she gets upset when I do that.  But I did it anyway and…and she hit me.  I had to call for the nurse, I couldn’t calm her, she just kept h-…a-and I might never see her again, and…and I’m sure the staff think I’m a horrible son.”

Martin’s breathing has become more rapid throughout his explanation, hitching as he finishes, hot tears spilling down his face once more.

Jon’s heart aches.

He begins slowly running his hand up and down the length of Martin’s forearm as he cries, a gentle reminder of his presence, of his care.

God knows he needs someone, Jon tells himself.

Might as well be me.

I’ve done enough harm.

Eventually, Martin’s breathing slows, and he swipes at his eyes painfully with a paper towel.

“Martin, I…I’m so sorry.  That’s really terrible.”

Martin huffs out a wet laugh, meeting his eyes at last.

“It’s alright.  Just one of those things, I guess.  I’m alright, really, this…this helped.  Thank you, Jon, seriously.”

Martin’s half-swollen gaze is so intense with sincerity that Jon can’t bear to look away.

Hazel eyes.

I never noticed.

That as-yet unnamed warmth pools in his stomach once again, rising up to his cheeks and ears.

“Don’t…don’t mention it,” he stammers awkwardly, dropping his gaze and removing his hand from Martin’s arm at last.

He can feel Martin’s eyes still on his face, desperately hoping that he won’t notice the blush painted there.  If he does, he has the graciousness to say nothing, turning instead to take another paper towel from the roll, scrubbing at his dripping nose and wincing in the process.

“God, that really hurts,” he says, followed by a short laugh.  “Really ought to stop blubbering and making it worse, eh?”

Once again, Jon cannot bring himself to laugh.

It’s not funny.

“Have you been to a doctor?” he asks, concern coloring his tone.

Martin looks back in surprise.

“What, for this?  No no, it’s fine, it’s just a bruise.  It’ll fade away.”

“What if you have a concussion?”

He laughs again.  “I really don’t think it was that hard of a hit, Jon.”

“Seems it was hard enough to do some damage, anyway.”

Martin snaps his mouth shut, staring at Jon incredulously for a moment before turning away and sipping his tea, ending the conversation.  Watching him for a moment, fingers drumming on the table, Jon decides that no, this conversation is not over.

“You looked dizzy earlier.”

Martin sighs into his mug. “Jon—”

“I’ll take you to a clinic.  Please, Martin.”

Martin glares daggers at him, a bit scarier than usual given that he looks like he’s just come out of a fight.  But Jon refuses to back down.

“Please.  Just to check.”

He shakes his head, letting out a longsuffering sigh before throwing his hands in the air.

“Fine.  If it’ll make you feel better.”

“O-Oh.  Right.”

Jon can’t help but be shocked by Martin’s compliance.  He grabs his cane from the table as he stands.

“Let’s go then.”

At this, Martin moves to stand himself, with what seems to be a bit of trepidation.  As he reaches his full height, his face turns ashen, and he sways forward to brace against the table, blinking rapidly once again.  Jon’s reaches out to steady him instinctively, cane clattering to the floor.

“Martin!  Sit back down, sit—”

“No no, I’m alright, Jon.  I’m alright.  Just need a second,” he stammers out quickly, squeezing his eyes shut, head hanging toward his chest.

Not quite trusting this, Jon lets his hands hover nearby, watching as Martin takes several breaths from this position.  After a few moments, he opens his eyes, seeing Jon’s cane lying on the ground, and bends slightly to pick it up.  He hands it to Jon, face flushed in embarrassment.

“Sorry about that.”

“It—it’s alright.  Thank you.”

Hazel eyes hazel eyes hazel eyes

Jon coughs briefly, willing himself to focus.

“Erm, there’s a clinic a few blocks over that should be open.  Where’s your car?  I’ll drive you there.”

“It’s just ‘round the corner from the entrance, not far,” Martin mutters, still looking ashamed that anyone should have to care for him this way.

“Do you think you can make it there?” Jon asks anxiously.

“Yes Jon, really, I’m alright now—”

He breaks off as he pushes himself away from the table, dizzily staggering back a few steps as he does.  Jon reaches for him then, looping his unoccupied arm around Martin’s to steady him.

“Well…a bit better, anyways.  Perhaps.”

Jon snorts at this.  “Alright, then.  But you’re going to have to call Tim if you fall over, I am not carrying you.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” Martin replies, a small grin at last spreading across his face.

…Jon has found a name for the warmth that keeps bubbling up in him.

Oh.

Oh.

Right.

He finds himself unable to stop mirroring his smile, and resolves to put as many as possible onto Martin’s face.

[potrix-the-queerschlaeger]

what makes life so sweet (chapter 1)

This one’s for @ladyvaderpixetc, and can also be read here on AO3. Beware; there’s fluff, quickly followed by way less fluff. It gets worse before it gets better.

- - -

There aren’t a lot of songs and stories about Witchers at court.

Kings and Queens want the common folk to think of their knights and guardsmen as the heroic slayers of monsters, the protectors of the people, not the strange, barely human men living on the edges of society. Though no matter how far away they’re pushed by ugly whispers and rumours, Witchers are still needed, desperately so, and offending or denouncing them outright is considered unwise.

They’re like bastard children, almost; rarely acknowledged, yet still always present.

Ciri doesn’t know what to expect of Geralt of Rivia. He can’t be bad, she thinks, or her grandmother wouldn’t have sent her away to find him, though that isn’t all that much to go on. Not bad doesn’t automatically mean good or decent, it just means—not bad.

But then Geralt turns out to be kind, above all. It isn’t immediately obvious, of course, what with the almost permanent scowl and all that grunting, but he is. He hugs Ciri back, that very first day in the forest, hesitant and unpracticed as it may be. He hugs her back for as long as it takes Ciri to stop crying, and then he picks her up as if she were a small child again, letting Ciri bury her face in his neck and hide, from everything, for just a little while.

And the kindness shows, again and again, in all these different ways. In the first town they ride through, Geralt buys a much warmer, less conspicuous cloak for Ciri, then spends what remains of his coin on a room and a bath for her. He hunts and cooks for the two of them, and teaches Ciri how to do both for herself as well, in case the need should ever arise. Ciri learns how to lay snares, how to skin rabbits, how to build fires and shelter, how to defend herself with only her body, then also with a dagger and even Geralt’s steel sword she’s barely strong enough to lift.

During cold nights out on the road, Geralt lets Ciri snuggle against his chest and holds her close, keeping her warm and safe. And when she wakes from nightmares about things she’d rather forget, shouting and sobbing, Geralt strokes her hair and hums, soft and slow, until she falls back asleep.

“Did you learn about music?” Ciri asks one day, after a particularly bad night of terrible dreams, perched on Roach in front of Geralt. “At Kaer Morhen?

Geralt doesn’t say anything for a long moment, and when Ciri cranes her neck to look up at him, his face is full of what she thinks might be regret. His voice, when he answers, is quiet, almost sad. “No, we didn’t.”

Assuming that’s all she’s going to get, Ciri turns back around, startling when Geralt continues, haltingly, “We learned to whistle, to mimic bird calls. Useful things. Someone—a friend. A bard. He was always singing, humming. Talking constantly. Still is, presumably.”

When she glances back at him again, Geralt is smiling wistfully.

Ciri can recognise loss when she sees it, so she doesn’t pry. Instead, she leans back against Geralt, and hugs the arm he has wrapped around her tightly against her stomach.

It’s all the comfort she knows how to give.

*

Stick bread has become one of Ciri’s favourite roadside meals in the weeks she’s been travelling with Geralt. The dough is simple to make, if they can spare the coin for some flour, and roasting it over the open fire is much more fun than simply watching their food cook itself. They’ve even got some leftover spices Ciri’s thinking of adding for some extra flavour.

She doesn’t realise she’s been singing to herself until she stumbles over the words, and Geralt offers from the other side of the fire, “But neither pictures nor sounds nor words, can describe what happened to me, in this certain place when I saw you, and what glow you sparked that night.”

For a second, Ciri is rendered speechless. But then she grins, wide and happy, and asks excitedly, “You know it?”

Geralt doesn’t look up from where he’s methodically cleaning the sticks for their bread, but he does offer a curt nod. It doesn’t seem as if he’s going to add anything more to that, but Ciri’s learned, by now, that waiting him out is the best way to go, sometimes.

And it takes several minutes, but eventually Geralt mutters, “Jaskier used to like it.”

“Your friend?” Ciri guesses, trying to sound casual and not as if she’s near to bursting with curiosity. “The bard?”

Geralt grunts out, “Yes,” and then presses his lips together, obviously done talking for the moment.

Ciri finishes the dough, preening when Geralt compliments her on her choice of spices, and wraps it around the prepared sticks, handing one over to Geralt to roast for himself. Geralt keeps an eye on the sizzling meat while they wait for the bread to finish, and they pass the waterskin back and forth in companionable silence.

It’s when they’re halfway through their meal that Ciri ventures, “Did he travel with you as well? Jaskier, I mean?”

Geralt glances over at her, his face carefully neutral. “From time to time.”

Intrigued now, Ciri wants to know, “But not anymore? Why not?”

She regrets the questions almost immediately, when she sees how Geralt’s mouth turns down at the corners. It’s there and gone again in an instant, but Ciri catches the sorrow that flashes in his eyes.

But before she can apologise, Geralt says, nearly too quiet to hear, “We had a falling-out.”

Then he chuckles, completely without mirth, and shakes his head, gaze fixed firmly on the burning logs in the fire. “I was cruel. Unjustly so.”

“Well,” Ciri muses, tearing off a piece of bread to pop in her mouth, “did you apologise?”

Geralt winces, which, truly, is answer enough.

Ciri frowns at him. “You should. Tell him you’re sorry.”

Geralt looks at her at that, properly, smiling faintly. “I should,” he agrees, and then, nodding at her plate, says, “Finish your food.”  

Respecting the dismissal for what it is, Ciri decides to change topics. “Are there any of the dried figs left?”

Geralt’s smile turns more genuine, a little teasing. “You’ll find out once you’ve finished your food.”

*

He doesn’t say so, of course, but Ciri can tell something’s on Geralt’s mind, and that it’s bothering him more and more the closer they get to Oxenfurt. It’s not difficult to guess what, or rather who, might be the root of his unease, but if there’s one thing Ciri has learnt about Geralt over the course of the last few months, it’s that being pushed before he’s ready to talk only makes him clam up entirely.

So, instead, Ciri attempts to distract him as best as she can.

She’d been to Oxenfurt once, years ago, as part of the royal Cintran delegation who always attended the annual summer festival. There had been lanterns on every building, food stalls lining the streets, and groups of musicians at every corner, singing and playing merrily.

It’s almost winter, now, but Ciri is excited to return anyway, and chatters happily at Geralt, relating everything she can remember from her first visit. Geralt doesn’t say much in return, but that’s all right; he hums or grunts in all the right places, and whenever Ciri chances a stealthy peek at him, he looks much less troubled than he had before.

They stable and tend to Roach first once they arrive, then go about buying a room at the nearest inn. It’s early evening already, so they wander deeper into town in search of a tavern and some supper. The stew is hot and hearty, and Ciri eats with gusto, although Geralt is frowning into his bowl.

It becomes clear why soon enough, when the bard in the corner finishes his set with a bow, to the cheers and applause of the other patrons, and Geralt grumbles under his breath, “Good fucking riddance.”

Ciri doesn’t even bother to hide her laugh. “Not as good as Jaskier?”

Geralt shoots her a look that fails to be stern, his mouth twitching tellingly.

“Oh, it’s a shame, ain’t it?” the barmaid clearing the table next to theirs sighs with a sad shake of her head. When Geralt turns his unblinking eyes on her she flushes, but pushes on, “So sudden and unexpected, poor lad.”

Something cold settles in Ciri’s stomach, ugly and foreboding, and she grips her spoon a little tighter as Geralt barks, “Speak plainly, or don’t speak at all.”

The barmaid glances between the two of them nervously. “Well, I assumed you knew, of course,” she stutters, wringing her rag between her hands. “Thought you of all people must.”

Geralt bares his teeth at her. “Must know what?”

“Your friend, well, you see,” she says, swallowing visibly, “he died, didn’t he? Couple of months back. Tragic, it really was, we’ll all surely miss him, of course—”

She keeps talking, but Ciri barely hears what she’s saying, all her attention fixed on Geralt.

He’s still, unmoving, and though he’s looking right at the barmaid, Ciri can tell he doesn’t notice her at all. He’s unseeing, his expression vacant, completely void of everything she’d painstakingly learned to read in it over time.

Ciri has never, in all the time she’s known him, been afraid of Geralt, but right now?

Right now, she’s scared for him.

“Geralt?” she asks tentatively, not sure what to say next when that empty gaze falls on her. On a whim, she stands and offers him a hand. “Come on, let’s go.”

Geralt merely blinks at her.

“Let’s get Roach and go,” Ciri coaxes as she grabs his hand. She gives it a tug, smiling encouragingly when Geralt stands. “Come on, Geralt. Let’s go.”

Ciri leads, and Geralt follows.

It doesn’t feel right.

- - -

A/N: The song Ciri and Geralt are singing is called Dein Anblick and is by German folk rock band Schandmaul.

[dragon-kazansky]

Going North - Chapter twelve

Chapter 12 - A step closer is a step further

It was getting darker by the hour. At one point Lee pulled down the covers so the balloon was covered. The temperature dropped quite a bit. Lyra and Roger were huddled together in front of Iorek. You were sitting opposite them with Lee. Nothing but the sound of the wind could be heard.

You had almost dozed off once or twice, but found it difficult to sleep. Lee had noticed.

"Not the best place to sleep, my balloon."

You chuckle softly.

"They managed it alright." You nodded towards the children. "My thoughts are too loud to sleep, anyway." You pull lightly at the threads on your coat.

"You think too much." He nudges your shoulder.

"There's a lot to think about." You smile at him. "That's something I should work on though, trying to keep my thoughts to a minimum. Thinking too much is beginning to give me a headache." You rub your head lightly as you chuckle quietly to yourself.

"You could always share your thoughts. I'm not going anywhere any time soon." He grins at you. "I like having the company. I like your company."

"I like your company too." A lot. You gazed into his dark eyes. Those eyes have been on your mind a lot.

Iorek let out a huff of air through his nose. Lee glanced at him to see the polar bear narrowing his eyes at him. Even Hester was looking at him with a strange look.

"Are you cold?" Lee asked, turning away  from his companions to focus his attention solely on you.

"A bit. We're quite high up."

Lee didn't give an answer as he looped his arm around your shoulders and pulled you into his side gently, but firmly. You were a little caught off guard, but it was warm being tucked under his arm. You tried to hide your blush by burying your face into his coat, letting him hold you like that. Lee smiled softly, but you couldn't see it, too busy trying to hide your own face.

"I didn't get a chance to ask you, how was your first time in a balloon?"

"I like it. I can see why you enjoy it so much. You're a bit of a free spirit, aren't you?" You look up once you're sure your expression won't betray your feelings any more.

"I suppose. Aren't you?"

"Not really." You turn away again.

"No? You convinced me other wise." He was looking at you. You could feel his gaze on you.

"Convinced?"

"After everything I've seen from the moment we met, I would say you're one of the more free spirited people I've ever met.... and that's saying something because Lyra is right there."

You both chuckle.

"I'm glad I met you, Lee."

"I'm glad I met you, Y/N."

The moment was perfect. A little closer and he could steal a kiss.

He's not sure when such thoughts came to him. It's true that he has become very fond of you. More so than just fondness. Keeping you safe has been one of his top priorities, up with protecting Lyra. Just the thought of something happening to you was unsettling to him. He wanted to show you so much. He wanted to spend more time with you. He had begun to wonder what it would have been like if he had met you sooner. Would the pair of you be travelling around the world in his balloon? Would you be happy to do that? As far as he knew, you were an engineer from Oxford who had never travelled very far before. The fact that he could share this experience with you made him rather proud.

As he sits there gazing into your eyes, he has to wonder... When did you become so important to him? At what point did you become the most valuable person to him?

"I thought you might need a tow." A voice said, interrupting the moment.

Jumping slightly from the unexpected interruption, you sub-consciously  move yourself away from Lee, almost embarrassed to be caught in such a situation.

You didn't see the disappointment in Lee's eyes.

It was Serafina Pekkala, the witch.

Lee got up to his feet, helping you up too. He was at least happy you would take his hand and let him help you.

"Well, thank you, Miss Pekkala."

"Always good to see you in the skies, Mr Scoresby. Your daemon is examining me." She looks down at Hester.

"Well, it's been a while since we've seen you." Hester says.

"That was quite a performance earlier." Lee was referring to her attack back in Bolvangar. She had taken out many of the guards in the blink of an eye. She was gone as quickly as she had arrived.

"Thank you."

"Question - what can we expect going forward in the sense of mayhem and chaos?"

"There might be fighting, but you've fought before." She tells him.

"And gladly." Lee casts a glance toward you, but you don't really think anything of it. You just smile at him. "But as the situation grows more complicated, so OUR situation grows more complicated." He glances down at Lyra.

"The child is destined to be important - to create and resolve conflict."

"So this is about her." You state. Looking down at Lyra too.

"She matters more than she can ever know. The fate of more than this world depends on her"

"Well, I had a contract with the Gyptians over what was accomplished in Bolvangar." Lee tells her. He wasn't wrong. To be fair, you were in the same boat. You had agreed to go to the North to get the children back. There wasn't anything else after that. "This... this seems like a whole new thing, which requires, if I'm honest, new contacts and new payments..."

"She will need you, Lee. Both of you." Serafina looks at you.

"You know, a man should have a choice whether to take up arms or not."

"And you need her." Serafina smiles at him.

"That's now how I expected this conversation to go."

"Is it not?"

"No, I was hoping you would find a way of chucking me some danger money. Instead, you blindsided me with... with love." He glances down at Lyra, but oh how we wanted to show that it wasn't Lyra who held all his affection.

Serafina glanced behind him to where you were standing. There was an expression on your face that she could read so clearly. There was disappointment in yours eyes. From your perspective it was because of what he had said about his contract, that this is more than he had signed up for initially. From Serafina's perspective, it was because of what he had just said. It was as clear as day that you held affections for him too. She hoped he would come to tell you. This had deeper roots than he was letting on and it would bloom into something wonderful if he just allowed it to.

She smiled. Serafina leaned in.

"Good."

She knew what he would choose if given the opportunity.

"The polar star will guide you to Asriel." She looks over her shoulder and out into the distance. You follow her gaze. "The wind is strong. You're a capable navigator."

"So it's me. She's responsible for the fate of everything, and I'm responsible... for her?"

"The world is in your hands, Mr Scoresby... and I am delighted it is."

Serafina flies off into the night.

Lee watches her go.

You remain in the spot you had been in for this entire conversation, watching the sky, rather than Lee.

"Impressive." Hester comments.

"Yep."

"And they want you on their team?!"

"Shut up, Hester."

He turns back around slowly and sees you standing there quietly. His heart aches. That expression on your face doesn't belong there. He doesn't like it.

"What is it?" He comes closer, grasping your arms gently.

"You're not going to abandon her... right?" You ask quietly, nodding down at Lyra.

"I don't have many options." He sighs.

You cast your gaze off to the side.

"What is it?" His voice is soft. He's beginning to hate that sad look in your eyes.

"Do it because you want to. Because you care.... not because you'll get paid at the end of it." You removed your arms from his hold and stepped back, seeking a spot closer to Iorek to sit down.

Lee gazes at you.

You sounded convinced he wouldn't see this through, that he would leave the next chance he got. He had done his bit.

No. He can't have that.

"Your chances are running out." Hester hisses quietly. "Don't disappoint her. Please don't."

Lee watched as Oliver came to your side and nestled under your arm. You leaned back and closed your eyes. Your heart feeling heavy in your chest. Lee's was aching to make this right.

He almost had you.

Almost.

Disappointing you wasn't an option. He had to make things right. For Lyra.... and for you.

Tags:

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[iamnotoriginalphil]

Family Matters (Zelda Spellman x Reader) - Part 27

Synopsis: It’s time for you to put your plan into action.

Words: 1115

Warnings: biting

AN: I guess this system works. Mostly. Hopefully I’ll have my laptop back by the end of the week. If youi’d like to be tagged in future chapters, let me know.

You shifted your weight from foot to foot, looking around the familiar clearing. The moon was new, no light able to penetrate through the leaves. You were left in darkness, your eyes barley adjusted to see the shadowed outlines of trees. Bella, with her enhanced eyesight, would have no problem seeing in these conditions but you felt off balanced, your human vulnerabilities never more stark than in this moment. 

Zelda was hiding out in the in the trees surrounding you, keeping herself out of sight for whenever Bella chose to show up. It was comforting knowing she was so close at hand should you need help, but her physical body was still back in the house. You could feel confident nothing would be happening to her tonight.

Bella, as always, was late. You knew she loved to make an entrance, having all attention on her. You also thought she might like making you wait, showing that even when you were so far from her she still held all the power in the relationship. She could have you waiting for hours to keep her happy. 

“Mi amour, it is good to see you.”

You snapped your head around, trying to locate the beautiful vampire in the dark. Cold arms wrapped around your waist, a nose pressed to your neck. You froze, letting her take a deep breath in. She’d always liked taking in your scent, as if that would reveal any secrets you might have to her. She hummed, pressing her lips to your pulse point.

“I have missed you, mi amour. Have you missed me?”

“Of course,” you replied, your voice weak. 

“Have you been doing everything I have asked?” she questioned.

“Of course. Zelda will be exactly where you want her when you want her,” you replied.

“And she isn’t asking you to go on another unexpected trip to the Academy?” she asked.

“No.”

“Not that you’d know,” she laughed.

“I suppose not.”

You gave a weak smile. She turned you around, tangling her fingers in your hair, turning your face up towards her. You bit your lower lip, worried about her noticing what was going on behind your eyes. She gave you a predatory smile.

“You smell like her,” she said.

“I have been spending time with her as you instructed,” you replied.

“I don’t like her scent being all over you,” she said.

“In a few days it never has to be again.”

“Or I can get rid of it now.”

Her lips crashed into yours, possessive and intense. You turned pliable under her touch, not wanting to resist her for the sake of the plan, but not wanting to encourage her. If she dragged you to the floor to have her way with you then you’d have to push her away. She tugged on your hair, angling your head to kiss you deeper. 

“I have missed that, mi amour,” she said, letting you go.

“I have too,” you sighed.

She ran her thumb over your cheekbone, looking deep into your eyes. You lowered your eyes, hoping it would come off as embarrassment and modesty, rather than avoidance. She chuckled, brushing your hair over your shoulder, exposing your neck to her once again. 

“When Zelda is in my clutches, we shall have plenty of time to reacquaint ourselves with one another’s bodies,” she said. You flushed.

“I would like that,” you replied.

She took your hand, gently settling you on the tree trunk you’d sat at so many times before. You looked up at her, watching her step back from you. She turned her head up to the sky, taking a deep breath in.

“Can you smell it, mi amour?” she asked.

“Smell what?”

“The rot that is surrounding us,” she said, “the woods around us are decaying while we sit here, waiting for the minutes to tick by until we can be together again. There is death surrounding us.”

“I suppose,” you replied, unsure where she was going with any of this. You watched her pace backwards and forwards. All you needed was for her to move back a couple of steps and Zelda would be able to bind her.

“It’s fabulous.” She bared her teeth at you.

“The death is?” you asked.

“When the right death is occurring, it is.”

You felt something in your stomach curdle. You didn’t like the cadence in her voice, the way her voice seemed to stroke over the word death. Her tongue ran over her teeth, reminding you of the power she dealt in. She could tear your throat out with little more effort than taking a leisurely stroll. 

“And the woods are the right death?” you asked.

“Everything Zelda loves is the right death.”

Before you could blink she was behind you, one hand gripping your chin in a hold so tight it hurt, the other pressing against your stomach to keep your back tight against her body. You whimpered, surprised, not sure what to do. It had been so long since she’d been physically threatening with you.

“You wouldn’t know anything about that, would you mi amour?” she hissed in your ear.

“Of course not,” you squeaked.

“Are you sure about that? You know how I feel about liars.”

“I know what you know,” you whimpered.

“I’m beginning to think that is not true.”

Her fingers tightened on your chin, her nails digging into your skin. She pressed her lips to your pulse point, nipping at the skin with her teeth. You took a shuddering breath, sure she could smell the fear rolling off you. 

“The only reason you’d be covered in Zelda’s scent was if there was something more going on,” she said, “no one smells that strongly of another person unless they spent a lot of time together in close quarters.”

“I live in the house with her,” you squeaked. 

“That is not what I meant, mi amour, and you know it.”

She lifted you front the tree stump, keeping you pressed against her. Her arm was like an iron band around your torso, keeping your arms pinned to your sides. You whimpered, hoping that Zelda was watching, hoping she was working towards getting you out of this position. Your eyes were desperately searching the shadows for her.

“I think you and I need some privacy,” she hissed.

“This is private.” The desperation in your voice was palpable.

“Not with Zelda lurking in the shadows.”

Before you could say anything else she began to mutter under her breath, the witches blood that had once filled her veins enough to leave her with enough magic for the occasional spell. She sunk her teeth into your neck as the world turned black. 

Tags: @theenglishwizard@eyesofanangeltongueofadevil@hallospaceboyy @alexusonfire@justkeepbreathingnow@ghostsunderstoodmysoul @witching-imagines @praisezeldaspellman@escapetodreamworld @panicnymph@anxiousgoldengirl@theprassebox @witchessticktogether @vintageolives @plooffairy@whos-to-know @spicyrice20@fallenangelmuse @step-intoyour-power @basicwitchtm@lovelyleafylesbian @saucy-sapphic

[null-whump]

I am done being depressed and I am here with

Content

Takes place not not long after this

Warnings: Dehumanization, knives/cutting, fantasy racism (?)

Word Count: 1,228

––––––––––––––

Everyone is afraid of something. One of the only continuities in the world is fear – big or small, no one is free from it. Every human that I have served has been afraid of something, without fail. I never really considered it much until now, when Varren became the biggest source of fear in my life. I never considered that Varren, the man who I saw as more of a monster than human, was afraid of anything.

I hadn’t been sleeping well ever since he summoned me. Sometimes I would wake up in the middle of the night, shaking from an overwhelming sense of fear that refused to be abated. I decided that it must be the effects of prolonged trauma, or maybe it came from living in such close proximity to a man who had been cursed by a demon. I took me a while to realize that it wasn’t my fear that was keeping me up at night. Varren was the one who was afraid.

When I was bonded with Sam, it was sometimes difficult to tell my emotions apart from hers. We were in harmony so often that her emotions were like an extension of mine; I was happy when she was happy, I was sad with her. When Varren forced a bond between us, our minds were in constant contrast, and I could easily, painfully, feel his emotions apart from mine. The one emotion I never thought I would feel from him was fear, especially not this strong.

I couldn’t help but wonder what could cause such a powerful witch to be so utterly terrified. I had a few guesses, none of them pleasant. But I didn’t dare ask him about it; I didn’t want him to ever know that I was aware. There was one thing I knew about men like Varren; they hated to be seen as weak.

One particular night I found sleep to be nearly impossible. I was plagued by the overwhelming fear nearly the entire night, jolting me out of what little rest I could manage. It should have come to no surprise when, the next morning, Varren was even less agreeable than usual.

He greeted me with a harsh kick in the ribs and a snarled “Get up.” I scrambled to my feet and followed him without a word, taking note that his shoulder length black hair wasn’t tied back like usual, and of the dark circles under his eyes. I realized quickly that Varren wasn’t walking towards his study, but towards the cold, unfurnished room that he reserved for his prisoners – or me after a bout of disobedience. I must have let my hesitation show, because Varren seized my arm and pulled me the rest of the way, before pulling open the door and shoving me inside. I landed harshly on my knees, catching myself with my hands.

“Do you know what you are, boy?”

I flinched at his voice, normally calm and collected, so full of anger now. I scrambled for an answer, but Varren spoke again before I could even begin to form a response.

“You, and all of your kind,” he hissed, “are nothing. Nothing but animals, whose only use is to serve us.” He was pacing, walking around me as I sat frozen on the floor. “But none of you comprehend that,” he continued, his pace picking up. “You come over here, to our home, and flaunt your very existence – you laugh at our world, our wars, our societies, because you know that none of it will affect you.” Varren stopped, breathing heavily. After a moment of silence, he spoke again. “You should be afraid of us.” He looked down at me for the first time. “It’s not as funny when you aren’t in charge, is it?”

I didn’t dare to even blink, Varren’s cold blue eyes holding me in place as well as any chains. I didn’t want to speak, but my mouth moved almost against my will. “Why,” I whispered. “Why…do you hate us so much?”

Varren’s glare hardened. “Last I checked, animals don’t speak without permission. Or did that rule change?”

I clamped my mouth shut and dropped my gaze to the floor. The silence stretched longer before Varren spoke again.

“Tell me; who do you belong to?”

My breath caught in my throat. The answer was easy, but I hated it. I forced my gaze to meet his. “You…sir.”

He didn’t smile, but I could feel his satisfaction. “And what are you, boy?”

I clenched my right hand, feeling my fingers dig into the brand on my palm. “I’m – an animal,” I managed. “Sir.”

Varren crouched down so that he was on eye level with me. “That’s right,” he said. “So what is your purpose?”

“To – to serve you, sir.”

“Good.” He reached his hand into his robes and pulled out a knife. “Take off your shirt.”

I tried to keep from trembling as I obeyed, my eyes locked onto the blade. He pushed me down onto my back, and I stared at the stone ceiling above me, and tried not to think about how much this was going to hurt.

I saw the flash of the knife out of the corner of my eye before it dug into my shoulder, then the blade cut a line of fire down my arm. I clenched my jaw, unable to hold back a whimper as the blade left my skin. Another flash of reflected light and the knife was back, this time across my chest, just below my collarbone. I tried to steady my breathing, not wanting to cut myself any deeper. The pain was bad, but I had felt worse.

The knife moved lower, down to my ribs, and I had to bite my lip to keep from crying out. Varren was methodical, drawing the blade across my skin with unbearably slow precision. He never spoke, but I could feel the enjoyment he was getting from this. He continued, and I didn’t try to keep track of how many times the knife was dragged across my skin. By the time he pulled the knife away for the last time, my breathing was coming in pained gasps and my head felt light from bloodless. Through the haze of pain, I felt Varren’s hand, glowing with magical energy move over the wounds. Just enough to stop the bleeding. Just enough to keep me from dying.

Varren stood, putting away the knife. “Get dressed and get up.”

I pushed myself off the ground, gasping at both the pain and the dizziness that swept over me. I somehow managed to pull my shirt on, wincing as the coarse material rubbed against the numerous cuts. Standing up was agony in itself, but Varren’s presence was enough to help me find the strength. I stumbled once on my feet, and inhaled sharply at the jolt of pain it caused.

Varren held up a finger and beckoned me closer. I forced my feet to take me the few steps needed. When I was as close as he wanted, Varren brought his hand up and struck me across the face. I barely kept my feet, so caught off guard by the unexpected pain.

“That,” Varren said softly, menacingly. “Was for when you spoke out of turn.” He turned, and I knew I was expected to follow.

––––––––––––––––––––––––

Tag list! Let me know if you want to be added or removed, or if I somehow missed your name.

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[xyliane]

the many lies of kanzaki hitomi to her long-suffering best friend uchida yukari (pt 2)

summary: when hitomi said “destination wedding,” yukari was picturing a quaint beach, or a big european city that van would hate. teleporting to a magical second moon was not really what she expected. (part 1 here)

notes: I didn’t intend on writing more of this, but I didn’t write enough van/hitomi in the first part so I guess I have to actually write out the destination wedding fic. which I haven’t even gotten to yet, so there’s that. thanks @wuzzyletoastermac for putting up with me yelling about gaean dialects and architectural influences via magic rock transportation because guess who made yukari an architect on a whim and is going to follow through on it dammit. G, yukari and hitomi friendship, van/hitomi, also featuring merle, ruhm, and hitomi’s family. 2100 words.

---

The first wedding is a June ceremony in Japan, which gives Yukari just enough time to panic over her hostess duties, get everything organized, and panic again when Hitomi nearly doesn’t come back from Greece—from Gaea—in time and lands on the roof of Yukari’s apartment building with barely an hour to spare. Something about ongoing restoration projects and traumatized children growing into traumatized adults and long bygone wars. To be honest, Yukari barely listened, too busy moving through her checklist at record speed. Later, once everything’s moving, Van’s little sister Merle is only too happy to explain in halting Japanese that it’s mostly Hitomi’s fault. Yukari decides she likes the young woman immediately, so quickly that she nearly misses that Merle is, in fact, a cat. It’s a beautiful day at the shrine, the wedding itself is heartbreakingly lovely, the reception runs impeccably smooth, and Yukari only cries twice during her speech.

Hitomi promises that the wedding in Fanelia, on Gaea, on the bloody Moon, won’t be nearly as much work. Given the relatively quiet wedding the Kanzakis have thrown and Van’s own stoic reticence, she assumes it’ll be more of the same: pretty, peaceful, Yukari will cry multiple times. All Yukari has to do is show up with the other Kanzakis. And, as the months between weddings wear on, Yukari realizes just how much and how little she knows about her best friend. She’s still the same Kanzaki Hitomi, still the same kind-hearted woman equally likely to sprint across a city to help a friend as she is to be late to her own wedding. But she also travels to another planet on weekends and helps rebuild a war-torn land, was there during a war and still wants to return over and over again.

Merle, utterly delighted by Van’s corner of Hitomi’s closet, mentions that Hitomi has a similar closet of dresses in Fanelia that she struggles to remember to wear, and finally someone understands Yukari’s unending suffering.

The second wedding, however, isn’t until winter. Hitomi is only just able to get multiple weeks off after taking on an extra month of shifts, a problem Yukari does not have. Being her own boss is spectacular. But Hitomi is asking everyone going on a journey to the Moon to meet in the center of an empty lot outside of town just before twilight on one of the first truly cold days of winter, and Yukari is currently reconsidering everything that led her to this point.

And then Van descends from the sky in a pillar of light, his wild black hair bound in a tight braid and his loose clothing whipping around him in a gust of wind, and well that explains a lot.

“You have to want to go,” Hitomi explains for the fifth time as she clasps their hands together, the cold metal of her engagement ring burning against Yukari’s bare skin. Next to them, Van is greeting his mother- and brother-in-law, matching Sota’s incredulous expression with a beleaguered sigh. “Really, really want it.”

“I know, Hitomi.” Yukari wants to go, so much that she aches with it. How could she not? For Hitomi, of course, and maybe a little bit for Van. But mostly, Yukari wants to understand what about this other world, a land both beautiful and sad, could possibly draw Hitomi back. Because yes, Hitomi is a romantic, but she also has a deeply practical streak. If she didn’t think this long-distance relationship (long, long, long distance) would work, she would figure out a way to let him down easy, taking all the pain of the break into herself rather than letting anyone else suffer. If she didn’t love Gaea as much as she seems to, she wouldn’t have run herself ragged learning how to fix it with all the tools she has at hand. Wouldn’t have decided to become who she is for anything less than a whole world.

“I do want to go, I promise,” Yukari says with all her heart.

Warmth bubbles up in the spaces between her fingers and Hitomi’s, building and building like a spring breeze until a bright smile spreads across Yukari’s face. And her best friend grins, wide and wondrous with joy.

“Hold on,” Hitomi says, and grabs onto her husband’s shoulder with her free hand. He smiles, a rare genuine brilliance that feels almost too private to be seen by anyone else, and pulls a beautiful pink stone pendant out from beneath his shirt. It’s familiar, too familiar, and not because it is the same color as Hitomi’s engagement ring and certainly not because both stones have begun to glow.

Yukari has about half a moment’s realization that Van is wearing Hitomi’s old necklace before a bright beam of light erupts from beneath her feet, and then the world is gone.

—only to return barely a breath later. It happens so suddenly that Yukari loses her grip on Hitomi, tumbling ass over teakettle to land in a field of soft grass. The sky stretches out impossibly far above her, painted in splashes of reds and purples and the deepest blue Yukari has ever seen disappearing into snow-capped mountains growing up from the earth in shattered peaks. Even in the twilight with the sun hovering just above the horizon, a pair of moons is hung in the sky, consuming the sky and almost close enough that Yukari can hold them in her hands if only she could reach.

Oh, that’s no moon. That’s the Earth.

Well.

As though sensing her rising vertigo, Hitomi leans over her, short brown hair fairly glowing in the fading sunlight and her grin wide. But her green eyes are far too gentle, like she can read exactly what’s going through Yukari’s mind and she understands. “It’s really something, right?” she says.

It brings Yukari back from the sky. She lets Hitomi haul her back to her feet, patting down her slacks and coat into something presentable, although her hair is probably a lost cause. She tries anyways, especially as a small group of riders on horseback arrive up a well-worn path. The first horse pulls up suddenly, and a fuzzball in the shape of a woman hurls herself right into Van’s arms and nearly knocking him over.

“Van anax!” Merle says with delight, her voice a familiar grounding point against the unexpected strangeness of everything even as Yukari can’t understand a word she’s saying. The others laugh, clearly used to this, and Hitomi slides over to pet Merle between her ears, earning her a baleful glare from the cat woman and a coughing laugh out of Van.

Mrs. Kanzaki watches the proceedings with a smile not unlike that of her daughter’s. “Those are beautiful animals, don’t you think?” she says, walking gracefully over to the horses. The riders have dismounted, a tall wolfish man with a wide flat nose and large brown eyes nodding deeply at the two women. He says something in the same language Merle is chatting away in, syllables rising and falling musically around hard consonants.

“I’m sorry, I don’t—” Yukari says, and the wolf man smiles apologetically.

“Ruhm,” he says, and points to himself. “Onoma soi te astin?”

Yukari has spent far, far too much time abroad. The introduction pantomime is recognizable anywhere.“Yukari,” she says, hand to her own chest, and gestures back to the absolutely terrible hostess of her best friend. “Hitomi’s friend?”

Ruhm blinks, and dips his head a little deeper. He says something else completely unintelligible, and Yukari tries to not feel too put out. He seems really nice and all, but Yukari’s spent enough time abroad to know when to give up on pantomiming and go for help.

Fortunately, so does Hitomi’s family. “Oi, Hitomi?” Sota says, voice loud and edged with the bratty annoyance of a younger sibling. “Translation?”

She sticks her tongue out, and he gestures right back. Mrs. Kanzaki sighs, and it sounds almost like an exasperated children. But Hitomi comes over anyways, Van following in her wake. Ruhm bows deeper to both of them. “O basileos,” he says with a broad smile, and Van waves a hand, saying something clearly meant to be a joke.

Van tells jokes. Will wonders never cease. Too bad Yukari won’t understand a single one.

“This is Ruhm,” Hitomi says. “He’s known Van since he was little. Merle wanted to greet us when we got here, so he and the others decided to come along and bring a cart for our stuff.”

“I didn’t want you lost again!” Merle says, accent almost like a growl. “You always are lost when you arrive in the city’s out parts.”

“Outside of the city,” Van corrects quietly, and Merle’s ears pull back into her hair. “But she is right.”

“If I remember right, Van, you were the one who dropped us all the way at the borders.”

He says something short in response, and Ruhm gives a deep belly laugh. But when Yukari looks for a translation, Hitomi simply turns a bright red.

Yukari sighs. “This is going to be a long week if you don’t translate everything that embarrasses you,” she says.

A long, hilarious week, but Yukari likes to know what’s going on around her. It helps her know what to do next, how she can make things the most efficient. Planning makes even the strangest places more understandable, or at least easier to navigate. So at least a little help would be nice. Anything that will keep her from completely losing herself to the strange moons and the sky again.

For a moment, it looks like Hitomi’s going to argue. But she studies Yukari’s face, reads her like a book, and takes a step back. “It’s okay,” she says. “I asked Merle to help you and Mom and Sota around.”

A flurry of Gaean erupts out of the woman in question, her tail flicking back and forth in irritation, and Hitomi tries to put her hands up in defense. “I mean, what I did was—catnip doesn’t exist here, and we went into this pet shop in Akihabara after the first wedding, and so…”

“You bribed her,” Van says, clearly amused.

“You gave her drugs,” Yukari says, only mildly scandalized because this is Hitomi.

“I bribed her with good drugs,” Hitomi agrees.

“So pay up!” Merle yowls in clear Japanese and pounces onto Hitomi’s back, knocking her forward. They would have fallen to the ground if Ruhm and one of the other wolf people hadn’t been in the way, propping the women up and not bothering to cover their barks of laughter.

It’s an easy ride into the city through the last dredges of sunlight, once all of their bags are loaded up onto Ruhm’s cart. Van jumps into the saddle like he was born to it, listening to the welcome party with a keen attention. At some point, he’s buckled on a black belt with a long sword, the black sheath resting at his hip like a missing puzzle piece. Hitomi doesn’t pick up any new weapons or anything, but she chats away with her mom and brother, occasionally translating something Ruhm adds, relaxed and open. Merle is curled into her side, purring away as Hitomi scritches her ears absent-mindedly. Despite the strange scenery, that there aren’t any cars and most of the people they’re with are also wolves and cats, she’s relaxed and open, comfortable in her skin.

Not that Hitomi isn’t usually, but she’s just more…more.

A whole second world. A whole other life. Other friends, loves. Something cold burns at the base of Yukari’s throat. It’s not jealousy, exactly, but…

“We’re here,” Hitomi says, and Yukari’s thoughts scatter into sparks.

The forest falls away into the mountains, and the valley spreads out in front of them in a tapestry. In the center is a city, its massive front gates wide open and framed by freshly lit torches. Two- and three-story buildings frame an open brick square, the wood and stone walls whitewashed and framed by dark banisters and gently angled tile roofs. The streets slope steadily upwards, leading to a massive castle or shrine that nestles against the sheer stone walls of the valley. If it weren’t for the narrower eaves and the great amount of stone in even the most modest homes, or how almost every building appears to have been built or renovated sometime in the last decade, Yukari would have thought she’d not traveled to another world, but to the Heian period.

She can hear her history of architecture professors laughing at her. She is a modernist, after all, she doesn’t design traditional buildings. But no, here she is trying to decipher hypothetical period architecture living right before her eyes, trying to put something in an order she understands. Because it’s breathtakingly beautiful, and impossibly strange, and Yukari wants so desperately to know.

Van catches Yukari staring and smiles, his eyes gleaming with fierce pride. “Aspadzomai, Yukari Uchida,” he says. “Welcome to Fanelia.”

(part 1)