#and so he starts sneaking out of Heaven to find some semblance of love or at least someone who doesn't dislike him

[rabbithub]

You know the line, 'to be loved is to be changed'? I think that would work for Fallen Angel!AU.

[flokali]

♢ Heavenly | Zhongli

Alternative title: Worship

Includes: Yandere, Cult/Religion, SAGAU, Weird power dynamics

Warnings: Slight-NS//FW undertones, kissing/licking (?), Reader encourages Zhongli’s behavior (implied), obsessive/possessive tones, etc.

Word count: 685 (this is literally 1/4 of what I normally post TT)

A/N: This isn’t a full piece but more like… a thought(TM) I’ve had since I started writing for the SAGAU. I’ll be releasing how I think certain character act in regards to the Cult soon! But this is a sneak peak (IG?) of how Zhongli acts in the AU! I think I might have something with kissing necks… hmmm

This was written with mature audiences in mind.

Acolyte Zhongli who adores being near you, just your presence alone is enough for him — Zhongli who’s worshiped you through all of his life, as Rex Lapis, Morax, the God of War, and the God of Contracts, and who’d continue worshiping you as long as he remained alive.

Zhongli who after years away from you, having been deprived of your touch, can’t help but need to worship you physically. Who has all of his manners, any and all semblances of self control, thrown out the window when you encourage him to live out his desires.

And who is he to deny his savior?

You smell so heavenly, he’s practically suffocating himself by pressing his face deeper into the crook of your neck but he can’t stop — if his life were to end here, with you in his arms as you allow him to pamper you with thousands of years of adoration, he’d have no complaints whatsoever.

He can’t stop himself, his body has a mind of its own as it plants kiss after kiss on the slope of your neck and your cheeks, behind your ears, on your nose, until there’s basically not a patch of skin in your body he hasn’t marked with his lips. His hands wander aimlessly around your body, as if committing it to memory — so he could carve it out on stone if he ever found himself missing your touch, maybe.

“Thank you, thank you, thank… mhgh, ah,” he moans into your skin, his lips desperately latching onto anything they could find, oh how he wanted to cry from the sheer amount of pleasure having you in his arms gave him, “you, thank you, ah… I love you, love you, thank you, my love, my world, master— ah… mmh!”

You tangle your fingers into his hair and he lets out a low moan at the contact; “Hah… I love you.”

His words were slurred, a bright pink tinted his cheeks – he didn’t care, he didn’t care if he looked pathetic, he didn’t care if in that moment he looked like some sick pervert, not when you were in his arms allowing him to sate the desires he’d kept bottled up for centuries.

He could only thank you, ravishing your body in his touch and kisses, mumbling words of undying devotion, all in hopes you’d feel his love for you.

“Please – hah, please use me as you see fit,” he groaned, the idea felt like heaven; being sent on divine duties by you, to have you praise him, to have you congratulate him, to have him in your mind – maybe you’d become like him and not be able to live without each other, “I’ll be your servant, I’ll lay my life down, I’d have Liyue burn, I’d let Teyvat crumble – if, m-mh! If you told me to do so.”

You only let out an airy laugh, amused by the sheer desperation in his voice, but Zhongli doesn’t feel offended at all. He’d be willing to become a jester if it meant it pleased you – you had a God kissing the ground you walked on.

In exchange, all he asks for are two things – you pay attention to him, let him worship you like this more often. Let him have you in his lap as he dedicates his afternoon to praying against your soft skin, maybe even… let him explore you and show you his devotion in more explicit ways. All while he shows off how precious he is to you in comparison to those peers of his, lowlifes who’s alleged love to you could never compare to his own. Letting them glare at him as you sit in his lap, allowing him to become your new throne, have them want to rip him apart but knowing they can’t touch him as long as he’s in your good graces.

But that can come later; in the meantime, why don’t you tug his hair a little more and let him kiss your pretty lips, hm? He’s still got so much love to show you.

[edelgoth]

mesmerizing (dimitri x reader)

pairing: reader x dimitri alexandre blayddid words: 1900 words genre: fluff!! request:  hi! i’d like to request an imagine pls for fe:th with dimitri. the reader is a dancer and she hides it by showing that she is a skilled fighter until she is seen by dimitri when she practices for the white heron cup since she got selected by the professor. i hope this makes sense, and thank u!! a/n: this is the cutest request in the world thanks for sending it <3 i hope you like it!! 

Nobody was supposed to know. 

You had no idea how the professor had worked it out. But there you sat in front of them, shoulders raised like hackles and fingers clenching your knees. 

“Please,” Byleth implored, expression disturbingly calm . “I’ve run through everyone -- and I mean everyone -- in the class, and you’re the best option.” 

“What about Mercedes?” You asked, refusing to look them in the eyes. 

“I’m sure she’d love to, but we both know she can be a bit...” Byleth turned their eyes to the ceiling, obviously trying to pick the right word. “Absent-minded?” 

“Felix?”

“No force in heaven or on earth could make him dance, let alone to represent the Blue Lions.” 

You bit your lip. That was true; and furthermore, the mental image of Felix dancing was... almost disturbing. Like you weren’t mentally equipped for something so powerful. 

“The thing is, we need to win.” Byleth said, sitting forward in their chair. “I’ve seen you on the battlefield. I know you’re very capable, but there’s something else to your movements --” Byleth looked up again, and you wondered how fast you’d have to be to escape this conversation from hell.

“There’s a certain grace to them,” Byleth said, finally, “if you just applied that natural talent with a few weeks training, I’m convinced we could win this damned White Heron Cup.” 

You stared at your professor. You knew your expression was a grim mask of anxiety. They stared back at you, face as unreadable as always. 

There was no way out of this, was there?

“Fine,” you sighed, slumping your shoulders. 

“Excellent!” Byleth gave you a rare smile. “I’ve spoken with Manuela; would you be able to fit some dance classes into your schedule?”

You nodded, unable to do anything else. Your fingers were digging into your knee so tightly that you thought it might bruise. 

“Don’t be nervous,” Byleth said, so nonchalant that it almost made you angry. 

You just smiled bleakly in response. 

You weren’t sure how you managed to get out of that room, but you did. Head down, fists clenched, and legs moving as fast as you could make them... 

“Ah!” You gasped, stumbling back. You’d collided with what felt like a solid wall. Looking up, you realized--

Oh no, you thought, oh no, no, no.

“I’m so sorry,” Dimitri said, voice laced with genuine remorse and surprise, “are you hurt?”

“I’m fine!” You blurted out. You cursed yourself for responding so quickly. 

“Are you sure?” Dimitri asked. His frown deepened as he looked at your face. “You look unwell. Do you need to--” 

“Honestly fine,” you breathed, trying your best to give him a convincing smile. “Just a little stressed. Classes, you know? Assessments... the ball.”

You could feel your anxiety rising at the mere thought of it. The dance competition was one thing; the ball was a whole other beast. 

“The ball?” Dimtri tilted his head at you. “Why would that be causing you such undue stress?”

You waved a hand at him, hoping it didn’t come across as frantic. You knew you were bright red in the face already. No need to make it worse. 

“It’s silly, don’t worry about it,” you said, avoiding eye contact. That in itself was nothing special; you always struggled to look him in the eye. It was just too overwhelming. 

“I’ve got to go,” you gave a poor semblance of a bow, and rushed off before he could even respond. 

Of all the people, you thought, I could have possibly run into... did it have to be him? 

The goddess was cruel, it seemed, and she delighted in your discomfort. 

Did you have a crush on Dimitri? Well, you would’ve said no, absolutely not. Your friends would’ve said otherwise. Annette had a particular fondness for teasing you about it. She’d nearly revealed it to Sylvain -- Sylvain -- one time. You’d never quite recovered. 

No, no, no, you didn’t have time to worry about all that. You had more pressing things to think about. 

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

Nothing was going according to plan. 

You’d hoped to sneak off during the day, to find a nice secluded part of the forest, and to practice until every muscle in your body hurt. It wasn’t your brightest idea, but you felt you didn’t have anywhere else to go. 

The dance lessons hadn’t been much help. You were too nervous. So nervous that you struggled to follow commands. There were just so many other people there, and having Byleth watch you intently was beyond disconcerting. You weren’t going to say that, though; that was rude. But you could tell they regretted choosing you.

It was only two days to the competition. You were horribly out of practice. What even was a pirouette? Could you do one? Sure, but was it graceful? Byleth said so, but you’d decided they were either a liar or a fool. Probably both. 

It seemed the goddess was against you. Every time you thought you could sneak away, something came up. Mercedes needed help carrying some boxes, Annette asked for help on dinner duty, Ashe needed a study buddy... It had all piled up, and you’d lost that precious, precious time. Busy as you were, sneaking off to the forest was looking less and less like an option. And there was no way you were waking up in the early hours of the morning to do so. You had some self-respect. 

Practicing in your room was proving fruitless. There wasn’t enough floor space. And if there were any more bangs and bumps, your neighbours might start asking questions. 

As far as you were concerned, you had one option. 

Was it a good idea to practice in the training room during the dead of night? No. But you weren’t going to the forest, that was for sure. 

All things considered, it wasn’t the worst place to practice. It was quite spacious, and it seemed to absorb sound quite well. Sure, the dusty floor was annoying, but it didn’t ruin the experience. It served a purpose, and honestly? You were desperate. 

And you’d been there for hours. It’d been a while since you’d really thrown yourself into dancing, and that in itself meant you had to brush up. But, you got into the rhythm of it quite quickly. The stiffness melted away, and before long, it was like you hadn’t even been out of practice. You even laid the groundwork for your performance. 

It wasn’t a full routine, but it was something. A bit like a skeleton that you had to add the muscle to. And sure, it wasn’t perfect, but you were almost proud of it. 

You were finally relaxed, your body flowing with ease as you followed the steps you’d laid out for yourself. There was something freeing about letting yourself go, to move so fluidly, stepping and spinning and -- 

Someone was standing in the doorway. 

You didn’t think about it. You dashed to the wall, grabbing a sword off the stand. Without missing a beat, you held it in front of you, ready to face your would-be assailant. 

Dimitri threw his hands up, eyes wide. 

“What are you doing here?” You hissed, lowering your sword with trembling hands. “You-- you nearly scared the life out of me.” 

“I didn’t mean to,” Dimitri said. He sounded genuinely apologetic. “I-- I couldn’t sleep.” 

You stared at him for a second. Your emotions finally began to process. 

Shit, you thought. Shit, shit, shit. 

“I, ah, I’m sorry,” Dimitri scratched the back of his neck, unable to meet your eyes. “I didn’t mean to intrude--”

“No, no,” you waved a hand at him, trying to muster the courage to look at him. “I shouldn’t have been practicing in such a public place.” You “Sorry you had to see that.” 

“Sorry?” Dimitri asked, confusion laced in his voice. You looked up at that, surprising yourself. 

“Don’t apologize,” Dimitri said, “you were... mesmerizing.” 

That’s it, you thought, this is how I die. 

“Now I should be the one apologizing,” Dimitri coughed, cheeks alarmingly red as he looked at his feet. “That was inappropriate for me to say,” he bowed to you, and you wondered if it really was possible for you to explode on the spot. Could you trick Annette into incinerating you with one swift fireball? 

Oh fuck. The realization that you’d already collosally fucked up this interaction slapped you in a face. 

“I- I- thank you,” you groaned, covering your face with your hands. “That’s what I’m supposed to say.” 

Dimitri chuckled. You paused. He chuckled. Did Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd almost laugh at you?

You peeked at him through your fingers. 

“It’s no problem,” he shook his head. “I surprised you. During the middle of the night, no less. Your reaction was perfectly understandable.”

You begged to differ, but you weren’t about to argue the point. “Sorry,” you sighed, looking down. “It’s just that... nobody’s really seen me dance before.” 

“Really?” He sounded genuinely surprised. “But you do it so wonderfully.”

If this boy gives me one more compliment, you thought, I’m going to throw myself in the lake and never be seen again. 

“The professor chose me to represent the Blue Lions for the White Heron Cup, so I’ve been trying to sneak in some practice,” you admitted. “I thought this location would be safe.”

“I’m sorry for intruding on your sanctuary,” Dimitri chuckled again. You were growing to like the sound. 

You shook your head, still not looking at him. “I should’ve expected someone would turn up.” 

You stopped yourself before you could say ‘and I wish it hadn’t been you’. There was no way to explain that statement. 

“Well, I’m glad I did.”

Your head shot up at that. What did he just say? As your eyes caught his, his cheeks bloomed red. 

“I, ah...” Dimitri cleared his throat, rubbing the back of his neck, “sorry, that was also... irresponsible of me to say.” 

“It’s fine,” you waved a hand at him, unsure of what to say to any of this. All things considered, you were quite proud of yourself for staying on your feet. 

“If it is alright with you, would I be able to... stay?” He asked, the faintest tint of pink on his cheeks. He wasn’t looking at you, fixing his gaze on one of the weapon stands in the corner of the room. You realised that you’d seen him blush more in this one exchange than you had all year. 

“And watch?” You said. You are a colossal idiot, you thought to yourself, if you die here, you have no one to blame but yourself. 

Dimitri chuckled. “I suppose. But only if you were comfortable with it.” 

You thought about it for a long moment. “Okay,” you nodded, ignoring the light, fuzzy feeling in your chest. “Just-- don’t mention this to anyone, okay? Not until the White Heron Cup.”

“I promise,” Dimitri smiled, giving you a small bow. 

“Don’t do that,” you groaned, shaking your head. 

“It seems I have a lot to apologize for tonight,” he chuckled, raising to full height. “I will stop bothering you, at least.” 

He walked to the corner of the room and sat down, offering you what seemed to be an encouraging smile. 

Well, you thought, maybe this isn’t the worst audience to perform for. 

[theonceoverthinker]

Comfortable (Fair Game)

Summary: Things worked out in Atlas and Mantle, better than anyone could have reasonably expected them to. Who’d have thought? Now, the extended group sets out after saving one day to save the next one and the one after that. And with a moment’s peace in between those days, Qrow and Clover finally let themselves get comfortable. 

AO3        Fanfiction.net

A/N: So like the summary warns (While a background element of the fic itself), this fic is almost certainly an AU for the 0% likelihood that everything is going to work out perfectly in the Atlas/Mantle arc -- the communication tower will be back up, everyone will be warned about Salem and then protected, and then everyone will then go to inform the rest of the world.

Tagging @merilinlokk and @lady-branwen!

Seriously, this thing is so sappy. I can't believe it. I am grossed out by this abomination of cuteness! 

Enjoy.

()()()()()()()()()()()()

Atlas has a gorgeous line of aircrafts. Aircrafts are behemoths of steel most every other place in Remnant, but in Atlas, where they are an indispensable part of life, something about them is simply different from those in the regions below. Perhaps it’s a reflection of Atlas’ gilded lives -- or at least formerly gilded lives.

Things are changing. So many things have changed already. Atlas and Mantle exist under new leadership, and now are readying themselves to aid in the fight against Salem. The communication’s tower is up and running. There’s a new Winter Maiden.

And now, just as life changes, their extended group must change as well. There are other regions to visit, to warn about Salem, and to assist in facing off against the Grimm that will haunt them in the wake of that knowledge. Much assistance will be required -- enough to warrant the strongest assets of the Atlesian military to join the extended fight beyond Atlas’ borders.

Despite their higher spirits, everyone’s a little mixed at the idea of leaving Atlas. For the Ace Ops, Atlas is not just a workplace...it’s home. For the kids, it was somewhere stable. Clover can only imagine how much they’ve missed having someplace like that to stay. From what Qrow tells him, constant travel has been something of a norm for them since they faced the Fall of Beacon.

But at least this time, their accommodations are more comfortable. The plane they’re taking is about as nice as Atlesian arcrafts come. It’s no four-star hotel, but it’s close. 

Clover’s happy to see that the kids seem content with the accommodations as they board it. 

He’s also happy to see his team content with the accommodations as they board it.

But mostly, so strongly to him that it’s almost embarrassing, he’s happy to see Qrow content with the accommodations as he boards it.

Clover makes sure he’s right by Qrow’s side to get his reaction up close, and Qrow’s smile -- as always -- does not disappoint. It’s as warm as a fireplace after a snowstorm and more beautiful than a hyacinth in bloom.

And fortunately for Clover, he’s been seeing it more and more frequently over the past few months they’ve spent together.

Clover’s always known he’s been blessed with a personality that could win just about anyone over, but experiencing Qrow warming up to him, opening up to him, enjoying his presence and their partnership...it’s been something so different than he ever expected.

He’s unashamed to admit that he loves it with all that he is.

They board the plane together, and Clover gestures to Qrow two unoccupied seats towards the center of the plane.

There’s been no secret made about the length of this flight. The trip from here to Vacuo is sixteen hours.

That’s sixteen hours they’ll be side-by-side, and while this plane is luxurious, that luxury comes at the cost of seats. There’s just barely enough for all of them, and the plane’s available seats are filling up fast. 

Committing to a spot now means committing to spending a whole day by the side of whoever one ended up next to.

Clover knows Qrow knows this.

And he still chose to sit next to Clover without an ounce of hesitation.

A smile crosses Clover’s face, and he’s undeniably thrilled.

However, there’s more to it than that, and funnily enough, that more would seem like less to the naked eye -- comfort.

Comfort, yes. That just about describes everything about them, and it might just be the part of this thing they have that Clover loves more than anything else.

While the armrest between them offers a generous amount of space, his and Qrow’s shoulders touch as they get settled into their seats. Still, neither of them blush, nor look away. No, the touch is casual -- it’s comfortable.

‘Comfortable’ -- oh, how Clover’s grown to love that word. 

As the plane takes off, Clover relaxes at the thought of the next sixteen comfortable hours they’ll share together.

()()()()()()()()()()

In the unlikely event Qrow was ever forced to spend the rest of his days aboard an airplane -- not exactly his ideal retirement plan, mind you, but at least it doesn’t involve being digested by a Grimm -- he can think of a lot worse people to choose to sit next to for all of those remaining years than Clover Ebi.

So when the prospect of a mere sixteen hour flight by his side approaches them, Qrow has no qualms accepting the invitation. 

As a matter of fact, a qualm is just about the last thing Qrow Branwen has with anything having to do with Clover Ebi.

Clover is comfortable -- yes, ‘comfortable’ is the best word to describe him. For as serious as he is when it comes to his job, he is also as carefree as Harbinger is sharp. A lesser mind would attribute that quality to his semblance and the cockiness that it may cause, but Qrow takes pride in being the exact opposite of a lesser mind. He knows that carefreeness Clover has is more than just the result of luck -- it’s who Clover is -- plain and simple. Qrow sees it in Clover’s eyes, his brow, and his smile, a smile that isn’t innocent, but informed, yet still optimistic, and that makes its successes that much more interesting to witness.

Qrow spends a lot of time looking at that smile, and even more time thinking about it. 

And now, he has that smile all to himself for sixteen hours.

Not to mention, if there’s one thing Atlas can be counted on, it’s that it has amazing planes. Their seats feel like they’re made of the very clouds they’re flying through, the craft is fully stocked with seemingly every snack under the sun as well as a nice variety of sodas, and they have screens to project their scrolls onto for a handsfree experience.

So not only will he have access to Clover’s smile, he and Clover will also be given plenty of good reasons TO smile.

It’s going to be a great flight.

()()()()()()()()()()

Clover swears that at some point, the plane flew up beyond the limits of the very sky itself and is now gliding straight across heaven.

Sure, that theory is rather hyperbolic, but with how nice of a time he’s having, he wouldn’t be surprised if it proved to be the case.

Rays of light amber shine inside the plane. Qrow, while not directly in its way, is bathed in it all the same. 

The sun makes everything about him pop -- as if he didn’t already do that well enough on his own. His smile is so much brighter, the speckles in his eyes are clearer, and his teeth almost sparkle in the light. Even the crumbs from the pretzels he ate earlier are illuminated, and Clover -- ever the neat freak his team well knows him to be -- finds too endearing for words.

The setting sun gives Clover little time to take it in, so he does fully under the guise of simple conversation.

He can be quite the clever devil when he wants to be.

That would probably be a bad thing if he didn’t care for the topic, but he does. Clover considers himself a caring guy, but Qrow manages to make even the most seemingly boring, annoying, or weird topics come alive. While Clover’s not at all into video games, if Qrow’s talking about them, suddenly, he doesn’t mind thinking about them for a half hour or so.

The past few hours have passed in a relaxed state of bliss. Conversations tend to flow between them as naturally as a river, and the long flight together hasn’t changed that. There’s plenty of moments of silence too, or just moments that pass where they do things on their own, but it never feels out of place. It’s just them...being who they are. 

Clover likes who they are.

It’s not long before the sun completely sets. The dark sky is contrasted by the warm lights from within the plane, and it feels as if they’re safely put in a nice, cozy cabin on a harsh winter’s night.

However, before long, that changes too.

Their arrival in Vacuo will be early. Everyone aboard the craft knows that, and as yawns start to surface after their early wake up to prepare for their initial departure, it starts to sink in that calling it a night sooner rather than later is in all of their best interests.

Clover can already see people settling in for some sleep. He gets a peek at his teammates, and he can just barely hold back a chuckle. 

Harriet’s lounging in her seat with her left arm spread out over the armrest and her eyes shut, with Vine holed up in the corner beside the window and his seatmate, halfway to slumber town himself. Marrow meanwhile has contorted himself so that his tail is curving over his body while Elm pushes his back against her own as to sleep more cozily.

Of all the descriptors Clover as ever used or considered using in regards to his team, the term ‘adorable’ has never once come to mind. However, those brief glances at his fellow fighters changes that perspective in an instant.

He has a sneaking suspicion that a certain group of kids from Beacon have a hand to play in the change. 

Honestly, the Ace Ops as a whole have become so much closer over the weeks that unorthodox group has been in their presence.

Those kids...and Qrow...who knew they would be what the world needed the most right about now?

And more importantly, who knows what they’ll do next? Clover believes that whatever it is will be something good, and he’s happy to be along for the ride.

Well, whatever the case, he does agree nonetheless that it’s just about time to turn it in for the night.

()()()()()()()()()()

Sixteen hours never seemed too big of a number for Qrow, and passing that time with Clover has made it seem even more paltry than that. 

Things are always easy like that for Qrow and Clover -- at least when they’re together, that is. Clover has this aura about him -- not a luck-based aura, but...a different kind of aura, separate from the pressures of semblances and more of a resemblance of his core personality. That aura makes the air feel just a bit sweeter and the urge to keep his guard up seem so much more distant than it should be.

Being around Clover...it makes Qrow just feel safe.

He knows it’s unwise. After all, they have a relic in their possession. It’s just a matter of time until a flying Grimm attacks them, or Hazel will show up on a hot air balloon or something or both at the same time, ready, willing, and able to blow them out of the sky.

Well, at least Tyrian’s not among their enemies’ numbers anymore.

Still, despite the danger that lurks behind each and every one of Remnant’s four corners, Clover’s sheer presence somehow wills his relaxation into existence. It’s nice having someone around like that, and it’s even nicer that that person is Clover.

Qrow’s never been much of a talker -- in truth, he’s not even that much of a talker with Clover -- but Clover and he are able to ebb and flow through the balance of conversation and alone time with such ease. There always seems to be something new for the two of them to discuss, and at the same time, they can exchange a comfortable silence with not a single bit of awkwardness, and no time has made that more apparent than today. 

Most of the conversation’s been surrounding Vacuo. Qrow wants Clover to know what he’s in for once they hit the harsh sands below it. Clover seems so assured that he can handle the rough climate, but he’s never been there before. Nonetheless, Clover’s confidence -- as it is often one to do -- leaves Qrow believing he can weather whatever Vacuo has in store for him.

...That said, is it bad that Qrow also wants to see the look on Clover’s face when he realizes they need to regularly traverse the desert on foot?

Probably, but he’d be lying if he said it wasn’t a hilarious mental image to have dance around in his head.

Still, even if he has a hard time at first, Qrow knows Clover will get it in no time. 

And he looks forward to that smile of triumph when even the cruelest of wastelands falls prey to Clover Ebi’s relentless optimism.

The shattered moon is the only light the outside world provides them that remains in the wake of the deceased day. And just like that very outside world, it’s not long after the sun abandons it that the occupants of their aircraft abandon their overhead lights.

It makes sense. After all, they’re supposed to be landing early tomorrow, and they left Atlas Academy pretty early this morning just to make their flight. Everyone could use a little shut eye.

Some arrive sooner to that proverbial party than others.

Qrow hears Ruby and Nora snoring from both the front and back of the aircraft, respectively. 

He’s traveled with them for months, but it never ceases to amaze him just how loudly those two brats in particular seem to -- not even just sleep, but just do...everything.

Other snores -- less loud than his niece and her friend’s -- speckle the night with bits of sound, as the plane lets itself darken. 

He and Clover lock eyes just before turning to see their comrades as they fall to the lull of sleep. 

Diagonal from their seats, they spot something that almost makes Qrow’s heart skip a beat.

‘Cute’ really isn’t Qrow’s scene. He may hang around with people considered to be cute by both others and admittedly himself, but Qrow doesn’t go looking for cute things, nor pay them any more attention than anything else that only mildly interests him with few exceptions.

But seeing Yang and Blake, cuddling up against each other with a shared blanket that continues melding forms that are already bound by touched foreheads, yeah, that’s cute. 

Nah, not cute. Downright ‘precious’ would be the better way to describe the sight before him. 

Clover seems to think so too. He can feel the tension in Clover’s forearm release from up against him, but also not pull back.

Qrow can’t even blame him. He’s halfway tempted to take a picture and send it to Ruby because he knows she’d kill him if she found out he held something like this back from her.

But he doesn’t. This is Yang and Blake’s moment, not theirs, even if it is cute.

They’re good kids. They deserve some happiness like that.

He and Clover take a final look at the lovebirds before turning back to each other, softly smiling. 

Clover hums his agreement to their silent conversation in a relaxed, yet still jovial tone. 

Then...Clover does something unexpected. He leans down briefly, rifling around the bottom of his seat. Moments later, he surfaces, but with a dark blue plush, cylindrical bundle in his hands. The name of the aircraft is embroidered onto the cloth exterior. 

Well, it wouldn’t be an airplane ride without a complimentary blanket, now would it?

Clover pops open a button and holds the blanket between them, his offer obvious despite that offer being given no voice.

There’s a hidden implication to the gesture, especially given what they just saw between his niece and Blake.

A sudden case of convenient amnesia overtakes Qrow -- or rather, Qrow takes on -- regarding the fact that he has also been provided with his own blanket, one that rests right beside where Clover found his, and that he’d be able to access just as easily as Clover was.

Oops. How silly of him.

Qrow, with a shrug and a chuckle nods his acceptance. 

Without a word needing to be exchanged between them, Clover and Qrow spread the blanket over themselves and get comfortable. 

Clover positively radiates warmth. It would make for a sweltering scenario if the shared body heat was balmy rather than cozy.

Qrow and Clover are sharing a blanket.

No, Qrow is not completely beside himself with a delight he never thought it was possible for him to house.

...That’s the veneer he aims to put on, at least.

In truth though, for as happy as he is with the arrangement, it’s not enough to hitch his breath, nor make his heartbeat race. Things may have been like that at some point between them, but right now, Qrow can’t remember -- he doesn’t want to.

What they have now, it’s comfortable -- literally, at this second, just as much as it is figuratively -- and Qrow wouldn’t trade it for the world.

As the final minutes of their day slink by, they watch something on each of their TV’s. Still, Qrow isn’t paying attention to anything except how nice this all feels and just how alluring the prospect of a nap is right now. He suspects Clover feels the same. Their eyelids begin to grow heavy, and that weight only gets increases more and more by the second. Hardly ten minutes pass after the blanket is spread before Clover and Qrow quietly fall asleep.

()()()()()()()()()()

Yang’s uncle, whether he’ll ever admit it or not -- something Yang thinks is about as likely as Salem deciding to sprout confetti all across Remnant instead of Grimm -- is too cute for words.

She’s seen plenty of instances of his cuteness throughout her childhood -- mostly through funny faces and even funnier stories made to entertain while simultaneously distracting her and Ruby. In her adolescence, instances were less prevalent, coming out only through the occasional glimpse of awkwardness, goofiness, or unashamed bouts of affection.

But any absence of signs that she’s ever experienced in her life of her uncle Qrow’s cuteness are more than made up for by the sheer sight of Qrow cuddling underneath a blanket with Clover Ebi.

It’s an adorable sight to wake up to -- not quite as adorable as the sleeping Blake that first greets Yang’s eyes when she wakes from their nap, but still more than enough to make her smile nonetheless. 

Yang doesn’t stay awake for long. At times like this, Blake’s presence soothes her like nothing else, and the pull of sleep is a mighty one to ward off under such circumstances. However, upon prying her eyes away from Blake to stretch, she gets to see a bit of her uncle’s snuggly nap, and it does a good job holding its own in the battle of cuteness.

All is calm, but all the same, while the nightmares that Yang knows make her uncle Qrow reel in his sleep are clearly not present, Qrow’s head ends up shifting all the same, eventually leaning onto Clover’s shoulder where it at last is calmed. And Clover’s head, taken off its balance, gently sandwiches Qrow’s head into the crook of his neck. Yang sees Qrow’s left arm slip towards the bottom of the small of Clover’s back, and Clover’s hand is visible through the indent it makes, falling to Qrow’s right thigh, practically on his waist. Both sport easy smiles.

Despite the fact that there are so many fights left unresolved and so many monsters that will likely soon come for all of them, Cover and Qrow both look as though they’ve never been as safe as they are whilst held in each other’s arms.

And in the entire time Yang’s known both of them, they’ve never looked this comfortable before. 

Well, perhaps she’s wrong about that. Everything about them is comfortable from the outside looking in, and has been since the day they were first partnered up. It’s something that goes beyond their complementary semblances, too. Actually, yeah -- if Yang were to put it into words, she’d say that they just fit so...comfortably together. There’s no better way to describe them than that, but all the same, it’s the right word for them.

Yang’s not a betting girl, but she’ll say that if Qrow or Clover were each allowed to pick a single moment could be made to last forever, there’s a good chance at least one of them would pick this one.

She’s happy for them. Clover’s a good guy -- cool-headed, but cocky, spunky, but earnest, and strong willed, but not incapable of change to help the world improve. Yang likes him and as a plus, he and Qrow fight well together. 

They’re good men. They deserve some happiness like that.

And speaking of some due happiness, a slight stir from Blake settles Yang back into their prior pose, and moments later, she falls asleep again.

()()()()()()()()()()()()

Clover’s woken up in aircrafts before. 

If he had to call one thing about them his favorite, it would be the pale sunset that shine through the windows. Just like the sunset from the previous day, it creates a gorgeous glow over the plane’s occupants that makes for a wonderful way to start the day.

And with both that sunset and Qrow Branwen by his side, Clover wouldn’t be surprised if this turned out to be the best day ever.

As if he and Qrow didn’t match each other perfectly enough already, they wake up at practically the same time, too. Less than a minute after Clover eyes open, Qrow’s eyes meet his gaze. It’s so serene -- Clover feels as though he could meet it forever. 

In a move that honestly surprises Clover, Qrow doesn’t do anything to move away from him. They’re so close -- there’s no way that hasn’t resonated with Qrow the same way it has for Clover.

As a matter of fact, he doesn’t even rush to create the small excuse for distance they had prior to their rest either. The touch lingers in the warmth of the blanket and their shared body heat. 

No one else is awake yet. Neither he nor Qrow are looking around, but he gets the sense that they can both just feel it.

A certain moment from the night before rings a bell, of two people nestled under a blanket together, holding each other tightly.

It’s just them -- resting together, resting comfortably.

Clover’s pretty sure there’s not one tangible thing in all of Remnant or beyond that he wants more.

()()()()()()()()()()()()

Qrow hasn’t slept as well as he has over the past few hours in a long, long time. His usual bout of nightmares let him be, and because of that, not once did his consciousness stir out of its state of slumber all evening.

It’s a good feeling -- it’s a really good feeling.

He has to strain himself to will the strength needed to open his eyes into existence -- a Herculean task that he feels should grant him a round of applause for its completion.

And when he does, he’s rewarded for his efforts by one hell of a sight. 

Clover’s eyes have always stuck out to Qrow as bold -- then again, so do his own -- but two inches at most from his face, despite their singular color, they’re as vibrant as a rainbow.

Neither of them speak, as if their proximity to each other leaves them speechless.

But no -- this isn’t them being speechless. Qrow knows what that’s like, but he can tell that if he ever gains a desire to end this, he could whenever he wants to.

And he doesn’t.

Instead, tender smiles are exchanged, acting in place of any verbal language as a wish for a good morning.

Verbal or not, the wish feels well granted right about now. 

They’re both so close together right now, with much of their bodies already pressed against the other about as snugly as the situation can allow.

With that thought, another slams into him, one that should leave him agape and shocked, but doesn’t.

So Qrow let’s the thought exist, entertaining it like silly putty in his hands.

If they were so inclined to kiss, such a thing would be almost too easy to pass up right now.

And neither of them are running away. They’ve both fought their demons -- emotional and literal -- and won.

Some easiness is definitely called for.

So Qrow leans in, and Clover follows him as if their minds and thoughts were one.

It’s little more than a shift for them as their lips touch for the first time.

The kiss between them feels...weightless. Yeah, that’s how Qrow would best put it. With that weightlessness comes a sense of finally and fully letting go. It’s a letting go of his inhibitions, a letting go of his guard, and a letting go of anything that he hasn’t already readily offered Clover.

There’s not much of the latter...but that’s what makes the kiss as good as it is.

Qrow’s hand moves from the small of Clover’s back up to the space between his shoulders. Clover’s moves from Qrow’s thigh around the corner of his form, fully ensnaring his waist. 

It’s a quiet kiss, at least to the outside world. But between them, a fondness in the form of a question that had been upfront about its presence, but never ultimately asked is at last not only asked, but answered. That answer turns out to be better than Qrow could’ve ever imagined.

They breathe each other in more and more for every moment the kiss goes on, and that leaves them both with a lot of the other’s scents dancing through their noses.

The kiss comes to an end as a flight attendant passes by, offering them coffee. Even as they softly break apart though to tell them their drink preferences, one of each of their hands find their way to the other’s. 

Another kiss is not exchanged that morning, but those hands stay casually bound until the plane lands in a small mushroom cloud of sand. 

Vacuo is for certain going to be a challenge for the group, one that will not be gentle with its trials and tribulations as the weather, Grimm, and Salem’s goons alike put their patience, strength, and sanity through the absolute tightest wringer.

However, Qrow’s not worried, or at least not as worried as he would be alone. As long as Clover stands beside him, no matter the pain that may follow, a part of him will always be allowed to be comfortable.

[niftynifflerfics]

Who Needs Plans Anyway?

Hai .3. I was wondering can you do Newt Scamander Smut where He give a special valentine's day gift for reader? Thankies UwU

(A/N: It's been one hell of a long time since Valentines Day, I'm so sorry to keep you waiting! I really struggled with this request not going to lie, so I hope that now I finally feel it doesn't read like grating your fingers on a cheese grater, I hope you enjoy!)

Warnings: language and smut

Word count: 3,750

 Newt Scamander had always been a man with a huge heart and well... Other things. He was a lover of creatures great and small, niffler to elephant and everything in-between. In his time at Hogwarts, the only class he looked forward to and cared about was care of magical creatures and Merlin did he do well in it. When he decided to pursue rescuing animals as a long time career, he left all he'd worked for in England to find and care for as many creatures as he possibly could. He thought there was no greater love in the world than what he felt for the animals he cared for, until he met you.

 It came as no surprise that the speakeasy was alive with chatter and crowded from door to hidden door with people. It was a scene that the people lived for - the naughtiness of sneaking around dancing and drinking together on the very edge of danger of being caught, but Newt was not one for such a scene. He'd never enjoyed the anxiety that such a place brought I mean, what would it do to his life if he was caught participating in this? What would happen if his briefcase was stolen by drunken thieves? It wasn't worth it all for a drink or two. Yet, somehow, he allowed himself to end up here - leaning against the bar and ordering a drink after what must've been the longest day of his life. Surely today wouldn't be the day the speakeasy is searched, it wouldn't matter if he stayed for a while, he wasn’t planning on dancing or anything, just grabbing a couple of drinks and then getting on his way. There's not many people at the bar, an older man in his fifties sits with a half empty glass of what Newt can only assume is scotch and he decides he feels like one too. There's a couple in the corner sneaking kisses between puffs of smoke and to his left there's a girl who appears to be around the same age as him, staring down at the bottom of her glass, tears running down her cheeks. She's almost silent and unnoticed by anyone else, but Newt can't help his instinct.  He slides over to the left side of the bar, settling down in the stool beside her. She doesn't notice him and continues weeping into her long, silky black gloves. He's unsure of what to do now. He didn't want to come off as a creep, watching her soundlessly and getting close to her without her asking him to, but interrupting her crying almost felt just as bad.  The bartender takes his options away from him when he slides Newt his scotch. 'Here you go sir.'  The girl jumps and Newt nods at the bartender. She quickly swipes a few stray tears and gets up to move but Newt stops her, grabbing her forearm. She glares at him, looks down at his hand from where it's clutching her forearm and goes to say something before he interrupts her. 'I'm sorry I...' he lets go of her arm and expects her to leave, but she stays in place for a moment. 'I saw you crying and I felt awful, I wanted to see what was wrong but... I realize now that it wasn't the smartest decision.'  The girl nods, says a thanks to the bartender and to Newt and goes to leave. 'N-no wait I mean,' he stands from his stool. 'Are you alright?'  She nods again, but the way her lips tremble and the two beads of liquid that escape from her eyes and ruin her mascara beyond repair speak for themselves. She seems to have walls up, her shoulders are nearly up to her ears and she seems very tense, but they're only up for a moment before a sigh escapes her painted lips. 'You wanna walk me home? I don't feel good about going out there by myself.'  Newt jumps up from his seat, scotch forgotten on the bar in front of him. He slides money to the bartender, gulps it down and begins to follow after her as she walks out the door. The door is heavy and slams loudly behind them, the only sound to disturb a nearly silent street. It's some time after seven at night (you start to lose track in places like that) and the sky is speckled with stars. It's a cold night, cold enough to know you shouldn't leave without a coat, but Newt clearly wasn't thinking. The girl sniffles and shuffles on a coat before she begins to walk. Eventually the two of them find their pace together silently basking in the calmness of the night. ‘So,’ Newt clears his throat. The girl nearly jumps again, the silence was so undisturbed. ‘Do you mind if I ask what’s got you like this?’  The girl laughs, breath escaping in a cloud in front of her face. She looks down at her feet, runs her tongue over her lips and looks back over at him. ‘My boyfriend of nearly three years has a mistress, apparently she is much better than me. He left me for her this evening.’  Newt felt like he’d been punched in the gut. He felt everything so strongly, he couldn’t help but feel for this poor girl. ‘I’m so sorry.’ ‘That’s what everyone says,’ she mumbles, ‘but you don’t need to be. You’re a stranger, what could you have done to cause it?’   Newt nods. ‘I understand.’  There’s more silence between then but it’s in no way uncomfortable, it felt right. She was weeping silently again, wiping her tears on her gloves but her gloves were beginning to get too wet to wipe them on anymore, she had to move on to the sleeves of her dress. Newt didn’t try to stop her, he knew she’d need it. ‘May I ask for your name Mr Mystery Man,’ she starts when she’d seemed to have finally recollected her thoughts.  Newt laughs. ‘Of course, It’s Newt – Newt Scamander.’ ‘Newt Scamander,’ she tests his name on her tongue and he feels his heart skip a beat. It sounds like it belongs there. His mind was in a battle with his heart. It wasn’t right to have feelings for someone you just met. Especially not someone emotionally unavailable like she was. Yet he can’t help but feel like it was destiny that he should come to that particular speakeasy, that particular night and meet this particular girl who had just found herself without someone to love. ‘I’m (Y/N) (L/N).’   Since that day, he'd been spending every minute of every hour reminding you how much he loved you, but things aren't always easy. Work had been swamping the both of you lately and the only time you'd had to talk was a few hours after a long day of work. It was almost like you'd just met all over again. So, Newt had decided to make this Valentine's day one that you'd never forget. He’d made dinner reservations at your favorite date spot, bought you gifts he knew that you would love and even spent nearly an hour getting ready to surprise you with it all when you got home. He’d been anxiously watching the clock and knew that very soon you’d open that door and you’d greet him with the most breathtaking smile he’d ever seen that knocks the air out of his lungs every time he sees it. He hears your key click in the lock and watches as it opens just a crack, and there you are. ‘Welcome h—‘  You hastily cleared the hallway, dropping your case near the front door and kicking the door closed. Newt always needs a moment to process things before he understands what’s going on, and you don’t give it to him instead opting for wrapping your arms around his neck and kissing him as passionately as you could muster. Newt nearly falls with the impact of you pressing yourself up against him, lips slamming into his. His hands move to your hips instinctively and he kisses back, feeling your tongue sliding in to his mouth.  When you pull away, there’s silence. You’re standing there in front of him, clearly aroused with cheeks flushed and warm to the touch. ‘I’ve needed you all week, we’ve both been so busy I just… Please help me. Please?’  You grabbed one of the hands that was on your hips and held it in yours. Newt falters for a moment, he hadn’t stopped being the shy sweet sort of guy since you met him. He seems almost awkward, staring at you and wordlessly gaping. Seeing you like this seems to flip a switch in his mind.  He pulls you back in for another kiss, this time more heated than the last. Everything outside of his lips and tongue seems to disappear, you don’t even notice when he starts walking you backwards towards your shared bedroom until your back hits against the soft sheets of your bed. ‘I made us dinner reservations,’ he starts, leaning down to kiss you again as he begins to unbutton his shirt. ‘I had a whole plan. I was going to see you walk through that door, give you the gifts I had bought for you and we’d get ready together, go out for dinner and then we’d get to this. Now, you, have just ruined my plan.’  He pulls the shirt off of his body and you finally get to drink in the sight of his naked torso. It’s beautiful to say the least. Working with animals is seen as such a fluffy job that only includes patting and feeding them, but Newt’s abs say otherwise. There’s a scar here and there that only adds to the arousal pooling in the pit of your stomach. It’s so thick that there is no distracting from it, you’re practically writhing from the torture that is the way the light hits his half naked body. He’s moved on to his pants now, the way he unbuckles his belt, his hands wrapping around it only makes everything feel hotter and hotter, you really don’t think it can get much worse than this. ‘I’m going to punish you for that,’ he states as his pants hit the floor and his underwear soon follow. ‘Do you understand me? You were impatient and now you will suffer.’  You nod. ‘That’s not good enough, tell me that you understand.’  He leans down, lips closing around your neck. It feels like heaven on earth, some semblance of relief though so, so small. A moan escapes your lips and your arms wrap around him, hands pushing through the hair on the nape of his neck. It’s too much. Damn it, it’s too much. So hot and fading in pleasure, you don’t think you could form any words, no matter how much he wants you to. He pulls away abruptly and you watch him collect his clothes from the floor. ‘Wait no,’ you start, sitting up on the end of the bed. Was it something you did? He drops his clothes back to the floor. ‘Tell me you understand. Say it.’ ‘I-I understand.’  He returns back to his original position, leaning over you, completely naked and hard as a rock. Heaven. On. Earth. Though you knew you were going to hell. He returns to landing kisses on your neck, one after the other until he reaches the joining skin between the very end of your neck and collarbone where he kisses softly and then bites, sucking on the joint and pressing your hips down to the bed when they rise, trying to find the release they need so desperately. He moves to swallow the end of your moan and then presses his forehead against yours as he holds your eyes. ‘Don’t writhe or I’ll leave you here without making you cum,’ he whispers into the shell of your ear. ‘You got that?’ ‘Yes.’  He moves back to your neck, licking over the brand new hickey on the nearly unmarked skin before he begins unbuttoning your blouse. Every single touch feels like fire as he works his way down the white floaty material. He stops at the very end and pulls it back off of your body, pulling you up to work it over your arms. His dick is centimeters away. It’d be so easy to just swallow it whole and watch his persona crumble like you had done so many times before, but the cloud of arousal was so thick that all you could do was moan and let him have his way with you.  He unclasps your bra and throws it somewhere across the room, planting kisses on the newly exposed mounds. He doesn’t touch the nipple, moving around it teasingly. You wonder if begging for it would help and mewl his name. He lands a hand over your mouth. ‘You’re being impatient again,’ he grumbles. ‘Strike one.’  The heat only pools and pools and pools. You know that when he gets to it you’re going to see stars. The very prospect of it is only exciting you more and more. He continues to dance around your nipples before licking the inside of his thumb and index finger and wrapping it around your left nipple. It feels fucking amazing as he tugs and teases the nub. You can’t believe the pleasure that such a small thing makes you feel. If he continues like this, you’ll really snap.  Moans fall out of your mouth beyond your control. You can’t help it, it feels so fucking good, even better when he wraps his tongue and teeth around the neglected right nipple. You want to push your hips up against his. The urge is so strong you can barely hold yourself back, but he doesn’t seem to mind you digging your nails into the flesh of his forearm, so you stick to doing that to restrain yourself.  He teases and teases before his left hand leaves your left nipple and slides down your body to the beginning of your skirt and then past it. The material is tight fitted and it looks damn good on you. Newt can barely restrain himself every time he sees you in it. Now is no exception, keeping up this facade is getting harder and harder, just like he is. He can’t help it, you’re enjoying it so much. Every moan that falls from your lips is heavenly. He didn’t realize how much he needed this until now.  He slides his hand around the back, flicking your nipple with his tongue as he unzips the zipper. He peels his mouth away and he can feel how upset you are with the sigh that releases from your lips. He decides not to punish you for it and rather focuses on ridding you of the clothing still covering your lower half. He notices now what underwear you are wearing. It’s the set he got you for your anniversary last year – it’s (F/C) and lacy and by Merlin did you look stunning in it.  He smirks, leaning down and kissing his way from your breasts to your bellybutton and past it, hooking his fingers underneath the flimsy material’s sides and pulling in one fell swipe. The fabric pools on the floor and he falls onto his knees along with it.  He teases you, kissing the insides of your thighs from the ankle up towards your womanhood. Your moans are loud enough to rouse the entire neighborhood but neither of you could care less, especially when he kitten licks your clit. You instinctively move your hand to grab his hair, wrapping your legs around his head. He abruptly pulls away. ‘No, no Newt, please no,’ you whine. ‘Please—‘  He slams a hand over your mouth and shoves his index and middle finger inside of you without warning. A moan so strong that his hand does nothing to muffle it escapes your lips. His lips press against your earlobe. ‘Strike two.’ You try your very best not to buck upwards as his fingers slide in and out of you gruelingly slowly. ‘Dinner was supposed to go for nearly half an hour. We were going to get all courses and whatever desert you liked if you were still hungry by the end of it. You were going to love it.’  He speeds up slightly and your eyes roll back into your head. ‘It would’ve been expensive but worth it. I wanted to remind you of how much I love you. I never want you to feel the way you felt the day I met you again.’  He begins paying more attention to your neck as he starts pumping his fingers in and out of you as fast as he can. Your moans would drown anything that he could possibly say to you, except now he was back in your ear again. ‘I love you so much. I was going to make you feel as if my love for you would never end because it never will. I was going to take you home afterwards and take a long shower with you and we’d make love before we fell asleep.’  He stops moving and you nearly groan, biting down on your lip to hold back sounds. He moves again, this time to position himself between your legs. The very thought of him thrusting in to you right now made you feel as if you were about to cum without a single strum of his fingers. Instead, he teases you mercilessly, rubbing the head of his cock up and down your womanhood, paying extra attention to your clit. ‘But, no. You had to come home like this, all worked up and flushed. I’m not even sure what made you like that but I know for sure it couldn’t have been me. Who was it hmm?’  He pulls away. You realize that he wants you to speak. ‘No one,’ you moaned. ‘I’m not sure I believe that.’ ‘I’ve wanted this for weeks Newt,’ he moves again to brush the head of his cock against you, slightly pleased by your answer. You moan and hiss before you continue. ‘I-I’ve been having detailed sex dreams about you a-and I fell asleep at w-work and I—‘  He thrusts in to you without warning and you let out a moan louder than you thought humanly possible. He hisses and his facade falters. He pulls himself from you, slamming his arms down on either side of you for support as your arms work their way around his torso. He didn’t know how long he’d be able to last, you were so hot. So. Hot. He could barely manage to stand.  You wrapped your legs around him and he seems to find his steam again, thrusting in and out of you. His lips meet yours again and again and again as you moan against him. You’re taking him so well and you looked so damn good. He couldn’t stop staring, taking in every second, every expression, every single flutter of your eyes, every single time your mouth would close and fall open again. He’d spent so many years with you that your lives were nearly as intertwined as the two of you were now. You couldn’t even think with the amount of pleasure that you felt right now. It was insane. You could not keep yourself still or quiet, drinking in the feeling of him inside of you. It felt like before now you were so empty and now you were complete. It’s no surprise there’s so many people in the world if making more of them felt so fucking good.  He’s grunting and moaning in your ear before he changes positions so that your legs were nearly beside your head. He’s hitting an entirely new angle and it’s so much deeper than the last. It feels as if he’s hitting against your very insides. You don’t know how much longer you can take it and he doesn’t either. It’s taking everything in him to restrain himself from spilling his seed in you right here right now.  He leans down and teases your neck again, kisses you with everything he’s got and whispers I love you’s in your ears over and over. His whole plan for tonight wasn’t completely lost, you definitely knew that he loved you and you weren’t going to forget this night any time soon, though you were half an hour late for your reservation by now at least. ‘(Y/N), I don’t think I can take it much longer, I’m gonna cum,’ you nod and he lands his lips on yours again. His hand slithers down to where your bodies meet as he begins drawing circles with his fingertip against your clit. You feel the knot that had been loosening in you this entire time begin to unravel much, much faster. His lips on your neck, him thrusting into you fast enough to break your bed and his fingers circling and circling and circling— ‘I’m gonna cum too.’  Newt’s fingers press harder against your clit and you let out a gasp that transforms into a moan. He’s relentless, his fingers don’t leave it, it’s bordering on painful. The knot is falling apart faster and faster and faster. ‘Cum with me.’ You nod, far too gone to say anything as the two of you transcend into nothing but moans, gasps and quick breaths. Newt’s thrusts seem to start faltering and the knot rapidly unties just as he thrusts one last time. You clench around him and he lets out a groan, holding on tightly to your hips and watching in near awe as your back arches, hitting your high and slowly, slowly coming down from it. You stay there for a while, catching your breath before Newt pulls out and goes in search of a cloth to help clean you up. It’s a mess to say the least. You can feel the cold nipping at your body now, the sheets pressed against your body. It’s all heightened and it feels amazing.  When Newt returns he helps you clean up and throws the cloth into the laundry hamper in the corner of the room, falling down beside you and pulling the sheet up over your bodies. He wraps his arms around your body and turns you to face him. ‘Hello.’  You laugh, ‘Hello.’ ‘Happy Valentine’s day my sweetheart.’

[rudderless-in-an-ocean-of-stars]

even as a shadow, even as a dream

More from my post-IW series, between dust and despair.

Contains spoilers.

Find it here on Ao3:

https://archiveofourown.org/works/14533974

Summary:

Tony Stark is no stranger to grief.

//

Continuation of the previous work in the series, ‘memento mori’.

“Come back. Even as a shadow, even as a dream.” - Euripides

After his parents‘ funeral, Tony remembers going back to the mansion and sneaking into his mother’s room.

He’d crawled into her bed, buried his face in the pillows, and breathed in the mingled scents of her shampoo and perfume. Lilies and lavender. He was still wearing the suit Jarvis had promised him she would have loved to see.

For the next few days, he’d repeated the same routine, over and over up until the day he realized her sheets no longer carried the smell of her.

He’d cried then, finally.

He hadn’t cried when Jarvis had broken the news to him. He hadn’t cried at the fittings for the suit he would end up wearing to their funeral instead of the opera his mother had planned for them to attend. He hadn’t even cried as he sprinkled handfuls of dirt into their graves.

But he’d cried then, when the smell of lilies and lavender was gone and the reality that his parents were never coming back had finally sunken in.

After Yinsen had died, he’d built himself armor, literally and figuratively, to keep the world at bay. He didn’t need or want anyone else ever getting close enough to see how deep his scars truly ran.

After Obie’s death, he’d locked himself in his lab to work for days at a time, determined to keep himself from ever being so vulnerable again, all the way up until the symptoms of palladium poisoning had become clear. Then he’d sent his life into a tailspin of inadvisable actions to compensate for the time he thought he’d never get.

He doesn’t know what he’s supposed to do now, trapped in another ‘after’ where he knows people will expect him to have a plan. Strange had expected it, the cryptic bastard, had given up an infinity stone for whatever solution he expected Tony’s brain to come up with. But right now, Tony’s head just feels like the rest of him, heavy and hurting and in too much pain to properly function.

There’s no Peter, no Pepper, no Happy, no half of the universe.

3.8 billion people have just been left on Earth with nothing but dust and hollow spaces where their friends and family should be.

If May is still alive...

He narrowly resists the urge to slam his fist into the wall.

If.

Tony’s spent his whole life chasing ‘if’s.

If May Parker is still alive, he’s going to have to be the one to tell her the last member of her family is dead. That isn’t even anything left of him to bury. That all of this is a result of the seriously flawed logic of a giant, purple, alien egomaniac who had decided to erase half of the universe’s population at random, and he’d failed to stop it from happening.

He’d failed to keep Peter alive.

There’s a small, sick part of him that hopes he won’t find her when he goes back to New York. That wherever Peter is, death or heaven or whatever, she’d ended up there too.

Shame burns through him at the thought.

Leave it to random probability to spare the shittiest person on the planet, he thinks with no small amount of bitterness bubbling up in pit of his stomach.

Guilt tears at him, ripping him open and leaving him bleeding out on the floor as though he’d never been healed in the first place. He drowns in it, chokes on it, wonders wildly if it’s possible to die from the weight of his regrets alone.

In the end, he drags himself to his feet and stumbles out into the hallway, moving towards the room he knows is Natasha’s, fueled by pure instinct and the desperate need to do something, anything, to keep himself from simply laying down and crumbling into nothing like so many others.

Maybe living isn’t what he deserves, but he can’t let himself go just yet. There are still debts he has to pay.

Three doors down, to the left.

He just has to make it there and everything will be alright. Natasha will help him. Won’t she?

The door slides open in a matter of seconds after his knock. It jars him again, for a moment, the way almost all the color has been leeched from her hair. But her eyes are still the same.

The words pour out of him in rush, tumbling out of his mouth and onto the floor like a spilled glass of water before he can put them in any semblance of order.

“New York- I have to get to New York. Take me? Will you- please? I just- I need- I have to get to New York.” It takes him a moment to realize how hard he’s breathing, like he’s just run a marathon instead of walking a few feet to get to her room. “Please?”

Natasha tilts her head in response, reaching out to rest a warm hand against his cheek. She does it slowly, her motions gentle and deliberately telegraphed, soft in a way he knows Natasha rarely lets herself be.

“Tony, calm down.” Her gaze never wavers from his, not for a second. “You’re shaking.”

He doesn’t need calm right now. He needs to go to New York.

“Nat-“ It takes more effort than it should to speak.

“I’ll take you,” she soothes, lifting her other hand to wrap her fingers around his shoulder, firm. Solid. “We can take the quinjet, okay?”

He nods, a jerky, sudden movement that pulls his face away from her fingers. She lets her hand drop down to his other shoulder, and he finds himself relaxing under her grip. Natasha would help him. Natasha would take him to New York.

His panic subsides to a low thrum in his chest at her acquiescence, and the fog blurring his brain begins to dissipate.

“Okay.” He breathes out a long, slow breath as the tightness around his lungs eases. “Okay.”

After a few more seconds, some tiny part of his brain dimly notes that his body’s finally stopped trembling.

“We can go in the morning, okay? It’s late right now, and we’ll need authorization to open the barrier.”

Natasha’s right, of course. The thought of dragging Shuri out of bed at this hour, after everything, makes his gut twist.

Let her rest, a tiny voice in his mind agrees. She’s been through enough for today.

Still, the thought of waiting sends a flicker of agitation pulsing through his veins. He should’ve thought of this earlier, realized what he’d had to do the moment the ship breached the atmosphere and gone through with it as soon as he’d woken up.

If May Parker was still alive, he’d just sentenced her to another several hours of fear and uncertainty for a nephew he should’ve already told her had died a hero. He’s all-too familiar with the weight of the awful dread that comes with not knowing.

“Tony?” Natasha’s tightens her grip on his shoulders, not enough to hurt, but enough to drag him back to the present, back to the hallway. “Is that okay?”

“Yeah.” He sighs, tilting his chin up to meet her gaze as evenly as he can. “Thank you, Natasha. For everything.”

For putting up with me.

For listening.

For helping me, in spite of the fact that you’ve spent the last two years on the run because of me.

There’s a flicker of something he can’t decipher that flashes briefly in her eyes, gone too fast for him to even try.

“You’re welcome.”

Behind her, he can see the sky through her windows, inky black and dotted with stars. A tiny sliver of crescent moon, gleaming. An otherwise innocuous sight if the memory of a battle lost weren’t still playing over and over in the darker recesses of his mind.

The dark, gaping void inside of him gnaws away at another piece of his soul until he finally forces himself to tear his gaze away.

Natasha is still staring at him with those emerald eyes, luminous even in the darkness of the dimmed lights all around them. They almost seem to glow, bright with open, honest concern and he realizes that her hands are still on his shoulders.

He coughs up an admittedly poor attempt of a casual, nonchalant laugh and steps out from under her grip.

“I should, ah, let you get some rest.” He turns away before she can respond, starts moving back towards his quarters. “Good night, Natasha.”

“Night, Tony,” she calls out behind him, barely loud enough to be heard.

When he crawls back into the bed, he’s careful to keep the windows behind him.

In the morning, he prepares. Brushes his teeth, takes a shower, gets dressed, affixes the arc reactor onto his shirt. The routine settles him, somewhat. There’s still an order to the world, to the way things work, even now.

When there’s a knock on his door he answers it robotically, automatically, expecting one person but coming face-to-face with another.

“Tony.” Rhodey’s face is visibly etched with relief. “You had me worried, man.”

He doesn’t resist when the other man pulls him into his arms.

For a moment, he tastes sand in his mouth, feels the scorching heat of a desert sun on his skin. A lifetime ago, Rhodey had welcomed him back to the world of the living with an embrace just like this.

This time, however, he’s painfully aware that there won’t be an airport to return to, or a woman with strawberry-blonde hair who’ll insist her tears weren’t for him with a smile on her face that tells him otherwise. There won’t be a man sitting in the driver’s seat of a limo, acting as a chauffeur in spite of the fact that he’s too overqualified for the job.

It’s only when Rhodey releases him that he realizes he hadn’t moved to return the embrace. He’d just stood there, arms limp at his sides, frozen in place. The worried look on his best friend’s face doesn���t escape his notice.

“It’s good to see you, buddy.” Tony tries for a smile, but the familiar mask of the playboy billionaire is now woefully out of reach.

“What do you say we go get some breakfast together, hm?” Rhodey claps a hand on Tony’s back and begins to steer them down the hall. “I haven’t eaten in hours, and I could use the company.”

The phrasing of his invitation is clever, Tony will admit. But what else does he expect? Rhodes is more than used to coaxing Tony into taking care of himself when he otherwise would push thoughts of things like food and water to the back of his mind.

“Sure, Rhodey.” It doesn’t even feel like he’s the one moving his own lips anymore, but Tony has always been good at figuring out what others want to hear. “I could always use some coffee.”

When they get close enough to the kitchen for Tony to hear gut-wrenchingly familiar voices, it’s too late for him to back out. As if sensing his train of thought, Rhodey’s arm around his shoulder tightens. The gesture is comforting, even if it keeps him from running away and retreating back to his room.

“It’s fine, Tones. Just the team.”

What’s left of it, thinks Tony, and something inside him fractures just a little more.

He keeps his gaze trained on the floor as Rhodey ushers him inside. It’s almost irrationally childish, but maybe, if he tries hard enough, he’ll go unnoticed.

“Tony!”

No such luck.

He looks up just in time to see Bruce clamber awkwardly out of his chair and walk towards him. Behind him, the rest of the team is scattered around the room, some sitting at the table, some standing around the kitchen island. Natasha’s perched on the countertops, Steve standing by her side. Thor is at the table, next to an armed raccoon he can only assume is Rocket. He’s glad Natasha warned him about that the day before, otherwise he might actually wonder how solid his grip on reality really is right now.

The only person’s eyes he can stand to meet is Nebula’s, standing in a corner of the room with her arms folded across her chest. He knows he won’t find anything like pity or concern there.

“Hey, Bruce.” He makes it a point to react when the other man reaches for him, return the embrace and clap him on the shoulder before he lets go. The look on Bruce’s face when he pulls away is almost expectant. He doesn’t know what else to say.

‘I’m glad you aren’t dead’? ‘At least the end of the world didn’t take you too’?

His skin feels tight, like his body’s too small to hold everything inside it. Like he’s moments away from splitting open into a broken, bleeding mess of raw, exposed nerves on the clean kitchen tiles.

It’s Nebula who saves him, again.

“Terran,” she calls out. “Are you ready to begin our hunt?”

All heads in the room swivel around to focus on her.

“Hunt?” Steve’s voice sends a pang of- of something- through his veins. “What are you talking about?”

“For Thanos.” The smile that stretches across her face is a promise of blood, a promise of pain. Tony shivers, glad that everyone’s attention is too focused on her to see it. “He must die.”

“Count me in,” growls Rocket, standing up in his seat.

Natasha frowns.

“Now,” she says, sliding off of the counter and onto the floor in a neat, fluid motion, “Let’s hit ‘pause’ for a second, shall we? Nebula, I understand you’re eager, but we need to take our time with this. The people of our planet are still reeling from what happened yesterday.”

“Your planet is too green,” Nebula spits back, her words carrying an undercurrent that, it seems, only Rocket understands. The raccoon almost seems to wilt in place, and Tony finds himself doubting that the use of ‘green’ is idiomatic. “Besides, I don’t need your people. I only need him.”

He watches as Steve starts to take a step forward, but Natasha wraps a hand around his arm and drags the supersoldier to a stop before he can get closer to Nebula’s corner of the room.

“I get that you’re angry, but we need time,” she says, and Tony recognizes the calm in her voice for what it is- a quiet, nuanced threat. “Tony needs time. Thanos isn’t going anywhere. We’ll hunt him together as soon as we make sure our world is stable. In the meantime, you can stay here, make preparations. Plan.”

Nebula goes almost unnaturally still after she turns her head to regard Tony with those unsettlingly dark eyes.

Then she shrugs, and some of the tension begins to seep out of the room.

“That sounds agreeable,” she says, slouching back against the wall. She tilts her head, narrowing her eyes at Natasha like she’s seen something interesting in the other woman. “Will you join us?”

Natasha’s gaze sweeps across the room, and it makes Tony all the more aware of all the empty spaces there are between them.

“I think I speak for everyone in this room when I say we all will.”

Nebula’s smile returns, all sharp edges. “Good.”

Thor clears his throat, moving to stand up from his seat at the table. “In that case, we should go see to the ship. Nebula, rabbit, would you accompany me?”

Tony watches them leave. He’s seen a lot of things, but an angry, gun-wielding raccoon stomping out of the kitchen muttering under his breath is still something that makes him pause. Especially with a blue alien and a thunder god in tow.

“I think I’ll go too,” Bruce says, “There’s still some cleanup to be done in the field. Colonel?”

“Sure.” Rhodey pats him on the shoulder one last time. “You okay to eat without me, Tony?”

Tony resists the very sudden, very real urge to run. Why is everyone so intent on leaving him alone with-

He stops, mentally shakes himself, and focuses his gaze on the far wall.

Natasha’s still here, chirps a tiny voice in the back of his brain. She’s taking you to New York. Everything will be fine.

He forces himself to look back towards Rhodey and smile. “Yeah, Rhodey. I’ll be okay.”

And then they’re gone, leaving him alone with Natasha and Steve.

“Coffee, Tony?” Natasha’s already pouring a cup. “Sit, I’ll bring it over.”

He moves to take one of the vacated seats at the table woodenly, every movement bringing him closer and closer to the one person in the world he’s still not sure how to talk to.

It’s stupid of him, really. Just a day ago he’d been prepared to make that call.

But that was before. Before Peter. Before Bucky.

Another person he’d failed to save.

They had been so close- the gauntlet was almost off-

A steaming mug of coffee slides into view.

He looks up in time to see Nat slide into the chair across the table from his, a mug of her own still in hand.

“Thanks, Nat.” He wraps his fingers around the ceramic, relishing the warmth that sleeps into his skin. He’s still so cold. He doesn’t know why.

In the periphery of his vision, Steve lingers by the kitchen island, nursing his own drink in silence. Behind him is the stove, where a still-steaming kettle sits.

Probably for Bruce, he thinks. Bruce always liked tea.

He wonders what it would be like to place his hands on the grill of a lit stove, wonders if that would be enough to chase the chill from his bones.

Do it, purrs a voice from one of the jagged crevices in his chest, smooth and silky-sweet. Burn.

“Tony?”  Natasha tracks his gaze to the kettle. “Do you want tea instead?”

“No.” He tightens his fingers around the mug and lowers his gaze to the table. “Coffee’s fine.”

“Right. Well, I already spoke to Shuri this morning and she says we’re clear to leave whenever you’d like.” She shifts in her seat. “If it’s okay with you, I told Rogers he could come along, stretch his legs.”

“It’s not that kind of trip,” he mutters back, fully aware of the way his skin prickles under the weight of Steve’s gaze. “I’m going to Queens. To see May Par- Parker.”

He hates himself just a little bit more for stumbling over her last name. Peter’s last name, too.

“I have to tell her about Peter,” he finishes lowly, hunching into himself.

Out of the corner of his eye, he can see Steve take a step towards the table. He tries not to flinch. Part of him is still angry about the deceit. Still remembers the pain of breathing with a cracked sternum, the line of bruises stretched out across his chest for weeks afterward in a slightly curved shape that would match the edge of a shield. Still remembers how heavy a suit without power suddenly becomes, like he’s trapped in a coffin specially designed for him.

But that flicker of anger feels infinitesimal in comparison to the guilt that cycles through his bloodstream with every beat of his slowly breaking heart.

“You can come,” he blurts, pushing his chair away from the table and standing. His pulse hammers in his chest, loud enough to make the world seem muffled to his ears. “It’s fine.”

“Tony-“ Steve’s holding a hand out towards him, like maybe he wants to make Tony stop retreating, like maybe he wants to hold Tony in place so they can finally talk, really talk, for the first time in two years. But the risk that he’ll only end up pushing him away again is too great for Tony to ignore.

He stumbles backwards towards the doorway. Natasha looks like she wants to reach out to him too. She shouldn’t. Everything he touches turns to ruin. He doesn’t dare look back towards Steve.

“I have to get ready.”

Then he turns and runs walks down the hall and back to his room.