#i like to think their throats and mouths become dry and hoarse and almost cracked raw

[candles-inthewoods]

I wonder how a vampire feels hunger. For regular humans it's just aching and digestive juices and hollowness because we take in solid food. But vampires? Is it extreme thirst? Do their tongues and lips dry so hard and hoarse?

humans feel hunger through the stomach because of solid food but where do vampires feel THEIR hunger??

[thoughtsonhurtandcomfort]

Shun the Light - Ch 22 - A Gift

Masterlist

Author's Notes: So I'm thinking this will be the end of this particular series. NOT the end of Dante and Matteo's story!! Think of it like one book in an ongoing series. Next time I post I'll start a new series with a new title and new chapters continuing where this one leaves off. Otherwise it would just trail on indefinitely because I don't really have a set END end in sight for them. I never do, I like to always leave room for more. But I do have ideas for contained story arcs that I can group into series.

Also, re: the title - at first Shun the Light was in reference to literal light - the sun for Dante, the moon for Matteo. But as the story developed it also meant them rejecting any possible happiness for themselves out of fear/grief/trauma. And I think they've reached a place where they're letting a little light in now, so I want the next phase of their journey to grow from that.

Content Warnings: werewolf whump, poisoned, illness, fever, stomach ache, dehydration, dizziness, exhaustion, biting, drinking blood, comfort, caretaking

----

Matteo sleeps soundly through the day, but when night falls he grows restless. Overheated, he kicks off all the blankets and removes everything but his boxers. Soon he's awake, writhing with discomfort on the empty bed.

Poison still lingers in his system. It wages war on his body, and it is only because of his inhuman nature that he doesn't succumb to it. The thing that got him into this mess is the very thing keeping him alive.

Half-delirious, he tries to call for help but his throat and mouth are so dry. He props himself up on one arm and reaches for the glass of water on the nightstand. Moving makes him dizzy. The room blurs and turns upside down and Matteo drops heavily back onto the mattress. He muffles a groan into his pillow.

Please...

Matteo lifts his arm again and fumbles for the glass...only to knock it over. It shatters on the floor, spilling water everywhere. Shit. He groans again, rolling onto his back. His breathing is becoming erratic, his heart beating rapidly.

The sound brings Dante to his door. At first he taps politely and Matteo barely hears it. When Matteo doesn't respond, Dante cracks open the door.

"Matteo? Oh my god - what happened?"

The bed dips and Dante's hand settles on Matteo's heaving chest. Matteo tries to open his eyes to look at him but whenever he does the room spins. He tries to speak but is so parched he can only manage a hoarse whisper.

"D-don't feel good..."

Fingers brush his cheeks, wiping away tears. Then a cool hand is on his forehead. Matteo gasps; it's almost too cold, but he needs it so badly, he feels like he's boiling alive...

"Matteo? Matteo, look at me."

The words barely reach him through the haze of heat and pain. A sharp pang in his stomach makes him wail and claw at the sheets beneath him.

Suddenly Dante's presence is gone. Matteo whimpers and feels around for him but he isn't there.

"Don't leave," he pleads.

Hands hold his face and brush his sweaty hair from his forehead.

"Shh. It's okay. I'm getting more water. Can - can you look at me?"

Matteo forces his eyes open. Dante's face is so close he can see nothing else. His silver eyes start to glow.

"Breathe. Breathe deeply, slowly. That's it. Good. You're doing good."

A shudder runs through Matteo.

"Just breathe. That's all you need to do. I'll be right back."

Then he's gone again. Matteo's eyes flutter shut and he focuses on breathing in and out, in and out. His racing heart calms enough to pull him from the edge of a full blown panic attack.

Dante returns quickly with two glasses of water which he sets on the bedside table. He sits beside Matteo again and gets an arm around his shoulders to prop him up. Matteo tries to do some of the work but he can barely move without help. His limbs feel heavy and useless.

"You're burning up," Dante remarks as he manhandles Matteo into a sitting position. "Okay - drink."

He holds one of the glasses to Matteo's lips and cups the back of his neck to keep him steady. Matteo drinks slowly at first, then starts to chug the cool water down desperately.

When he's finished he has to take a moment to catch his breath. He lets his head droop onto Dante's shoulder, his hot forehead pressed against Dante's neck. He tries to form words, to thank him, but with his thirst solved now all his other pains come into sharp focus. The worst of them is his aching stomach - made all the worse by gnawing hunger. It's been over four days since his last meal.

"Ah - ow -"

"What? What hurts?"

"Stomach," Matteo mumbles. "Ngh!"

He starts gently rubbing his stomach to try to relieve some of the pain. Dante nudges his hand away and replaces it with his own, moving in light, slow circles.

Matteo clings to Dante's shirt, struggling to catch his breath. Suddenly he feels a pinch on his arm. Before he can put together what it is, he's out like a light.

-

Upon waking, Matteo feels heavy and weak...but no pain. It has been replaced with a pleasant numbness. His fever broke while he was out. A gentle breeze from the cracked window feels amazing on his clammy skin. It is nighttime again; he slept for almost twenty-four hours.

Something moves in his peripheral, startling him. Matteo tips his head to the side and opens his eyes.

As his vision clears Dante's form comes into focus. He's in an armchair with one leg crossed over the other, reading a book titled Common Poisonous Plants and Mushrooms of North America. In one hand he's holding a jar of blood. Every now and then he'll grimace and quickly take a sip from the jar.

Dante looks as healthy as ever, like no one ever laid a hand on him. His skin is smooth and almost human in coloration. His face is no longer gaunt nor his eyes hollow.

Matteo yawns and it draws Dante's attention away from his reading.

"Finally," Dante says, putting the book and drink aside. He sits at the edge of the bed. "I thought I might have put you into a coma."

Matteo lifts an arm and sees the fading puncture marks.

"You drank my blood."

"Yes. It was disgusting. I still can't get the taste out of my mouth." He feels Matteo's forehead. "But I think it helped."

"But won't you get sick?"

"So far I feel fine."

Even so, Matteo can't help feeling guilty.

"You didn't have to do that," he mumbles.

"I didn't know what else to do. You were in a lot of pain, looking it up would have taken too long."

"Well...I appreciate it." Matteo sighs. "I'm pathetic. First day back and you already have to be my nurse. I swear it's not usually this bad. The last few months have just been rough."

"Hm. Maybe I'm a curse," Dante says. His tone is light but there's an edge to it, like deep down he might really mean it.

Matteo nudges Dante's leg with his head. "No way. You somehow made it bearable. Usually I do this alone."

"That must be hard..." Dante traces over some of Matteo's scars. Matteo shivers and he pulls his hand away.

"No, wait - can you, um - "

Dante waits for him to finish. Matteo chews at his lip, embarrassed, wishing he had kept his mouth shut.

"Can you just..." He falters again. Instead of trying to talk, he takes Dante's hand and brings it to his cheek. "It feels nice."

"Oh." Dante looks surprised.

"You don't have to -"

"Scoot over."

Matteo does as he's asked and Dante sits on the bed beside him, leaning back against the headboard. Once he's settled Matteo leans his head against Dante's thigh and Dante cups his face with one hand.

"You're all sticky," he states bluntly. "I almost forgot about sweat."

"You don't sweat?"

"No. It's actually kind of a problem. I get overheated very easily."

"Huh. I never considered that. Guess I have a lot to learn about vampires."

Matteo falls silent, just thinking. Dante seems to understand that he needs the company, so he stays where he is. He picks up his book and continues reading, only removing his hand from Matteo's face to turn the page. Occasionally he'll even run fingers through Matteo's hair.

"Is this strange?" Matteo asks quietly after a while.

"Hm?" Dante lowers the book.

"Is it strange that this doesn't feel strange?"

"...what?"

"I just mean - we barely know each other. But I feel really comfortable right now. Does that make sense?"

"I think so."

Dante is quiet and Matteo hopes he didn't ruin what was such a nice moment, something he really really needed.

"Maybe it is strange," Dante replies. "But we're strange. I drank your blood before I even knew your name. Normal people don't meet that way."

Matteo lets out a relieved laugh. "Yeah, good point. Nothing about this is normal."

He looks up at Dante and sees something new and wonderful.

Dante is smiling.

It's not bright like the sun but bright like a candle. It is small but genuine, and it's just for him. Matteo is the first and only person to see him smile in almost fifty years. It feels like a gift.

Matteo closes his eyes and remains tucked against Dante's side. He hears the rustle of paper as Dante returns to his reading and his hand returns to Matteo's hair. Another gift.

I don't know how I'll ever thank you, Matteo thinks, far too content to break the silence.

But as long as I'm here I'm going to try.

[gi-zxt]

The Prosperity and Fall

PART TWO

Warnings: bad bad bad memories, archons being dickheads, recalling of your death, more gore and blood, graphic descriptions of death, kidnapping, lots of swears, PTSD

Lemme know if I missed a warning, and I hope y’all enjoy!

—

You spend the next week off of work over the toilet puking or in your bed sleeping. No matter how hard you try, you can’t keep anything other than jello and pineapple juice down, and, well, that doesn’t make for a good condition to come into work.

Your boss wishes you good health, understanding the severity of your sickness (even if she doesn’t understand the reasoning behind it) and even being nice enough to make those days paid-off-time. With a hoarse voice, you thanked her, hanging up the phone and immediately rushing to the toilet to dry-heave anything you consumed, though nothing but bile comes up your throat.

When you finally recover enough to do at-home work, your thoughts are filled with nightmares of the Archons, of Liyue and Mondstadt, of Inazuma’s citizens jeering at you. The experience in Teyvat renders you sleepless, and you even resort to visiting a psychiatrist to be prescribed sleeping aids. They do, but even they don’t provide more than a few hours of sleep every few days.

Eventually the nightmares back off to every couple of nights. You still don’t go to your actual workplace. Every time you think of doing so, the memory of rocks and sticks and stones and fruit pelting your back comes into mind. The front door shuts and your shoes come off; the tears fall and the sobs become louder.

You unsubscribed from any Genshin YouTubers, actually deleted your Twitter account, blocked Genshin TikTokers, stuffed the figurines in storage, almost refunded your purchases (before breaking down again at the error screen, you clicked the exit button on your browser and collapsed to the floor), and tossed anything Genshin-related.

And after a while, it starts to feel better. You start to feel more normal. You text your friends dumb memes, actually being able to laugh at them instead of staring at them blankly like you did months prior. They take you on small, short outings to nice restaurants that aren’t too crowded, and you enjoy yourself instead of being flooded with panic attacks.

Unbeknownst—and without a care in the world—to you, however, Teyvat is suffering.

—

“Klee, I can’t give you any more water. We’re almost out.”

“But—“

Albedo looks down at his sister, dark circles under his eyes, and sighs tiredly. He’s exhausted, and has been for months now. Mondstadt’s famine—no, Teyvat’s— has only gotten worse recently, and a drought has begun to plague the lands with no regard for its inhabitants. He’s been working for a while on a solution, but has yet to come up with one that actually works. Even those who were forgiven or ignored have been affected by the sheer severity of ofthe situation.

“Here. You can have the rest of mine.”

“Thank you, ‘bedo.”

Klee clutches the half-empty bottle tightly and scurries back off to her room, leaving Albedo to his thoughts.

Ever since They were executed by the Archons, quality of life has quickly declined to the point that it’s nigh impossible to survive if you don’t live in one of the main cities of the nations. Liyue, especially, has been affected, what with being the city that Their blood coated the streets in.

He thinks back to the horrific memory.

Unable to help Them any more without being jailed for high treason, Albedo watches from a back corner in Liyue’s darkened alleyways, shaking his head sadly.

Gods, what has this world come to?

He would ask the Archons for help, but they’re the ones executing the Divine One right before his eyes, by their own hands, in one of their own cities. It’s a useless hope, one that would only get him killed.

Albedo looks away as the execution begins. Small gasps and screams come from your mouth, followed by the cracking of your bones (to this, he winces, closing his eyes tightly). The smell of burning meat makes his nose wrinkle and his expression turns grim. He does not want to be here, but he doesn’t have an option; he was requested (demanded) to accompany the Acting Grand Master to the City of Contracts.

“Perish, mimic.”

The shing of the Electro Archon’s signature killing blow reaches Albedo’s ears, and he tries to block out the noise of the sword delving deep into your chest, carving your heart out as a trophy.

But the collective gasp from the surrounding crowd catches his attention.

His gaze, formerly trained down to his feet, flicks over to view Ei’s sword retracted from your rib cage, your heart impaled firmly on the blade, golden blood and arteries and all the things you should never see of yourself hanging off and dripping down to the street tiles.

The Archons look shocked at their actions, and all Albedo can do is focus on your face, expression turning from hurt to stunned to smiling maniacally.

He hears your giggle echo throughout the silent streets.

“Oh well. Better luck next time. Or not.”

And then you (your body, your shell, your dead self) drop to the ground, blood pouring from the cavity in your chest. It’s gold and silver and star-splattered, so you and everything you represent, and all anyone can do is stare.

There’s a sudden frenzied panic, an uproar, the crowd going insane at your death. Baal, Barbatos and Morax all try to recover your lifeforce, but it’s already far, far too late. Your body begins to disintegrate like the fallen Hilichurls or slimes do, fading into ashes to be carried away on the mourning wind.

All that’s left is a stain. A stain of sins. A stain of those who wronged you.

Albedo merely chuckles.

“I can’t say I didn’t warn you,” he murmurs to Jean, who watches the final specks of you fly away. “But of course, why would you listen to me?”

“Albedo,” she tries, but he cuts her off.

“And it’s your fault,” the alchemist spits with venom, entirely uncharacteristic of him, “that The Divine One is dead.”

Albedo slumps in his chair, paper discarded to the side. He knows it’s only a matter of time until everything that’s happening catches up to him and his sister, and that hourglass is losing its sand far too quickly for his liking.

He’s running out of time.

When was the last time he got sleep? A full meal? Anything of sustenance, for that matter?

Sustenance…

The alchemist jumps up from where he sits, almost shouting from the idea that pops in his mind.

Them! What if he brought Them back? Obviously, They didn’t know who They were, so there has to be a world where They came from!

Of course. Why didn’t he think of this earlier? It was so obvious!

Albedo spins around and rushes out of the Knights of Favonius Headquarters, being met with a grey, dead sky, but he ignores it, feet pounding the ground as he races towards where a certain Anemo Archon-turned-bard normally resides.

The familiar green outfit greets Albedo’s eyes on top of Venti’s statue, right where he thought the bard would be. Albedo waves at Venti frantically, motioning for him to come down; he does, greeting the alchemist with a slightly less cheery hello than he would have nine months earlier.

“I have—an idea,” Albedo pants, trying to catch his breath, “but I need your help, along with Morax’s and Baal’s.”

“Why?” Venti asks, raising an eyebrow. “What’s the idea?”

“Just trust me.”

—

A week later, three of the Seven are gathered around the Geo alchemist, talking amongst themselves quietly.

A door opens, revealing Jean, Eula, Kaeya, Lisa, Diluc and little Klee, who looks much more sickly than she did a week ago. Still, she cradles Dodoco sweetly in her arms.

“Did you tell them yet?” Jean asks. Albedo shakes his head in response, to which the five adults that just entered the room look confused at.

“Tell us what?”

Diluc is the one who speaks, crossing his arms.

“This seems a little suspicious and very… deceptive of you Knights, more so than usual.”

“Would you shut up for once about the Knights?” Jean hisses at Diluc, a glare accompanying her words. “This isn’t about our damn rivalry. It’s about the whole of Teyvat.”

That shuts the wine tycoon up, but not without a harrumph and a cross of his arms, followed by him glaring at the floor.

“Fine. What is this plan?”

“As you know, the Divine One was executed—“ The Archons wince at this. “—around nine months ago, and as you also know, Teyvat has fallen into ruin because of it. I propose that we bring them back.”

“Necromancy? My, I never thought the Chief Alchemist of the Knights of Favonius would be into that sort of thing,” Lisa says, flipping absentmindedly through her catalyst; instead of the Oathsworn Eye it normally would be, it’s a mere Apprentice’s Notes, but it still makes for a good light reading. “Still, do go on.”

“No, not necromancy. Otherworldly travel.”

That gets the witch’s attention, along with everyone else (sans Klee, who has fallen asleep, snoring softly).

“Other worlds?”

Kaeya this time. The Khaenri’ahn seems intrigued by the prospect, with being friends with the Traveler and all.

“Yes, other worlds. My theory is that They came from another world, hence why They didn’t know of the status that They held here, and also why no memories came to Their mind.” Albedo pauses to clear his throat. “I need a few witnesses to my little test, should it result in a catastrophic failure, or if it results in a success.”

The atmosphere of the room seems to shift a bit, hope returning into the eyes of the people within its confines.

So, with everyone seemingly on board, Albedo begins to explain the full extent of his plan and the process behind it, gesturing to the Seven while speaking. The gods look a bit scared in their own immortal way, but the same hope that filled the Knights’ (and Diluc’s) eyes begins to stand stony behind their gazes.

“You think there’s a chance that… we’ll be okay again?”

Ei’s voice is weak, a shock to all in the room but Albedo himself.

“Yes.”

“And if this doesn’t work?”

Kaeya.

Albedo stays silent at that.

“I need a sliver of your power from your Gnosis, each of you. Yes, I am aware that you no longer hold possession of them, but there is still a small bit of stored power left in your bodies. I need it.”

Venti’s eyes widen momentarily before settling back down, expression fading into determined confidence.

“And you.” Albedo turns to the Knights and Diluc. “I need a touch of your element, all of you. Barbara was kind enough to give me some of hers, and I already have the essence of a Dendro slime, so we don’t have to worry about that.”

“How is this going to work? Do you even have a plan?” Eula asks, leaning on her claymore.

Albedo sighs and pinches his nose at the demanding questions from the Spindrift Knight. Of course she of all people would be the one to question and potentially hinder his plan.

“Don’t ask questions.”

She grumbles but obliges, summoning a small Cryo blade; the others follow suit with their own element, solidifying it into reality before handing the essences over to the Chief Alchemist.

Albedo then turns to the Archons, who each hold an orb of their respective element in their palms. It glows brighter than the Vision wielders’ elements, but nonetheless, they are all beautiful.

“Let us begin.”

—

“Fuck!”

The mouse in your right hand slams down on the table when your computer freezes up for the third time today. Of course Microsoft’s software decides to be picky when you have a very important deadline looming right over your head. Why wouldn’t it?

“Come on, you stupid piece of shit, work!”

But alas, Word is still frozen in time, your computer’s fans kicking on to account for the additional strain on it.

You slump back in your chair with a loud huff. Great. Why wouldn’t your literally-just-bought computer work? Of course, it’s stupid piece of shit—

The monitor suddenly bluescreens and begins to glow really, really brightly, much brighter than it should.

“What the hell?”

The fans whir faster, spinning into overdrive, and the glow only gets brighter.

Is my computer going to blow up? Dammit, I’m out of here, I can just tell HR I need a tablet or something—

Just as you’re about to exit the room to complain toyour boss, everything goes dead silent.

Then an ‘oof’ comes from behind you, followed by three more thuds that sound suspiciously like something living hitting the ground.

“Your Grace?”

That voice…

You freeze in your tracks, not daring to look at who you swear to the gods you left behind in that hellscape. Memories flood your head, ones you tried to repress and thought you did so.

Apparently not.

“Your Grace…?”

A different voice this time, the one that sucked the air out of your lungs, and you sense a third and even a fourth presence behind you, slowly standing up and brushing themselves off.

You slowly turn around, facing the three Archons and Albedo himself, each looking extremely relieved to see you alive and well. Their faces display exhaustion, stress and sleeplessness; for what, you don’t know.

“Get away from me.”

The voice that comes from your lips is steady save for a small quaver in the underlying tone.

“Thank goodness you’re alive!” Ei exclaims, tears beginning to gather at the corners of her eyes. “You—we—“

“I said, get away from me.”

The Electro Archon freezes up at your tone, ceasing her slow approach to your figure, which, unbeknownst to them, is grabbing your phone and preparing to dial 9-1-1, also digging the small switchblade you always carry out of your pocket.

Those self-defense lessons and weapons training sessions? Yeah, you picked those up fourfold after the event happened.

Albedo tries to get closer to you, to which you flick the blade out, threatening to stab him if he gets any closer. The alchemist looks stunned at your willingness to potentially injure him, and stops in his tracks before you get a chance to.

“You are going to get away from me.”

“Your—“

“Don’t fucking call me that,” you spit with poisonous malice. “You lost that right when you executed me after hunting me down over all of fucking Teyvat, all because I shared the same damn face as your stupid fucking god.”

The other hand, the one holding your phone, holds down the home button to summon your assistant.

“Assistant, call 9-1-1–“

Venti makes a grab for the device, but it’s already dialed, and you’re running to the bathroom to lock the door.

“9-1-1, what’s your emergency?”

“Hi, yes there are four strangers in my house that are saying I’m their god and are trying to kidnap me. Please send the cops!”

“What? C—ould you repeat that?” The line goes staticky for a moment, then returns to normal.

“Four strangers are in my house and are saying I’m their deity.” Your voice goes deadpan.

A bang comes from the locked door behind you, but you press back against it, checking that you still hold your blade tightly.

“Alright, we’re sending the police to your location. They’ll be there in about ten minutes, okay honey?”

“Okay, thank you.” A quaver shakes the underlying monotone of your voice.

“Can you stay on the line for me?”

“I can try—“

The bang that rattles the wood scares the shit out of you, and you feel the lock begin to jiggle.

Your phone suddenly shuts off, sparks coming from the charging port; frantically pressing the power button, you curse, dropping the now-useless device on the white tile. Guess it’s up to your little trusty knife to defend you now.

Until then, though, you have to stall for time.

Nine minutes.

“Please, Your Grace!” Venti begs, his voice muffled from the wooden barrier separating you two. “Teyvat is dying!”

“I don’t give a fuck!” you yell back, grunting as the door rattles hard again. “Where were you when I was dying? Oh, yeah, you’re the ones that KILLED ME!”

Eight minutes.

“The Abyss is getting worse!”

“I don’t fucking care! Fuck you! I’m not coming with you!”

“Please…”

Albedo speaks this time, who, unbeknownst to you, has begun to pick the doorknob’s lock silently, trying to get it open so that they can bring you back to Teyvat.

You laugh. “Blondie, I ain’t goin’ with ya just because you were nice to me. Go to hell!”

Seven damn minutes.

The lock rattles hard, unlocking; you panic and grab the knob, trying desperately to prevent it from turning and opening.

You’re successful in your endeavors, but look around for a weapon to defend yourself with that will give you a bit more range than the blade in your other hand. Alas, there is nothing (other than a toilet brush, but that’s flimsy plastic and will probably break if you so much as look at it for too long).

The doorknob turns more to the left.

Six minutes.

“Your Grace, please. Think reasonably.”

You snort at Zhongli’s words and the irony of the situation; him, one of your three murderers, trying to kidnap you, telling you to be reasonable.

Yeah. If that’s their ‘reasonable’, you’d rather be crazy in their eyes.

Five minutes. Dammit time, hurry up!

The seconds on the clock seem to taunt you relentlessly, tick-tick-ticking away at your sanity.

The door slams open, knocking you onto your back with a loud thump and a pained groan; you scramble to get your bearings, fumbling for your knife, which was knocked out of your hand when your head hit the ground. Dizzy, your eyes meet blonde hair and blue eyes reaching down to grab you.

In a panic, you kick your leg out, landing a hit to Albedo’s gut. He stumbles backwards, caught off guard for a moment, but regains his senses when Zhongli asks him if he’s okay.

“Please, Your—“

“Fuck off.”

The knife has returned to your hands. You glance up.

Four minutes.

You can already faintly hear the sirens closing in on your location; now it’s just a matter of frantically stalling for time.

“Your Grace, if you don’t cooperate with us, we will have to resort to… more unpleasant methods, and I really don’t want to.” It’s Zhongli who speaks this time, his voice hardening. “So, if you would kindly come with us, we will not have to use these methods.”

Geo essence begins to line under his eyes, reminding you that, even if he is retired, he’s still a damn Archon, even in your mortal world.

Three minutes.

“Time will not go by at all while you are gone, if that is what you’re worried about.”

“No!” You snap. “What I’m worried about is bein’ ripped right from my world into the hands of my goddamn murderers when I’m just recovering!”

You yank your shirt up, showcasing the death scar that stands out, white contrasting brightly against the rest of your skin, which is also marked with smaller, but no less traumatizing marks; lightning marrs your ribs, earth scars your arms, and the whipping of the wind left slashes against the bones of your hips.

“You fucking traumatized me, and all because I looked like your so-called ‘Divine One’. And, yet…” Your voice drops an octave, chuckling darkly. “—and yet, you expect me to forgive you, to allow myself to be dragged back into the world that is punishing you!”

Two minutes.

That’s the final straw for them; all of them (sans Albedo) have tears in their eyes, but apparently their sympathy isn’t enough to stop Venti from grabbing you and dragging you, kicking and screaming, into his arms, passing you over to Albedo. He strokes your hair as you sob loudly.

“You will be treated like the god you are.”

One minute.

“But…” you sniffle. “I don’t want to go back.”

“I know, dearest one.”

The world suddenly warps violently, and all you know is the void.

[lis-likes-fics]

Exhilarated

Pairing: Carlisle Cullen x Reader Word Count: 4,602 words heheh Warnings: Car crash (again), smut Author's Note: Took too long because I'm ✨inconsistent✨.

~~~~~

Y/N sighed deeply as she drove down the dark road, headed back home from out of town. A friend of hers had invited her to her birthday party and she accepted, reassuring Carlisle that she would stay safe while she was out. He had promised her that he would always be by her side, and he took the promise to heart. He was reluctant to let her go by herself, but she convinced him that she would be alright.

Now she was on her way home to Carlisle. She was peering through her windshield when her phone began ringing beside her, the sound was loud and it startled her. She tore her attention away from the road for a moment to decline the phone call, she'd pick it up when she stopped.

Y/N looked back up to the road, cursing loudly when she saw a deer beginning to cross the road. She yanked on the steering wheel, swerving out of the way of the deer that had frozen in the street, staring at the lights that flashed at it.

The car jerked over, just missing the deer. Y/N slammed on the breaks as hard as she could and the car skid across the road. She crashed into a tree, the airbag deploying and smacking Y/N in the face, disorienting her for a moment.

It when she smelled the gas when she knew she had to get out of the car as fast as possible. Her heart pounded in her chest, she could hear her pulse in her ears. She opened her door, struggling to move her legs as she looked down. She groaned when she saw her foot stuck in the car, preventing her from moving.

She wiggled her feet out of her shoes and managed to get her legs out of the car. Just as she was out of the car, the vehicle blew, throwing her in the air from the impact of the explosion.

She let out a strangled yelp when she landed on hard, rolling over the ground before being abruptly halted by smacking another tall tree. Another cry escaped her as she felt a terrible pain in her lower back that soon spread all over her body. She was sure something was broken, and it was something vital. Blood soon started dropping her mouth, creating a bad taste in her mouth.

As if she'd be able to summon him, she choked out a strangled call, "Carlisle…" Her voice was barely audible or understandable, but she didn't stop. She needed him. Her body hurt so badly, she was in need of his aid.

However, it seemed as though he could hear her calls as a black Mercedes came racing down the road to get to her, screeching to a stop before the door was opened and Carlisle was coming out to her within the next second.

He was kneeling at her side, looking her over with worried eyes as he spoke, "What is it with you and cars?"

She chuckled weakly, wincing and coughing up more blood. "I'm sorry," her voice cracked as she got the words out. He shook his head, placing a hand on her cheek, "It's not your fault, dear."

He continued looking her over, trying to make note of everything wrong. She spoke, struggling to get the words out of her mouth, "Carlisle, I can't m-move my legs."

Carlisle acknowledged her words, "I'm going to move you onto your stomach, okay?" She gave him a nod and allowed him to do so. He felt around her back along her spine, asking her questions about how it felt and what happened.

At the end of his assessment and her recap, he let out  a heavy breath and gave her a sad look. She couldn't comprehend it, she had started to fade in and out of focus, looking around her surroundings.

When she hit her back so hard on the tree, it fractured part of her spine and paralyzed her from the waist down. Along with that, she was bleeding internally and he knew she wouldn't have enough time before she actually passed out. He knew it would be bad if she passed out, it wouldn't end well at all.

And he couldn't lose her.

With glazed eyes, Y/N turned her scarce attention to Carlisle, "What's….wrong?"

Her breath had become heavy, the other effects of the accident were starting to sink in. Carlisle looked her in the eyes, as if he was memorizing every detail in them. She weakly moved an arm with the intention of placing her hand on his cheek. He took her hand in his, holding it to his cheek as he savored the warmth of her hand.

"Carlisle-?" His name was interrupted by a painful cough that riddled through her. He told her with a sad voice, crying without tearing up. "I don't think you're going to make it. You got hurt really badly."

She wasn't concerned about herself, she was concerned about him. She didn't want to leave him alone, she didn't want to leave his side after promising a million times a day that she never would.

Fresh tears stained her face to cover the old ones, not from physical pain but from emotional pain. "I'm not leaving you," she whispered in a hoarse voice.

He sighed and nodded, "I know. You'd never forgive me if I let you, and I'd never forgive myself if I let you."

She knew what he was getting at. For a moment, she was scared of the physical pain that would come with his cure, but the fear ceased when it was challenged with the despair of even the thought of leaving Carlisle's side.

She gave a weak smile and nodded, "Do it…"

He had a pained expression on his face as he considered the option again. It was the only option where she would come out alive-- or at least for the most part.

Carlisle stroked the side of her face with his thumb, gazing over her features as he looked past the injuries, looking at her true self as if it was the last time he'd see it.

He whispered in a clear but saddened voice, "I'm going to miss these eyes." She smiled at him, swallowing thickly.

Carlisle lifted her head carefully, kissing her deeply with as much meaning as he could without hurting her further. She kissed him back, it was one thing she could focus on fully with her mind slipping in and out of attention.

He whispered in her ear, "I'm so sorry."

She shook her head and told him in a broken voice, "I love you."

He kissed the side of her face, "I love you, too."

He braced himself before finally biting into her neck, his teeth piercing the skin and drawing blood. He fought off his urge to suck her dry quite well, more focused on saving her than he was on tasting her blood.

Y/N inhaled sharply, a strangled sound caught in her throat as she tried her hardest to hold in her scream. She could feel the venom already spreading over her body, burning her up from the inside out with such excruciating pain.

When Carlisle finished, he wiped his mouth and gazed at her painfully. He hated seeing her in pain, he hated seeing her looking so broken.

Try as she did, she couldn't stop the cries from leaving her body. Carlisle wiped at her tears as she squeezed her eyes shut tight, every fiber of her being struggling through the pain.

It felt like she had been lit on fire, for a moment she thought she would be hurting like this forever. She screamed and writhed in unbridled pain, her body jerking all over the place as she clenched and stretched her fingers repeatedly.

She almost wished the bottom half of her body stayed paralyzed, but she decided not to. It was better to go through the pain and spend eternity with Carlisle than it was to die and leave him without the love of his life.

Y/N opened her eyes, forcing a breath out of her lunges before sucking another back in. Her eyes fell on Carlisle. She found some remedy, thought very little, for the pain as she looked into his eyes. Beyond the agony he felt for putting you through such pain, she could see the love he felt for her that justified the physical pain.

It was that love that made him strong enough to do what he needed to do.

She didn't know how long she would be in this state-- it was different for everyone-- but she knew it would be worth it if it meant she would get to spend forever with him.

~

Y/N had been moved by Carlisle to his home, they couldn't stay out in the middle of nowhere while she was turning. In the safety of the home, she continued through the change.

She felt bad for putting everyone through the ordeal of having to listen to her pained screams as she turned. They wouldn't blame her for that, of course. They knew the pain she was in, they'd endured it before. That didn't stop her from feeling like she was burdening them. If only she'd been a little more careful, they wouldn't have to go through the mess that is changing.

While Edward could hear the thoughts she was having while she turned, he wasn't in the room to dissuade her from thinking those thoughts. Carlisle was right by her side the entire time. He refused to leave her, nothing his children could say would make him for even a second.

They eventually had to move Jasper out of the house. Her change was affecting him because, along with the physical pain, she was going through the emotional pain of having to watch Carlisle watch her turn. It hurt her to cause him any pain and Jasper wasn't holding up because of it.

She was in transformation for four days.

If she hadn't known physical pain before, she definitely did now. While changing made her exhausted, once she was a vampire, the exhaustion disappeared into a drained feeling.

She looked around the room, as if seeing everything for the first time. She could see every small detail in everything she laid eyes on.

She felt this strange feeling in her throat and chest, as if something was wrong, something was going against her natural instinct.

She finally put a finger on it when she realized she hadn't started breathing yet. She didn't need to, so she hadn't realized it when she didn't.

She took in a deep breath, her chest rising and falling. She could smell so many different things at one time: the trees outside, the fresh morning dew, each distinctive smell of each person throughout the entire house.

She listened closely to the sounds around her, the quiet shuffles of the residents in the house, the chips of birds outside, the light breathing of someone sat next to her.

She turned her head to look at the person next to her. A smile spread across her face as she gazed at him, looking at every small detail of his face, listening to every breath he took as he watched her with his own large smile.

"Hey," he spoke, his voice barely above a whisper but perfectly audible to her. She felt as though she might cry as she stared back at him, she was so glad to see him, even if she was with him for the past four days. She was seeing him clearly, there were no tears in her eyes.

She overestimated the amount of strength she needed to use as she got off the bed Carlisle had in his room solely for her and hugged him, straddling his waist as she buried her face in his neck, holding him a little too tight.

He let out a hearty laugh at her enthusiasm, holding her to him just as tightly. She took a deep breath in, inhaling his scent and memorizing it instantly. He was perfect in every single way.

She gripped him tight, carefully not to break him as she tried not to underestimate her strength. She breathed a sigh of contentment.

When she finally let go, it was only enough so she could kiss him. As soon as their lips touched, she sighed. The kiss alone was exhilarating.

She intertwined her fingers in his hair, letting out a soft moan against his lips. His lips tasted sweet, it was a taste she'd never experienced, but she liked it-- loved it, even.

When she pulled away, it was strange to not be gasping for breath. If she were human, she would have been.

She smiled back at him again with loving eyes, "Carlisle." She was surprised by her own voice, it was clear and seemingly perfect in every way. Carlisle watched in admiration as she experienced these things as if for the first time.

She looked back at him, "I sound…"

"Beautiful," he finished with a smile, "as always."

He kissed her again, wrapping his arms more securely around her as he stood, setting her on her feet as he pulled away. He grabbed her hand, guiding her to the bathroom connected to his room, despite him not needing to use it.

Carlisle pulled her in front of the mirror, his arms wrapping around her waist from behind and his head lying in the crook of her neck. She held his arms around her, locking her fingers with his as she stared at her reflection.

It seemed as though all of her imperfections before had been corrected, painting this perfect version of herself that actually seemed to compliment Carlisle now.

Her skin was smooth like silk, her hair was styled to perfection, despite the mess it was in, her crimson eyes were deep but they shone like stars. Even if they were yet to be the honey gold of Carlisle's eyes, they were still strangely appealing to gaze into.

She had always felt like she didn't look right next to him, she felt out of sorts. He seemed like a perfect sculpture carved from the most divine marble while she was a jugged wood carving placed next to him.

Now she looked as flawless as she did, she felt like she finally completed this perfect pair they seemed to form.

She turned her attention to Carlisle, his eyes trained on her face as she looked at him through the mirror. She smiled at him, turning in his arms to lay a hand on his cheek.

She went to kiss him again, but was suddenly distracted by a burning in her throat that made her reach to touch it. Carlisle nodded lightly, "You need to feed."

She sighed softly and nodded, taking his hand in hers and allowing him to lead her out of the house. As they walked downstairs hand in hand, the Cullens were all downstairs waiting.

She paused next to Carlisle, moving her free hand to hold their intertwined hands. She felt strange under their looks like this, like there was something wrong with her. She tensed under the eyes, a strange feeling rising in her as she grew anxious. There was this strange instinct in her that made her feel threatened, thus moving her to be hostile.

But before these instincts could properly kick in, they were smiling at her and rushing over to give her hugs. She was startled for a moment when Alice rushed into her arms happily, slightly squealing at her. She settled and hugged her back, eventually exchanging hugs with everyone in the coven before getting a giant bear hug from Emmett-- and she expected nothing less than that.

They gave her a proper welcome into the coven, expressing how happy they were that she was alright. Before she could strike up some conversation, Carlisle pulled her away so she could feed. "You can catch up afterwards," he smiled at Y/N.

~

Y/N found that she wasn't clumsy anymore. It was as if being a vampire cured everything wrong with her and made her this perfect woman. It made her feel like she was actually worth Carlisle's time now. She never said anything before, she didn't feel like it was appropriate to, but she always believed that she was far less than Carlisle. She never believed she was really that valuable, Carlisle's reassurances could only last her for so long.

After teaching Y/N how to properly hunt, they returned home. She was smiling the whole way, happy with her new self as she walked with Carlisle.

A few days passed and Carlisle started to notice she felt a lot happier than she had when she was human. He was curious to know why the change was such a big one, she was brighter, more radiant, as if things were finally working out for her.

One night while everyone was out feeding, Carlisle and Y/N were still at home together. He questioned her, "You're happier than you used to be. Even Jasper can feel the difference."

She shrugged, "I am." The simple response was enough to make Carlisle push on. "Why weren't you this happy before?"

Y/N looked at him, her red eyes staring into his golden ones before she sighed. "I'm different now. Before I was this clumsy, accident-prone, mediocre girl and now I actually feel…strong."

Carlisle took her hand in his, bringing it up to kiss the back of it, "Y/N."

She nodded, "I know, I know. I wasn't mediocre before, and I'm not mediocre now. I'll always be special to you."

He chuckled lightly before licking his lips, "Why did you think you were mediocre?"

She shrugged and sighed, "I mean…you literally look like a perfect specimen, like a beautiful statue. I…didn't. I was unimpressive and boring. But now I'm strong and I'm beautiful and…I'm perfect now."

Carlisle said exactly what she thought he would, but it somehow still managed to hit home with her.

"Y/N," he said, "when you were human, I cherished you for what you were. I still cherish you for what you are. Do you want to know something? The only difference I see between you now and you then are the color of your eyes. You were always beautiful, you were always strong, you were always perfect, and you always will be. To be honest, I do miss the clumsiness."

She chuckled at the last part, kissing his cheek, "Yeah, because arriving at the ER at least once every two weeks was fun."

"It amazed me how much one human could get hurt in a month," he replied, a soft laugh erupting from his chest.

Y/N smiled brightly and sighed. Perhaps she was hard on herself. All of her self-doubt wouldn't disappear in one night, but perhaps it would over her time with Carlisle. He would definitely do everything in his power to make sure she knew her worth.

She leaned over to him, kissing him gently before smiling and telling him genuinely, "I love you, Carlisle."

"I love you," he smiled. He took her face in his hands, kissing her lips softly. She moved so that she was sitting in his lap, happy to be with him, as always.

Carlisle's hands smoothed over her back, his touch was soothing over her skin. She pulled away from his lips, her eyes closed, her mind focused on his hands on her. It was such a soothing and exhilarating feeling. Her skin tingled wherever his hands dragged as he watched her sigh in pleasure.

Her voice was feathery as she spoke, "What's happening?"

His smile was one of adoration, "Your senses are stronger. You can feel every touch, smell every scent, hear every sound, taste every taste, and see every sight on a higher level."

She nodded, "That makes sense." She'd never felt anything like this. But, to be fair, she'd never been in a relationship as close and intimate as with Carlisle-- or anywhere near it.

She leaned forward again, her head in the crook of his neck as she pressed her body against his. "Do it more," she whispered.

And he did. His hand glided over her skin, grazing her up her back, over her shoulders, and down her arms. His hands gripped her, his thumbs brushing her skin, before moving back up her arms and down her sides.

Y/N turned her head and kissed his neck. Carlisle's eyes fluttered closed, his hands grazing down her outer thighs, moving back up and starting over running up her back.

She adjusted herself so she straddled his waist, locking her legs behind him. She loved being this close to him, he always felt so wonderful.

"How do you feel?" He asked her in his honey smooth voice.

She smiled, "Really good." She leaned forward, her hands cupping his face affectionately before kissing him again. He hands supported her back, pulling her impossibly close.

He stood, his arms wrapping around her waist to carry her. Laying her gently on the bed, he kissed her more desperately than he had before. Y/N sighed, moving her arms to wrap around his neck.

With every second, her need for him at that moment became more than just for care. She wanted him, needed him. With every kiss, her carnal need for him grew stronger.

Carlisle didn't need to be a mind reader to know what she was thinking. He whispered into her ear, the words so delicate in the air, "Say the words, and I'm yours."

She moaned lightly, nodding her head before giving him another kiss, "I want you, I want this. Please make me yours."

He smiled, kissing her hastily. His hands moved down her sides, gripping her waist as he pressed his thumbs into them. She grabbed his shirt, initially going to take it off of him before deciding to just rip it from his body completely.

He found that amusing as he allowed the piece of fabric to fall to the floor. He chuckled lightly, shifting her to move farther onto the bed. His hands pulled down her pants eagerly. He let them drop to the floor, kicking them out of his way.

She watched him intently, her eyes clouded with lust. He smiled at her and snuck his hands into her panties, rubbing her clit expertly.

She sucked in a breath, gripping the sheets for dear life as she let out a loud moan. Carlisle couldn't believe his eyes at the sight, it was beautiful, she was beautiful.

His finger moved quickly, applying just the right amount of force. Her legs tightened around his waist, pulling him close to her. He moved back over her and kissed her again, swallowing her moans hungrily.

It was ridiculous how fast he made her reach the edge. She was getting close to meeting her release and all he did was kiss and touch her. If she was this sensitive, she could only imagine what he would feel like inside of her.

She was getting so hot thinking about it.

"Carlisle," she moaned before he stopped his ministrations, he knew how close she was. She whined and he told her in a surprisingly seductive tone, "I love the way you look when you get close, but I don't want you to come yet."

She couldn't believe his words as she looked at him pleadingly. She was so ready for him. She was so ready to feel him.

She reached down his pants, undoing his belt eagerly. His eyes closed momentarily before he looked back at her, his eyes liquid gold as he gazed at her. When she had his pants down, she palmed him through his underwear, moaning lightly.

Carlisle groaned at her contact, kissing her neck and earning a sharp gasp from her. One hand went back to his head, holding him down next to her. Her other hand continued before going to take off his boxers entirely.

She let out a soft sigh when she saw his impressive length. He wasn't small, that was for sure. He let out a sigh of his own before whispering in her ear, "Are you sure?"

She bit her lip, kissing his cheek before telling him, "Carlisle, I love you. I want to share everything with you, especially…"

Carlisle glanced at her after her hesitation. "Especially what?" He asked.

She sucked on her lip before admitting, "Especially my first time."

He shared a long, meaningful look with her. He kissed her again. Despite the disheveled state they were in, the kiss was slow and sensual and managed to convey their love for each other with such depth. When he pulled back, he gave one last look to her before she nodded confidently.

He contained eyed contact with her before sliding inside slowly. She threw her head back, closing her eyes and gasping. She let out a loud exclamation as he buried himself deep within her. He groaned into her skin.

He pulled out slowly until he was left with just the tip inside of her before pushing himself back inside. She wrapped her legs around his waist, so eager to keep him close. "Oh, please," she moaned.

Carlisle sighed, a sound so full of pleasure at hearing her voice pleaded for him like she was. His excitement exploded, he had to try and control himself.

Carlisle's breath picked up, he tried to keep himself on as much control as possible, doing his best to keep from pistoning in her.

However, when she got used to his impressive size, tightening her grip around his neck. "Oh, yes," she sighed, "More. Please, Carlisle, more."

He almost lost it when she said his name in such a way. He didn't realize just how much power she had over him until she moaned his name in her plea. He obliged to her pleas and his thrusts became faster and harder.

Her sounds filled the room and his sounds began to mix with hers from his excitement. She could feel a knot in her stomach as she felt herself getting closer to her release.

She cursed under her breath, moaning his name in his ear. Carlisle could feel her squeezing around him, which only spurred him on as his thrusts became more erratic. Her moans, her cries, her pleas, they were so seductively precious to him. He wanted to pull them from her night after night. He wanted to have her forever.

"I'm so close," she whispered, her mouth hanging open as she moaned out.

"I know," he said, "I can feel you."

She smiled, panting heavily as Carlisle thrusted into her so deliciously. He was getting so close, he was just at the edge of his release.

She sighed, the words sending them both over the edge with such force, "I love you, Carlisle."

They gasped, holding their breath as they finally reached their sweet release together. Y/N intertwined her fingers with his, kissing him deeply as she moaned into his mouth.

They chased their highs together, the feeling so intense, so euphoric, so exhilarating.

When they finally started to come down, he eased her through it. Their breaths mingled as they pulled away from the kiss. Carlisle pulled out of her. He brushed a thumb against her cheek, pulling her into another kiss.

She smiled, holding him impossibly close to her. When they pulled back from the kiss, Carlisle whispered, "I love you."

[emperor-palpaminty]

"I've been falling in love with you since the first day we met." With western Tech I am begging

Ah! The return of Dr. Victor Trech "Tech" the Third! I have been watching too many Jane Austen movies again because oh no I am in a MOOD ANON, this was delivered with perfect timing! All credit goes to @weirdcharacter for the lovely creation of this AU, please go follow her (and her writing is great, @hellothere-generalangsty )

Rating: F for fluff. Fluffy fluff.

Jekk is “Jack” and Sheeyah is “Shay”! Yall know the drill. Also I'm not saying the reader looks like Sadie Adler (RDR) but her aesthetic is PERFECT for the reader and I just sjdhsksjsks, just the clothes and the hat and the attitude, I adore it warning this is very dramatic, send help,  i need help, my expectation for men is unrealistic

Your world turned sideways, then upside down, sideways again, and then right side up. You laughed, tumbling again, coming to a halt at the base of the hill. The two children slid down by you, voices chorusing in laugher. Shay collapsed on your back as Jack skidded by you, giggling, grinning and displaying a stunning lack of front teeth. “You’re the funnest person in town.”

“Aw.” You grinned, reaching over and tugging on Jack’s straw hat. “You kids are pretty fun, too.” 

A set of little fingers reached up, tugging the tangles of grass through your hair. “Mama and papa like you, too.”

“And I like them.” You sat up, yanking off your hat and letting your hair fall so Shay could braid it. She rose, taking your tendrils of hair and weaving them together. “I like yall more, though.” You winked at Jack, who giggled as you motioned him to shush. “Don’t tell them, though.”

Shay cackled behind you, tugging on your hair and tying it off. “We won’t!” She chirped.

“Your secret is safe with us!” The boy cawed, running around his sister. “Hey! Shay! I’ll race you back up the hill!” He turned and sprinted up.

“Hey!” Shay fussed at her little apron, hopping up, and then ran up after him. “Not fair! You had a head start!”

A laugh, deep and warm, escaped your chest as you stood. You followed the kids up the hill, walking slower as they neared the top. You stopped and glanced back at the landscape, the sea of gold rolling in waves from upcoming storm winds. You would think the fields of wheat were oceans of riches. Cut was rich in every way, of course- with a family as lovely as his and lands as broad and blessed, but the man was happier with grains than physical riches.

Thunder rolled above your head, shouting through the sky. You glanced up, then looked at the kids, who has just made it into their house. "Hey!" You yelled. "I'm going to run home."

The kids nodded, shouting their goodbyes and waving as they retreated inside to the warmth of their abode.

___

You barely managed to make it into the pergola in the center of town when the bottom really fell out of the storm above. The wood creaked under your feet as you moved, watching the rain, antsy for the clouds to lift.

Drumming your fingers on the old railing of the pergola, you made a couple of laps, taking in the sights of this town in the rain, the storm. You leaned on your elbows and looked over everything, thinking for a moment. Everyone was tucked away safe and sound in their homes, listening to the rain and wind and curling up with loved ones.

Even if you were the only one in your home, you wouldn't mind curling up alone, drinking some tea, listening to the pitter of rain on your windows-

Wait.

You leaned on the wood, squinting at the figure fast approaching you. Despite actively getting drenched by the unsympathetic rain, he was grinning.

"Victor," You whispered, turning and running to the steps of the pergola. You made it halfway down the stairs, the rain and wood scent assaulting you, when his hand grasped your arm and tugged you back under the cover of the humble structure. You tugged your hair out of your face, staring up at him, rubbing the water out of your face. "Victor!" You practically yelled above the rain. "What are you doing out here?"

The Doctor grinned, victoriously holding up an umbrella that had been stationed under his arm. "I had to bring this to you!" He smiled sheepishly, rubbing his neck. "Uh... It hasn't done any good yet."

"Oh, Victor." You laughed and looked him over, shaking your head at the mud splashed on his trousers. "You're soaked!"

"I didn't want you to be alone." He said, watching you. "Waiting this out by yourself would be rough." His eyes, behind the rain-speckled specs, were bright as he looked you over, wet hair and all. "Stars," He said, hoarse. "You're beautiful."

A laugh tugged at your throat as you plunked down on the floor of the modest stand, and you patted the wood next to you. "You're very sweet, doc."

"I'm being serious," Victor plunked down next to you, taking off his specs and rubbing his dampened shirt on the lenses in an attempt to dry them. "I'm trying to be more bold. Honest, even."

You laughed again, shaking your head, the braid Shay made swaying on your shoulders. "Well, you're sweet, either way. And you're kind of pretty yourself."

He chuckled in his city-slicker way, a way that charmed you. "I like your braid." Victor paused, reaching up to examine it. "May I?" Upon receiving your nod of approval, he took the length of hair in his hand. Your whole scalp tingled at the sensation of his hands, gently skimming over the braid. "It's lovely. Shay?"

"Yes," You hummed. "Shay likes playing with hair, you know."

He chuckled, hands falling to your shoulders momentarily before dropping, and Victor scooting besides you, crossing his legs. “She does.” He added, eyes drawing to the rain.

You snuck a sideways glance at him. He really was pretty. Soft lips rounded a set jaw, intelligent dark eyes hiding behind glasses, skin tanned and warm with brown-red hair laying in wet curls on his head. You were never one for art, portraits, but heavens, if you could pick a picture to have engraved in your mind’s eye forever it would be this one, of him, wet and soaked from the rain and eyes soft. Your gaze darted away, and your stomach stirred- butterflies, your mama used to call them. 

You felt a hand press softly over yours, fingers spreading hesitantly on your knuckles. You glanced up, blinking, and you smiled quietly. Victor’s own eyes moved up to yours and his cheeks pinkened, and he started to pull his hand back. “I’m sorry, I just-”

Your thumb flicked over his hand, trapping it over yours again. “It’s fine.” You whispered, barely audible against the rain. After a moment of silence, you squeezed his hand. "How did Victor Trech become 'Tech'?"

Victor chuckled, fingers flexing over yours. "Ah. Well, one of the letters I sent- I suppose the 'r' in Trech blended in with cursive, and... Well, I never corrected it."

You broke out in a giggle, looking over at him, feeling your lips almost split in laughter. "Really?"

He nodded, laughter filling the pergola. His eyes danced in the rain as he looked at you, intelligent gaze not diminished by the softness that lingered in his brown eyes- warm and ever present.

You sucked in a breath as he smoothed his hand up to your cheek, pushing a strand of wet hair behind your ear. “If I could just,” He whispered, watching it tuck back neatly. His words never finished- but they held a strong, finalized want in how he said them, prayed them.

His fingers cusped your jaw, and he swallowed harshly, the unsaid plea moving down his throat. “Forgive me.” His hand moved away from you, and he turned his head away, words hoarse. “You seem to make me forget the words that I had in my mind.” Victor grimaced momentarily, at the crack of thunder above them. “And you make me talk in flowery circles.”

“Why do I do that?” You leaned forward, cocking your head. The hair danced from behind your ear to brush a damp line along your cheek, but you ignored it- you were enraptured fully in him, his presence.

“Because you-” Victor’s words caught again, and his cheeks reddened as he glanced down at the old wooden ground of the pergola. “You make me want to say every good and noble thing that you bring to my mind, and you deserve no less than the best praises my lips can sing of you.”

Your thoughts fell flatter than an armful of barley on a windless day. His eyes were so sincere, warm, lips pressed together. “I said I was trying to be honest because I want to be open and honest with you, especially you, if not only you- and should you say no, my heart will still be yours, and I’ll never speak of my honesty with you again.”

A chuckle pressed firmly to your throat, and you watched him sit up more, nodding softly. “Go on,” You encouraged. “Speak to me.”

The words spilled out of his lips, like a dam of emotions, held back by fear. “You make me feel needed here- well, the patients make me needed, but you make me feel wanted. Oh, there is no better feeling than being wanted, my saving grace.” Victor’s hand found its way back to your yours, clasping it, words dancing with the now-steady drumming of the rain. “I need these hands to ground me, hold me, only if you’ll have me.” He pulled your knuckles to his lips, kissing each one so tenderly. Like the tall grass you ran your hands over in the summer, his kisses were soft and warm and warmed you, head to toe. 

“You’ve been thinking about this for a long time, haven’t you?” Your brows raised. You were no longer chilled to the bone- you had thawed. 

“Since the first day I met you.” Victor whispered against your hand. 

You grinned, leaning in a little bit, catching his eyes in yours. “How about you stop kissing my hand and kiss somewhere else, Victor?”

The doctor stopped talking, mouth slamming shut and eyes flickering to your lips. He cleared his throat softly, and exhaled a shaky chuckle. "I... I don't want to make you uncomfortable."

"You're not." A smile pressed to your lips again and you moved your head, catching his eyes.

It took a moment. He nodded, leaning in halfway, and closing his eyes. His hands closed around yours, lips expectant.

You reached up and stroked a hand in his tangle of curls before closing the space. He flinched once your lips brushed his, but leaned back in, solidifying it. Everything fell into place, suddenly. The tugging at your heart every time you saw him, loving the way his name, him, tasted in your mouth, and those flashes of the tenderness you got- his doctorly touch examining your wounds, the fussing and concerns not always done out of his medical oath- how much of it had been done out of love?

Victor broke back, for a moment, enough for him to whisper your name, leaning in and kissing you, deeper, sweeter, humming against you. You wrapped your arms around his shoulders and sighed, willing the rain to fall for as long as it wanted to- you had all you would need right here.

[vennilavee]

lighthouse

pairing: levi x reader, ft baby kaiya (moon/stars universe) summary: after you and levi decide to try for another baby, things become a little complicated. warnings: oc struggles with becoming pregnant, general pregnancy themes, oc and levi are both sad, angsty stuff (but i kept it pretty vague i think), 18+ (smut in the form of cockwarming) a/n: this is something way new, i hope you guys like it! also i kinda wrote this thinking about moon/stars couple being perp couple but grown lmao but kept that pretty vague too

From the moment that you and Levi had confessed to each other that you wanted to have another baby and give Kaiya a sibling, it had quickly turned into you and Levi having sex wherever and whenever you could. Before Kaiya woke up, after Kaiya went to bed, you coming home for lunch (or really, for an afternoon delight), in the shower, in his office… anywhere you could. 

It had been fun and thrilling for a while- the excitement of it all had you on your toes. And after all, you couldn’t get enough of your man and he couldn’t get enough of you.

His favorite place to be was between your legs.

But then weeks started going by. Then months. And you kept getting your period every month, on schedule. Each month felt like a blow to the gut, but you still were optimistic. It happened with Kaiya right, as a happy accident? It’ll surely happen, now that you and Levi were actively planning for this. 

And then it doesn’t. Your period kept coming, and every month, pieces of you began to chip away. Were you being dramatic? It takes time for people to become pregnant, right? Maybe you should just wait it out. 

But then everything starts to feel so… unlike what it felt like before. You can feel yourself pulling away from him and withdrawing. You can feel him withdrawing, too.

Every time his cum shoots into you, you feel empty.

The seeds of doubt begin to plant in your mind once six months go by. Then seven, then nine months… then it’s almost a year since you and Levi have started actively trying.

Finally, you can’t. You can’t take it anymore. It feels like too much, even when he’s inside you, you can’t look him in the eye. Because every time Levi meets your eyes, you can’t help but think of the future. A future that you seem to be unable to bring to fruition-

“Stop, stop, Levi,” You plead and he immediately pulls out of you. Concern is written all over your face, his hands immediately cupping your cheek.

“Did I hurt you?” Levi asks. You only shake your head and pull your clothes on hastily. You don’t look him in the eye as you scramble out of bed, leaving him confused.

“I can’t,” You shake your head, “Gonna sleep in Kaiya’s bed tonight. I just… I can’t.”

And that’s how it remains for a few nights. Levi gives you space, which you’re grateful for. He has an inkling of what’s going on, but doesn’t want to push you.

Because he feels lost, too. He had seen your sad eyes week to week, month to month. Until they became all he saw. 

Should it be taking this long to become pregnant? He had searched on the Internet, and everything was so subjective. Dependent on the people. Maybe it’s him, he wonders.

But the last fertility specialist they had seen had said that it wasn’t them. Maybe it was stress. Maybe it was everything.

But maybe a break would be good. It was never meant to hurt like this, after all. It was never meant to leave an aching hole in his heart. It was never meant to put tears in your eyes.

It takes time for you both to find each other again, and perhaps that is the beauty of love. You both somehow gravitate towards each other, even if you’re not actively seeking each other out.

Even Kaiya had noticed the tension between you and Levi. Kids are so smart, picking up on everything and everything. That’s your baby. The thought of her big eyes asking Levi if he was okay sends your heart into a frenzy.

A crack of thunder and the comforting hum of the rain pulls you out of your already fitful sleep. You know Levi is awake, from the way he shifts in bed and presses himself to your side further. And also because he’s such a light sleeper.

His nose brushes against the back of your neck lightly, a hand ghosting over your hips then your thigh. It’s hesitant. Not like what you’re used to.

Levi is plastered to your side but you still feel a world of hurt and pain in between you both. Before you can help it, your throat is dry with a lump that you can’t swallow down and your eyes fill with tears that you can’t blink away.

You want to turn and look at him, you want to hold him. Because you know he’s hurting too, just like you. But you can’t bring yourself to. Something that feels like shame curls in your belly, but there is nothing to be shameful for. You can already hear Levi’s voice in your ear, gently scolding you for your thoughts.

“Levi,” You mumble, close to a sob.

“‘M here, angel,” Levi says, tightening his hold around you. His lips brush against the back of your neck. And you can’t take it, you can’t take the distance between you both.

Another rumble of thunder has you jump in his arms, and finally you turn to face him. His steel eyes are as steady as ever, always holding the balance of your universe in his irises.

You’ve been so quiet, so contemplative the last few weeks. Levi has tried to break through this wall, so you both can be sad together. But you seemed to be insistent on carrying this all on your own, when it wasn’t only yours to carry. He knows the pain is different for you than it is for him. But don’t you know that you don’t have to carry it alone? Don’t you know that you can lean on him?

And you know it, too. You know you’ve been pushing him away and hurting him. But you can’t help it, not when you feel like you’ve been in pieces. Not when you feel so tired and defeated.

The rain is soothing and paired with his steady heartbeat, you feel clouds beginning to part slightly in your mind. Maybe a ray of sunshine that breaks through fleetingly. 

The palms of Levi’s warm hands are loose over your back as he comforts you, his fingers lightly ghosting over the exposed skin of your hips and your belly. You both lay there in silence, but even this silence feels like more of a comfort than the air that surrounded you both for the last few weeks.

It makes you choke. You let out another sob. But he doesn’t push you to talk. You’ll talk when you’re ready. And Levi thinks you’re almost there.

You snake a hand around his neck, scratching your nails through his undercut absently. The desire to feel close to him overwhelms you and you tighten your arms around him. Your lips hover over his pulse, a steady thrum. He feels your lips press gently against his throat.

“Tell me,” Levi begs softly, “Don’t leave me behind.”

You don’t feel like running anymore.

“We’ve been trying for months,” You say bluntly, “What if it’s not meant to be? I know the docs said that we’re both fine… But what if it’s me? What then?”

What if I can’t give you what we both want? What if- what if- what if? Does it make me less of a person? 

You know it doesn’t. But seeds of the unknown have planted themselves in your blood, and you can’t shake it away as hard as you try.

Levi already knows where your thoughts are going. He already knows your unspoken words, because they’re the same thoughts he’s been having lately, too.

But he won’t let you both succumb to it.

“And sometimes...I feel like,” You stammer, “I feel so far from you. And I don’t like it, but I know I did this. I pushed you away-”

You start to cry, tears tracking down your cheeks and Levi pulls you into his chest. Your tears soak his shirt, but it doesn’t matter. All that matters is that you finally get it out. Levi’s own throat becomes dry at the sound of your cries but all he can do is hold you.

“We both lost ourselves ,” You say hoarsely, “Sex became a chore, an end goal. Rather than it being about... Maybe it’s a psychological thing, I don’t know…”

And it’s true, Levi thinks. For the last few months, you’ve both been meticulous about when to have sex- it felt too clinical, without any of the magic from before. Because you both were thinking so hard about having a baby, that you both let the magic disappear. It wasn’t like either of you, but it had happened.

And now you’re both hurting.

Levi cradles your cheek with his hand. “So let’s stop trying with having an end goal in mind,” He says softly, “Just be with me and I’ll be with you. We lost ourselves… and now neither of us are okay. If it happens, it’ll happen.

“And we don’t love each other and ourselves any less if it doesn’t happen, alright?”

More tears spill over and you murmur a soft apology into his lips. Levi always knows what to say, what you both need. He shakes his head firmly, pressing chaste kisses to your forehead, your cheeks, your chin.

“I love you,” You mumble into his mouth, tears pricking your eyes again. It’s a soft confession, a confession that he already holds close to his heart. But still never fails to make him warm from the inside. 

“I love you,” You whisper again as his hands roam. He just wants to be close to you, to feel you and fall in love with you all over again. 

Levi pulls your shirt off easily and pushes you on your back, bracketing your head with his forearms. He hovers above you, molten silver eyes peering right through you. It’s a look on his face that you’ve missed. You tug at his shirt impatiently, too, wanting to feel his skin against yours. 

He drops his weight on top of you- he knows how comforting this feels for you. To feel him all around you. Nothing will ever compare to that for you. Levi cradles your face in his rough hands, determination burning his irises.

You hold his wrist as he silently watches you. Another flash of lightning illuminates the pretty planes of your face, sadness clear in your eyes and pain tight in the lines of your mouth.

“I love you,” Levi murmurs thickly, “Do you understand? I love you. Always.” A fresh wave of tears blooms in your eyes at the sincerity dripping from his voice. Levi has always given you the moon, and this time is no different. “What do you need, baby?” Levi rasps.

He always puts you in front of his needs, always putting everyone else above himself. Always calming you down, always holding steady for you. Your lighthouse in the storm.

“What do you need,” You ask breathily, ���What do you need, baby?”

“You,” Levi says simply, “Just you.”

“You have me,” You reply, fingers trailing his toned chest, “You always have me. We always come back to each other.”

“Just be here with me,” Levi breathes, “Nothing else but us, angel.”

You nod and Levi presses his lips to the corner of your mouth, hands cupping your face tenderly, and slips his tongue into your mouth. He kisses you like he’s trying to take the pain away and bury it deep within himself. So you’ll never have to feel it- but you kiss him back with just as much fervor.

He’ll never carry his pain alone, and you won’t either.

“Can I touch you?” Levi asks, nudging your cheek with his nose.

“Yes,” You exhale. 

Levi presses wet kisses to your neck, to your chest, your clavicle, your belly, your hips. He takes his time mapping your body with his light hands and with his lips. Each touch of his ignites your skin, slowly piecing you back together. While you know that him and him alone is not enough to make you feel okay, it’s a nice start. He’s touching you, he’s kissing you as if you’re made of diamonds- precious but tough. 

His hands are burning over your hips, burning in the best way. Tendrils of desire flash in your belly, seemingly in time with the flashes of lightning surrounding you both. The 2:30 AM glow of the storm makes the shadows on Levi’s face softer, unspoken adoration clear in the pout of his lips.

You just want him. You just want to be close to him. You scratch at his lower abs teasingly, one of his favorite weak spots. He groans into your thighs as he finds his way home to your center.

You memorize the feeling of him in between your legs, of your hands sliding up and down his back, of your fingers tugging at his dark hair. You can feel his cock press against your inner thigh when he lifts himself up to kiss you.

“Baby,” You say gently, “Want you inside, baby.”

Levi is about to protest, swiping a hand in between your legs to see how wet you are. You’re usually much wetter when he slides inside you, but you only look at Levi in that disarming way. 

“Just wanna be close with you, baby,” You confess. And Levi won’t deny you, but he wants you to be a little wetter for him. So he kisses you, grinds into you, circles your clit until you’re sighing into the empty air with only the rain as the backdrop to your voice. 

“Slow, angel. Just you ‘n me,” Levi whispers into your skin, promises of love pressed into your thighs. 

“Levi,” You whine quietly, “Please…”

He won’t keep you waiting. “On your side,” Levi instructs and you comply immediately. Levi pulls your leg back a little when you turn to face away from him. He wraps his arms around you tightly, snaking a hand down to your pussy and rubbing your clit. You buck your hips into his cock impatiently and he exhales in amusement.

Levi parts your thighs and slides into your wet heat easily, both of you sighing at the same time. He doesn’t move, only feeling the warmth of your pussy around him and only listening for your quiet hums of pleasure. Levi buries his head in your neck, your quickened pulse echoing in his ears.

He only kisses your neck, his heated lips the only constant you’ll ever need. He tastes your bleeding heart through your pulse, the faint thrum leading him to tighten his hold around you. 

You can feel his love, feel it rushing in your own veins and setting you abuzz. Emotions overwhelm you, spilling over in your eyes and onto your cheeks.

“I’m sorry,” You sob, “You needed me and I-I wasn’t...I wasn’t there. I wasn’t here.”

“Stop that,” Levi murmurs gently, fingers pressing very lightly at your throat, “We’re here now.”

“Are we okay?”

A crack of thunder.

“Yes,” Levi says honestly, “Don’t have to hide from me. We don’t even have to cum. Just wanna feel you, angel. Wanna remind you… we’re here.”

So you stay in his arms as he throbs inside of you. It’s soothing to feel him like this. To feel him all around you and be completely surrounded by his love. It makes you stronger, makes you want to be the best version of yourself. That’s what Levi has always been for you.

The rain still hasn’t let up. Levi tilts your jaw towards him, pulling you in for a sweet, slow kiss. You feel like you’re moving through golden honey with every gentle caress and every soft kiss. 

You thread your fingers through his and squeeze. “I love you,” You breathe again.

“I know, angel. I love you,” Levi says, biting back a groan when you clench around him.

For a minute, everything feels like it’ll be okay. And maybe it will. But you know with Levi by your side, everything will be okay eventually.

Kaiya is nearly five years old, about to start kindergarten, when Levi picks up on the signs. You’re beginning to crave some of the same things you did when you were pregnant with Kaiya, and you’ve been losing your temper at the smallest things lately (also like when you were pregnant with Kaiya). You’ve also been emotional, more emotional than usual, over the most mundane things. Levi gets you your socks without you asking? You tear up. Levi puts Kaiya’s hair in space buns after her interest had been piqued by Star Wars? You bawl.

He wonders if you’re even suspicious. 

Levi doesn’t want to jump the gun just yet- it had taken so long to get to this level of comfort. To not be actively trying for another baby, and to just allow for things to take their own course. If it happens, then it happens. That’s what he had said to you.

He thinks it’s happening. 

By the end of the week, he doesn’t know how you don’t see it. 

“When was the last time you had your period,” Levi asks bluntly. You’re currently washing your face after putting Kaiya to bed. She’d gone down quickly, tired out from a playdate with some of her friends.

“Huh?”

“Your period. You’re late, aren’t you?” Levi asks easily, crossing his arms and standing against the doorframe.

Levi watches as realization, acceptance and anxiety all flit across your face. “I...I’m-uh,” You stammer, “I’m a few days late...”

“I thought so,” Levi says. Silence fills the air, your eyes widening and your lips parting in surprise. He watches you process your thoughts and feelings, before fear and a drop of excitement and hope settle in your eyes.

“That’s...something,” You mumble, “Will you make the appointment with me?”

“Of course, angel.”

It’s no surprise to Levi when the obstetrician tells you both that you’re a few weeks along. It’s no surprise to him that you immediately burst into tears and sob into his shoulder either.

And if his eyes are a little misty, then that’s nobody’s business.

When the doctor gives you a warm smile and a moment to yourselves, you immediately hold Levi’s hands.

“I’m scared,” You admit, “We did it, but I’m scared.”

Levi pulls you into his chest, rubbing your back soothingly. “We’ll figure it out. We’ll be okay.”

“How do you know that? Anything could happen-”

“We take it day by day,” Levi hushes you, “Day by day, angel. With each other and with Kaiya.”

tags: @simpingmaize​ @captainchrisstan​ @alrightberries​ @bbygrgu​

[sonoftatooine]

Whumptober 2021

DAY 6: ‘TOUCH AND GO’ - TOUCH STARVED / HUNGER

Characters: Anakin Skywalker, Sheev Palpatine

Warnings: Abuse, starvation, solitary confinement

Summary: Prequel to my raised as a Sith Anakin AU where Anakin saves Padmé from execution by the Separatists, here, here and here. A young Vader defies his master, and he pays the price.

***

Curled up in the pitch darkness of the cell that his master had thrown him into three days past, Darth Vader, second apprentice to the Sith Lord Darth Sidious, wrestled down the urge to moan in pain as he wrapped his arms tight around his midriff in a futile attempt to soothe the gnawing ache deep in his stomach. It had been three days since he had been given even so much as half an old ration bar to eat. Three days since he had seen the slightest sliver of light or spoken to another being, organic or droid. Three days that he was only able to count because of the small ration of water he was given through a hatch in the wall what he presumed was each morning—enough to keep him alive but nowhere near what was needed to relieve the the dryness in his mouth, nor the unrelenting headache that was pounding behind his eyes and wrapping around his skull like a vice. He felt sick and dizzy, and he had to fight the instinct to cry. It would do him no good—it would only waste water.

Another groan threatened to escape him as a particularly severe pang of hunger laced through his abdomen. The familiar tang of blood filled his mouth as he bit down hard on his lip to suppress it. His master could well be monitoring him, and any display of weakness would do little to convince him to put an end to his punishment. He wondered how long the man intended to keep him here this time, without food, with barely any water. Surely...surely it wouldn't be much longer. It wouldn't— It couldn't— But his transgression—

Oh Force, his transgression had been really bad this time.

He hadn't meant to disobey. He hadn't. He hadn't defied his master in years—not after the first few times he had balked at being brought...fodder to feed his growing power in the Dark Side, as Lord Sidious liked to call it. But those had been criminals and scum and slavers, people whom nobody would miss and could best serve the Galaxy by perishing on his blade. The trembling padawan that had been dumped at his feet, barely able to hold the lightsaber she had been thrown straight as his master prowled around them, hissing at him to prove his mettle against the Jedi and strike her down—well, that had been...different. He had fought her, of course, and won easily, but when it came to strike the final blow, something had stayed his hand. The look in her eyes, perhaps, wide and terrified and full of tears. Or the fact that she must have been much the same age as he was—fifteen or sixteen, he thought? Whatever it was, it had frozen him stock still above her, his saber pointed towards her throat, and no amount of cajoling, taunting or threats from his master could make him draw back and deal the blow.

It had done her no good in the end. Lord Sidious had killed her in his place, and his rage afterwards had been terrible.

It had only been after he'd taken out the worst of his fury on his wayward apprentice that he had grabbed him by the hair, aching, hardly able to stand, and dragged him down to the small prison cell that he had first kept him in after he'd been stolen from Qui-Gon Jinn's custody on Naboo. The pain was tolerable—he had become accustomed to his master's cold but violent temper by now—but the cell... The cell always wore him down.

It was not necessarily the hunger and the thirst. Hunger and thirst were common even amongst the masters on Tatooine (with the notable exception of the Hutts), and amongst the planet's slaves even more so. Such things were well known to him, deep in his bones. But then, it had always been tempered by the loving embrace of his mother and the warm presence of his friends. Now, he had nothing like that. Only Tyranus, who loathed and resented him as an unnecessary waste of time and effort, and Sidious, whose touches brought pain more than comfort, and only offered him scraps of kindness as a reward for good behaviour. Here, in the dark, he only had misery and isolation and an ache in his gut that paled in comparison to the ache in his chest that was the absence of Shmi Skywalker. Like a hole that had been punched right through his heart.

Vader swallowed dryly as he tried, without success, to ease the soreness of his throat. He could feel a sudden surge of resentment growing within him, familiar and dangerous. It wasn't fair. Lord Sidious was as much Tyranus' master as he was his, but he never treated him this way. He didn't lock him up and starve him of both sustenance and sentient company. He let him see and speak to other people, didn't punish him for not bowing down like a slave to his owner in every aspect of his life. Yes, he was a lot younger than Tyranus—not yet even a man, the snobbish Count had a habit of sneering within his earshot—but both of them had become Sidious' apprentices at much the same time. He had been a Sith just as long as Dooku, and their shared master didn't even want the man as a permanent apprentice. So why was it him who was treated like—

His anger was well on the way to turning into a raging inferno by the time he managed to stamp it back down again. He mustn't think of such things. If he ever wanted to get out of this cell, he mustn't think of such things.

He had no way of knowing how much time passed before he heard the pneumatic hiss of his cell door being activated—it could have been minutes, hours. The sound was almost deafening after so long of silence, and the light which flooded into the cell from the other side of the door fairly blinded him. He blinked, dazed, stretching out his senses to identify who it was that was entering the cell. His mind brushed up against a horribly familiar presence, vast and cold and empty like a dark chasm in the Force. His master.

Still barely able to see, he scrambled to his knees, head bowed and properly subservient as he fought to keep himself from shaking. He could hear the hiss of soft robes dragging against the floor—the only warning he had before his chin was caught in a punishing grip, and his head was wrenched upwards to meet his master's gaze. Blinking away the spots in his vision, he stared up into what little he could see of Lord Sidious' face, shrouded in shadows, expression hard and cold with displeasure.

"Well, my apprentice," he croaked, his eyes gleaming like a hungry anooba's under the shadow of his hood. "Have you learnt your lesson yet?"

"Master..." Vader's throat was so parched that his voice was almost as dry and cracked as Lord Sidious'. He trembled under the man's gaze, trying to shrink in on himself and hating how pathetic he felt. "Master, please—"

Sidious' lips twisted into a wicked smile, teeth flashing dangerously.

"'Please'?," he taunted. "'Please' what, Vader? Do you believe you have paid sufficient penance for your transgression?"

Vader shut his eyes tight, forcing down the tears that were threatening to well up beneath his lids. He mustn't show weakness in front of his master. It would only make him angry.

Of course, disobedience made him angry too, and Vader had already shown him defiance beyond the limited patience with him the man possessed.

"I will accept your judgement, master" he said, because what else could he say when anything but complete subservience would mean further punishment? He wished his master would let go of his chin, so he could bow his head and hide from those piercing eyed behind a curtain of hair. But Sidious did not let him go, held firm and forced him to stare up into his twisted face, without reprieve. His gaze seemed to burrow into his skull like a laser, and Vader was sure that, without even bothering to call upon the Force, he could see past the lie he had so clumsily pasted over the truth of his feelings, even as he tried to bury them so deep down that no one—not even himself— would sense them. The man's smile turned grim and cold.

"Will you now?," he sneered. "How generous of you. And if I choose to keep you here until I deem you adequately punished? Will you accept it then?"

Vader trembled. He would do it, he knew. Lord Sidious was not in the habit of making idle threats.

"Master...," he whimpered hoarsely. "Master, please. Please forgive me. I-I'll obey. I've learnt my lesson. Please—”

Sidious smirked.

"Forgive you?"

The hand that had been holding his chin in a vice-like grip moved to slide up to his cheek in a gesture that, if not for his cruel words and the hard gleam in his yellow eyes, might have felt gentle, almost affectionate. Even as a worm of disgust—at himself as much as Sidious—twisted violently in his gut, Vader couldn't help but lean into the touch, desperate for even the tiniest scraps after so long in isolation. He wanted to shut his eyes—anything to pretend that he were somewhere else, with someone else—but he didn't dare. Not when one wrong move could turn the man back to icy fury at any moment.

"Perhaps I will forgive you." Sidious' fingers trailed down his cheek one last time before he drew back and suddenly, with only the slightest of warnings in the Force, struck him such a hard blow across the face that he toppled hard onto the floor. Vader let out a soft, startled little cry as pain jarred through his shoulder, his mechno hand shooting up to clutch at his burning cheek. "Once I believe you are properly contrite."

There was a whisper of robes above him and then something dropped down to the ground in front of his face. He blinked, dazed, at first not quite taking in what he was seeing. A ration bar. Oh Force, a ration bar. He scrambled to grab it, to snatch it up before his master took it away and—

But Sidious was already out in the corridor, and the door was closing behind him.

"Master!," Vader cried. His voice came out as a thin scream as he dashed to the already sealing door. He collided with it hard as he was caged once again in darkness. "Master—!"

For a moment, fear and anger and frustration welled up inside him to the point of explosion, and he let out a broken yell, slamming his metal hand into the durasteel of the door over and over. But it was not long before the exhaustion and sickness from his hunger overcame him and he sank down to the ground in a heap of dark robes and trembling misery. It wasn't fair. It wasn't fair—

But... But at least he had food now, he thought as he clutched the ration bar possessively to his chest. His master had given him food. Did that mean he was on his way towards forgiving him? Would he let him out soon? How soon? At least...at least, even if it was a few more days, he would have something to stave off the hunger. He could make it last. He could make it last until his master decided to let him out. Yes.

All he needed to do was obey—truly obey—and then Lord Sidious would show him mercy.

[lesetoilesfous]

Hii :3 I love reading your stories Lese? Is it alright if I call you Lese?? I saw that you were taking prompts and are very close to getting a bingo on that last row. Buried Alive for Anders maybe, whenever youre available ofc? Fenders??? :0 hshsjsjskjd

Hey, thank you so much!! I'm happy to be called Lese, I like Les or Kat, but anything works!!! Thank you so much for helping me try to get a bingo, I really hope you enjoy this one!!!

@badthingshappenbingo Fandom: Dragon Age 2

Prompt: Buried Alive

Pairing: Fenders

Characters: Fenris, Anders, Marian Hawke, Varric Tethras

Additional Tags: Graphic Depiction of Injury, Buried Alive, Panic Attack, Trauma Responses, Pre-Relationship, Past Flogging, Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending

Word Count: 2,380

Rating: Mature

“I’ve got it, go! GO!” Anders’ voice bellowing is the last thing Fenris hears before the overwhelming thunder of the cavern collapsing around them drowns out everything else.

He feels as if his mind and his body are torn apart as he runs: his legs leaving his conscious control as they’re overtaken by sheer animal instinct to get away from the collapsing mountain, his mind and sweat-stinging eyes full of the image of Anders’ tall, broad body holding his staff over his shoulders and propping up enough of a threshold for his friends to escape. Fenris’ sweating, bloody feet skid on the sandy stone as he’s deafened by the roar, his breath coming in and out of his lungs in great heaves of fresh snow and broken glass. Ahead of him is the ocean: wide and blue and wrinkled, utterly untouched by the chaos on the beach. Varric skids into the sand beside him with Hawke’s hand on the back of his jacket, her bicep tense where she’s half-lifting the dwarf off the ground.

Fenris blinks, turning around, dizzy suddenly with breathlessness and adrenaline as every chemical pumping through his body flushes into his racing mind. He stumbles, and Hawke catches him, deftly, her blue eyes wide and over-alert the way they always are whenever they get into a situation they might not survive. Fenris has seen that expression on soldiers before, and doesn’t doubt she’s carried it with her since Lothering. He neither pulls away nor leans into her touch, and after a moment she drops her hand to rest on her thighs, bending almost double as she heaves in her breath.

Behind them there’s a hissing avalanche of sand, and great scabs of reeds come tumbling down onto the beach as the cavern crumbles. Fenris has seen the devastating effects of gaatlok before, but somehow his memory never fully prepares him for the imminent blast radius. Slowly, terribly slowly, Fenris’ heart starts to slow, and his breathing begins to return to normal. He becomes aware of the sweat drying on his neck, and the salty taste of the sea breeze in his mouth. His ears are still ringing with the thunder of the cavern collapse when he hears a snap.

The sound is sharp as a whip, even through the stormcloud of noise, and Fenris notices Hawke and Varric exchange a startled look out of the corner of his eye in the split second before he starts running. Fenris stumbles to a stop in front of the cave entrance: a mess of black and grey boulders stained with algae and riddled with tumorous molluscs. The stones have cracked open in places, revealing rich layers of red and orange and yellow. Fenris barely notices, he breathes, and coughs on the sand kicked up the collapse, and breathes again before shouting into the mess. “MAGE! MAGE! MAGE! IF YOU YET LIVE, ANSWER ME.”

Fenris stops, and hears his own voice snatched by the wind and away down the dunes. At Hawke’s heels, Dog is whining, frightened by Fenris’ uncharacteristic display of emotion. Hawke puts a hand on Fenris’ shoulders, and he shrugs her off and hates her a little when her mouth falls in a brief moue of sympathy that’s gone when he blinks. She climbs up the rocks a little, one boulder reaching halfway up her torso. “ANDERS! ANDERS, ARE YOU IN THERE?”

There’s an ominous rumble, and a skittering rain of gravel and sand tumbles down the boulders. Varric clears his throat. “Go easy on the yelling, you two. We don’t want to make it worse.”

Fenris turns to him, seized by a sudden, terrible blade of hope that skewers his heart and twists in it. “Varric. What do we do?”

Varric raises an eyebrow at him. “I grew up on the surface, remember? Your guess is as good as mine.”

Anger, sudden and red, floods behind Fenris’ eyes. “That’s not good enough!” His voice rings against the rocks, and Varric purses his lips. Hawke steps between them.

“Quietly, remember? Come on, if we start moving this lot now then -” She doesn’t finish. Doesn’t say, if he’s unconscious, he might have a chance. Doesn’t say, we could get him before he bleeds out. Doesn’t say, there’s no way we can stop him suffocating, now.

Fenris nods, more relieved than he wants to admit at finally having something to do. He starts grabbing rocks, randomly at first - until one boulder grinds down onto his hand and he has to bite his arm til it bleeds to stop himself from screaming. After that it’s slow, terrible work, one rock at a time, for hours, as the bright blue sky above them bleeds to gray to welcome a hot, muggy evening and black stinging bugs emerge from the dunes to nip curiously at their burning skin.

Fenris’ knuckles are aching, and his palms are chafed raw, scratched and bleeding by the time they get through. Hawke is little better, her knuckles scraped and bruised. Even Dog is covered in a thick layer of dust, and Varric has lain Bianca reverently beside a dune with his jacket and rolled up his sleeves, an expression of uncharacteristic severity on his face as he frowns at the boulders.

The first thing they find is his staff. Fenris knows it wasn’t important to him - had seen how easily Anders had dropped one staff for another, stolen from a former gangster or some other ne’er-do-well who had had the misfortune to attack them. But there’s still something terribly simple about the snapped, useless wood when they find a splintered shaft in the rubble. Fenris blinks, and sees Anders, wide shoulders braced by that staff as he held up the collapsing ceiling, hair thick with dust and rubble. He swallows against his dry throat, sore with rock dust, and keeps moving rubble.

The sky is bleeding red by the time they find him. Dog finds him first, yelping and then whining as she scrabbles at the dust. Fenris thinks, distant, numb in his shock and delayed grief, that Anders would be surprised to learn the hound cared. But then he’s there, his feet having moved him again, without thought, and he’s crouching to lift a great splintered boulder out of the way, and his toes touch soft hair and Fenris nearly cries out. As it is, he dumps the boulder and rushes forward.

Anders is pinned between a series of rocks. His eyes are open and his hand is purple and covered with cherry red blood. Blood seeps out between the boulders around him, and his nose and mouth are thick with it. His eyes are wide open and staring, and for an awful, awful heartbeat Fenris thinks he’s dead. But then the low, soft sound of murmuring reaches him over the constant sound of the sea. “Letmeoutletmeoutletmeoutletmeoutletmeout.”

Fenris drags on the lyrium sewn into his skin and for the first time in his known life finds himself thanking the Maker, or Andraste, or the Creators, for this hideous, agonising ability. He plunges his hands through the thick stone of the rock, and wraps his fingers around a horrifically mangled mass that he thinks is one of Anders’ shoulders, and pulls.

Anders screams - an awful, hoarse thing that breaks on the way out of his split lips. But he’s out, and in the dirt, and breathing, and Fenris doesn’t think before he pulls the man into his arms and holds him so tightly his arms hurt. Fenris’ tattoos are still glowing, star-bright in the growing dark, and his muscles feel locked in place as he buries his face in Anders’ shoulder and breathes in the stink of sweat and piss and blood. He doesn’t care. He holds Anders so hard he’s shivering. He can’t shake the idea that if he lets go, even a little, he’ll forget how to breathe.

After several long minutes, in which Fenris’ muscles become so tense they ache like a bruise, Anders comes back into himself, slumping into Fenris’ arms. The movement jostles his mangled shoulder, and he whimpers, and Fenris’ arms tighten around him, as if a simple embrace will stop the pain. When Anders starts to cry, softly, trembling into Fenris’ shoulder, Fenris realises that his own face is already wet with cold tears that he doesn’t remember crying. Above them, the sky is charcoal and midnight blue, and the first stars are climbing over the sea.

Hawke lights a campfire, and steps closer to touch Fenris’ shoulder. He doesn’t react, but she doesn’t let go until he turns to look at her. Her face is still streaked with dust, and her eyes are red, but there are no signs of tear tracks that he can see in the dark. Her strong jaw is tense when she says, firmly, “We need to deal with his injuries.” Her face softens, slightly, as she adds, “You can hold him again, after.”

Slowly, feeling as if he’s been petrified in place and is now trying to coax stone, Fenris stiffly uncurls his arms. Anders doesn’t do or say anything, though his breathing hitches at the movement of his mangled arm. Fenris pushes his dusty hair out of his face, trying to avoid a thick gash across his forehead. “Mage. We need to look at your injuries.”

Anders looks at him slowly, his brown eyes almost gold in the firelight. He nods, and Fenris moves his hand to gently begin the process of peeling his blood-encrusted coat away from his skin. Anders clenches his teeth, his jaw thick with stubble full of dust, and breathes in long, shaking breaths as Fenris moves the filthy leather. When he gets to the worst of it - a place where Anders’ coat and shirt are black with blood and concave as they’ve been pushed into his body, Fenris grits his teeth. “One - two -” Before he says three, Fenris rips the coat free, causing Anders to cry out and topple forward. Fenris catches him on his good shoulder, and behind Anders, Hawke and Varric’s faces go pale.

“Blood and ashes.” Varric murmurs, looking sick. Anders’ breath starts coming faster in short, shallow pants. Fenris rushes forward, brushing his cheek with his thumb, fingers curled around his ear.

“It’s alright. It’s alright. We’ve got you.”

It takes Hawke an hour to get the debris out of the torn, broken mess of Anders’ shoulder blade. When she’s done, there’s a thin sheen of sweat across her pale skin and she looks older than she has since Bethany joined the Wardens. The fire is low and red, but Varric keeps wandering off to fetch more driftwood. There’s a small pile of shattered stone and bone on the sand that Hawke buries almost immediately. Dog is lying down beside her master, sandy head on her great paws, whining occasionally when Anders huffs a soft sound of pain. Fenris is trying, hard, not to stare at the canvas of familiar scars exposed by their impromptu operation, glittering silver in the dark like a crosshatch tattooed across Anders’ freckled back.

The sea laps softly at the beach behind them, and around them the dunes hiss with the breeze. Hawke looks at Fenris, “That’s all I can do, for now. Hopefully his mana will be back tomorrow and he’ll be able to heal the rest.” She swallows, thickly. “I knew I should’ve brought Merrill.”

Between them, Anders is all but unconscious, lying on his front, naked down to his waist, skin covered in newly cleaned cuts and bruises. Fenris stares at him for a long moment, running his fingers through the other man’s hair. He thinks he’s trying to comb the dust out, but it’s not doing much and it’s more of a nervous habit than anything. He breaks the sighing silence between them. “It’s not your fault.”

Hawke says nothing, sitting back on the other side of the fire and staring at the shifting sea, gilded with silver by the moon. The fire licks gold and rubies across her skin. She bends her knees, and rests her elbows on them, pressing her forehead to her skin and breathing for several long moments. Fenris waits. He knows he won’t be sleeping much tonight, anyway. Eventually, Hawke turns her head to the side, still resting on the pillow of her forearms. “I didn’t know you were close.”

Fenris’ fingers pause in their combing of Anders’ hair. But after two heartbeats, the discomfort of not reminding himself that the man beside him is still alive is greater than compromising whatever bud of new life they’d been nurturing between them. He bites the inside of his cheek to try and wake himself up from the distant feeling of grief and shock. “It...has not been happening for long. But I think the feelings which led to it have been growing for some time.” A shadow of a smile touches the corner of his lips. “Perhaps it has been growing since the day we met.” Hawke snorts, and Fenris’ ghost of a smile grows into something honest when he looks at her, and more than a little self deprecating. “It’s ridiculous, isn’t it?”

Hawke shrugs, the wrinkles around her eyes and mouth softening as she looks at him. “Oh, I don’t know. Opposites attract.”

Fenris snorts, then, and Dog looks up with a hiccoughing huff to see what they’re coughing at. Fenris leans forward, feeling the heat of the fire licking up his sides as he scratches Dog’s soft head. She whines, and yawns, baring a series of black and yellow teeth. Fenris leans further, and digs his fingertips behind the warm velvet of her ears. Dog’s tail thumps softly against the sand. Fenris looks up when he feels Hawke watching him. Her blue eyes are like bottled lightning in the dark. “You’re a good man, Fenris.”

Fenris gives her a tight smile, trying to stifle the pain behind it, and sits back, moving to drag a blanket out of his pack and lay it lightly over Anders. Anders huffs, and sighs in his sleep, face creasing in pain when he moves onto his shoulder. Fenris cards his fingers through his hair until the wrinkles ease, before looking back up at Hawke and saying, honestly. “So is he.”

[shingia]

hihi hello, can you do akaashi with angst prompt 14 please💕🤲 @almalckd i read thru all the prompts and all i can say is that i’ll cry reading a few of them��

❝𝐜𝐨𝐚𝐥 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐝𝐢𝐚𝐦𝐨𝐧𝐝 - 𝐚𝐤𝐚𝐚𝐬𝐡𝐢 𝐱 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫❞

a/n : if you have anxiety then please keep in mind that what’s written in this fic are not just words i’ve invented for the story’s sake, i consider them to be important things to keep in mind. so from the bottom of my heart : please listen to what akaashi says below <33 (we all know he’s the voice of reason)

prompt 14 : “there used to be such a pretty light in your eyes”

⤷ timeskip! akaashi x reader | angst, comfort ending | word count : 2.4k

(for all my burnt out gifted kids out there <3)

nights had always been the worst. in the darkness of the bedroom, the sobs you were so desperately holding in tore your throat apart every second a little bit more. and the pain did not not stop until you finally allowed yourself to let a sob out, just one before aggressively covering your mouth with a shaky hand. it would have been so much easier to let all this bottled-up sorrow pour out of your body freely. to let the familiar coldness of your tears stream down your cheeks until they let your skin dry and itchy.

but there was a reason why you were forcing sobs down your throat. And that reason was sound asleep next to you. 

akaashi’s peaceful features probably offered an intriguing contract with your anxiety-stricken face. every twenty minutes or so, you felt his arm reach for your side of the bed, eager to find your familiar warmth again, the one he had embraced so tenderly before going to sleep. but you wouldn’t let him, because when your body was not shaken by a series of sobs, your nervous quivering took over ; and either way, you’d wake him up. which was the last thing you wanted.

you turned around in bed for the hundredth time that night, the feeling of your drenched pillow against your cheek like a mocking reminder you of how miserable you were feeling.

« the pride of the family », « the prodigy »… you loathed these ridiculous nicknames. because the pride of the family had fallen off its pedestal years ago. and it had been a long time since the prodigy had not fallen asleep with dry eyes.

you were destined to achieve great things, at least that was what everyone had always told you, and expected you to do. drawing, painting, playing the piano, dancing : you were the best at everything... until you weren’t. your body simply could not take it anymore, and your mind had given up a long time ago.

failing at everything you used to be good at was the first crack. and it deepened at the mere thought of how much of a disappointment you were becoming. the wheels were in motion, full speed towards the abyss.

the second crack appeared when you started med school in kyoto last year. it was the last thing you wanted to do with your life, but you were considered clever enough to succeed. and who wouldn’t want a doctor in the family, right ? right...

« are you sure about that ? » akaashi had asked you the day before you moved.

he had been the only one to notice that something was off. and you knew he would have held you back if you had just been honest about the crippling fear and anxiety that was keeping you up at night. but you didn’t. and you stayed there for almost a year before dropping out.

your parents had welcomed you at the tokyo station. they were smiling when you got off the train, but a voice kept hammering your head you that all you represented now was a waste of talent, time and money. the golden child who had boarded the train had nothing to do with the one who got off. little did they know that the shell you had built around you your whole life had very recently been smashed to pieces.

however, disappointing your family and yourself was one thing, but disappointing the one and only person whose support had never faltered ? that was beyond you. so you thought it was better to try and take some time away from akaashi, because the last thing you wanted was for him to see you for who you were now. he had fallen in love with your talented self, the cheerful bundle of joy that he met on the first day of high school. And that was not yourself anymore.

but letting go did not seem to be in akaashi keiji’s vocabulary. and thank god it wasn’t. he came to visit you the day after you came back. you had spent the entire afternoon bawling your eyes out on your bed. the same bed that you used to happily jump on as a kid, medals shining around your neck. his firm knock on the door pulled your mind away from your misery for a short instant.

« please, open the door » akaashi asked as softly as he could, « i need to see your face »

his voice felt like home, much more than your parent’s house, and they seemed to be the first thing that calmed the racing and painful thoughts which had been invading your head mercilessly for the past weeks.

hand shaking, you turned the keys in the lock before pulling the doorknob down slowly. akaashi did not even have time to look at your swollen eyes and wet cheeks that his arms were already wrapped around your quivering figure. he almost leaped on you like he was afraid you might disappear in a cloud of smoke before his skin could touch yours. 

it had been a year since someone had held you like that. and so you begged him to take you to his apartment, to take you away from between these walls that made you feel like like you didn’t belong.

and there you were, spending your first night with akaashi after more than a year apart, and you were spending it it sobbing in his sheets. how long will it take him to realize he doesn’t love me anymore ? you kept asking yourself. just thinking about this made you break out in cold sweat. you felt like you were about to throw up.

as silently as you could, you got out of bed and walked to his kitchen, shivering at the contact between the cold tiling and your bare feet. you put him in an uncomfortable position, the voice in your head kept whispering. you forced him to accept you here, now he’s stuck with a burden.

shaking the thought away, you poured yourself a glass of water that you drank in one go. you slammed in down on the sink, out of breath, and closed your eyes to take a deep breath in.

but you opened them back as soon as you felt the feeling of a soft blanket slowly wrapping around your shoulders. in the reflection of the window, you could not guess his face, but you could recognize akaashi’s touch better than anything.

« i’m sorry » he whispered, wrapping his arms around your waist and resting his chin on your shoulder. « i shouldn’t have let you go »

you turned around slowly, his hands now resting on your lower back, and hugged him back hesitantly, like he was made of glass. ever so gently, he grabbed your hand in his and led you back to the bedroom where he tucked you in securely before laying next to you, never breaking the contact between your skin and his

you still hadn’t uttered a single sound, yet there were a thousand words you wanted to say, and they were all battling in your mind. his slender fingers began to brush your hair absentmindedly, and you felt his chest rise a few times before he spoke again :

« there used to be such a pretty light in your eyes »

his voice was different. imbued with melancholy. it would have been more than enough to make you cry, yet for some obscure reason, your eyes stayed completely dry and you didn’t dare to breathe until he talked again. but he didn’t. akaashi wanted to hear your answer, and he was ready to wait for it.

« i’m exhausted » you said hoarsely « i hate that i let myself fall apart, i should get up on my feet like I always did. but i’m so fucking terrified of failing again. it’s like i put a sword over my own head, and next time i fail, i just know it’ll fall and tear me in half »

as you spoke, your muscles began tensing up once again. You reached for Akaashi’s hand desperately fast and held it in yours as tight as you could just to find the courage of talking again :

« what if i’m not the one you fell in love with anymore ? just look at you, you’re successful, you’re thriving and the only thing i do is to stain your life with my worries. i don’t even expect you to understand, i know they’re stupid... »

these words were barely out of your mouth that he immediately lifted your chin with index and looked into your eyes with the most serious face.

« i understand. everything. because i’m terrified of fucking up, too » he said bluntly « you think I’ve never cried myself to sleep ? everyone has, and it’s perfectly normal, as long as you promise yourself to get back up again. little by little, day by day, because the only thing that matters is right now. and right now you’re safe with me. »

and there they were. the tears. you knew he had obviously seen them as soon as they had prickled the corner of your eyes, but out of habit, you still buried your head in his chest, just because you knew it would hurt him to see you cry.

but Akaashi was having none of that and he kept his finger below your chin to lift it up again.

« you’re hiding yourself because you’re so desperately trying not to worry anyone. but not being alright is fine, and it’s not something to be ashamed of. especially not with me » he told you with kindest eyes you had ever seen. now listen closely : all your thoughts are not facts. you matter, you always have and you always will. and i’ll keep telling you that until you start to believe it. »

« but aren’t you disappointed ? i was holding all the cards but i still fucked it up. and i can’t stop beating myself up over the fact that you wasted time and energy on me »

his thumb carefully wiped the tear that was about to meet your upper lip while the rest of his fingers kept gently stroking the side of your face. you craved his touch and found yourself praying that he’d never let go of you.

« i fell in love with you for what you are, and not what you do. i fell in love with how you’re always bringing the best out of people, starting with me » he answered before placing a kiss on your forehead.

he pulled you closer to his chest once again, and you heard his soothing heartbeat right against your ear.

« remember when all my volleyball team used to make fun of me because i spent hours talking about you ? » he asked, his fingers finding their way back to your hair, « that’s because I wanted everyone to know how great you are. and you know what would make me really happy ? that you’d know it too »

gripping his t-shirt in the palm of your hand, you closed your eyes and took a deep breath in, letting his comforting smell overwhelm your senses.

« i wish i knew it too » you sighed, realizing that the tears had stopped. « maybe it’s weird but... i feel like a piece of coal that people desperately wanted to turn into diamond. but nobody ever talks about coal that doesn’t do well under pressure. what do you do with it ? »

as you spoke, your voice became lower and lower until it completely faded in the night. akaashi’s heartbeat sounded farther away the more your thoughts started to wander. for the first time in a long time, the goosebumps on your arms had disappeared. lying in the soft silence of his love, it felt safe to surrender to sleep.

the next day, you woke up alone, still wrapped in the warm sheets that still carried the faint smell of akaashi’s perfume. the blinds were closed but you only had to follow the light that came from the kitchen to find your boyfriend sat at the table, his eyes fixed on the lines of the book opened in front of him.

« good morning » you told him with a faint smile.

« good morning. remember what you said last night ? » he asked you out of the blue, sounding like he had been waiting to ask you this for a few hours now. « about what people did with coal ? »

you raised an eyebrow, confused yet melting in front of the obvious excitement he was trying to conceal. you nodded your head yes, you had vague memories of asking him that before drifting off. he stood up and walked to the counter, you watched him grab a piece of paper that he put on the table, right in front of you.

it was a sketch. and it was hard not to recognize that the intersecting black lines looked very much like you, sound asleep. your chin started trembling as your eyes lingered on how every stroke of the pen fell into place to depict your peaceful features. you knew it had been more than a year since you had such an expression on your face.

when your gaze fell again on akaashi, he was getting something out of his hoodie’s pocket, which you recognized to be a jet black charcoal pencil - right before noticing that the tip of his fingers were, indeed, stained with black.

« i didn’t have coal, but I thought charcoal was close enough » he told you with a shy smile.

you bit your lower lip to prevent your eyes from getting teary, because right now you didn’t want anything to blur your vision, you wanted to be able to see every inch of his face before giving him the tightest hug you had ever given. his voice reached your ear :

« hey, i think I just saw the pretty light »

[grilledcheeseandguavajelly]

“Your Fantasies Become Your Legacy” - Hypodermic Sally McKenna x Reader

If I said that I wrote this whole thing eight months ago and then forgot about it, do you think Sally would hate me? 

Words: ~2,600 

Warnings: SMUT. S M U T. There’s like the tiniest mention of blood considering how much we all know I love making Sally bite ;) Praise kink, degradation, spanking, all of that good stuff. If you can’t handle dirty sex, you shouldn’t be reading Sally fics. I said it. 

~Enjoy!~

Sally was curled into your side, fingers tracing lightly over your bare stomach. 

“How is that, baby? How do you feel?”

She hummed and her chest vibrated against you. “Better.”

“Good,” you whispered, dropping a kiss into her hair. She relaxed, snuggling deeper into your side. 

It had been almost a week since you had last visited, the world just a little bit too busy because of the holidays. And when you had stepped through the lobby she had thrown a fit, anger covering the unrelenting fear that one time, this time, you wouldn’t come back. Tears dropping at the fact that you had. 

You had slipped your hand into hers, pulling her across the lobby and into the elevator as she screamed and yelled and yanked against you. But she hadn’t let go. You didn’t think she could have if she tried.

Your beautiful, needy, dependent Sally. By the time the elevator reached her floor she had fallen silent, her eyes on you and her face wet. 

And when you had sat down on her bed and asked her what she needed, her fingers twined in yours as she looked down at you, she visibly deflated. 

“Anything?” she had asked, and your heart had fractured, just so.

“Anything, my beautiful girl.”

And so she had shrugged off her coat, slipped out of her thin dress, pulled off your clothes, piece by piece. Pushed you back on the bed, and pressed every inch of her skin against yours. 

“I missed you,” she murmured. And you knew by the way she had tightened around you that she meant more than just the company. She missed the feel of you. The warmth. Skin to skin contact.

“I’m sorry I was gone for so long,” you whispered, and your hands trembled as they stroked over her back, her arms. 

She shook her head, looking up at you. “I understand. Or at least... I think I do.”

You hugged her closer. 

“I’m trying to,” she continued, and warmth threaded through your veins because you knew she really, truly was. 

“I love you,” you started, and she smiled into your chest. “I am so, so sorry.”

You felt her smile twitch, fingers stuttering over your skin. “Make it up to me?”

A quick nod. “Of course, baby. Anything. What do you need?”

And that’s how you found yourself here, now, Sally wrapped around your side and making noises that were working you up far too quickly.

Her mouth was locked on your neck, sucking and biting so hard you were sure she was drawing blood. 

Your fingers fluttered around her, over her hair, her back, her thighs. She wiggled against you, wedging a leg under yours and grinding down on your hip. 

You hummed, gripping your fingers into her skin. “Sally, baby...”

A low chuckle. An absolutely filthy lick. And then her mouth was on your ear. 

“Talk to me.”

You shuddered at the words, a breath more than a demand.

Her hips rolled down your side, fingers coming up to thumb over your ribs. You fought the shiver, squeezed your thighs together as your mouth went dry. 

“Alright, um... Yesterday I went looking for that sweater, right? But—“

A finger against your lips cut you off.

She tutted.

“Nah uh. Talk dirty to me.”

Your breath hitched and then just like that she was over you, hand around your throat as she ground down on your stomach. 

“S-Sally,” you choked out. She smirked, fingers tightening. “I’ve never... I-I don’t...”

“Try.”

She ground down on you again and your hips bucked. She pushed them down with her free hand, holding you against the mattress. 

“Sally, please. I need... I need to...”

You trailed off, biting your lip. But then she was leaning forward, her nose brushing against yours. 

“Talk to me.”

She nipped at your trapped lip and you released it, breath stuttering as her nails dug into your throat.

You could feel yourself flushing, could feel the blood pounding in your ears. The words were right there, right there, but you couldn’t get them out. 

She rolled her hips again, moaning low in the back of her throat as her fingers tightened, and then your vision started going spotty and you couldn’t breathe and you couldn’t think and—

“You’re so fucking sexy, Sally. Fuck, yes grind on me, come on me. Yes.”

Your eyes rolled back and you thought you might pass out, but then she released you, a growl underneath her laugh as she slid her hands down your chest, down your stomach, nails pricking into your sides. 

“That’s good, that’s so good,” she mumbled, throat bobbing as she slid against you. “More.”

Your hands found her hips and you set her pace, slowing her down. 

“More,” she whined, eyebrows pushing up. 

She was hungry, and your words were feeding her. And at that thought it became impossible to hold them in. Something snapped, and you let the pride fill you. You felt the dominance, right there, right at the edge of your grip. And you wanted it. Today, right now, you wanted it. So you bit down into the feeling like a poisoned apple, relishing the thrum of adrenaline running through your veins. 

“God, such a dirty little girl. So impatient. You can’t even slow down for me?”

She whined again and you smirked, slowing her down further and making it a point to dig your nails into her hips. 

“So needy, so pathetic.” 

She laughed then, her brows pulling together as her mouth fell open. “Fu-uck.”

“That’s it, such a good girl.” 

Another whine at the praise and you shoved her back, lifting your knee up, pulling her down on your thigh, and watching her face until she found that perfect angle. 

You hummed. “Use me, baby. Take what you want.”

Her teeth dug into her bottom lip and her eyes glistened with tears, your fingers loosening on her waist and letting her set her pace. You hummed as moans racked up her throat, sliding your hands up her sides and thumbing at her breasts. 

“Faster, that’s it.”

She stuttered over a sigh, a sob catching on her tongue. And then she was leaning forward, cheeks wet as she tried to press her lips to yours. 

You tutted, hand coming up to her jaw and holding her just inches from your mouth. You licked at her lip with the tip of your tongue, raising your brow when her eyes opened. 

“More.” 

She whimpered, wiggling her hips as she slid against your thigh. But you shook your head, tutting again and sliding your hand down to her throat. 

“I said more.” You squeezed, relishing the way her moan got caught under your fingers. “You’re not wet enough. Drench me.”

You felt the rush of arousal on your thigh and you smirked, gripping your free hand into her hip and forcing her down harder against your thigh. “That’s it, fuck yourself on me. Good girl.” 

A smile flickered over her lips, cracking the haze of arousal that was clouding her features. And you couldn’t help but stare at her for a moment, the way her tears slid down her cheeks, the way she licked at them as they dripped across her lips, smearing her lipstick. The way her mouth gaped open, head thrown back and hair starting to stick from the light sheen of sweat that always made her look ethereal. Otherworldly. 

When you spoke again your voice had gone hoarse. “God, you’re amazing. Take what you need from me, Sally.”

Her eyes were screwed shut and she nodded, humming softly. But then her nails scraped down your sides, leaving your skin stinging in their wake, and you snapped out of your daze, remembered what you were supposed to be doing, what she had asked so nicely for. So you bumped your leg up, making her gasp as her hands flew to your shoulders. 

Her wide eyes met yours and you quirked your head, biting your lip. 

“You okay?” Sally panted, thumbs stroking lightly over your shoulders in stark contrast to how roughly she had slid them down your ribs just seconds before. 

You only shook your head, gripping the hair at the nape of her neck and yanking her down to press your mouth against her ear. 

“Do you have any idea what you do to me?” you growled, nipping at her earlobe. “How wet you make me when I watch you like this?”

“Fuck,” she mumbled, head pulled back and throat completely exposed, those perfect red scratches on her collarbones disappearing as her chest flushed. 

“Faster,” you whispered, pressing open-mouthed kisses down her jaw. “Faster.” 

She nodded, rolling her hips against your thigh. But you could hear how she caught her moans, pressing her lips together and biting down on any kind of sound threatening to push out of her. 

You knew how she got when she was this needy. When her brow scrunched in concentration, hands fumbling for some kind of purchase on anything she could reach. She craved more, but she would wait for permission. Because no matter how cool she played it, no matter how casual she wanted this to be, you knew she was terrified of losing you. And she wouldn’t do anything to jeopardize that. Not when she was this vulnerable. 

You dragged your thumb over the dark marks you left below her jaw, down across her lips as you pulled away and pressed your forehead to hers. 

“I know you want it, Sally. I know you need it harder.” You nodded softly, tipping her chin up and forcing her to look you in the eye. “It’s okay. Take it. Take everything.”

And she did, her pace doubling, tripling with her breaths. In seconds she was gasping for air, her chest heaving as she dropped her head forward.

“My Sally. My dirty girl.”

She gasped, nodding violently as she reached sloppily, desperately for your hand on her face. She threaded your fingers together, holding onto you for dear life. “Yours.”

The word sent heat straight to your core, and you gripped her ass, forcing her legs farther apart as she slid against you. “Fuck, baby. Yes.”

“Yes,” she moaned, pulling your hand to her mouth and biting down on your knuckles. 

You nodded, keeping her pressed against you as she rocked her hips back, forcing her clit down against your thigh each time. “That’s it, just like that.”

She whined, teeth tightening around your fingers. And the feel of her tongue against your hand mixed with the sound of her sliding against her own arousal was almost too much. 

“So messy,” you murmured, running your fingers over any part of her you could reach. Hard, soft. Gentle and hot and desperate. 

She nodded, her groan vibrating against your fingers and sending shocks down your arm. God, you needed to fuck her properly, with your fingers inside of her and her clit under your tongue. But no, this is what she wanted. There was plenty of time for all of that later. Right now, she needed you. All of you, entirely for her pleasure. And you needed to distract yourself before the throbbing between your legs got any louder. 

“Do you get off thinking of me?” you asked softly, twisting your hand in her grip and pushing your thumb against her lips, her mouth thick with saliva as her tears fell faster. “Do your hands wander when I’m not looking?”

A nod. 

“Mhm, I know they do.”

You dragged your nails across her ass before pulling your hand away and spanking her just a bit harder than you should have. 

She cried out, but you pushed your thumb against her tongue, silencing her. She sucked it on instinct, teeth locking around your knuckle as you spanked her again. 

“Because you’re such a needy girl.”

A whine. 

You pulled your thumb out, dragging it down her lip, down her chin. Making her face as messy as your thigh as you spanked her again. Hard. 

Her mouth fell open, brow furrowing as she wiggled her hips down faster. 

“But only for me, right?”

She nodded again, but this time you yanked at her hair, hand falling from her jaw to her throat. And when her eyes flashed open you were right there, catching her lip between your teeth and growling against her mouth. 

“Say it. Who do you belong to, Sally?” 

You smirked as her hips stuttered, ducking your head as she tried to kiss you. 

“No. Say it.”

It took her a few breaths, a few tries to find her voice. But after gulping against your fingers a moan dropped from her lips, the word “you” falling right behind it. 

And you released her, nails raking back down to her waist and dimpling her skin. You wanted her bruised. You wanted her marked. You wanted her to look in the mirror and remember that she was yours. Forever. 

“Good girl.” 

She mumbled something, head thrown back as she rutted against you. 

You tutted. “Look at me when you talk to me.” 

She snapped her focus back to you, a smile playing on her lips. 

“I like you like this.”

“Like what?” Your hands tightened on her waist, egging her on, forcing her to go faster.

“Filthy.”

You moaned, the word shooting straight to your core, and you dropped your head back onto the pillow. 

You didn’t realize you had closed your eyes, squeezing them shut and relishing in the obscene sound of her sliding against her own arousal, until you felt water dripping on your stomach. 

She was above you, hands still gripped firmly into your sides, and her mouth was gaping open as tears fell down her cheeks. 

You groaned, heat building in your stomach. “Fuck, you’re close, aren’t you?”

She shook her head, nails digging patterns into your skin. 

“Don’t lie to me, you needy girl.”

“I’m sorry,” she panted, eyes screwed shut.

“You think I don’t know you? Think I can’t tell what you need by how wet you are? By the way you fuck yourself on me? By the way you smell?”

You growled then, reaching up and yanking her down by her hair. 

She gasped, wailed, and then her mouth was on yours as she adjusted herself to the new angle. Her hips bucked, sliding and slipping and wiggling against you as she found the perfect piece of you to rib out all of her pleasure. 

Her tears were falling on your face now and her mouth was thick with saliva, licking you and biting you and gaping against yours. 

“What am I?” she panted into your mouth, hands braced on either side of your head.

“You know what you are,” you groaned, lip twitching. 

“Tell me.” 

You swallowed, biting at her lower lip and yanking her hair.

“You’re a slut. A dirty, fucking slut who can’t control herself and just takes whatever she wants.”

She giggled then, actually giggled against you, her tongue finding your ear and leaving a trail of wet behind it.

“You want to come?” you growled, hands tracing down her back to grip into her ass.

She nodded, hovering over you as her rhythm stuttered. 

“Alright then, you get to come. But only if you promise me one thing.”

Her response would have been a squeak if it wasn’t so hoarse with need. “Anything.”

“You’re too sexy, taking all of your pleasure off of me. And it’s not fair that I don’t get to play. So you get to come. But then after that, I’m going to ride your face until you can’t breathe.”

Her breath hitched, hips bucked.

“Because I need you, Sally. I need you under me, fucking me, eating me out. I want you to taste what you do to me.” 

Hot tears were falling, constantly, and you knew that was her tell. So when she nodded frantically and her nails raked over your shoulders, you grinned. A wicked, sinful grin that had her eyes rolling back in her head.

“Okay, then. Come for me. Now.”

[shibarirobot]

Aizawa fic - CH 5 - Entrapment

 18+ ONLY! SFW (for now)

Shouta Aizawa x Villian!OC/Reader(?)

CH1

CH4

Okay this chapter kinda fucked me up. I got very emo while writing this lmfaoooo, but again sooooooo sorry that I’m so inconsistent, I care about this story and I want it to actually be good before I post ((also I have the shittiest laptop on the face of the planet so I can barely use it)) more like I just dont have the patience to deal with it XD, mais oui! le chapter is done! Please enjoy! x

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The chair I’m strapped to is stiff and uncomfortable at my back. I haven't been able to move for awhile and it’s driving me fucking insane. My back aches, my thighs are sore, I can literally feel my pelvic bone, not to even mention the cracked rib still throbbing and I’ve started to remember the broken nose I gave myself. It’s hard enough to keep my head on straight, I can’t really seem to focus on the questions I’m being asked, let alone my answers. I’ve been here for hours, maybe days. I have no clue. I have absolutely no fucking clue. This dumbass, Detective Aiko just comes and goes, sometimes followed by a short man with a clipboard and glasses. He just asks a few questions and leaves, I’ve lost track of how many times he’s entered and left as quickly as he comes. This time he comes in dragging another metal chair and flips it around on the other side of the table, sitting on it backwards, like he thinks he’s fucking cool or something. He’s large, I’ll give him that. His thighs swallow up the chair easily and I’m surprised he can actually sit on the thing.

I look at him with my tired eyes. We’ve been at this too long, I’m so fucking tired and I can hardly hold his eye contact. My lips are so unbearably chapped they feel like they might split open at any moment, they might have actually, I can taste iron. I’m parched. My mouth feels like it’s full of cotton. I’m about to crack, I can feel it. “Water.” My voice is tiny at this point, crackly from the dehydration. “I need water.” My eyes start to sag and I press forward slightly, straining against the straps on my torso, skin raw beneath them after so much of my writhing.

Detective Aiko blinks at me from across the table and reaches into his back pocket, pulling out a pack of cigarettes. He easily taps one forward and plucks it from the box between his lips. I can tell it’s a practiced movement, he does it without thinking. His habit has become muscle memory. He shoves the pack into his pocket again and retrieves a zippo lighter. If I was more conscious I probably would have rolled my eyes, if it didn’t feel like they might fall out of my head if I did. Of course he has a zippo, ugh. It’s like he learned how to be a cop from watching cheesy cop movies. He flicks it open and closed in a split second and the cigarette is lit. He takes a deep breath, sucking down the entire thing, inhaling so deeply that his chest puffs and swells almost double. He holds that breath for a long moment, releasing it slowly. I expect the smell of burnt tobacco, but there is none. The smoke pours from his nostrils in thick swirls, but it dissipates quickly, without a single trace that it had once been there.

I can see his eyes go glassy from the nicotine high, his shrouded eyes have barely left me. He stares at me like I’m a caged panther; cunning, dangerous, volatile. All things I might have been if I could possibly think straight. “You’ll get your water after you cooperate.” He shifts in the chair slightly, flicking the used cigarette butt to the side. It falls to the ground unceremoniously and I can only imagine how often he flings those things haphazardly and how many thousands he has personally littered into our environment. I’m instantly seething again. A moment ago, I had no capacity for anything really, and now I’m filled head to toe with rage towards this stupid fucking cop. This man withholding my fucking water, my fucking life source.

The thought that he’s actually killing me passes and I pull at the cuffs around my wrists. “Fucking water.” The chains scrape across the table and I can feel the blood on my mouth, my lips have definitely cracked in multiple spots, blood pooling between my teeth. “I fucking need water!” Now I’m just shaking the chains, trying to make enough noise to get him to give in, annoy him into submission. “Water!” His eyebrow twitches, he seemingly has a very short tolerance for my behavior now, no longer amused by my sass and antics.

He quickly rises from the chair and kicks it to the side, it goes clattering against the wall and loudly falls to the ground, tipped on its side. The sudden jolt silences me and the room is tense with the lack of sound. “Who do you work for?!” He yells at me, full chested. The same question Eraser Head asked me in the alley. Where my allegiances lie. There’s another moment of silence before I bust into intense, manic laughter. They still really think I work for someone?

My throat threatens to give out on me, but I can’t control the laughter. “Me, motherfucker!” I shout back, only not as full, my voice is dying quickly, my laughter soon falling with it, replaced by a hacking cough that I’m pretty sure just shredded the dry skin inside my very dry throat. That doesn’t really seem to satisfy him though. He just grunts and picks the chair back up, setting it upright, but not sitting down in it like before. He just stands there, so tall and trying to be intimidating.

He crosses his arms over his chest and scoffs at me just once. “So we’re gonna keep playing this game, huh?” He pulls out another cigarette and huffs it down just as quickly as the first, barely even savoring the drag. His eyes close and he shrugs. “I guess you don’t want that water.” He quickly strides out of the room, leaving me alone and tortured. I can’t move, my body is giving out, I can’t speak because of my hoarse, abused throat, I can’t do anything at all, but sit here. My mind flashes back to when I felt this way before, tied to a dining chair in front of my drunk birther. My eyes start to water and I am amazed that I even have the moisture left in my body to cry. The parallels are too similar and I can feel myself reverting back, the whimpering that’s beginning in the back of my throat. A couple tears start to fall and I’m slowly slipping into that mindset when I hear the door open again.

I try my best to harden my face, trying to mask the depravity that I had just been wallowing in, refusing to make eye contact with Detective Aiko as he rounds the table again and sits in that chair. He sets something on the table and I’m surprised when I look up, to see Eraser Head sitting in that chair across from me instead. There’s a water bottle on the table and I honestly have nothing to say. I’m overwhelmed by this change of events and the tears come faster now, silently streaming down my face. I feel so vulnerable and this man that I have only prodded and teased is the one here to help me. It’s like the universe is laughing at me, it feels like a trick, but one I’m knowingly and willingly letting myself fall into. I suck in a deep breath, hoping he won’t say anything about my tears. “They haven’t cleaned you up at all, have they?” His voice is low, but he honestly sounds concerned. I lamely shake my head, unable to tell him that I’ve been sitting strapped to this chair since the moment he left. He grunts shortly then stands, slowly grabbing the water bottle and cracking the lid open.

My tears lessen as I watch him, he’s looking at me like I’m a wounded animal and deep down I can’t blame him. All I’ve done since meeting him is lash out and hurt him. In spite of all that he reaches out to me slowly, the cold water bottle in one hand, the other gingerly gripping the side of my neck and tilting my head back. I look at him hesitantly. I’m just supposed to let him pour water into my mouth? That feels too weird, and intimate, and needy, but I can’t really pour the water into my own mouth, so I part my lips for him. He gently presses the rim of the water bottle onto my bottom lip, easing the cold, fresh water onto my sandpaper tongue. His fingertips graze the skin on my neck as the pad of his thumb softly wipes away my tears. It’s so gentle and intimate that I can’t help but cry harder. I’ve never felt such a sincere caress and it’s like my heart is breaking into a million pieces, astounded by the tenderness that I haven’t allowed myself to even realize I was missing. The silent resentment falling away for a moment and letting something new replace it. Adoration? Sympathy? Genuine gratitude?

I take in this new feeling hesitantly as I try to gulp down the water as quickly as he’s pouring it into my mouth. I relish in the feeling of the cool liquid on my tongue and into the back of my throat, soothing the burning I had endured for so long. The tears continue to fall even after the water bottle is empty and I realize his hand is still gently stroking my cheek in an attempt to calm my tears. He tosses the empty water bottle aside and peers down at me. I stare back up at him, my eyes starting to puff up from the tears I had just shed, cloudy with the residual moisture on my lashes. He’s even more beautiful now than ever before, caring for me so tenderly, and I think I understand now. I love him. I must love him. The way I was drawn to him before, it all makes sense. I’ve never felt anything like this before, no one has ever given me even a sliver of a second thought, but here he is. This man I don’t even know caring for a tortured criminal that’s done nothing, but awful things. It must be love. It must be... something at least.

I realize the moment’s been too long and I turn my gaze away, squeezing my eyes shut. I can’t help but feel embarrassed. Here he is helping me, giving me the water I so desperately needed and I can’t even choke out a ‘thank you’. Should I? Would he want me to? His hand falls away and I hear him start to shuffle to the door. Dammit. I’m breathing heavy, trying to catch my breath from the way I gulped down water like a dying horse. “I’m going to get a first aid kit.” I almost don’t hear him, but my eyes snap open. He’s coming back? To help me even more? Eraser Head is… going to tend my wounds… that I got fighting… HIM. This is all so bizarre and my head spins a little, but I can’t help the trace of a grin that tugs on my lips and the slight twinge of heat in my cheek.

I hear that knock on the door again, but before it opens I mumble out a small, drained. “Thank you.” My throat is still destroyed, but it’s enough that I hope he heard me. I guess I’ll never know if he did or even cared because the door opens and closes with no acknowledgment that I had said anything. Once again, I am left by myself, in this too bright room, strapped to a metal chair. As I sit here, it’s hard not to fall back into my miserable thoughts. Self loathing and what if’s come easily. What if that really was a trick? What if he’s never coming back? What if I just imagined the whole thing? What if he’s disgusted by me and just taking pity? I internally cringe at myself. That one is probably closest to the truth. He thinks of me like a charity case, someone who can’t help themselves. He’s a hero after all, that good ole savior complex will always rear it’s big, nasty head at some point. He’s helping me to make himself feel better, not to make me feel better. I sneer at myself. I almost fell into his trap, but no. I’m better than that. I was almost that dumb cunt I used to be, trusting people, needing others help. Fuck no. I promised myself I would never be that person again. I’m better now.

But then the indignation fades and all I’m left with is the reality of the situation. I do need his help. I’m broken and bleeding, strapped to a chair in an interrogation room. I start to cry again. It’s not a heavy cry, just one that makes you realize so much in such a short period of time. I cry as I realize I do need help. I need more help now than I’ve ever needed before. I’ve probably needed help this entire time and refused to see it, refused to ask for it. Asking for help never seemed like an option, it seemed like a burden. Yet, Eraser Head isn’t even offering me help, he’s giving it. Willingly. Of his own accord.

I continue to struggle with my thoughts on the situation far longer than I would deem necessary before I admit to myself it doesn’t matter because he’s simply not coming back. It’s been too long for him to have actually been going to get a first aid kit. He’s gone forever now. Poof. Might as well stop thinking about him. I can’t though. Can’t stop thinking about his perfect face, the way he touched my neck, the tenor of his voice, the scruff on his chin, the scar under his eye, the heat of his body behind mine. It all sends a thrill through me, but more than that, just a deep sense of longing. I yearn for him. I just want him to come back to me, I don’t care if he has the first aid kit he left for or not. I just want him to be present with me because everything just hurts less when he’s here. The open wounds mean nothing when he’s here. He’s the only reason any of my pain has ever been eased. I need him. I love him.

I start to allow fresh tears to fall, but my eyes are already welded shut from the fat tears I had shed earlier, too heavy to open and crusted over with dried tears because I still can’t wipe my eyes. The new ones gently come and allow me to crack open my eyes just slightly. I’m honestly on the brink of exhaustion, but my body has miraculously found a way to push forward. I’m taking a deep breath, trying to re-center myself. Get a grip on reality. Stretch my fingers and toes, get some feeling back in my aching body, crack my neck as best as I can. It’s not much, but it helps. I’m the only one that can do anything for me now. I start trying to survey the room to a closer extent than I had before, but honestly it’s still the same, too bright, all white room. I guess I can see a vent in the top right corner, but it’s too small for me to even think about escaping from. Not to mention, I can’t see a camera, so it must be in the corner behind me, watching, recording my every move. I grumble. There’s also the two way mirror, that I assume has had at least three people on the other side of it at all times. I’m completely under thumb.

I sigh, there’s not much I can do in this situation, and this dumb collar is still canceling my quirk. I’m chained up and defenseless. Fucking great. The door scrapes open again and I startled to see Eraser Head quickly invade the room, that wild look in his eyes again. The tips of his hair are flicking back and forth angrily, but not like it was before when he was erasing my quirk, more like… he’s just worked up. He’s breathing deeply, standing up straight and crossing his arms, a full 180 from his calm, gentle demeanor he had earlier. He’s actually quite intimidating like this and I start to shrink into myself, not knowing why his mood has changed. I didn’t do anything. He looks to the door and reaches out to flick his wrist in a ‘get the fuck over here’ motion. Detective Aiko comes into the room and unlocks my cuffs, releasing my arms from the table. He seems reluctant and I’m insanely confused by this sudden turn of events. My eyes are wide and I look to Eraser Head again, confusion evident on my twisted up face. “I’m taking you to the hospital. The collar will stay on and I will cuff you down when we get there.” He says it all so blankly and I’m even more confused that I was before he answered.

Detective Aiko doesn’t look up, he just grumbles out a gruff, ‘bad fucking idea’ before moving onto the straps at my torso, allowing me to pull away from the chair just a little bit. I struggle to force my muscles to keep myself upright, wanting to slump over and crumple to the floor. He undoes the one at my lap and I barely feel it because my entire bottom half has gone numb at this point. He lowers down further and unlocks the cuffs at my ankles, fully freeing me from the chair. I’m immediately elated to be liberated once again, getting overzealous and springing from the chair. Blood rushes to my head and my numb legs remind me how bad of an idea that is because I tip forward, falling into the metal table, the wind knocked from my lungs. I let out a wheeze and feel strong hands pull me back up onto my feet from my shoulders.

Eraser Head wraps an arm around my waist, pulling me flush to his hip to support my weight. I can feel his hero muscles swell as he pulls me off the table, shifting so we can shuffle towards the door. I’m still dazed and weak, trying to work with his movements instead of against them, but my legs can barely hold myself up and he ends up dragging me along with him more than anything else. My head is right next to his shoulder, tucked tight to his body and I press myself closer, nuzzling my cheek onto his collarbone. He feels so good against me. I’m so woozy, I feel like I’m dreaming. This all could be a mirage, I am dehydrated as hell. But it feels so real and so good that I just submit to it immediately. I press even further, trying to get up to his neck. Trying to be closer. The moment crashes around me in an instant as cuffs fall around my wrists. Damn. It’s Detective Aiko standing behind me, cuffing my wrists together and ruining the moment I was just having with Eraser. I glare up at him and he just ignores me, squeezing the cuffs tighter, too tight. I yelp, but he just looks over to Eraser Head like, ‘Really?’. Eraser grunts and holds his hand out for the key, he still has that wild look in his eye and I realize now that it’s pointed at Detective Aiko. HE’s in the doghouse, not me. Well, I am still arrested, but it doesn’t really feel like it when Eraser Head is personally escorting me to the ER, cuffs or no cuffs. Detective Aiko drops the key into his outstretched hand with an eyeroll.

Eraser Head spins me around, so I’m facing forward. My head is still dizzy, but my legs are starting to get some feeling back and I’m able to stand on my own now, even if I am a bit wobbly. He pulls me close to him again, gripping my bicep with one hand and supporting my weight with a hand on my hip. He’s taller than I remember him being. Glancing over my shoulder, I have to look up at him. His jaw is set, clenched with the anger he’s trying to hold back, silently seething. He’s still eyeing Detective Aiko with a menacing nature, I know his quirk is eye related, but it seems he also has a natural affinity for staring anyways. I watch him tuck the key into his front pocket, then grip my arm again, his hands are so large. I gulp, now realizing my ass is basically pressed up to his hip. He’s still taller than me, it's more like his thigh, but that doesn’t change the fact that my ass is on this man. My mind goes crazy as he holds me there, having some kind of stare down with Aiko. Neither of them has moved, but after a moment the detective shifts back with a grumble. Eraser Head grunts and guides me forward, supporting me as we exit the interrogation room.

Eyes follow us as Eraser Head leads me out of the room and down the hall. The receptionist at the front desk gasps when she sees me walking (semi) free. I can tell they all know who I am. I can tell they’re all scared of me. I don't need my quirk for that. I take advantage of the tense scene before me and grin, lurching forward at the woman sitting at the desk. Eraser Head is still gripping me firmly, so I don’t make it very far before he yanks me back to his body, but I do make it far enough to scare that bitch gawking at me. She screams and drops the phone receiver in her hand, stumbling backwards. I didn’t really expect such a dramatic reaction, did she really think I was gonna rip her head off or something? I’m fucking handcuffed… and doesn’t she fucking work at the police station? She should be used to this by now, why is she so fucking scared? Dramatic bitch.

Eraser Head pushes me forward, obviously still riled up from previous events. I stumble forward a bit, but his grip on me is so firm I couldn’t fall if I wanted to. We continue walking through the waiting lobby, until we reach two large glass doors. Outside the doors, it’s day time, probably late afternoon by the look of the sunlight. I take a deep breath, ready to take a step out those doors, ready to leave this awful fucking place, full of these awful fucking people. Eraser presses the handicap button and the door swinging open, the air is warm as we step out and it’s a little joy in this shitty situation that I bask in for a moment. When we step onto the sidewalk, I look up at Eraser Head. This protective stance, the hand on my hip, if I just ignore the handcuffs it’s like we’re a couple on a stroll. I smile up at him, thinking about how sweet he looks with his hair catching the late afternoon light. It’s golden hour and it settles on him nicely, highlighting his stark features. His eyes flick down to me and an expression of genuine surprise passes his face for a split second. He looks away quickly, a blush coating his cheeks, but his face returns to its stoic default.

We continue like this for a moment until we come up on his vehicle. I’m not sure what I expected, but a small wave of sadness washes over me as he opens the rear door, shoving me into the backseat. I didn’t really think he would put me in the front with him, but this feels so… impersonal. I guess that’s what we are. Impersonal. I mean, I don’t even know his last name. I slouch into the black leather of the car and pout to myself, feeling defeated. Eraser Head buckles me into the seat, leaning over me with his whole, big body. Heat floods my stomach and suddenly I’m feeling something… else. I huff, breathing in his scent, I can still smell the bergamot on him, but the other scent on him still eludes me. It’s sweet and musky, almost earthy. He pulls away before I can breathe in again, shutting the door on me, boxing me into this car alone again. He’s in the driver’s seat about 4 seconds later, but the silence of being alone again still stands out to me. I shake my head, and try to focus on the sounds of the car as he roars the engine to life and pulls out of the parking lot.

Thank you for reading! :)

I love reading yall’s comments so please leave a note for me! (see that double entendre hehe im so smart) 

but seriously, thanks for the love and the followers especially for only one fic

(also I hope u all can tell how much I fucking despise the cops for this chapter)

[pricetagofficial]

You Died -JT

Summary: You and Jason were walking home when he thought of a shortcut to get you both home quicker. There’s nothing more romantic than a cemetery right?

Pairing: Jason Todd x Reader

Word Count: 1108

Tag list: @idkmanicantenglish​ @kishony-the-geek​

Warnings: Angst, language, mentions of death and depression and trauma. 

A/N: This one got a little dark, sorry about that! To the anon that requested this, it was a really great idea and I hope that you liked it!

It was a cold autumn night in Gotham City, the wind was crisp as it blew past and chilled you to the bone. Your knees were shaking as you pulled your jacket tighter around yourself. Jason was at your side and wrapped an arm around your waist, keeping you close to him as you walked.

Sure there was no one around, but it was Gotham City. Anything could happen in the blink of an eye before you could try and stop it. But it was home.

“It’s cold as shit out here Jay.” you muttered.

“When we get back, I can draw you a hot bath to warm you up Princess.” he smiled softly as he looked down at you. The tips of your nose and ears were cold from the chilly breeze and he couldn’t help but smile at how cute you looked to him.

You leaned closer to him, Jason was like a walking space heater and you were rarely cold with him around. Half of the time, you had to kick off the blanket in your sleep because you were sweating so much just from his body heat. 

Jason took a look around, a grin crossing his face. It was late October and it was spooky season, his favorite part was when you would get scared over something and curl into him for protection. A cemetery was to your right, and he got the brilliant idea that he should walk you through it. 

“Hey, (y/n) let’s go this way.” he said, taking your hand and leading you into the cemetery. 

“Jay, that’s a cemetery.” you said softly, planting your feet refusing to go further in.

Jason turned to look at you. “It’s a shortcut, it’ll get us home in half the time. I promise.” That was not a lie, he knew Gotham like the back of his hand and this would get the two of you home quicker. What he didn’t know was how cemeteries made you feel, especially after he died all those years ago.

You swallowed and shook your head. “I’d rather take the long way.” 

“I’ll be with you the whole time baby girl, what could go wrong?” he asked, giving your hand a squeeze. 

Maybe he was right, it might not be as bad now that you knew he was alive and would be the one walking with you. Giving him a hesitant nod, Jason pulled you close and walked you through not loosening his hold on you by one bit.

The first minute or so wasn’t so bad. Jason could tell you were apprehensive about something, he just thought it was the creepy atmosphere so he made sure to keep talking the whole time; telling jokes and funny stories to keep your mind off things.

That strategy worked until you saw a name on one of the tombstones, it stopping you dead in your tracks. Jason Turk. You shook your head and squeezed your eyes shut, it wasn’t Jason’s tomb. The real one was back at Wayne Manor in the family graveyard, but it brought back all of those feelings you had when he died.

It nearly killed you when Bruce told you that he had died, even as teenagers you knew that Jason was your soulmate. When he died, a piece of you died with him and even though he came back you weren’t the same. You took extra precautions, always called him when he was out later than he said, even went as far as asking Dick to make sure that he didn’t get hurt or do something stupid on patrol.

Jason felt you stop and looked at you, ready to crack a joke but all that failed when he saw the look on your face. 

“(y/n), princess what’s wrong?” 

You were frozen, and your skin had gone pale. He could feel your hand trembling in his own as you stood there silently.

It was like the oxygen had been knocked out of your lungs, your vision was blurry and your hands began to sweat. The more you tried to breathe in, the harder it was to let the air back out. You blocked out everything, unable to hear a single thing around you including Jason beside you as he tried to get you to respond to him.

Your breathing picked up rapidly, unable to get a decent amount of oxygen into your lungs. Jason wasn’t dead, not anymore. He was right next to you, and you knew it but there was that part of you that was scared that it was a dream that he came back to you. 

Jason could see that you were panicking, and he did the first thing he could think of. He cupped your face and kissed you, making you hold your breath for a moment. That moment was all you needed to calm yourself down and get your groundings. 

You could see Jason clearly now, his eyes were filled with worry as he looked down at you. “Look at me, take a deep breath.” and you did. Jason stood there and breathed with you, helping yours to match his own and slow your racing heart. 

Once you were calmer, you felt better but it was like you weren’t there still. You felt disoriented, and like your legs were going to collapse from under you. The grip you had on Jason’s hand was turning it blue because you were holding it so tight. 

“I-I think I’m okay.” you muttered, your voice hoarse from how dry your throat and mouth were.

“What happened?” he asked.

“You died, Jay. That’s what happened…” you whimpered softly, eyes filling with tears.

Hearing you say those words, he looked at the name and he understood what had happened. He was an idiot, why the fuck did he decide to bring you into a cemetery in the first place? There were signs in the beginning that he didn’t see because he wasn’t paying attention, but looking back they were obvious.

“I’m so sorry (y/n), I shouldn’t have brought you this way.” he scooped you up into his arms and held you tight against his chest. “Close your eyes and just listen to my heartbeat okay, and focus on that.” 

Jason knew that you visited his grave almost daily and cried over his for years, even after he came back because you were so scared for him. He wasn’t the same person when he came back, and he was different even now than he was when he returned. You had helped him become what he was, if it wasn’t for you then he might as well have stayed dead.

[hale-13]

Caved In

By Hale13

For the Summer of Whump Day 10 - Trapped

Despite Peter’s obvious enthusiasm to join missions, Tony tends to keep him away as much as possible. But this is just a simple raid of a defunct. There’s no trouble the kid can get into here right?

Words: 2534, Chapters: 1/1 (Complete), Language: English

Fandom: Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies)

Rating: Gen

Relationships: Peter Parker & Tony Stark

Characters: Peter Parker, Tony Stark, Steve Rogers, Sam Wilson, Bruce Banner, Natasha Romanov

TW: Medical Procedures, Claustrophobia

Read on AO3 or below the line break.

Tony coughs himself awake, the mask of the Iron Man suit cracked nearly down the middle and crumbling at the edges, gaping holes allowing for dust and debris to trickle in. His cough is dry and unpleasant but causes only a small twinge of discomfort in his chest and, beyond the minimal aches and pains that come from the regular wear and tear of trying to be a superhero in his late forties, he feels pretty solid.

“FRI?” He croaks, coughing dryly again on the end and trying to clear his throat. “You up honey?”

His comm that connects him to the rest of his team and his AI is worryingly silent for a three count before FRIDAY’s pleasant Irish lilt says “Here Boss,” with only a small amount of static. Score.

“Thank God,” he breathes out. “Status report.”

“It appears someone activated the self-destruct sequence,” she offers helpfully, a broken layout of the HYDRA base they were raiding popping up on his HUD, only partially visible due to the fractured mask but it gives Tony plenty of info.

“How’s the rest of the team?” Tony asks, still lying on his back and making no effort to move yet. He feels okay considering the situation but he doesn’t want to waste energy until he has to. “Why is my comm muted?”

“The collapse damaged the transmitter,” FRIDAY explains. “I have sent in a distress signal and pinged your location,” Tony lets out a relieved sigh that gets caught in his throat when his AI reports, “All Avengers accounted for except for Spider-Man.”

“Vitals FRI,” Tony says, a little frantic and struggling to sit up now around the dizziness that surely means a concussion. “Where’s the kid?”

“The suit is approximately thirty feet to your left,” FRIDAY tells him, marking it on the blueprint still in the corner of his HUD with a blinking blue dot. “Karen is offline so I’m unable to get vitals,” she tells him regretfully as he groans and rolls onto his hands and knees. The floor starts to rotate under him and he has to take a few deep breaths to control his nausea before he feels like he can crawl through the mess of concrete around him in the direction of Peter.

With FRIDAY’s help, Tony is easily able to navigate through the rough patches on his way to Peter and, though his comm is broken, she is able to relay rescue info from Nat. So far they don’t have much idea on how long its going to take and Tony can already feel his heart beating too fast in worry.

“The kid’s fine,” he tells himself firmly. “He’s okay.”

When he comes across Peter about a minute later he is, decidedly, not okay. His right leg up to mid-thigh is trapped under a large slab of concrete and he’s unmoving except for the stuttering of his chest and the wet sounds of his breathing. Tony’s heart beats ever faster when he notices how wet the suit is around Peter’s trapped thigh and the oddly shaped protrusion that surely indicates a compound fracture.

“Fuck,” he curses, settling next to Peter’s head on his knees and carefully removing the torn mask from his face. Peter is pale under the spandex, a bruise high on his cheekbone and his nose crooked and bleeding – clearly broken again – but he’s breathing and seems otherwise alright. “Up and at’em Petey,” Tony says, patting Peter’s unmanaged cheek softly with two fingers until his eyes scrunch up and crack open.

“Hey man,” Peter slurs, a lopsided dopey grin pulling up the corners of his mouth and his pupils obviously uneven as he looks up at Tony. “Come here often?”

“Oh yeah,” Tony tells him with an eye roll. “Love hanging out in decrepit buildings, you know me.”

Peter snots out a laugh and then winces, a hand coming up to probe at his nose. “Ouchies,” he mumbles, sounding a little nasally. Tony bats his hand away from his face.

“You’re not wrong,” he agrees, pressing a hand to Peter’s chest to keep him from sitting up. “Let’s just take it easy for a bit until the rest of the team busts us out okay kiddo?”

Peter frowns at him, his eyebrows pulling together in an expression that would be adorably confused if Tony wasn’t internally freaking out a little over their situation. Peter looks woozy and out of it from his concussion but the kid has always been pretty perceptive and Tony doesn’t say anything as he does an obvious full body check, gasping in pain almost immediately. “Mr. Stark?”

“You’re alright,” Tony reassures, trying to defuse the situation before it even becomes a situation. “Nothing we can’t fix. You’re just a little… confined until Nat can figure out how to get us out.”

Peter looks unconvinced and he has a tinge of panic on his face – leftover claustrophobia from getting trapped under a warehouse Tony knows – but he gulps and takes a few deep breaths to relax himself. “How long?”

“Whatcha got for me FRI? Any ETA on our imminent rescue?” Tony asks, one hand rubbing through Peter’s sweaty, messy curls and the other tapping on the side of his mask over the comm impatiently. He tries to hold in his grimace when she reports back that it may be a couple of hours for Peter’s sake and, instead, smiles down at him, only half his mouth visible through the cracked mask. He opens his mouth to lie through his teeth but Peter rolls his eyes before Tony has the chance.

“You know I have enhanced hearing right?” He questions pointedly, taking the wind out of Tony’s sails before he can even talk.

“Yeah alright,” the man agrees with a shrug. “It’s going to be a bit before they get here.”

Peter squirms a little uncomfortably, letting out a hiss when he jostles his leg, eyes crossing and sweat breaking out across his forehead at the pain and Tony feels his chest clench in sympathy. “Can you uh…” Peter starts, gulping and squeezing his eyes shut for a moment, tears of pain popping up in the corners but stubbornly not falling. “Can you distract me?”

“Did I ever tell you about that time in college when Rhodey and I got blitzed on cheap vodka and flooded the laundry room with foam before our engineering final?” Peter lets out a little hysterical laugh and shakes his head ‘no’. “Well settle in because it’s a doozy. So it all started around ten in the morning in the fountain at the student center…”

Tony had plenty of stories about his and Rhodey’s misadventures through undergrad but he was really running out of semi-appropriate tales he could spin by the time the clock in the corner of his HUD had passed three hours. Peter, stubborn and ever the trooper, had stayed awake and cooperated every time had harassed him to keep the kid coherent. The shifting of concrete was definitely getting closer now.

Peter, however, had continued to steadily decline since Tony had found him. The wound in his thigh where the bone had punctured the skin but, miraculously, not the suit had continued to bleed steadily to the point that Tony had cut a hole in the tightly woven carbon and spandex fibers around Peter’s leg so that he could staunch the bleeding with specially made nano-particles. This had, unfortunately, clearly been a bandaid on a bullet wound situation.

Peter had steadily paled until his face was greyed around the edges and clammy. His hands were shaking and, since he wasn’t able to thermoregulate well and shiver, could only be from shock. The situation was quickly becoming dire and Tony knew he wasn’t doing such a stellar job of hiding his reservations anymore.

“Get me an update FRI,” he ground out, one hand moving methodically through Peter’s flat curls, overworked by how much Tony had been basically petting him for the past few hours. The kid’s brown eyes, half-lidded, flickered up to look at him and some quiet conversation passed between the two of them before Peter broke eye contact with a weary blink.

“Rescue is imminent Boss,” the AI reported. “Maybe fifteen minutes.”

“Here that Pete?” Tony asked, trying for bright but falling short. “Fifteen minutes. We can do that right?”

“Sure,” Peter mumbled, his own voice hoarse from coughing up dust and a little blood sneaking its way onto his lips when he wet them. His teeth were stained red and Tony could feel his heart stutter at the sight. He hated nothing more than being useless and that’s all he was right now. “Fifteen minutes. No problem.”

“Tell them to hurry it up,” Tony hissed into his comm before hitting the emergency release on his suit and peeling it off. Peter’s eyes were hazy and confused, a frown pulling his pale lips down as he watched.

“You can’t,” he said, fingers twitching in the direction of the defunct suit. “Need to be protected.”

“I’m fine kiddo,” Tony promised, moving them around until Peter’s head rested in Tony’s lap instead of on the ground. “We’re almost out; nothing’s going to happen.” Peter’s eyes narrowed but he clearly didn’t have the energy to argue further, letting his lids flutter shut and stay closed. Tony shook him none too gently to rouse him, heart aching at Peter’s low whine of pain and betrayal. “Stay awake for me Webs. Just a little longer.”

“I’m really tired,” Peter muttered, eyes blinking rapidly as he tried to keep them open. “Just a little nap. Please?”

“No can do,” Tony said, feeling on the verge or tears, running his thumb carefully over the bruises under Peter’s eye and up to his temple to gently massage it. “No sleeping until Bruce gives permission. He’s a stickler about these things.”

Peter hummed, his mouth pulling down at the corners. “Sorry Mr. Stark,” he whispered, his eyes closing and his speech starting to slur. “I don’t think I can.”

And then, terrifyingly, he went completely boneless in Tony’s lap.

“No!” Tony nearly screamed, shaking Peter as carefully as he could. “You need to wake up right now Peter I’m serious!” But Peter’s head just lolled to the side, his face and jaw slack and his skin, somehow, even paler than before. “FRI get them here now! I don’t care what it takes, Peter needs out!”

“Tony!” A voice echoed through the cavern not even a second later and Tony felt tears of relief prickling his eyes.

“Here!” He called back, sniffing hard. “About time you got down here!”

Moments later the dusty forms of Steve and Sam pushed their way into the small space that Tony and Peter had been occupying, dragging a stretcher and a bag of medical equipment behind them.

“Shit,” Steve breathed, taking them both in before hustling over to lift the concrete off of Peter’s leg.

“Stop!” Sam said, trying to body block him in the cramped space and having little success but Cap stopped nonetheless. “He could have compartment syndrome. You move that before I place a tourniquet and you could kill him!” Steve turned white and moved back, holding his hands up in surrender. “Tony you need to take the suit and get out.”

“Like hell!” He protested, bearing his teeth and gripping Peter’s shoulders possessively only to have his hands batted away so Sam could get Peter’s pulse.

“You’re in the way,” Sam explained firmly as he pulled the medical bag over and began to wrap the tourniquet tightly around Peter’s upper thigh making the kid gasp in his sleep but not wake up. “You can trust me with him,” Sam promised, making brief eye contact before getting back to his work. “I promise that I’ll take care of him for you but you have to let me help him and I can’t do that when you’re in the way.”

Tony let out a choking sound that he would never admit was a sob and covered his mouth. “That’s my kid Wilson,” he said, voice firm. “I’m trusting you with him.” Sam nodded solemnly and Steve just watched them both with a wounded expression. Tony ignored all this and bent down to press a feather-light kiss to Peter’s hair line before squeezing his eyes shut and doing the hardest thing he’s ever had to do – leave Peter alone.

“Tony,” Bruce said, relieved, when Tony emerged from the hole that the team had dug up. The man was shirtless and in his Hulk shorts, hands shaky and tired but looking alert and ready to do what he could to help them. “Where’s Peter?”

“Cap and Sam are getting him,” Tony said, feeling a little shaky and shell-shocked himself, not noticing he was swaying until Natasha ducked under his right arm to help steady him. “He um. His leg got trapped under dome of the rubble. It’s broken and he’s lost a lot of blood.” Tony explained, allowing Nat to guide him to sit on some of the surrounding debris.

“It’s okay,” Bruce soothed, bending down and grabbing Tony’s wrist to take his pulse with a frown before prodding at a couple of the tender spots on his head that made Tony wince. “We can fix it. I have blood on the jet and we’re only an hour out from the nearest SHIELD base with a full medical staff. He’s going to be fine.”

Tony nodded compulsively and submitted himself to Bruce’s exam, watching the hole intently until Cap emerged, carrying half of the stretcher with Sam following closely behind supporting the other half.

Things became a bit of a blur from there for Tony. Nat held him back from getting in the way of Bruce and Sam treating Peter and assisted him onto the jet and into a seat near the head of the gurney they had moved the kid to. Peter was still passed out, his hair and face covered in dust but he was getting a little color back in his face once Sam started the blood transfusion.

“What’s the verdict?” Steve asked, leaning against the wall and only his finger twitching showing how worried he was, taking the words right out of Tony’s mouth.

“He has a good prognosis,” Bruce reported, looking at the X-ray FRIDAY had taken and sent to his tablet. “He’ll need surgery to reset the bone but you know how quick he heals. I suspect he’ll be begging to get back in the saddle by the end of the week tops,” a collective exhale of relief passed through the team and Tony dropped his head into his hands.

“Thank you,” he said, voice thick with emotion, stumbling over to stand at the head of the bed and run soft fingers down the side of Peter’s peaceful face. This was enough excitement for a while, Tony decided, he and the kid would need to sit out the next few missions and take an actual break. Pepper had been looking at a cabin on a lake as a possible summer home and Tony couldn’t think of a better way to recuperate than sitting on the ample porch in the warm weather with his family.

[grenith-the-skald]

Hatchets and Hope

"What is it with you self righteous idiots and your 'No killing rule' nonsense?" Mocked the villain as he reared back with the hatchet and took another solid whack at the wooden beam that was supporting their victim's weight.

Looking down at the several thousand foot drop towards the streets below, the hero was resigned to their fate. Their body bruised from a long beating, and their hands numb from the tightness of the chains binding their body. Swivelling his head, he weakly smiled at the villain who was delightfully taking their sweet time to execute their foe.

"It has nothing to do with being righteous..." The hero slowly explained. "It's about hope..."

Snorting loudly and letting out a sharp laugh, the Villain reeled his arm back again and chopped into the wood. "Hope? I think, that you think, that you're just better than the rest of us!"

The hero felt themselves lurch forwards slightly as the wooden beam holding their weight slowly bent a bit further. "I do, as a matter of fact." He replied calmly. "But only because I have to be."

Stopping mid swing, the villain turned and casually leaned against the wooden support he has been hacking away at. A scowl crossed his lips and he jabbed a pointed finger into the hero's shoulder. "See, this is why you heroes never accomplish anything. You all run around the city punching people in the face, toss 'em into jail, and then repeat the process a week later." Looking the battered hero in the eyes, the villain's scowl turned to a smile. "Yet if you people would just kill us, BOOM! Problem solved."

Refusing to break eye contact with their nemesis, the hero swallowed the slowly pooling blood in their mouth and licked their dry cracked lips. "Killing people is easy." He retorted, as a measure of annoyance grew in his hoarse voice. "I could have butchered my way across this city in a handful of days, knee-deep in gore and streets running with blood. But that wouldn't make this city any better."

"Better?" Snickered the villain as he casually flourished his hatchet.

The hero was exhausted, but if these would be his last words then he might as well get his due. "People need to choose to be good, to be better. Not simply because of a fear compelling them. We try to inspire people to do the right thing, even when it isn't easy. Because if they can't hope that things will get better, then they have no reason to try."

"Awh, that almost brought a tear to mine own eye. Words spoketh like a poet of yonder." Taunted the villain as he returned his attention to chopping away at the wooden beam. Giving it a good solid hit as the sound of creaking could be heard, the hero's suspended weight slowly tilting the wood towards its breaking point.

Gritting his teeth, the hero could feel his heart beginning to race. The city street below, illuminated in the darkness by countless lights, becoming a dizzy sight. Looking away from the long drop before him, the hero stared dully into the distance of the empty skyline. "You know...as much as you might not believe it...I still have some hope for you." He muttered sullenly. "No matter how bruised, broken, and beaten I have ever been...I always have this naive hope of my own that maybe I can help folk like you."

Hitting the beam once more, the villain paused. He left his hatchet buried in the side of the wood and abandoned his project of murder momentarily. Grabbing a hold of the bound hero, he twisted the man's body to face the beam that was barely keeping him alive. With a sick smile, the villain said "Help people like me? I've spent years of my life in an asylum after seeing some super-freak crush my mother alive as she was trapped in our overturned car! YOU don't get to unload this 'hope' bullshit onto me!"

Looking over the villains shoulder, and feeling himself slightly lower a few centimetres, the hero smiled faintly at the younger villain before him. "My father was a firefighter." He replied weakly.

Confused, the villain asked "W-what? What the hell does that mean?"

"He died of cancer. I had to watch him slowly lose that battle for several years." The hero explained, taking a deep breath. "His cancer was caused by some carcinogens from a factory fire he had been at. Over forty people trapped as the building went up in flames, and yet my dad and his crew still rushed in there to save everyone that they could. My old man's respirator got caught on something and the tube for his oxygen supply was torn off. Must've breathed in quite a bit of nasty shit in that smoke."

Growing impatient and in disbelief over the seeming irrelevance of the story, the villain grabbed onto the hero and shook him violently. "I DON'T GIVE A DAMN ABOUT YOUR FATHER!"

Ignoring the villain entirely, the hero continued speaking undeterred. "I remember asking him, towards the end if he regretted it. Being a firefighter, getting cancer, ya'know...dying in such a way. Yet he just smiled and told me that the only thing he regretted was not being able to save more people." Looking back at the villain who was visibly frustrated and growing furious, the hero smiled again. "My point, is that my father is what inspired me to be a hero. I spent years being broken by this city, and even now in the face of death I only wish I could have helped more people."

The villain was about to make a sarcastic and venom fuelled comment, but the words caught in his throat as the sudden CRACK of wood breaking echoed briefly and the hero suddenly plunged down into the city below. Staring in disbelief, the villain was left alone on the cold and empty rooftop.

[dreamofmysoul-tsc]

I'll Stay Here With You Until This Dream Is Gone

A story about Matthew Fairchild and James Herondale

Title from “Burning House” by Cam

I’ve never written fanfiction before, nor am I really a writer, but this idea has been poking at my mind for awhile now so I figured I’d write it down. I probably won't write more fanfic btw, my brain just wouldn't let me rest until I wrote this 😅

Little nods to The Haunting of Hill House and Bly Manor if you squint

This story follows the theory that Matthew becomes a Downworlder; in this story he is a vampire, although it isn't that important. Also, lots of angst. Suffer with me y'all. Enjoy!

CW for talks of death and the afterlife

January, 1963

Watery, gray light filters through the thick, velvet curtains despite their best efforts to keep the sun at bay. The house sits quiet, empty save for its owner and a single butler. A man sits at an antique writing desk, blonde head bent over thick sheets of paper, each embossed with a golden MF. He writes slowly, thoughtful of each word he inks onto the pages. A glass of water sits precariously on the edge of the writing desk, half empty.

A series of swift knocks resounds throughout the home. The man doesn't raise his head, expecting his butler, Mr. Wingrave, to answer it. As expected, he hears the door creak open, followed by a quick, muffled exchange. Whoever decided to darken his doorstep leaves as fast as they came, the door closing shut with a resounding thunk. His butler begins to ascend the stairs, but the man continues to write his letter, a half smile beginning to turn up the corner of his mouth.

His bedroom door swings open. "Mr. Fairchild?" Wingrave stands on the threshold, a folded note held in his hand. It is without an envelope, as though whoever wrote it sent it off in a hurry.

"Yes?" Fairchild says distractedly, mind still occupied by his letter.

"A note for you, sent by a Mr. Owen Herondale, sir."

This causes Fairchild to pause. Why did his godson, whom he had visited just last week, send him a letter so early in the morning? Despite his best efforts, he feels a mix of curiosity and mild concern begin to build.

"From Owen? Whatever for?" Not expecting a response, he accepts the note from Wingrave. He unfolds the thin paper and feels his stomach drop.

Father is dying. Please get to the townhouse as soon as you can. He needs you.

-OH

James. His Jamie. He reads the succinct words over and over, unable to fully understand, or perhaps fully accept, their meaning. Of course he knew James was getting on in years, he isn't that in denial, but he had never fully sat back to think about how he would go on or what he would even do when James was gone. Now reality is crashing down on him, harsh and cold, as he lurches out of his seat and grabs for his coat. He barely gives himself time to put his shoes on before he's running out the door, only to be reminded harshly of his vampirism when the winter sun scalds his face. He can't find it in himself to care, ducking his head and sticking to the shaded walls of buildings as he sprints flat out toward Curzon Street.

Thanks to his vampire speed, he manages to limit his sun exposure and make it to Curzon Street in record time. He bangs on the townhouse door, red tears already welling up in his eyes, unnoticed until they begin to fall, cold, down his cheeks.

Owen opens the door immediately, black eyes wretched and lips pressed into a thin line, clearly trying to prevent himself from falling apart. He looks so like James, who always hated to cry too, that Matthew almost lets out the sob building up in his chest, yet he holds it in for Owen's sake. Matthew wraps him in a fierce hug, tucking his godson's face against his neck like Owen used to do when he was a boy. Owen holds onto his godfather's coat, trembling but still trying his best to keep it together.

Owen pulls back, sniffling and red eyed, voice hoarse as he says "Dad is upstairs in the bedroom. He's been asking for you all morning. I'm sorry I summoned you so early, but I just don't know how much time he has left." His voice cracks as he says it, tears finally falling. Matthew holds his face in his hands and wipes them away, pushing his hair from his forehead. Despite being in his 40s, Matthew will always see him as the chubby faced little boy Owen was so many years ago.

Taking a deep breath, Matthew ascends the stairs up to Jamie's bedroom. Cordelia, having passed a year prior, would've reprimanded him for getting dirt and slush on her lovely rugs. He almost chuckles at the memory.

James' door is already ajar as Matthew gently pushes it open. It takes Matthew yet another valiant effort to hold in a sob. James lays back on the bed, hands folded over each other, white hair fanned out behind his head like a halo. He holds a gold necklace in one hand, a miniature globe attached to the end of it, and a photograph in the other.

Matthew takes a seat in the cushioned chair by the bed and rests his hands on the duvet in an attempt to stop their shaking. "Jamie," he whispers, voice hoarse.

James' eyes crack open, still the same champagne gold as when he was a young man, and miraculously, he smiles. Matthew finally lets out the cries he's been holding in upon seeing that smile, warm and earnest, a smile that can only be described as so perfectly James.

James sets the objects in his hands aside and reaches out a surprisingly steady hand as Matthew meets him in the middle. He holds onto James' hand like it's a life raft, pressing his knuckles to his forehead and doing nothing to quiet his crying.

"If I had known it'd be this soon-" he chokes out, red tears staining James' calloused hands.

James cuts him off gently. "None of that, Matthew. What was I supposed to do, wait around until death came for me? My body is giving up on me, Math. I knew that my time was coming and that's exactly why I need you here. Because despite everything, I'm afraid. And although you no longer have the rune, we are still parabatai. I'm afraid of what comes after, Math, and I...please, just sit with me."

Matthew looks up, bloody tears dripping steadily onto James' poor bedsheets. He squeezes his parabatai's hand and he nods. "Of course I'll stay with you, Jamie bach. Whither thou goest, I shall go, remember? Even if I can't feel you, I won't let you go into the dark alone."

James lets out a soft chuckle as tears form in his eyes and squeezes Matthew's hand in return. "Thank you, Math."

As the day progresses into night, Matthew finds himself laying next to his parabatai, pushing his white hair back from his forehead and listening to his slow, wheezing breath. James sleeps and Matthew watches, afraid that if he so much as looks away from him, his friend won't have a hand to guide him into his afterlife.

Owen visits periodically to check on his father, occasionally clutching onto his hand and looking on with heartbroken eyes. He's even so kind as to offer his godfather blood, blood that they kept refrigerated for his visits, but the thought of stomaching anything causes bile to rise in the back of Matthew's throat.

Earlier, while arranging himself on James's bed, he finally caught a glimpse of the photograph James had held in his hand. It was a photo of them in their teenage years, Matthew's arm draped over James' shoulders, dressed in fashions well out of style, bright smiles on their faces. Matthew remembered that day well. It was a hot day in June and they'd gone to Regent's Park to enjoy the summer weather and catch up on reading. What had started as a peaceful summer day had ended with Matthew dramatically-and loudly- reciting passages from Oscar Wilde's The Importance of Being Earnest while passersby looked on in faint amusement or unmasked annoyance. James had been mortified, repeatedly begging Matthew to stop through fits of laughter, ending with the boys play wrestling in the grass as James attempted to grab the play's script from Matthew's hands. They had ended up with grass stains all over their shirts, leaves sticking up in their hair, and Matthew was fairly certain he'd almost upended their picnic basket into the pond. It had been one of the best days of Matthew's life.

Matthew laughed through his tears as he gazed down at the photo, holding onto James' hand even tighter and continuing to watch him. He had once called James his heart and now he realizes how true he had been. James was always steady and strong, a presence he could rely on when he oftentimes couldn't even rely on himself. He kept Matthew tethered to the earth while Matthew in turn kept James from getting lost in his head. Matthew the kite, James the line. And without the line, Matthew wasn't sure what he was going to do.

Logically, he knew this would happen. James would die and Matthew would live on, unchanging. And one day he would realize he had lived more days without James than with him. The sense of panic he felt at the thought of forgetting his laugh, his dry wit, the specific way he annotated his books, even the way he made his tea, was so strong it almost knocked the breath out of him.

But as he takes in the face of his parabatai, his best friend, that panic winks out as quick as it came. Matthew's death was uncertain, but it wouldn't evade him forever. And although Matthew never considered himself a spiritual man, he believed that he would see James again. He had to believe that, otherwise he knew that his grief would threaten to eat him alive. Matthew knew that James' grief had threatened to eat him alive, too, after Cordelia's passing. If Matthew can gift his friend a peaceful end, he hopes with everything he has that Cordelia will be there to guide James home.

James dies not in the thick of battle or at the vicious claws of a demon, but in his bed, left hand held in the iron grip of his parabatai. He dies gently, quietly, breath suddenly stopping, hands going limp at his sides. Matthew hears his heart stop beating before James even exhales for that final time, pressing his forehead to his friend's and letting himself cry, guttural and grief stricken, unashamedly weeping into his parabatai's neck. Distantly, he hears his godson enter the room despite the late hour. Distantly, he sees Owen fall to his knees next to his father's bedside and clutch at his arm, joining Matthew in his lamentation.

And so, he holds onto James' hand and he cries. And he hopes with everything he has that he will see him again. He keeps that hope in his chest, a lighthouse on a distant, stormy shore, as he closes his parabatai's eyes and whispers, "Ave atque vale, Jamie bach. Hail and farewell."

[krisdreaming]

MASTERLIST | PART 2

˗`ˏ THIS IS PART 1 - READER POV ˎˊ˗

Pairing: Iwaizumi Hajime x Fem!Reader

Summary:  After the accident, you’re willing to give up anything so that Hajime can live. All things considered, your memories of him in exchange for his life seems like more than a fair trade. When it’s done, neither of you understands what’s happened, and it leaves you both hurting. Still, even without your memories, you can’t help but feel drawn to him. He still loves you more than anything. Your love will find a way… right?

WC: 1.6k

Warnings: Angst, Hospitals, Mentions of Character Injury / Death

A/N: I’m so excited to start this journey! This part is the only one that has any kind of supernatural / magical realism elements. It kinda just made the most sense to me as the vehicle for the entire rest of the plot so just... bear with me 😅 After this chapter, it’s all just normal canon-verse. 

Without further ado!!

The golden late-afternoon sunlight pours through the lone window in the hospital room and pools on the floor, not quite reaching the bed where Hajime is lying. The contrasting stringent white hospital lighting does nothing to improve his wan complexion. His cracked lips are turned slightly downward, and you wonder, with a sharp twinge in your chest, if even in this state, he can feel pain.

“I’m here, Hajime,” You say for what must be the hundredth time, reaching out again for his limp hand. The doctors have said that talking to him may help to comfort him, but you wonder if he can even recognize your voice. Even to you, it sounds small and foreign, hoarse from who knows how many hours of tears. The only response is the steady beeps and hums of the machines keeping him alive. You give his hand a gentle squeeze.

It’s been a week of this, now. A week since you got the call and rushed to the hospital as fast as you could. A week since you saw him lying too-still in that bed, a swath of bandages and a tangle of wires making his body look so, so small and helpless. A week since you sank to your knees the moment the doctor had left the room, clutching Hajime’s hand to your face until his skin was slick with your tears, only realizing afterwards that the strange, gasping sounds you’d been hearing had been coming from you all along.

You’ve spent every day here since. You’ve hardly eaten. What little sleep you can get is plagued by nightmares that wake you up in a cold sweat, reaching out desperately for a warm body that isn’t there. All that you know is this room, this chair, this bed, and the shallow rise and fall of Hajime’s chest.

A breath shudders out of you when you’re reminded, again, of what the doctor had said when you’d arrived this morning. “Y/N-san, the improvements we’ve been hoping to see haven’t been coming at the rate we’d expect. As it is now, the reality is that he may never wake up. The severity of the damage is becoming clearer as we continue with our testing. As difficult as this is to say, it may be the time to start preparing to say goodbye.”

You squeeze your free hand into a tight fist, feeling your nails dig into your palm. You run the thumb of the hand holding his gently across the backs of his fingers. “You know,” You begin, haltingly, trying to keep your voice as clear and normal-sounding as possible, “When this is all over, I’m going to make us a big picnic. I’ll make those onigiri you like so much, the ones with the pickled plum inside. You can eat as many as you want. I promise I won’t yell at you,” You pause to swallow back the thick feeling in your throat, “And we can have whatever else you want. Just say the word, and I’ll buy it. It’ll be the meal you’d never let any of your athletes eat in a million years,” You laugh softly.

“And by the time we’re done eating, well, the sun will probably be almost set. We can just lay back on the blanket and watch the stars come out, like we did that night last summer.” You pause, looking at him almost as though you expect him to answer, or at least nod. His expression doesn’t change.

“We can plan some more for the wedding. It’s going to be here in no time at all, you know,” Your thumb goes to the ring on your finger, twisting it back and forth in what’s become a familiar motion. “I know you don’t like the planning much, but we have to get it done.” You fall silent for a few moments, not wanting him to hear the way your voice has started to waver.

“Or maybe you’d rather just plan for the honeymoon,” You finally pick back up again, “We need to decide soon where we want to go. Hotels and plane tickets sell out fast, you know. What would be really fun is if we could visit Tooru in Argentina. I know you think it’s too far, but honestly, when else would we ever have the chance?

“We don’t have to spend the whole time with him, of course,” Your voice drops lower, “We’d want some time to ourselves. I hear the beaches there are nice. Or we could find a really nice hotel with a Jacuzzi and fancy room service.”

It might be your imagination, but the expression on his face seems just a little bit softer. It’s not a smile, but his lips aren’t turned down quite as hard as they had been, so you take it as a sign that you should keep going. “Of course, you know that I don’t really care where we go. We could spend the whole week in a hotel on the other side of Tokyo and you wouldn’t hear me complain.” You can practically see his incredulous smirk at that, and you choke out an almost-convincing laugh. “Well, you know what I mean.” You fall silent again, still tracing your thumb against his fingers, lost in your thoughts now.

All the while you’d been talking, you hadn’t notice the slowing of the heart monitor. His breaths are coming slower too, the rising of his chest barely noticeable anymore. Outside, twilight has fallen, and there’s no longer any natural light coming in through the window. You notice all of this at once, but you suddenly feel so sluggish that you can’t bring yourself to move, much less press the call button for one of the nurses. Even as the beeps fade to a single, steady whine, you feel frozen in your seat, his hand still in yours. There’s an eerie sense of calm descending over you.

When the whine stops, it seems to shake you out of whatever stupor you’re in. Blinking, you look around and find that the two of you are no longer alone in the room. In the corner farthest from the door, a human-like figure stands shrouded in the faintest yellow glow, like the last remnants of the sunset outside. It has the face of an elderly man, but there is something decidedly un-human in the way it carries itself.

“Hello, Y/N,” The figure’s mouth moves, but it’s almost as though its words are projected directly into your mind rather than spoken into the room. There’s a tingling quality to them, almost like an electrical shock, but not something altogether unpleasant.

You dig the heels of your hands into your eyes, thinking that the lack of sleep must be affecting you more than you realize. When you finally lower your hands, the figure hasn’t moved. “Are you… Death?” You aren’t unaware of how preposterous the question sounds. You grip Hajime’s hand tighter, and the figure seems to smile.

“Hardly. The concept of death itself as an entity is little more than a construct of the human imagination.” There’s a pause and a sound you could almost consider a chuckle, then it continues. “More accurately, I suppose you could call me Life.” It looks at Hajime’s still body almost mournfully. You aren’t sure how much time passes, or if any has passed at all.

“This life is very precious to you. Yes?” Its attention is back on you now.

“More than anything,” You breathe out, “I – I love him. We’re getting married.” You hold out your hand so that the being can see the ring on your finger. As if it would care. For some reason, it does lean forward and inspect the ring carefully.

“Hm. These kinds of things… they aren’t so cut and dry, you know.” Assuming at this point that you must be dreaming, you nod dumbly, even though you don’t really know at all. “Still, all hope is not lost. With the right material, a repair could be made.”

“A repair?” You parrot back, feeling your heart catch in your chest. Is it even beating right now?

“It will require something made up of the same stuff as the existing soul. Something strong and plentiful. Do you understand?” Your brow furrows, and you shake your head. Dream or not, you can’t even pretend to know what this being is trying to say.

“Your memories,” It says gently, as though explaining something simple to a small child. “If I could use all of your memories of him, I can save his life.” It watches you intently for a few moments, but you feel frozen in place, trying to comprehend what it’s asking of you. “I would understand if you decline. Others have.”

“So he will live?” It nods. “But I won’t remember him. Not even a little.”

“Not one memory can be spared,” It confirms. “It’s the only way.”

“Will I fall in love with him again? Will he – will he stay with me?”

The being gives an almost imperceptible shrug. “It can’t be known. Your future – that’s something you will have to work out on your own. The only thing I can promise you is that his life will be spared.”

You’re already nodding. “Then I’ll do it. We’ll find a way to be together. He won’t give up on me.” The being’s lips twitch briefly, but it nods.

“If you’re certain,” It’s already reaching toward you, fingertips hovering near your forehead.

“I am.” You screw your eyes shut, clutching onto Hajime’s hand tightly with both hands. “Do it,” You prompt, when you don’t feel the being move. And just like that, you’re awash in a sea of light and warmth for a few blissful moments before being plunged into a deep nothingness.

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